#i just saw another “”“”fixed“”“”“ edit for his teeth im gonna kill someone

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

putting a tiny pink bow in Viktor's hair. He is mine. I have married him. he cannot be hurt anymore.

[itwillbeall-dwight]

angel trap

chapter 1 of 2 - ‘acid pit’

amanda young & david tapp; character study; 1214 words

a/n: (doesn’t watch saw) amanda young call meeee <3 <3

im a pig main now so ofc im gonna get hoity-toity about the jigsaw philosophy. i also have daddy issues so i would like amanda to have a good dad figure in my place. and also also i love detective tapp sir kiss me now challenge.

chapter 2 should be coming in the next few days so i’ll edit this when it does, as well as making its own post.

be safe everyone!

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror in the reblogs!

Preview: “You don’t know me.” The Pig growled, low and animalistic, out a response after a brief pause to contemplate, slowly tilting her head as she looked over to him. “You did not live long enough to see how he guided me to salvation.” Tapp paused, swallowing for a moment and looking down to his half-empty glass, before looking back up to the pig-headed killer. “You call it salvation, I call it brainwashing and torture.” “He cared for me when your system thought of me as nothing more than a selfish addict and a helpless victim. He taught me life was worth living, had a purpose despite my digressions, and how people like me swindle their chance and don’t deserve it.” “Deserve a chance at redemption, like you got? Thought that killing them was the best way to teach ‘em that?” She fell silent. Tapping on the counter, faster now. “They deserved as much of a chance as you got, surely.” “You don’t understand anything about what he taught me-” “Then help me!” Tapp leaned forward slightly, raising his voice enough to make her flinch. His hands gripped at the glass tightly. “Help me understand the way he twisted and turned you so badly that you turned into…” The Pig looked up. “Into what, Detective? A monster? Is that what you want to call me?”

The creaking of old boots echoed behind her, slowly fading out of earshot, as finally, The Pig had been left alone, sitting at the bar of the Dead Dawg Saloon.

 A sigh escaped her, reverberating around the inside of her mask, as she was finally left alone to reflect on her test. The Gideon Meat Plant was silent yet deafening, yet the being who cheated death had given it to her as a realm to reside in, while she continued its wishes. But it was not hers - it would never be hers. She wanted to break free, if only for a moment, and the silence of Glenvale was perfect to ease her screaming mind. Guilt, torment, suffering - visions of blood on her hands and screaming in her ears. Everything she had done, had wanted to do in the future. Feelings swirling around her chest, making her both dizzy and numb. She just wanted a drink.

 “This seat taken?”

The sound of the strained, whispy voice startled her, looking up through the eyeholes of her mask to see the familiar face of Detective David Tapp looking down at her. From within the pig head, her nose curled. “Suppose it is.”

He pulled out the stool beside her and sat down, looking forward at the racks of dusty liquors residing behind the bar, cobwebs gathering along the necks and corks of the bottles. Tapping his fingers against the wood, he glanced down at the Pig slid her glass down to him with a slight motion, the cold glass nudging the back of his hand. 

Tapp took it with a quiet thank you, nodding and holding it up to her before he took a drink, recoiling a little. 

She chuckled, dryly. “Strong?”

“Old. Fits, but… nothing like I’m used to.”

“You should always adapt to your environment and circumstances, Detective.”

He looked over to her, and cocked his eyebrow. “Another one of Jigsaw’s mantra’s he forced onto you?”

The Pig’s fingers wrapped against the counter of the bar. “One of the lessons he taught me.”

 He hummed, taking a drink, tilting his head back and looking at the ceiling (he did not see, through the eyeholes of her mask, how she looked at the scar that stretched across his neck - analysing it, inquisitively, looking for flaws in her own technique that her mentor could still teach her, so far away).

 “So what brings you here?” 

She despised small talk. What was there to say, she hated the crippling loneliness of being surrounded and trapped by her failures? She bit her tongue. “...Call it a vacation.”

“Can’t get any more exotic than this, huh? Good ol’... western.” Tapp gave a quiet chuckle, looking around the saloon before he leaned forward again, resting his arms against the bar and looking to the Pig. “Better than anything in NYC, I suppose.”

She huffed. “I suppose. ...Yourself?”

“...Oh, me? Investigating.” A pause as he took a drink. “Never hurts to try and look for a way out. Cracks in this hellhole, try and make sense of it all.”

Her eyes looked him up and down, as she folded her arms on the bar. “You never stop, do you, Detective?”

He laughed a little, almost self-aware of his tendency to fruitlessly obsess. “Can’t stop. If not for myself, then for the people here trapped, like you.”

“Because you have nothing to return to, so you continue to attempt to be selfless.”

“And you have something to return to, Amanda?” He looked over at her. She scowled out of his view.

 “You don’t know me.” The Pig growled, low and animalistic, out a response after a brief pause to contemplate, slowly tilting her head as she looked over to him. “You did not live long enough to see how he guided me to salvation.”

Tapp paused, swallowing for a moment and looking down to his half-empty glass, before looking back up to the pig-headed killer. “You call it salvation, I call it brainwashing and torture.”

“He cared for me when your system thought of me as nothing more than a selfish addict and a helpless victim. He taught me life was worth living, had a purpose despite my digressions, and how people like me swindle their chance and don’t deserve it.”

“Deserve a chance at redemption, like you got? Thought that killing them was the best way to teach ‘em that?”

She fell silent. Tapping on the counter, faster now.

“They deserved as much of a chance as you got, surely.”

“You don’t understand anything about what he taught me-”

“Then help me!” Tapp leaned forward slightly, raising his voice enough to make her flinch. His hands gripped at the glass tightly. “Help me understand the way he twisted and turned you so badly that you turned into…”

The Pig looked up. “Into what, Detective? A monster? Is that what you want to call me?”

He gritted his teeth, and looked down to his glass, listening to her give another dry laugh.

“You’re nothing but a blind coward. A dead fool who thought for nothing significant.”

“A blind coward who wants justice for the people who you hurt… against the man who hurt you.”

Her nose wrinkled in disgust. But she bit her tongue. She would teach him, soon enough.

Silence fell between them now, the wind outside the saloon pushing and pulling on the doors outside, and the hooks that remained out of use, at least for now.

 “It doesn’t matter anyway.” She mused, glancing at him as he looked up at her. “Both you and I are stuck in our own game, a test of will. I suppose we’ll just have to see how wins, shall we?”

Tapp almost squinted, before he finished the last of his drink and placed the glass down with a quiet tap of wood against glass. Against the dusty, rotting floorboards, his stool squeaks, before he stood to his feet and pushed the chair back in again. “Guess so.”

She did not turn as the detective left, footsteps on the old floorboards echoing through the tall saloon ceiling, listening as he paused by the door. The world outside whistled with no wind, as if time itself stood still.

“Let me know if you finally want someone to listen to you, Amanda.” He called out to her, looking behind him with a hand on the open door. “I know no one else has.”

And with that, David Tapp fixed his hat, and resumed a wide sweep of Glenvale, to no avail. The Pig - no, her name was Amanda - remained seated, staring at the glass that had once been at that man's lips as he told her poison. She thought about this in silence, until that cowboy came back and forced her back to the meat plant.

 The next time she saw Tapp - in the Yamaoka Estate, among shrubbery and wooden walls - she hunted him like prey, getting him down to the floor with ease and precision. He turned to look up at her, the determination in her eyes striking her for a moment before she sat on his chest, and gently traced the scar across his throat with the tip of her wrist blade. But she would not end his life yet.

 She would show him baptism.

[saxxxology]

BITTEN - Ch.4

After getting bitten by a werewolf, Sam finds himself trying to adapt to a brand new lifestyle that brings him closer to the girl he loves, but threatens to tear him apart from his family for good.

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

WORD COUNT: ~2200

WARNINGS: non-consensual werewolf bite (not sexual), a/b/o dynamics: heat/rut, knotting, claiming, breeding kink, angst, time hop (season 9 to 12), and more.

NOTE: Edited by @kayteonline and @kittenofdoomage - please heed all warnings and enjoy! This is NOT intended to be a dark fic, but if you read something that bothers you, it is your responsibility to stop reading, keep scrolling past it, or contact me for content clarification.

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THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

Dean was in the kitchen when you walked up. He was cradling a large cup of coffee in one hand, and when he saw you emerge from the basement, his gaze fixed on you.

“How is he?” he asked urgently, “is he okay?”

You nodded. “It’s over. He’s fine, just hungry. Where’s Garth?”

“He went out with Bess. She’s in shock over what happened, so he took her to a safehouse out of state.” Dean watched as you pulled a pan from the rack on the wall and set it on the stove. “What do you mean by ‘fine?’”

“He’s not in pain anymore, his fever went down.” You cracked eggs into a bowl and whisked them around. “He just needs to recuperate for a few days, maybe a week.”

“Can I see him?” Dean asked.

You nodded and pulled a couple bagged chicken hearts from the fridge. “After he’s eaten. He’s gonna be stronger than normal for a while, so we gotta keep his human contact minimal.” You heard Dean exhale heavily as you started chopping the hearts into chunks. “Dean, I know you wanted to find a cure, but there’s nothing you could have done. I’ve seen people get bit and go through a lot worse. At least he’s alive. He’s a little different than he was yesterday, but he’s alive.”

Dean nodded and leaned against the counter. “You’re really intent on taking care of him, huh?”

“It’s my job to take care of my pack.” You replied, pulling four sausages from the fridge and tossing them in the pan, along with an entire pack of bacon. “Russ and Joba are gone. The Reverend’s… well, let’s just say I’m in charge of the pack, now. I care for Sam, deeply. If it were up to me I would have killed Joy myself so that didn’t happen.”

You heard Dean scoff, but when you looked at him you could see he was grinning.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Dean finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the counter. “Just… I never thought you’d actually spook over a guy getting turned.”

You shrugged. “I know when to care about someone getting bit. I wanted Sam to leave, I wanted him to forget about me, about the pack. I never wanted him to get bit.”

Dean nodded shortly. “The way I look at it now is, he could have been bitten and left to die. At least this way he’s got you and Garth and Bess to look after him, make sure he won’t get into trouble.”

You finished cooking in silence. Piling most of what you’d cooked onto a large plate, you slid one of the sausage links, a small pile of eggs, and several strips of bacon on a separate one, which you offered Dean. He accepted it gratefully, noting that you’d cooked the chicken hearts in  a separate pan. When you re-entered the basement, you found Sam sitting up and stretching his arms above his head.

“I could smell that from down here,” he muttered, turning his head to look at you, “is that normal?”

You handed him the plate and watched him begin to devour the food, shoveling a mixture of everything into his mouth with a fork that seemed comically small in his large hands. “Yeah, it’s pretty normal. And don’t worry about eating everything there, your appetite’s going to be pretty out there for the next couple days.”

Within minutes, Sam had completely annihilated the food on the plate. He tilted his head back against the wall, his lips parted as he sighed in satisfaction. “There was a heart in there, wasn’t there?”

“Two. Small ones, just chicken, nothin’ special.” You took the plate from him and set it down on the floor before snuggling into him. “How do you feel?”

Sam exhaled heavily and slipped an arm around your shoulders. “Not hungry anymore, definitely not tired… I feel strong. Stronger than before.” He flexed his arms, examining the muscles that bulged under the gray sleepshirt. He seemed bigger. “Actually, I feel like I need to run, get out…”

“There’s the punching bag.” You gestured to the slightly misshapen tool in the corner. “I can’t let you out yet, gotta know you can control yourself around humans.”

“Humans…” Sam looked down at his lap and swallowed. “That’s right, I’m not human anymore.”

You shook your head. “That’s not entirely true. You’re still human here,” you put a hand over his heart. “You’ll still be able to function like a human, your instincts are just rewired a bit, that’s all.”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, what happens when I wolf out and go nuts?”

“That won’t happen.” You nuzzled his shoulder and stood with him as he shuffled over to the punching bag. He gave it an experimental nudge with his fist. “Want to see Dean?”

He nodded apprehensively. “Yeah, but I don’t wanna try to hurt him.”

“Sam, you won’t—”

“You don’t know that. Make sure I don’t try to hurt him.”

You bowed your head and trotted back up the stairs, closing and locking the cage door behind you. Dean was still waiting in the kitchen, and he stood upon seeing you emerge from the basement.

“You can see him, but we have to be careful,” you said quietly. “If he smells you he could try to get at you, that’s gonna be his first instinct. The cage door down there has silver on it, so if he tries anything it’ll hurt, bad, but I need you to stay on the stairs, keep your distance.”

Dean held his hands up as if in surrender. “Trust me, I’ll be keepin’ my distance.”

You led him down the basement, slowly, his boots clunking heavily on the thick wooden planks. You could hear the dull, repetitive THWACK of Sam’s fists against the punching bag, but after the basement door closed, they ceased, and the space fell silent as you and Dean came down the steps. A little more than halfway down, you motion for him to stop.

“Dean, stay here.”

He nodded quietly and waited for you to slip past the cage, locking it behind you.

Sam was standing in the corner by the punching bag, his arms folded across his middle. You motioned for him to walk over, but he shook his head. “Y/N, I can’t… I don’t want him to see me like this. I can smell him, I can hear his heartbeat.”

“You won’t hurt him.” You walked closer to him, reaching for one of his hands. “Sam, come on, I’ll be there. The door’s got silver on it, you won’t be able to get out.”

Sam lowered his voice. “What if I hurt you?”

“You won’t. Now come on.” You led him slowly over to the wire door. His heartbeat increased with every step, and you heard his breathing grow more and shakier.

When Dean came into view, you didn’t know if Sam was going to recoil or lunge at the gate. He could hear Dean’s heartbeat, steady and slow, the rush of blood pumping through his veins, traces of whiskey and cedar covering up the thick, coppery scent…

...No, stop it! That’s your brother! You wouldn’t bite your own brother!

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice was quiet as he took another step down the stairs. “Hey, it’s me.”

Sam paused, took a deep breath. “I know.” He looked down at the ground and closed his eyes, trying as hard as he could to stop from hurling himself at the wall of the cage. “How’ve you been?”

“Uh, worried, for one,” Dean chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood, “I went out for a little during the night, tried looking for a cure or something…”

“Yeah.” Sam swallowed and clenched his fist. He didn’t know what the fuck was happening, but all he wanted to do was break out of the cage and rip his brother’s chest apart, get at the thick, pulsing muscle that was hidden behind bone and sinew, devour the warm, blood-drenched organ that kept his brother alive…

No! Goddamn it! Stop!

“I thought you’d be gone.” Sam cleared his throat as a fresh wave of hunger washed over him.

“Had to make sure you’re okay, didn’t I?” Dean caught your warning glance to stay where he was and decided not to take the last two steps down. Hell, he might be too close already. “How do you feel?”

Sam swallowed thickly as you increased the pressure on his hand. “Honestly, I feel good. I’m strong, I’m not hurting, just wanna get the hell out of here.”

“And why can’t you?” Dean shifted his gaze back and forth between you and Sam.

“Because if I get out of here I’m not gonna be able to stop myself from trying to hurt you or someone else,” Sam stated bluntly.

Dean seemed taken aback by Sam’s words. Apparently, he hadn’t considered just how dangerous Sam really was until he’d said it. “Sam, you wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know what I’d do, Dean, hell, I don’t know what I’d do.” Sam’s body trembled as he spoke, but he stood his ground. “The only reason I’m not going after you right now is that I know I shouldn’t, but if Y/N wasn’t here with me, if this happened somewhere else… I don’t know if either of us would be alive right now.”

You saw Dean swallow, saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, and heard Sam growl, low and deep in his chest.

“Sam, don’t say that.”

“You’re not in the place to tell me what to do, Dean.” Sam retorted. “I’m a monster, both of us know that. You don’t know how… how hungry I feel right now. I don’t have a friggin’ clue what’s making me feel this way, but if you weren’t my brother… I’d kill you, without thinking.”

Looking up, you noticed Sam’s upper lip beginning to twitch. He was starting to lose control. “Dean, I think you should go, this isn’t—”

Dean, obviously, didn’t listen. Instead, he did the worst thing he could. He took another step, closing the distance between him and his brother by another two feet.

Overcome by hunger, Sam snapped. You saw his eyes flash yellow as his instinct to attack sprang free. He snarled, his lips curling back over his teeth as his muscles bunch. He lunged forward, slamming all two-hundred pounds of his body against the cage. His long fingers were pointed in two-inch claws, which curled in the wire before he stumbled back with a yelp of pain; the silver on the wire had seared his skin.

Dean fell back when Sam crashed against the cage, bringing an arm up instinctively to protect his face.

“Dean!” You shouted, pulling Sam back against the far wall and holding him there. “Get out! Now!”

You saw Dean stagger to his feet his eyes fixed on the snarling beast of a man now ten feet away from him. He was staring at Sam with a mixture of fear, anger, and sorrow on his face. Sam took several half-gasping, half-growling breaths before reeling himself back in. He collapsed to the floor, his fingers pressing hard into the smooth concrete. He bowed his head as his body shook even harder.

“D-Dean, I’m sorry!” He gasped out. “I didn’t mean to, I couldn’t help—”

The door at the top of the stairs slammed before Sam could finish, and seconds later you heard the rumble of the Impala’s engine and the grind of her tires scraping on the dirt road as she tore out of the drive and down the road.

Sam’s shoulders heaved with a sob as he collapsed back, breathing hard as he fought to still his shaking hands. The claws had vanished and his eyes were back to hazel, but he still shook with panic. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he choked, “I didn’t—I didn’t—”

“Sam, it’s okay, he’s just gone to cool off.” You soothed him. “He’ll be back, I promise.”

Sam shook his head and reached to grip your hand as you rubbed his shoulder soothingly. “No way in hell. He saw me snap and that was it. He thinks I’m a monster.” He turned his head, and you saw tears streaming from his now hazel eyes. “I am a monster.”

You sat next to him and wrapped your arms around him as tight as you could. “Oh, Sam, it’s all right. You’re not a monster, you’re not. You’re adapting to a new lifestyle, and yeah, you have some different urges, but you’re just starting out. It’s barely been an hour since you woke up, I didn’t expect you to stay under control.” You hugged him tighter and let him bury his face in the curve of your neck. “Dean got spooked, that’s all. He’ll come back.”

“Will he?” Sam straightened his back and practically glared down at you. “How can you know that? Hm? Tell me how you know my brother’s gonna come back thinking I’m still the guy he grew up with.”

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