#Go redeem the coupons

[twistedrehabilitationprogram]

Hug armor, get ya hug armor here! Get protection from the friend’s claws as you hug the big fella for just 35 dollars!

// ah the sight of capitalism, taking opportunity from everyone's desire to hug that dang craft. XD //

[dcviated]

time to loot :: open

send “Treasure Chest Opened! You Acquired _____” along with an item my muse would obtain by opening a secret treasure chest.

@darksails sent a trap: Treasure Chest Opened! Malkuth acquires a strangely specific wig with bangs that somehow matches her exact hair color! Wow! ( Beneath that, however, is the real prize: a coupon for any establishment of her liking that a pirate will pay for as a gift. ;'D )

"A TREASURE CHEST LIKE THE MOVIES?" Like any energetic young lady, throwing it open is hoped to yield countless gold doubloons or other nonsense. Heck. Even if they were chocolate? That'd be a huge victory all its own.

Instead, there's a buncha hair down in there? For a split second Malkuth had half a mind to think there was a corpse! Like if she plucked it out there'd be a skull or something. Not. Fortunately. But one can't help but notice the striking similarity.

"....Ueh? But why do I need a wig that matches my hair? What's the point here. Huh. Well... guess I can hold onto it." Oh no! It would seem that the Kuranta was not quite keen on the special make of this wonderful piece. What she does notice is the coupon! Which she picks up with renewed glee and excitement.

"FOOD FROM ANYWHERE I WANT? A FREE MEAL? THATS EVEN BETTER THAN A CRATE OF CHOCOLATES! Oh my gosh. Yay! I know just the pirate who I can redeem it with, too~!!!"

[casketvamps]

customers will see that every single employee in a department is busy as fuck because of an event going on and still be like "um. no one is paying attention to me?? how dare you? somebody get me a manager"

[yoshistory]

its funny because when i went to get my free meal the people behind the counter messed up and funded me points because they couldn't remove my order when they accidentally added something so they had to like do something and didnt charge my card and restart the order but whatever they did funded my account enough points to get a free side

[muffinlance]

The only one clearly innocent is Fox because he is going to MURDER the brother that beat him to this

sw would have been so much shorter if one clone decided to murder palpatine in his office because. who are they gonna arrest. sadly the suspect looks like 1000+ other men and all of them forgot what they did last friday night

[woodelf68]

Anyone else remember when orange juice cartons used to be 64 oz. instead of only 52? :(

[kumkaniudaku]

Unplugged

Summary: Terry makes a big mistake on Christmas Day. 

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!Reader

Word Count: 2,061

Warnings: Sexual themes

Previous: From Terrence, With Love + MASTERLIST

With the last hours of Christmas ticking away and their precious little girl safe and sound at her Papa and Maman’s house less than 15 minutes away, Terry and Patrice were free to let the abundance of alcohol and holiday cheer still buzzing in their systems from family dinner do the all talking. 

From her spot on the bed, Patrice bit her lip to calm the flame inside her body as she watched Terry’s bare back flex and tense while he slid a trio of black boxes from a secret spot on the top shelf of their closet. She’d been watching him all night, waiting for the best time to flash the car keys and rush him back into the house for alone time. The playing cards and second round of sweet potato pie could barely hit the dinner table before they were hastily throwing scarves around their necks and wishing everyone a final Merry Christmas.

“Baby, I need you,” Patrice commented, her voice impatient yet sultry under the influence of tequila. 

Terry looked over his shoulder with drooping lids and a lazy smile. “You keep talking to me like that and we might not open a single gift tonight.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

In their second Christmas as a married couple, they’d agreed to exchange their gifts in private to preserve the sentimental value of the moment and avoid prying eyes when the innocent giving took a turn toward their personal business.

Patrice carefully guarded small cache of packages topped with neat, black velvet bows and numbered based on the order she wanted Terry to unveil his surprises. She’d worked hard on the right mix of practical, sentimental, and sexy since the summer and couldn’t rest until Terry had unwrapped each one according to her very specific instructions. 

Though Terry didn’t have the same propensity for extravagance, he had spent the last three weeks bursting at the seams to watch his wife’s eyes light up with every overly expensive gift box lid popped. 

He carefully balanced each box in his arms on his way to the bed before gingerly placing them at her feet like precious rubies presented to a queen. The mattress dipped under his weight as he pressed on his hands and knees to lead their umpteenth french kiss since they’d escaped the family. 

“Wanna go first?” His question was nearly lost in a deep mumble once he focused his energy on dragging his lips and tongue frome her ear to her clavicle. 

“What if I made you go first instead?” 

He chuckled against her neck before pressing a kiss in a random spot. “Then I’ll do whatever you tell me. You know how much I love to follow your directions, Mrs. Richmond.”

The mention of her favorite title on the tip of his skilled tongue made Patrice’s body react with a visible shiver. He knew how to use his power as a willing listener to get exactly what he wanted. 

Patrice watched him slowly take his place at the head of the bed, one leg bent and propped while he watched her watch him with beautifully dark eyes under long lashes. Her bottom lip found itself trapped beneath her top row of teeth again to keep her thoughts in check. 

“Okay,” she spoke, barely above a whisper. “Start with this one.”

Tickets to an experience, a handmade coupon book for redeemable favors, and a digital album featuring racey photos and videos from a recent boudoir shoot all laddered up to Patrice’s final reveal. 

“Are these restraints for you or me,” he asked as he pulled the apparatus from its cozy spot inside of a discreet box. He eyed the small round spaces meant for his ankles and wrists before looking up at Patrice and her mischievous grin. 

She nodded. “Both of us. We don’t have to use them immediately but give it a thought. I’ll take good care of you, baby.” 

Uncertainty in Terry’s eyes and furrowed brows made Patrice crawl closer to capture his chin in her hand, allowing the tips of her stiletto nails to graze the fresh shaven skin on his face. He searched her disarming smile for confirmation. 

“You got me?” 

“The whole time. However you need me.” 

Gentle reassurance that she would, in fact, be there during their exploration seemed to satiate Terry long enough to ask for a kiss that quickly introduced large hands seeking refuge beneath the shirt of Patrice’s thin lounge set. Flashes of being under her control with nowhere to run fell somewhere between fear and undeniable arousal that manifested itself physically once she moved to straddle Terry’s waist per his quiet request. 

She leaned forward to nip at his neck. “Mmm, someone’s excited to see me. We should take a break so I can tell him hi.” 

“Feels like he ain’t the only one that’s excited,” he answered, attention shifting to the meeting in his lap. “C’mon, open your stuff first. Then we’ll move on.”

“We should skip me and double back after.”

Whining and a little begging wasn’t enough for Patrice to change Terry’s mind. He remained bullheaded with his desires, adding a quick smack to her ass as motivation to do as he asked and to preview what was to come if she was efficient in the process. 

The first gift, a sappy custom vinyl with all the love songs that made Terry think of her, earned him a heartfelt thank you and sweet kisses between murmured declarations of undying love. The newly restored and engraved wrist watch from her Nana’s collection nearly made her scream in appreciation that he’d been able to help her keep a family heirloom. 

She was so full gratitude and appreciation that, when she popped the lid off of the final gift and found a shining gold necklace adorned with a photo pendant of their daughter, she accepted it as commonplace. 

Terry listened with his eyes closed, waiting to hear the gasp he expected as Patrice pulled the item from its box. 

“Aw, baby, this is super cute. I’ll wear it everyday!” 

“Everyday is kinda excessive, don’t you think?” He asked, eyebrow pulled high while his eyes remained shut. 

He’d heard that prolonged wear could make the experience more comfortable, but multiple times a week struck him as odd even for his wife. 

“It’s a cute necklace. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Necklace? What are you…” A necklace? He’d purchased something for the other end of her body. She’d even picked a few out to guide his shopping. As his mental roladex sped through the list he’d compiled, sudden realization made his body grow hot with anxiety. 

His worst fear had materialized. 

Patrice watched Terry’s face morph into a uncharacteristic mix of horror and dread, painting winter pale light skin a faint red across his ears and forehead. His eyed opened wide while he frantically searched for his phone amongst the bed’s clutter. He moved without words and palpable fear that started to transfer to Patrice as his grip on her thigh tightened. 

She started to help him look though she didn’t know for what exactly. “Terrence, what is wrong with you? I like the necklace! Talk!” 

Nothing. Not even a second glance as he pulled his cellphone from beneath a box lid and feverishly tapped at the screen. 

“Answer. C’mon, c’mon.” The line on the other end rang twice, three times, and an agonizing forth until the intended party answered with hearty laughter. “Imani! Can you hear me?” 

“Yeah, I can hear you, love. What you need?” 

He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to gather the necessary words to remain vague but thorough. Patrice leaned in closer in hopes of receiving the information that he was withholding. 

“I…made a really big mistake and I need your help without judgement.” 

“Oh-kay. Is this a drug heist or something?” 

“Say what you mean, TJ.” 

Terry shot a look in Patrice’s direction, earning a mouthed ‘what’ as opposition. “I mixed up gifts for Treece and my mama. If she opens that box and sees what’s inside, she gon’ think less of me. I need you to get that back.” 

“What’s in it?” 

“It’s personal.”

“Clearly,” she laughed. “But what is it? We family!”

“Imani, please don’t make me say it.” 

The guilt in his voice helped put the pieces together for Patrice, widening the pit of anxiety she already felt. Think less of him? What would Diedra think of her once she saw what her sweet daughter-in-love was doing to corrupt her only son?

Understanding the gravity of the situation, Imani cleared her throat and ended her prying as quickly as it had begun.

“I actually don’t wanna know anymore. Keep it to yourself,” she answered. “Can you at least tell me where the gift is? And if I should wear a glove when I touch it?”

Terry sighed. “You don’t need a glove but I do need you to explain in as little detail as possible that she has the wrong gift and that I’ll take her to brunch and give her the right one tomorrow. If she asks, just tell her to call me.” 

“Please believe me when I say you never had to worry about me telling Ms. Dee Dee that her son likes to buy all kinds of gadgets and gizmos to keep his nasty wife excited.” 

“Hey! I can hear you!” 

“I know you can! And, honestly, do your thing, friend. We’ll talk on the side.” 

“We will,” Patrice added, flipping her pressed hair over her shoulder for added flair. “Thank you, Moanie! We owe you.” 

Another reminder of her duties from Terry and a laundry list of potential repayments sent Imani on a covert mission to recover the goods and ease their worries. 

Patrice’s hands blazed a soothing path from her husband’s chest to his ears to softly rub the area while she pressed a kiss to his lips that he feebily returned. The thought of his mother opening that small black box in front family members and finding his initials enscribed on an aquamarine gem meant to grace his wife where the sun didn’t often shine was enough to exhaust Terry more than any workout ever could. 

His heartrate began to slow once Patrice reminded him to breathe with calming instructions for him to match her rhythm. 

She spoke against his cheek after adding a kiss. “Was it the silicone one I showed you? With your birthstone on it?” 

“Mhm. You convinced me and I looking forward to seeing it in you tonight. Now that’s ruined.” 

“Ruined? Oh, baby,” she cooed into his ear, one hand traveling south to wedge itself between them and reignite a waning fire. She giggled when he tensed and released a shaky breath that fanned across her neck. “How can it be ruined when he’s still so happy to see me. You sure you don’t wanna finish what we started?”

“A little.” 

“What can I do to turn that little into a lot? I’ll do anything.” 

“Anything?” 

Sliding her tongue against the shell of his ear before a beginning a slow kiss kicked Terry into overdrive just as she intended. Anticipation mingled with desire. Desire became primal urges fighting for freedom. Urges made Terry groaned into Patrice’s mouth as a reminder that he while he was typically calm and collected, there was a still man inside that craved physical contact. 

Patrice lowered her voice to reiterate her point. “Anything. All you have to do is tell me what you want.”

Like a moth to a bright light, Terry’s fingers danced across the bed to connect with the cold metal attached the restraints that both and intrigued and terrified him. Patrice listened to the chains clink against each other as he pulled them closer, a smile creeping across her face when their eyes met. 

“You’re gonna go first. Arms in front or behind?” 

“In front. Like this.” 

Seeing her wrists pressed tightly together, the motion lifting her clothed breasts higher, was the perfect demonstration for a visual learner. It wasn’t long before Patrice found herself fully exposed, bound, and waiting for further instructions upside down at the edge of the bed. 

Tonight, the teacher would be the student, receiving gift after gift after shaking, breathless, filthy gift. Crisis averted. A Merry Christmas, indeed.

-------

Comment if you'd like to be tagged!

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[duckprintspress]

Small Business Saturday Deals from Duck Prints Press

The busiest shopping weekend of the year is upon us, and I’m delighted to share (though sorry for adding yet more advertising to your life) that Duck Prints Press is running two big sales this weekend!

Kickstarter Flash Bundle

The Kickstarter campaign for our next anthology, A Truth Universally Acknowledged: Queer Fanworks Inspired by Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice,” is nearly 85% funded with 6 days left before the end. We’ve still got a bit to go to hit our base goal, though, and we’d love to hit some of our awesome stretch goals to get backers more rewards (without them having to spend a penny more!) and to get our contributors more pay!

To help us reach this goal, we’re offering a bonus flash reward level for new backers and current backers who’d like to upgrade: get A Truth Universally Acknowledged, all our campaign merch, AND e-book and print copies of all seven of our past anthologies, all for one massively discounted price of $290 – a savings of almost $100 over the list prices for these items! (Small print but not small: This level is US-only, and the $290 doesn’t include shipping.)

This is the best price we’ve ever offered for our anthologies! Wondering what Duck Prints Press is all about? This is your moment! Amazing books at an amazing price – now through Monday December 2nd!

Small Business Saturday Coupon

Saturday November 30th is Small Business Saturday, the day to show small and local business you appreciate them – and for us to show we appreciate you by offering great deals! Duck Prints Press has a whole lot of new things now available for the occasion, and we’re running our best sale of the year – 20% your entire (pre-shipping) purchase!

Use coupon code duckysbs01 to save 20% off your purchase, and check out our new shop listings!

Scrap Metal Angel by Nicola Kapron e-book and trade paperback

Scrap Metal Angel two-sided bookmark

Scrap Metal Angel Adrian and Kade poster

Scrap Metal Angel two-postcard set

In Good Company by Nicola Kapron trade paperback

Puppetry by Nina Waters trade paperback

Moongatherer by Willa Blythe trade paperback

Lightbringer by boneturtle trade paperback

Dux Prints Lanyard

Musketeer Dux die-cut sticker

Desire Dux die-cut sticker

Barista Dux die-cut sticker

…and so much more awesome stuff in the Duck Prints Press webstore!

Did you know? People who back our Patreon can get discounts at our shop year-round! $3/month and $5/month backers get a permanent 10% off coupon, backers at the $7/month and $10/month level get 20% off, and backers at the $25/month level get a whopping 30% off purchases from our webstore – the lowest price available – the whole year!

Join Duck Prints Press in shopping small this weekend – by backing our Kickstarter, and/or by visiting our store! And we hope you have a wonderful holiday season.

Coupon small print: Coupon usage and terms apply. Offer valid only on online purchases made between Friday November 29 and Monday December 2. Can be redeemed on US and international orders. Shipping & handling and sales tax do not qualify for discounts. This offer cannot be redeemed for cash or gift cards, cannot be applied to past purchases, and can only be used once per purchaser. May not be combined with other coupons, discounts, offers, or promotions. Void if altered, copied, transferred, auctioned, or sold. Valid for use purchasing in-stock items only. No rain checks issued. Other restrictions may apply. Cash value 1/10 cent USD.

[hiimcanadia]

Ed and Stede give each other those stupid sex/kiss/hug/etc coupons, and at first they both think it's incredibly silly using them because come on, they're the most physically affectionate couple ever. They'll give each other those things whenever they ask, no "coupon" required.

But then one day, Ed notices that Stede's shoulders are starting to look a little too pink for his liking. But Stede is refusing to come back inside until he's done with his work out in the garden, so Ed marches out with his little coupon book and tells Stede that he is required to come back inside because Ed has a "free cuddle session" coupon to redeem

And maybe a few weeks later Ed is upset about a new project of his not going the way he wanted, and he can't seem to stop dwelling on it, so Stede pulls out a "free sex" coupon and spends the whole afternoon making Ed forget everything that has ever bothered him

Stede worrying that he's not good enough for Ed is met with a "sexy makeout sesh" coupon. Ed worrying that he's unlovable is met with a "BIG hug" coupon. They become less of a silly thing they use even when they know they don't need to, and more of a reminder to each other about how loved and desired they really are- enough that even just a simple hug or kiss or cuddle, something that they can have whenever they ask, feels like the greatest gift in the world

[milkycarnations]

Profiling the Creeps as Someone Who Works in the Service Industry

Basically, as someone who (unfortunately) has been cursed with a job in fast food, here are some things I think the creeps would do. Some of these things piss me off, some are just habits - not good, not bad.

Brian

Pulls through the drive-thru and asks for "his usual".

Always pays in exact change.

Always asks for fresh (insert item with long fry time). He will wait. No, he won't pull around.

Will always do those little surveys on the receipt.

Tim

Has tipped with a cigarette on more than one occasion.

"That'll do me."

"I remember when these were 97 cents!"

The card reader is beeping and he doesn't know where he is.

Toby

Tries to redeem a coupon that expired ten years ago.

Wants to use tap to pay but his car is way too far and he won't help reach the card reader so you just pull that cord as far as you can and hope for the best.

Will ask you what comes in each item in detail just to get the most basic item on the menu.

Paid in 15 counterfeit 1-dollar bills.

Jeff

"Hi, how are you?"

"Give me a number 8."

Asshole.

He wants to leave as much as you want him to.

Does not utter a word at the drive-thru window.

Jack

Refuses to get a drink with ice because mold, unless it's a cafe he can trust.

Orders enough food to send the entire kitchen into a panic.

The type of person to ask for 10 add-shots in their latte.

Insert chain-related joke you've heard eight times today.

Liu

Prefers to sit in the lobby rather than going through drive-thru.

Cannot figure out how to use the kiosk, but he's trying so hard :(.

Always uses his pleases and thank you's because he's a good man.

Demands a receipt.

Nina

Calls you babe the entire time.

Is talking on her phone and no, she won't hang up.

Thinks all coffee shops are like Starbucks and will ask you for an iced caramel macchiato or a Frappuccino.

Just doesn't understand coffee drinks in general, but if you can figure out her taste/order she will tip heavily.

Jane

Way too stressed to be here and not really listening.

Forgets to take that thing she hates off of her food but is too embarrassed to say anything about it.

Pulls her car into the parking lot and eats there because she can't trust herself to eat and drive.

Always asks for way too many extra sauce packets.

Ben

"I'll take a large diet."

"Alright a diet Pepsi :)"

"No, coke"

:(

Takes all of your napkins.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Am I Making You Feel Sick? | Supernatural Series Rewrite | A doctorbitchcrxft original | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: literally every warning ever, y/n's in a rough ass spot dude, hallucinations, recovering from a sexual assault (PLS HEED THIS WARNING THIS CHAPTER REFERS TO THIS HEAVILY), slightly toxic relationship dynamic, mentions of torture, discussions of religious trauma, discussing parental death, discussing major character death, isolation, depression, discussions of anxiety/not eating bc of it, y/n's personality is changin', man. off the rails fr, canon violence, canon gore, nightmares

Word Count: 6509

A/N: TEEHEE my first original episode!!! this episode is very heavy (obvi bc dean just died) but i still hope you guys enjoy it!!!!

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT:

the first episode of season 4 will be published on January 18, 2025 (how is it 2025 already). I do apologize for the delay, but I want to make sure that my writing is absolutely perfect for you guys because I love you very dearly.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

What a curious animal you'd become.

Killing was a part of your job. You danced with death on a daily basis; nothing about the concept was unfamiliar to you. And yet, everything you felt was completely foreign.

Grief: a simple word to encapsulate such a complex feeling. You thought you'd grieved before, and of course, you had. But losing Stephen, your mother, and your father couldn't even begin to scratch the surface of what losing him felt like.

Dean was gone. He was gone, and there was nothing you could do to change it.

The first day was his funeral. You and Sam refused to let Bobby burn his body; each of you knowing your insistence was due to a desire to go make demon deals yourselves. You were sure Bobby knew, too, but he said nothing. He simply helped Sam fashion a coffin out of a tree they cut down while you tried to piece Dean back together.

Tears fell on the stitches as you worked, water dampening the blood that had dried around the edges of the wounds. You did your best to clean the wounds gingerly, and you briefly laughed at yourself for being so careful when he wasn't even alive anymore. You quickly collapsed in a heap of sobs, biting the side of your hand nearest your pinky to keep yourself quiet.

Brushing his hair back, you would bend down occasionally to press kisses to his forehead. You cradled his head in your lap until the position you were in got uncomfortable. Feeling a lump in the back pocket of your jeans, you took out the wallet that was stowed there and tossed it aside. In the process, the little slip of paper Dean had given you at Christmas fell out.

Remembering what it was, you smiled fondly. It was his "coupon" he'd given you to redeem when he passed. It was a sweet gesture in an incredibly fucked up way, but your heart just hurt as you ran your hand over the pendant still around his neck.

You stared at his handwriting for a while, remembering when he'd jokingly asked you for cursive lessons after watching you write in your journal. His handwriting was admittedly horrendous, but you found it adorable. There was nothing you wouldn't do to see his hands move again.

You kissed the paper, folded it up, and stowed it in the only pocket of his jeans that wasn't ripped. The amulet felt foreign around your neck, but its weight brought you a slight bit of comfort.

Come to think of it, you'd never watched a loved one die. You'd had to kill your parents after they were turned, but that was completely different from watching the life drain from someone you loved with every bit of your soul.

You felt like you'd never leave that day. You'd never stop reliving those last few moments or his last words to you. Dean was never good with words; he showed his love in other ways. But his final profession of love to you was absolutely what you needed to hear, and yet, you felt no sense of closure.

Sam helped Bobby lower the casket into the ground, and you marked it with a cross they'd made from two extra pieces of wood.

As soon as you'd shoveled the last bit of dirt over the casket, you kissed Sam's cheek, then Bobby's, then sped off in one of Bobby's cars aimlessly.

****

You hadn't answered calls from Sam or Bobby since Dean's funeral.

You had forgotten how hard this was; being alone.

From the time your parents died when you were eighteen to the time you met the Winchesters at twenty-six, you'd been almost completely alone. Every day was spent in complete silence. You wouldn't speak unless spoken to, or unless it was necessary to move a case forward. Sure, you enjoyed music on road trips, but the car wasn't filled with laughter or witty chatter.

Hunting wasn't exactly a lively or rewarding profession. It never felt like your life was your own; it was always spent in the service of keeping everyone else safe. As a child, you frequently questioned why that was your responsibility. Your father would always tell you, "Because that's how we've always done it."

As far as you knew, everyone before you in your family had been hunters. You were the last surviving of a long line of hunters that your father always told you dated back to the birth of the first vampire. You weren't quite sure if that was your father over exaggerating, but you grew up believing this was what you were destined for.

As a young woman, you didn't even entertain the idea of doing anything else with your life. You had no skills, no documentation, no money, and no family. Where else could you go aside from diners to search the morning paper for an interesting obituary?

When you met Bobby, you thought that maybe things could be different. He'd found you after a hunt gone wrong against a werewolf, holding your insides together with your hoodie wrapped around your waist. The scariest part of your scrape with death was that you weren't even afraid of dying in that moment.

Steven had been the light of your world. You felt such a maternal relationship with him given the unbelievable amount of time you spent taking care of him while your parents were away, and his death truly hit you the hardest.

Your grief lessened with the passage of time, but you'd learned recently that all you'd done was numb it. You never truly healed from the loss of your parents and brother.

However, despite the tedious and often strife-filled existence you led, you were happy. At least, you believed you were happy, because you hadn't ever known what that felt like; that was, until you met the Winchesters. The little friend group you formed with them was your light in the darkness.

You felt cheated. If there was a god, he was a merciless bastard for giving you the best thing you could've asked for and ripping him away from you so soon. 

Over and over, Dean's screams from that horrific night echoed in your mind. No amount of music could drown out the sounds rattling around your head.

That was when you were awake. When you would sleep, though, you’d dream of his experience in Hell. 

The first time it’d happened the night after his funeral, you heard Dean screaming yours and Sam’s names over and over again, begging for help. And the next night, it happened again. The dreams of his experience in Hell were only becoming more vivid. Hooks tore through his flesh and kept the skin taut as he dangled over the demons who'd come to torture him. The nightmares were becoming so bad that you were afraid to sleep. 

You'd wake with a start to the sound of Dean screaming your name, voice raw and pleading. You couldn't take it anymore. 

It was as if he was just out of your reach. You were frozen in space just too far from Dean. Seeing him should have comforted you, but this was only hurting you further. You would have rathered never see him again than continuously watch him go through something so horrific.

The thing that finally broke you completely was a dream you had about Dean talking to you while he was tortured. 

"Oh, god, (Y/N)," Dean cried as a demon called Alistair ripped into his flesh, "(Y/N), it hurts, help me, please! God, I can’t fucking take this anymore!" 

When you awoke from that dream, you knew what you had to do. Somehow, someway, you were going to get a ticket to the pit, and you'd drag him out yourself. Even if you couldn't, at least you'd get to see him again. You'd tried to make deals, but no one would budge. Thus, you became desperate.

****

You abandoned your phone and laptop and continuously swapped out the cars you stole; only black cars, though, to help conceal you in the night. Every few weeks, you decided you'd switch out the wig you wore. Sometimes, you'd stuff your clothes to make your body shape change or steal a pair of reading glasses from a drug store to skew your appearance further.

After the Mystery Spot in Florida when the trickster made you believe Dean was dead for six months, you weren’t quite ready to go as far as you were willing now. Now, with the assurance that Dean was truly suffering given your recurring, horrible dreams, you were done.

The first stop on your mission was the prison where your life was changed forever. You'd been stalking the man responsible for a little over a week now. Avoiding the watchful eye of the Winchesters' old friend Deacon was difficult, but you managed. At last, the day came where you'd confront him. 

In the dark of the guard's home, whose name you'd learned was Evan Kirkpatrick, you waited with a chloroform rag in your hand.

You didn't even allow him to turn the lights on before you were dragging his unconscious body out to the van you'd stolen.

****

In the middle of nowhere in Montana, you'd found a cabin when you were around twenty-two years old. It became your safe house when you needed it. Not even the Winchester brothers knew about it, and you preferred it that way. You knew if you'd told Sam about it, this would’ve been the first place he'd look for you when you first disappeared.

You had the guard securely tied to a chair in the center of the room. You played one of the records that had been left in the cabin and whistled along to it.

Sheets of plastic covered the floor beneath Evan's and your shoes to make for an easy cleanup when you were done with him.

The man before you slowly started to awaken. You remained seated comfortably next to the record player, face unchanged from its numb expression you seemed to permanently wear these days.

The guard groaned, head rolling side to side to try and get his bearings. When his eyes settled on you, he seemed to sober up immediately.

"Oh, fuck," he panicked, immediately trying to yank his way out of his binds. 

"Hi," you said nonchalantly. "Remember me?"

"Listen, I'm sorry, okay?" he whined. "But this is fucking crazy!"

"Oh, you're sorry," you laughed coldly. You stood and approached the table you set up with all sorts of weapons next to him just out of his reach. 

"Lady, look—"

"No, you listen to me," you spat, getting in his face. "We're gonna play a game. Every time you say 'no' or 'stop,' I'll drag it out even longer. Then, maybe, you'll really be sorry." 

"I am! I am!" he cried.

"Y'know, for some reason, I don't believe you." You picked up a pair of pliers from the table beside you. 

"No, no, please!" the guard wailed.

"What did I say about that word?" you taunted. 

****

Hours later, the man in front of you was on the brink of death. His entire body was littered with remnants of your work, and you were ready to deliver the final blow. Seeing this man made you physically ill, and you were just ready for it to be over.

And so, you ended it at point-blank range. You picked up the chair, the plastic mat, his body, and you dragged them outside to be burnt in a clearing outside of the cabin.

You watched it all burn emotionlessly, the numbing having returned to every one of your limbs. 

'I'm coming, Dean. I promise.'

****

As you’d mentioned to Dean, your father insisted upon you and Steven learning different methods of torture when you were younger. He thought it would enable you to survive them easier as well as be able to get the information you needed from the various creatures you hunted. 

As much as you hated to admit it, you were good at it. As fucked up as it was, your father had taught you how to detach from the reality of what you were putting another human through and focus on getting what you needed. 

What you told yourself you needed from the guard was a way to ensure you would make it down to Hell. However, in the back of your mind, you knew you’d done it because you wanted him to suffer just as you were suffering.

You knew you’d need to continuously do horrible things for your plan to work. You hoped that you would attract the attention of a demon you’d allow to use you for a ride downstairs, or a crossroads demon would find you so enticing because of your deeds that they’d make a deal with you. 

In truth, you knew that logic wasn’t sound. However, you were so desperate, you needed something, anything, to occupy your time and make you feel you were getting closer to seeing Dean again. 

You never considered yourself the emotional type before losing him. The trickster's comparison of you to Full Metal Jacket would sometimes provide you a lifeless laugh given how well he'd predicted all you'd become.

The nightmares were relentless. You tried every form of soothing yourself to sleep— meditation, a sound machine, smoking before bed— anything to possibly change your night terrors, but nothing worked. Every night, Dean was torn apart in front of you brokenly crying yours or Sam’s name.  

While you were awake, you would find your reflection staring back at you as you were on the day of your assault. The guard uniform, mussed up ponytail, and scratches on the side of your face had returned; undoubtedly due to your sleep deprivation and rapidly decaying mental state. 

You’d see flashes of Dean’s body laying on the ground in the shadows of the cabin with the gashes the Hellhound had given him or the heads of your parents’ monstrous forms. Steven appeared several times with half of his face torn to shreds, just as you’d found him in his car so long ago. 

Smoking weed didn’t help; neither did Xanax. Nothing could supply you reprieve from your anxiety-ridden days. Your anxiety was driving you to the point of being unable to eat. Exhausted, high, anxious, and malnourished, you passed out curled up in a ball on the couch. That time, a different dream disrupted your sleep.

You awoke in the middle of a clearing in the woods. The sun streamed through trees of an almost unnatural green, and the grass felt too pillowy soft beneath you.

You sat up to find a bush burning beside you.

"Seriously?" you cursed at the sky. "A burning bush? I'm not fucking Moses."

"You'd do well to mind your tongue in my presence," the bush replied.

"Well, excuse me, but you're a bush. In my dream. I don't have to do what you say," you answered.

"I'm not a bush, (Y/N). And I'm not god, either. My name is Uriel," the voice said.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" you snarked, crossing your arms over your chest.

"It will. I am an angel. I have been sent by god to recruit you for a mission of the utmost importance," Uriel answered.

"Yeah, right. You're an angel," you scoffed. "How come you don't have a harp and fluffy wings?"

"Frankly, your human depictions of us are insulting," replied Uriel. "I cannot show you my true face or true voice; it would blind and deafen you."

"So.. bush..." you trailed off. "Wait, why am I even entertaining this? You're not real; this is just a dream." 

"I was told you were stubborn," Uriel said more to himself than you. "How have you been sleeping?"

You scoffed. "If you're a divine being, or whatever, you should already know the answer." 

"I do. I am the one who bestowed those visions upon you," Uriel replied.

"Oh! Wonderful." You suddenly had a realization. "Wait, visions? They're not dreams?"

"No, (Y/N). Those were all very real," Uriel explained. "Michael greatly admired your craftsmanship." The angel was undoubtedly referring to your torture of the guard; you hadn’t done anything else in the last month.

"The archangel?" you questioned. "Why would he—?"

"Because that skillset is why you have been chosen for this mission," Uriel replied. "Angels, like demons, need vessels. But we need willing participants. In order for us to carry out our work, we need you to find them. Michael believes your handiwork will help us find these vessels."

You considered. "And what do I get in return?"

"You humans and... reciprocity," the angel remarked disdainfully. "All you need to know is this will help get Dean out of Hell. You know what he's experiencing presently, and I will continue to show it to you until the work is done. Do we understand each other?"

You nodded, stomach turning. "I gotta be honest, though, man, I don't know how much more of seeing Dean like that I can take."

"You will take it for as long as I say you must," he responded forcefully, the bush erupting further into flame with his anger. "Michael believes it will give you incentive to get the job done quicker. This is not up for negotiation."

Your jaw clenched in anger, but you knew better than to argue. "What do you want me to do?"

"Hunt," Uriel responded. "Find suitable vessels. And, if they do not agree to having an angel possess them, use force."

"You've gotta know no one's just gonna agree to that."

"Precisely why we've enlisted your help, (Y/N)," the angel replied monotonously. 

"What, do I just pick randoms off the street?" you scoffed.

"You'll know them when you see them," Uriel answered. 

"How do I even know this is real anyway?"

Before you could get an answer to your question, you woke up.

You sat up with a start and turned to look out the open window you had certainly closed before you went to sleep. And just outside, a bush you'd never noticed before was burning.

"Great."

****

It was nearly humorous; the times when you'd switch out your car and hear a growling dog, nearly resulting in an innocent animal being shot in the head. You'd then realize you weren't shooting at a Hellhound, and it would all come rushing back to you. Sometimes, you'd flip through the channels of the radio and find the classic rock station and immediately start sobbing. Even saying his name out loud hurt.

No respite from the nightmares was ever granted to you. There was no opportunity for you to dream of those quiet moments with Dean; no escape from the horrible reality of Dean in Hell and you becoming some angel's weapon. 

You felt like you were going crazy. You didn't feel entirely convinced to join in Uriel's game— if that had even been real— but you would do anything to help Dean. Night by night, you saw him worn down even further. His resolve was breaking, and his voice was raw from screaming your name. It broke your heart to pieces.

A few days after Uriel's visit, you went out to a town a state over to get groceries. Suddenly, you made brief eye contact with a tall black man. There was nothing particularly remarkable about him, but your ears began ringing as soon as you laid eyes on him. 

Out of nowhere, you thought, 'Uriel.'

Discreetly, you turned out of the grocery store and began to follow him. Your hands were buried in your hoodie pockets, and you kept your head down low to avoid suspicion.

However, despite the gun you were gripping in your jacket pocket, you knew you couldn't kidnap him now; it was the middle of the day, and people surrounded you.

So you followed him. For a few days, actually. You got to know his and his family's routine and when he was most likely to be alone. Finally, your opportunity arose. His daughter and wife had gone out for the little one's dance class, and night had fallen. 

You frantically pounded on his door. You pretended you were having car troubles and were new to town, so you had no friends to call.

You felt horrible because this man was so nice to you, but you would do anything for Dean. Under these circumstances, that definitely scared you. 

You took your crowbar and knocked him over the head hard, then shoved him in the backseat of the stolen sedan you drove. Needless to say, you'd have to switch it out urgently. 

****

Finally, you got back to your cabin. You dragged the man into it where new sheets of plastic had been laid over the floor and walls. 

You securely tired the man to the chair placed in the exact center of the room and waited patiently for him to wake up. 

You turned on your favorite of the cabin's records— "Laughing on the Outside" by Bernadette Carroll— and whistled along. 

Slowly, the man came to.

"Sorry about all this," you said earnestly when he became completely alert. "It's my job. It's complicated, y'know?"

"Who are you? What do you want?!" he asked frantically. "Whatever it is, I’ll— I’ll give it to you!"

"Perfect," you replied. "Then this shouldn't be difficult at all."

"What is it? Money?"

"Oh, no, no, nothing like that," you said. "Now, listen, you're gonna think I'm crazy, but—"

"I do already, don't worry," the man snarked, pulling at his restraints.

"I like you. Honestly," you commented, offering a small smile. "You believe in god?"

"What does that—"

"Just answer the question, please," you said evenly.

He nodded timidly.

"Well, one of his angels needs your help. Uriel's his name. And all you gotta do is say yes," you explained. "He just needs to borrow your body for a bit."

"What?! What the hell does that mean?" he panicked. 

"Just say yes." Your voice remained monotonous, but there was a slight pleading to it. 

"No! No way!" he said.

You sighed and got up to approach your tools. "I really didn't wanna have to do this."

****

Finally, you wore the man down. It didn't take him very long, to be fair, but it was much more difficult for you to torture an innocent person for an angel than it was to torture your rapist. 

Uriel seemed to notice your confliction. He stood from the chair having healed the man's wounds from inside his body and crossed the room to you. "Be not afraid, (Y/N)."

"I'm not... but thanks, I guess," you replied. 

"I can tell you're troubled. Keep in mind, if you choose to stop now, you will never stop dreaming of Dean in Hell," he asserted while he turned away from you.

"Hey, wait a second, that wasn't part of our deal," you said, following him. 

"We don't have a deal, (Y/N). I gave you an order," he replied calmly. His even and monotonous voice was both comforting and unsettling.

"But... what about Dean?" you protested. 

"We're not saving him for you, child. No one's that special. God has his own plan for Dean."

You rolled you eyes and turned away.

"What is it?" Uriel questioned.

"I'm just not buying this whole 'god has a plan' thing," you said, an edge of anger in your voice. "If he did, that would mean he planned for me to kill my parents. He planned for me to get raped. He planned for Dean to go to Hell—"

"He did," was all Uriel simply replied with.

Your face went slack in shock. If you didn't hate "god" before, you certainly did now.

"I'll be seeing you, (Y/N)."

When you turned around, Uriel was gone. 

****

You spent the next few days angry. Sure, the good things in the world were part of "god's plan," but so was genocide and the Holocaust. You could not wrap your head around how a loving and just god would include such terrible things in his "masterful plan." 

Then, you went numb again. You always thought that proof of the existence of a higher power would make you feel better, but it had done the exact opposite. Nothing you did seemed to matter anymore; everything you did felt like being a pawn in a game you didn't know you were playing. Dean's suffering was god's plan, and you hated god for it.

But you did as told. Nothing would stand between you and seeing Dean again, and you would do everything in your power to keep him from suffering any longer. So you continued your task. As upset as you were at the idea of torturing innocent people for a god you'd lost all faith in, you would do it a million times over for your love.

The second of the vessels came under circumstances similar to the ones you'd found Uriel's: a trip to the gas station where an overwhelming, ear-piercing sound rang through your head. 

'Zachariah,' you suddenly thought. Your heart broke at the sight of the elderly man at the pump across from you as he was to be your next victim. However, you steeled your nerves and carried on. 

****

Why did people pray? If they knew their god was creating horrible situations in their lives as part of his master plan, would they continue to? Or did they just have that much faith in his “benevolence” that they’d pray anyway? 

With the information you had now, it all seemed pointless. You felt the way Dean did: a husk of a human to be used as a weapon. With a cosmic being pulling the strings, you didn’t feel in control at all. You had never been in control. God had planned for you to suffer the way you were now. 

At fifteen pounds lighter than you’d been when Dean first died, you looked sickly. Your skin had no color, your eyes were sunken and lifeless, your hair had lost its shine, and looking at yourself in the mirror disgusted you. As time kept creeping forward, you began to see yourself not only in your guard outfit, but holding the tools that were torturing Dean from your dreams as he hung on the rack behind you. 

The first time you saw that, you screamed. You jumped back from the mirror in the living room and fell to the floor, bringing the lamp and an end table with you. Shards of glass from the lamp’s lightbulb pierced your skin, but your rapidly thumping heart drowned out the pangs and pricks coming from your right palm. 

It had been two months and seventeen days since Dean went to Hell. You weren’t consciously keeping track, but something in you always knew how long it’d been. 

You began to adjust to only sleeping for two hours a night. Sure, the bags under your eyes and paling face protested, but forcing yourself awake was better than seeing Dean like that. The demon responsible for ripping Dean apart just to put him back together and start again, Alistair, had a face that was burned into your mind. When you were done with all the angel business, you'd be killing him yourself. 

Every night, you saw Alistair approaching Dean and providing him with an offer: if Dean wanted to get off the rack, he'd have to put other souls on and torture them himself. If you were honest with yourself, you were slowly becoming more and more desperate for Dean to take Alistair up on his deal. 

Uriel had explained to you that time moved differently in Hell. What was two and a half months on Earth was more like twenty-five years in Hell. 

The nightmares didn't stop. If anything, they became worse. It was as if Uriel could sense your hesitance and was making your task that much harder to leave incomplete. 

Your hesitance was in torturing the old man that was to be Zachariah’s vessel. He and his wife had just adopted a cat, and the three lived an apple-pie life. The idea of stealing this elderly woman’s husband and putting her in the same situation you were in now was weighing heavy on your heart. 

You learned the couple had a daughter who’d passed away a few years ago. It brought the two closer to each other, their grandchildren, and their son-in-law, as she’d been their only child. Despite their close relationship, though, you knew they needed a miracle. 

You learned that the angels seemed to pick vessels who were down on their luck. Uriel’s vessel’s sister was in the hospital dying of breast cancer. 

“Uriel, they needed healing. This guy didn’t want his miracle to be a fucking angel possessing him,” you argued. Fighting with the being was futile, but you couldn’t stand by idly without giving any push back. 

“(Y/N), what more of a miracle could he ask for? He has been a devout servant of the Lord since he was a child, and god decided to answer all his prayers.” His voice was strained with barely contained anger, and his patience was draining rapidly. Still, you pushed on. 

“You said he could kick you out at any second, right? I’m surprised he hasn’t fucking done that yet. ‘Angel of the lord’ my ass. You used me, a pothead dropout to do your dirty work instead of doing it yourself. I would’ve kicked your manipulative ass out the second you—” You were cut off when the angel backhanded you powerfully. His voice was dangerously even when he spoke again. “Another word, and I will make sure you never see Dean again.”

Still in shock and hurting from the blow, you nodded weakly. When you turned your head back to where he was standing, the angel had disappeared. 

With a moment to allow what had just happened to settle in, your breathing became rapid and labored. Tears swam in your eyes, and your knees buckled. 

You were barely clinging to your sanity. Uriel was growing impatient with you and informed you Zachariah was, too. When you reminded yourself that you were simply a pawn in a cosmic chess game, you returned to your task.

The elderly man’s screams broke your heart.

“Please, please, just say, ‘yes’,” you begged him. “I don’t wanna do this to you.”

“Then, don’t,” the man sobbed. “Just let me go home to my wife.”

“No, I can’t, sir, I’m sorry.” You were barely holding back tears of your own. “Didn’t you pray for a miracle? This is it.”

“I wanted my daughter back, not some psycho with a knife to get me to agree to… ‘angelic possession’,” he replied. 

“The pain will all go away if you say, ‘yes’,” you told him. “About your daughter, from this—” you gestured to your knife and the cuts on his body, “all of it. Just say, ‘yes’.”

Finally, finally, he nodded. 

You sighed in relief. “Thank you,” you told him. 

But when you looked back up at him, the man had already been possessed by Zachariah. “Took you long enough,” he grumbled, wiping his hands off on the man’s sweater. 

Uriel was a complete dick, but he looked like a sweetheart in comparison to Zachariah. Luckily, you didn't see Zachariah so much. Three months had gone by since Dean's death, and you still saw Alistair providing Dean with his twisted offer. You knew Dean couldn't hear you, but you screamed for him to take it. You knew he'd never forgive himself, but you couldn't watch the man you loved in so much pain anymore. He had become your whole world, and your world was crumbling with each passing day. 

Then, finally, Dean accepted. 

Alistair hummed as he approached Dean, and you could do nothing but watch from the sidelines. 

A demon was individually removing the muscles from Dean’s arm, unfazed by his horrible cries. The skin had clearly been brutally ripped from it as his shoulder looked like it had been mauled by a wild animal. 

“God, fuck you,” Dean panted. 

Alistair tsked. “There’s that attitude I love so much. You know the drill, sweet cheeks, what'll it be?”

For the first time since you’d dreamt of Dean’s experience in Hell, he hesitated. 

“What’s this?” Alistair gasped dramatically. “Don’t tell me you’re going soft, Deano.”

Dean hung his head low, unmoving and not answering. 

“I need an answer, De-an,” the demon sang. 

Without picking his head up, Dean mumbled, “I'll do it.”

Your breath caught in your throat. 

“Sorry,” the demon hummed, “didn’t hear you. What was that?”

Dean grunted, “I said, I’ll do it!” with his voice cracking. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” Alistair chuckled, a sickening smile spreading across his face.

As much as your heart broke for him, you were slightly relieved that his physical pain was over. However, you knew you had to get him out of there. The psychological torture of hurting others who didn't deserve it would break him completely, and you had to keep him from that somehow. 

Something was unsettling you about all this, though. Despite how unsettling your situation was to begin with, you knew there was something the angels you'd been working with weren't telling you. 

Uriel especially would act as though he wanted your job done as quickly as possible. However, when you explained it was only through "divine intervention, or whatever" that you were finding these vessels, and you had no control over the speed at which you found them, he'd get angry and cold. But he wouldn't press the issue with you. 

The number of vessels he'd assigned you to find was weirding you out, too: seven. You knew seven was a heavily spiritual number through your upbringing in the Catholic Church. However, you couldn't quite put your finger on what was happening. 

Half of you wanted to reach out to Sam and ask him his opinions. Your rational mind knew, though, that he'd never believe what you were saying and would quite possibly never look at you the same again.

That brought on a more troubling thought; when Dean saw what you'd become— a cold, lifeless shell of the girl you once were— what would he say? Would he even want to see you anymore? Would he still be able to love you?

You had to cover the mirrors in your cabin because the sight of yourself was making you sick. If Dean looked at you the way you looked at you, you didn’t think you’d be able to live with yourself.

Aside from disgust, immense anger was the next thing to come to your mind. You were angry at yourself for allowing yourself to become so consumed with Dean’s death. Rationally, you knew you shouldn’t have allowed yourself to fall so hard; to rot from your ever-present anxiety. You knew you should have gone to get help. And you supposed if you were a normal person, you would have. If you’d had a partner who died at a young age, you likely would have cut your losses, gone to therapy, and moved on. However, given the information you knew now— that you could save Dean— you weren’t going to give up on him.

You buried yourself in your work to keep yourself from going insane. As twisted as it was, the repetitive nature of your assignment was almost... peaceful? You were sure that couldn't be the proper way to describe your feelings, but it was the only word you could come up with. 

Perhaps it was that the gruesome work had become mundane. It gave you yet another chance to completely dull the world out until you heard that wonderful "Yes! I'll do it!" from your victim. 

Those words brought you the briefest moment of joy because it meant the horrible deed was over, and you were one step closer to seeing Dean again.

WatchingDean try to swallow his tears and maintain a steely expression while he tortured some poor soul under Alistair's direction became harder and harder every night. If you weren't set on killing Alistair before, you certainly were now. You wished so badly you could reach out to him and hold him. 

Finally, after four long and torturous months, your task was complete. You'd found the last vessel for an angel you hadn't quite committed the name of to memory and prayed to Uriel to come to you.

"There. I did what you asked," you said. "Now, go get Dean." 

****

That night, you sat on the couch in front of the television inhaling a bowl of cereal. You'd frequently turn the news on to see if there was any new information on demonic omens, any trouble Sam had gotten himself into, or sometimes, just the weather.

“Authorities are searching for this woman—” a grainy image of you wearing a wig, a hood, and jeans appeared on screen, and he supposed it’d been caught on CCTV, “—whose identity is unknown, but she has been potentially connected to at least seven murders over the past four months; all of well-respected, family-oriented men across multiple state lines. She is considered to be armed and dangerous, and if you have any information, please call—”

Your bowl and spoon clattered to the floor. "Oh, fuck."

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[whales-are-gay]

this... "coupon"... you say will.. go on a "redemption arc"... and in doing so will be "redeemed".. by this..... narrative known as the "barcode scanner"... hrm

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 12

PREVIOUS

If there was one thing no one would ever guess about FF it is that he unapologetically LOVES Black Friday.

You may be thinking. Ugh Black Friday. Everyone is so rude and tired. The deals aren’t even that good. It can turn into a blood sport at the drop of a hat over a toaster that is 15% off.

You are correct.

That is why FF loves it.

It is the one shopping day of the year where every single one of his instincts are correct, valid, and useful. He has pulled his gran out of the way of elbow drops, he has avoided the gaze of a woman in PINK sweat pants who was looking for someone to steal a blender from, and he knows without a doubt that the cashier hates him already so there’s no need to worry about whether or not they hate him.

It’s like a breath of fresh air!

Everyone is just as antagonistic and awful as he thinks they are!

Shopping is actually the blood sport he always feels like it is!

So there he is standing in a line at the nearest store (Target) waiting to be let in with the masses who all look ready to stab one another for better positioning for a TV. The jokes on them though because his only goal is the grocery section and he deals with the threat of repeated stabbings for BREAKFAST.

He spots an IHOP in the distance and hopes his gran doesn’t feel too lonely. They’ve gotten buttermilk stacks together at the IHOP by the mall for years after the two of them finished Christmas Shopping.

Someone elbows him in the side to get his spot in line but FF does not really care. Again, he doubts any of these people are going to be racing him to the all purpose flour.

It’s 4 AM and the barricades come down.

There’s a rush of people pushing and shoving but FF just steps to the side and watches as they all rush in. He’d mostly stayed in the line because the throng of people made it easier to stay warm. He had left his jacket back at the house because the five hour energy might be making his skin feel super sensitive but he is pretty sure that if he wore his nylon jacket he would die.

The five hour energy also may be upping his anxiety just a little bit.

He walks into the store at a leisurely pace and while the crowd fights over the carts he grabs one of the baskets. He can feel the eyes of other shoppers all wondering if he has some insider knowledge on a good deal that would only require the basket or if it’s a matter of who gets to the back to receive the ‘redeem’ coupon.

He sees a few shoppers get lured in by his siren call and much like a siren following anything that FF is about to do will undoubtedly lead to their downfall.

But FF doesn’t care about that.

He cares about HIS downfall.

So he makes his way to the grocery section and ignores the six different shopping assistants who try and guide him to where he ‘should’ be shopping and each of them only give him increasingly confused looks when he states his intention to go to the grocery section every single time.

Is it easier to ignore their stares when the five hour energy have set his baseline heart rate to something that might be too fast to register as a heartbeat? Maybe.

It is easier to ignore the confusion on their faces when he can see both the past (he asked for TWO favors from Andrew in one day how is he still alive???) and the future (still malleable at the moment apparently. There’s even a future where Andrew actually just is trying to make overtures of friendship but he dismisses that one as INCREDIBLY unlikely and looks at the far more viable one where Andrew at least makes his death quick while he enjoys his great gran’s brownies.)

It’s good to set reasonable goals for yourself.

So he arrives at the grocery section which is deserted aside from one employee who may or may not be asleep against a shelf. FF looks and….not a shelf he needs so he is not about to wake that poor man up.

So he gets everything he needs for his great gran’s brownies (he’s trying to buy his life here so he is not about to assume he can use ANYTHING in the house), the ingredients for a good breakfast (because he really needs to eat something that is not a five hour energy or sugar for the sake of his poor stomach and he may as well get enough for everyone), and (since Captain Neil mentioned it & he is trying to buy his life here) the ingredients to bake another pie.

While he grabs cinnamon he checks to see if they have grandma’s love in stock but, alas, it continues to be unavailable commercially.

He stares at the whipped cream for so long that the employee asleep in the other aisle woke up and asked if he needed help and, startled, he dropped it in his basket. “No I’m good.” He says before power walking out of the grocery department and deciding to brave the Home Goods section to buy some incense so that he can hopefully channel the spirit of his great gran to assist him in this, the darkest of his baking hours.

He arrives at the check out stations and finds the shortest line .

He can feel eyes on him, inspecting his purchases, judging them, judging him, who the fuck goes grocery shopping during the Black Friday rush?

FF.

FF goes grocery shopping during the Black Friday rush.

The cashier looks for hidden cameras but FF has no such thing accompanying him today or ever (as far as he knows.)

After a moment the cashier must look at the ever growing line and decide that whatever scheme they think FF is up to isn’t worth trying to figure out. They offer a membership card, FF valiantly declines to get one despite the two attempts.

He is out the door with four bags of groceries that all have a target on them that feels a little too correct. It’s 6 AM now (he really did lose a lot of time at the whipped cream section) and he’s walking back to the house in Columbia.

He actually feels a little bit better since he at least got to experience his actual favorite blood sport (sorry Exy) and he even got another 2 five hour energies while he was in the check out line so he could replace some of the ones that he had gone through.

“Smith?”

He would like to thank the combined weight of the groceries for keeping his feet on the ground when he heard Captain Neil’s voice.

He turns and Captain Neil is looking at him wide-eyed in his running gear that Smith has seen him in. “You were shopping??” He asks.

FF nods and lifts up the four bags as evidence. “Why didn’t you pick up your phone?” He asks.

FF almost scoffs but he doesn’t, “You can’t be distracted when you’re in a Target on Black Friday. That’s how you take an elbow to the eye.” He responds because it’s like Captain Neil has never experienced the WWE-like environment of Black Friday shopping.

Captain Neil blinks at him.

“Text Andrew or me next time you’re going to go off into the night or just let us know beforehand. Andrew would have driven you.” Captain Neil says and grabs two of the bags out of FF’s hand. “C’mon let’s get back and maybe you can get some sleep.” Captain Neil sighs.

“I’m fine.” FF adjusts the bags so he has one in each hand.

Captain Neil does not say anything so FF assumes that he has accepted that.

***

FF had not been asleep on the couch when Neil had walked through the living room. Neil, in a move that had Andrew fully waking up, went back to the room to check his phone to see if FF had texted him an update on going out. All that greets Neil is the impersonal series of texts that mostly confirmed when practice times had been changed, when the bus was leaving, and spelling on various Spanish words.

FF isn’t a big text person.

He’s more of an in-person kind of friend.

Neil likes that about him most of the time.

“What.” Andrew asks face still half buried in Neil’s pillow.

“Smith isn’t on the couch.”

That has Andrew getting up despite the early hour and their activities the night before. Neil watches as Andrew grabs his own phone to scroll through but seems to come up with the same lack of communication that Neil does.

Andrew does do the extra step and hit the call button.

But all he gets is the confirmation that the VM has not been configured that has greeted them every time FF misses their calls. (Voicemails make FF anxious so when he got his new phone he just…never configured it.)

Neil knew that FF was not pleased with them and somehow the calm request to either stop fooling around or let him out had hit him and Andrew harder than any of the screaming demands that the two of them were usually met with from Nicky, Kevin, Aaron, or any of the other Foxes.

“You said he wasn’t mad.” Neil says.

“He nodded.” Andrew confirms.

“Maybe he went on a walk?” Neil tries as they come out to the living room. They look at the front door and find that it’s locked but it looks like Aaron’s keys are gone. “He probably is going to come back if he took Aaron’s keys since Aaron wouldn’t be the one he’d be irritated with.” Neil rationalizes.

“He didn’t bring his jacket.” Andrew says looking at the black jacket still on the hook by the door.

“We can go and see if we spot him.” Neil offers.

Andrew nods and Neil heads out first since Andrew is still in his sleeping clothes and will need some time.

Neil had not expected to find FF walking back to the house with groceries for breakfast and the pie that Neil had mentioned hoping they could bake at the house.

“Is this for the pie?” He asks looking down at what was in the bags he was carrying as the walked back to the house. Neil managed to shoot off a quick text letting Andrew know that it was fine, FF just went grocery shopping.

FF just nods, “Got everything but Grandma’s love.” He says.

FF is a nice guy to brave the stores on a morning like this but FF also looks like he hasn’t slept a wink.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Neil asks.

“I’m fine.” FF repeats.

Neil really is starting to understand his friends’ hatred for the phrase.

They get back to the house and Andrew is sat out in the living room. FF stops and blinks at the sight of him sitting there.

It is a well-known fact that Andrew does not willingly wake up early most days unless he has to. Neil is glad that Andrew has a friend that he’s coming to care about the way Andrew cares about FF.

Andrew gets up and yanks the bags out of FF’s hands. “Go to sleep. Today will be irritating if you’re half-asleep.” He says with a scowl and walks to the kitchen to put away the groceries FF had bought.

FF just looks at where Andrew had gone uncomprehendingly for a few moments and Neil figures he’s just tired. Neil feels guilty that him and Andrew messing around in the car like that had rendered FF unable to sleep and the two of them had agreed last night that from now on when FF is in the car they can talk all they want but hands stay on the wheel and eyes stay on the road.

FF is plopped down on the couch when Andrew and Neil come out of the kitchen after putting away the groceries (“These are the ingredients for brownies.” Andrew had noted as he put away melting chocolate.) and he’s looking through his flashcards again and not sleeping. He hears Andrew make a disgusted noise next to him and the next thing he knows Andrew is smacking the cards out of FF’s hands.

“Go. To. Sleep.” Andrew enunciates.

FF stares at him, then down at the flashcards. “I don’t think I can.” He says which is better than him lying and saying he wasn’t tired even if the truth had Andrew’s mouth stretch into a thin line that meant he was beating himself up for something.

“Try.” Andrew orders. “Just lay down and close your eyes. Nothing will happen to you while you’re sleeping.” He says.

FF blinks but nods turning on the couch and laying down. The blanket is still over on the lazy boy that Neil had set it on the night before and Andrew rolls his eyes before grabbing it and tossing it over FF.

“Thanks.” FF says before closing his eyes.

Neil looks to Andrew who nods and Neil accepts that there’s nothing else to be done for now and heads out on his run.

***

FF can admit that he’s a bit adrift in what Andrew and Captain Neil are doing right now.

He really should go grab another five hour energy because falling asleep IN FRONT of an irritated Andrew Minyard feels like a death sentence but “Nothing will happen to you while you’re sleeping.” And having a blanket thrown over him did not feel like a threat even if he can feel Andrew’s eyes watching him.

FF is tired and when he’s tired he tends to make stupid decisions. So FF lets himself drift off to sleep while the man who was likely going to move him to a secondary location sat and watched.

His dreams are not peaceful.

He’s running, can’t escape, an echo of words he should have considered before letting himself drift off and he knows he’s going to DIE.

He wakes up with a start to the smell of bacon, eggs, and hashed browns with Nicky standing over him. “Hey there sleeping beauty! I made you a plate!” He says and hands FF a plate of breakfast that smiles up at him with a bacon mouth, egg eyes, and hashed brown hair.

FF takes the plate and digs in immediately. He needs his strength.

“Today will be irritating if you’re half-asleep.”

Andrew Minyard was going to hunt him for SPORT.

NEXT

Do your civic duty and: CAST YOUR VOTE TODAY ABOUT MEMES (closed)

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As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly? (Cheesecookie whatever you did let me actually select you this time)

[t00thpasteface]

UPDATE 6/16/2024: TABLET IS FUNDED!! Digital commissions will reopen as normal. This page is to remain up as an archive and for possible future reuse.

These will work similarly to my digital commissions, only with a far quicker turnaround time and less emphasis on super fine polishing, hence the seriously slashed prices. LIMIT 3 CHARACTERS for halfbody; LIMIT 2 CHARACTERS for fullbody!

For purchases, questions, examples, and absolutely anything else you may be wondering about:

ADD ME ON DISCORD @ shebbz (preferred method!)

EMAIL ME at toothpaste.commissions@gmail.com

or message me here on Tumblr!

To futher entice you, I'm offering COUPONS! Redeem at checkout to get a discount on any purchase of a halfbody or fullbody:

$2 OFF if i've drawn this character before

$5 OFF for a drawing of a ship i ship

Coupons DO NOT stack; limit one per purchase!

CURRENT SLOTS:

closed for now!

SEE BELOW for what I will/won't draw (same rules as my digital commissions), as well as terms, conditions, and more:

Buyers will receive their artwork privately at full resolution in .PNG format. All commissions are signed and dated.

All commissions will also be posted here on my Tumblr, at a smaller resolution with a prominent additional watermark, after the buyer has received and approved the final piece. The buyer may be tagged in the post, or may choose to remain an anonymous.

Payments will be through PayPal. I will give you my PayPal once I agree to your commission. All payments are due up front in full.

Payment

After being completed, the commissioned artwork will be sent to you, the buyer, in .PNG format through email to ensure a near-lossless file. Alternate delivery methods are available upon request.

You must pay the entire price in advance, but only if we decide to go through with the commission.

Termination

You may cancel the commission at any time and receive a full refund of your payment until the commission is completed and sent. If I have already sent you the completed .PNG file of the commission, you are no longer able to request a refund for any reason. 

I may cancel the commission at any time and fully refund your payment if I feel I am being coerced into drawing something I am uncomfortable with, but I will not cancel a commission without giving several clear warnings first.

Rights

You may use the commission for any personal or educational purposes, including most social media profiles. You may repost the commission to social media or other websites as long as I am credited by clearly linking my Tumblr. You may use the commission for an icon, header, background, etc. on your personal (i.e. not business) social media profile as long as I am credited.

You may not use the commission for business purposes or profit off of it in any way, such as using it on icons/banners/promotional materials on a for-profit social media account (ex. Twitch, Etsy, official business Twitter accounts), uploading it to merchandise printing sites (ex. Redbubble, Cafe Press, TeePublic), tracing/spoofing the design in your own creative works, incorporating it into a larger creative project (ex. a book, game, or comic), etc. You may not license the personal/educational usage rights to third parties. You may not edit or repurpose the commission in any way that supports hate groups, promotes hateful or bigoted ideology, incorporates iconography and/or dogwhistles of hate movements, etc., whether implicitly or explicitly.

I reserve full legal ownership of the commission and I may repost it to any site. I may use, edit, and reproduce the commission for any and all purposes. In the event of a cancelled commission, you forfeit all usage rights for the incomplete assets and may not edit or repurpose them in any way.

By commissioning me you agree to these terms and conditions.

[allgremlinart]

imagine going on this terrible date with this twink who's misogynistic the entire outing and then he redeems it at the end of the night with this risky romantic gesture but then you go in to kiss him and he's weird about it and gives you a coupon and then when you DO actually kiss him its the most awkward and chaste meeting of lip meat ever animated and then he literally runs away into the night. I would kill

[crescencestudio]

I really want to know what would each LI prefer to get as gifts (definitely not because Fenir's birthday is like more than a month away and I want to be sure for future plans), I kind of guessed they would appreciate anything MC came up with, but is there anything specific they'd like to receive?

U REMEMBER FENIR'S BIRTHDAY?????? ((he's blushing))

🎁 LI's Preferred Gifts

Kayn: i think because they've received so many gifts over the years, they would go crazy over sentimental kind of gifts. so like a locket where they can put a picture of you in it. a perfume/candle that smells like a place you two went to together... things like that!

Druk: likes experience-type gifts. so anything you two can do together or with friends. can be a small trip, a massage, a nice dinner, cooking class, etc. basically anything where you can make some memories!

Fenir: anything related to books/reading. can be an actual book or things that enhance the reading experience, like a comfy blanket or anything that he can use to make notes in his books (cute post-its, highlighter colors, etc.). feel like if kindle's existed in the alaris world, he'd go crazy over one

Etza: they're the type of person who doesn't like to spend money on themself, so i think any elevated, functional gift would go a long way! for example, they would be the type to use the most basic wired headphones and use those forever. so if you got them a really nice pair of headphones, they would be speechless.

Kuna'a: i legit can't think of anything this guy would want yall LFAJISELIFJSELIJ.... this is a man of SIMPLE MEANS... i literally think one of those "i owe you" kind of gifts would be best. like u know those cheesy gifts people give of like "one coupon to redeem a massage from me" and stuff like that? i think he'd go crazy over that.

Aisa: for some reason i feel like aisa would tweak out over something really simple like a bouquet--just like something they're not used to getting. i think as someone who's a bit colder/stronger, they don't typically receive gifts that speak to their softer, feminine side so i could see something like a bouquet making them melt