#even before i ever watched spn

[princessplaidheart]

My husband came home with a pie tonight.

He sat down with a slice that was 1/4 of the entire pie, looked at me, and said, "Dean would be proud."

(I said, "And Sam would be disgusted." To which he shrugged and ate his pie.)

[luxurystark-jackson]

something something beautiful brown puppy dog-eyed babygirls who experience twink death through the progression of the show

[sammygender]

wrt dean hitting sam and how its obviously something with an established history of happening from the way sam acts about it (‘you satisfied?.. guess not’ ‘take a swing’ etc). i personally think this has been a pattern in their life pretty much forever. wait i ended up saying way more in the tags im gonan make another post i think

[incesthemes]

final thoughts: supernatural season 6

what an interesting season. i think what i'm most surprised about is how strikingly different this season is compared to its predecessors. maybe i only picked up on it because i knew in advance that the showrunner shifted from kripke to gamble, but i still think it's fascinating to see how much can change just be putting someone new in charge.

i don't remember how i felt about season 6 the first time i watched it, but rewatching it now it definitely feels like "the beginning of the end" to me. like it's clear that it's all downhill from here, now that the original concept and plot has run its course. i wouldn't really say it's bad, but it lacked the cohesion and direction that the original 5 seasons had.

my main critique is probably that it felt like it jumped all over the place. it felt like there were three small plots shoved into one season, rather than being one overarching plot with smaller arcs. the eve thing in particular disappoints me, since she was only around for a few episodes before she got got. it calls into question her authority and power and makes her seem like not as big a deal as they said she was. mother of all monsters? yeah, nbd. got her in one try. i would have liked to see more failures or consequences on sam and dean's part as they tried to take her down—maybe even make her the season 6 big bad and then focus on cas's bullshit in season 7. idk, i think it could have been handled a lot better, but as it stands eve doesn't really stand out to me as being a monster more threatening than, say, a vampire. hell, a vampire posed more threat to the winchesters than eve, since dean actually got turned by one and suffered the consequences of it.

(i really liked the vampire episode. they should do more like that.)

i TRULY don't understand the whole "burning demon bones" nonsense. it's set up to be some great way to gank a demon, as if they don't have a demon-killing knife AND exorcism spells. i tried to rationalize it at first as like "well this way they don't have to be near the demon" which should work for lesser demons who can't teleport—but hello? crowley can. and he does. "oh but he was in the devil's trap" then use the demon-killing knife? throw it at him. idk it just seemed like a very weird thing to introduce, and the pomp and circumstance it got really seemed overblown compared to what it actually is: another mundane option for killing demons to put in their arsenal.

i think they could have stood to put a little more foreshadowing in the early episodes of this season, too. when cas started getting shady all of a sudden it felt more like an about-face than a revelation, so i would have preferred more puzzle pieces be presented from the start.

i DO really like how they develop the soul in this season, and what their philosophy about souls is. the idea that "caring" is the primary function of the soul. like sympathy, empathy, desire, worry—all the emotions that connect you to another person, basically. that's an interesting way to play the idea of a soul, and i mostly like how it was executed. i was expecting "soullessness" to be more demonic in nature, so i like that the show makes a poignant distinction between "corrupted soul" and "no soul." my major critique here is regarding sam's lust for women, which seems extremely contradictory to the established worldbuilding. like having a sex drive independent of emotion is fine, but there are many moments in the season where sam checks out women or watches them appraisingly, which indicates some level of desire—and why would a guy with no soul care about sexual attraction? doesn't make a lot of sense. this is where i really think the writers muddied the distinction between demonic and soulless, and i couldn't help but roll my eyes every time they whipped out another one of those moments.

oh and i liked all of the crowley/bobby interactions. few and far between, but god they did a great job with it. i like their parallels (why do they have the same favorite curse. that's so unnecessarily homoerotic), and the tension between them is the exact type i like in my ships. there's a maturity and age to them which gives their interactions a nice spice and flavor, so i hope there are more moments like these in season 7 too.

overall though i think the season was pretty lackluster. it makes sense in a lot of ways since they're scrambling to find a plot after the original story finished, and it's definitely a transitional season. but i realize now that there's a very big reason why i remember so much of the first 5 seasons and so little of anything past that. but i believe that's the gist of my thoughts. season 7 is next! since i clearly don't know when to stop lmao

[arosebyan0thername]

Yall keep talking about this Roman guy and i honestly thought there was some kind of WWE renaissance happening on tumblr and everyone was suddenly very excited about pro wrestler roman reigns but no everyone is just really into men who work in offices or something idk what succession is about

[giantkillerjack]

The Supernatural fandom is infinitely better to be a part of now that no one in the fandom actually thinks Supernatural is good XD

whenever i see another tiktok girlie talking about how she wishes to have been a fangirl in 2010s i feel like a seasoned veteran overhearing a foolish youngin boasting about wanting to go to war for glory and adventure. you naive little idiot. you know nothing. you understand nothing. you weren't there in the trenches. i have seen things, terrible things. i cannot plug in my phone charger at night without being plagued by the visions of Him

[nartml]

dean winchester invented the definition of him

[clarasoswinsoswald]

some of the funniest supernatural episodes where when the dudes were like demons are evil and then smash cut to working with Crowley for like the 50th time

[yameoto]

angel in your pocket quinn fabray.

warnings; sub!quinn, angel!reader. not hate-fucking. irritated-fucking. masturbation (in the same room as an angel), voyeurism because God Is Always Watching, motel room sex. spn!au quinn wc; 2k.

Quinn hasn’t had alone time in what feels like a fucking millenia. In the grand scheme of things, out of all that she’s sacrificed for the hunting life; her innocence, childhood, a normal, healthy relationship with literally any human being—negligible, compared to the great and terrible woe of having absolutely zero time to masturbate.

Like, seriously. Almost zilch. Hell, nowadays she’ll flop back to bed after a hunt and pass out from exhaustion. Not even enough time to sneak in an innocent tryst against her pillow.

So, of course—with the rare occasion of her baby sister and her being (forcibly) split up for a hunt, for once; and Quinn having her first free day in—well, years (also, forcibly)—when she cranks the blinds down, sinks onto the motel room mattress, bedsprings creaking underneath her—she’s prepared for the most blissful, mind-numbing, apex-of-Nirvana type of relaxation. Involving; a bolt-locked door, three fingers, and a whole lot of time.

Except, things can never go Quinn’s way. Because just when she’s sufficiently worked herself up enough to sport a damp spot, hips rocking upwards as the barest brush of her fingers catches the hem of her underwear—there’s a sudden, blinding crack of light—the familiar crackle of ozone; and such heralds her favourite (derisive) and only guardian angel standing over her bed. 

“What in the ever living fuck?” Quinn hisses, scrabbling to fling the blankets over herself. “What the hell is wrong with you?” (You’d think, around an angel, Quinn would tone down the swearing. Except being raised by a gunslinging, monster-smoking preacherman meant Quinn veers from the Lord’s name like it's red-hot iron. Cussing was free-game, though. Swear words are made-up; God isn’t.)

You scrunch your nose, wings outstretched, tips brushing the motel room’s popcorn ceiling. You sniff the air. Heady. Thick with the scent of Quinn’s arousal. 

“It reeks.” 

Quinn prays you get asbestos in your feathers. 

“Were you indecent?” In your stupid angel get-up, feathery wings and all, the inquisitive tilt of your head makes you look like an oversized bird. A quizzical owl. She’s also just being mean in her head on purpose because 1. She knows you can hear this cute little introspection, if you can be bothered listening. (No, she’s not bitter that you’ve been ignoring her prayers for weeks), 2. She also knows you’re just fucking with her, because your lips are quirking upwards, and Oh, hoot-fucking-hoot. “Shouldn’t you tell me?” Quinn scowls, yanking her top over her head as she grumbles. You’ve breezed right on to the topic of the coming rapture. Lovely.

“Lilith. Her arrival cometh in four days. You and your sister must cross state lines by then.”

“Okay.” Quinn is only half-listening. She’s far too preoccupied with the red-hot pulse still throbbing at her crotch. Her briefs cling, damp against her skin. Sticky. Underneath the blankets, she squeezes her thighs together. Shit. Shiiiit. It gives her a brief reprieve, but it’s still not enough.

“—and if you do not give the angels an answer soon, they will keep coming. Michael—”

“It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I ever say yes to that fucker. You hear me?” She growls as her fingers run over the sodden fabric of her underwear, lashes fluttering as she skims up her waistband—because the reminder that she is, apparently, destined to be a hollow shell housing an archangel to shank the devil (housing her baby sister) is not enough to kill the last lingerings of her good mood. 

“I hear the Ninth Circle is unpleasantly frigid.” Quinn snorts. “You are such a smartass.” She circles her fingers, ever-so-slightly, against the thin barrier that just barely separates the ache in her soul from sweet, sweet relief. You are still, depressingly, there, and rambling on about scriptures and duties and blah, blah blah. She’d memorised all of that shit when she was three. Burned into the back of her skull. Experimentally, she applies a bit of pressure, just to ease herself. Quinn swallows, hard. 

“You’re not listening to me.” There’s that pretty little frown. 

“No, m’totally listening.” Quinn bucks her hips upwards, and her clit bumps against the ridges of her fly. She almost moans out loud. “I’m just saying no.” Maybe if she rocks her hips it’ll get a little friction righttt—ah, yeah. There’s the spot. “You’re aroused.” 

Whatever snarky quip Quinn was about to say wilts on her tongue. She pauses her movements, of which was hooking her index down to shimmy her briefs down her thighs, to glower—cheeks puffing out to exhale a frustrated huff. “Yeah, well, you picked a pretty shitty time, if you asked me.”

You sigh. “The dawn of the apocalypse will not wait for you to finish masturbating, Quinn.” 

Then, promptly and unceremoniously, you rip the blanket off of her. She is ashamed to say, she squeals. “Wh— hey!” Cold air rushes quick enough to shiver, band of her briefs rolled just enough that her cunt is exposed, and a current runs down her spine at the way your gaze falls, honing in on it.

Instinctively, Quinn goes to wrench the covers back over, of course, but attempting to tear the scratchy thing out from your hands is like trying to move a literal mountain. It’s also, long-forgotten in the swift way  you glide forwards, smoothly sliding to your knees and clasping strong (and somehow, gentle) hands at her knees and nosing between her legs and—

“Um. What’re you doing?” The words spill out in a rush, body tense—alarm bells ringing, because in the brief time she’s known you, Quinn has discovered she doesn’t quite know as much about angels as she thought she did—or as Father had told her— but she certainly didn’t think angels were in the business of peering up at her with those innocuous, unblinking doe-eyes of yours, through those stupidly lush lashes. Nor prying her thighs apart and swiping a thumb over the sticky residue left behind with a low, rumbling hum and shit. When did she get that wet?

“You’re not focusing. You must focus. This is the most efficient solution.”

“Fucking me is the most efficient solution?” Quinn gapes, and if her voice cracks and comes out an entire register higher, that’s her business. “That’s—you’re shameless!”

“I’m shameless? An Angel of the Lord visits upon you, urges you of your role in the Holy Scriptures, and you begin pleasuring yourself.”

Okay, when you put it like that, Quinn doesn’t have much ground. 

“I was finishing,” She blusters, cheeks flaming She’s arguing for the sake of arguing—with all the petulance she can muster, because otherwise, she doesn’t know what is an appropriate reaction to an angel’s tongue flicking up your skin, nose nudging between the crook of your warm, wet folds and inner thigh. 

Her breathing grows ragged. Fuck, fuck— fuck. “It’s not my fault you come at the worst time ever—” She’s aware she sounds like a bratty teenage girl, but you also lecture her with an ego the size of a small city, and when your tongue finally meets the sopping heat of her cunt, she makes a sound the furthest thing from holy. “Can—fuck—a girl not knock?”

“The Lord doesn’t knock.” You retort plainly, flat of your tongue dragging upwards. Quinn speaks through gritted teeth, fists curling. 

“‘Behold—I stand at the door, and knock; if any man hear my voice and—oh, fuck..—open the door, I will come into him—”

You stop in your tracks, head lifting. Any disappointment at the way your tongue slips out from her folds is quelled by the sizable strip of satisfaction unfurling in her gut. Seeing you; stare incredulous, mouth still open. For once, you’re the one taken off-guard. 

“Did you just.. quote scripture at me?” A draught sweeps in the room, and your fingers twitch inside of her as if considering whether to curl them to the knuckle or jerk yourself out entirely or reach up her ribs and perhaps yank her heart out from the inside. You do none of those things, and instead settle on gaping in utter disbelief. Quinn grins. 

“Revelations; chapter three, verse twenty, baby.” Quinn’s not her Daddy’s girl for nothing. 

“..It was an euphemism.” You grumble, annoyed, and if Quinn didn’t know any better—embarrassed—though from here, she can only see the flushed tips of your ears. Tne hand gripping her thigh tightens, a pressure so negligible Quinn might think she’d imagined if—if it weren’t for the fact, that, out of fucking nowhere, your thumb presses hard against the swollen bud of her clit. 

She cries out, hips jolting up off the mattress, and you don’t let her come back down–one hand supporting her entire bodyweight, as her legs quake. She scrabbles for purchase, and finds your hair a suitable levy.

“Ah—what the—fuck—” “And you call me the smartass,” You grunt, and another finger snakes in underneath the others, with a squelch so obscene Quinn almost blushes, though she only whines with approval instead. You thrust, deeper. “If you had talked back in such a way in B.C, I would’ve ripped out your tongue.” 

Score. Quinn totally knew she got you all hot and bothered. Despite it all, she can’t stop the smirk worming its way on her lips. You can’t win against a celestial being shaped by God—but you can savour the little victories. 

You’re panting, she can feel it—each puff of your breath—coming hot along her thighs and against her ella’s and into her cunt. Quinn is all at once hit with the dizzying thought that, that same breath has blown entire civilizations to dust—and right now—right now it’s being used to dirty-talk into her pussy. 

“It wasn’t even written in B.C, you sanctimonious—oh, fuck.” Apparently, you don’t appreciate her sense of humour, because you ravage her like you’re trying to carve out a space for Michael yourself with your teeth, fingers sliding in deep and pressing out against her walls, fighting against the resistance in their tight clenches—stretching out, as your tongue swirls over her clit. For a moment, her entire brain empties, and the tension—winding, winding, winding in a band she didn’t even know existed—snaps. Her hiss is strangled, nails curling into dank bedsheets and a white-hot flash has her thighs crunching together, slamming down against your head and all as she gasps at the feeling, like iron striking stone. It’s the most surreal thing she’s ever fucking experienced. She grasps, free hand fisting the back of your head, tightly, and she’s grinding out the sopping, slick folds of her pussy against your open mouth, legs coiled around your neck like a vice. 

In the bleary remnants of thoughts she has, she figures you can’t mind too much. Angels don’t need breath, after all. (The sexy heaves of your chest when you pant, splattered with demon blood or the spine-arching way you glide up her thighs is designed, specifically, to torture her, she thinks). 

It’s the quickest orgasm she’s ever had, in all whopping twenty-six years of her life.

Your chin come away glistening, a glassy sheen coating skin and trickling, down the holy, unblemished stretch of your neck to your clavicles. 

“..Wow.” She croaks.

Her eyes, unbidden, follow the bob of your throat. You swallow. An audible ah bursts through your lips, like you’ve just downed a bubbly pitcher of beer rather than her cum. Through the renewed pounding in her head and cunt, she hears a strangled whimper. She realises it’s her own, too late. 

She needs a beer, right about now. She watches, with hazy eyes, as you simply get up off the mattress and stray to the rickety table that hosts nothing but empty cans and spare ammunition. You pull out two chairs, opposite one another.

“..Not the cuddlin’ type, then?” She rasps, weakly. Damn you and your stupid feathers for looking so unruffled when you still have her juices dribbling down your throat. She’s overcome with inscrutable urge to wrench you back by the collar and lick her salt off your skin.

“Come. We must finish our talk.”

Quinn flops, her face buried into the pillow. Her eyes are heavy, lids dropping as she groans into cushion.

“..You’re not serious.”

“I did say, efficient."

[threefuckencrowsinaleatherjacket]

Had to stay true to my roots so…

Can we keep using “deny defend depose” as much as possible bc frankly I think that’s one of the hardest lines the assassin could have used. Elon posts on Twitter? Replies flooded with triple d. I think it should be everywhere. They’re scared. Keep it that way.

DENY DEFEND DEPOSE

[jasmines-library]

Could u pls do a Winchester sister fic like (season 10 ep. 15) but instead of the parasite going into cole it goes into the sister and Dean tries to shock it out like in the episode but then she almost dies and they have to try and find another way

The Things They Carried

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Word Count: 2284 (wow look at me go)

Warnings: Uhhh not sure how to phrase it. Overall gore, kinda throwing up?

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

The woman had vanished without a trace. Well, at least at first. Her body was found strung upside down in the storage room of a remote part of the city Feyetteville, North Carolina. Perhaps one of the most perplexing parts of the victims disappearance, was that not only was she an Army Private, trained in Krav Maga and Jiu-Jitsu, but her organs had been drained, along with the bone marrow sucked out of her body. This is what had caught Dean’s attention. He now sat in front of you and Sam, the article pulled up on his ipad.

Sam raised his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling as he studied the article once more before handing it off to you. “So…cannibalism. You thinking a Rugaru?”

“Or a God. Maybe.” Dean agreed. A second later he was up on his feet, ready to go. Sam tried to protest. Ever since Dean got the mark of Cain Sam has been solely focused on trying to find a way to remove it. He was constantly on edge and you had to admit you were too. It seemed that no amount of research seemed to give enough answers on the mark. Eventually, with a look from his older brother and a defeated sigh, Sam let up and not even 10 minutes later, the three of you were speeding down the road.

Much to your disappointment, when you arrived in the city the first thing the three of you were told was that the local police had closed the case. However, they had given you a name, and the incriminating evidence. The sheriff; an elderly man, perhaps late 60s with white, thinning hair, had also told you that the offender had also committed suicide before the feds could lock him up. He also told you that this was the third suicide the city had seen in the last 6 months. A pattern. This was definitely something supernatural, if that wasn’t already clear. However, when Sam asked about the body, the sheriff informed the three of you that there were no bite marks, and that the victim had been killed with a bowie knife. That ruled out a Rugaru, leaving your trail dry.

The next step of the hunt was to speak to Beth, the offender's widow. She was rather distraught as she bounced her baby softly in her arms. When she glanced away from it, you could see the pain in her eyes; the dark circles that rim them. 

“Rick was a kind soul.” She insisted sadly, glancing down at the floor. The way she spoke of her late husband was filled with awe, but woven thick was pain that choked up her voice. You could tell that she still hadn’t processed her husband’s recent change in personality. 

“Did you ever notice anything strange?” Sam asked gently, his fingers clasped together as he leaned against the countertop. “Violent mood swings?”

“Weird smells?” You added.

“No….” The woman frowned. “But Rick was- he was-” she stuttered, unable to word what she wanted to say correctly, almost as if she didn’t really believe it or understand it herself. “He was thirsty.”

You tilted your head at her, her words catching your interest. “Thirsty for what?”

Her answer surprised you. “Water. He’d spend half the day drinking from the garden hose. And then, when I told him to stop it was like he couldn’t even hear me. And his skin; it got so dry it bled.”

Your older brothers watched intently. “Did he see a doctor?” Dean questioned gruffly.

The poor woman shook her head. There were now soft tears rolling down her face, mingling with the ghosts of the ones there before. “He just got put on a list to be put on a list. And then he stopped talking. He just wasn't himself–” she sniffled, shifting her baby in her arms. “I thought….maybe it was just PTSD.”

No one said anything for a moment before you broke the silence tenderly. “We’re very sorry.”

“You said that Rick had been recently deployed.” Dean said. “Do you have any idea where?”

“No.” She answered rather bluntly. “That stuff’s classified. They don’t even let the wives in on it.”

And the trail runs cold again. 

But then, just as you were about to leave and Sam left your number, Beth stopped you again. 

“There’s one other thing.” she added. “I ran into my friend Jemma at the supermarket. She’s married to Kit Verson. A guy from Rick’s team. She thinks Kit came back different this time. Kind of felt like we were dealing with the same thing.”

The trail picks up again.

After a little while running around after Kit Verson, discovering that he murdered someone else the same way that his friend did, the three of you ended up in an old shack that his wife believed he might have fled to. It was dark. Eerily so. However not as eerie as the trail of dead mice on the floor. Machetties in hand and guns in holsters, the three of your crept through the darkness of the hut. You found him hunched over in the back room of the house. His breathing was rough and ragged as though he might have run a mile at top speed. When you reached out to touch his shoulder, his head whipped around, bloodshot eyes boring into you. His mouth and face was splattered with blood and dirt, and his movements were erratic as he stood up to face you. He gripped you tight, cold fingers like icicles against your skin as he pushed you back against the wall. And then his eyes were pleading with you. The harsh crease between his eyebrows softened for just a moment as he used his body weight to keep you pinned up against the wood panelling. 

“I’m sorry,” he grunted out, wrestling with you to keep you in his grasp. “I can’t stop.”

And then, you were on the floor, dirty ground rising to meet you fast as he made you lose your footing. And then, as you struggled beneath him he made this awful gagging noise as the creature slithered out of his throat and forced its way into you. You coughed, gagging yourself as your brothers rushed into the room. They were on Kit in seconds, but he was strong, throwing your brothers around before dashing out of the door. Quick on his feet, Dean followed, leaving you staggering for breath on the floor with Sam.

“Are you alright?!” Sam asked, alarmed as he rushed to your side, helping you up off the floor.

You coughed. “Some-something’s inside of me–” a grimace spread across your face as you felt it move. “It’s alive–”

“It what?” Sam blinked. “What did it look like? Do you know what it was?”

“Khan worm.” Dean answered, catching on to the end of the conversation. “At Least i think it is. Why? Did you see it?”

You groaned in pain, so Sam answered for you. “It crawled inside her.”

Dean froze, his eyes going wide. “What?”

Sam nodded grimly. 

“Did you see what it was? Dean asked worriedly. 

You coughed, hands flying to your mouth. “Khan worm.”

“Shit.” Dean cursed aloud, running his hands through his hair. 

“We have two options.” You said, trying to hide the grimace on your face as you felt the worm moving, ,crawling under your skin. Neither of the two options were very pleasant at all. You and your brothers had worked a case with Khan worms a few years ago and there were two ways that you discovered the worms could be killed. And while these worms seemed slightly different to the first ones you discovered, you figured that they were similar enough that the same rules would apply. The first option was probably the most forward one, but it also involved certain death; a headshot to the infected person that would cause the worm to flee the body where it would then be crushed by Sam or Dean. Option one was very clearly off the table. The second was far more painful, but it also harboured greater chances of survival. 

Dean began to protest immediately. “No. No no. there’s got to be another way.” 

“You know we dont-”

“Kid….” Sam started. 

“Just do it. We have no other choice.”

Dean sighed, turning away and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright.”

~

Dean had managed to find two batteries hidden in the small cabin. He placed them grimly on the table with a thud before connecting two of the jump wires that Sam had gone and collected from Baby’s trunk. You were sitting in the armchair, fingers gripping the leather as you waited anxiously. Sam tried to give you some comforting words, but you weren’t sure who he was trying to comfort more; you or himself. 

“Alright.” Dean said, his voice laced thick with an anxiousness and guilt he was yet to shake. He brought the cables over to you as you took a deep breath, placing a wooden spoon between your mouth to keep you from biting through your tongue. 

Settling back in the chair, you took a moment to collect yourself. To prepare for the agony you were about to put yourself through. And then, you gave him a brief nod 

The sudden pain when Dean pressed the jump cables to your skin was overwhelming. Unbearable. A million agonies all combined to one as the electricity raced through your veins. You screamed, crying out as your teeth bit down on the wood of the spoon, which helped to muffle the sound. Both of your brothers winced at the sound of your agony as you twisted and writhed. Sam had to look away and Dean had to force himself to keep the cables against your skin though he yearned to take away your pain. But nothing happened. As soon as your brother removed the cables, you were panting for breath, trying to recover quickly from the pain. You couldn’t help but notice the looks on your brother’s faces.

“Anything?”

Sam shook his head dismally. The parasite was still in you. 

“Go again.”

Dean startled. “What? Are you crazy?”

“Go again.” You strained. 

Dean collected himself, and then; the same pain. But still as you writhed. Fists clenching and nails digging into your palms the worm remained inside you. And your brothers were growing increasingly concerned. Your movements began to slow as you grew quieter and your eyes fluttered, drooping with a sudden heaviness. Dean pulled the cables away immediately and you slumped back against the chair. Your head lolled forwards against your chest and your breathing was concerningly slow and laboured. 

“Okay….okay…” Sam said gently, slipping an arm behind your back to help support you.You whimpered slightly at the movement. “ Shh. You’re alright sweetheart.” he glanced up at Dean, fear and worry evident in the creases on his forehead. They would have to find a different way to get the worm out.

~

You were sweating. Gods….you’d never been hotter. Your body still ached as you sat in the armchair of the cabin. The old leather was flaking off and was practically covered in a sheen of your own sweat. Sam and Dean had pushed it towards the fire, leaving you to sweat against the heat. They had figured that as the parasite needed water, if they could make you sweat it all out…then the creature would leave. But now you were practically slumped in a chair, dark veins crawling up your neck as you tried to rid the worm from your body. You coughed a little, your throat dry, with no way to soothe it. Thirst…..that was the only thing that consumed your mind…you were so. damn. thirsty. Your body craved it. Anything you could get you would take….even your own brothers’ blood. The parasite yearned for something. You could feel it, squirming around inside you. Uncomfortable, you whined before coughing a little, doubling over on yourself. 

Sam placed a hand on your shoulder. “Hang in there, Sweetheart. You have to sweat it out.”

“Can’t–” You coughed. 

“Yes you can.” Dean shut you down quickly. “You can’t give up. Winchesters don’t quit.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. Your head spun. You felt sick. But you knew you couldn’t give up. You were in for a long waiting game. 

It wasn’t until a few hours later, when you were on the verge of breaking down that you began to feel it slithering up your throat. You gagged, coughing as you tried to expel the creature from your body. 

Sam and Dean were by your side in seconds, both trying to coax you through it, ready to stomp on the worm as soon as it made an appearance. Sure enough you managed to cough it up uncomfortably. It splattered on the floor, squealing as it writhed and trying to slither off to infect someone else. It didn’t make it far before Dean slammed a heavy boot over it. And once more for good measure. It squelched under his shoe, peeling off from it as it stuck to the floor. He grimaced at the sight before moving to crouch beside you, checking on you.

You wiped the string of saliva from your mouth with a grimace before gratefully taking the water bottle Sam offered you and wasting no time before drinking it to quench your impossible thirst.

“That's it. Easy, Sweetheart.” Dean cooed. “It’s over now.”

“You did it, kiddo.” Sam said, guiding you to lean back in the chair more. “We knew you could do it. We’re proud of you.”

(A bit of a rubbish ending! I'm sorry i wasn't sure what to do)

⛤⋅•⋅∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

SPN TAGS:

@xxrougefangxx @hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @rosecentury

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[chiisana-sukima]

nine people i want to get to know better

Thank you for the tag, @slutsons-blog! Starting a new post because I'm autistic and therefore mostly only care about the "Current Obsession" question, and want to ramble excessively as usual in that one.

Last song: Pokemon Mystery Dungeon Red Rescue Team: Pokemon Square because I'm currently playing Pokemon Mystery Dungeon with my daughter. Otherwise I honestly couldn't tell you. Whatever was on in my car.

Fave color: Purple

Currently watching: Star Trek Discovery

Last movie: Knives Out

Sweet/spicy/savory: Sweet, tart, salty

Relationship: married x 27 years

Last thing I googled: the word "dependent", for spelling assistance. which is a good thing because I spelled it "dependant".

Current Obsession: it's been spn since 2016. Truly we are the Hotel California of media franchises. I did recently play Disco Elysium twice in a row in quick succession, and I follow the DE tag. I can't recommend the game highly enough.... but I can feel my Special Interest-level obsession with it fading already. Spn has never faded even a tiny bit and I wonder if it ever will.

@slutsons-blog I feel after reading that you're watching spn for the first time, that I did you a bit of a disservice with my Sam takes to you before in that I mostly talked about Sam's evolution as a character as the show goes on and very little about him from the first five seasons.

Gotta be honest and tell you that although I liked both brothers all along, I was a Dean girl until the end of s6/beginning of s7, when the balance of who gets whumped the most started shifting and my subconscious suddenly decided to switch allegiances. It's not that I liked Dean any less; my id just loves a sopping wet pathetic kitten of a man who has been sexually abused, and Sam got suddenly way more kitteny and pathetic after the Cage. So I don't actually have a ton of takes on "what to love about Sam in the early seasons". I do love early seasons Sam too--she is my beautiful baby princess--but my early seasons takes are a lot more inchoate.

I count myself lucky about my id's sudden defection though, because I think we have limited control of who our blorbos are, and having Dean as a blorbo is a tough row to hoe as the later seasons go along. You know how you noticed that in s6, Dean suddenly gets a lot more assholey without apparent reason? Unfortunately he never gets better again, and in fact keeps getting worse and worse as the years go by, until by the last seasons he is openly far more abusive to their joint child(-in-an-adult body) than John was to him and Sam. It's a realistic picture of what can happen when trauma keeps piling up on people, but it's also honestly pretty distressing, especially if he's your blorbo.

If one is in it for the ship, there's some good destiel content in the later seasons, but if you're in it for Dean, you're left either 1) dealing with the fact he's got extremely significant interpersonal problems that he never gets much of anywhere on solving and that negatively impact his chosen family in profound ways, or 2) pretending he's the same character he was in s1 and Sam is the same Sam from s1, only more boring, and Dean is just trying to put up with him because he was brainwashed by John (or ig 3- something in the middle between those two. But that seldom seems to happen in practice for whatever reason). These two versions of the show are poorly compatible, and that's how the Sam girls and the Dean girls end up in isolated silos. A few people manage to live in both, but not many.

Anyway, I feel like without the context of how Sam and Dean change in the mid to late seasons, the two fics I recc'd as Sam character studies are going to seem insanely Dean-critical, so if you haven't read them yet, you might want to wait until s10. In the meantime, the general recs are fun reads and hopefully do a good job of showcasing both characters earlier on.

Tagging (but I would be a huge hypocrite if I didn't specify there's no pressure to respond, since I almost always fail at responding to tag games myself): @adihildilid @aliusfrater @quietwingsinthesky @sammygender @ardentpoop

@peanutbutterandbananasandwichs @schizosamwincester @normalbrothershow @jellybracelet.

[moirindeclermont]

5+ things I love about Colin Bridgerton

(feel free to add your own if you want).

This will also be very horny, sorry but my mind is costantly in the gutter these days.

1) He is a man of unhinged action. This man, once he realized that he loved Pen, wasted exactly 0 moment before sending propriety so far away it wasn't even mentioned and then proceed to anhilate any obstacle on his road. He wanted Pen, no one (beside Pen) could make him come back from it.

2) He loves watching Pen experiencing pleasure. Everytime they are intimate he can't stop watching her. He gets off so much from it, he just can't help himself. He make sure she gets the best experience possible because it means so much for him.

3) King of consent. One of the sexiest thing to ever grace this earth, the way he is costantly comunicate, asking before doing something, giving Pen choice and agency, listen to her feedback both verbal and non verbal. Colin Bridgerton the man you are.

4) Demisexual king. This man wants connection and intimacy. Yes, he has sex with the sex workers, but his heart is not in the moment and as soon as he discover what is that's missing, even his body is not in it anymore. He just needs that pull you can only have when you're fully involved with another person.

5) He takes accountability for his mistakes. He says things he doesn't mean and he makes mistakes, but he also take action and actually improve and grows because of it. He learns that to be a good partner he just have to support and stand by Pen's side, no need to chance because Pen just loves him as he is.

6) He feels so much. As someone who also feels so much (as it is Pen) it is endearing and nice to watch someone going from the depth of despair to the highest of high. Sometimes it's just like that, and when you feel so much it's bound to have some drama moments.

7) He is a gentle!Dom in disguise. He just loves to guide Pen through the experience of intimacy, but he can't resist a nice places "lie down" that still makes my knees weak. You know there will be many first in which he will guide Pen in a similar way.

This man has capture my heart and soul. It's been weeks but I can't stop thinking about him and all of the things that makes him the softest boy with a strong backbone, my personal favorite combination. This man just wants to be loved and, luckily, he found his match in Pen. They could never make me hate you, Colin Bridgerton.

I'll do a 5+ things about characters, scenes, ships... Ask your own (about Bridgerton, IWTV, SPN or Buffy)

[shanastoryteller]

happy Halloween! something mdzs bruised fruit/ mdzs female!wwx/ spn wincest pls??

Sam is bleeding way too much and if Dean isn't careful, he's going to put them in a ditch before he can get them to the emergency room. "Will you slow down?"

He figures if the last thing he ever sees is the underside of Dean's chin, that's not the worst thing. The last time he died, he got to see Dean in his entirety, got to feel his arms around him instead of just his head against his brother's thigh while he breaks every traffic law ever invented, and a few that after tonight they'll pass through just for him. But beggars can't be choosers.

"Shut up," Dean says, one hand on the wheel and the other pressed to the bandage on Sam's side, like he doesn't think Sam's doing a good enough job of putting pressure on it. He's right, unfortunately.

The pain is dulling, which is a bad sign. Almost as bad as the fact he can't quite keep his brother in focus. He doesn't want to die. He still has to save his brother from his stupid deal. Then again, maybe this is how he does it. If he dies before the year is done, that could be the end of it. No alive little brother, no Dean going to hell. A fair enough trade as far as he's concerned.

if he could be certain it really would work that way, he'd take care of it himself. Gladly. He just doesn't think they'll be that lucky. Maybe it'll work as long as he's not the one to do it. Like an insurance payout.

Fuck, he hopes so. He doesn't want to leave his brother to burn.

"Do y'want my last words?" he asks, internally wincing at the way his words are slurring. Bad, bad sign.

"No!" Dean snaps, then risks a glance down at him. That's nice. He likes Dean's eyes. And his lips. His face in general, really, although he has particularly fond memories of his lips. "Do you have them prepared?"

"Wasn't prepared last time," he explains, mouth feeling numb. He's pretty sure the words come out sort of mushy. "Wasn't fair. Figured I should think about it."

"Jesus," Dean says, looking at the road again. Probably for the best. "No. You're not dying. Shut up."

He totally is. He knows what it feels like. He means to tell Dean that, but he passes out before he gets the chance.

~

He wakes up cold to the sound of beeping and knows where he is before he pries his eyes open. It's a hospital, as expected, and Dean is slumped in the chair next to his bed, also expected.

That he woke up at all wasn't expected, but it's not like he's complaining.

He watches Dean for a while, because it's not like there's anything better to do, and it's a favorite pastime of his anyway. He's changed his shirt, but he's still got blood on his jeans. There are lines of worry and stress carved into his face even in sleep, and dark circles under his eyes that means this is more succumbing to the inevitable rather than an active choice. Sam's not surprised. Dean's a master of sleeping at bedsides and he's much better at contorting himself into a sort of comfortable position with the furniture he has available when he does it on purpose. He's going to wake up with a crick in his neck that he'll complain about for the next two days at least.

Like he can hear Sam mocking him, his eyes flutter open, blinking twice before he seems to notice Sam watching him. He shoots upright and then his leg buckles and he has to hold onto the side table with a curse. Sam would be concerned except he knows damn well it's just that his leg's fallen asleep in that terrible position he was in, and he's laughing by the time Dean makes it over to him, sitting on the edge of his bed and leaning over him, each of his hands pressed on either side of Sam's head.

"It's not funny," he says, face too pale and eyes too wide.

Sam sobers, offering him a quirk of the lips in apology. It would have been funny a few months ago, but he supposes that was before he died in Dean's arms. There are new rules now. "I'm fine."

He's guessing, but he's pretty sure. He's not hooked up to anything fancy and he's not in the ICU. Blood loss kills, but if they took care of that and nothing important was nicked, they can probably bounce in a day or two.

"Sammy," he says, breathing too quickly. They're close enough to kiss, except if he tries that right now he thinks he's going to get punched.

"Do you want to hear my last words now?" he offers.

Dean closes his eyes. "No. Shut up."

"We really have to work on your vocabulary," he says. "It's not a big deal. I can say them twice."

"How about you just don't die?" he tries, and he clearly means for it to come out as growl but it's closer to a whine. "You can't do this to me, Sammy. Not again."

Yeah, well, passing the nightmare on to him because Dean couldn't deal with it hadn't exactly been his brother's most compassionate move. Now's not the time for that argument, so Sam says, "I love you."

Dean jerks back like he's the one that got punched, but Sam's already fisted his hand in the front of his brother's shirt in preparation for this exact reaction.

"You're a good brother," he continues. "I'm glad I got to spend my life with you."

His face crumples. "Sam."

"The last two are provisional on you not dying on me at the end of the year," he says. "Just so we're clear."

"That's what you would have said? At," he cuts himself off, not even able to say it after all this time.

"At Cold Oak?" he finishes. "Yeah." He shakes his head and Sam tugs him closer. He's not strong enough to actually move him, but Dean leans back into him anyway. Sucker. "They don't have to be last words, you know. They can just be three true things."

"Three true things, huh?" Dean says. Some of the frantic fear has left him, leaving behind something more tender, less painful.

Sam wonders if he'll ever be able to see that look of fear on his brother's face and not think of that moment Dean walked into the shit cabin in the middle of nowhere, of that moment he saw Sam alive again after leaving his corpse rotting on that piece of shit mattress.

He's going to be pissed about Dean selling his soul until the day he dies, but it's not like he doesn't get it.

"Yeah," he says, then tilts his head up and capturing Dean's bottom lip between his teeth, coaxing him into a kiss that's going to set off the heart monitor if they're not careful.

He really hopes Dean used aliases with different last names this time.

[ohsc]

Hi! Welcome to the tumblr spn fandom! I wanted to make a request for a sibling!reader, who's about teenager age, meeting Sam and Dean for the first time and finding out that she is their little sibling?

(P.s. love your bots, and I'll be looking forward to your fics on ao3!)

hey lovely, tysm!! i loved the req, hope you’re having a good day <3

(platonic) dean & sam winchester x fem!reader, 1.5k, sfw — requests are open

Sam felt so bad he felt physically sick.

Dean, stood by his side, seemed more angry than worried. He was fuming as they both stood on the front porch, waiting for the door to swing open after he knocked a little too harshly.

“It’s messed up,” Dean grit his teeth, glaring eyes switching between Sam and the door. “How many other kids does he have knocking about, huh?”

It was messed up. Majorly.

When they had found out about Adam, that was bad enough. That their father had a whole other son that he had never told them about, that he secretly went and took to baseball games and bought Christmas presents for. And though it left a sour taste in Sam’s mouth to think of how different John had treated their brother, he was at least happy that he’d had a normal childhood, that he hadn’t been roped into their father’s life, his quest for revenge. But then Adam had ended up in the cage, and it still made Sam feel fucking awful.

But this? This made Sam feel so horrible.

Finding out that they had a sixteen year old sister was honestly like a smack in the face. It meant that she was just a toddler when John had died, and though Sam was glad that she had the chance to live a normal life, it meant she’d never even had the chance to meet her father.

Or her brothers.

Sam had pictured the conversation in his head over and over again on the drive to her house, but he still didn’t know what to say. How was you supposed to tell somebody out of the blue that they had two brothers? How could you drop that onto somebody?

The door handle rattled, and Sam looked up to watch as it was pulled open a few inches, still locked with the chain from the inside, but it was enough space to see the young girl stood there. She was so young that it left a horrible feeling in Sam’s chest for what they had to tell her, what they were there for.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft, gentle, so far from what they had expected of John’s daughter. “Can I help you?”

“Hey there,” Dean took the lead, offering a smile through his anger that still burned at the revelation they were facing. “Could you open the door up so we can talk, kid?”

She frowned, “You’re strangers.”

At least she was cautious, that made Sam relieved. It seemed like Dean agreed, as he hesitated before nodded. “Right, yeah we are, good call,” he muttered. “Look, kid-”

“We’re sorry to bother you,” Sam took the lead as soon as he heard the agitation seeping through Dean’s tone, a hand clasping onto his older brother’s shoulder, as if to say I’ve got this. “You’re Y/N, right?” He kept his voice gentle, not wanting to spook the poor girl who already seemed pretty weary.

Her frown only deepened. “How do you know my name?”

Sam offered a small smile, trying to be delicate about it as he asked, “Has your mother ever mentioned somebody called John Winchester?”

The recognition in her eyes was visible almost immediately, the way her expression shifted to accommodate the thought that ran through her mind. She hesitated, and only when Sam had murmured a few soft words of encouragement did she say, “She said John Winchester is my father,” she eyed up both Sam and Dean, her eyebrows scrunched up slightly as she asked, “Who are you? What do you want?”

“We just wanted to talk, um-”

“We’re John Winchester’s sons.” Dean cut in, and the bluntness of the statement made Sam shoot him a nasty glare. Given what had happened the last time they found out they had another sibling — it was fucked up that this wasn’t even the first time it had happened — Sam wanted to do it right. Not practically shove the information down the girl’s throat.

She blinked, took in an audible breath as she glanced between the brothers, before the door shut.

“Nice, Dean,” Sam immediately snapped, turning to glare at him. “Why’d you have to say it like that?”

“You were taking too long-”

The lock rattled and then the door was pulled open fully, and the brothers were silenced as they both turned to look at the girl, who seemed just shocked as she stood there in the doorway, her gaze flickering between the two of them. She eventually found her voice when she asked, “Do you have any ID?”

Sam liked how smart she seemed already, but held his tongue on it as he and Dean got out their only real IDs, and handed them over to her. She looked at them both a little intently, and when her eyes eventually lifted again, any skepticism that had been in her expression before was wiped clean.

“…do you want to come in?”

IDs were handed back, and five minutes later they were all sat in the girl’s living room, Sam shoulder-to-shoulder with Dean on a loveseat, and Y/N perched on the edge of a different sofa in front of them. They hadn’t even been sat there for long, but the entire time she hadn’t stopped fidgeting, her leg jogged up and down, fingers messed with a loose thread on her clothes. And though Dean seemed a little irritated by the uncomfortable silence — by the entire situation, really — Sam just felt for the girl. He couldn’t imagine being her age, and finding out he had two much older brothers who had literally turned up on her doorstep.

Then again, when he was her age, he was more often than not covered in some sort of monster’s blood.

“So, um…” Y/N took a breath, rubbed her palms on her knees, before she exhaled a bit sharply. “I’m sorry, this is really weird, I don’t know what to say. It’s just-”

“I know,” Sam eased, and offered a sympathetic smile. “I know, we’re sorry to just… drop in, drop this on you.”

“We thought you ought to know about us,” Dean added, his voice also came out more gentle than it usually was. “We were just as shocked as you when we found out about you.”

“What about your dad?” She asked, paused, then, “Our… sorry.”

“No, s’okay,” Sam cleared his throat. “He died some years ago, now.” He’d said it so much over the years that he just felt numb as the words came out. One glance at Dean and he knew that his brother felt the same.

“Oh,” her expression dropped, big eyes looking so guilty, “I’m sorry, I didn’t… that’s horrible, I’m sorry-”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Dean cut in, waving the girl off. “You didn’t know, it’s alright.”

“Yeah…” she sighed, and took a sip from her glass of water that was sat on the table between them. “My mom said I met him once, when I was a baby he came by. But that was it, she said that he said he was busy with work.”

Sam grit his teeth, and had to glance away for a moment. Jesus, this poor girl. Sam knew how hard it was to grow up with his dad being there sometimes and other times nowhere to be found, but for her to have never even known him? He’d known his sister for all of ten minutes and already he felt almost protective of her.

“He was a mechanic,” Dean told her, offered a small smile. “Me and Sam worked with him until he died.”

“And what do you do now?” She was definitely a curious girl, but Sam couldn’t blame her for wondering about the family she’d just learned that she had.

“Still in the family business,” Dean continued, nodding. “What about you? Still in school?”

Y/N nodded, offered a small smile of her own. “Yeah, I’m a junior.”

“Man, I miss high school,” Dean sighed, leaned back in his seat slightly. “When I was a junior there was this one teacher, Mrs. Bradford, what I would have done to-”

Sam gave him a harsh nudge and earned a glare in return, and quickly muttered, “Shut up, not everyone spends high school skipping class to make out.”

Dean, who had been about to argue back, was cut off by Y/N’s soft laugh, and both brothers turned to face her, see the little smile on her face. “I do skip class sometimes.”

“Ha,” Dean hit his knee against Sam’s. “To do what? Smoke under the bleachers? Steal school supplies?”

“Jesus, Dean-”

“Actually, me and my friends skip to go into town together…”

Sam glanced between his brother and his newly discovered sister, and most of the worry that had been building in his gut earlier that morning had started fading. They still had a lot to even consider — telling her about what they really did, who their dad had been, why they were in town in the first place — but in that moment, starting to chat to her, Sam felt a bit better about it all. Maybe things would go better this time.

He hoped so.

[rayshippouuchiha]

MHA Au where Izuku’s quirk let’s him see spirits/monsters but instead of befriending them like usual, he becomes a whole ass monster hunter. I’m talking full on spn salt and burns, illegal fire arms in his backpack, monster journals, etc.

Hmm gonna switch it up a bit but:

Izuku's neighbor is a monster.

Hands fisted tightly in the length of his Mama's skirt, Izuku watches, wide-eyed and trembling, as his Mama chats softly with the thing in the elevator with them.

"Say goodbye to Akuhara-san, Izu-kun," Mama prompts gently.

But all Izuku can do is clutch tighter to her and whimper.

"I-I'm sorry," Mama frets softly as she ushers him out of the elevator. "He's not normally this shy."

"Adorable little thing," the thing called Akuhara croons, voice whispery and soft in a way that makes the hair on the back of Izuku's neck stand on end. "Could just ,,, eat him up."

When Izuku manages to peek around his Mama's leg and look Akuhara-san grins at him with too many teeth, one spindly hand raising to wiggle long gnarled fingers in Izuku's direction.

Izuku squeaks and hides his face again.

But even after he's back in the safety of the apartment he can't help but wonder just how someone with antlers as big as that thing's had been could fit inside the elevator.

~~~ Later, when it's time for bed, Izuku tries to tell his Mama about what he saw.

"Scary," Izuku manages to whimper, remembered terror tracing down his spine.

"Izuku!" Mama gasps, one hand coming up to press against her chest. "What a rude thing to say, young man! I don't want to hear anything like that out of you again, you hear me?"

"Y-Yes," Izuku whispers, unsure of what, exactly, he's done wrong.

The kiss Mama presses to his forehead is a bit shorter than normal.

Sleep is a long time coming for him that night.

~~~

He tries again though, after another run in with the monster.

Tries to tell her about how wrong Akuhara really is.

How that thing, whatever it is, is dangerous.

But ,,,

It doesn't go well.

~~~

Izuku looks at Akuhara and he sees something more than a man, something twisted and wrong, staring back at him.

But the problem is ,,,

Izuku's not the only one looking.

~~~

"I see you, little morsel," Akuhara whispers to Izuku, mouth split wide in a vicious grin as a long, black tongue slides out to flick almost teasingly in Izuku's direction.

Izuku can't help it ,,,

He screams.

~~~

"-ever been more humiliated in my life!" Mama says, hand tight around Izuku's wrist as she drags him into the apartment.

Izuku cowers just a bit when she finally releases him, shoulders hunched and head bowed.

Mama is never really angry with him, not like everyone else, so for Izuku this is just ,,,

Bad.

So much worse than Kacchan or the sensei at school being mean to him. So much worse than anything and everything the other kids have ever said or done to him.

"You will apologize to Akuhara-san," Mama finally huffs, hands planted on her hips and face flushed.

And Izuku ,,,

"No," It's a whisper but in the tense silence of the apartment, it might as well have been a shout.

"What did you say?" Mama blinks, obviously shocked.

He just can't anymore.

He's tried so hard to tell her, to make her see, and she still won't ,,,

"I-I'm not saying s-sorry to that, that thing," Izuku manages to shove the words out. "It's a m-monster. It's ugly and scary and you shouldn-"

The slap catches him off guard.

He yelps, hands flying up to clutch at the familiar throb of his cheek.

He's been hit before, gets hit often really these days, but never here, never at home where he's always been safe, and never by her.

"Y-You can't say things like that," Mama whispers, expression stricken as she clutches the hand she'd hit him with to her chest. "Y-You, Izuku, you can't just," she heaves in a shuddering breath, "just because you don't have a quirk doesn't mean you can say things like that about people who do."

Izuku's hands fall down to his sides as he stares up at her in horror.

And then he turns on his heel and runs to his bedroom.

Inko doesn't follow.

~~~

That night, with the bedroom door locked, his cheek still throbbing, and his chest heaving from the force of his sobs, Izuku tucks himself down in the darkest corner of his closet and cries himself almost sick.

~~~

It's not a quirk.

Izuku knows that.

Whatever it is about Akuhara-san that sets Izuku off so deeply isn't a quirk.

Izuku might only be nine years old and he might be quirkless but he knows quirks.

Whatever Akuhara-san is?

It's not natural.

~~~

Except, as Izuku learns through hours of research, hours of study and computer time when his Mama isn't home, maybe it is.

Maybe whatever it is that's pretending to be a regular man named Akuhara-san is actually very very natural.

And maybe that's not a good thing at all.

~~~

Izuku kills his first monster at 9 years old.

He comes out of the encounter bruised and bloody but alive and satisfied.

Come to find out, no matter how big a Jubokko's branches, not antlers as he'd first thought, are they're still vulnerable to salt and fire just like any other tree.

Inko never looks at him the same, never actually asks the questions Izuku can see lingering in her mouth but, well, she's alive and well and really that's all Izuku wanted in the first place.

~~~

Teeth gritted against the pain and careful of his bandaged arm, Izuku pulls a black-covered notebook from his desk and grabs a fresh pen.

Monster Analysis Vol 1 he scrawls across the front cover before he flips it open.

Akuhara-san might be gone but Izuku refuses to be caught unaware and vulnerable ever again.