#and I got horrendously depressed

[mylove-thresher]

Rewatched Alien Stage yesterday…….. holy peak

[smalltimidbean]

No Use Crying Over Spilt... Mice...

Even Though You Really Want To

Not Like You Can Return Them Anyways

[mixmangosmangoverse]

Well.

Uh.

You know I was really excited to publish my Fanseries but I guess that's not happening

[autumnhobbit]

several times since i got laid off i have been around town and seen the trucks going by and wondered to myself if i’m being had and i’m the only one who’s been laid off for real for real and the idea doesn’t necessarily bother me, my intention is to either figure out a trade or get another job if that’s the case, but there’s a weird awkward feeling of wrongdoing about it even though far as I know I did nothing wrong and everybody seemed happy with me as an employee? idk.

[abbotsanatomy]

hello!! i love ur writing you’re feeding my abbot addiction <33 could you write a fic with a depressed reader, maybe she had a hard case that hit close to home that ended badly and is really lingering for her, and jack noticed because she’s been more withdrawn and distant for the past few days and he tries to get her to talk about it and she says shes fine then blah blah fast forward shes on yhe roof crying after working a double :) sorry im a fiend for hurt comfort

⨳ PROTECTING THE HIVE

pairing: jack abbot x chief resident!reader warnings: (20-ish year) age gap, resident/attending relationship, workplace romance, depictions of depression, mentions of suicidal ideation, kinda medical malpractice (lol), panic attack, allusions to child abuse. author's note: i had no idea what to name this, so here's my attempt at being funny... (also keep the compliments coming, they're feeding my ego <33 mwah)

You used to love your bed. It used to be a huge source of comfort. And sleep. Sleep is a special commodity when you work night shifts at a trauma center.

Now, you hate it. Because whenever you aren't working, you're just lying there. Not even asleep, just staring at the ceiling. Half of the time, you want to get up and be with your hot, older boyfriend.

The other half of the time, your mind is just pulling out the most horrendous memories possible, making you relive them, and wish you were dead. There's a bottle of pills on your nightstand you know would do the trick. You won't let yourself.

People rely on you. Jack relies on you. You save lives every day; you just wish you didn't have to lose so many along the way.

The only place you can escape your own thoughts is the ER. So, you throw yourself into your work. You work twice as hard, for twice as long.

Of course, Jack notices. He can see the most imperceptible changes in your demeanor, so this major shift doesn't exactly fly under his radar.

Be that as it may, you won't tell him any of it. He's a natural worrier. He hovers and he worries. That's just who he is. You're doing him a huge favor, really.

Besides, out of all the things your coping mechanism could be, it's saving lives. Who wouldn't support that?

So, you work yourself to the bone guilt-free. You take on double shifts with a few extra hours sprinkled on top. It's more than tiring, but it also means that when you get home and you're in bed, you pass out. You don't lay there for hours thinking about the kid who died in your ER two weeks ago.

You're careful about it, too. You change your scrubs and chug a cup of that terrible break room coffee before Jack comes in for the night shift.

Tonight's another one of those long, grueling, self-inflicted shifts. You've got a Red Bull in one hand, and a patient's bloodwork in the other. You've assessed labs like this one a million times, but the numbers aren't making any sense right now. Parker passes by you with a quick tap on your shoulder to bring your attention to her.

“Hey, you want me to count you in for the rock climbing thing this Sunday?” she asks, opening up one of the ER computers, “It was fun last time, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say slowly.

You're not too sure you can come up with a viable excuse right now, so you'll just have to cancel later. It was really fun, it just sounds like too much effort right now.

She walks away with a nod, when one of the nurses calls for her. When you start feeling surrounded in the middle of the ER hallway, you make your way to the break room. It feels even more stuffy, somehow.

You grip the papers in your hands tighter. The throbbing in your head that hasn't really left for the past two weeks has become unbearable now.

Noises are too loud. Everyone's too close. You need to get out, now.

Everything in your hand gets abandoned on the break room counter. You make your way as swiftly as possible past the patient’s rooms. A hand gently grips your arm, before you can pull the emergency exit open.

“Are you alright?”

Jack's low cadence coupled with his steady touch on your arm make you want to burst out into tears right then and there.

“I'm fine. I just—” your voice cracks.

“I need a minute,” you tell him, willing your voice to be as firm as you can manage. You can't even pull your gaze up from the floor. It isn't clear if he's buying it or not.

He lets go of your arm, and you can finally run up the hospital's stairs to the rooftop. You're completely out of breath, and still wildly overstimulated by the time you get there.

You pull the roof's metal door open. The moment the cold December air hits your face, it calms your panic down. But it brings with it a wave of sadness that can't be quelled or distracted away. You let yourself feel it.

You're out of control, now. Hands shaking, limbs completely wracked by these huge, full-body sobs. You steady yourself with your arms on one of the roof's AC units, when the memories start flooding your mind.

The kid you killed, he'd come in a week before. He had bruises all over, cuts where he wasn't supposed to. You passed the information onto someone on the day shift, so they can tell the department social worker. The next day you came back, he was gone.

A week later, he was dying in your arms. His blood literally staining your hands is a memory you'll never be able to erase. You spiral, his first and last visit to the ER flashing in your mind with equal consequence.

The footsteps growing closer barely register to your ears over your wailing. The moment Jack pulls you close, a hand on your jaw to bring your eyes to his, you instinctively pull away. He's insistent, though. He was trying to give you space, but look where that's gotten you.

“Hey, hey,” he says firmly, to grab your attention.

You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. He quickly realizes he can't get you to understand anything he says, not right now. So he does the next best thing.

He holds you. Really tight. So tight you can only smell his cologne and that sterile hospital scent that lingers on him for hours after a shift. It reminds you of home. You see him almost every day, but you miss him. He somehow always knows exactly what you need.

It takes a good ten minutes for you to stop crying in his arms. He's happy to be there, just glad you're slowly calming down. When your breathing evens out, and your eyes have dried out, you look up at him.

Where you think there should be disappointment, maybe even hatred, there's only admiration. If you’d actually picked up a scalpel and killed someone, he wouldn't even flinch, you think.

His gaze alone is making this a lot easier, “Better?”

You nod. Your eyes feel heavy, like you might just sleep here in his arms.

“It's the oxytocin,” he jokes.

“Yeah. I know,” you chuckle.

His scrub top looks incredibly comfortable. For the first time in weeks, you wish you were just in bed. You could lay on his chest and have the best sleep you've had in too many nights to count. The best you can get right now is resting your forehead on the black fabric. That's exactly what you do.

Jack lets a few seconds go back before speaking up.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I...” you take a deep breath.

I killed him. The words die on your tongue. You can't say them.

Jack must notice this is causing you distress, so he runs his fingers through your hair. He kisses the top of your head to calm you down.

“We don't have to, right now,” he whispers, “Not ever, even. But you do need to talk about it to someone.”

You nod in agreement, against his shirt. Your coping mechanisms are so not working.

“When was the last time you ate?”

You blank, “I don't...I don't know.”

“Sleep?” he asks.

You shake your head.

“Alright. You're done.”

He pulls your head up with a hand on each cheek, “Clock out. Go home. Have some food, and I'll be there in a few hours.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

You both walk to the emergency exit. In the stairwell, you turn to him, your eyes still glistening.

“Hey, um. I'm not fine, Jack,” you admit.

“I know that,” he tells you. “But you will be. I'll make sure of it.”

You believe him.

[plutoasteroids]

PAC How Will Your Future Spouse View You

Pile 1 Pile 2 Pile 3

DISCLAIMER THIS IS A GENERAL READING TAKE WHAT RESONATES AND LEAVE WHAT DOESN'T.

Strictly for entertainment purposes.

PILE 1

So, before I get into the tarot bit of the reading the overall vibe I am getting is that you and your future spouse will be that couple that are still doing cute stuff together even in old age. You know those older couples you see on TikTok on dates still happy and very much in love, yeah like that. One word I can use to describe it is cozy, just very warm and affectionate basically feeling like this person is your home. It's going to be like 'I'd rather come home to you then be anywhere else'.

On to the tarot bit, Your FS sees you as someone very confident and optimistic (even if you don't see yourself that way). They see you as being positive and very wholesome. Again, before I pulled cards I channelled and I still got the warmth.

Oh my gosh, if any of you have read The Song of Achilles that's basically it. Before anyone points out to me they were a same sex couple .Yes, I know but I am talking about the relationship dynamic between Patroclus and Achilles.

You may have gone through a difficult time in your life and your future spouse will admire how strong and resilient you are, how you're able to adapt to challenges and changes in environment. You may be the type of person who is connected to both their divine feminine and masculine and they truly find that attractive.

They certainly view you as their other half and I know its cliche to say soulmate but that's all your future spouse is saying. You just give them so much happiness and emotional fulfilment.

'They are my home, my soulmate, my forever'

PILE 2

Ugh Pile 2 your spouse will literally worship you😩. Like you'll tell them your insecurities and they'll just sit there kissing every scar, mark, dimple anything you're insecure about they'll adore. If you're a female or a feminine reading this and you have thick thighs I heard them say 'Come here and crush my skull with those sexy thighs'. Whoever you are you have someone's poor child down horrendous for you.

I think they may be the type to just watch your social media whether you are getting to know each other, dating, engaged or married your social media pages, pictures and videos will always be on their phone screen and they won't go to sleep without listening to a little voice message you sent. Once they get attached baby there's absolutely no getting rid of them, I heard 'You'll have an easier time getting rid of bed bugs'.

When you meet them, they may be a party animal or a player.

Disclaimer it's not toxic obsession more like they will let you be your own person but at the end of the day they are yours and you are theirs, you are their spouse, and they are your spouse and they will forever put you on a pedestal not to the open where they will neglect themselves.

They see you as a prize (again not in a creepy way) You may have options when you meet this person but best believe they'll make sure to stand out and win you over. They see you as the best the world has to offer in terms of what a wife/husband/spouse should be. Your person may have had a few letdowns when it came to love and just know that they see you as a dream come true and again, I know that's very cliche but trust me when Isay they view having you as a spouse as their biggest accomplishment and they want you to know that they'll prove to you every day they are worthy to call themselves your spouse. They feel like you have gone through a period of depression and sadness, and they want you to know that they acknowledge it and they see you as strong every day.

The couple I channelled for you guys is Queen Charlotte and King George from Bridgerton.

PILE 3

First thing I heard 'Sugar Daddy'. This person will spoil you but love you even more. Yes, they may have money and give you gifts but this person truly does love you, care about you and respect you.

They may be older than you that's why people may think that they are your glucose guardian which is not technically wrong and not technically correct either. I feel like that will be a long term joke you two have about them being your sucrose supplier..

They will definitely view you as delicate, I want to say that they are the protective type but not protective to the point of you feeling suffocated by them. They want you to be comfortable and have what you like 'If my spouse wants that watch I'll get it for them'.

They will view you as fun loving, yet you have this air of power to you that they love. Sure, they view you as delicate and they want to protect you, but they also view you as strong and beyond capable of taking care of yourself and those around you basically your spouse is saying 'they want me, but they don't need me'. They know that you can walk away from them anytime and they like that you're always in your power no matter what.

Your spouse admires how you don't need them to feel whole or for financial gain they see you as a breath of fresh air, a change of pace, an adventure.

He may touch you a lot with your consent obviously, like a hand on your waist, shoulder or they may steal little quick kisses. Also, there may be a lot of friendly banter in the relationship.

The couple I channel for you guys is Fallon and Liam from Dynasty.

[hehe-69]

Jacob Black x Reader

“His love could burn against me like a bonfire.”-Levellan Dragon Age

Part 1 series is completed

Warnings for the series: Lil bit if cursing, tooth rotting fluff and ofc angst!

Reader is described as a more understanding and patient person in serious situations, but they often use sarcastic and jokes as a coping mechanism. They cannot read the room, but don’t worry I will try to save you from cringing. Also they act like a normal person having to put up with all the BS of discovering vampires and werewolves exist. (I cannot save you from my horrendous writing and spelling)

They are not physically described except for being shorter the Jacob.

Also for plot purposes your dad dies when you were 7. Ties into you and Jacob’s relationship, you can change it in your mind to be a close family friend instead of you want. (Side characters man they die like gold fish)

Summery: Reader grew up in Forks and is willing to be whatever Jacob needs them to be, a friend, someone to confide in, anything even though they wished so badly to be something more.

But what happens when they discover that Jacob Black has been ghosting them and joined Sam’s infamous cult.

Reader’s patience is put to the test as they struggle to come to terms with their new reality in which vampires and werewolves actually exist and that they may never be anything more the second best.

In this story, Jacob Black gets the love he deserves. And you get to see how deeply and lovingly devoted Jacob really is when he’s in love.

The writing gets better I promise

This fic is completed, there are 17 parts and 3 bonuses on the way. They’re just reader and Jacob going to prom and them getting married. Bc some people may not want to go to prom and may not want to get married and that’s completely okay. Plus a little something special.

————

Most people who lived in Forks Washington could not stand the cold wet weather, but you thrived off of it. The rain and mist made the town feel like something out of a book or even a movie, though some days you could do without the cold.

Today was one such day. Bleak and cold, depressing, so on. Unfortunately for you, today’s weather was only foreshadowing the frustrating forecast of the next couple months of your life.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” You mumble out in disbelief, as you sat wide eyed at the scene before you. Jacob Black, the boy who was supposed to be sicker than a dog on his death bed with mono, was cliff diving with Sam and his cult. All his long hair was cut and you could faintly make out a tattoo on his right shoulder, the same tattoo you and him had spent way too many hours picking apart.

You couldn’t wrap your head around it all as you watched him jokingly push one of the cult members, he was laughing and joking around with them as you had spent weeks debating whether or not you should start writing a funeral speech for Jacob Black. “I’m actually going to kill him!” You say through clenched teeth, as you grab out your phone and start looking for Bella Swan’s number.

“Hello?” Bella’s voice calls throw your phone, laced with confusion due to the fact you haven’t spoken since her isolation.

“Did you know about Jacob joining Sam’s cult?” You hiss out.

“What!” Bella exclaimed, “there’s no way Jacob would’ve done that!”

“Yeah that’s what I would’ve said 5 minutes ago except for the fact that I just saw him cliff diving with them on my way back from school!” Putting your vehicle back into drive you continue your drive home.

“CLIFF DIVING! Me and him were just making fun of them for doing that a 3 weeks ago!” You could faintly make out the sound of Bella slamming one of her house doors shut.

“What do you mean 3 weeks ago?! I thought he had mono!” Now you were starting to get pissed.

“He said he got mono after we went to the movies together.” Aka when you third wheeled as Jacob and a blond boy with a squeamish stomach fought over Bella. You almost wanted to throw up at the memory of listing the the blond gagging. “Well apparently he got better real fucking fast! I thought I was going to have to start with planing his funeral.”

“No kidding” Bella laughed out. “I’m headed to your house. You and me are going to confront him about this together!”

“Bella-“ before you could even finish saying your name she hung up on you. “For fucks sake cant people have normal conversations on the phone for once!” You say under your breath.

—————

About 20 minutes after pulling into your driveway Bella’s Orange Truck pulled up. And you hopped right in.

On the way to Jacob’s house Bella explained to you that she had confronted Jacob before in person and he told her to go away and stay away, along with a whole lot of cryptic bullshit.

“Watch he’s gonna tell us he’s a vampire or something.” You joke, Bella didn’t laugh infact she started to get pale at the thought.

“God I hope not.” She says it as if she’s met one before.

You side eye her. “Bella that was a joke…I wasn’t being serious.”

“Oh,” she laugh out nervously. “Yeah I knew that” she does that head, blinking thing she does when she’s nervous. “I was joking too.”

“Right.” You begin to wonder what effect her isolation has had on her sanity as you stare out the window. “Vampires being real would explain why your boyfriend is so horrifically pale.” You chuckle at the thought, and glance at Bella…who is significantly more pale.

You decided that you really did not want to know, vampires aren’t real…right?

—————

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS GOING ON!!!” You scream out as a 6 fucking foot wolf who was once Paul??? Is about to rip you and Bella apart.

(10 minutes earlier)

“Do you think he’s home?” You ask as Bella parks her truck and kills the engine.

“Billy will tell us he’s not home, but we’re not leaving until we’ve searched that entire house for him.” Bella hisses as she opens her door and starts walking to the porch of Billy Black’s house.

“Well we won’t be looking long considering Jacob is built like a tank and is over 6 feet.” You mumble to yourself.

“He’s not here.” You hear Billy tell Bella, he obviously lying to you. Billy Black is a horrible lier.

“Really Billy?” You exasperate “When are you going to learn that lying is not exactly your strong suit.”

Billy sighs and rolls out of the way as Bella opens the screen door and makes a b-line for Jacob’s room.

“Sorry Billy.” You mutter out as you follow behind Bella. You faintly hear Billy talking to himself saying that he’s getting to old for this shit. Which you would’ve let yourself chuckle at if you hadn’t seen Jacob laying in his bed passed out.

“Oh for-REALLY!” You exclaimed.

“Shhh!!” Bella hushed you and pointed towards the tree line behind Billy’s house, where Sam and his cult were walking out of the woods. “If we want answers I say we talk to the ring leader.”

—————

Bella was on a mission as she started matching her way towards the group of boys. You were right behind but you could help but get the nagging feeling that maybe this wasn’t going to end well.

“What did you do!” Bella starts shouting. “What did you do to him?!” She exclaimed as she literally pushes Sam.

“Bella chill out!” You hiss, you were not about to get into a fight just cause she starts getting aggressive.

“No I’m not going to chill out I’m gonna get some freaking answers.” Bella shoots back at you. Why she doesn’t cuss like a normal teen you’ll never understand.

“He didn’t want this!” She shouts, and immediately after that Paul starts getting defensive.

“What did we do?!” He starts “what did he do?! Hm! What did he tell you?!”

“Okay everyone just calm down.” Sam says trying to defuse the situation.

“He hasn’t told us anything!” You rush out.

“Yeah because he’s scared of you!” Bella all but hisses. Not what you were going for but what the hell.

They all start to laugh at that. “Okay what’s-BELLA!”

Bella slapped Paul in the face. Bella Swan, shy Bells Slaped PAUL LAHOTE in the face. And his boy is LIVID.

“Haha too late now.” You hear one of the boys say, you too focused on the fact that Paul looks like he’s going to kill the both of you as Sam tells you and Bella to get back.

Paul begins to growl and is actually fuming. You grab Bella and put her behind you as you start back peddling. “What the fuck!” You whisper to yourself.

And suddenly you hear the sound of clothes ripping as Paul’s body contorted into a the shape of a GIGANTIC FUCKING WOLF.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS GOING ON!!!” You scream as a OVER SIX FUCKING FEET WOLF who was once Paul is about to tare you and Bella apart.

“RUN!” Bella yells and starts booking it towards Billie’s house.

“YOUVE GOT TO BE SHITTING ME RIGHT NOW!” You yell as you start sprinting as fast as you can right on Bella’s heels. You didn’t even slap him and you’re the one that’s going to die because you wanted to protect your friend? HOW DO YOU PROTECT SOMEONE FROM A OVER SIX FOOT PISSED OFF WOLF.

As you and Bella are running Jacob jumps over the railing of his house and starts running towards you. “Bella!” He yells and then his eyes flicker to you and widen and he begins to sprint toward the two of you.

“JACOB RUN!” Bella yells as she sprints.

“SERIOUSLY JAKE TURN THE FUCK AROUND AND RUN!!!!” You scream at him. Just as Bella is about to run into Jake he jumps over the both of you and turns into a fucking wolf too???!!!

You and Bella are both on the ground now and you turn to look at her to see if she’s seeing what you are. And the look on her face confirms it. You look back to see a reddish brown wolf who is apparently Jacob fight a silver wolf who is Paul.

You feel like you’re having a fever dream no way in hell is this actually happening. “IS THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!” You look to Bella again who looks horrified and suddenly you wish you were back home taking nap.

Paul and Jacob take their fight into the woods and Sam tells Embry and Jared to take you to Emilie’s place.

“Guess the wolfs out of the bag!” Embry jokes, which you would’ve found kinda funny if it weren’t for the fact that your would was falling apart.

“Oh my God,” you chuckle out laying down on the ground with your hands on your head. “This is it…I’ve lost my goddamn mind.” You mutter to yourself and the two boys laugh at you.

“This is just the start better buckle up, it’s going to be a crazy ride.” Embry teases as he helps you up.

“I think I’m gonna pass out.” You breathe out as you feel light headed. “How are you so calm right now!” You ask Bella.

“Well uh,” she starts off awkwardly. “Edward is kind of ummm…” she doesn’t meet your eye.

You feel your stomach drop, all your teasing and jokes, all the times you said ‘maybe his a vampire’ AS A JOKE. You were right?!

“Shut the fuck up!” You say as you start to hyper ventilating. “Hey hey breath!” Embry says trying to calm you down.

“YOUR BOYFRIEND IS A FUCKING VAMPIRE AND YOU LET ME GO TO HIS FUCKING HOUSE WITH YOU!!!!” It was too much! two boys you’ve know all your life could turn into wolves! And your best friend’s boyfriend was a blood sucking vampire! And you have been to his fucking house, A DEN OF VAMPS.

“WHAT THE FUCK BELLA!!” You yell as you lose your shit. “Dude come on just breathe it’s not that deep!” Embry says. You start to slow your breathing down.

“All of you better start explaining before I start swinging!” You state as soon as you and Bella load up in her truck with the two boys.

“Yeah sure more violence, cause that worked so well last time!” Jared rolls his eyes at Embry. “Dude read the cab.”

“There’s no way you just said that with a straight face.” Jared reply’s and Embry laughs out as he starts the truck and they begin fighting back and forth.

You sigh out and turn your head towards Bella. “Start talking asshole!” Hiss at her as she smiles apologetically.

———————

This is basically a pilot of sorts, there will be more parts and I pinky promise I will not abandon this story.

Also feel free to comment anything or let me know if you want to see more. And thank you for making it this far. I was mainly trying to do like if a normal person was in twilight and experienced all this.

I promise my writing will get better this is more of a how you find out wolves and vampires exist and we’ve all seen this scene before I’m not going to bore you with details

Part two

[galahadwilder]

Does the Doctor Brush Their Teeth?

Nine: usually yes, but depression means he forgets sometimes

Ten: no, you see, Rose, I’ve got this device that cleans my teeth for me, saves so much time, don’t even need to—

Eleven: HORRENDOUS tooth decay.

Twelve: what day is it

Thirteen: teeth must be fresh for kissing girls because what if she kissed Yaz with BAD BREATH that would be MORTIFYING

Fourteen: Donna says brushing my teeth is good for me and I have to be a good role model for my niece

Fifteen: steals your toothpaste

[darlingdreadwrites]

Scary? My God, You're Divine

pairing: Ticci Toby x GN!Reader

summary: Toby's been feeling insecure all day, and you snap him out of it.

contains: toby being insecure, fluff

word count: 1.1k

masterlist

a.n: this is the first thing ive gotten myself to write in weeks oml.... and yes im still alive LOL just been depressed and coping horrendously

The forest is quiet, save for the occasional chirp of birds in the distance and your conversation. The evening air is cool, carrying the scent of earth and pine. The fading sunlight paints the horizon in hues of amber and rose. You sit cross-legged on the slightly damp ground, absently brushing aside a twig as you chatted away. Your voice carries an easy, lighthearted cadence as you recount a ridiculous moment from earlier today. The punchline slips from your lips with a chuckle, and you glance at Toby. Not even the faintest sign of amusement. Just what was going through that head of his today?

Toby sits a few feet away, legs tented with his arms draped loosely over his knees. His hoodie is pulled up, the shadows of the fabric obscuring a full view of his face. His head rests against his left shoulder – angling just enough to keep you out of his peripheral vision.

He’s not even listening, you sigh to yourself.

You had noticed that he was uncharacteristically quiet for hours. And yet – whenever you would ask if he was okay – he would brush you off with joke. It seems that now he doesn’t even have the energy to fake not being upset. Unbeknownst to you, Masky’s voice is still echoing in his head – cruel and biting.

“I don’t know what they see in you, ugly as you are.”

The words had clung to him like burrs – twisting into his thoughts sharply. He hates how easily it got under his skin. He never gave a fuck about his appearance before, why was he so worried about what you’d think of him now?

Toby barely registers your voice anymore – or the fact that you had even stopped talking. It was a soft and familiar hum that would have soothed him on any other day. But right now, he feels undeserving of even that—your presence, your attention. What could you possibly see in him?

He shifts, a quiet tic jerking his arm upward before he forcefully presses it back down. The clicking of his tongue follows, barely audible because of his painful restraint. He lets out a sharp exhale, his jaw tight under the hood’s shadow.

He’s so distant. The way his head is hung – as if the weight of his thoughts is too much to bear – makes your chest ache. Fuck this, I can’t take it anymore.

Scooting closer, you lower your voice to a concerned tone. “Toby… are you okay?”

He stiffens, his fingers tightening around the sleeves of his hoodie.

“I’m f-fine,” he mutters, but the crack in his voice betrays him. He keeps his gaze fixed on the ground; the corners of his mouth tight.

You sigh, leaning in. “No, you’re not. Talk to me. Please.”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. His silence stretches long enough to almost make you ask again. He lets out a sharp exhale, his fingers fidgeting with a loose thread.

“Wuh-why do you ev-even… care?” he mumbles.

“What?” You blink. “Why wouldn’t I care?”

He looks up – just for a moment – before averting his eyes again. His jaw works like he is chewing over words he doesn’t want to say, but something inside him cracks.

“Look at me-me.” His words are bitter. His hands gesture to the scars lining his face, at the deep gash cutting into his left cheek that exposes his molars. You swear you catch him flinch when you follow the movement. “I cuh-can’t even—how can, can you st-stand to look… at me?”

His voice wavers when he forced out the last words as if it pained him to even voice his thoughts. His hands drop to his lap, clenching into tight fists. His head is bowed like he expects you to agree and run away screaming.

You reach out instead, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

“Toby,” you say softly, waiting for him to look at you. When he doesn’t, you squeeze. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, his eyes meet yours. A storm of doubt and shame swirls in them.

“I adore you,” you begin, your voice steady. “Every single part of you. Your scars, your tics, even the things you think make you unlovable—they don’t. They’re part of you. And I think you’re beautiful.”

Toby simply stares at you, his breath catching audibly. His throat works as if he is trying to swallow the lump rising there.

“You… you d-don’t mean that,” he whispers.

“I do,” you insist, your hand sliding from his shoulder to gently cup his cheek. Your thumb brushes over the rough texture of his scarred skin.

His lips part, but no words come out. He just stares up at you – eyes wide with a blend of disbelief and yearning. He almost doesn’t know how to process the sweet words you’ve offered to him. You hold his gaze, and let your affection speak louder than any of the words you’ve spoken.

Toby is quick, pulling you into his lap in one fluid motion despite the way his hands tremble. His arms wrap tightly around you, and you’re surrounded by his warmth.

His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, his warm breath uneven against your skin. He clings to you to keep himself grounded. His shoulders shake, and you feel the slight tremor of his tics. There’s a small jerk in his arm, a subtle twitch in his fingers. But Toby refuses to let go.

“Y-you don’t—” His words catch in his throat. He presses his lips to your neck instead. The kiss is soft but almost desperate.

“I-I need y-you,” he murmurs against your skin. His breath hitches as he moves up to your jawline – leaving a trail of featherlight kisses. “Don’t… don’t leave m-me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You run your fingers through his messy hair. Your other hand traces gentle patterns on his back. You let him hold you as tightly as he needs – offering him every ounce of reassurance he craves.

It feels like he can’t decide where he wants to kiss more – your neck or your face. Each one lingers, a quiet hum escaping his throat. He tilts his head to brush his lips on the corner of your mouth before turning his attention to gently suck on your neck briefly.

His hands roam – not with any intention beyond connection. One squeezes your hip, while the other slides along your arm and back. He needs the physical reminder that you are here – with him, loving him. And he loves you. Oh, he fucking loves you.

The hand on your back pulls you closer into his lap. His body twitches again – accidentally causing him to squeeze you hard enough to make you yelp. He lets out a frustrated – and apologetic – huff, but you hold him tighter.

“’S okay,” you whisper, your lips planting a kiss on his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[cretaceos]

how to paint pitch blue in dark red — vampire oscar. (landoscar)

Lando doesn’t look behind when he hears the noise of an opening door. He mostly doesn’t care; it’s a public pool, could be anyone. But then he remembers it’s rather late, and he’s specifically in the indoor area, where it's more lonely and moody. Some nice place to be mourning.

His head tilts back, noticing a woman walking away, as a male enters. The big windows that should be facing some sort of garden are closed, and even though it’s dark outside, Lando wished they were open. The view might be debatable, but it helps the feeling of claustrophobia, being stuck somewhere he can’t escape.

Takes him more than minutes to realise it’s Oscar. The walking gives it away. How he comes close to the border before jumping, childish-like of him, in Lando’s opinion—although if he got himself in the water, he‘d probably do the same. He emerges again in the middle of the large blue extension of tiles. Somehow, the sickly white tone of his skin seems to match with the surroundings. Lando looks away. There’s still the winning glow on Oscar.

He chose to not get wet, sat there and swung his feet only, feeling the hot water enveloping his sore ankles. Oscar stares at him. Lando knows, even though he doesn’t have the powers of genetics on his side. Not like Oscar does. However, Lando became quite a professional at feeling when Oscar is ogling him, never giving it too much thought and just assuming it's something vampires do. Stare. 

Oscar swims closer, making waves as his body cuts through the pool, closer to Lando, who sighs in defeat.

“Why are you here?” He sounds more annoyed than he should. But then Lando’s still depressed over the weekend, couldn’t manage a better tone when Oscar was disturbing his peace.

“Didn’t know you bought the place, mate.”

Lando holds back the urge to fight back. No, but I could.

“Forgot my sunblock, in simpler terms,” Oscar completes before Lando can say anything further. “Sucks to be around here without suppositories.” 

Lando knows that too. Mainly because he heard Jon commenting on how it could go bad for Oscar and all his lab rats modified genes. Not as bad as Lando would like because it’s still a night race, but it should’ve been uncomfortable for him anyway.

They don’t usually burn in the sun, like the obscure stories he heard as a kid; nevertheless, light and vampires don’t usually go well together. Seems rather unfair looking from outside; people like Oscar get to be the summit of human civilisation and still have to give things away. No long walks on the beach, unless you’re filled with proper medicine for that. No common diet, blood at least two times a day to stay healthy. And still.

There he is—race winner. The type of champion that attaches to your neck and—takes.

“Why are you here, though?” Oscar’s voice travels across the area, echoing through the walls, shattering his skull. “Reckon you could go somewhere nicer, the beach maybe.”

Lando side-eyes him, “No, thanks. Maybe when it’s not pitch black outside.” 

“Suit yourself.” 

Oscar dips his head, trying to get the water to fix the messy situation on his head. His hair smells like champagne, a reminder of a podium, also a note of Lando’s horrendous, dismaying performance. It weighs. The win, the gap, the pole, the champagne, and his fangs out and grinning for a crowd. The win.

“Thought you guys didn’t get along well with water.” Lando bursts out before he can get his mind around it.

Oscar frowns, “That’s holy water, it’s different.”

Lando hums in agreement, trying to wrap his head around why people made in laboratories, with the finest equipment ever, get hurt when some blessed liquid is thrown at them.

Silence stays for a moment. It’s unfair. Oscar won; it’s done, nothing else matters, time’s not going back, and there’s nothing Lando can do about that besides sitting around and collecting his mistakes. He’s being selfish, a bit of a cunt too. Sharp tongue wanting to hurt Oscar, share the pain of being two steps under.

“I can hear your heart.”

Oscar turns to him, pupils wide, shaking. Rabbit caught hopping too high.

“Did you eat?” Lando asks, unsure, holding back the grin; it’s nice to see him suffer for a while.

“No, had a problem with my pills too.”

Oscar tries to play casually about it. Lando knows he has to cover up the earlier loss, either by drinking blood or getting himself some pills to enable the hunger until he gets a chance to kill it. He can’t have either of those.

“C’mere.”

Lando wonders if at least part of what his mother told him as a kid is true. That vampires are, indeed, creatures with the purpose of hunting only. Their ruby-coloured eyes, white skin—never seen the sun—and the endless boredom—no long walks on the beach—are part of their gifted traits. 

Oscar hesitates, as if he’s not sure whether it’s safe to approach. Lando wants to scream.

“C’mon, mate,” he whines, “I don’t have all night.”

Oscar swims carefully, like any disturbance in the water would break down the moment. Lando is not used to this. He’d only ever seen the version of Oscar that does not feel the unhinged hunger. His eyes were never dark, and his canines never begged for skin like they seem to do.

Lando’s insides bubble in fear. Suddenly he’s aware of how uncontrolled Oscar looks, almost losing it as he gets closer. Lando would like to break him down and eat the crumbles.

Oscar places himself in the middle of Lando’s legs. Suggestive and bold. Kind of careless too, trusting too much that Lando won’t try to drown him.

“Open your mouth.” 

Lando can’t tell why he asks so or explain the painful beating against his chest. Adrenaline crawls in his veins, and mania begins showing itself inside his brain. Caged behind his skull, he’s becoming deranged, obsessing over the slow pace that Oscar obeys. His pointy fangs lay protuberant on his tongue.

He rubs his thumb against them. Counting, marking, feeling the hard pressure on the tip of his finger. Lando goes further. Circles his molars, premolars, brushing his tongue on the way. Oscar stares, passive and silent, breathing heavily, salivating around Lando’s knuckles.

“Do it.” 

Lando moves, shoving his wrist against Oscar’s lips. He hesitates again. Could be a trap.

Oscar’s falling for it.

“It’ll hurt.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure about—”

“No, Oscar, to be very honest.”

Lando has that trembling voice in him, like he’s begging for it. Imploring for a bit of pain as a punishment, perhaps wanting to be hurt, gushing organs and sorrows.

Oscar bites him.

Lando can’t tell, but at some point the world spiralled into chaos blue. Oscar licks on his wrist, tongue darting out, blood flowing down his throat. Red cells, leukocytes, all dripping down his chin. He looks good like that. Some scarlet feverish dream, starving for every single part of flesh.

He sucks the teeth mark, and then Lando notices he’s hard because it makes his dick ache.

“Oscar.” 

The name rolls out without his wanting. Lando’s body feels limp, controlled not by him but by someone else. By Oscar.

He turns to Lando. Messy cheeks, all red and shiny, almost like he’s been deprived of eating for days. He looks good. Wild, feral, ready to rip off Lando’s viscera. He licks his lips before getting them back to work, ignoring the tent on Lando’s trousers.

“Oscar”, Lando pushes himself to the stained pool, blue meeting ruby; some barriers are being broken.

Oscar holds his waist, pinning Lando against the border, too focused on getting dirty with his blood. Lando’s head lolls, embraced by the hot water and drunkenly reaching for Oscar. His hips moving forward, reaching and reaching.

Oscar shoves his thigh between his legs. Lando doesn’t catch the exact moment he starts humping, but it happens. His senses are numb, cock throbbing in his pants, hurting. He wants to get off so bad. Just a bit more. Oscar should take more. Bite again and suck him dry. His hips move faster.

Lando drops his forehead on Oscar’s shoulders, whining shyly. He’s offering. Showing neck and whimpering whenever Oscar rubs his tongue against the swelling wound on his wrist. Oscar grabs his hair, forcing his scalp with savage fingers. He’s still dirty with blood, and Lando wants it so much.

On his lips. Maybe above. Maybe under. Bite. Take more, drink him up and absorb all he ever had to give, swallow up the sadness and anger, raging over stupidity. Drink him.

Lando comes with a cry, drooping over Oscar. His muscles are gone; so is his right mind. Nothing echoes inside. There’s silence and murky water. Still weights, the sun, the podium. The bite.

[kopilot-pop]

[Tired] pt.2

- Le Sserafim x 6thMember!Reader

Summary: After a harsh criticism from one of your teachers, you started to fall into a bad habit again. You started staying overnight at the company, your knees are always bruised, and you probably shouldn’t have 3 cans of Redbull everyday… Thankfully, your bandmates have easily recognized your behaviors and decided to put it to an end.

Warnings: overworking, self-hate, depression, suicidal intentions (very minor), fainting, hospital, needles,

a/n: sorry for the long wait. This is a bit shorter than I expected, but I hope you guys still enjoy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The horrendous amount of caffeine started to take a toll on you.

During one of the last practices for your comeback, Chaewon stared at you worriedly.

But you were too busy staring at your shaky hands to notice.

After chugging another can of Redbull, you finished the practice and finally turned on your phone. Several missed calls and notifications from your group’s chatroom covered your phone.

You didn’t have the energy to care.

You fell asleep on the couch in the practice room.

You have a comeback tomorrow after all.

-----

Furious is an understatement.

Chaewon is absolutely mad.

The 6 of you gathered at the studio for Music Bank on the day of the comeback. While getting ready with makeup and outfits, you could tell the girls wanted to talk to you but were too busy to.

When you all finally got up to the stage, the jittery feeling became more intense. As the second verse started your stomach started to churn, your throat closed up - you almost missed your lines-

and once again you couldn’t stop staring at your shaky hands with bloodshot eyes.

Until you froze.

Your eyes met Zuha’s. And you watched in slow motion as she ran towards you, barely catching your body before it hit the ground, and the spotlight in front of your eyes shut down.

-----

“…..ays-… y..… med…-”

You finally woke up with a pounding inside your head.

The moment you could blur out the bright light above your head, you could see Sakura’s face and feel the cool cloth on yours.

She was carefully wiping away the sweat on your head and quickly noticed your eyes open.

“Y/n! How are you feeling?”

At the same time, you could hear a loud crash on the other side of the room.

“Y/n unnie woke up?!”

“Y/N ARE YOU OKAY-”

“G..guys… calm down..”

The three younger girls ran up to you, seeming to have been lounging on the couch together.

Eunchae, with teary eyes, pulled you into a tight hug.

“Hey! She’s not stable yet!! Don’t push her around!!”

Your leader walked through the doors to pull down the three puppies from you.

“Thanks..”

After a few moments of awkward silence, Chaewon finally started.

“You passed out on stage Y/n.”

“Chaewon, don’t be too harsh.” Sakura tried her best to keep the situation calm.

“I know unnie- Y/n. You fainted due to malnutrition. When’s the last time you ate anything?”

“…I’m not sure..”

“Of course you’re not sure. The only thing you’ve been putting inside your body was energy drinks-”

“Unnie..”

“No- We were all thinking so I’m just gonna say it- We thought you were gonna die Y/n.”

She said it so matter-of-factly that you could almost laugh. Almost.

“Why would y-”

“You were barely home, working like a slave every fucking day, starving, and depending on pain meds- so yeah, OF COURSE WE THOUGHT THE WORSE!!”

You finally gained the courage to look up at her teary eyes.

“Do you understand the amount of fear I felt when I saw you drop to the ground yesterday?! How terrified we felt when you didn’t wake up when Yunjin screamed your name?!!”

“I-..”

“Kazuha carried you to the hospital because she was too scared that something might happen to you if she let go!! Can you even imagine being that scared?!”

You looked down at your lap, fiddling with the needle(IV drip) inside your hand. Sakura gently held your hand to stop you.

“That’s enough Chaewon.” She said.

She’s never stern, but this time she was. Sakura gave you this look, something just like the one your mother always gave you.

Worried, angry, but somehow warm.

“We were scared Y/n.. More than the fainting, I was scared of losing you just like last time…”

Last time? Oh yeah. You almost killed yourself during debut.

“We care about you. You know that. All 5 of us love and cherish you, sometimes even more than anybody else in the world. And watching you slowly fade away like that just…”

She started to choke up. It was rare to see her like that, so you instinctively shot out to pull her into a hug.

Holding onto you, as you might just fade away, Sakura softly sobbed into your shoulder.

When you felt another weight on your back, you turned around to see the youngest also snuggling into you. Probably the person you mostly didn't want to catch you in such a depressing state.

"I...I'm sorr-"

Yunjin, with the same teary face all the others choked out;

"It's not your fault."

She slid next to the edge of the bed, gently holding onto Sakura's hand right on top of yours.

"I wanted to be better. Good enough to stand by you guys. I just wanted to-" You felt the tears finally fall free from your eyes as Chaewon with the same frown (albeit a bit softer) held your face.

Gentle. God, they were all so gentle with you.

"You are. You are good enough. You are good."

Watching you sob out, Kazuha finally joined into the pile, right next to Yunjin as she dries your tears with her old sweater sleeves.

You let out another ugly cry as you feel the 5 girls' warmth trap you. You forgot that you were good enough. You forgot how loved you were.

But just like always, they were there to remind you once again.

"You're loved Y/n. By us, always."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[vanillaanillav]

Something I’ve been thinking about is that Till and Ivan knew from as soon as they got the layout of the bracket that they would end up against each other. And while we know what Ivan’s plan was—he would likely throw their match—what the hell was Till thinking? Was he trying not to think about it? His focus in the first round was to confess to Mizi, but he also Very forcefully ensured his success by pulling the rug out from under his opponent. 

Of course they both knew Ivan would win his match. Did Till think he had a chance, or did he think he’d lose? Before Mizi went missing and he suddenly got super popular, was he planning to give his all? I imagine he must have been. Maybe justifying it with the idea that Ivan would win anyway, so he’d go out with a bang, as was his pre-depression philosophy. 

There’s still so much we don’t know about Till’s feelings about Ivan—I think a purposeful move from the creators. I know they chose specifically to make Ivan’s feelings unrequited to contrast Mizisua, but they were friends! And if not friends anymore, there was some sense of comfort and familiarity in just knowing each other. Till acted aggressively to Ivan, but all in reaction to what he thought was intentional provocation (see: cheer up comic). And despite that, he let him follow him around.

In the scene where Ivan touches the cut on his face, he initially reacts aggressively and then sees that it’s Ivan and… calms down? Or gives up? It’s bizarre, I don’t think he’s scared of Ivan exactly, but in these tiny windows we see into how he feels about him, it’s very mixed. I wonder if he feels guilty about turning back when they were kids. Or he doesn’t know how to process Ivan’s attention or what to do about it. 

It should be clear that Ivan is like, embarrassingly horrendously terribly in love with him, but when Ivan kisses him he’s SO shocked. He pulls away, but after the second kiss he looks like he starts to realize that like, oh, this is for real, and there’s just a tiny moment of that before he thinks Ivan is trying to kill him and he gives up. 

There’s something to be said about how he just accepts that Ivan is trying to kill him after he kisses him. After going through what he went through with the aliens—there’s the split second of confused realization, and then he accepts it as just someone else taking something from him, violence and physical intimacy irreparably intertwined. 

I wonder what he thinks when Ivan gives him that last small kiss. If he took the other kisses, this one he gave, this one a gift, a tiny reassurance. I wonder what he thinks after all of it—it’s so much to process in such a short time. I would pay a hundred million dollars to know his thought process in that moment like holy shit man. 

Also, in relation to Ivan’s dislike of Sua and then his later hypocritical sacrifice, a lot of people have talked about how he wasn’t being a hypocrite because she was leaving behind a lover and he was leaving behind the object of his affection, not someone with a mutual feeling. And I think that’s true. I imagine he knew he was going to do the same thing as her and lashed out partly as a kind of projection. Partly out of jealousy that she Had a lover to leave behind, while he thought Till wouldn’t really care about his death.

But I also think (based on the Stage 6 comic) that he gets a brief moment of clarity at the very end where he realizes that their situations aren’t so dissimilar after all, hence the “I shouldn’t have been so hard on her.” He really cocooned himself in the idea that Till didn’t care and would never care, in a way where it almost became comforting to him. But, in those final seconds, after choosing to be selfish with the kiss and then be selfless with his sacrifice, he did realize that Till will be affected by this. Hence, thanking him for being the victim of his fragile feelings. 

It’s such a sad idea… only being willing to contend with the possibility that someone cares about you in some capacity when you’ve already made your exit. It’s cowardly and I think he knows that, but I also think it’s part of that final indulgence he takes. He gets to kiss Till and gets to avoid a world without him. Till gets to live. It’s hard to say which is the better path.

[microknifeyuri]

i need people to focus on the other stuff on the episode that isn't taco/mepad like yes i get it they're the main thing but there's also so much shit going on aside from them?????? knife literally became a protector and left his "jerk" persona behind and we got confirmation that he did it because of mic (he genuinely cares about her + changed for her). suitcase and baseball went through an genuinely horrid moment for their friendship despite the fact that they were working on it in episode 14. suitcase genuinely wants to talk about everything with bb and bb fully knows he wants to focus on suitcase. lightbulb recognized her mental health was terrible (which is a big achievement for you know, a severely depressed woman who struggled HORRENDOUSLY with toxic positivity) + the closure of her arc ended with the phrase of "we're proud of you, no matter what". HELL steve cobs was once again showed and it was literally just heavily implied that he might be the big plot point on the next ep. mephone4 went back to being horrid because he's still scared of everything even though he's motivated to fix things now. microphone is shown to be on a safe and happy enviroment. mic and pickle are friends. like so much shit happened on the ep why are you guys only focussing on taco like i get it she's the star of it but also a LOT of important shit happened aside of her????

[weepingtalecowboy]

Wind got no armor (plot wise or else way )

Fanfic prompt:

I like to think that the hero spirit is essentially plot armor for the links

Which is why nobody in the chain is getting the fantasy rabies called black blood

Seen as twilight somehow miraculously survived

Except wind doesn’t have the hero spirit

And is a child as well

He tiny

He has no armor

This combination would be horrendous

Lil guy has no plot armor whatsoever

One injury in general proximity to black blooded monsters and he just evaporates out of existence

Like he already acts like a rabid child

This might as well happen to get literally

While time and warriors are freaking out about the fact that wind probably will die without ever going to the war of eras

And wind just :

Like him just leaving his mortal body

But instead of being depressed about it he just joins the group of ghosts already present

And they couldn’t tell he was dead for several months because he was just so casual about it

Like champions at the very least acted like it bothered them that Wild has to fight while they are just being ghosts

Marin and shadow are abstract concepts

Legend's uncle introduced himself as having died

And he never acted differently from when he was alive how would they know

And nobody could truly tell if he was just being wind and stealing the captain’s belongings or pranking the chain or straight up haunting them like he was playing into the stereotype

The chain wasn’t happy about it

[valley-of-headcanons]

Could you write some headcanons for Sebastian comforting his spouse who has anxiety and depression stemming from a less-than-stellar upbringing? I tend to need assurance people aren't mad at me and I avoid conflict cuz it tends to make me cry. Got to wondering how he'd handle all that lol.

rest your head, love || sebastian x farmer oneshot

after getting into an argument with haley, anxiety courses through your veins. but, sebastian is always here to help you through it <3

warnings: reader fights with haley (sorry haley lovers 🙏), hints towards abusive parenting but nothing outright described. nothing too dark, simply a comfort fic :)

requested by: anon! hi, i'm so sorry this took so long to come out! another one requested before my unannounced hiatus 💀 anyway! i love this request, this is probably one of my favorite things to write about, i love comfort fics 🙏 thank you so so so much for the request! also changing this into a fic because i believe the format would be easier :)

Stepping through the doors of your home, the expression on your face showed that you're absolutely defeated. Your demeanor was clouded by anxiety, and Sebastian could tell. As he rose from his computer and walked closer to you, he wore a worried expression. “Love, are you doing okay ...?”

You softly shook your head, sitting down on the bed and staring off into space. “I-I ... I got into an argument- ... with Haley. And ... I just feel like I ca- can't really breathe, y'know ...?” you stuttered out, putting your shaking palms against your face.

Sebastian sat down beside you and rested a hand on your back, rubbing circles with his thumb. “You can't take anything Haley says seriously, she's just insecure. She's just a bitch,” he mumbled to you, although it didn't seem to help. He knew that this was deeper than Haley, it was something much deeper.

Kissing your temple, Sebastian softly took your hands in his. “Hey, I want you to listen to my voice. Exit your mind, it's too dark of a place to be in right now. Would you like to sit in my lap?” he asked in the softest voice he could, offering his comfort.

As you crawled into his lap and wrapped your legs around his waist, you felt his arms caress your back. Tears started flowing from your eyes and you buried yourself in the crook of his neck. “I-I just hate arguing, and she said- she said so many things that I-I've heard too many times before and- I thought that I got away from it all! I'm just so- ... I'm upset and I can't help it ...”

Sebastian removed his hands from your back and cupped your face, wiping the gentle tears from your cheeks. “It's okay. You are away from it, I promise. Nothing's gonna hurt you here, not even Haley. You're none of the things Haley said, not a single one of them, do you hear me?”

You gave a silent nod, leaning into his hand. “... not even when she said I was annoying? Or boring? Or- ... anything?” you said, attempting to take deep breaths between your shuddered exhales.

“Yes, dear. You're none of those things. You're not annoying, why else would I even be here? You're not boring, you actually interest me more than any of the people in the town. You actually have a personality, you don't seem as 2D as everyone else ... you're everything to me, so please don't think stupid things like that. The people who say stupid things like that just don't get it. Now relax, let me take your mind off of it for a little while,” Sebastian said in a stern yet comforting tone. He held you tight to his chest, rubbing your back while he rocked softly.

He knew all about your past. He knew the horrendous things that you've witnessed, you've heard, you've felt. He was hellbent on mending that part of you, even if it meant a small bit at a time. He'd stay up all night with you if you needed, but you had fallen asleep in his lap soon after you felt safe enough to. He laid back on the bed, pulling you close and wrapping the cover around you both. He could finish his work tomorrow, nothing could beat these soft moments with you.

Pressing another soft kiss to your temple, he whispered to you. “Goodnight love, rest your pretty head,” he muttered, before closing his own eyes. He slept soundly next to you, holding you close the entire night. Nothing could beat this.

[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."

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