#so now I'm at a crossroads of needing to find some job that can give me a daily routine so i can schedule in doing creative/fun stuff

[your--isgayrights]

neuroscience degree? that's so cool !!

<3333 yesss i also think neuroscience is cool. I'm glad I went into undergrad because I think I came away from it with like a good mental mechanical model of how most brain stuff (that I care about) works. Which is fun because like... neurons teehee. And also just means like I love arguing with psychologists now i guess lol.

tbh I'm having a bit of trouble translating it into a career rn though, partially because i gained a lot of interest in other research fields through my minor and partially because navigating internships and references around some of my social dysphoria issues was like harder for me than I was noticing at the time in retrospect. Now that I'm graduated I'm trying to tie up some loose ends like getting my deadname off my financial statements and stuff (going to the bank today lol.)

[winchester-24]

I am SO gonna need a part two to Sam choosing between reader and ruby. I loved it and I’m CRAVING angst. I can only imagine how you’d continue the story I KNOW it would be good

I'm so glad you loved it! The response to this specific fic has been mind-blowing to me as someone who just started posting, and I am super humbled by it! Thank you for your support <3

Imagine Sam having to choose between you and Ruby (Part 2)

Cold. If any hunter was asked about you, that is how they would describe you. When Bobby came and picked you up that day, he let you sit the entire ride home in silence. When you two reached his house, he popped a beer for you. When you went to take it, he held it back and demanded,

“Sit.” You sighed and sat at his kitchen table, drank the beer he offered, and told him everything. He comforted you Bobby-style, meaning he told you it would be alright and the two of you would figure it out. You finished your beer, thanked him, and asked if there was any car he didn’t care to part with. While he had none running, he permitted you to fix any of them.

It took you a month to fix up a car. Everything you knew about cars you learned between Dean and Bobby. It was nothing fancy, but it would get the job done. Every morning, Bobby would make you eat breakfast, and every night, when you came in, Bobby would make you eat dinner. You would then shower, sleep, and repeat. It was like you were a zombie. When the car was completely ready, you packed your things, left Bobby a note thanking him and saying that you would call, and left.

During your month there, your phone would begin to ring non-stop. Calling, text message, voicemail. Sam was using any way you could communicate on the phone. In the beginning, you would listen to the voicemails.

“Hey, baby, it's me—again. Please pick it up and at least let me know you are safe. We can talk about this. I love you.”

“I know you’re mad- you have every right to be. I was selfish and stupid, thinking about what was best for us without consulting you. It was dumb, and I took full responsibility. Please call me. I miss you so much; I love you.”

Every voicemail sounded like that, but the contact became less frequent. Instead of all day, it was in the morning and at night. Then it turned into just at night. Then it turned into every other day until it became once or twice a week until the last week you were at Bobby’s, Sam didn’t try to contact you once. Good.

You went from town to town, trying every crossroads demon. Trying to get information, make a deal. Anything. Every demon denied you a deal, and no one would tell you anything. You were getting frustrated. In between finding demons, you would pick up solo jobs. The roadhouse became your home away from home, wherever your home was supposed to be. Some nights, you would end up like Ash, asleep on top of a pool table or bar; other nights, Ellen would give you the spare back bedroom.

Hunters would come in and try to flirt with you. You would be cordial and say no; however, every hunter was the same- stubborn, and thinking no would eventually turn yes. After the fifth hunter came through and tried to put hands on you, you grabbed his hand, twisting it like Sam taught you, and caused the wrist to snap.

That was the last time a hunter hit on you at the roadhouse.

Every so often, Sam Winchester’s name was brought up around you. Hunters loved to talk, and now you know how every hunter seemed to know you three when traveling, but you never knew them. Each time you heard Sam’s name, your heart became colder, and another shot was poured into your body.

Three more months had passed, and you were no closer to figuring out how to get Dean out of hell. A few times, you thought about calling Sam to see if he was close to saving Dean but decided against it. When your phone rang, you were in a hotel room, just finished clearing out a vamp’s nest. Bobby.

“Bobby.” You say that was your greeting now to anyone; you have no spark of joy left in you.

“I need you to come home.” That was all Bobby said. You sighed and flung your boot off, working on the other one.

“I mean, I can; it will be tomorrow, though; I just finished a hunt; is it that important?”

“It needs to be now,” Bobby said. I stood up.

“Bobby, what’s going on?”

“You’re going to want to see for yourself, get your ass over here and stop arguing with me.”

“Okay, okay, calm down. I’ll be there in a few hours.” You say before you hang up. You look down at all the blood on you and then make eye contact with yourself in the mirror.

“But first, I’m going to shower.” You mutter to yourself.

Freshly showered, you were at Bobby’s five hours later. You turn the ignition off and step out of the car. The afternoon light was setting in, and you started to get nervous. Nothing seemed out of place, so what was the big deal? You opened the door and called for Bobby.

“Bobby, it’s me; what’s so important,”  You stopped as you looked in the living room. Bobby stood there, along with- Dean. You gasped. Dean smiled.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” He spoke. He went to walk towards you.

“Don’t move a muscle.” You say, grabbing your silver knife and keeping it under your shirt and pants.

“Y/N, I already did the checks, it’s him.” Your eyes looked over at Bobby and narrowed again.

“How do I know you’re Bobby?” Dean smiled.

“You’re good here; test me.” Dean held out his arm, and you did all the testing. When he didn’t react, you looked into his eyes, and tears started to form.

“You’re back.” You whispered.

“I’m back,” he said. You wrapped your arms around him and hugged him tightly. After a few minutes, he broke the hug and rubbed your arms.

“Bobby told me about Sam.” Hearing his name iced your heart over once more. You looked away from Dean.

“He made his choice; I made mine. I haven’t talked to him since I left.” Dean nodded his head.

“I was going to try to find him if you wanted to come.”

“Thanks, Dean, but I’ll pass.”  Dean sighed and nodded while Bobby said he was going and was going to finish getting packed. You hugged Dean again before ensuring he still had your number and left.

A few weeks after that, you saw Sam Winchester for the first time in months. You heard rumors from the roadhouse about everything going on with Demons and hunting in packs and were looking for a girl, but you never went and checked for yourself. You knew the brothers would be there. Instead, you took up your usual gigs, hoping to stay away from the war.

It was a little salt and burn hunt. You were dressed in your FBI outfit, questioning the latest victim’s wife when you heard it. That low rumble you used to ride in. You quickly finished up your goodbyes, gave her your card, and started to walk back to your car when they stepped out. Sam’s eyes were wide, and he stood frozen at the vehicle. Dean was walking around the car. Surprise flashed in his eyes, but he kept advancing towards you. Dean wrapped you in a hug, and you returned.

Sam walked up to you and Dean. His eyes stared into yours; his mouth kept opening like he was going to stay something but then would shut it again.

“Are you still seeing her?” It is all that came out of your mouth. The distaste was evident in your voice. Sam looked taken back for a second but then regained his composure.

“No.” That was all he was able to muster up and speak. You looked at Dean for confirmation.

“I haven’t seen her.” That is all he said. That raised suspicion in you. You decided to let it go.

“If you want to help on this case, I can tell you what I have gathered so far; I was about to go get lunch- you guys are buying.” You walk past them and get in your car, not waiting for them to reply. You drove to the diner you saw on the way to the victim's house and noticed the Impala was not too far behind you. You grabbed a booth at the restaurant, and the boys slid to the other side of you. After you three ordered it, you started discussing the case and everything you learned.

“So, what’s your theory?” Sam asked after you gave them everything you learned.

“These men are not correlated to anything except they all went to the same bar. They were all at the bar the night they died. I’m not sure I would have to go back and ask all the victim’s wives, but I think these men were all unfaithful in their marriages. See, Kathleen Voss’ husband was unfaithful and wanted to be with his mistress, who, get this, was a bartender at that bar, so he killed Kathleen and tried to cover it up. Of course, he was caught but died in jail the same way as all the other victims.”

“So, you think these men are sleeping with a bartender?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know if they are unfaithful with a bartender or just in general, but I’m assuming that’s where Kathleen sticks around since that’s where her husband started cheating on her.” The boys nodded their heads in agreement as our food came. You ate, they paid, and then you told them where you were staying. Before Sam could even have a chance to talk to you, you turned around and walked to your car.

Back at the hotel room, you let out tears that had been hiding behind your eyes the entire time you were around Sam. Old wounds opened, and while you gave a brave face, you were crumpling and fast. You headed for the whiskey in your bag and drank it straight from the bottle. The burn hurt on the way down, but you hoped the effects would start soon. You changed out of your FBI gear into lounge clothes to do more research on these men. When you were about to open your laptop, you heard a knock at your door. You grabbed your gun and made your way to open it. Sam.

“Can I come in?” He asked. You didn’t reply; you just opened the door for him. He walked in and stood in the middle of the room awkwardly. You set your gun down and folded your arms across your chest. Sam let out a breath and started talking.

“I know you are still pissed, hurt, sad, everything. I meant what I said. I don’t see her anymore. I haven’t had contact with her in weeks. There are many things I want to tell you that I’m going to tell you; I want to know if I still have a chance.” You looked at him like he was stupid.

“I left MONTHS ago. You only stopped seeing her WEEKS ago? You know that first month I was at Bobby’s? You know I didn’t tell him not to tell you where I was? You could have shown up any time you wanted to, Sam! You didn’t! Sure, you left messages on my phone, but let's be honest- you were still with HER! You still chose HER! Now you want to walk into my hotel room and ask if you have a chance when I haven’t seen you for months, and it’s only been a few weeks away from that demon? Do I look like a fucking convenience store to you? You want me back; you have to earn me back. That starts with no contact with her. That starts with you showing me you want to be with me.”  One tear left your eye while Sam just looked at you. He nodded his head and started to walk out of the room. Before he crossed over, he looked at you and said softly.

“I still love you.” You didn’t reply, and he walked back to his room. You shut the door and slid down until you were sitting on the floor, letting out all the emotions you had been holding in for months.

A little while later, in your measurement time, about half a bottle later, another knock sounded at your door. You got up and stumbled over to your door, opening and seeing Dean. He looked at your state and softened his eyes but then tensed again.

“We need to talk.” That sobered you. You nodded your head and let him in. Dean walked in and turned to face you.

“Sam lied to you.” That is all he said. Your jaw clenched.

“What do you mean?”

“He is still seeing that demon; I’m pretty sure they are together now.”

Red. That is what you saw. In your lounge clothes and all, you grabbed your gun and knife; Dean already had the demon knife on him that Ruby gave the boys a while ago.

“Where the fuck is he?” You asked. Dean led you to Sam’s room. He stopped in front of it.

“Kick it down, Dean.” You spoke. Dean complied, and both of you rushed into the room—the sight before you ripped your heart out and disgusted you simultaneously. Ruby was on top of Sam, no shirt, just a black lace bra and panties. Sam only had boxers on, and he was drinking her blood. His mouth and cheeks had blood on them, and when you two busted through the door, they broke apart, and it was all over his mouth.

Sam’s eyes were wide that he had just been caught, and Ruby had that stupid ass smug smile on her face that you remember all too well. You felt your face heat us as you locked eyes with the demon bitch.

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

[catboybiologist]

so I went to college for a year on my parents dime, but the second year I suffered from severe burnout and returned to live with my parents and went back to my high school job, and now I’m just utterly terrified of the future as my job doesn’t even pay enough to make rent much less any other of the other physiological needs and I despise my parents but any path forward that I can imagine involves being dependent on them and the second year of college got so stressful I can’t imagine myself ever completing a degree, and you seem to have your shit together to a degree and I don’t even know what to ask but I just feel so hopeless

I hope this response is at least a little helpful. You're cutting deeply at something that a lot of people have experienced. I sympathize deeply. It's okay. And to tell you the truth, I don't have my shit together, and I'm at a similar crossroads to you. I'll elaborate on my own personal path after the cut, but if you want some advice, here's mine:

You're not gonna power yourself through burnout. You're not a failure, and what you're doing is okay. You need to take a real, hard look at what makes you happy. Not what career you want, what makes you happy. If that's your career, wonderful. If it's not your career, that's great too. It's okay to pause to reevaluate. Give yourself the patience you need. You're okay, and you will figure it out. But you can't power yourself through burnout. Something has to change. I can't tell you what. You're gonna have to figure that out, unfortunately.

But don't try to suffer through a degree that will make you miserable. You have to plan for the future, of course, but you need to remember that you're living in the present as well.

So how do you go forward? As I see it, you have two options: go back to school when you're rested a little, but in a different field than before (or a different approach like trade school or an associate's degree), or try to find a path forward that simplifies your life enough financially to make it on your own. Neither are easy. Both are possible, but brutally difficult.

You can slowly dip your toes into either option. Find out alternate jobs. Take classes from community college or online in a variety of subjects. But if you don't want to do any of that, its okay not to as well.

Take your time with yourself. I believe in you. But remember to enjoy yourself when you can. It's okay to be hurt. But you can try to love yourself too.

My overall point is: if you commit yourself to misery, it becomes addicting. The longer you resign yourself to living your life in a way that actively burns you out and doesn't make you happy, the harder it becomes to break that pattern. I spent a while that way myself. You don't have to read further, but if you want to hear my own personal vent and relation to this, you can if you want.

To tell you the truth, I'm considering quitting my PhD at some point. I'm still very undecided, but right now, I'm basically holding out until I can take my summer quarter off. Even if I wasn't doing that to socially transition, I need that to figure out what I'm going do with my life, and whether I want to complete this degree.

I've done a LOT of things I regret. And they were all in the name of committing myself to my own misery, and a lot of that was tied to academia, and appeasing my family. At first, I started giving up on dreams I had that weren't academia related (Mt. Whitney was a huge one, and longer thru hikes as well). It snowballed into a point where I didn't know how not to be miserable anymore, and I was actively suffering through things that I refused to change, simply because

That's... why I delayed transitioning so long. The first and last thought on my mind about it, the entire time I was getting my undergrad degree, was about how transitioning would affect my education, and my career.

I only started posting my first "femboy" pictures online in Fall 2021. At the time, I was deeply engrained into a really, really shitty situation, that I was doubling down on because I didn't want to impede the progress of my master's degree. I was trapped. I started posting the pictures because, well, I was in "fuckit, if I wanna kms anyways, might as well get some fun in before I do it". If anyone wants more detail, I might talk in DM, but it would mostly be me venting. For you, anon, I think my details aren't that important. I'm still scared of talking about it publicly even now, and I still regret getting into that situation every day.

Getting out of that was my breaking point. I realized that I needed to start living my life for me. I chose my PhD institution and lab in part because of available LGBT acceptance and resources, and started HRT about a year into my PhD when I was a bit settled.

And I love what I do! I still do! I love science!! I still love biology and research and the coding I do for it and discussing it and presenting it and all of it!!!! But is it worth it? Does I love it enough? And can I keep doing it?

I need to figure it out. And it sounds like you do too. Your individual considerations may be different, but its ultimately the same consideration: how happy will this make you, vs how miserable it will make you.

And that is a HUGE question, that won't be answered overnight. You're right to take a break and tackle it. I believe in you <3

[void-ink-studios]

Myth of the Wishmasters - Part 1

Alrighty folks, here we go.

Part 1 of the finale to Wrath of the Wishmaster.

It's been a really wild ride writing this fic for y'all. Honestly, it's the most fun I've had writing fic in a long time. But, I don't want to keep pushing to the point of me hating it. So, I'm going to give this fic the send off it deserves, and let it be my first truly complete work.

Will I come back to this?

Probably.

But I can't keep writing 2,000+ word chapters every day. I'm out of ideas for now, and I'm not going to force it. If I come up with more ideas, I'll happily come back and write them as one-shot accompaniment to this series.

Until then, as always, I hope you enjoy this and the next chapter. It's been a fun go around.

Full credit to @realmofthefirebird for inspiration. Go check out their comics, they're flipping awesome.

Word Count: 3,000

They speak in legends, in tomes, in myths, of the one called the Wishmaster.

At the beginning of it all, in the Age After Nothing, there emerged the one called the Wishmaster.

In the center of everything, in the center of nothing, there is the Time Room, keeper of the one called the Wishmaster.

In a place at the center of time, in a place where time cannot touch, there is the one called the Wishmaster.

It is a god of no equal. It is a god of many names, in many forms. But it is always the one called the Wishmaster.

How one meets the Wishmaster may very. It takes something powerful, something capable of building a bridge into the void. But all require a piece of the Eternal Dream, for it is the Dream that is the threads of the Void. Objects with fragments of the Dream are the most reliable vector to crossing into the Void.

In its current form, it calls itself Prismo. The Almighty Prismo is a kind spirit. An aloof one. He does not exist in the way you or I may think of it. For he is not a being of physical form. No, the Almighty Prismo has no need for physicality. For he is but an extention of the Time Room itself. He is the Time Room, and the Time Room is he.

He is the walls and floors, the ceiling and corners. He is everything, and he is nothing. He is everywhere and nowhere. He is infinite, and he is nothingness.

The Almighty Prismo can almost be mistaken for someone mortal. He does not act with malice to those who seek him, but he will give little favor. Those who do, the most powerful and persistent amongst mortals, might find themselves communing with gods.

The Almighty Prismo, the one called the Wishmaster, offers the same bargain to any who find his domain, his domain of the Time Room.

One wish, anything your heart desires, you may ask of him. And he will make it so.

But do beware, wish makers.

Realities may warp or split or merge, people and objects may shuffle through time and space, memories, lifetimes, erased or rewritten forever. But he will make it so.

For while Almighty Prismo is not a cruel god, he is a tricky one. Any wish lacking detail, he will fill the gaps. And lapse in thinking, and forgotten factor, and unforeseen consequence, he shall consider. To those he favors, he may advise. To those he doesn't?

Well, you will receive what you wish for.

Whether or not you can live with that is not a trouble for the Almighty Prismo.

He is the crossroads, the boundary, the space between it all.

And when the name Prismo grows tiresome, it will be cast away, and the one called the Wismaster will take a new name. For the Wishmaster is eternal. For the Time Room must have a Wishmaster.

The Wishmaster is the era is Prismo.

Who it shall be the next?

Only the Dreamer can decide.

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

Prismo had long ago accepted that he wasn't meant to be a being a wants.

He thought about what it'd be like to want things. It was his job to grant the wants of others, it was only natural to wonder what he would do in their position.

Some wished for power. They wished to be kings or queens or emperors. They wished to be at the top of their pile, unstoppable, unquestioned. They wished to be the one sitting at the top of the tower, smiling down at all the peasants, waving in smug satisfaction.

Prismo had no desire for power. He had everything he'd need right here. He could conjure almost anything he could think of. He was already near the top of the pile if how everyone talked about his was any indication. The only ones who could override him were the Higher Ups, Golb, and the Boss themselves. And well... he had no desire to usurp or overtake them. Just listening to the Organizer describe even a part of her job exhausted him. All powerful Wishmaster or not, he still had a mortal brain. It was incomprehensible to him, to be a Higher Up. Honestly, it was a big mind boggling even being in this position.

So, no, he wouldn't wish for power.

Some wished for wealth. They wished for mountains of gold or jewels. They wished to be head of the greatest company ever conceived. They wished to never have to worry about the cost of life ever again, and then some. Most wanted it as a ticket to power.

Prismo liked gold, that was true. He liked decorating himself with jewelry when he got the opportunity, he liked how it sparkled and glittered. But, he could just conjure it. He had no real need for wealth. Gold was meaningless to him, except in how it was pretty. He knew, even as a mortal, he'd never need the amount of gold that these wish makers were asking for. It was more than could be spent in a lifetime. More than could be spent in several lifetimes, even. And he didn't see the appeal.

So, nope, wealth wasn't it either.

People wished for so many things. Power and wealth were the most common, but they certainly weren't the only things.

People wished for love, they wished for family, they wished for health. Some wished for noble reasons, like Finn, trying correct a great evil, trying to save millions. Some wished for the pettiest things imaginable, like cursing a rival with sickness or pain.

And then there was Prismo.

A god who wanted nothing. Or, did he?

He never dwelled too deeply on the thought. It was a pointless endeavor, after all. His role as Wishmaster excluded him from wanting things.

So, he chose not to think too hard about it.

Until a certain roommate challenged that.

Because Scarab... Scarab made him want things. Prismo wanted Scarab, wanted his affection. Scarab made him think about what he wanted.

Prismo wanted to be friends with good people. He was done with being "everybody's pal." He was only that because he didn't want anything from anyone. But, now he wanted something. He wanted kindness. He wanted compassion. And he found out how little of it there was to go around within the pantheon.

Scarab made him think about what he wanted from his space. The unchanging Time Room had completely transformed with Scarab's help. Prismo felt... good in here. He felt good to call this place home, because now it actually felt like home. Because Scarab made him realize there were things that's make him more comfortable.

Prismo, the person, not the Wishmaster, wanted things.

And he realized he had everything he could want. At least with Scarab there, in his arms, chirping and purring in a warm bundle, in the soft glow of the magic clouds above them.

A small ring interrupted the quiet calm. A familiar sound, of something being conjured.

Prismo cracked an eye open, a single letter on the ground in the center of the Time Room.

"Lovebug" the Wishmaster whined.

"Hmm?"

"There's mail."

"So there is."

"Can you go get it?"

Scarab scoffed, rolling his eyes as he dislodged himself from the blanket pile. He picked the letter up, but froze as he read the address.

Prismo tilted his head.

"Lovebug?"

Scarab was frozen. Eerily still.

Okay, now Prismo was worried.

"Scarab?"

Scarab finally seemed to return to himself, looking at Prismo with wide, uncertain eyes.

"...It's from the Boss."

Prismo felt his stomach drop out from under him.

"...Excuse me?"

"It's from the Boss. Prismo, why are we getting a message from the Boss, what did we do?"

"I-I don't know man! Come here, open it!"

Scarab's hands were shaking, slowly opening the letter, with starkly simple writing.

To Prismo the Wishmaster and Caretaker Scarab,

Caretaker Scarab's position has been altered due to exceptional work and recommendation from a superior.

Caretaker Scarab's title has been updated from Time Room Caretaker, to Assistant Wishmaster. Responsibilities now include occasionally granting wishes under the supervision of Wishmaster Prismo. Continue upkeep of Time Room. Majority of wishes are still expected to be granted by Wishmaster Prismo. As a guide, for every 10 wishes granted, one may be granted by Assistant Wishmaster Scarab.

Assistant Wishmaster Scarab will remain in the Time Room until further notice.

The Organizer has advocated for this position change. While unorthodox, she does not petition me often, so I am inclined to believe it is after thoughtful consideration. I will be surveying your progress.

Do not make me regret this, Scarab. There has never been two Wishmasters at a time. Consider this a trial run.

Good luck,

-The Boss

The two gods stared at the piece of paper.

An unassuming piece of paper that just upgraded Scarab to one of the highest positions in the pantheon.

Granted, it was assistant, not full, but still!

"...Scrabby...?"

Prismo could see Scarab's form shaking, before he let out the loudest, most energetic chirp the Wishmaster had ever heard come from such a small body.

Scarab seemed to be honest to Glob dancing, hugging the piece of paper close to his chest. He turned to Prismo, eyes so wide, to match his smile, before running up and nearly flinging himself into his partner's chest, practically vibrating.

Prismo chuckled, catching the bug and holding him close, smiling and kissing the top of Scarab's head.

"PRISMO! PRISMO, I... I-I...!"

"I know, Lovebug, I know! You earned it, baby, you deserve every bit of it!"

Scarab seemed a bit lost in his own excitement, almost ready to cry, before his shoulders seemed to remind him of humility. He groaned as he rubbed at them, but not even that seemed to put a damper on his good mood.

"I'm so happy for you, Scarab. Two Wishmasters, hmm?"

"I-I know! It's unprecedented! It's never been done before, not even since Time began! I'd know, I checked." Scarab seemed to pace, his shell buzzing with excited energy.

"Tell you what, Lovebug. It said in the letter that in every 10 wishes, you should grant one. So, how about I grant the next nine, just to show you the ropes, and then you grant wish number 10! Give you some time to study, maybe start thinking of your own wish granting style before you give it a go. Sound good?"

Scarab considered before nodding sagely.

"Wish granting style?"

"Well, yeah. How you chose to interpret wishes. Most people who pass through here leave gaps in their wishes. It's up to the Wishmaster to fill in those gaps. How you choose to fill them sets the tone for who you are as a Wishmaster."

Scarab hummed, giving Prismo a studying look.

"Well... What is your style then?"

Prismo scooped Scarab up to let the beetle perch on his shoulder as he flipped on the screen wall.

"Well... I tend to approach it with a Monkey's Paw deal. The example I like to give is... What if you wished for a back rub? Who's giving you this back rub? An actual masseuse, a random sweaty guy, a bear? If the wish maker doesn't specify, I tend to fill in gaps in ways I find funny, mostly. Next question, where does this masseuse come from? Do I just spawn someone out of the either? Do I pull some random dude out of his reality, away from anyone and anything he knew? How is that universe's timeline effected with him gone?"

Prismo flipped through a few realities made from his wishes.

"This Farmworld here. It was made with good intentions. Finn wished for the Lich to have never existed. He didn't specify what exactly that meant for his reality. Did he mean the Mushroom War never happens? Did he mean for the Catalyst Commet containing the Lich to miss Ooo? The way I try to think of it is to preserve as much of the wish maker's original timeline as possible. Something that world altering gets separated and made into its own reality. I interpreted the wish as the Lich never getting to leave the Mushroom Bomb, as that leave most of the timeline intact, up until the 1000 years after the Lich's emergence. Keeps the threads more intact, rather than rewriting 65 million years if the Catalyst Commet missed, or rewriting that realities interaction with the cosmic timeline by deleting Catalyst Commets entirely."

Prismo turned to look at Scarab who was utterly transfixed.

"Make sense?"

"Yes, I think I understand your logic... Interpreting the wish in such a way that makes reality rewrite itself as little as possible."

"Exactly. Even then, it still needed to be isolated into a new reality. A lot of things happened in Ooo over those 1000 years, all of which are because the Lich emerged."

Prismo flicked through a few more timelines, explaining how those wishes were interpreted and the knock on effects they had.

"Prismo. Do you have something you'd consider a perfect wish?"

The Wishmaster thought.

"Hmm... Perfect wish? If it did happen, I wasn't Wishmaster when it did. 99% of the wishes that come through here are too simple. Too filled with gaps to ever go the way the Wish Maker intended."

Prismo thought a bit longer, pausing on Scarab's intense expression.

"I think... the most complete wish I ever granted was... actually a bit sad. They wished to be removed from their reality. Completely. They got pretty much exactly what they wanted. No one in their time line remembered who they were, all of their future accomplishments were distributed to other people, and they ceased to exist as a person, turning into some kind of... non-sentient cosmic wind I think. It was the most specific wording I've never gotten for a wish. Fewest gaps to be filled. But... I'm not sure I'd call it a perfect wish. It just seemed so..."

"...Depressing?"

"Yeah..."

The two sat in silence for a long moment. Scarab seemed to be in deep thought before nodding his head.

"Thank you, Prismo. I hope to learn a lot from you."

Prismo smiled, lightly nuzzling the side of Scarab's waist as the beetle purred.

And so, Prismo carried on, not thinking much of it. A perfect wish? It probably wasn't possible. Not in his tenure as Wishmaster at least.

So, he continued to teach.

He had to admit, Scarab was an avid learner. He took diligent notes, studied through countless realities Prismo had created, breaking down where and how the gaps in wishes were filled.

He watched, carefully, as Prismo granted the first wish since the new change.

The Wishmaster kind of felt bad that Scarab's first real observation was one of the most boring types of wishes. This one wished to be famous. No details on how that fame would be achieved, or if that fame was even positive.

Prismo wasn't malicious as a Wishmaster, but he wouldn't lie and say a little bit of bias didn't slip in depending on the Wish Maker's attitude. This one treated Prismo like an object rather than a person, and was very smug about even making it here.

So, Prismo granted the wish alright. He was certainly famous. Maybe it was for the most embarrassing speech and presentation of all time, but it was fame. His name would live on for a long time, that was for certain.

"I don't like how that one treated you" Scarab chittered from his corner.

"Yeah, well, you get some good ones and some bad ones. The bad ones I just send on their way. No real skin off my nose."

"...Does it not bother you when they don't seem to see... you?"

Prismo shrugged.

"I mean, what am if not the Almighty Prismo, the Wishmaster. No one sticks around long enough to care, so why should I?"

That didn't seem to sit well with Scarab, but the beetle dropped it for the time being.

As time ticked by, more and more wishes poured through.

A wish to make sure their town never went hungry again.

A wish to become king of the solar system.

A wish to make the love of their life never feel despair again.

All had their faults. All were granted accordingly. And Scarab was there, taking notes on it all. He observed, commented when the Wish Maker left, and noted on Prismo's explanations.

A few Wish Makers commented on Scarab's presence. The ones who were nice to the beetle might have found themselves with slightly more favorable interpretations, but no one needed to know that.

A wish to bring back a loved one from the dead.

A wish to be the most irresistible thing on the planet.

A wish to gain all the magical knowledge of the cosmos.

A wish for the ability to turn back time.

All came and left. All decided their own fates. Prismo had eventually forgot about Scarab's inquiry into what he'd consider the perfect wish.

Until the last wish before Scarab's trial run came and went. A bit anticlimactic in his opinion.

A wish to never die. Poor bastard didn't know what he was asking for with that one.

Scarab was quiet, his usual commentary suspiciously absent.

"Well, you think you're ready, Lovebug?"

Scarab hummed, tapping a pen onto the notebook, clearly deep in thought.

"Scarab?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, I think so. But... well, I have one more question for you, Prismo."

The beetle was slow to rise, flicking through his notes one more time, before putting it all down.

"You remember, how I asked you if you had ever had a perfect wish?"

"Oh, yeah. Like I said, and like you probably saw, most of the wishes aren't super exciting. Was hoping for something a bit more... I dunno, showy for your first set, but not like I control what other people want."

"Right..."

Scarab seemed to hesitate.

"...You alright, Lovebug? Looks like you're about to pop, you're thinking so hard." Prismo chuckled as he curled around the beetle, nuzzling him softly.

But Scarab had a look. A dead serious one. He looked up at the Wish Master with... a conviction. A scary kind.

"...Prismo. What would you wish for?"

[musicribbons]

hi! hope ur doing well, im a big fan of Pursuit and Sunflower. with the evolution and popularity of AI growing faster and stronger, what views do you have with the usage of AI in writing creative works? i.e., using it to proofread works, to give you ideas or a backbone for a story, etc--not major writing or letting it do the work for u, but giving it jobs that an editor or a person could do. im at a crossroads with that and idk how ethical or right it is, so what do you think?

Hello! I hope you're also doing well. This is going to be a little long…

This is a great question. I'm still trying to find where I stand on the ethics of using AI for work since a lot of is overhyped, environmentally destructive, and financially unsustainable. So I'll share what my current thoughts on the use of AI is. I am going to touch on how AI is used professionally before how it's used creatively though.

If you talk to anyone who runs a business or freelances, they'll say that you get to pick two: fast, quality, and cost. I've started to use AI, specifically ChatGPT, for some of my professional work. My clients demand fast and high quality work. Sometimes, the only way to close that gap and the impossible time budget expectations is to use AI.

Now how do I use AI in my work? Mostly to generate a first rough draft for whatever I'm working on. But the caveat here is that I've had to feed a lot of data and my own work into ChatGPT to finally get something close to an acceptable rough draft for me to review and refine until it's good enough for me to show my clients. Sometimes, if I need a completely different writing style, because the client wants that, I'll ask ChatGPT to do that for me. Stylistically, my professional writing is pretty technical. Sometimes, my clients want something more bubbly and exciting. ChatGPT comes in handy here, but I still need to go through everything to make sure that it has the core point and didn't make something up.

Going off on my last point, ChatGPT definitely hallucinates. I only use ChatGPT for things where I can cross-reference the source materials I'm working with and I'm personally an expert in. I can't use ChatGPT at all for any of my medical/academic projects. It just lies and makes up scholarly sources. It also fully cannot do word counts. It's incapable of it. It's so bad that sometimes it's hilarious, albeit, I get pretty frustrated with it.

At the end of the day, ChatGPT is like a keen intern that tends to work faster than a human being. However, it lacks all the critical thinking and problem-solving skills that we develop as humans. I am personally not afraid of ever being replaced by ChatGPT. My clients can try, but they'd be in a real world of hurt. I know organizations who have fired several employees thinking that AI could replace them and save money. Surprise! It couldn't replace humans, and AI is just a tool that humans created and use.

Okay, I know you were specifically asking about creative works. I personally found that AI isn't great at proof reading. You can definitely ask it on how you could improve your writing, but sometimes, it's a hit-or-miss. You still need to do the bulk of the heavy lifting and feed it a lot of your original work.

I mean, you can definitely use AI to give you ideas or an outline, because tropes are just formulaic versions of stories and characters that we've repeatedly used in our literature and creative works throughout history. But you still had to have a rough idea of what you want and create a prompt for that.

I personally think it's also fine to use if you have really bad writer's block, and you need to get unstuck. I don't think it makes you a bad writer or person for using tools at your disposal. If you're the sole creator of your writing and you're doing all the writing, it's still yours. If a friend helped you get unstuck at a plot point, would it mean your story is no longer yours? No, not really. You might give them a shoutout. (You do not need to give AI a shoutout.)

Now the ethics of how AI is being created, scraping data, and has impossible energy requirements? I have a lot of feelings about that. I just try to use AI as ethically as I can as an individual, and that includes not treating it like Google when I can use a search engine and only using it when I actually need to use it.

I hope that answers your question. It's also okay that both of us will have evolving opinions and stances on the use of AI as the tech and policy landscapes evolves. I think it's a bit early to tell how things are going to go. I just know that it's a lot of hype, and a lot of tech critics don't think the AI hype is going to last.

(I hope I don't get cancelled on Tumblr lol) There's also a great podcast interview on the "The Journal" by the Wall Street Journal who talks to Hans Zimmer about how a movie used AI to create a soundtrack that sounded like what he would've composed (but likely didn't want to or could pay for him). I really liked his perspective on the use of AI in music. It might be worth a listen!

[jerseyoklahomo]

"Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him."

Step three is the first step toward affirmative action---making a decision to turn my will and life over. Am I ready to do this? I am so used to doing everything the way that I want to do it. I usually end up with positive results when I follow my will, so it can be difficult to think that my way is wrong or ineffective. And, although I have admitted that my life has become unmanageable as a result of my addiction and that I am powerless over that addiction---and I even believe that God has the power to do anything in my life. The question remains, am I ready to turn my will over to that Higher Power that I have identified? Am I truly ready to begin aligning my will with the will that God has for my life? Am I ready to begin deflating my ego?

The 12 & 12 mentions that once we have placed the key of willingness in the lock and have the door ever so slightly open, we find that we can always open it some more. However, when I begin to take my will back it can slam the door shut again.

So many times in my life, I have tried to have complete control by manipulating everything in my life to work out the way that I want it to work out. I sometimes do this without regard to how it affects others or sometimes if it is even what I really want. I have an idealistic view of how things should be, and I go to any lengths to be the puppeteer that controls it. This comes in the form of jobs, relationships, reputation, and whatever else I feel I can control. If there is any control to be had, I tend to make the effort to take it. Now, I am faced with this decision to listen to these suggestions that have been given to me by people who have what I want, but I still want to maintain complete independence. I'm sometimes afraid that by turning over my will, I will no longer be able to feel like myself. I'm afraid I'll be boring. I'm afraid I won't be achieving the goals I set for myself.

I think I am learning a little bit every day what God's will is in my life. I used to think it was boring and the hard way, but it is actually starting to feel a little more in line with positivity and a positive outcome. I can do a great job at ignoring what God's will is for my life, but that's usually when I don't take the time to think things through.

For example, I am interviewing for a job right now. It is a crossroads in life at this current moment, so I am thinking it through carefully. The issue I had at the beginning is that it is what I want to do, and I've been learning that what I want is wrong sometimes because of my intentions. This is why I have spoken to 4 different trusted people in my life to discuss this matter. All have questioned my motive and what it will look like for my future due to the patterns I have followed in the past, rightfully so. I would be totally ignorant not to pay attention to those things, but I also have to remember that I have not always been wrong or ill-intended with my motives---so acknowledging them and dissecting them is a better idea. So, I want the job because it offers stability, set benefits, and little to no learning curve. It will also allow me to have less responsibility than I had in the most recent leadership positions---including (most importantly) not managing other people. However, I will still be able to be creative and have a voice in daily matters, just not the final say. This will be the case in any position I take with any job, and with my current job. I am not in charge, so I will always need to take direction and have more people giving me direction. This position does offer the ability to progress in the field, so I must be mindful that I am a power/money/title chaser. I have paid attention to the fact that I have already look at this company's career site to check for upward mobility opportunities. This is NOT a bad thing, as with any job, I want to have a valid chance for growth and a backup plan to my original plan of pursuing the real estate career. Additionally, with my resume being filled with nearly 10 years of hospitality experience, this position would be able to stabilize and continue that background and experience and continue to tell the story that a resume should when presented to the person reviewing it. While I do intend on real estate eventually being my main source of income and main focus, stable income is necessary to support this venture. I believe that taking the step back professionally in hospitality will allow me to focus my free time in the personal priorities such as recovery, real estate, and building relationships in New Jersey and NYC. Financially, the job will provide stability to me. Will I get wealthy or be wealthy by this sole income? NO! It will put me around a median income for the area, which is good---but much less than I am used to long term. I also have taken into account the commute I will have to take on a daily basis. There is a bus that picks up in front of my home M-F, which picks up at 6:40am and arrives to work at 7:45am. If this does not work, there is also a 6:05am pickup that arrives around 7:08am. The total cost for these will equal $2-$3 per day. For return, I can be back by 5:36pm by leaving at 4:30pm daily from the hotel. This will also cost $2-$3 per day. So, at most I will be utilizing $6 in round trip fare per day to equal $30 per week. This is worth it to me. The time spent will be 2 hours commuting, also okay with me. I will utilize this time to learn new things or listen to Podcasts or contact my network/send emails/etc..

Normally, I would have just made the decision then thought about all of these things after the fact, and while I may have made the best decision ultimately, I think that my intention was not always considered and was often misguided. On face level, I do want this job because it will be easy and if I want to move up, it will be easy to do. That's literally what I thought when I received the interview invitation. While these things are still true, I feel more confident that there are other factors that have gone into the decision that support the choice.

[jonwongton]

06/23/24

It's been a while since I've had a weekend to myself. Ever since Kev's wedding and the graduation I've been booked every weekend.

I have to figure out what's wrong because I feel like I haven't been myself in a long time. It's like I'm stuck in a vicious cycle where I'll stay up late, wake up tired, not have enough alone time, and then rage stay up the next day. Maybe it's because I don't really have something I'm really dedicating myself to, compounded by some of my injuries.

Work feels like just another item on a todo list. When I first started working, everything felt new, and I was so motivated to learn from others and build something cool. Perhaps I'm just running the course of any job, but you see the same faces and do the same work where everything feels so repetitive.

The obvious fix is to just find a new job, but that takes an enormous amount of effort. When I was studying in 2022, it sucked the life out of me for five straight months and I still didn't feel ready. I've flirted with the idea of starting back up again recently, but I don't think I'm ready to carry the full mental load. I'm stuck at a crossroads where I'm a little discontent with where I'm at, but not discontent enough where I bite the bullet and start the process all over again.

Then there's the injuries. I feel like injuring my upper back was the best and worst thing to happen to me. It was terrible because it was painful and I lost the full range of motion for a lot of daily tasks. But it was eye-opening in that I understand kinesiology much better. I realized how awful just mindlessly going to the gym was.

I was simply focusing on weight, and I wasn't engaging the right muscles for most of the lifts. When it got too heavy, I'd use the wrong muscles to compensate and that real threw my body out of balance. It sounds so simple, but I realized you really need that mind-to-muscle connection. If I'm thinking about the exact muscle I want to work out, I'm probably doing it wrong. Weight is overrated, it's all about form.

Now, I've been really trying to focus on my posture. My thoracic spine is extremely stiff, so loosening that up should give my scapula and erector spinae more range of motion. My calves and hip flexors are also extremely tight, which pulls down my pelvis and causes anterior pelvic tilt. Then my deep cervical neck flexors are weak and constantly pulled forward by my tight chest. And on top of that, I have rounded shoulders which are probably because of my frozen pec minor and weak mid-back.

The cherry on top is that I reinjured my left ankle from DDR. I think I was trying some new technique where I keep my center of gravity lower, but I over bent my left ankle when I hit the back arrow. At least it's the same injury from 2021 so I know how to fix it, but it still takes time.

For the second half of the year, I really need to focus on and get my life together. I feel like for starters, I can

Set boundaries with work so I can really unplug

Dedicate a fixed amount of time for my nightly PT

Do something that makes me smile every day

Hopefully those give me enough peace so I can move my bedtime earlier and have the willpower to start up the studying.

There's also a lot to look forward to so I shouldn't be too bummed out. I'll be in LA next week, Vancouver in a couple of months, and then hopefully visit Japan in the fall.

But I still feel like I need to be working hard to deserve all that fun. It wasn't even my wedding but with it over, I hope I have the mental space to work on myself.

[flygefisk]

the devil and the dead man

sawdust was a physician who made a dubious trade, scratch is a businessman who knows a good deal when he sees it.

both use he/him. sawdust sometimes goes by dusty. and ol' scratch has many names.

tl;dr: after sawdust's patients began dying en-masse from an unidentified illness and he starts seeing a bad omen everywhere he turns, he makes a deal with scratch (a combo black shuck/devil type figure) to save them in exchange for his life & servitude

its cool tho they get along really well now. sawdust is having a great time watching medicine progress into something that yknow. works.

Sawdust had tried a few lines of work before landing on medicine. Taxidermist, gravedigger, mortuary assistant. he'd never been squeamish, and they were all fine jobs. Always hiring. Paid the bills.

But medicine felt right. And he wasn't half bad at it, either. He was good with his hands, good with numbers and needles. He could blood-let, stitch up wounds, mix up powders and pills. Kept his saw sharp. His patients loved him for his bedside manner. For many years, he could boast about how few patients he'd lost.

And then that changed. Some horrible sickness swept through his town, and he was constantly busy, numbing pain and bandaging sores. He'd never seen anything like it. That was all he could do. He read every book he could find and wrote to every physician he knew, trying to find some treatment, some cure, but he found nothing. He grew less busy as the undertaker's business boomed.

After the first death, he started seeing it. A massive hound, black as night, watching him wherever he went. Its piercing eyes- orange-red and bright as flame- peering out from an alleyway, or between the trees, or loping along the footpath at night. It was everywhere.

Sawdust had never been a superstitious man, but given what was happening around him, it was hard to resist the thought that it was an omen.

His neighbors were dropping like flies and the black dog at his heels was driving him mad. His once-steady hands shook, unable even to make his coffee in the morning without a mess. He found himself taking long walks outside of town just to avoid his neighbors' pleas- he had run out of medication to dull their pain days ago, there was nothing left for him to offer. Sometimes those walks took him farther than he planned. It would be dark by the time he got home, and the hound would inevitably be lurking somewhere along his path, he felt its eyes even if he didn't see it. He started carrying a scalpel in his pocket.

On one of these walks, his mind teeming with barely-suppressed panic, he suddenly became starkly aware of his surroundings. He was nearly at the crossroads. Miles from town. He'd only been walking for half an hour or so, he thought, but he wasn't sure of anything any more. At least this area was pleasant. A soft breeze whispered through the wildflowers, the creek burbled gently.

Sawdust was not a superstitious man. He was a physician, a scientist. No space in his mind for folktales. But here, he had a thought. A vague memory of an old story. Something about deals made at crossroads and impossible wishes coming true. He almost laughed at himself, at the mere thought of giving in to superstition, but…

With a heavy sigh, he sat on the soft grass, his back to the post. Stared up at the sky for a long moment. And he made his request.

"That's a heavy ask, brother."

Sawdust jolted. A tall man leaned against the post above him, with long black hair and a long black coat. The stranger let a cloud of heady smoke pour from his mouth and turned to smile down at sawdust as he struggled to his feet.

"All those folks, all those souls… in exchange for you." He chuckled, narrowing his flame-orange eyes. "That'd be a hell of a deal on your end. What else ya got?"

Sawdust's hands shook harder than ever. He knew those eyes, he'd seen them a hundred times in the past week alone.

"I-I can work. Whatever you need. I'm a hard worker." he couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice.

The hound laughed again, rough and dark. "Now, there's an idea. Could use an assistant." He looked sawdust up and down, took another pull from his pipe. "Let's see… they got a few hundred years between 'em. That's a start."

He grinned- his teeth were far too sharp- and offered his hand. Sawdust shook the hound's hand and signed his afterlife away. A single pistol shot rang out through the valley.

The next morning, the townsfolk woke with their sores healed and their throats clear, healed by some miracle. A few gathered to go tell the town doctor the good news. They found an empty office, left as he had left it the previous morning. The mystery of the disappearing plague and the vanished doctor would morph into the stuff of folk tales, a local legend. A couple accounts nearly got it right.

[dawn-petrichor-world]

You belong to me

Summary: “I don’t care who the fuck he dealt his soul with, Dean Winchester is mine.”

Warning: Sub Demon!Dean - Dom Demon/Reader, BDSM sex, blood, languages. Dark content.

+ 2.7k words not proofread.

A/N: Okay, I said I'm not good enough to write this but I said to myself "Fuck you! You have to write it because you love stories, you need to improve yourself." So, @holylulusworld I'm sorry in advance if it's bad. I'll do better next.

The demon!woman who dealt with Dean (S2E22) and talked with Sam (S3E5) is not named, so I had to give her one: Isabel.

From the beginning, I wanted to use I/me/myself, like my character's talking directly to the readers but I changed that. Except for the title and the line in the summary.

It’s been decades since you’re a fucking souls dealer. Every day and night, answering those stupid living things to make their dreams come true for a period of ten years and collecting your given. You need something new, you deserve something new.

After many researchers, years ago you discovered that souls are the origin of power. Not all, but collecting specifics from a virgin or a serial killer and then once it’s absorbed, you gain strength. It’s very helpful when you want to possess and/or play with humans but a hunter shows up for exorcism you.

Pain in an ass those suckers because they don’t know how much it hurts when they rip out a demon's soul. It’s not fun nor pleasant at all to share a body already occupied and it’s worse when you discover they are believers. But what can you do, huh? None of you has a body anymore and all have job to do. So you wear their filthy skin without complaint because you know what you earn better at this end.

Anyway, souls are the keys to solving your problems. The more you’ll gain, the more powerful you’ll end to become the new king of crossroads. And you know exactly where to collect them.

A bunch of virgins and serial killers. The perfect ones are not easy to find out and they don’t fall from the sky, tho.

Several years later, it’s payday. Time to collect your belongings but lucky you, there’s a cute girl you have to possess to go to work, nothing else. Ugh! That’s funny, in all the years you spend between Earth and the Underworld, you never were a kid. It’ll be kinda fun.

The first soul of the day is Miss Peggy, her dream was to create a school for some kids who were born with handicaps. It’s always hard because of funds and visibility but easy for you. Today she’s famous all around the state and a few nearby.

- “Hello you!” she says when you come into her office and close the door behind you. “Are you lost?”

- “No, I am in the right place.” You say with a velvet sweet voice that surprises you.

- “It’s the time!” she starts to say when she notices your eyes, completely black.

You never present yourself because technically if a human meets a demon twice in their life, they know the second time it’s the same demon because they called you.

She's prepared by writing plenty of letters to say goodbye. You love when the job is clean, fast and there are no unnecessary tears.

You walk toward her and check her soul, still a virgin. Perfect. She bends over you, thinking you have something to say secretly but instead you kiss her cheek and boom, heartattack.

Just for the record, you have already met douchebags who don’t respect the terms of the contract. Some had sex and some decided to stop killing. You hate wasting your time, so you send them hellhounds to rip them apart because they deserve it. Occasionally, you destroy what they've created, just for fun. For the others who respect your rules, you love using lethal deaths like undetected cancer or heart attack.

The sun goes down, you’re now in front of the motel’s room, your weak body hurts but after a fruitful day, you do love eating ice cream. Of course, you are in a human body, a child body precisely and with no coins, maybe if you kill and rob a peadoph….

- “Hello!” Said a young boy to you.

- “Hello.” You reply.

- “I saw you wandering and you look hungry rubbing your belly. Sometimes my dad is busy for several days that he forgets, food and money are not enough for the time he’s out.”

- “I just want ice cream and after that, I will go home. Can you help me?” you ask him.

You spend long hours with this boy who is clearly into you because he never stops to check on his little brother to be sure he is still sleeping, instead obeying the rules of his father to stay in the suite, doors locked. He smiles at you and tries to make you laugh.

You feel that something is weird with him but you can’t tell what is it. Maybe if…

- “I like you. You’re nice and cute.” You say cutting him off and making him blush.

- “Do you think we will see each other again?” He asks with a little touch of sadness in his voice.

- “Why not? The world is big but everything can happen. Do you believe in a soulmate?”

- “I don’t. That’s bullshit for kids.”

- “Smart boy.” You chuckle. “But I really like you and if life makes us see each other again, I don’t want to lose my luck even if it’s only for spending a good time with you.”

- “What do you have in mind?” he asks suspiciously.

- “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt. But you have to keep the secret between us”

- “I’m not sure about that…”

You kiss his lips gently. He literally stops to function even breathing. Meanwhile, you proceed to mark his soul with two basic alchemy symbols, life and death, your favourite. It’s glowing on the skin of his right hand, a spot between the thumb and the forefinger before it disappears.

A voice in the room draws your both attention, he jumps off the table and runs to the room. He looks behind him and waves his hand to sign goodbye. The last thing you hear before the door shuts:

- “Dean! Dean!” whines a high-pitched voice.

- “There! There! Sammy. I’m here.

You’re not on earth once every ten years because it should be boring like heaven, and with this rate when could you reach your goal? Out of question to wait for Gabriel to blow in his trumpet.

But you are more in Hell, dealing with your responsibilities: torturing souls down there, teaching new demons how to do their works and punishing those who disobey.

On earth it’s funnier, you spend your free time with criminals but they are quickly boring and useless, so you torture them and if they kill each other, you recruit the last one who breathes, to be your servant. And you adore chasing hunters, it’s a good sport.

There’s a board of the most famous and hard hunters to kill. If one of you, demons, without cheating can kill, having their soul, you are promoted.

- “You bitch! Accept that you lose.” Shout out to you, Isabel.

- “You know the rules. This one is mine. You can’t be promoting..’’

- “Listen. He called me to save his brother.”

- “He calls you?” you fake a laugh. “You were closer to him than anyone else, so you keep the call. The mark is not fuckin invisible…”

- “KNOCK IT OFF!” a firm and loud voice breaks yours, follows by the sound of heels echoing at the back of the hall which approaches. A gorgeous woman comes into the light with a cold figure on her face.

- “Dean Winchester’s soul belongs to me. We’re linked since his kid. I don’t care who he dealt with, it could be with the lord Lucifer himself, he’s my fuckin property.” You scream out.

- “I said…” a hand grab the collar of your shirt, twists it and you’ve been thrown off the room, to crash out against a column. “…knock it off! If you keep talking, I’ll make sure your tongue is useful for something less noisy.” Threats Mazikeen.

Two ribs are broken, one pierces the lung which becomes filled with blood making you drown. The vessel is dying, you need another one, so you try to stand on the feet, to go outside. But all the strength of this body, you have no choice but to crawl. Maze overtakes and squats next to you to suggest a freshly dead body not far from here and she adds that you don’t need to worry about Dean Winchester who he’s in good hands, the same who teaches you how to play with souls.

- “He’s with Alastair! Mistress, Can I check on him.” you try hardly to ask, fighting to breathe and not to faint.

- “Firstly, you need to leave this weak flesh, I don’t like to see you in pain.” Says Mazikeen to you while she wipes a trickle of blood out of your mouth. “At the morgue, upon the earth. You’ll like it.”

While you’re leaving the corpse, Mazikeen stands up and stabs her claws into Isabel's chest and whispers something in her ear. And before not being able to see anything else, you see a dark smoke leaving her mouth and flying in the other direction than yours. You love justice.

You knock your head forgetting it’s a small and cold place and the door is locked. You could use your strength to open it but your new wrists are sore and you don’t want to break them or else. You could use your feet to hit the wall, protect your head but rigor mortis. No choice but to wait and work all muscles of this new body at the same time. Thankfully, you’re powerful enough to get out of the fridge after sixty fucking seconds.

The floor is cold too and even if outside the refrigerator is colder, you remember it’s winter and at night with no one in the building there’s no heat on. You are barely naked with this thin dress on. The former host is dead in a pyjama or what?

Outside the building, Jack, your loyal servant, is waiting next to a limousine. He puts some fluffy boots on your feet and wraps you in a warm and fleece long coat. Once in the vehicle, he gives you a glass of alcohol to heat you from inside.

Back in Hell, I require Jack to go to spy on Dean but he hesitates because he knows it’s against the rules to interfere with the business of elders but he doesn’t have a choice to obey.

Alastair feels you, looks at you behind his shoulder with an arrogant smirk on his face while Dean Winchester delights torturing souls.

This is insane! The years go and even with the billions of people on earth you are still far from your goal. You have to delegate even though you have trust in nobody but they’re loyal so you can work with that. But you need to take a break to release all the stress this job causes you because it’s exhausting and it’s bad for your body.

And for that, you have the perfect solution. A hot and bubbling bath with a fresh glass of wine and your partner in crime on the other side of the bathtub while he massages your feet and smokes a cigar.

- “I can feel that you are on your nerves”

- “I walk all the time, the deals double every year but there are fewer of my favourite, so between the ones I absorb and the percentage I can keep from the ones I have to give to my mistress…” you sigh.

- “It’ll be a century before you could sit on the throne of the King, if you achieve your goal.” Finishes Dean

- “If I achieve them?” you snarl. His cigar falls on the floor because your hand on his throat is ready to steal his last breath. But he looks down at your wet breast, flapping above the water then he moves his hips so that you can feel his erection poking your thigh. He eyes up, licks his bottom lip and you hear a growl deep down his throat.

He removes his arm from the water to reach something on the floor behind himself, it sounds like metals colliding against each other and he presents you a black dog collar with chains on it. You release his neck, tie the necklace around him and jump off the bathtub to be behind him and grip it harder which makes him lift his body on the water and reveals how much he’s excited. He moans and while you release the grip he kisses and bites lightly the inner of your leg, still on the edge of the bathtub.

You pull a handle, hanging next to the bathtub to rinse all soap on your body, once clean you put a bathrobe on, and order Dean to join you in the bedroom who takes a towel and wraps it around his waist.

Dean knows more than well how you look naked but there is one thing that can drive him nuts it’s when you wear a black sheer body with red leather legs garters. You jump on him, snake your legs around him, bite his lips to make him bleed that you lick and kiss him passionately.

He walks back to the bed to sit on it and presses his waist against him. You push and slap him that make him lays on his back but it’s brief, you grab hard his collar behind him to put his body on the top of the bed.

You take handcuffs from your drawer and chain him on the headboard. You go back to him but this time, your ass is on the bed, your legs above his legs and bite your lips excited to play with his lovely joystick under the towel.

You lick the head making flinch your partner, drool to wet it, to simplify when you stroke him. He lightly opens his mouth due to his increased breath and time to time you hear him growl when you suck his sacks or lick his shaft.

Each time you feel he’s about to come, you brutally stop to enjoy watching him struggling because he wants more.

- “Let me cum, bitch.” He finally says.

- “One more time and you could.”

- “Please. Let me cum.” He begs.

- “You know I love when you beg.” you say while you continue to tease him and making him shakes his hips to put his cock deeper in your mouth.

You crawl up to his face, put your breast in his mouth that he sucks and bites your nipples. You hear him beg, he wants you to release him. You kiss him and slide his cock inside of you.

- Fuck! You’re damn tight.

He gives some thrust but you stop him by choking him. You are the only one in control, so you move slowly your hips and then speed up. It’s like he’s bigger in you or your are tighter. Leaning on his chest with your hands you change the move by up and down your hips. Again you feel he’s going to release the load, so you stand up making him angry and say a lot of curse words. But you stop him by kicking in his throat. He growls but he’s half angry half excited. You snap your fingers to make disappear the handcuffs, sit back to him, put back his dick in you and move your hips faster than before. He catches your breast and presses and pulls your nipple with one of his hands, licks your neck and with the other free hand, he plays with your clit. This time is Dean and you, to come together.

During days you check all rooms that you can, kill every demon and dark creatures who don’t bring a clear answer and never stop to disappoint you.

- “Where’s Isabel? I need to know what she did again with him.” You shout.

- “She’s dead.” reply your new servant.

- “Who killed her?” you ask.

- “Sam Winchester.”

- “Stupid kid.”

- “And Alastair? He must know where he is.”

- “We can’t find him”

- “Do you want to end like the former you, who was incompetent? No? So! Go on earth and come back to me only when you’ll be able to tell me where the fuck is Dean Winchester.”

After he closes the door behind him, Mazikeen steps out of the shadow. She loves to make a such entrance. She’s so tall, majestic and still gorgeous.

She cups your face, kisses softly your lips and before she opens her mouth you knew she’s about to tell you bad news.

- “An angel named Castiel brings him back to life. His soul is back in his mortal flesh.” She says while she wipes your tears.

Thanks for reading it. Hope you like it. My Masterlists. My SPN Masterlists.

[bi-bard]

The Trials - Winchester Brothers Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: The Trials

Pairing: Winchesters X Child!Reader (14)

Requested: nope

Word Count: 1,477 words

Warning(s): violence, blood, mention of how shitty the Winchesters treated Kevin.

Summary: (Season 8) After learning about the trials that could close the gates of hell, (Y/n) and the Winchesters are ready to get started. However, they know that nothing can go to plan.

Author's Note: I have been thinking about this for months because I really wanted to give this original character an over-arching storyline that was already part of the show, but I couldn't decide on which one would work.

Also, I'm sorry for that hiatus there. I had a lot going on and felt that it was easier to take a step back than start working on new stuff.

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

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

The phone call from Kevin was simultaneously great and terrible.

The phone call meant that there was a step forward in deciphering the God tablet. That was great. But it also came with an inherent sense of fear because none of us had any real idea about what the tablet could possibly say.

The key to closing the gates of hell could involve anything. None of us truly knew what could happen.

When we got to Garth's houseboat to check on Kevin, we were pretty shocked to find the state that he was in. Barely sleeping, eating complete crap, and he hadn't showered in God knows how long.

He didn't really talk much about his current state of being. He decided to jump into what he had found instead.

The key to closing the gates of hell was a spell. A few words of Enochian that needed to be repeated after each of the three trials.

Once the trials are done, the gates can be slammed closed.

The first trial was to kill a hellhound and bathe in its blood.

The very idea made me feel a little bit sick.

But not as sick as the feeling in my gut when Dean insisted that he was going to go through the trials.

"What," I snapped. The boat was suddenly far more tense than it had been. "You can't do that. You just back from purgatory."

"This could save millions of people, (Y/n)," Dean said. "We have to think of the bigger picture."

"Screw that," I replied. "We just got you back. We just found a home. And you want to throw it away like that. Let some other hunter do the job-"

"No," he cut me off. "This is our responsibility. I have to do this. You don't have to help, but you aren't going to stop me."

I clenched my jaw and crossed my arms over my chest. I never signed up for this life. Why the hell was I paying for it?

After a few moments of silence, the attention in the room shifted away from me.

Sam had managed to track down a family that was a definite candidate for a crossroad demon's deal. The family was on land with no trace of oil and then suddenly struck gold.

Now, we were on our way to Idaho with the hopes of catching the hellhound before it could take a snap at the family.

"So, do either of you have a real plan on how to get the family to listen to us," I asked.

"Well," Dean said. He trailed off for a moment. "Not really."

"Nice," I replied, chuckling to myself.

"I've been kinda focused on other things."

"Like keeping a college kid locked on a boat," I asked.

He looked at me through the rearview mirror, "That's not fair."

"You're volunteering to throw yourself into the pit... again," I leaned my head on the window. "Don't talk to me about fair."

The rest of the drive was relatively silent. Sam tried to give us some notes, but no one was really communicating.

I was angry. Of course, I was angry. But I was more scared than anything. I was scared of losing everything yet again. I couldn't do anything else like this again. But now I had to accept it without any argument. It was ridiculous.

--time skip--

Sam was right about the oil family.

Their deal was about to run out and Crowley had sicked his hellhounds on them.

Dean and I had run out to a barn nearby. We were both wearing glasses meant to spot the hellhound and Dean had a blade ready to kill it.

The hellhound jumped out and shoved Dean into the far wall. The blade went flying to the side and his glasses had been knocked from his face.

I panicked.

"Hey," I yelled.

The hellhound froze over Dean before looking at me. It growled at me. I pointed my gun at it, hoping to distract it long enough for Dean to get away.

I barely registered Dean yelling as the hellhound jumped on me.

I knew that Dean was the one that was supposed to kill the hellhound. Kill the hellhound, start the trials to close the gates of hell.

In the moment, I didn't care.

Once I got my hand around the handle of the blade that he had dropped, I slammed it up into the stomach of the hellhound. I dragged my hand up and pulled the blade out.

I was shaking as I pulled myself out from under the hellhound. I dropped the blade and threw the glasses away from me, staring at the spot where the hound had been.

I looked down at my body.

So much blood.

"No," Dean muttered, standing up and walking over to me.

"I-I'm sorry," I replied, tears in my eyes as I looked at my bloodstained hands. "I'm so sorry."

"This can't be happening," Sam whispered before coming over. He knelt next to me and grabbed my upper arms, helping me stand up.

I could barely hold my own weight up.

"I messed everything up," I mumbled. "I ruined everything."

"Hey, hey," Sam ignored the blood and hugged me to his side. "It's okay. You're alright. We'll figure this out."

"(Y/n)," Dean said. He placed a hand on my shoulder so he could look at me. "Are you alright?"

"I ruined the plan," I muttered.

"No, you didn't," he brought me into a hug.

Sam picked up the glasses and the weapon.

"We'll get this sorted out," Dean promised quietly. "We can solve this."

I nodded as he led me back to the impala. He and Sam went to talk with the surviving member of the family as I tried to find a way to sit without the blood-soaked clothes sticking to me.

"Are they gonna be alright," I could hear the woman through the door.

"(Y/n)'s tough," Dean replied.

"That doesn't answer the question," she said.

"We'll keep an eye on them," Sam promised.

"Good luck," she nodded before Sam and Dean got in the car.

I looked out the window and tried to calm myself down. I didn't want them to spend the entire drive worrying about me.

When we made it to a nearby motel, I noticed Dean grabbing a bowl out of the trunk and a few materials. The spell. He was going to attempt the spell.

Sam led me inside.

"The spell won't work," I said as Dean set up the bowl on the table nearby. "Not for you, anyway."

There was a moment of silence as he finished setting up the spell, "I'm not letting you go through this."

"I'm the only option," I replied. "What are the odds of us finding another crossroads deal about to meet its end?"

"You are not going to do this."

"Dean, I've spent the last however many years feeling like I have no choice in what happens to me or around me," I held my hand out for the spell. "Let me choose this."

"Sam," Dean looked at his brother for help.

"(Y/n), we need to think about this," Sam stepped forward. "We can't put you in that much danger."

I saw that Dean wasn't focused on the spell in his hand. I reached forward and snatched it from him.

"(Y/n), no!"

"Stop," I yelled. "I passed the test. It's my job now. You two have saved me countless times. It's my turn. You guys have family up here. Friends. A home now. There's an ending in sight. This is my job in bringing the end to us."

"You could die-"

"So could you."

Everything went silent between us. I looked at Sam. He looked down for a moment before looking back at me and nodding at me. Dean looked between the two of us. With a sigh, he walked over and kissed y forehead before stepping back and nodding to me.

I read the spell off of the paper.

A burning sensation was sent up my arm and I yelled, clutching my arm to my chest. As the wave of pain went through the rest of my body, I doubled over. Dean helped me sit down before he just stepped back. I looked at my arm, which had a bright light shining beneath the skin.

After a few moments, the pain subsided. I took a few deep breaths before looking back up at Sam and Dean.

"You alright," Dean asked, kneeling next to me. I nodded, clenching and unclenching my hand a few times.

Sam kneeled on the other side of me, "You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah," I nodded again. "I'm okay."

Dean pulled me into a tight hug. I wrapped my arms around him.

All I could think of was one thing, I hope I know what I've gotten myself into.

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

Masterlist

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

folklore/evermore Writing Challenge (and Masterlist)

Maisie Peters - “You Signed Up for This” Writing Challenge Masterlist

[hawthorne-house]

Hey, hope you’re fine.

"I feel lost. Am I too greedy to ask you to save me?"

H 🌠

Good morning, Welcome to Hawthorne House.

The Star (left), The Hermit (left), The Queen of Cups (right). There's been a constant showing of major arcana energy in these readings, people going through major transitions in their life stages. You are no exception here. But I am hearing with the star card "You are not lost, you simply can't navigate during the day." Like the Owl in the Hermit card, perhaps you operate or see best in darkness. There is wisdom to be found within that dark or the heartache/disappointment with the three of swords at the bottom of the deck. Beneath that three of swords is the nine of cups however. With the Queen of cups and the Hermit there's a strong message of pursuing the compassion within yourself. "You will find solace and purpose in protecting others from what you have gone through." Protecting is a strong word but I don't think you're being asked to solely take responsibility for others over yourself. This isn't to disregard your problems and focus on others but that direction will come to you by helping others overcome what you have already experienced. There are people, out in the world "in a place that reaches beyond you" Aaloqui chimes in, where what you have gone through and learned from your experiences can guide others through the darkness. "You are one who moves by starlight." It's just now 8:22 and The Night We Met by Lord Huron hopped on my playlist and was immediately something I took note of so there may be a message there for you. But two or three of the songs I've listened to since beginning your reading have involved a ghost. A ghost from the past, a ghost of a relationship. The feeling of being distant even while trying to stay close. This song was followed by "To build a home" by The Cinematic Orchestra.

Those songs followed by the cards you have here you are a crossroads of separation. This could be a separation from a relationship (man or not with the gentleman card) or a boss. A person who is logical or powerful or I'm getting the professional sense from this with the clock tower card and the gentleman together. Perhaps it isn't a boss but a person who cares more about professionalism or appearances than they do they expression of affection or emotion. It's giving me the feeling that they are very analytical and difficult to get an emotional read on. Keep their heart close to their chest and think a lot before ever actually expressing something. It may seem that they are emotional distant or cut off. If this is work energy rather than relationship energy then I'd say you're moving into a new job or you yourself are entering a position of some authority (work related or not) which your tarot cards would also suggest. Authority gained based on your experiences. "There's no time to look back, there are plans that need made for the future." You entering a position of authority or having some authority over something is the end result no matter what path you take to get there it feels like. If this is walking away from a relationship to find yourself, a spiritual guidance to pursue your true calling, or a movement in your career. With the Clover at the bottom of the deck and the Nine of Cups beneath the three of Swords on the bottom of the tarot, your painful experiences and your ability to convey or share those experiences holds a key to something very important for you, something that will allow you to step into your own power and find your way. The search might be painful as you stumble in the dark until you learn to navigate by starlight but you are moving forward towards an enlightenment, an "ah-ha" moment. It feels like a slow and methodical movement though, something you cannot rush. Right now you may also be in the position of needing to be the one to get a tighter hold on your emotions, or emotionally distancing yourself from something/someone. It may be clouding your judgement. Alrighty! I believe that's all I have for you for now. I do hope that this reading was interesting, helpful, or affirming in some way and I want to thank you for your visit. Have a lovely day. Yours, Aria

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

We've Got Tonight - Ch 6

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

The next chapter is the last part. I'm truly sorry.

In case you missed it: Chapter 5 ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

We’ve Got Tonight

Chapter 6

“Cas, you’ve got to listen to me.”

“I’m sorry, miss, I think you have me confused with someone else. My name is Agent Michael Jagger.” Castiel’s bewilderment is so endearing and familiar that Andy nearly loses her composure.

She grabs his hand, pulling him uncomfortably close, and she can see suspicion dawning amidst the confusion. She tows him to the back area of the restaurant, technically for staff only, but she doesn’t figure petty rules like that matter just now.

“Listen, Miss, you’ve shown interest in my partner and scheduled time to socialize with him later. While I do understand that you are traditionally attractive, I really-“

“I need you to listen, and then I need you to look. Do you understand?”

“Not even a little.”

“That’s okay, hun, neither do I.”

And then she tells him everything. He can only stare at her silently afterwards, his mouth working as if he’s lost the ability to speak.

“Read me, Castiel. You can see if I’m telling the truth. Hell, go deeper and see what I’m telling you. Please, it won’t hurt anything if I’m lying, and if I’m telling the truth, you and I can save them. Please, please, I’m literally begging you. Just look.”

Castiel gingerly slides his fingers into her hair until the heels of his hands are resting on her cheekbones and his thumbs rest on her temples. His eyes slide shut, his face going just a little slack, and then he’s there with her in the memories, memories that faded with the sunrise but seared themselves permanently on her brain the second she saw the three of them again. She knows the moment he sees his own death because his body convulses ever so slightly, but he holds on until the scene plays out and she takes her last breath in the dream.

His eyes snap open and unerringly find hers.

“How is this possible? Who are you?”

If she didn’t have those weeks of memories, she might be afraid of him right now.

“Cas, you know who I am. You saw me. I have no more idea why this is all happening than you, but we’ve got this second chance, and we have to take it.”

He eyes her cautiously, but his mistrust is beginning to fade. “I’ve been fooled before. You could be hiding something, I suppose, but...I don’t think you are.”

Relief floods over her, though a bitter tinge underlies the sweetness.

“You believe me?”

He nods reluctantly, his dry lips thinning unhappily. “I saw your plan. Are you certain this is what you want to do? Do you think it will work?”

“Well, Cas, you can see I don’t have the best track record with plans. Can you think of anything better that leaves the world intact and you, Sam, and Dean all standing?”

Even though she knows what his answer will be, her stomach still drops a little when he shakes his head.

“Yeah, me neither. It was worth a shot.”

He searches her face without suspicion this time, only a deep, genuine sorrow. “I wish I could have had those weeks with you, Andrea. In the vision, you were a good person to spend time with.”

“Call me Andy, Cas. I swear, I never could get you to call me Andy.”

“But your name tag-”

She cuts him off with a kiss to the cheek. She holds back everything else she wants to say to her friend-that-never-was. It wouldn’t make any sense to him now, on this side of their non-existent time together, and it wouldn't make either of them feel any better. She hands him a piece of torn paper from her order pad, this one larger than the one she gave Dean.

“Check the memories you read off me to be sure, but I remember the ritual starts at midnight tomorrow night. They took me from the Brass Monkey not long before then. You can investigate if you need to, but I would bet that they’ll be at the first address I gave you a few hours before then, say eight or nine o’clock, getting everything set up before they come to snatch me. You know what you and the guys will need to take them out; without my blood and the ritual, they’re still dangerous, but they’re only human. Tell Sam and Dean whatever you need to get them there, but...I don’t think you should tell them what you saw. I think everything would get too muddled, and we’d end up right back at the same crossroads with Crowley.”

“Are you sure it’s wise to still meet up with Dean tonight? What if-”

“Everything has happened the same way so far, Cas, down to Sam nagging Dean about vegetables. And I’ve got to give myself something,” she says, her laugh a little more desperate and hysterical than she intended. “I can’t just...Look, just give me this one night, okay? I think I deserve that. I think Dean deserves that.”

He glances from her to the scrap of paper in his hand. She notices that his lips move a little when he’s reading, and she thinks that little quirk suits him just fine.

“Why is there a second address?”

Thanking whatever higher power gave her this second chance and the ability to keep the fallen angel out of even a few of her thoughts, she turns away from Castiel, moving towards the sink to start on some dishes that someone has let pile up. She’s under enough strain right now that she can’t disguise her expression anymore, and she honestly doesn’t think she can handle the sadness in his eyes for one more second.

“I’m going to keep myself out of the way this time; I have no intention of starting another apocalypse. I’ll stay in tomorrow night and triple lock every entrance to my apartment until you tell Dean to call me and give me the all clear. That’s where you’ll find me when the job’s done. And, Cas?”

He pauses in the doorway, looking back at her with a tortured expression she never sees.

“Remember, we can’t leave any loose ends this time. That’s how you get more apocalypses.” ...

She’s ready and waiting for Dean when he walks in the bar. She can tell he’s taken a little effort with his appearance: his hair is freshly styled, he’s wearing a button-up that isn’t a flannel, and - wonder of wonders- he actually shaved. Having spent an extra minute or thirty on her own primping, she is pleased when his eyes go a little wide as they rake over her seated form.

“I already know I look good, but damned if you didn’t just make me feel edible,” she quips.

She is rewarded with the warmth of his smile as he takes the stool next to her. She’s pleased (but not surprised) when he brushes a kiss on her cheek in greeting. She sips her drink as he orders one of his own, and then they turn on their stools to survey the crowd. He leans a little closer to say something, and she hears him inhale when he gets near.

“You smell amazing. What is that?”

She grins behind her glass. Dean Winchester is not one to comment on a woman’s scent, at least, not in such an innocent, non-sexual way. And yet, both times around, he does just that.

“Lavender and clover blossoms from some boxes on my balcony. I clip some fresh bits sometimes and rub them on instead of perfume. Smells cleaner, less suffocating.”

“I like it.”

They talk about little nothings and nonsense for the next few minutes, favorite bands and movies and foods and anything she can think of just to listen to him talk, to experience him a little more. She doesn’t remember being able to make him laugh this much before, and she thinks maybe she’s doing just a little better time around.

“So, what’re you gonna wow me with?” he asks, gesturing towards the stage with his half-full glass.

“I was thinking ‘Making Love out of Nothing at All,’ but you could probably talk me into ‘Lonely Is the Night’ or even ‘All out of Love’ if you get me tipsy enough.”

He laughs, a bright, weightless sound that cracks her heart in half. She can’t help leaning in and kissing him then, and he leans right back, blissfully unaware of the burden she’s struggling more and more to hide. She pulls away, and he opens his mouth to say something, but she pecks him on the lips again just long enough to stop him speaking.

“You don’t. But you could.”

There’s that smile.

They sit in companionable silence for several songs, sipping their drinks and listening to the other singers. She’s just about to go put her first song request in when he looks over at her, freezing her utterly with one side-long glance.

“How long?”

She can’t have heard him right.

“I’m...I’m sorry?”

“How long have we got? Do you turn into a pumpkin at midnight, or can I keep you out later?”

Oh. Oh, God, Dean, why?

“You know what? I think I might actually go for some Bob Seger. Come help me pick one out.” ...

Chapter 7 (end)

[roselen-mylady]

In Another Life

Bucky Barnes x reader °part fourteen°

Summary: Waiting 88 years to find your soulmate? It was cruel. But it was a cruel fate Bucky would have to face whether he accepted it or not. Bucky was a tortured man all his life and he wasn't even granted the solace of having his soulmate at his side. All he had was the promise of one in another life. They were separated by two different times.

But the pain in their lives were connected.

Y/n had been alone ever since she could remember. All she could depend on was the soulmate that was destined to be at her side. Yet when the snap occured she lost him.

And Bucky never got to meet her.

"It's called Recover and Enable with Stark Technologies: Opportunity, Revival and Excellence. Or uh, RESTORE for short." Tony explained, the hologram capturing what they all knew to be one of his last days. "Damn, now that I say it aloud, it's a bit pretentious but we'll get used to it." He chuckled, still a little proud of his abbreviation.

"It's a resources company really. Offers financial help to families affected by the snap along with structure and aid to businesses, cooperations, hell even the government. They've always had their heads up their asses though." Y/n listened carefully, her heart stinging a bit more than usual. Maybe it was from watching yet another message from her idol and lost friend.

"It comes along with therapy and counseling. Really it's supposed to help piece the world back together. You should feel right at home. It was that aspect that told me you'd be perfect for the job. I'm sure I can help you with the other parts of the job. Or uh, Pepper will. I was never any good at running a business that was always her thing." Tony smiled fondly, the hologram's eyes seeming to stare straight into Pepper's.

Y/n could tell Pepper was fighting tears. It only made her own guilt grow.

Why did Tony have to die? It wasn't a fair question. Not to her. She should've done more, should've given her life to let him live the rest of his. To see his daughter grow up. To let Pepper finally have peace.

But what if she had? Would Bucky had even known she was his soulmate? Would he have found her body in the rumble, her shattered arm and scarred skin barely visible from the damage of the stones she should've been destroyed by. Would he have had to find out his soulmate had lost the war from her stopped countdown? Would he have had to piece together how close they were to meeting? Would he recover from that?

"We need to start soon," Pepper spoke suddenly, hastily wiping her face as she stood. Y/n watched wide eyed and silent as Pepper paced over to a man she'd learned to be Happy, quietly requesting he watch Morgan. Y/n stood, quickly moving to follow the woman.

She understood what Pepper was doing. She was avoiding the pain, putting all her effort and focus into anything but the death of her husband. Hundreds of people did it after the first snap and she couldn't say she blamed them. But it was different this time. There was no way she could've prevented the first snap, no way she could've saved all of those lives that were now returned.

But the last snap was within arms reach of her. She was capable of stopping it, sparing the last victim of the snap. But she failed.

Maybe Pepper had the right idea. This guilt was overwhelming.

"Tony set up some meetings with other corporations for Monday. I'd like you to be there with me." Pepper told her, her heels rhythmically clicking down the steps as Y/n followed carefully.

"Monday? Doesn't this seem a little rushed? I mean, I don't even know what I'm doing. Shouldn't I have some kind of lessons?" Y/n objected, her brow creasing warily.

"You'll learn through experience." Pepper replied. It was too much, too overwhelming. Y/n had just lost two friends, another left her and she'd met her soulmate. Now they wanted her to run a company that the world would eventually depend on?

How would she even begin?

In an effort to take a breath, she looked away from Pepper, her eyes trailing to the lake. It was peaceful, much more peaceful than Y/n had felt in days-years if she was being honest.

She hoped that after everything that had happened, she could just go back to being normal or as normal as someone like her could be. She didn't care about the hero's life and she didn't want to be Iron Star for any longer than she had to. But as she looked around at the others, she realized that was becoming less and less of a possibility. They looked at her as if she were next.

They seemed to know she was going to be one of them just by looking at her. But why? Because Tony took a chance on her? Because they were so similar? Or was it something else, something she hadn't seen yet?

Suddenly the calm ripples in the water were disturbed with a large splash, sending the area into chaos. A rock had broken the surface of the lake, sinking in the next second. It happened so quick and so subtly that she wasn't sure it'd even happened. The water calmed once more and the rock was lost to the bottom of the lake.

Once finding the source of the rock, her breath hitched.

He was there at the lakeside, pacing with one hand in his pocket while the other rubbed his neck. His head was downcast and he looked stressed, just as stressed as she was. That's when she realized.

He'd just met his soulmate too. After what she guessed to be almost 90 years. Nearly a century without his soulmate. He was just as nervous and overwhelmed. But it didn't mean he wasn't dying to talk to her. She could feel it, his eagerness. The way his heart ached to speak to her again even if only a few words. She wondered if he could feel her own longing.

"I need to do something. I'll be right back." Y/n excused herself, trying to be as polite as she could. She knew Pepper wanted to carry out her husband's last wish as soon as possible but they both knew he wouldn't have meant it like this. Didn't mean to leave them alone to handle it.

Pepper nodded, releasing a sigh. Everything was beginning to weigh down on her and she knew forcing more onto her shoulders wasn't gonna work this time. "Just call me tomorrow, okay?"

"I will." Y/n assured, looking back to Bucky. Pepper's expression had softened a bit following Y/n's gaze.

She remembered the first time she'd met Tony. At first he was adamant about their relationship, refusing to let her forget they were soulmates. But after what happened in Afghanistan he stopped his teasing. He stopped addressing it altogether. The trauma was too much.

Tony wasn't the same and things changed. But she liked to think it was for the better. He was a better man but he stopped seeing himself as worthy of a soulmate. He forgot what soulmates were for and it crushed Pepper.

She refused to let Y/n feel the same.

"Just meet me at Stark Industries on Monday. Have this time with him." Pepper told Y/n, motioning her head toward Bucky.

Y/n nodded softly, working up the courage to make her way to him. "Thank you."

•••

"What did that poor rock do to you?" Bucky froze at her question, whipping around to face her. She offered a soft smile, trying to break the awkwardness before it became too strong.

Bucky let out an airy laugh, looking back at the lake where he'd just thrown the rock. "Looked at me funny." He replied jokingly, turning back to her. She moved carefully toward him, coming to stand at his side a couple feet away.

He wished she would stand closer, close enough for him to put his arm around her. Close enough for him to hold her tight and never let her go. But he'd respect the distance. He'd give her space.

There was a buzz in the air as she stood there next to him, as if everything was falling into place. It felt like the atmosphere had shifted, that the stars had aligned. After all these years without her, he finally had her.

And all he could muster was, 'looked at me funny'?

"Must've been some look." Y/n replied with an amused smirk.

The silence was overwhelming but welcomed. Of course both wanted to fill it with anything and everything they could say but neither were ready for that. They each had their secrets, their pasts. They were at a conflicting crossroads.

"It's strange. I've waited my whole life to tell you everything but now I don't have anything to say." Y/n let out a strained laugh, looking down at her sling. She wanted so badly to see her countdown, to finally confirm to herself that she had him and that he wasn't going anywhere. But her countdown couldn't promise that. Only fate could keep him at her side and so far fate hadn't been kind.

"Me too." Bucky mumbled, cringing at how awkward he believed to be making things.

'Say something.' His mind cursed at him. 'Say anything.'

"You're really beautiful." He spoke suddenly, his face flushing at how stupid he sounded. He meant it of course. She was stunning despite the cuts and bruises along her features. Gorgeous even with the dirt and dried blood that traced her hairline. Enchanting regardless of the sling that obstructed her movement. She was beautiful.

But saying it aloud after only speaking a few words to one another made him feel silly. So long ago he'd call complete strangers beautiful without a second thought. But was that right with his soulmate? Were there certain things he should do? A way to act?

All his worries faded away with her smile, such a glorious thing he couldn't wait to see everyday for the rest of his life. If she would have him.

"Thank you, Bucky." His name slipped off her lips so naturally it was as if she'd been saying it all her life. And maybe she had. Fate worked in mysterious ways and his mother was a firm believer that soulmates always found one another. In this life or another. He'd never believed it but now he had. They'd found each other, despite time and despite space. They were bound to one another and he could feel that Y/n knew it too.

"I have a place in the city. It's where I was heading before...you know. Not that meeting you was an inconvenience, I honestly never thought I would. Not that I didn't want to, I dreamt of it...-I'm rambling now." She sighed. How had she managed to make it even more awkward?

"It's okay." Bucky assured, unable to stop his smile from growing.

"What I was trying to say is I'd like you to stay with me, if you want. It might be a little bit more comfortable than whatever lodging Fury is getting for you all. I have a spare room." She offered, her heart heavy with the idea of Steve being gone. He'd chosen the life he wanted. Unfortunately she wasn't a part of it.

"I'd like that." Bucky nodded, his heart swelling at the suggestion. Not only was it one of the few kind acts he'd experienced since escaping HYDRA, it was also an invitation from his soulmate into her life.

He wouldn't squander the opportunity.

"Great." Y/n smiled, releasing the breath she'd been holding upon his answer. A part of her had been scared of rejection. But she guessed things with soulmates were different. They were easier. Maybe it was the assurance that they were the right match or maybe it was just the overall feeling of belonging that came with the other's presence.

Soulmates were easy.

At least she thought.

•••

When they arrived at Y/n's apartment, she was grateful she had cleaned up before everything that had happened. She'd never brought a man home before, let alone her soulmate and she wasn't sure what to say or do. The only person that she'd even brought to her apartment was Steve and by then their conversation flowed as easily as breathing.

"You have a nice place, very um, modern?" He offered, not knowing what to say himself. It'd been so many years since he'd even talked to a woman and he wasn't even sure he knew how to flirt anymore.

"Thank you." Y/n replied quietly, glancing around the apartment as if trying to see it through his eyes. She remembered Steve mentioning the lack of photos once when he first started to live there. Did Bucky think it was weird?

"Can I get you something to drink? Water, coffee, wine…?" She trailed off. Bucky looked at her, taking notice of her own nerves.

"Water is fine." He answered, smiling at her softly in any attempt to soothe her.

It seemed to work as she smiled back at him, turning toward the kitchen to get a glass of water. "Make yourself comfortable. You can watch TV if you'd like." Y/n called to him, taking a moment after pouring the glass to lean against the counter and sigh, hiding away from the source of her anxiety.

She'd always wanted to meet him. She had wanted to have him in her life from the moment she'd heard about soulmates. But what she never expected was how awkward it would be. She'd always been told that soulmates clicked instantly but they hadn't quite clicked yet. And she could tell Bucky felt it too.

Perhaps it was everything they'd been through? Maybe it'd changed them both enough to where clicking was harder? Or maybe they'd never click.

Her heart dropped at this, sending a surge of pain through her chest. Would she even be able to live with herself if they never clicked? She'd lost everyone, would she lose her soulmate too?

Suddenly a booming voice echoed from the living room, frightening her out of her daze. Quickly grabbing the glass, she dashed into the living room, plucking the remote from the wide eyed Bucky. Hastily, she muted it letting out a panicked sigh as the reporter continued on with his story silently.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Don't be sorry, really. Trust me that's not the first time I've had to rescue a 100 year old vet from my TV. It just seems to know who to attack." She nervously laughed, setting down the remote. The tense air seemed to relax at that and Bucky found himself chuckling along with her.

The accident, though startling at first, made her feel more at ease. It was something familiar and for the first time since their meeting, there was no awkward feeling between them.

"Here," Y/n handed the glass to him with a shaking hand, trying not to let him see how much had spilled out onto her hand when she rushed into the living room.

Bucky accepted it from her, his fingers lingering on hers for just a moment before retracting.

He could feel her but not like his hand used to. The metal digits no longer felt warmth or pain or tenderness. He could feel when something touched him but all the things that made touch special were stolen along with his real appendage. He wished he'd reached out with his other arm, that he could feel the softness of her skin, the warmth.

"I-I'm not sure how this goes. I rehearsed this a thousand times when I first got my countdown but things are so much more different than I expected. My parents always raised me on the false ideal that we'd meet somewhere cliche like a coffee shop or something." She shook her head, immediately regretting her words the moment they left her mouth.

"I don't really know either. Honestly, I never thought I'd meet you." He sighed, his heart aching with the decades he'd lived believing that he'd die before meeting her. But now she was here and he was ruining it.

Y/n frowned with him, racking her brain for anyway to save their less than perfect first day. "Maybe we should start over." She suggested, putting out her free hand to him.

"Hi. I'm Dr. Y/n L/n." She introduced, deciding there couldn't be harm in starting over. Their meeting was emotional and overwhelming and after all it was just awkward. But Y/n didn't want to remember it that way and neither did Bucky.

As she had hoped, he smiled, putting his own hand into hers and shaking it gently. "Sergeant James Barnes. But everyone calls me Bucky." He replied, his smile growing as she looked at him, her eyes conveying all the warmth she was too scared to admit.

"It's very nice to meet you, Bucky." Y/n smiled, studying the way he looked at her and trying not to let herself blush.

"It's an honor to meet you, Y/n."

•••

The rest of the evening continued this way, an occasional small bount of awkwardness along with some silence before another conversation arised. It was just like getting to know a stranger and while it wasn't what she had anticipated when she thought of meeting her soulmate, it still made her happier than she had ever been.

"So, I started to climb up the fire escape because I definitely wasn't going to wait outside in the snow storm for Steve to rescue me." Y/n explained matter-of-factly, earning a small chuckle from Bucky.

"Of course." He replied shortly, already picturing the woman before him beginning her journey up the fire escape.

"Turns out Steve was already home but he was in the shower. He got out right as I made it to the window and he nearly threw me several stories because he thought I was a burglar. He was so mad, he called me crazy about a hundred times before finally letting me in." Bucky laughed at her retelling, watching the glimmer in her eyes as she relived it.

"Like he's one to judge. When we were younger he'd lose his key all the time, had to start hiding one under a brick at his ma's apartment." Bucky told her, his heart aching slightly as he thought of the last time he'd had to help Steve. His mother had just passed and Bucky was pleading with Steve to stay with him. But Steve was independent, always had been.

"He wanted to change the locks when he found out I lost my key, which I mean, is a fair request but realistically there are about 3 million apartments in the city and the chances of someone finding this one was impossible. Also when you add Captain America into the mix, the chances of your apartment being robbed are quite slim." She explained. She still hadn't changed the locks now that she thought about it and Steve was gone.

And besides she'd survived before Steve. But it didn't make her miss him any less.

"You can never be too careful." Bucky replied, shrugging softly.

"I suppose." Y/n mumbled, looking down at the coffee table where her feet were resting. It always drove Steve crazy but it never stopped her. Yet now she almost felt compelled to do so. Some way to respect his wishes. "What was he like? Who was Steve before the serum and everything?" She asked, slowly dropping her feet from the table.

The question stunned Bucky, leaving him speechless for a few short moments. Several words popped to his mind to describe Steve but they were all things he knew Y/n would already have witnessed.

"He was selfless and brave. And stupid. So stupid. Never knew when to sit a fight out." Bucky chuckled fondly, though it faded just as fast as it had come. "He fought for me when I was on the run from HYDRA. He lost everything to save me."

"Sounds like Steve." Y/n didn't lift her gaze only offering a weak smile at her beloved friend's description.

Y/n was exhausted, so much more tired than she believed possible but given her physical state it made sense. She yawned, trying to muffle as much of it as she could, her eyes watering at how harsh the yawn had rolled through her.

Bucky hardly noticed, a bount of guilt settling on his heavy heart. Bucky didn't deserve saving. But Steve fought for him anyways. And now he was sitting next to his soulmate, the very soulmate he dared not envision a life with for fear of a broken heart.

"How weird that Steve befriended us both, nearly a century apart. And I thought fate was fucked." Y/n laughed quietly, drawing Bucky out of his thoughts. Another yawn took hold of her and Bucky noticed this time, a soft smile gracing his features as he watched her nose scrunch and her hand pathetically fail to hide the yawn.

"It's been a long day." Bucky said quietly, earning a small nod from her.

"You're right." She mumbled, trying to fight off the sleep that so desperately wanted to claim her. There was still so much she wanted to talk to him about and the few hours they had spent getting to know one another didn't feel like enough. But her body was protesting every second she spent awake.

With a silent sigh, she stood pacing off toward Steve's room to find Bucky some clothes for bed. Bucky rose from the couch to follow, taking notice of how her breathing seemed ragged, almost forced.

It worried him but he didn't say anything. Maybe this was normal? He had no idea. He hadn't thought to ask Steve about her condition and asking her now didn't seem right. So he merely watched her with a silent and concerned gaze.

However once reaching Steve's room, Bucky's attention was stolen. It was clear Steve lived in this room. Whether it was the religiously kept bed, neutral colored clothes hung neatly in the closet or the drawings and pictures strung along his walls, Bucky knew this was where Steve had spent a great deal of time.

The pictures varied in a great deal of things, from NYC buildings drawn from the point of view of the street to beautiful scenes from different cities that Bucky guessed Steve had seen during missions. But one in particular caught his eye, pinned carefully to the wall with a tack.

It was of Y/n from her shoulders up, her head slightly turned down. He found her face was quickly becoming a source of comfort. Just seeing her put him at ease and he'd only met her that day.

The picture gave him that same kind of feeling, the feeling that made his chest soft and his muscles relax. It was a way he had yet to see her, so peaceful and calm.

She was reading a book or maybe a magazine? Her eyes focused on the words but there was a daze behind them as if she were daydreaming. He wondered what she had been thinking about. Wondered why she no longer wore her hair like it was in the portrait. Or maybe she did and he hadn't seen it yet?

There were so many things he'd yet to know and a part of him was furious that he had missed all this time with her. He wanted to know her as well as Steve had, wanted to know everything that made her Y/n. He was furious with fate for stealing that from him.

"Here, these might be comfortable enough for sleepwear. But honestly none of Steve's clothes look very comfortable." Y/n spoke, sending a wary look toward Steve's closet where she'd just been.

"So, Steve lived here?" Bucky asked, under the impression that Steve was more of a frequent guest. Y/n tilted her head with a small nod, looking around at the room.

It had once been her office, the very office she used to hold her sessions in. But once branching out to old cafes, the room was often vacant. Thankfully that was around the time she met Steve and the room quickly found a new purpose.

"Yeah, I mean he still went to the compound sometimes but this was his home. He didn't pay rent but he helped out around the apartment, most of the time." Y/n shrugged, smirking slightly. "He had a thing about dishes." She spoke, raising a brow at Bucky as if he might have some sort of background on the interesting flaw.

"He used to say didn't like his fingers to get wrinkled but I always knew it was because soggy food made him sick." Bucky explained, smiling at the memory.

Never before had he met someone who knew Steve as well as he did. It had always been just them. And while he was gone it was just Y/n and Steve. Now they were desperately trying to piece themselves together. It was strange, finding someone exactly like him, yet so different.

"You know, for a guy who's seen so much violence, I didn't think that soggy food would be his Kryptonite." Y/n remarked, walking over to the bed and sitting on the side.

"Kryptonite?" Bucky asked, the word foreign to him. Was it like Vibranium?

Y/n paused. "Oh um. Superman? From the comics? He was still kind of new around your guy's time. 1938, I believe." She explained.

Bucky nodded softly, vague memories of Steve mentioning it to him resurfacing. "I remember seeing them but I never really read them." Bucky replied, watching as she adjusted her sling.

"Well, Superman's one weakness was Kryptonite. I guess Captain America's weakness is dishes." She chuckled, seemingly unaware of how distraught her condition made him.

A silence fell over them after that, nearly killing them both. It was almost annoying how badly their conversation flowed. The most at ease they'd felt with each other was when they first met. When they were in each other's arms. It took everything she had not to stand up and throw herself into him again.

"Well, I um, I'm going to um-..." Y/n mumbled, trying to dismiss the thought. Bucky nodded softly, shifting the clothes in his hands. A simple pair of sweats and a t-shirt.

"Yeah." He murmured, watching quietly as she stood making her way to the door.

There was a tension between them, the kind that made Bucky's heart clench and his brows furrow. Y/n could feel it too. But neither acted.

"Goodnight, Bucky." Y/n spoke barely above a whisper, the weight of the tension crashing down on her.

"Goodnight." He replied, his eyes trailing her until she disappeared down the hall.

The weight lifted as soon as she was gone but he soon found himself missing it. Why was talking to her so impossibly hard? He tried telling himself that with time things would get easier but time was the only thing he was no longer willing to give up. He needed to try something different.

Needed to reapproach the whole soulmate thing.

Part fifteen

Taglist:

@jessyballet

@eldahae

@kissesofdeadforme

@wantingtobekorra

@sxphiiwrld

@lunaticbarnes

@indecisivedolly

@saiyanprincessswanie

@whatifwedo

@arguedquill1226

@lunashaw57

@3aileypage

@mela-noche

@homosexual-having-tea

@steve-rogcrs

@yayrainday

@buckybarnesdevotee

Sorry for such a delayed update, I've been so busy lately but I hope to start updating regularly again! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!!!

[rebsrams]

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Valentine)

Warnings: none. Pure fluff. Be prepare to melt. Also, I'm not a native speaker, please forgive any mistake.

Summary: Just what we were waiting for after the Book 2 finale. I mean, still not defining? Oh, Ethan..

Word count: 1,463

@openheartfanfics

A CASE OF YOU (ETHAN RAMSEY X F!MC)

Song: A case of you by her majesty Joni Mitchell

Just before our love got lost you said

"I am as constant as a northern star"

And I said

"Constantly in the darkness, where's that at? If you want me I'll be in the bar"

Ever since they laid eyes on each other, it was immediately clear that in the wretched mess that was Edenbrook hospital and life as a doctor, they would be each other's northern star.

A fixed point in the galaxy.

During certain difficult times, they were even brought to think they were meant to be star-crossed lovers, reminiscing images of canisters, protective suits and plexiglass windows.

Such a romantic view for a life they chose to live, knowing that difficulties and loss were meant to be daily bread.

"...how much I care about you".

The words resonated in her head from time to time, after the accident.

She actually spent the following three days tossing and turning in bed, at night and in the early morning, long before her alarm was going to go off.

She couldn't stop thinking about the patina that the plastic shield screened his tantalizing blue eyes with, which made the confession so difficult to figure out.

Was he caring about her like a friend? A colleague? Something more?

Even after all the moments they shared together, he never got to say what his feelings towards her really were. And so didn't she.

But the affection that exuded from his words was something that could have lighten up the whole room.

Then, just as it is, months passed between a charity gala and difficult cases.

Hands touched, lips met publicly and elegant dresses fell to the ground without second thoughts.

Then, it happened.

She couldn't stand it any longer.

Ethan kissed her in front of the whole hospital more than once, and still he couldn't define what kind of relationship he wanted to have with her.

Soon, she came to realize that it was not about the hospital staff or about jeopardizing anything, it was just about him.

He was absolutely and totally frightened.

To deal with all the demons he tried to drown under a thick layer of resentment and cold indifference over the years.

To push her away, again.

To lose her, once and for all.

Maybe he deserved it, he happened to think.

Well, maybe that's an understatement.

It was actually all that he could think about, completely unaware of the fact that he was hurting her so much more by making love to her and letting her go the morning after, unsure of what his next move will be, leaving her on the ropes.

That night she came into his office from a sixteen hour shift, exhausted.

"To hell with formality", she muttered to herself before entering the room.

"What do you want, Ethan?"

"Good evening to you, Dr. Valentine.

I was wondering if you could check on this test results for a brief... What's the matter?"

He looked up at the doorstep, where she stood arm-crossed with a fallen expression on her face and her thick and curly hair completely disheveled.

"For a brief what, Ethan? Why did you paged me here, at the end of an endless shift? Just to let me praise you and your excellent job? Well, bravo. You already know I have nothing to tell you about it. Now, if you'll excuse me."

She turned to face the door again, letting her words sink in the older doctor behind her.

He, for his part, tried to ignore the sting of pain her words caused in him.

"Rebecca, wait. Please. I just wanted to check on you, to know that you're well. You have to admit you've been quite elusive in these past few weeks. It's not like you."

He saw her stiffen at once and her fists close, making her knuckles become white in the stressful grip.

"It's not like me..." she barely whispered, filling the words with suppressed rage.

"YOU THINK IT'S NOT LIKE ME? WHAT ELSE SHOULD I DO, THEN? ETHAN, FOR FUCK'S SAKE, YOU'RE THE MOST BRILLIANT DOCTOR OF YOUR GENERATION!"

The sudden explosion made him gape to say the least.

She continued to stood there, her curly locks all over her face but not enough to cover her eyes, sparkling with still unspilled tears.

"What are you talking about? Rebs, you know that I'm here. Always. Whatever you need, just talk to me and I'll listen."

His brows forrowed in concern under the squared frame of his glasses; seeing her standing there, on the verge of a breakdown, made his heart clench.

"Oh, of course. You're here. Always." she said, imitating him on the last part.

"Don't you really know what's wrong with me, Ethan?" she continued, her voice barely a whisper.

"It's always like standing in the darkness with you. You can never know what to expect or where to turn. Maybe because you're the one who doesn't know where to turn or what to do with your life.

Just take a dammit road and follow it, for God's sake!" her tone began to rise again, and seeing such a sparkle of wild fire in her eyes made Ethan almost sigh with relief, even if he knew he was the only target of that fire.

Suddenly everything fell into place for him.

He played dumb for all this time, trying to ignore the fact that her personality wouldn't admit his going back and forth much longer.

In that very moment, he really was standing at a crossroad.

And, just like she said, he had to take a road and follow it, for her.

"I would... You know, I... I'd understand if you chose to, well... To back off.

I'm not simple. Like, at all." she let out a nervous giggle, caused by the tension of the moment.

"The situation itself isn't simple at all, and we always knew that. I'm just asking you to get your head together. If not for me, do it for yourself. Please."

Her kindness. Her incredible and absolutely selfless kindness. That's one of the things that made her the brilliant doctor that she was and that he loved the most.

Yes, because he knew that. He loved her.

Deep to his very core. She put down roots in him since the very first day, where she almost screwed everything up during that torachotomy and blood spilled all over her coat.

If there was a thing she didn't deserve, was being treated that way, much less from him.

Given all that, he still couldn't find the breath to emit any sound.

He just stood there, eyes locked with hers, a painful expression on both faces.

"I see. Well, I think I'm done here. I'll see you tomorrow for the test results.

Oh, and by the way... You can find me at Donahue's, if you need to tell me... Anything else."

She knew he understood everything, and despite of it all she was giving him his last chance to make it right.

She close the door behind her, careful not to slam it and let her emotions take control over her.

She quickly wiped the tears that eventually fell, unable to catch the ones already fallen on her coat.

Before she could even notice, she was running out of the building.

Ethan was still there, wiping both hands on his face and under his glasses, trying to examine his own thoughts and intentions.

"Do you want her, you scumbag? Well, of course you do. Then go get her! What the fuck are you waiting for?"

He thought, almost muttering, to himself. Such a colorful language was only used in his thoughts, most of the time referring to himself with some exceptions here and there, referring to the guys flirting with Rebecca. His Rebecca.

Coming to this conclusion was enough to make him stand on his feet, grab his navy long coat and begin to run out of the hospital, forgetting about changing in the locker room or even close the door of his office.

The air was particularly chilly and pricked Ethan's nose, the sensation enhanced by his fast pace.

The door of Donahue's was just a few feet away and his heartbeat began to increase more and more with each step.

He was a grown man, almost entering his 38th year of life.

More than that, he was a doctor, dealing with life and death matters every single day of his existence.

And yet, the very awareness of her presence inside that bar, ready to throw her arms around his neck and be taken home to his apartment, if only he had the guts of pouring his heart out to her, made his heart ponder wildly in his chest.

Pressing lightly on the handle, he stepped in.

Hope you like it. Part 2 will be here soon 💋

Also, I'm a newbie and I'd like to gather a taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join it!

[sapphoooe]

Accident (Jade West x R)

Gif/Pic Credit to original maker/editor

Jade West x Reader

Summary: (request) Can you please write a Jade x reader where the reader gets in a really bad car accident and when Jade is driving home, she notices it's the reader's car?

Warnings/Info: all characters are at least 18, Kisses, fluff, Angst, car crash, alcohol misuse, injuries, hospital, swearing ,Happy Ending

A/N: I tried my best with the request fam✌🏼Also I edited it at like 3 AM ,so if there are any mistakes, lemme know.

Y/N = Your Name

Y/L/N = Your Last Name

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

Jade was on her way home, to your shared apartment. After being gone for three weeks, because of an internship for her future dream job, she was finally coming back home.

To you.

It was really difficult being away from each other for so long, even a week would have been too long, maybe even just days. But Jade was getting happier each second she got closer to you.

She soon could finally touch you and kiss you again. You both still Skyped and called each other, but it still wasn't the same.

Seeing the police lights in front of her, Jade slowed down. There were two damaged cars on the side of the crossroad, a black SUV and a car that looked A LOT like yours. Jade's anxiety started to rise up.

It couldn't be. It couldn't.

She looked for the license plate. And it was yours.

This can’t be happening. It can’t.

Jade found it near impossible to breathe.

She stopped the car on the side and rushed out.

“Ma'am you can't go in there, please stay behind the police tape."

“I need to find my girlfriend, that's her car, where is she?!”

“Ma'am please I need you to calm down, both drivers were just taken to the Medical Center Hospital, 30 minutes ago”

The hospital. You were at the hospital.

Jade ran back to the car, to get there as fast as she could. She felt like throwing up, her hands whitening, while gripping the steering wheel.

You had to be okay. You had to. She couldn't lose you.

After Jade arrived, she parked the car and marched inside. She had a scary aura around her, so everyone avoided her at all costs as she walked up to the reception.

“How can I help you?” The receptionist asked.

“Y/N Y/L/N. She was brought here after a car crash. What room is she in?!”

The woman raises an eyebrow at Jade, as Jade glares at her. She sighs and turns to her computer, typing something into it and she pauses to read the screen before she replies.

“She’s in surgery right now, but if you step aside we can take y—”

“No. I need-”

“Did you ask for a ‘Y/N Y/L/N’ ?” The Doctor behind her interrupted her.

Jade turned to her.

“Yes.”

“If you’d step over here, I can explain what happened?” the doctor tried with a gentle smile.

“I—Okay.” There was no point in arguing.

“Who are you?”

“Jade West. Her fiancée.”

It's wasn't completely a lie, someday it would happen, as long as you wanted to.

Jade nervously clenches her fists.

“So?”

“Yes, right. She was in a pretty bad car accident. She’s still in surgery, but if it goes well, she will be fine. But the driver was drunk. And from what I’ve gathered, he slammed into the passengers side. Her leg got broken and she sprained her wrist. Also got a concussion from the impact.”

“When can I see her?”

“When she gets out of surgery. Someone will come and get you.” Jade takes a breath and nods, sitting down and focusing to calm down.

Its hours before someone comes.

A nurse clears his throat and Jade looks up to see him standing beside her with a kind smile. She's too tired to be rude.

“Jade West?”

“Yes?”

“You may see her now.” Jade stood up and followed him.

He opened the door without a word, leaving you both alone.

You're asleep, looking somehow peaceful.

There are bruises along your hairline and some stitches above your right eyebrow. Your wrist is bandaged and your leg is in a cast.

Jade holds back a sob.

She cups your cheek, leaning down and gently presses a kiss to your forehead.

After sitting next to you on a chair, she takes your uninjured hand in hers, stroking your knuckles.

Jade doesn't remember falling asleep, but she wakes up to your hand stroking her hair. She smiles when your eyes meet.

“Hey Gorgeous” you smile.

“Hi” Jade croaks, tears falling down her cheeks.

“Whoa. Are those tears? Must be pretty serious, huh?” You try to joke.

You place your hand on her cheek wiping away some tears.

“Hey, it's okay baby, I'm fine, come here.”

She stills and you pull her to you. Making carefully some room on the bed for her, (minding your injuries and medical wires. Jade's face is hiding in your neck, as she tries to hold her tears in.

“Hey, it's okay, I'm right here, Gorgeous.” You tell her. “Besides, can't get rid of me that easily”

She gives you a small smile and looks up at you with that same smitten expression, the same way you are looking at her too.

“I fucking hope so Y/L/N.”

She doesn't ’t think she’ll ever get used to the way you look at her. As if she's your everything.

“I love you Y/N, I love you so fucking much, more than anything. I'm just so happy that you're okay.” 

You press a soft kiss to her lips.

“I love you too Jade, so much Gorgeous.”

“Take a nap with me, Jay?”

She nods.

“Everything you want baby”

And presses a kiss to your neck. Both of you relaxing into each other on the hospital bed and letting sleep take over.

You were already softly snoring, as she smiles in relief and gratitude.

You were going to be okay.

[spiritpriestess]

I'm at a crossroads. I've pulled some tarot cards on the topic but am too close to the subject. I'm an artist who had to fire my agent last year. The experience rattled me and makes me question if it's time to stop pursuing that goal and focus on an actual career and not a low-paying job that barely pays the bills. How do you see my path forward: getting a new agent and finally breaking through, putting it aside to focus on practical matters, or something else entirely?

Many times when we hit obstacles it's the Universes way of testing our dedication. We may feel like it was thrown in our way to stop or hinder us, or to signal that it's not meant for us but in fact, Spirit is just giving us detours to guide us to the 'destination' through the path of least resistance.

Even through your writing I feel that you really want to be and stay an artist because that's your heart's desire.

When I was reading your question, I just couldn't shake this thought off 'they're too attached to having an agent' and what I'm feeling is that you (probably subconsciously) think that you can't have a break through without an agent, on your own. Now, I know as an artist, agents can really come in handy, but it's not a requirement and I'm really getting this message that the Universe wants you to know that you can do it on your own and this is probably the path of least resistance. I instantly saw you smiling big and bright (holding some sort of certification or award in your hand?) to the camera and there were no agents, you had done it yourself.

Obviously I can't know either the how's, but you having to fire your agent wasn't a sign to give up but to trust in yourself and your ability to break through on your own. Last year was difficult for many people and we had to let go of things we didn't really need so we can build a strong foundation this year.

I do have to add that when we're too attached to a dream or desire, we just push it away from us, so what you should try to do is let your mind off of the topic for a little while, focus on practical matters as you said, you can maybe even get a part-time job for some extra money, while still focusing on your art on the side. Maybe think about why you're actually creating art - is it because you just want to express yourself, or impress others, or maybe earn a lot of money? Try to identify the ego and the heart based reasons and try to create just for the sake of it - without thinking about what you can get out of it and you'll find how much more enjoyable it actually is. Unless you're already doing it that way, then disregard this (someone may find it helpful since the message came through).

This got quite long but I hope it makes sense and helps you in some ways! You (and we all) can achieve anything, it's just a matter of letting it happen. 💗🕊️