#anyway I’m insure of who is the better brother

[jewish-space-laser]

also not to be like, needy on the internet, but i’m having a hard night and i need to laugh so send me funny things. tik toks, jokes, i don’t care please please share and laugh with me

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Crossroad Blues | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: canon gore, canon violence, imposter syndrome, discussing grief and parental death

Word Count: 4935

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You sighed heavily as you pulled up a photo of Dean’s mugshot from the St. Louis Police Department. “Well, you’ve got a warrant out in St. Louis, and now, you're officially in the feds’ database.”

Dean grinned at you across the diner table. “Dude, I'm like Dillinger or something.”

“Dean, it’s not funny,” you scolded. “We’re fucked if we’re not careful.”

“Well, what do they got on you two?” Dean looked between you and Sam.

Sam muttered, “I'm sure they just haven't posted it yet.”

“No accessory? Nothing?” Dean chuckled.

“Shut up,” Sam grumbled.

The older brother laughed. “You're jealous.”

“Why the fuck would he be jealous, Dean?” you hissed.

Dean seemed caught off-guard. “Whoa, sweetheart, relax—”

“No, this is serious, man,” you replied, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. “Dee, I was completely off the grid before I met you. Now, we all got arrested— thankfully, Diana’s getting our mugshots and prints wiped from Baltimore— but I’m undocumented! My mom told me she gave birth to me in a motel room. This was after my parents had already been ‘missing’ for years. My brother and I have no birth certificates, I don’t have social security, I don’t have insurance, I don’t have a real driver’s license— they can book me for that reason alone. I’m fucked. You didn’t kill anyone. They actually have legitimate reason to book me.”

Dean’s plucky attitude dropped, and he turned around, slightly angry. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t exactly plan on getting arrested. And I’m sorry it screwed you over, okay? Chill out.”

You glared at him. “ ‘Chill out’?” You chuckled coldly. “ ‘Chill out,’ he says. I wouldn’t be as angry if you weren’t making stupid jokes.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop, okay? Jeez.”

Sam huffed. “Okay!” He slid papers between you and Dean who were scowling at each other. “Architect Sean Boyden plummeted to his death from the roof of his home, a condominium he designed.”

Dean looked away from you and down at the paper, but you kept your eyes trained on him. “Hmm. Build a high-rise and jump off the top of it. That's classy. When did he call animal control?” Dean questioned.

“Two days earlier,” answered Sam.

“Did he actually say Black Dog?”

“Yeah. A vicious, wild, black dog. The authorities couldn't find it, no one else saw it; in fact, the authorities are a little confused as to how a wild dog could get past the doorman, take the elevator up and start roaming the halls of the cushiest joint in town. After that, no more calls, he doesn't show up for work, two days later he takes a swan dive.”

“Do you think we're dealing with an actual Black Dog?” the older brother asked.

“Well, maybe,” Sam shrugged.

“What's the lore on it?”

The brunet slid another page over to Dean. “It's all pretty vague. I mean, there are spectral black dogs all over the world, but some say they're animal spirits, others say death omens. But anyways, whatever they are, they're big; nasty.”

“Yeah, I bet they could hump the crap outta your leg,; ook at that one, huh?” He held up a picture and smirked at his brother. 

Sam glared at him.

Dean’s smirk slipped. “What? They could.”

Sam got up from the table and began heading out of the door. You followed Sam quickly. Dean grabbed your arm and spun you back around.

“What, Dean?” you snapped.

He shrank under your glare. “Look, I— I’m sorry, okay?”

You dropped the tension in your shoulders. “Yeah, me, too. I just— I worry about you. And you guys completely turned my life upside-down when you walked into it. And everything’s changing so fast; it’s kinda scary.”

Dean nodded as he started walking. “I get it. If it makes you feel any better, you’re changing my life, too.”

You looked over at him and smiled softly. He couldn’t quite meet your eyes after that admission.

***

You and the brothers interviewed the deceased’s former business partner, and the man seemed a little bitter. Apparently, Sean Boyden was a terrible architect around ten years ago. Then, suddenly, he was in Architectural Digest. A piece of information he gave you, though, aside from his bitterness, was that Boyden used to bartend at Lloyd’s before his overnight success.

Then, you went to the animal protection agency to gather information on complaints or phone calls about a Black Dog. You were the one who went in to gather intel because you weren’t willing to take the chance of Dean being recognized from the St. Louis APB. You got back in the car and explained to the brothers what you’d found out. You held up the complaints list you’d gotten from the secretary. “Every complaint called in this week about anything big, black, and dog-like. There's nineteen calls; all from Dr. Sylvia Pearlman.”

You headed to the woman’s home to interrogate her, only to find that the woman had disappeared two days ago.

“Hi, we’re Animal Control,” you told the woman who opened the door. “We’re looking for Dr. Sylvia Pearlman?”

“The Doctor— well, she— I don't know exactly when she'll be back, she left two days ago,” she said.

“Okay, and you are…?” Sam asked.

“I'm Ms. Pearlman's maid,” she introduced. “I’m not sure where she went. She just packed and left; she didn't say where. That stray dog: did you find it finally?” 

“Oh, not yet. You know, you didn't ever happen to see the dog yourself, did you?” Sam questioned.

She shook her head. “Well, no. I never even heard it.”

There were pictures on the wall of a brunette woman appearing in all of the photographs who you deduced was Dr. Pearlman. A picture that caught your attention was the woman at a bar with two friends. You turned back to the maid. “Hey, you know I read she was chief surgeon at the hospital. She's gotta be what, forty-two, forty-three? That's pretty young for that job.”

“Youngest in the history of the place. She got the position... ten years ago?” the maid thought aloud.

“Huh, an overnight success. Ten years ago,” Sam nodded.

“Yeah, we know a guy like that.” Dean clicked his tongue.

“Oh, look at this,” you said. You flipped the photo from the wall over to show the writing on the back. “Lloyd’s bar.”

*** The bar was your next stop. It was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, and you and the boys parked close to the gravel intersection.

Dean noticed something on the side of the road, and called to you and Sam, “Hey,” to get your attention.

“Yeah?” Sam questioned.

He nodded in the direction of yellow flowers growing around the edges of the crossroads. “That's weird. Think someone planted these?”

“Middle of all these weeds?” Sam questioned.

“These are, uh, what do you call 'em—” Dean snapped his fingers, trying to think.

“Yarrow flowers,” you noted.

“Yeah,” the older brother nodded. “Used for certain rituals, aren't they?”

“Yeah, actually,” Sam commented. “Summoning rituals.”

You tsked. “So, two people become sudden successes about ten years ago. Right around the time they were hanging out here at Lloyd's. Where there just so happens to be a crossroads.”

“You think?” Sam turned to you.

“Let's find out,” Dean said and started toward the center of the road. He bent over and looked up at you. “This seem about the dead center to you?”

You looked around a few moments before looking back at him and nodding. 

Dean dug a few inches into the hard soil with his hands and hit something solid. 

“Yahtzee.” He found an old Altoid tin and opened it to reveal several occult objects and a picture of an older man you hadn’t seen thus far on this hunt. 

“Holy shit, that’s graveyard dirt and a black cat bone. That’s… crazy Hoodoo spellwork,” you breathed out. “Used to summon a demon.”

“Not just summon one. Crossroads are where pacts are made. These people are actually making deals with the damn thing. You know, 'cause that always ends good,” Dean deadpanned.

“They're seeing dogs, alright,” Sam added. “But not Black Dogs, they're seeing Hellhounds. Demonic pit bulls.”

“You guys ever come across this stuff before? I’ve only read about it,” you said, looking between the boys.

“No, never,” Dean replied. “Whoever this demon is, it's back, and it's collecting. And that doctor lady? Wherever she's running? She ain't running fast enough.”

“So, it's just like the Robert Johnson legend, right? I mean, selling your soul at the crossroads, kind of deal?” questioned Sam.

“Yeah, except that wasn't a legend. I mean, you know his music,” you nodded.

Sam shrugged.

Dean looked at his brother, stunned. “You don't know Robert Johnson's songs? Sam, there's- there's occult references all over his lyrics, I mean, 'Crossroad Blues'? 'Me and the Devil Blues'?”

“ 'Hellhound on My Trail'?” you added.

Sam frowned, and Dean rolled his eyes. “The story goes, he died choking on his own blood. He was hallucinating and muttering about big, evil dogs.”

“And now it's happening all over again,” Sam said. “We've gotta figure out if anyone else struck any bargains around here.”

Dean groaned. “Great. So we've gotta clean up these peoples' mess for 'em? I mean, they're not exactly squeaky clean. Nobody put a gun to their head and forced 'em to play ‘Let's Make A Deal’.”

“So, what, we should just leave them to die?” scoffed the younger brother.

“Somebody goes over Niagara in a barrel, you gonna jump in and try to save 'em?” the older one deadpanned.

“Dean,” you scolded gently.

“Fine,” he murmured. “Rituals like this, you've got to put your own photo into the mix, right? So this guy probably summoned this thing; let's go and see if anyone inside knows him. If he's still alive.”

***

The man’s name turned out to be George Darrow. He was the first person to summon the demon to Lloyd’s. Unfortunately for him, all he asked for was artistic talent; he had forgotten to ask for the recognition for it. His small studio apartment was littered with paintings; some half-finished and some completed. They were incredible. 

“Was it worth it?” you asked him.

“Hell no. I'm still broke and lonely. Just now I got this pile of paintings don't nobody want. But that wasn't the worst.”

Your heart broke a little for him. 

“Go on,” encouraged Sam.

“Demon didn't leave. I never counted on that,” he muttered. “After our deal was done, the damn thing stayed at Lloyd's for a week. Just chattin'. Makin' more deals. I tried to warn folks, but I mean, who's goin' to listen to an old drunk?”

“How many others are there?” questioned Sam.

“Uh, the architect, that doctor lady— I kept up with them, they've been in the papers. Least they got famous,” George scoffed. “One more. Uh, nice guy, too. Hudson. Evan, I think. I don't know what he asked for. Don't matter now. We done for.”

Sam shook his head. “No. No, there's gotta be a way.”

“You don't get it! I don't want a way!” George suddenly yelled. “I called that thing! I brought it on myself. I brought it on them. I'm going to hell, one way or another. All I want is to finish my last painting. Day or two, I'm done. I'm just trying to hold them off 'till then. Buy a little time." He sighed. "Okay, kids. Time you went, go help somebody that wants help.”

You and the brothers hesitated.

“Get out! I got work to do.”

“Mr. Darrow, could I—?” you started.

“What?! What do you want,” he spat.

“I just wanted to know if I could buy one of your paintings,” you said. “That little one over there.” You pointed to a small canvas, no bigger than a piece of printer paper. It was of a skull on a nun’s body with what looked like ectoplasm dripping from her eyes. The linework and blending of the oil paint was incredible. You were truly in love with it and had been eyeing it since you walked into the room.

“I don’t want your pity money, kid. But thanks,” he told you.

“I’m serious, I really do want it. I don’t wanna buy it off you out of pity,” you protested.

He considered, before nodding. “Just take it, kid.”

“Mr. Darrow—”

He couldn’t look at you as he spoke. “Take it. It’s payment enough that someone wants one of my paintings.”

Your heart broke for him even more, and you hugged the painting to your chest when he handed it to you. 

Sam paused before speaking again. “You don't really want to die.”

George turned back to you one last time. “I don't? I'm... I'm tired.”

You bit the inside of your lip to keep yourself from crying as you left the man painting in his room.

You stored the painting in your bag when you returned to the Impala, and you couldn’t bring yourself to talk as you drove to the Hudsons’ house to find the last crossroads victim.

***

You and the Winchesters rolled to a stop in front of a very nice house. You knocked on the door to reveal Evan Hudson moments later. “Yes?” he said, seeming shaken.

“You ever been to a bar called Lloyd's? Would have been about ten years ago.” Dean cut straight to the chase.

Evan startled and slammed the door in your faces. You heard the latch click in place.

“Come on, we're not demons!” Dean called.

“Any other bright ideas?” Sam deadpanned. 

Dean stepped back, set himself, then kicked the door in in one go. Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight, and you mentally scolded yourself. ‘You sick fuck, we’re on a case.’

You followed the brothers into the home and began searching through the rooms for Evan. You found a door closed at the end of the hallway, and Dean went to kick it in again. You stopped him by catching his leg. You turned the handle and pushed the door open gently. The room was completely silent as you entered. “Evan?” you called.

Evan jumped out from behind a bookcase, holding his hands up. “Please! Don't hurt me.”

Sam attempted to pacify him. “We're not going to hurt you, alright? We're here to help you.”

“We know all about the genius deal you made,” Dean gruffly said. 

Evan looked frantically between the three of you. “What? How?”

“Doesn't matter. All that matters is, we're trying to stop it,” Sam replied.

The man flicked his eyes between you and the brothers nervously. “How do I know you're not lying?”

Dean clicked his tongue. “Well, you don't, but you're kinda running low on options there, buddy-boy.”

Evan swallowed harshly and started pacing. “Can you stop it?”

“Don't know,” you said earnestly. “We'll try.”

“I don’t wanna die,” he muttered, beginning to well up with tears.

Dean’s tone was almost mocking. “Of course, you don't, not now.”

You gently grabbed Dean’s wrist. “Dean, stop.”

He continued, ignoring you. “What'd you ask for anyway, Evan? Huh? Never need Viagra? Bowl a perfect game? What?”

“My wife.”

The older brother laughed coldly. “Right. Gettin' the girl. Well, that's worth a trip to hell for.”

“Dean!” you and Sam chided, more firmly this time.

“No. He's right, I made the deal,” Evan sniffed. “Nobody twisted my arm, that… woman, or whatever she was, at the bar? She said I could have anything I wanted. I thought she was nuts at first, but— I don't know how to— I was desperate.”

“Desperate?” Sam questioned.

“Julie was dying,” he lamented.

Dean suddenly softened. “You did it to save her?”

Evan nodded. “She had cancer, they'd stopped treatment, they were moving her into hospice, they kept saying… a matter of days. So yeah, I made the deal. And I'd do it again. I'd have died for her on the spot.”

“Did you ever think about her in all this?” Dean questioned.

“I did this for her,” Evan protested.

Dean advanced on him, ripping his arm out of your hand. “You sure about that? I think you did it for yourself. So you wouldn't have to live without her. But guess what? She's going to have to live without you now. But what if she knew how much it cost? What if she knew it cost your soul? How do you think she'd feel?”

You put a hand on Dean’s chest and pushed him backward. “Knock it off,” you told him, giving him a sharp look.

Sam turned to Evan. “You just sit tight, alright? We're going to figure this out.”

You followed Dean out into the hallway. “What is your deal, man? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn't I be? Hey, I got an idea.” He pulled out the goofer dust you’d gotten from George Darrow. “You and Sam throw George's hoodoo at that Hellhound, keep it away from Evan as long as you can. I'm gonna go to the crossroads and summon the demon.”

“Wait, summon?! Are you nuts?!” you protested. “I’m coming with you.”

“No,” he said firmly. “You can’t. I won’t let you, okay? I can’t handle this properly if I’m worried about you.”

You looked up at him with sad eyes.

He put his hands on either side of your shoulders. “(Y/N), I can trap it. I can exorcise it, and I can buy us time to figure out something more permanent.”

Sam walked up behind you. “Yeah, but how much time?”

“I don't know, a while. I mean, it's not easy for those suckers to claw their way back from hell and into the sunshine,” Dean chuckled.

“Dean, you can forget it, alright?” Sam argued. “I'm not letting you summon that demon.”

“Why not?” Dean grumbled.

“Because I don't like where your head is at right now, that's why not.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean scoffed.

“You know, you've been on edge ever since we found that crossroads, Dean, and I think I know why,” Sam noted.

Dean turned around. “We don't have time for this.” 

Sam was able to stop him with a single word. “Dad. You think maybe Dad made one of these deals, huh? Hell. I've been thinking it. I'm sure you've been thinking it, too.”

Dean didn’t turn back to face you and his brother, but quietly said, “It fits, doesn't it? I'm alive, Dad's dead. The yellow-eyed demon was involved. What if he did? What if he struck a deal? My life for his soul?”

Evan called back from inside the room behind you. “It’s outside!”

“Just keep him alive, okay?” Dean instructed. 

“Dean!” you called.

“Go!”

You steeled yourself and turned back to the office Evan was in. You took a bag of Goofer dust from Sam and began covering the window sills and doors. Sam made a circle around Evan while you worked.

“What is that stuff?” Evan asked.

“Goofer dust,” Sam replied.

“You serious?” he scoffed.

“Yeah. 'Fraid so. Look. Believe me, don't believe me, whatever you want. Just whatever you do, stay inside the circle, alright?”

You looked back to see Evan nodding. He began to hug himself, standing in the middle of the circle just as you and Sam finished coating the room.

Sam shook his bag out. “That’s the last of it.”

You paced around the room, Bowie knife in hand, as Sam tried to comfort Evan. All you could think about was Dean with the crossroads demon, and you prayed to a god you didn’t believe in that he wouldn’t make any stupid deals.

You knew how much his dad’s death was tearing him apart. You knew that even in that moment with him after he’d just woken up next to you in the apartment back in Philadelphia, his heart wasn’t fully there. You wished you could take away that pain for him. 

“(Y/N), are you trying to increase your step-count or something?” Sam asked you.

You barely registered his snarky question. “What?”

“You’re pacing. Like, a lot.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” you said.

“God, you and Dean were made for each other.” Sam shook his head, chuckling slightly.

You deadpanned at him. “Shut up.”

Evan whirled around at something you couldn’t hear or see.

“What?” Sam asked him.

“You hear that?” Evan asked. 

“Hear what?” you questioned. “Where is it?”

“Right outside the door,” Evan said quietly.

Suddenly, the doors began to rattle violently. Sam stepped inside the circle of goofer dust, but you stayed outside of it, gripping your bowie knife tightly.

“Just don't move, alright?” Sam told Evan. “Stay where you are.”

The rattling droned on for several minutes before it stopped suddenly.

“Do you still hear it?” Sam asked.

“No. Is it over?” Evan breathed out.

You whipped around to the sound of rumbling from a grate nailed to the wall. You stared it down until it burst off the wall, kicking dust from the vent into the room.

“It's here!” Evan exclaimed.

Deep claw marks gouged into the floor up to the circle, and they stopped just before the edge. The hellhounds had apparently completely ignored you, but you tempted fate by pissing them off. You dug your bowie knife into where you thought the back of one of the creatures was.

“(Y/N), what the fuck are you doing?!” Sam yelled. 

You cried out in pain as an invisible force slashed at your leg. Deep claw marks appeared on your thigh, ripping through your jeans. 

“(Y/N), no!” Sam screamed.

You slashed at your leg with your knife and hit something solid. 

“(Y/N), get inside the circle, you maniac!” Sam chided.

“Trying!” you replied, pulling the knife out of the solid thing you’d hit. Nothing seemed to work on the hellhounds, though, and your knife only stalled them momentarily. You crawled, scrambling over to the circle, careful not to disrupt it as the hounds got one last lash in at your leg. You sat back against Sam’s legs, holding your leg and breathing through your teeth.

“Jesus, (Y/N/N), are you okay?” Sam asked.

“Sammy, do I look okay?” you groaned, trying to keep still on the floor despite the pain in your right thigh and left calf.

He paused for a moment. “Fair point.”

The windows flew open, disrupting the Goofer dust that had been laid on the window sill and slowly beginning to blow the dust away from around you, Sam, and Evan.

“Circle's broken. Come on!” Sam pulled you and Evan.

“Sam, take him! Go!” You threw your knife at him and stayed in the slowly breaking circle, and Sam obliged. You stayed on the ground, praying that the hellhounds would leave you alone. Thankfully, they did, and you tried to recollect the dust and build the particles up around yourself. Sam had long since sprinted out of the room with Evan in tow, and the scratches on the floor led out of the room and down the hall. 

You sat like that for a while, crying and in pain. You knew you needed to stop the bleeding on your thigh as it was bleeding way more profusely than your calf. You took your button-down off and wrapped it around your leg tightly. You threw your head back, chest heaving, at the pressure around the wound. You pulled your sock up around your calf to try and collect the bleeding there.

You could hear rattling from down the hall, and wished you could do something more to help. Suddenly, the pounding stopped.

“Sam?!” you called.

“(Y/N)! You okay?”

“Yeah, are you?”

“Yeah!”

“Is it over?” 

You considered for a moment before calling back, “I don’t know! I fucking hope so!”

You could hear Sam laughing getting louder and the sound of a door creaking. You assumed he was hesitantly checking the hallway out to see if he could make it back to you. “I think we’re good,” he called.

“Thank god,” you breathed out. You tried to stand, only to fall back on the ground almost immediately. “Fuck.”

Sam entered the office. “Shit, you’re bleeding a lot… uh—” He pulled out his phone. “Dean, Dean, is it over?... Yeah, yeah, he’s fine. It’s (Y/N) I’m worried about… No, no, she’s okay— for now, at least.”

“Hey!” you called. “I’m fine, Sam, really.”

“Oh, yeah? Try standing up, then,” he deadpanned at you.

You went to move but reconsidered at the throbbing in your leg. 

“That’s what I thought.” He turned back to his phone. “She tried to take on a hellhound… Yeah, yeah, okay. Just… get here. As fast as you can. And bring her bag. I know she’s got the first aid stuff in there.”

Evan reentered the room as Sam hung up the phone. “Holy shit!” Evan cried worriedly. “Is she—? Does she need a doctor? Hold on, I’ll call 911—”

“Don’t you dare, Evan,” you protested firmly, glare pinning him to the spot. “I’ll be fine. I just need to stitch myself up, ‘s all.”

***

When Dean arrived about fifteen minutes later, he was furious. “(Y/N), what the hell were you thinking?” He stormed into the room with your duffel bag in his hand. 

“Dean, I’m fine. Gimme the damn bag—”

He slammed it roughly on the ground, sitting next to you. “Let me see.”

You hesitated but unwrapped your leg upon Dean giving you a harsh look. 

He cursed under his breath when he saw your leg. “Fuck, (Y/N)...”

“Just let me stitch it up, I’ll be fine—”

“No,” he gruffly stated. “I’ve got it.”

Sam looked between you and Dean before taking Evan out of the room to calm him down. 

Dean began threading the needle. You sucked in air through your teeth. “Tell me what happened. How’d you stop it?” You were asking him to distract you.

He looked up at you, still angry, but complied anyway. “I cornered the bitch and made her let him out of his deal.” 

You paused, waiting for more. “And?”

He said, “And nothing.” And began to work on your leg.

“Dean,” you pleaded, grabbing his wrist. “Talk to me, please. Talk me through this.”

He seemed to soften when he saw how much pain you were in. He took a deep breath as he tried his best to stitch you up gently. “She, um, she said my dad’s in hell. And… And he did make a deal. And she told me—” he paused, eyes welling with tears, “She told me she knows how torn up I am about it all. She told me she could bring him back, (Y/N/N).”

Your breath caught in your throat, no longer focused on the needle piercing your skin. “What?”

“Yeah.”

“Dean, don’t tell me—” Tears welled in your eyes. 

“No. But…” he paused, tying off one stitch before moving to start the other one. 

“But?” you pressed.

“I sure as hell thought about it.”

Your stomach dropped. “Don’t you fucking do that to me, Dean. Dee, look at me.” You grabbed his face and forced him to look at you. “You cannot fucking give up. I won’t let you.” 

He turned his attention back to your wounds, moving to the last claw mark on your thigh. 

“I know you’re hurting,” you sniffed. “I know his death is killing you. It kills me to see you like this. But I’m not— ah!” You cried out when one of his stitches accidentally went too deep into your thigh. He looked at you apologetically as you continued to talk. “I’m not gonna let you trade places with your dad. You’re here for a reason. Your dad loved you enough to keep you here. And what you told Evan earlier? Have you even considered how much it would kill me if you were gone?! And Sam? Both of us would be crushed. You matter, Dean. Sam needs you.”

“(Y/N)—” he tried to stop your admissions as he finished wrapping your leg.

“No, dude. You need to hear this. I need to tell you this. I need you here, Dean. You’re my best friend. How do you think I’d feel if you were gone?”

He faced you. “I can’t— I can’t keep living like this.”

“And you won’t,” you said. “I know it’s cheesy, but it gets better. You won’t always dread waking up every day. You won’t always blame yourself. That’s just today.”

He shook his head. “How do you know that?”

You sighed. “Listen, both of us blame ourselves as the reason our dads are dead. And no matter how much I tell you that’s wrong, you’ll never believe me. Same way I’ll never believe you. And it hurts. I won’t lie to you. It fucking hurts for a while. But then… it gets better. Time and… the people in your life… make it better.”

He stared at you with sad eyes, unsure of what to say.

“And I know you don’t believe me right now, but… please, please, just trust me,” you begged.

Dean continued to stare at you, not saying anything, before standing up from the floor next to you. “C’mon, we gotta get back on the road.”

You sighed, trying to stand from the floor.

“Oh, fuck, I forgot,” he chuckled awkwardly, making you giggle. He swept you up in his arms and looked down at you with a gaze you couldn’t quite read. Dean then stared out ahead as he effortlessly carried you the rest of the way to the car. 

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

[venus-haze]

Pretty Tied Up (Otis Driftwood x Reader)

Summary: Or, the perils of working at Red Hot Pussy Liquors.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. This takes place between House of 1000 Corpses and The Devil’s Rejects. Based on the Guns N' Roses song. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Armed robbery and implied kidnapping. Sexually explicit content that involves extremely dubious consent and sadism, gags, bondage, groping, and gunplay. Otis is pretty much his own warning. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Having regulars at a liquor store was a double-edged sword. You got to know some customers well enough to like them, but over time you’d notice they looked increasingly worse for wear as they came up to the checkout with their usual purchases. The exception, of course, were the Fireflys, who you always found unsettling, despite Baby’s attempts to seem affable. 

“My brother likes you,” she said one day, leaning against the counter as you rang up three bottles of vodka and two six-packs of beer.

“RJ?” you asked, glancing at her brother standing a few feet behind her.

RJ was always nice enough. Didn’t say much. Tall. Burly. Strong. Ruggedly handsome. You’d be open to going out with him.

She laughed in her usual high-pitch that always toed the line of being spine-chilling. “No silly! I’m talkin’ ‘bout Otis.”

You stared at her blankly. “Who’s Otis?”

“You know, long hair, blue eyes, scruffy ol’ beard. He came in here the other night. You must’ve made one hell of an impression. He won’t shut up about ya.”

Oh yeah. Him. Bought a bottle of whiskey and a stack of hardcore BDSM porno magazines. ‘You ever look at this stuff?’ he’d asked, eyeing you as you put a magazine with a nude, distressed-looking woman suspended by intricate ropes on the cover into a brown paper bag. When you first started working there, you could hardly stomach the sight of the rougher fare. As time went on, you found yourself hesitantly intrigued. ‘Gotta have something to do besides go to church on Sundays,’ you replied, earning a wicked grin from him. 

“That’s nice,” you said.

She snickered. “My brother’s not nice.”

“Is this everything?” you asked, hoping to move the interaction along.

“Hey RJ, you gettin’ anything else?” Baby asked over her shoulder.

He shook his head, approaching to pick up the crate you put the bottles in.

Baby handed you a wad of cash. She almost always overpaid, letting you keep the change, which was most of the reason you humored her antics in the first place. “Thanks darlin’! See ya real soon!” she said, wiggling her eyebrows, keen to something you were yet to be aware of.

Two nights later you were working the store alone. Your coworker Billy didn’t even have the decency to call and let you know he wasn’t coming in–or quit. He just didn’t show up at 9:30 when he was supposed to, and your phone call to his house was met with a busy dial tone. Asshole.

It’d been a slow night anyway, but you would have appreciated the heads up, or at least another body in the place when the front door was kicked open.

“This is a robbery! Don’t fucking move or I’ll shoot!”

Despite the bandana covering the bottom half of his face, you knew who it was right away. Long, graying hair and piercing blue eyes that were burned into your memory from his last visit to the liquor store.

You lifted your hands in the air. Your manager had told you on your first day that there was always a possibility of this happening. Better to just let them take whatever cash and booze they wanted and report it to the police once they left. ‘Don’t go playin’ hero. We got insurance.’

“Keep those hands up,” Otis said, slowly approaching the counter. “I’m gonna walk back there, and you’re gonna open the register for me.”

You nodded, eyes glued to him as he slithered around the counter like a snake, gun steadily pointed at you. 

“Go on,” he said.

With a trembling hand, you opened the register, the cash-filled drawer popping open for him. He pressed the gun to your temple, instructing you to put the cash in one of the brown paper bags by your side. You tried not to glance at him too much while you stuffed the paper bag with the money, finally pushing it toward him and sticking your hands up again.

“Alright, now turn around.”

“Wh-What?”

“I ain’t got all night.”

You glanced at the door. No way you could make a run for it, but maybe someone would walk in and be able to do something.

He followed your gaze and let out a cruel scoff. “Ain’t nobody coming through that door who can save you. I’m the closest thing to salvation you’ll ever get. Now turn the fuck around.”

With a shaky breath, you did as you were told, freezing when you felt the barrel of the gun press against the back of your head. His free hand grabbed your ass through your jeans, his strong grip almost painful as he squeezed each cheek. “Wonder how much it’d take to make you bruise?” he mumbled, almost to himself. He squeezed again, harder this time, as if he were trying to dig his fingers into your flesh. “Too much work when I can just cut into ya.”

“Don’t hurt me,” you pleaded, though hearing your own voice, you weren’t quite sure how convinced you were that you didn’t want him to do his worst. Knowing what you did about the Firefly clan, the rumblings around Ruggsville about the strange family–it would be pretty damn bad.

“C’mon now, mama. You led me to believe you liked it rough,” he said, voice gravelly and low as he slipped his hand between your legs from behind, rubbing the rough denim material and your cotton panties against your pussy, the friction hitting your clit in just the right spot for you to let out a shameful moan. Your hand flew to your mouth, the other clenched in a fist as you tried not to give him the reaction he wanted. Didn’t want to prove him right. Show him how curious you were. You didn’t even have it in you to fight back, not when you were on the edge, so achingly close until suddenly you weren’t anymore.

You nearly whined when he pulled his hand away, horrified at yourself, your reaction to his groping you. He grabbed each of your arms, roughly pulling them behind your back and tying your wrists together with something itchy and uncomfortable that dug painfully into your skin as you fruitlessly tried to free yourself from the secure knot he made. What the fuck did he use? Your eyes widened at the carpet burn-like sensation that’d begun to sting your skin. The roll of twine beneath the register. You used to secure some customers’ more sensitive purchases sometimes. 

Fingers and cloth forced their way into your mouth until you were gagged with the bandana Otis had pulled off of his face. He turned you around, looking you over with a slow, satisfactory nod. “I was having trouble getting over this mental block in my art. Started drivin’ me crazy. Y’know, they showed this nature documentary about a group ‘a lions a while back. How they protect and provide for their families, stalk their prey and go in for the kill–do you ever think about how we’re the only species where killing is taboo? For the rest of the animal kingdom, it’s just nature, part of the circle of life. There was a scene where the lion saw a gazelle from way across the savannah, and it was like nothing else existed except for its prey. It couldn’t rest until it tore that damn thing apart. That’s how I felt when I saw you.”

You shook your head frantically, your pleas of mercy muffled by your gag. Fat tears blurred your vision until he morphed into something monstrous, straight out of a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. 

“I ain’t gonna kill ya,” he said, roughly petting your head, “not yet anyway, that’d be a waste when I’ve barely even started.” He gave you a mean grin as he grabbed a hold of your hair by the roots. “I got a lot planned for you. Those magazines gave me a lot of ideas too.”

He lowered the gun, dragging it between your breasts and further down your abdomen until he reached the waistband of your jeans. Using his other hand, he unbuttoned and unzipped them with alarming ease, pulling them down until they fell to your ankles. Your breath hitched as he pressed the barrel of the gun against your cunt, the thin fabric of your panties the only thing stopping him from being able to slide it inside of you. 

Still, the cool metal sent a shiver through you as he rubbed it against your clit, black spots creeping into your peripheral as you hyperventilated through his sadistic experiment. He was hard. That much you knew, but what frightened you, perhaps most of all, was how wet you had become since he tied you up. Your skin still screamed against the rough twine that’d been cutting into your flesh, soon to draw blood as you kept struggling.

Your hips jerked, pressing the gun barrel closer to your pussy that was eager to betray you and clench around it if he just pushed past your panties and shoved it up there. You didn’t want him to do that, not in your right mind. But no one in your situation could be considered in their right mind, could they?

“Don’t fight it,” he encouraged gruffly, blue eyes piercing through you as he watched your knees threaten to give out as you neared orgasm. “Give the devil his due, mama.”

Your hands curled into fists, nails threatening to break through the skin of your palm. Then he did it. Slipped the barrel of the gun past your soaked cotton panties. Your brain short-circuited in a rush of terror and thrill at the sensation. You came, eyelids fluttering shut, a guttural moan tearing from your throat and pushing through your gag. Your limbs felt like ghosts, incorporeal parts of you that could only offer a vague sense of feeling compared to the sensation that overwhelmed your body, pleasure and adrenaline coursing through your veins all the same.

Gun be damned, you collapsed against the checkout counter, unable to support yourself any longer. Your chest heaved, unable to catch your breath with the now saliva-soaked bandana still shoved halfway down your throat. An astounded whine escaped your lips when he brought the gun up to his nose and sniffed. “This is it, mama. This is the devil’s salvation.”

He wasn’t making any damn sense, or your brain was too fuzzy to comprehend what he was saying. All you knew about the devil was from the Bible and that stupid Dr. Satan story people regurgitated like spoiled food. If Otis was the devil, you’d believe it, though.

The sound of a car door slamming shut made your eyes widen, and you glanced over your shoulder, your muffled screams of either help or warning to however was approaching.

“Sorry about this, darlin’. We’ll have a lot more fun later,” he said, hitting you across the face with the gun, sending you to the brink of consciousness. 

The bell on the door faintly jingled, and the last thing you remember seeing was a large, familiar figure walking towards you.

“C’mon and help me get ‘er in the car,” Otis said just as you passed out. "Don't forget the cash."

[prairiesongserial]

24.4

“Why us, anyway?” Frankie asked.

Frankie had finished her espresso and sat, fidgeting with the empty cup, for exactly ninety-two seconds of blessed silence before speaking. Salome had projected at least two minutes without conversation, but she had also learned that Frankie often defied probability.

It was a good question, one that Salome declined to answer at first. She was still looking out the window. She had not seen much of Germany before this, and wanted to commit as much visual data to memory as she could. It would be informative to pore over later. She had never left Italy before, though she had brought as much research concerning the German language and socio-political structure with her as she had deemed necessary.

“Hey,” Frankie said. “Sal. Salami. I’m talking to you.”

“I heard you,” Salome replied, without turning her head back to face Frankie.

“So?” Frankie asked. Salome could hear her shifting restlessly in her seat, then heard the thunk of Frankie’s boot heels once again being propped up on the table. “Why us, do you think? I thought His Holiness kept you on a tight leash, and I ain’t your babysitter.”

This was all true. Until now, Salome had been considered too valuable to leave Italy. From what she had overheard and understood, there would be trouble on an international scale if it came out that the Pope had the resources to commission something like her. Even within the walls of Vatican city, she was accompanied and looked after constantly.

“Ezio was not allowed to come,” Salome said. 

Ezio was another cardinal, the one who she thought of as her handler. He was a mousy sort of man who cared more for engineering than the company of other human beings, and so made a more than serviceable companion for a robot. He was not eligible for this sort of errand, at least in part because he had never learned to properly fire the gun he was required to carry. It was an open secret among the Pope’s inner circle.

“Shame,” Frankie said. Ezio was her older brother. “He’d be great at this. All we’re doing is sitting here on a train. He loves trains.” As Salome finally turned to look at her, she stretched her arms over her head. “I got a fuckin’ earful when he heard I got assigned to go on this thing with you, you know? Like, ohh, Frankie, you better not fuck it up and let Salome get damaged. Ohh, she’s a miracle of modern science.”

“He said that?” Salome asked, mildly.

“No, I was exaggerating.” Frankie shrugged. “He’s still a freak. Even he wanted to know why I got picked to go on your maiden voyage.”

It was, Salome could begrudgingly admit, an interesting question. Surely there were more qualified cardinals to accompany her on this errand. Gordo was more seasoned. Sissie had a flawless field record, despite her age. But on the other hand, Frankie was right–all the two of them were doing was sitting on the train, waiting for Herr Hennig to disembark in Milan.

“I think,” Salome began, choosing to pick her way through the logic aloud, “that he would not want to waste a more important cardinal on this errand.”

“I’m flattered,” Frankie said, her tone flat in a way that denoted sarcasm.

“But,” Salome continued, “he needed someone who is capable of keeping a cool head in a crisis, but also someone who can make a hostage fall in line. You were naturally the choice. I am most likely here to identify threats before they arise, and you are here to handle the threats. You are the best insurance that neither I nor Herr Hennig meet an especially permanent end, and that we all return to the Vatican together.”

“I’m…actually flattered,” Frankie said slowly, now confused. “I think. Can’t you deal with threats yourself?”

“I would prefer to let you handle them,” Salome said. 

She carried a gun because she was a cardinal, and all the cardinals did, and she could shoot it with 99.999% accuracy. Still, she preferred not to use it unless the situation absolutely necessitated it. Ezio had told her once that she had an apathy towards human life that disturbed him, and Salome had held onto that memory despite the urge to delete it. She disliked how it made her feel imperfect, but she respected Ezio’s opinion more than most others.

“Listen, I’m not saying I can’t,” Frankie said. She caught Salome’s eye and grinned. “We’re not gonna run into any trouble. Crying babies at most, I’m telling you. Maybe another passenger getting a little too chatty.”

She nodded at the rest of the dining car, which had indeed begun to fill up with more passengers since Karlsruhe. The tables were now mostly occupied by pairs of travelers and the occasional family. Salome’s sound filters reduced the priority of their conversations as they had coffee and pastries and pointed out the sights beyond the train windows to one another.

Salome scanned the faces of everyone who had arrived since her last visual sweep of the car and found no immediate matches in her database. She allowed herself to relax very slightly into her seat, and stared into the espresso Frankie had brought her, which she could not drink.

“I’ll take that if you don’t want it,” Frankie offered.

“You shouldn’t have more than one,” Salome said, but Frankie was already reaching across the table to take the cup. Her microexpressions had indicated she hadn’t even enjoyed the first one, but that wasn’t a point Salome was going to press.

Frankie snorted. “I’m not letting you waste it.”

Salome opened her mouth to protest that Frankie had been the one to buy the espresso while knowing full well it wouldn’t be possible for Salome to drink it. Something moved in the corner of her vision. She shut her mouth.

A man had emerged through the far entrance into the dining car. He wandered towards the cafe counter languidly and without any real sense of purpose. Salome scanned his face, blinked, then scanned it again, just to be sure of the notice of recognition that her retinas had flashed at her.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said aloud, careful to keep her voice low enough that only Frankie could hear her.

“What?” Frankie asked. She leaned in close, picking up her galero from where she’d set it down on the table and toying with it in such a way that it shielded her and Salome’s lips from being read. “You see something?”

“The man at the counter is Ivan Gusev,” Salome said. She recalled his dossier and scanned it. “More commonly known as Vanya. Likely working with longtime partner Yuri Ostrovsky. A Russian Special Team suspected to have carried out the assassination of Bulgarian ambassador Anastas Radulov in Vienna, last May.”

Frankie’s face grew more and more grim as Salome spoke. “Shit. We’ve got competition.”

“That would be putting it lightly,” Salome replied. “They may be here to kill Hennig.”

“Can we be sure they’re here for him?”

It was a fair point. Occasionally Frankie surprised Salome by being more observant, more willing to watch and wait, than she let on. She was like her brother in that way.

“No,” Salome said. “We can’t. We should follow him when he goes back downstairs. See if he’s with Ostrovsky, and if they’re here for Hennig or for something else.”

“Can’t think of much else, but it’s worth a shot. Maybe he’s on holiday,” Frankie muttered. She didn’t sound like she believed it. “You think he noticed us?”

The train intercom crackled to life, announcing that the train was nearing its next stop in Baden. Several passengers extricated themselves from their dining car seats–Salome took advantage of the sudden motion to sneak another glance at Vanya, standing at the cafe counter.

“No,” she said. 

Frankie eyed her. “You sure?”

Salome was always sure. She nodded. Then, purely to make Frankie feel more comfortable, said, “If he has, he seems disinclined to pursue us at the moment.”

“Great,” Frankie said, leaning back in her seat again and securing her bolero on her head. “We’ll get the jump on him, then. Maybe toss him out the door at the next station.”

“No violence unless necessary,” Salome reminded her. It wouldn’t do for two cardinals to be seen pulling guns on a civilian in the middle of a crowded train.

“Sure, sure.” Frankie waved a hand. “But if he starts something, I’m finishing it.”

“I would expect no less,” Salome said. She was largely incapable of sighing, but she felt like it.

24.3 || 24.5

[angel-with-paper-wings]

Modern!AU Phantom of the Opera Headcanons Part 1: Driving

I don’t know what possessed me to think of these, but here are some modern!AU headcanons of what kind of drivers the Phantom crew (Christine, Erik, Raoul, and Daroga/Nadir Khan) are. Enjoy!

Christine:

She is a BAD driver

Every ride with her ends in a wreck

She just gets distracted too easily and can’t focus (especially when her passengers are talking or playing music)

Is on first-name basis with the people at her insurance company, it’s that bad

Definitely eats and drives

ALWAYS wears a seatbelt and insists everyone else in the car do the same

The term “passenger princess” was invented for her

Can change a tire really fast (her dad taught her how when she was a kid and she remembers to this day)

Probably drives something cute like a VW Beetle or Mini Cooper, dream car is something vintage (Pontiac, Cadillac)

Has a couple punny bumper stickers

Erik:

Does not have a driver’s license (for good reason)

Drives like he’s in a car chase even if he’s just going to the grocery store

Daroga has lost years of his life as a passenger when Erik’s driving

He’s skilled, just reckless AF

Music is always turned up to the max

It’s giving Baby Driver (2017)

Seatbelt? Never heard of her, if we die we die

You haven’t seen road rage until you’ve seen this guy’s road rage

When he’s not driving, he is the WORST backseat driver

I’m thinking a black 1967 Ford Mustang (classic, sleek, timeless)

Raoul:

Family bought him his first car when he turned 16 (Porsche or something fancy)

He wrecked it like a week later while out with his friends, his brother made him pay out of his own pocket to get it fixed, he learned his lesson

Loves his car a little too much

Under NO circumstances can you bring food into his car

Christine spilled her coffee in his car once and they almost broke up over it

Pretty decent driving record, has a few speeding tickets and a suspension but that’s about it

Definitely the guy who insists he doesn’t need a GPS, but actually doesn’t know directions (Christine always has to pull up Google Maps and guide them back to civilization when they get lost)

Daroga:

Designated driver 24/7 (he’s the only responsible one)

Perfect driving record (he got a parking violation once, argued with the people over the phone about it so much that they just dropped it)

Usually it’s him driving, Christine in the passenger seat, and Erik and Raoul in the back fighting like siblings

“You two better behave or I will turn this car around!” - Daroga, at some point

Will yell at you for turning on the overhead light, complains he cannot see due to the reflection (he’s so dad-coded I swear)

Drives a Mercedes or some other fancy minivan

The other three always ask him for help when moving something heavy, since he has the biggest car (it annoys him but he does it anyway)

I’m thinking of making these modern!AU headcanons a series, so stick around for more or reply with ideas for more headcanons!

[jayflrt]

Calling that there was an agreement where Jennie taps Hoon and Sujin taps YN to avoid the whole situation looking nepo baby and WHEN Hoon freaks about it then his brother is just going to frame it as him not trusting him again. The gas light is on people.

Heeseung you fishy little fish. I feel like Hee was probably once a decent guy but surviving in this world is not easy and he has begun to drift away from his previous frame of morality. He doesn’t want to admit to himself that he’s not that much of a decent guy anymore.

Controversial opinion but I feel (based solely on the evidence we have now) like Hoon is actually one of the most morally upright members of that group. His methods are NOT always great and he frequently loses sight of what is important, but my dude generally has pure goals and is not out to wreck people for fun. He is genuinely working for what he has. He is being bullied and manipulated by his family. He is a truly tragic character and fully deserves better. Hoping Yeonjun’s secret twin sister (or something) shows up and teaches him how to love like a human being. He genuinely deserves someone who cares about him. YN did but she was not the right person. Hoon needs a ball buster with a heart of gold. YN had the heart in spades but she didn’t have that pitbull streak that would really be needed to partner with this Hoon.

YN is a genuinely good person and she is strong in so many other ways. Hanging on to her morality and her compassion in that group is not easy feat but she has not bent to considerable pressure (both spoken and unspoken). It makes sense that someone looking to ruin her might need to resort to hiring outside help. Unlike many of the others in her group, she doesn’t have an immediately obvious exploitable weakness. I know she HAS made mistakes before and I fully believe those are going to come back in a big way. The stuff she wrote about Heeseung and the real reason for her fallout from Sunoo…I mean there is obviously something cooking there.

My theories are…that Hoon’s family might have something to do with hiring Jay. They need to secure a connection with YN’s family. It would be smart to have an insurance policy.

But to be more specific… if it is Sujin… Jay is the perfect insurance policy. He just needed Hoon and YN to drift apart, then he takes over the company and uses info from Jay to ensure that YN’s hospitals will be in business with the Hoon family company only if HE is CEO.

I really hope I’m not spelling Sujin’s name wrong. lol. But yeah this series is amazing.

OOH can't wait to see your thoughts on sungjin's motive reveal 🫣🫣 i totally agree with your take on heeseung too !! he's definitely wrapped up in trying to fit in with everyone else when he was once just like jay 🤧 (or, well,, mostly like jay LOL) and hoon def goes about most things the wrong way LMFAO 🤧 but he is genuinely focused on his goals and future !! it's only a matter of time until his family pushes him to a limit tho :(( HAHAH NOT YEONJUNS TWIN SISTER but bro does deserve love 😔 tho i don't think he has the capacity for it rn after how messy it was with mc

hot take i love mc too 🫶🫶 my soft spot for tragic characters and i wrote this story to be teeming with them MUAH and you're so spot on with her because she's got her secrets and hides them WELL 🧎‍♀️ doesn't even let her close friends into her priv because she's actually so reserved for someone who is forced to be a social butterfly

HAHAH *sungjin but you were close and his name only comes up at the top of the screenshot in a handful of chapters anyways !! 😩 and your theories are so intriguing to read 🫣 when we get to the ending im SO looking forward to reading back on these 🥰 also i'm so so glad you like the series 🥹💖 it's always such a joy to read what you have to say !! i hope you're doing well ml and having a great day/night 🫶

[projectcaramel]

Saccharine (14) - Satan x F!Reader x Lucifer

“Eh? What’re ya askin’ me for?” the white-haired demon hisses, glancing around as if he’ll be assaulted by one of the demons currently debating over whether you would rather listen to an orchestra piece or a cursed record. 

“Because Lucifer dotes on you,” you reply as you hand him the ticket. “And because you wouldn’t fall for a bookworm like me.” 

“Dotes? Have you gone insane or somethin’?” 

“Maybe,” you chuckle. “I did scold both of them a few times. But regardless, the voucher holds true. If they start fighting, you get in the middle of it. And don’t worry; I’ll do my best to help.” Mammon groans. 

“Fine. I’ll do it. Not like I have a choice anyway.”

“Thank you,” you reply. “Hopefully, it’s just insurance, but...”

“I get it, I get it. Go sweet-talk ‘em or whatever.” Mammon pushes you back towards the boys, and you nod slightly before you rejoin the pair, who are still debating over what you should listen to. At once, you swipe Satan’s symphony and Lucifer’s glass before you take a seat and beckon them to join you. 

“Wow this is bitter,” you remark as you take a sip of Lucifer’s demonus. “Satan have you had this?” You offer him the glass, and he stares at the rim for a long moment before he eventually takes it. 

“I haven’t, no,” he replies before he takes a sip from the same spot you did and grimaces. 

“Is it really that horrible?” Lucifer mutters before he takes the glass back and turns it around to the other side. 

“...That’s not my issue,” Satan grumbles, annoyed as he covers his face, and you have the intense feeling that he’s irritated because he likes the same vintage Lucifer does. “Well, anyway, here.” Satan takes one of the books he brought and opens it to the title page. Josephine, it says.

“Where do you even find these books?” you ask with a laugh as you see the publisher and the date. It was published some thousands of years ago. 

“It was a present,” Satan replies, seeming embarrassed.

“I don’t care if you bought it yourself; it’s beautiful,” you reply, even as you set the book on your lap and open to the first page. “So is the music you picked. Thank you, Satan.” That sends him grinning pretty quickly. 

“I’m glad you like them. Oi, don’t let him turn the page.” You glance at Lucifer, who had reached over to turn the page. 

“It’s the least I can do,” he tries.  

“You read too fast!” Satan retorts hotly. “The last time you were page turner, you spoiled the plot for me!” 

“Sorry... my bad.” You can help but laugh a little to yourself, and you feel both boys staring at you as you do so. “What? Do you find the idea of me apologizing that funny?” 

“No,” you reply as you look down at the book. “It’s just nice to know that you two spend time together after all.” Lucifer and Satan look at each other for a moment, then at you. 

“Well, we are family,” Satan replies eventually, and Lucifer’s eyes turn to him again for a moment before he smiles to himself. 

“Yes, we are,” he replies, even as he reads the book with you and Satan, thankfully abstaining from turning the pages, although you see his fingers twitch a few times. You get so into the novel that you don’t notice the weight against your shoulder until you finish the sixth chapter. You glance over to see Lucifer fell asleep there, his breathing soft and regular. 

“Wow,” you mumble. He really must have been exhausted to fall asleep long before 11 PM. Well, of course he would be worn out—between the whole Paladire fiasco, the Prism event and his other duties, he had his hands overfull. His head was heavy. 

“Hey,” Satan says, turning your attention away from Lucifer’s lapsed guard, and you find yourself hoping that he’s not going to suggest pranking his older brother. “I didn’t ask about it earlier, but what were you talking about with Mammon?” You glance at Satan, surprised that he was paying attention in the first place. 

“Ah... I just told him to...” You hesitate. Wouldn’t it be better to have Mammon’s intervention to be a surprise? Were you thinking too hard? “I just told him to step in if you and Lucifer got into a fight.” 

“...seriously? That’s all it was?” Satan asked before he groaned and covered his face with his hands. “I got worried over nothing...”

He seriously thought I’d go for Mammon? Is he insecure or does he just not know me well? 

“I like both of you. A lot,” you say as you pat his back. “Don’t shorten your life.” He glances at you before his cheeks flush, and it seems like he’s internally screaming. “Satan?” 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m really trying to stop myself from kissing you right now.”

<;< Previous

[wosofanstuff]

I hate those situations😭

Like one time I had to take my little brother to school (he goes to the school I used to go to) cause he’d forgotten something and an old teacher of mine had to open the door to the classroom and like after we were done he recognized me😭 It was so awkward, cause he was just like looking at me and going, hm, I know you, but who are you🤨. So I then had to tell him that he thought a few of my classes til like 7th or 8th grade😭

nope got send home early, like almost two hours😂, plus I would be have been off work by now anyway

🩻

It’s so bad like my primary teachers are super awkward always and like from my gymnasium I have a few teachers I absolutely do not want to meet and like a few are still very much asking my dad what I’m doing or my sister if they see her in school which like no..

That’s sounds so much better then dentist and insurance guy 💀

[breezexwake]

You know sometimes you just need a void you know people inhabit but are rarely going to hear you. I need that right now. To my friends who follow this little-used blog, I’ll be okay. I just need to scream.

If you’re happening to pass this by, read at your own disgression. TW: depression, suicide, divorce

This year has been really really hard. And it’s not going to get better anytime soon.

I graduated from college. But as soon as I got in bed getting that paper, I felt like the education I got was useless. Theatre Education. In my state? What I joke I just wasted six years of my life pursuing. I’m passionate, but what school hires a teacher on passion alone. Especially one who believes in self-advocacy and true art can only be made where a student feels safe to be whoever they want to be. I was fighting a losing battle as soon as I made that a part of my cornerstone of performance.

Then my dream job closed. I was an interactive actor in a Victorian-fantasy interactive theatre park and while I was emotionally abused and gaslit by my bosses, I couldn’t imagine ever quitting. Giving children and adults a safe place to play and become the hero of their own little story was everything to me. I grew as a performer in both acting and storytelling. And then it was killed. I heard rumors of embezzlement of thousands of dollars, the place wasn’t finished, and of course leadership was overly controlling and catty. But I loved it there. My husband was free to be himself there. And I had to watch him teeter on the brink of death of weeks when he found out thanks to a leak.

Then my parents separated. And us kids are caught in the middle. My mom due to her health and what she’s done to treat it has lost her all her friends. She has no one to talk to, to vent and cry to. We get the brunt. Especially me as I drive her to her daily doctor’s appointments. And my sister who lives with her. She is constantly triggered, her mdd and ptsd destroying her mind and this separation or basically divorce is killing her. Nothings changed noticeably with my dad, cause he was never around anyway. He’s just more angry at my mom, and trying to develop a relationship with my autistic brother.

I used to wish they would communicate and get back together. Because they’re my parents, I want my family to stay together. Now I wish they’d just shut the fuck up and never talk to each other again. Dad should stop going over to my Moms. Mom needs to stop texting him. Dad needs therapy! Mom needs more frequent sessions!

Then the convention I’ve been attending yearly since high school shut down, apparently for stupid catty reason. My husband who has been attending since we got married is spiraling.

I’ve never had more frequent suicidal thoughts. Thank god I have no desire to act on them, but I know it’s bad. Too bad I don’t have insurance for therapy!

I just need something to go right. I need something that tells me this world is worth existing in that isn’t video games or anime. Something out in the world that’s worth pursuing without the floor being ripped out from under me.

I want to live…

Hopefully once I hit send, this cry into the void will make me feel a little better and seen without actually being seen.

[moonlightcycle571]

Jason: MORE CHILDREN FROM THE LEAGUE! HOW MANY ASSASSIN CHILDREN DO WE NEED!

Dick: WE HAVE NEW SIBLINGS AND YOU DIDNT TELL US!

Tim, already pulling out his watch-computer: So on a scale of 1-10, if we created an orphanage for assassin children, how beneficial do you think it would be?

Barbara: Probably a 6 at this rate

Damian: How odd, I do not recognise these two

Bruce: No, not that League, the OTHER league

Batkids: …

Duke: … like the Justice League

Bruce, already knowing where this is going: y e s

Expected incoherent screaming insures, cause HOW ARE TEN YEAR OLDS (we are twelve) ON THE LEAGUE (and not them)

Dick, getting smoothies after the screaming match: sooo no new siblings?

Cass: new sibling!

Mary, about to stir some more shit: I mean, technically, with a name like ours, we could be honorary siblings

Bruce, discovering that me made a grave mistake: oh n o

Billy, the original shot stirrer: Yeah! It’s litterally out last name

Batkids, feeling the foreboding: and your last name would be…

Mary: Oh right, we didn’t introduce ourselves! I’m Mary Batson, and this is my brother Billy Batson

Dick: WHAT

Damian: NO

Billy: But you know us better Captain Marvel and Miss Marvel

Steph: WHAT

Jason: NO

Tim, realising his favourite den mother from his time in the yj is all a lie: suddenly a lot of things make sense, I need to lie down

Bonus:

Alfred, having a day off somewhere in the UK: Why do I feel the urge to prepare two to three new rooms?

Freddy, taking care of Fawcette: Someone started drama without me

Talia, doing her badass assassin shit somewhere else: something just happened

Bonus 2:

All the heroes in the caped community is fighting over custody of the Marvels. Most of all the bats:

Example

Dick: Their last name is BATSON! Who they should go to is a given

Wally: Oh Please, that doesn’t mean anything. Plus they have SUPERSPEED, granted to them by the OG speed force MERCURY, you know THE GOD OF SPEED!

Or

Arthur: Atlantis would be the PERFECT training ground for young and magical warriors such as the twins

Hal: Yeah, if it weren’t underwater

Mera: Oh like SPACE is better

Or

Jon: They are basically magic, non alien, Supers! We are the best choice for them!

Damian: Such non-sense. You and your family are weak to magic. In Gotham, they would have all the ressources to learn at their disposal. (Damian learned about Tawnys existence and wants a tiger to live with them too, totally not because he got attached to the twins)

Or

Cassie, Donna, Diana, or any Amazonian in the community ever: THEY ARE LITERALLY GREEK! WE GET DIBS

Or

Jason: It’ll be so good, it’ll teach them how to shoot and everything

Roy: If they needed a marksman, I know a better family for it. Plus I got experience with Kids

Or

Constantine: ha, the old bats hates magic, no way he’s going to take in the literal champion of magic and his council

Everyone looks at him

Constantine: don’t look at me, I’m not taking them in

JL: What do you mean his council?

Constantine: I mean the other magical children

The entire community: THERES MORE

Cue more fighting. At some point, lesser know heroes got wind of this and also tried to get in the action. Then villains for some reason (I’m looking at you Creeper (and maybe HarlIvy)). None of the magic users are joining in. They know better. It came as a shock when Black Adam tried his shot of adoption. History has never seen a bigger team up of Superhero’s.

Anyways I have a lot of thoughts, and it was too much for it to be just one comment

The marvelous robins

After being found out about being children, Billy and Mary have to be trained on ther de-powered forms, since it's agreed they won't stop being heroes as their powered forms, at least they could know how to defend themselves if danger comes and they can't transform.

The idea is simple; Billy and Mary train for a few weeks on the watchtower after duty for at least 3 times a week for 4 weeks, and after that, shadow another hero with their training for another two for good measure.

The twins choose Batman after they complete their training, and become the brand new Robins.

Cut to Gotham, where out of nowhere Batman shows up to bust a drug ring with three whole robins.

Crook 1, over the phone with a drug lord:“Boss, we're done for!”

Drug lord: “What did you do? Did you run into the Red Hood?”

Crook 2, panicking: “No, but at this point, it might be even worse!”

Drug lord: “What could be worse than the Red Hood?”

Crook 1: “Batman brought out a whole flock of Robins!”

Crook 2: “Two of them are using some kind of taser-thingies, boss man! It's not looking good!”

Drug lord: “WHAT? The bat has brought out even MORE robins?! Wasn't the bloodthirsty katana one enough?!”

//

Red Hood, coming home after a good while, finding two more children in the mannor: “..Really, Bruce? Two more?”

Batman: “Hmmn.”

Red Hood, sighing, looking over to the two new children, in full Robin get-up, sparring against each other: “Where did you even get those two? Don't tell me you just snatched them from the street.”

Batman: “No, they're here because of the league.”

Red Hood: “The WHAT.”

[howaboutcastiel-personal]

I don’t know if tumblr flags posts but

I have to say it just once.

I want to kill myself. I want to fucking die. My parents will get my life insurance policy and they’ll piss the money away just like they always do, and my grandparents will be sad for a little while until they die, and my brother will move on with no problem because really what am I to him anyway?

When I went to school I actually wanted to live. Like I REALLY actually wanted to stay alive for a little while. Maybe I just forgot how bad it was or maybe it really is worse now. But I can’t be a burden on people any longer and that is ALL that I am. A fucking burden. I have nothing to offer anyone anymore and I can’t get myself better without being more of a burden on the people who already don’t want me.

I’m out of time and I’m out of money and I’m out of people that care and I’m out of my own fucks to give. I really honestly just don’t want to get out of bed anymore. And I can’t eat and I can’t talk and I can’t do anything at all. I can barely shower and that’s only because I don’t ever feel fucking clean anymore. I hate this shit. I have everything about it and I don’t want to cry out for help anymore because I’m tired of it getting worse and I’m tired of watching people give up on me. I’m a fucking disappointment and I don’t know how to stop being a disappointment and I’m tired of being one. I don’t remember having goals and I don’t remember feeling seen and I don’t remember not hating everyone. It’s just so stupid like why can’t I just find something? Anything at all? All of the regular things are gone and the things that break through give me maybe five minutes.

I can’t do it anymore. I can’t do it. And I can’t do what’s being asked of me. There’s nothing for me to do but die. I would get out of people’s hair and no one would mourn me that doesn’t deserve it. I can’t be the center of the universe anymore and I hate everyone and myself. The good people are too good for me and the bad people make me miserable and all the people in between have better things to do than give me the time of day. What the fuck am I meant to do? I need a fresh start but I will fuck it up and I will be alone. And I can’t be a fuck-up anymore and I can’t be alone anymore. And I feel weak and stupid. Because a weak and stupid person would take the hand I’ve been given and fuck up like this.

I don’t really want anything anymore. But there is no food or movie or show. There’s nothing to look forward to and I hate everything. Maybe I’m being dramatic and my family actually is proud of me, or maybe I’m being naive and they don’t think about me at all. I just want to stop. Ever since the thing happened I can’t get out of bed and it’s so stupid. It’s not like something happened to me. I’m not a victim. I don’t know why that gets to be the last straw but I’m so disgusted by it. I want someone to help me.

I want someone to help me so fucking bad but there is no one to help me because I’m me. I’m bad. I’m shallow. I don’t want anyone around me and the good people are far, far away. It isn’t like I deserve them anyway.

This is when I’m supposed to turn to God I guess. That’s what I’m supposed to do. I’m not going to do that, because if he was real he’d be a right fucking cunt. He doesn’t get shit from me and he dealt me this hand. But he isn’t real, so it doesn’t matter, and I sure as hell am not praying to him.

Fuck. I’m sorry. It’s every day. I can’t help it and I know that I should. I know that I’m weak and I’m fucking sorry.

[god-whispers]

apr 2

heard any good ones lately

"a merry heart does good, like medicine, but a broken spirit dries the bones." prov 17:22

i mean good ones that you wouldn't mind telling in front of your pastor.  things have been heavy around the world lately and here as well.  things are likely to get heavier still.  i know we must not bury our heads in the sand, but neither should we forget the One who holds tomorrow and all things in His hands; His very strong hands.

you might be reading these before you go out to worship the Lord or after.  the important thing is that we worship the Lord.  not just today, a sunday or a wednesday.  worship Him everyday in our thoughts, our words and our actions.  how else can one "pray without ceasing?" 1 thes 5:17

i just want to quickly relate a few "funnies" that might lighten everyone's load.  OK?  here we go.

------- the $100 and $1 two well-worn bills arrived at the federal reserve Bank to be retired – a $100 and a $1.  as they traveled down the conveyor belt, they struck up a conversation.  the hundred reminisced about the interesting life he had, traveling all over the country.  “i’ve been to the finest restaurants, broadway shows, las vegas, and amusement parks,” he said.  “i even went on a Caribbean cruise once.  where have you been?”  “oh,” said the one dollar bill, “i’ve been to a methodist church, an episcopal church, a baptist church, and a lutheran church.”  “what’s a church?” asked the hundred. ------- my dad is better than your dad three boys on the playground were bragging about their dads.  one said. “my dad scribbles a few words, calls it a song and they pay him $50.”  “oh, yeah.  my dad scribbles a few words, calls it a poem and they pay him $100.”  “that’s nothing,” said the third kid.  my dad scribbles a few words, calls it a sermon and it takes six people to collect all the money in the room!” ------- a four year old’s description of creation in the beginning, which was close to the start, there wasn’t anything except God, darkness and some gas.  the bible says, “the Lord, thy God, is one,” but i think He has to be much older than that.  anyway, God made the world and then He said, “give me some light,” and somebody gave it to Him.  He split an atom and made Eve.  adam and eve didn’t wear any clothes, but they weren’t embarrassed because God hadn’t invented mirrors, yet.  adam and eve sinned by eating one bad apple and they were driven out of the garden of eden.  i’m not sure what God drove them in because He hadn’t invented cars, either.  adam and eve’s son, cain, hated his brother as long as he was abel.  after a while, all of the first people died, except methuselah, who lived to be, like, a million years old. ------ hymns for christians over 65 years old - (people like me) give me the old timers religion precious Lord, take my hand, and help me up just a slower walk with Thee go tell it on the mountain, but speak up nobody knows the trouble i have seeing guide me, o thou, great Lord God, i’ve forgotten where i’ve parked the car count your many birthdays, count them one by one blessed insurance it is well with my soul, but my knees hurt ------- on that closing note i would like to add: it is well with my soul too.  how about yours?

[lapazjournal]

I’m just saying pt. 1

I’d like to preface this by saying I get into some pain here. I paint the picture pretty vividly. I write it out because I feel like it’s interesting to people and it feels like letting it go. The main reason is this is one of my ways of being more vulnerable. I’m still working on people in real life. Please be patient with me. As always comments are more than welcome via Insta stories or you can send an anonymous message on Tumblr.

What exactly is my goal for social media? To distract myself. To soothe. I did it today. Earlier I went over to my Dad’s house. In therapy, my therapist suggested I write him a letter about how I was feeling. The backstory is that I had used my savings in the month of December on my car. I also quit my job in December and quit my new job in January. So I was jobless and had spent 2K in savings on my car and $900 on a trip to Socal for my birthday. So earlier this month my car didn’t turn on when I was going to go to Costco. So I got it checked by AAA, got it towed to the mechanic. It ended up being the security system & I needed a new battery. The total came out to $400. And I truly did not have that in my bank account at the time. I probably had $100 or less. So I texted my Dad asking him if he could lend me the money. He didn’t respond. So I asked my mom and she lent me the money. I’m so grateful to her that she did that. I’m saving my income as I write this. So I was angry. I was sad. Just another disappointment. My dad earns much more than my mom. He spends most of his time working. I was at his house. He has this ‘Best Brother’ picture frame his sister got him. I was there and I started to tell him. Immediately he says ‘Oh do you want to talk about this because I have a whole speech for you’. Defenses immediately are up. My therapist told me I should write it out to him because usually when I bring things up in person we end up in an argument and somewhere along the line I start crying. And it’s just so embarrassing when I cry in front of him. He doesn’t respond. It’s like he doesn’t blink. It’s expected. I hate that. I hate his response. My mom will come over and hug me but my dad just sits there without flinching. And I hate the part of myself that cried. I wish I could be strong. I wish I could be unphased. He starts his lecture on how I have to be more responsible, I shouldn’t have driven to San Diego, and he cites that he pays for my car insurance and health insurance, and he paid for the car I drive now. I’m grateful for those things. I tried to explain to him that to me having his card on autopay for 2 of my bills doesn’t mean he’s the greatest father in the world. To me it would matter more if he showed up when it counted, like when I asked for it. I’m not irresponsible. I mean I don’t even know. It’s like I can’t decipher who I am against that. Like who am I and who is the person he sees. I hate that person. Because he doesn’t love that person. And all I want is a Dad. A tender, loving Dad.If he changed today, or any day I swear I would forget everything and just feel it for the first time in so long. Who am I kidding, I’m so guarded and so is he. All these years of me calling him a bad father haven’t exactly motivated him to do better. He says if that’s what you think I can’t change it. Woah I just realized again I mirrored this situation with my first boyfriend. I’ve been thinking about them because they’re both Scorpio moons. Anyways, in an Abraham Hicks video, the guy interviewing Esther talks about how he went to his fathers grave with so much anger after being abandoned by him but he couldn't curse him, he felt compelled to forgive his Dad. Esther says that his father, now passed on, was sending him so much love and light that his mortal self didn’t give him. She said that his dad’s mortal self had a lot of hangups and couldn’t give him the love he desired, maybe needed. But now, passed on he sent him love because the hangups dissolved. I’m trying to tap into my grandfather’s energy, my dad’s dad. He’s passed on. I’m accessing his love, feeling the love of a father. I know one day I’ll feel my Dad’s love too. I imagine it washing over me like a warm blanket, but also like the sea. Maybe that’s why I like a hot shower so much. It makes me feel that safe feeling. He always says to us, to me ‘I have no regrets’. It’s like he’s trying to affirm to himself that line. And he told me I shouldn’t make myself the victim. That line hurt me. I told him how could you be so cruel, I’m your daughter. How could he-

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

Venting time. Apologies.

Gah, what a week.

I discovered I had not one, but two tires with problems. So now I am trying to drive as little as possible while I figure out how I can afford to buy new ones. Guess I’m even more trapped than usual.

The mice I start trying to poison a week and a half ago aren’t dying. Instead there are more, who have decided to throw nightly parties next to my bed. I have had to start moving my books** to Mom’s house, but I am still worried about what they are gnawing on.

I had a mysterious and terrifying medical problem one night. It was the sort of thing where IF I didn’t have a blinding phobia of health care professionals (traumatic valid reasons) and IF I had health insurance and IF I had money at all and IF I had any sort of an emotional or practical support structure to help me I’d have been at an ER. Instead I was lying awake all night, afraid I might not wake up and wondering if I should write something to beg people not to throw out my sculpting and journals when I die…just in case***.

I felt okay the next day and ever since, but suddenly dropping dead lingers in my mind.

I dropped my camera in the swamp!

I can’t really explain why, but for the last couple of months I have taken to going out to the swamp and and just lying on the ground to watch the beavers and ducks do their thing. All my life I have spent so much time in the woods, but lying down out there was an absolute no. There are simply too many bitey things around here, and it has gotten so you can run into ticks year round. The only time I ever actually lay on the ground was during a near suicidal bout I had. I’m not that depressed yet.

Anyway, lying there right next to the swamp, trying to take a photo without scaring a beaver nearby, had my camera balanced on my thigh. And then it got unbalanced, and down it went, rolling into the water (admittedly only a couple feet away) with a PLOP. At least it still works, mostly.

BUT my phone has decided to stop working! Well, some of the time it works. Some of the time it’s like listening to the inside of a tornado, and you can’t hear a damn thing. Other times it won’t dial. And others it cuts off in the middle of a call. It took seven tries today before I could get Mom. It worked fine then, but it’s been so unreliable this week I have no idea if it will work.

I wish I could say next week will be better, BUT I have a very, very, very long list of things I didn’t get done last week, including at least three extremely urgent problems that got lost with new urgent things to deal with.

I dunno, lying under that tree next to the swamp until I rot away sounds kinda appealing right now….

Or not. Enduring mosquito swarms **** would be a fate even worse than death!!

** I don’t get other folks and books. I saw someone on here saying you should pack books in shoeboxes and I howled with laughter. My family are books people with thousands of books. As a child I would pack a small suitcase of just books when we went on trips. I had moved most of mine when the floor first collapsed, BUT I did keep a few. Few hundred actually.

***My brother once said he intends to throw out all my stuff when I die, and I have no one else to leave my things to. Besides, the way my cousins’ belongings disappeared when they died, likely junked before we even knew they were dead, I have little confidence that he will even get the chance to decide the fate if my things.

**** Winter ended WAY too soon this year, and I am already sick to death of the damn mosquitoes. Not a good sign when it’s still fuckin’ February!!!!

[lockea]

I don't have much in the way of how to get around it, but recently I had a conversation with my mom about why I was never tested for or diagnosed with ADHD as a kid (I was diagnosed at 27) and she said she always worried it would negatively impact my life. She worried that I would feel limited by my diagnosis, as if I couldn't do the same things other kids could. She experienced that sort of behavior with my older brother, who has cerebral palsy. People were quick to do things for him instead of letting him figure out how to adapt on his own. In some ways this was a good thing, but in others she worried about limiting his ability to find his own adaptions.

As it turned out, people did approach my mom when I was young and mentioned that something seemed off about me, but she refused to test me for it because of how people treated my brother. She didn’t want me to feel or be helpless, and she worried that that was how people looked at kids with disabilities. (I should note her fears were not totally unfounded as this was rural America in the 90s)

As an adult, I’ve been able to clearly articulate to my mom how damaging that mindset ended up being to me. I always felt like I was “a little to the left” of most people. I was emotional, talkative, too much, and not good enough all at the same time. I had no words for what was wrong, and I wondered why I was failing so badly at things others did with ease. Even just being able to say to myself nowadays that “it’s just your ADHD brain, no need to panic” can be a huge relief whenever I experience symptoms of ADHD that I don’t know how to work around.

Anyway, my advice would be to share openly and honestly what benefits you’ve received from just knowing about your ADHD. What you’ve learned about your brain since then. Share how accommodations at school will help you do even better. Find examples of people who have ADHD and have been successful. I personally recommend “How to ADHD” on youtube to get started, as she does talk about things like accommodations and how they can help.

If your mom is worried about trying to find a therapist (it can be overwhelming) try using Psychology Today’s Therapist Finder to look for one as well. You can sort by insurance as well as telehealth providers.

Mostly though, be gentle with both yourself and your parents. I’m in my 30s and it was taboo when I was younger to talk about mental health. The change towards openness is relatively new for a lot people in the Millennial and Older generations. It sucks the burden has fallen on you to enlist people to help, but the good news is that school counselors are often educated on this and can be valuable resources to help, especially once you identify what, exactly, is keeping your parents from being fully on board with your ADHD journey. 

any advice for teens with adhd? i got a diagnosis about a year and a half ago, but my parents basically ignore it and act as if the whole process never happened. i was recommended to get a 504 at my school and try cognitive behavioral therapy by my neurologist, but my parents say it's my responsibility to find therapists in our area and my mom hates the idea of my adhd being on my school records. do i just have to wait until i graduate to get help, or are there some things i can do in the meantime to make it through high school? sorry for the kinda heavy ask 😅

Sent May 16, 2023

Ouch, I’m so sorry your parents are like this. There are absolutely things you can do to help yourself through school, but if you’ve got more than like a year to go that’s going to be too much.

First, do start looking for tips and tricks that will help you with your particular challenges. We have loads of ideas here and try to use tags to help people find information.

As for the rest, keep talking to your parents. I recommend going in with the idea of learning more about why they think the things they think, because understanding that will help you decide how to explain your side of things. Ask “why” a LOT. “Why do I have to figure out about therapists in the area? I don’t understand, because I’m still a kid.” “Why does it matter if ADHD is listed on my school records? How is that going to impact my future?”

One other thing you can do is talk to your school’s guidance counsellor or head teacher, someone you trust. Explain the situation and ask if they have any ideas about how you can access appropriate accommodations without a 504, and if that’s even possible.

Followers, do you have any other ideas?

-J

[bi-avatar]

AJSJDJDJ I saw this tiktok about that one scene where Bolin is mad at Mako for working for Wu and stuff and how he doesn’t accept what Kuvira is doing, everyone is going off in the comments about who the better brother is but I can’t stop fucking laughing because Mako is holding his hand 💅 the entire time