#and I got horrendously depressed

[mixmangosmangoverse]

Well.

Uh.

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

[tleeaves]

THIS IS EVERYTHING TO ME AND MORE OMFG I LOVE IT

I am utterly captivated by this video series that Taryn Delanie and friends have been making on TikTok

[queercatboyrights]

totally not me having one of the shittiest mental health crisis known to man for like, the last week

[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.

[littlestarprincess]

#humans don't even talk about our pheromones that's probably weird to other species

Humans don't even realize how extensive our scent based communication is.

Sexual arousal can change the chemistry of our breath within seconds (both with onset of arousal and like. Offset? Do you call it offset???); anxiety and depression both have distinct smells (know someone who regularly smells sour and disgusting despite looking clean? They might not be doing so hot mentally! DO YOU STRUGGLE WITH SMELLING GROSS WHEN YOU'RE FRESH OUT OF THE SHOWER?? It might be your mental health rather than something inherently wrong with you or your body!) and babies secrete a scent on the tops of their heads that is what new moms are talking about when they can't get enough of smelling their kids heads. That new baby smell is literally there to encourage caretaking.

Pheromones are not even just a sexual thing. They permeate our day to day lives, and humans have no fucking idea how much information they're picking up on other humans through smell because so much of these scents are like . . . invisible to our conscious minds.

Okay so hear me out. Alien who is very close with their human crewmate, and is used to you smelling like the various products humans use for personal hygiene. This is perfectly fine, maybe they even grow an attachment to your preferred brands of deodorant and lotion, but it leaves them completely unprepared the first time they smell your unmasked body odor and realize oh yeah, humans are very sexual creatures and produce pheromones accordingly. It's the alien equivalent of seeing someone you already like half-naked and having an "Oh no they're hot" moment, except you don't even realize the effect you're having on them because you just got done training or woke up from a very sweaty nap and just want to shower.

[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.”

[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

[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????

[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.

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What a curious animal you'd become.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

You had forgotten how hard this was; being alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lady, look—"

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

"I am! I am!" he cried.

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sat up to find a bush burning beside you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Great."

****

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

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

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

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

Out of nowhere, you thought, 'Uriel.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

Slowly, the man came to.

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

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

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

"What is it? Money?"

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

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

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

"What does that—"

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

He nodded timidly.

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

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

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

"No! No way!" he said.

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You rolled you eyes and turned away.

"What is it?" Uriel questioned.

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

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

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

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

When you turned around, Uriel was gone. 

****

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The elderly man’s screams broke your heart.

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, finally, he nodded. 

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

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

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

Then, finally, Dean accepted. 

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

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

“God, fuck you,” Dean panted. 

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

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

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

Dean hung his head low, unmoving and not answering. 

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

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

Your breath caught in your throat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

[r0ckboi]

OUAW Disability headcannons!!!!!!!

I want more disability rep. and I see prime real estate in Avantris campaigns!!!! Le Krew are my first victims in this devious campaign I have planned.

Kremy

Kremy is missing several body parts from either selling them or being taken due to pay off his immense debt. He walks with a cane now because he’s missing some toes and the tip of his tail is gone. Hims balance is shit!

Gideon

Severe PTSD and lacking some pain receptors. Both of these are pretty self-explanatory; when you’re tortured on a slave train thing your body and brain will get a little funky.

Gricko

Gricko has severe asymmetry to the point where he’s got a limp due to one of his legs being shorter than the other. When Hootsie started to get bigger she noticed that her dad was having trouble walking, so she started to push against him so he doesn’t go off track too much. When Hootsie got kidnaped Gricko unconsciously started to lean against Frost to help him keep balance.

Morning Frost

Severe sensory issues, and the freakouts were horrendous before he got his mind powers. So… duck and cover if Frost touches something that he thinks is icky. There are spots in his fur, if you look close enough, that are completely missing. It’s down to the bare skin; some of his skin's stripes have scars. He developed his mind powers because of his sensory issues and got that “the ickies can’t affect me if I don’t touch them” mindset.

(Tigers have stripes on their skin if you didn’t know. Photo for reference.)

Torbek

Severe Anxiety and Depression disorders, he had these from way back from before he worked at Carnival Lecroux but they’ve become exasperated over the years. After being turned into a witchlight experiment he developed DID with his main alter being one that was based on a high-ranking bugbear he had met during it. I personally don’t really care for evil killer alter so I like to think that Torbek’s alter is just a protector that won’t stop at anything to keep Torbek safe.

Twig

This brownie is legally blind. Do not remove her glasses; she can’t see!! Pigtunia is her smelling eye pig. I’d say seeing eye pig, but Pigtunia also cannot see very well. I headcanon that Pigtunia is one of those pigs with the really saggy overbrow, so she uses her sniffer to get around.

𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥𖢥

I was going to add chuckles to this, but I decided that it’d be better saved for Stardust or something like that. These are just my headcanons as well, so feel free to agree with them or pretend they don’t exist.

Also, why are there no pet the Twig gifs? >:( Respect my girl

[somewhereincairparavel]

hiii, can you pleasee do a rivals to lovers jason grace x daughter of thanatos 😫😫😫😫😫

ghost girl x golden boy!

warnings: slightly ooc platonic nico, the reader has no social skills and kinda fumbles but it works out rlly well in the end <3 I enjoyed writing this a lot more than necessary lol

jason grace x daughter of thanatos!

you and jason always butt heads. it was no secret, everyone knew. the feelings of rivalry and hostility initially only came from your side. As the daughter of thanatos, you naturally pulled away from sunshine-y personalities. You convinced yourself that it was because you hated seeing people so cheery and annoyingly bright. But, it was because you were convinced that if anyone even remotely bubbly stood next to you, they would lose their light. but that was only part the reason, the other half was simply because you enjoyed seeing the sunshine-y jason get riled up only because of you.

You'll admit that you had a slightly sadistic pleasure in seeing that boy angry.being cold rivals with jason was rare, jason never actually disliked anyone from camp.

Hell, he didn't even ‘hate’ octavian, he just avoided him because they wouldn't get along but never actually cared much about fighting with him, since octavian was a lost cause. so the fact that you were one of the unusual ones to be able to get on his generally calm nerves really intrigued people. Heck. It even intrigued jason sometimes. Well, that was when he actually tried being nice to you, after your regular episodes of horrendous uncalled for attitude towards him, the mere mention of your name would have his icy blue ices hardening.

In the initial time he tried being nice to you, hoping that he could form a friendship with you like he did nico, you would harshly push him away, glare at him for no reason, and comment on his insecurities as insults, hoping that it would drive him away from you. Nothing worked apart from the insecurity jab that got so far one day that it was successful enough to hurt him after the constant insults getting hurled his way. One has their limits. Even nico wasn't as mean to jason initially as you were, so jason begun to genuinely dislike you, which was well deserved on your part, in your opinion.

Now during camp meetings, you two would always argue over the silliest things, like cabin renovations. You would start the fight, obviously. Jason tried to avoid you, like he did with octavian, but he couldn't, since you always ignited the disputes. So he chose to get into spats with you. And only then, did you realize that you were mistaken about jason being ‘sunshine-y’. He was actually quite sarcastic and sharp tongued when he wanted to be. You’ll admit, you were quite taken aback by the blunt and annoyingly witty responses you got whenever you argued. alright fine. you were starting to find this newfound trait of his, insanely attractive. which was secretly the reason why you chose to pick fights with him almost every day. you wanted to see that side of him more.

You were training when you saw the blonde boy at a distance, in the nymph gardens.. laughing… with a girl?... oh.As the golden boy of both the camps, it wasn't uncommon for him to be asked out by people left and right. he would politely decline all of them with a sympathetic smile. But you never actually saw him being all over-cheery with one of them, which was probably why you never bothered being envious, until now. It did NOT help that the girl was so ethereal.

“seriously y/n? you were being mean to him because you found him hot when he's mad? you're hopeless.” nico rolled his eyes as he painted his nails in a depressing shade of dark gray. “you don't get it Di Angelo. we'd never be a thing, I swear he doesn't even want to look at my direction.”“yeah, and I wonder who's fault is that. Yknow you could've at least let him befriend you when you had the chance. That boy tried HARD for months. you could've taken it slowly and somehow you wouldn't be here, moping like this” nico grumbled.It was understandable why nico was annoyed. One, because you were, indeed stupid, and two, jason is one of his closest friends, so you being rude to jason all these months kinda bothered nico more than he let on.

“Look. I'm the kid of the god of darkness. I'm basically a walking grim reaper, I'd have had no chance with Mr golden boy, who has such a high reputation with gorgeous people lining up for him to date. So it's not like I'd have stood a chance even if I'm on talking terms with him” you said miserably, realizing how stupid you sounded. nico was right. you screwed things over with jason because of self hatred and doubt, and now the realization only hit after you saw him being with other people. mission failed successfully.

“woah okay. you sound just like me when I used to talk about will. I know I'm like.. the last person who should talk about self love and acceptance. But, we were wrong about ourselves, y/n. us being the kids of darkness doesn't mean we're not worthy of love. I was the one who asked will out, not thinking he'd accept, but look how that turned out. Our biggest sabotagers are ourselves.”

“you recycled will's sappy poetry lines to come up with this one, didn't you?” you expected nico to look offended, but he smiled slyly.

“yep. and it works like a charm, everytime.” He replied, before his face contorted to disgust. “but ew, I don't know how Apollo kids do it, I had to sacrifice my dignity and ‘mysterious’ reputation to give you sappy self help encouragement that I am equally bad at myself. Don't make me do it again. ever. and not a word to will” he said, shooting you a death glare.

This had you genuinely break down laughing.

Here you were, in your depressing cabin. so, because of nico’s erm.. insightful advice. you plucked up the courage to go to jason’s cabin. it was empty, so you grumpily chose to leave, that is, until something caught your eye.his glasses were on his bedside table. Typical jason. Too busy to even notice that he forgot his glasses before running off for camp duties.without even thinking, you picked them up, and dashed to your room before his admirers came into his cabin to leave him love letters or something like that, which happens on a daily basis.Soon enough. You heard aggressive knocking on your cabins door.

You opened up, only to see the son of jupiter glaring back at you icily. He thrust his palm out and said angrily, “hand them over.” “Hand what over?” You asked, feigning innocence.

“You know what.” He shot back coldly You took the glasses out of your pocket.

“Looking for this?” Jason stared back at you with a stoney expression. Which, you admittedly found more cute than scary, because you were used to seeing it all the time.“okay look.. I'll give it back to you… if you listen to what I have to say first..” you begun slowly. It was either now or never. I mean, what's the worst that could happen right? gods of olympus, nico's sappy advice transmitted through will to you was really starting to have an effect.

jason’s expression was now filled with a mix of confusion, confliction and irritation, before he curtly replied. “just get it over with. my head aches, from both talking to you, and not wearing my glasses.”

He raises his eyebrows as you gazed into his icy, calculating eyes, eyes that would mirror the beauty of the morning sky around other people, but would go back to being cool around you.

“I am sorry. for everything. for being mean to you when you never even deserved it. for pushing away your advances when you tried forming a connection with me, and just ruining your already stressful days by arguing with you. I-” you stopped for a few seconds trying to collect your thoughts, so you formulate your words correctly so you don't fumble before you said the next few words.

You took a peak at jason's expression, and his previously icy expression starting melting into shock.“I only did all that because I didn't know any other way to hold a proper conversation with you. Irritating people is the only time where I don't turn into a nervous, bumbling mess of a person. It's the only time where I sound cocky and confident, even though I'm just a pool of darkness and grim energy that nobody wants to be around with. I guess what I'm trying to say in this roundabout way is that I like you, Grace.”

Your face turned bright red before you even bothered gauging his reaction, so out of instinct, you thrust the glasses into his still open palm, and half slammed the door in his face out of embarrassment. But jason held the door with his hands before they could fully close.

He stepped inside.

shit.

You turned around abruptly, ready to shadow travel yourself out of this mess, but jason caught your arm, turning you around and gently tugging on your hand to prevent you from going anywhere.

“look at me.” he said you shook your head stubbornly while keeping your eyes shut.

“fine.”

A few seconds later, you felt his lips on your nose, and eye lids.That shocked you enough to get you to open your eyes. you found him slightly grinning at you.

“what-”

“Y'know, if you wanted to go on a date with me so bad, you could've just told me, instead of being such a headache all these months, we would've been a couple a long time ago” he said, still smiling amusedly at your expression.

“you like me too?” you asked, unable to comprehend the abrupt change of atmosphere or the smile he was directing at you.

“um.. yes? why else do you think I wanted to get to know you so bad a few months earlier? It was you who chose to give me the attitude and attempt to drive me away, making me return the sentiment.”

“But how could you like.. me? when you have so many pretty and kind people lined up to date you, like the brunette you were laughing with in the garden, was that a demeter kid, by the way?”

jason stared at you for a few seconds before chuckling. You literally never heard him laugh like that in front on you.“oh her? she's one of thalia’s acquaintances from camp, she told me that thalia's birthday was coming up soon and gave me ideas on what I should give her, she didn't confess to me, y/n..”

oh.

“and even if anyone did ever confess, i would've turned them down. because, you're the only person I enjoy arguing and debating with. whether you realized it or not, the only reason I even bothered spending hours reciprocating your silly fights, was because I knew that's the only way you would talk to me somehow. so, we're even after all, ghost girl” he said smiling slyly, before he pulled you in for a long kiss, your hands on his face and all.

that's how Nico Di Angelo, the most unlikely person to ever give love advice, actually ended up being your final nudge. dam him and will's sappy poetry.

[zelphin124]

Dust x YN Short Story

You simps... this is the result of this poll.

Uh, yeah... Here we go I guess.

THIS IS YOUR FAULT @kuuuuro YOU BIAS LIL NUGGET /lh

I swear I have motivation somewhere-

~o0o~

Twenty weeks.

You started to lose count of the days as you circled your cell. The sun was setting again, so your evening meal would arrive soon.

Nightmare had kidnapped you not so long ago. All you could gather was you were being used as a bargaining chip. If your friends didn't make enough negative energy in your AU, you would die.

Depression would be achieved either way.

You heard tales of the negative king. You know that he had a brother who was the positive opposite of him, you also heard fantasies of him having a soft spot for people, wanting to just have a time of rest.

None of those were true at all.

He was the definition of evil. He was cruel and treated everyone poorly to feed off it. He didn't care about anyone, not even his own employees, who were the ones that brought you food. He laughed in the face of requests and always got what he wanted, one way or another, often making others kill for him.

This led your train of thought to the various employees. There was Killer, the smiley, toxic one. He never shut up and obeyed Nightmare like a dog. He was the one who wanted to cause you the most pain. His addiction to blood and knives didn't help with that. You found it unsettling how much black ink dripped from his eyes when he looked at you. You knew he saw you as an object, nothing more. He has threatened to do horrendous things to you to please his boss... but... he hasn't laid a hand on you yet.

Horror was the second employee. He appeared to be the polar opposite of Killer in personality but equally as unsettling. He would stare at you for long hours, his bulging red eye unwavering and not blinking. You have overheard many conversations that he wanted to save you for a meal. Whenever he was hungry, he lingered not too far from you. If it weren't for the negativity he gave off when he was unable to eat you, you were sure Nightmare would've let him already.

Then there was Murder Sans. He was the quietest, and the one who didn't say much, if at all. The entire time you've known him, he lurked in conversations and only gave off nods, shrugs, and head shakes as communication. The other two employees were terrified of him; they often talked about his LV levels and how he could kill them easily. Although all of them were murderers, he was the only one reluctant to do it again.

Especially to you.

When he came to give you food, you didn't have to cower in the corner or tell them to leave. He barely said anything to you, but he's whispered enough words to tell you his voice was rasp and aloof. His eyes never narrowed at you, and he didn't stare like the others. If you caught him staring, he would respectfully look away, going about his business. He always ensured that you got the best food and that none of it dropped before it reached you. Sometimes, he would take the food that he got and give it to you. His coworkers always said he acted weird when he saw you, but you couldn't quite tell why.

You couldn't tell anything about him, in reality.

The door to your cell opened. You pressed yourself against the damp, cold, stone bricks of your cell, the chains around your ankles clamped tight. You prayed that it wasn't Killer again; you didn't want to fake happy feelings in your heart for Nightmare to come take him away.

You couldn't tell which coworker it was until their entire body walked down the stairs. They all wore the same clothing, and the only difference they had from one another was their faces.

You saw the hooded employee holding a candle in one hand and your food in the other. You sigh in relief, the pace of your heartbeat slowing down tremendously. His red eyes glowed softly as his gaze shifted towards you. He looked more tired than usual.

"Your food," he raises it up before setting it down by your feet.

You were starving. Before he could say anything else, you gulfed down the food before him, delighting at the taste of mashed potatoes and green beans. Although you used to be picky, prison has taught you to like every form of food. Anything that Dust brought you tasted good.

He watched you eat before sitting down in front of you. You didn't notice until your food was good. Thanking him for the food, you lay back down on the paved floor, hoping that you wouldn't get back pain as you slept.

Murder traced his hands across the floor before he looked back up at you. "It's boring in here, do you wanna watch a movie?"

At first, you were confused. Did you want to watch a movie? Of course you did; anyone would take that over sitting in a cell again all night. Heck, you haven't been out of the cell in weeks, and you started to smell, let alone go crazy. You nod, telling him you wish to, but you couldn't because you were chained-

The bones that flew through the chains around your frail body shattered as bones shot up from the ground. For the first time, the weight of the metal was off your skin, setting you free. You reach down and rub your ankles and wrists, which you were unable to touch weeks before.

As you were distracted, you felt hands wrap around your waist and legs. Your eyes widen as he hoists you up into his arms and carries you out of the stall. You yelp from shock, asking him what's going on.

"I need a movie partner. Horror doesn't want to watch movies with me anymore," he explained nonchalantly. "And call me Dust, please."

You were about to ask more questions but kept your mouth shut as he carried you through the castle and up the stairs. You passed the dining room where the rest of the castle inhabitants were.

"Pass me the sauce Horror!" Killer cried.

"No, I'm using it." Horror dumped a large amount of sauce onto whatever he was eating.

"You're going to eat it all!" Killer whined.

"Both of you shut up," Nightmare twirled his food around with a fork, looking slimy as ever.

Despite being so close to your kidnappers, they did not notice you and Dust. Not even Nightmare caught a glimpse of the silent worker carrying you up toward his room, as if he had years of practice slipping away...

As he opened the door to his room, you were greeted with a heavy scent of forest pine. His windows were open and a soft breeze blew into his room. It wasn't the most tidy room, there were a few hooks and a red scarf lying across the floor. His bed was massive and faced a TV, which was on its home screen. There was little to no light besides the gaping moon outside.

Dust set you down by the bathroom door. "Shower, clean, whatever you do I guess," he scavenged through his dresser. He pulled out a hoodie and some sweatpants. "I just washed these, will these work?"

The clothes he gave you looked so comfortable, and nothing would do besides the rags you were in currently. You didn't waste time and headed into the shower, finally cleaning yourself of the prison stench you had become so accustomed to. Despite Dust's appearance, it was clear that he took good care of himself. He seemed to have a higher respect for himself than the others.

As you walk out, you barely put on the hoodie, finding Dust on his bed scrolling through different videos. He glanced you up and down and patted the bed next to him. "Do you have a movie preference?"

You inform him of one of the movies you used to watch. Dust shrugged and pulled it up on screen as you sat beside him. Although you tried to keep your distance out of respect, he pulled you closer to him and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. A single pillow was what kept you from being buried in his chest.

You felt the blood rush to your face. Why was he being so nice? You were a prisoner, yet he treated you like a comrade, if not like royalty. He offered you popcorn and watched the movie in silence, asking only two questions throughout the show. He was polite, and he made sure you had enough blankets to keep you warm, and he offered his hand to squeeze when you got scared at certain parts.

When Killer came banging on the door, Dust gestured to you to stay quiet as he changed his voice, barely talking to Killer through the door and telling him to go away. However, he seemed very tired when he sat on the bed again... and fell asleep on your lap.

At first, you panicked. What happens if someone barges through the door? If someone sees you, what will you say? Would they finally kill you?

But something else told you that there was a reason why you weren't dead yet. Perhaps Dust advocated for you and kept you alive behind your back. Perhaps he didn't want you dead. After all, he did want to watch a movie with you.

You gasp from surprise as Dust's arms wrap around you like he is hugging the most treasured thing in the world. His face was buried in your shoulder, and he breathed slowly. If you hadn't fallen for the skeleton and all the kind things he's done for you yet, you sure did now. He was so peaceful as you stroked his head, not moving so he could sleep. He was so kind to you, giving you food and finally freeing you from prison.

You couldn't figure out why but decided not to think about it as your own eyes got droopy. Despite your situation, you had no trouble falling asleep in Dust's arms.

Maybe you'll wake up from this wonderous dream.

Or maybe you'll find out that there is good in everyone after all.