#drinking monster as symptoms and its like

[orcelito]

should i make a Bad Choice?

no.

do i Want to make a Bad Choice?

.................yes

#speculation nation #i have a monster energy drink and a schedule to do let's goooooooo #i used to drink these like candy when i was 18 or so lol #HORRIBLE decision to do it bc it can fuck me up so easy and also im currently struggling with a caffeine addiction #tho that's. kinda exactly why i want to drink this. #ive only managed to write like 700 words. fucking NOTHING for a day's attempts. #i took a nap and that hasnt fixed it. my eyes have been Pressure all day #and i have a bit of a headache. again. #im not gonna drink the whole thing in one sitting probably. maybe half. which SHOULD hopefully help me avoid the worst of symptoms #i have to be careful with heavy caffeine intake these days bc it kinda does fuck with my heart lol #which. that Fluttering is not a good feeling. at all. so i would like to avoid it. #but i have several more things i want to get done tonight and so. the risk is perhaps worth it this time #you may say 'but fanny havent you been having trouble sleeping lately?' #to which i would say 'yes but shhh its okay dont worry about it' #risks and rewards my followers. risks and rewards. #be prepared for me to be annoying as hell. as a heavily caffeinated me will be.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Games with an atypical division of Player/GM responsibilities? For example, in Fellowship, the players have final say in lore/world building questions, not the GM. (Not counting GMless games, which have atypical GM duties by default)

Alternatively, if that's too niche: any games explicitly designed for rotating GMs and/or 'West Marches' style campaigns.

THEME: Unique Player Responsibilities / Rotating GMs

Hello there! I hope to do your ask justice, although I feel more at home talking about the first half of your question than the second. I’ll ask my followers to supply some more suggestions in the tags/reblogs, and throw at you what I have!

Fae’s Anatomy, by Hebanon Games.

Fae’s Anatomy is a comedic storytelling RPG wrapped around a challenging logic puzzle, recreating the high-stakes melodrama of medical procedurals like Grey’s Anatomy, House, and General Hospital. 

Anybody can be an expert in Fae’s Anatomy. The game is set in a world where all forms of magic, spirituality, and mysticism are science. Science? Just another form of wizardry. Quackary, superstition, and pseudo-science work, but so does chemotherapy, antibiotics, and sound medicine.

In many ways, I’d say Fae’s Anatomy feels like a typical ttrpg: you have one person giving hints and clues to the rest of the players, who will use certain skills and abilities to solve a problem. But the closest role to the GM role - the Patient - is simply different from the doctors in what limits them. The Patient is suffering from some kind of mysterious illness, and while they have a little bit of information available to their general illness, the app presented to them to help them run through the diagnosis keeps the solution obscured enough to keep them on their toes. The Patient also has to role-play their symptoms well enough to help point the doctors in the right direction. In some ways, it feels like Fae’s Anatomy is an elegant form of charades - and if you want to hear how this game plays, you can check out the special episodes that Lawful Great Adventures recorded using this game!

Apocalypse Keys, by Rae Nedjadi @temporalhiccup

The Doomsday Clock is ticking down and emotions run high as you and your team of DIVISION agents struggle to find the Keys before the villainous Harbingers unlock the Doors of Power and bring about the apocalypse.

As an Omen class monster, you are the only thing capable of holding back the apocalypse. Combat occult threats and investigate supernatural phenomena alongside your team of supernatural agents working for the shadowy DIVISION. But in a world that shuns monsters like you, only your deepest, most heartfelt bonds can grant you the power to stop those who seek to unlock Doom’s Door.

There are two ways in which Apocalypse Keys uniquely empowers the players in ways I consider slightly unorthodox. Firstly, there’s the fact that the lore of DIVISION, the shadowy government agency that holds your monsters leash, isn’t fully fleshed out at the beginning of play. It’s slowly uncovered with each mission and playbook advancement, with the players being presented with questions and workshopping the answers together.

Second is the mystery mechanic, which was popularized by Brindlewood Bay and The Between, and also made its way into games such as External Containment Bureau and Bump in the Dark. While the GM designs clues and thinks about what kinds of Harbingers might be responsible for this specific apocalypse, it’s up to the players to decide what the answer to the mystery actually is - and it’s the player’s roll that determines how accurate they are.

Brinkwood, Blood of Tyrants, by Far Horizons Co-Op.

Mask up. Spill blood. Drink the Rich.

The world is not as it should be. The rich feed, literally, upon the poor, as blood-sucking vampires who barely bother to conceal their horrific, parasitic nature. The downtrodden peoples of the world struggle under the burdens of rent, payable through the sweat of their labor or the blood of their veins. Evil has triumphed. Many have given in to despair. But all is not lost.

In Brinkwood, you take on the role of renegades, thieves, and rebels struggling for freedom and liberation in a castylpunk world controlled by vampires. Radicalized by tragedy, you have taken up arms and fled into the forests, where you were taken in by unlikely allies - the fae, forgotten creatures of myth - who offered a different path and the means to fight back against your oppressors. Masks, forged of old wood and older magic, are the final tool left to fight a war long ago lost. If you wear them, they will take their price, etching themselves upon your very soul. But they will also let you spill the blood of the rich and powerful vampires that now rule the land, and from that blood strengthen yourself and your movement.

There’s a lot of things about Brinkwood that I absolutely love, from the way the mask playbooks are meant to be swapped among the characters/players with every mission, to the slow but steady revolution that you build by fostering connections with various factions in the Bloody Isles. But for the purpose of this request, we need to talk about Your Exquisite Fae.

Your Exquisite Fae is the process by which the group collaboratively creates a faerie patron, otherworldly and uniquely powerful. It’s inspired by the game Exquisite Corpse, which has each player draw a piece of a drawing without knowing what the others have already created. In Your Exquisite Fae, the players receive answers to prompts written by other players but aren’t given hints as to what the context was - and then they elaborate on what those answers mean. For example, one player might state that the Fae has eyes that reflect the night sky, gleaming like a thousand distant starts. The second player might decide that those eyes see the deepest fears of the enemy, giving the group an advantage at finding weaknesses and secrets when spying on vampires.

Ars Magica, by Atlas Games.

Ars Magica is the award-winning roleplaying game by Jonathan Tweet and Mark Rein•Hagen about wizards and their allies in Mythic Europe. This flexible, deeply built world can support games that are historically accurate or fantasy-based, epic or small scale, political or personal.

Players work together to tell the story of their covenant — all of the magi, their companions, and grogs. This history can span decades. It might be heroic, tragic, or both in turn. The covenant could influence the entirety of Mythic Europe or the fates of a small corner of the world.

Spells will be cast. Duels won and lost. Houses may rise and fall. But magic is forever.

The last time I talked about this game, one of my followers pointed out that this was an incredibly complex game that was designed to accommodate rotating GMs. The game styles itself as a troupe-style game, which means you’re not just responsible for your mages, but also your companions and servants. If you want a game with complex relationships and big-picture conflicts, this might be the game for you.

Slugblaster, by Mikey Hamm.

In the small town of Hillview, teenage hoverboarders sneak into other dimensions to explore, film tricks, go viral, and get away from the problems at home. It’s dangerous. It’s stupid. It’s got parent groups in a panic. And it’s the coolest thing ever.

This is Slugblaster. A table-top rpg about teenagehood, giant bugs, circuit-bent rayguns, and trying to be cool.

It may look like a small thing, but during crew creation, each character playbook has specific roles in determining the crew’s resources and relationships. The Grit picks a faction that trusts the crew. The Guts chooses a faction that the crew has somehow annoyed. Each player draws a portal between the known multiverses, but the Smarts draws two. The Chill has final say over where you hang out when you’re not Slugblasting, and The Heart has final say over your crew name.

I’ve drawn direct inspiration from this setup in my own game that I’m playtesting, by giving each playbook final say over some element in the world, and I think it really boosts player agency and gives them control over the kind of story the group wants to tell.

Planedawn Orphans, by Sharkbomb Studios.

Planedawn Orphans is a campaign kit that helps you prepare a campaign for the fantasy role-playing game of your choice. It provides a flexible and versatile framework to start a campaign. The campaign kit will help you get started and provide structure and support, but some assembly is required.

Set in the Planar City, a strange melting pot that connects the vast diversity of the multiverse. You all play Planar Orphans stranded in this city, your original home worlds destroyed, corrupted or lost. A mysterious Patron has brought you together, provided you with a base of operations and tasked you to complete a Planar Key. This key will let you create a new plane for you and your fellow refugees. Your quest will bring you to exotic places filled with strange creatures and bizarre phenomena.

This isn’t a standalone rpg, but rather a campaign kit for whatever system you like - or even multiple systems! I’m recommending this toolkit because I’m actually planning to use it to run a series of rotating-gm games later this year, with a friend of mine. You’re building your own custom dimension by jumping into a series of vastly different worlds, and your home base is built collectively. There’s a lot of player agency and GM agency here, as players have plenty of control over their home dimensions (since they can’t ever go back) and the GMs can take turns designing custom worlds for the party to jump into. I definitely recommend checking it out.

Also Check Out

Asymmetrical Games Rec Post

#rotating gms #unique player responsibilities #tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #indie ttrpg

[zlebooks]

𓂃 xiao + stupid in love .

part two of sorts to this drabble !! this can be read alone, i only wrote this bc some wanted to see y/n and xiao getting together 🫶🫶🫶

xiao knew he was smart.

he maintains his grades in the top percentile of his class. and even though he rarely participates in recitations, he makes up for it with his excellent written outputs.

he's knowledgeable— he can recite the whole process of mitosis and meiosis on the top of his head. his analytic essays on poems and short stories are always returned with a 'great job!' written on red.

xiao knows a lot of things, but this doesn't mean he's aware of everything.

xiao at 13, did not know kazuha beat up some kids on his behalf. the mean kids had been talking bad about xiao behind his back, and the blond happened to be walking by and couldn't resist connecting his fist to their jaws.

the day after those events, when xiao quizzed the other for his bruised eye, kazuha only shrugs as he says he got it from falling down the stairs.

("your house doesn't have stairs."

"i wasn't in my house, silly. i fell down at your house after doing it with your mom."

"get the fuck away.")

xiao at 14 had no clue that zhongli, his upperclassman whom he looks up to the most, sees him as his little brother.

during lunch, zhongli would always drop by at his favorite underclassman's classroom to give him a fruit— it's always high in vitamin c but xiao always receives a different one each day.

the taller noticed how frequent xiao attends their club meetings with either a cold or a cough. being a concerned senior he is, he starts purchasing fruits potent in vitamin c on the way to school to give it to the younger during lunch breaks. 

("your face is so sour that even zhongli decided to give you a lemon." a certain blond friend says.

"it. isn't. sour. at. all." xiao says in between bites as he tries to remain poker faced the entire time.

"you're a monster.")

xiao at 15 had no idea who's been feeding the stray cat other than him. 

contrary to popular opinion, cats aren't afraid of the green-haired boy. he actually seemed to be a magnet for them— threatening his 'i'm intimidating, back off' persona every once in a while as a bunch of cats follow him.

he met a certain black cat on the streets one day, and every other day, he comes to its spot just to feed it.

however, on a particular afternoon, when he arrives at the riverside to give the black cat some food, he notices an opened canned tuna laying around, and a cat heavily invested in gobbling it up.

he shrugs, before laying down water beside it so the black cat can also get its share of drink. 

it doesn't matter who's feeding the friend he had made— as long as the little stray gets fed, he's absolutely fine with it.

(a particular senior who is allergic to beans coos when he learns that xiao has been feeding the cat alongside him.)

xiao at 16, has no clue why he has a bad case of indigestion.

he makes sure he never over eats, or eats too fast. and even with his mother's homemade tonic, his stomach keeps on juggling uncomfortably. 

for a while, he thought that the problem might be from the pork buns he buys on the way to school, but when he notices it only appears whenever you're around, he thinks it's because he doesn't like you.

his alleged dislike turns into something stronger– hate, perhaps. the funny feeling in his stomach seems to never go away, and now he feels hotter than ever, his temperature heating up as his thoughts are always plagued by you. 

this becomes a problem eventually— a huge one that he had to ask around what he can do in order to keep such an ill feeling on the down low. after all, while he might not like you, he still doesn't want to hurt your feelings, oddly enough. the problem starts to become even bigger, especially now that you two are seatmates. ever since the release of the new seat assignments, which inevitably puts you beside him, the symptoms start to worsen for xiao.

("is it necessary to feel this way when you hate someone?"

"what do you mean exactly?" a kind senior asks, his golden eyes shining brightly in contrast with their uniform's black vest.

"i can barely focus when they're around— i'm always at loss for words whenever we talk." xiao replies, muttering low as he puts his head on top of his fist.

zhongli widens his eyes in shock, but then he reverts to his usual self before the younger catches on. "perhaps you need to reevaluate your feelings; there is a possibility that you mistook such feelings for hate."

the younger shakes his head firmly, "that can't be. i'm pretty sure it's hate."

"are you sure of that, xiao? hate is a strong word." he asks in his rich deep voice and xiao affirms. 

zhongli silently hums as he takes a sip from his water bottle. no matter the outcome, this can be a learning experience from his underclassman. xiao is indeed smart— he's sure that the younger would figure it out on his own.)

(when zhongli recounts the events to a close friend of his, he earns a smack on the back of his head.

"why did you leave things at that, idiot!" a thin frail white-haired woman yells, but her appearance is an illusion as the weight of her hand feels like a ton of bricks being slammed against his head.)

xiao at 17, didn't know better than to approach his best friend of four years for advice.

"how do you know if you like someone?" he remembers asking and the relentless teasing that followed.

maybe he should have known better, really. xiao ponders as kazuha lists off the signs of catching feelings for someone. 

"don't forget about the butterflies in the stomach! it's what makes you shy."

xiao tsks, as if— he never gets shy.

although the moment you went close— too close— to him, he feels like he could have erupted like a volcano.

(kazuha hollers, "how'd you turn so red when y/n came up to you?" the blond wipes tears from his eyes. "you literally have it bad for them!"

"if you don't stop, i'm not the only one who's going to be red." xiao threatens, holding the plastic knife a little too tight.)

6 months later, xiao didn't know what to do when you suddenly confessed your feelings to him. 

he feels as if his feet attached itself to the ground; he could barely move, he can't even bring himself to breathe. 

"i like you."

you tell him out of nowhere while the two of you were left behind in the classroom to clean— he was sweeping the floor while you arranged the chairs. from the other side of the room, you suddenly get the urge to confess which left the other gaping. this alone becomes a huge achievement because xiao never gapes.

xiao thinks you should be charged with attempted murder. 

he thinks with the way you took away his breath and almost sent him into a cardiac arrest, you should be sent to jail. but then he disagrees with that thought— because how will he deal with his feelings without you?

for the first time in his entire life, xiao thinks he finally understands what kazuha meant by 'butterflies in the stomach.' because as he stares at your expectant eyes and upturned lips, he thinks he just felt a flap against the walls of his tummy.

and what his friend said to him came into fruition— he realizes what they meant. 

he likes you back.

xiao was never one for theatrics and yet he can't help but drop the broom he's holding dramatically before running over to you. 

coughing awkwardly and taking deep breaths he says, "i do too."

xiao thinks he knows everything now.

("really? 'i do too'? you do know you sounded like you're saying you liked yourself too, right?" a kaedehara descent teases, earning a tug on his hair.

"shut. up.")

♥︎ please do not repost or translate without my permission . reblogs are heavily appreciated!

#KAZUXIAO FRIENDSHIP >>>>> #SLAY KAZUHA and zhongli too ig #genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact angst #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin fluff #genshin angst #genshin impact xiao #genshin xiao #xiao x reader #xiao imagines #xiao headcanons #xiao fluff #xiao angst

[aihaitahm]

Hiii! What’s your take on headcannons about uh the reader who’s an significant other to the characters: Geoard, Blade and Jing Yun and maybe they like lose control of their powers and maybe how they try and assist you in containing them in the moment or calming you down?

hsr characters react to gn! reader who has uncontrollable powers

im sorry abt this one anon 😿 i wasnt sure abt how to write reader’s abilities.

also blade’s lore still confuses me and his characterization tbh.

characters: gepard, blade, jing yuan

gepard

would be on the look out when you mentioned about your hidden power. heavily protective of you and would prefer you both fought together always. would keep this a secret between you to avoid gossip from silvermane guards.

when it triggers, he would try his best in calming you down by making you look in his gentle eyes or making him listen to his words. he would never want to resort to fighting you. if you somehow just cant snap out of it, he would just hug and hold you tight. that way you know hes right there.

would ask natasha and other doctors about your condition and how to contain it. even better how to make it in a condition where it is controllable and not harmful to yourself.

would reassure you that you are not a monster and that you’re you, the one he loves and cherishes everyday.

blade

he sense your strong energy and aura the first time you both met. tbh thats what intrigued him about you anyway is how come he feels a sense of very powerful aura around you and yet you never mention a thing about it.

when you revealed it to him, he isnt surprised. he himself abandoned his body to become a blade, to possess terrifying power of self-healing which in the process, was probably the most painful thing to get through. to the point he probably got used to it. he eventually knew how to control it and lived with it. (a/n: correct me if im wrong abt this part but blade’s lore still confuses me ++ some of these are plain speculation if he did feel any pain when he abandoned his body!)

during random hours of the day or week, he would give you unwanted advice on how to live with your given powers. he would also make you join him and the stellaron hunters because he believes in your abilities if you havent already.

when you do get out of control, i feel like he’d let you release everything (except when its drastically making you insane/lose health, etc.) until you calm down a bit. he will pat you on the back and would give you treatments that he used to drink or take whenever he felt out of control before.

jing yuan

he knew from the look from your eyes that you have something powerful and absurd hidden. he just couldnt shake it off. kinda like blade except he wouldnt bring it up or question you.

when you revealed your struggle for control over your own powers, he will not be the one to judge. instead, he comforts you and maybe would help you control it by regular training with him. would search for more optimal ways that can help you.

when you get out of control, i feel like he would spar with you (obviously not hurting you) until you get tired. that is when he gently carries your body and take cares of you.

he is very detail-oriented/observant and he knows the symptoms if youre about to lose it. he asks his servants to grab him medicine for you to drink to help it subside and eventually not be as bad. mimi is also there to calm you down. would rub up your legs or arms or lay by your feet.

#honkai star rail #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #blade x reader #gepard x reader #jing yuan hsr #jing yuan honkai #honkai blade #blade #gepard #jing yuan honkai star rail #gepard honkai #hsr blade

[crushedsweets]

do you perhaps have any or more ticciwork hcs.. like how they are with each other 😊😊 !1!1 idk!! any hcs that has something to do with them together. I heart them

hi anon. i got u . i got u . i got u. this is more how they meet in my au. ill do cutesy headcanons eventually. i tried to break this up into different sections but its kinda long and a lot to swallow ... sorry LOL. it doesnt even get outright shippy/romantic but its cool

OK BACKSTORY

ok so in my au. the operator is what drove toby to kill his dad, and he spent a couple months under the operators influence acting like an entire menace. tim and brian got orders from slender to intercept this, but slender realized toby would follow like a loyal dog after being 'saved'. so proxy toby it is.

clockwork was under the operators influence right before her trip to the psychiatric ward, and it lasted maybe 7 months? luckily for Her, her family's death and her disappearance went relatively under the radar cuz theyre seen 'trailer trash' with no friends/presence in any community. she's fighting to hold down a job since she keeps getting fired for going weeks with no contact.

ok HOW THEY MET

they met because toby was stalking a household that natalie wanted to kill the dad of. natalie would be in the middle of an operator episode, where she's behaving erratically, her eyes were glossed over, she is SIGNIFCANTLY stronger than usual. typically, toby would be much stronger than this lanky malnourished girl, but not that night.

they got into a bit of a tussle that Toby's struggling to win. a light in the house turned on cuz of the noise and toby was like Oh fuck this. and he runs off. the flash of the light kinda disturbed clocky and she half regains her senses and runs off too, but still not fully in control. she doesnt realize that shes following toby, but the operator knows this is another chance to kill one of slender's proxies (plus the operator was in control of toby a year prior, before slender took over).

eventually tobys back on the path to the forest, walking through some rural cornfield area and thinking long and hard about nat. and shes looking for him. shes being insanely fucking creepy and slashing at the corn and bushes (she has a machete now). toby tics, and she yells about how she hears him, etc. he's starting to piece together that shes under the operators influence and hes like 'slenders gonna be so hyped i got him a new proxy' (slender does not want her .)

HOW THEY....became friends..?

he eventually plays a game of cat and mouse and gets her to follow him to the cabin. pretty quickly tim and brian are up and they get her down, duct taped her arms, tied her to a random pipe in the kitchen, and spend some time debating on what to do. shes swapping between screaming, thrashing, foaming at the mouth and just sitting there silently staring off into the void and swaying. eventually she gets out of the episode and she's acting normal, albeit angry and covered in dirt. they get her off the pipe and talk to her.

ive mentioned how slender um kinda grossly leaks an inky liquid.... and it has effects... ok yea drink that and the operator eventually loses control over you. toby kinda explains it to her. in complete desperation and exhaustion, natalie's like "you can fix this ? you can stop the amnesia and waking up in random peoples blood??? you can stop me from going into random fucking cornfields acting like a monster????". toby was like yea:3 SURE CAN

but it hurts. its physically painful, mentally exhausting, it's almost like withdrawal symptoms. It can take a couple weeks to months to finally get the operator off, and multiple doses of the ink. again, tim and brian do NOT live full time at the cabin, so she's left with toby mostly. its really uncomfortable. theyre both awkward assholes. tobys intentionally blunt, natalie grew up with no filter. but toby has this weird complex where he's convinced the boss is gonna be soooo happy that toby did this 'for him.' so he keeps it up.

usually they just kinda coexist.. but tobys on edge all the time. the second she gets weirdly quiet and starts spacing out, toby gets kinda aggressive and starts suggesting he needs to restrain her or some weird shit. they have gotten into another physical fight when she was in another episode, but tim and brian pulled them off of eachother. she rarely remembers it, and toby doesnt bring it up cuz hes embarrassed that natalie is as strong as him when under the influence. but she's ..kinda like a willing prisoner ? she really doesnt wanna be there but she wants to be done with feeling possessed. occasionally she gets really violent and her eyes roll back and she has to be duct taped and locked in a room over night or else she might kill toby. the next morning toby mumbles apologies as he cuts off the tape and rubs her wrists for her. she understands, even if she hates it.

AFTER THE OPERATOR

a couple weeks go by of pain, then a month of normalcy. the operator gets his claws off natalie and she's like. ugh. ok. that fucking sucked ass. fuck you guys. but thanks.

slenderman doesnt want her. she literally doesnt care that he doesnt want her tho LMFAO she didnt want to be a proxy. tobys pissed and is mad at her for like a week even tho its not even her fault. but anyway..

tim hated being around her because 1. it hurts to see a young girl crying and writhing in pain 2. it hurts to see what you used to be like. brians chill, he always fed her, he's brought her some books and stuff.

but, of course, she spent the most time with toby - and they got closer. theyd sit and talk, he'd bring her around the forest, kinda explain a lot of um. The Lore. LOL. toby introduced her to jack, theyve gone swimming together, taught her how to cut down trees, she's drawn him and he's in awe. she loves books and stories but has pretty bad dyslexia, so he read a book out loud for her once. they kinda both poked fun at eachother ('ur stutter is making this annoying' 'at least i can fucking read') and ended up never doing that again LMFAOOO but he started hooking up audio books for her. it was kinda cringe for them both, but a sweet gesture

she finally started working as a waitress/bartender in this underground shady ass bar. the patrons started to love her bc she's tall like a model, long hair, nice voice, witty, has a sharp tongue. fits right in with the grimy atmosphere. toby gets grossed out anytime he comes to visit her/pick her up and middle aged men are saying bye to her. he doesnt know if its jealousy or if its generally just ew. she rightfully complains about it tho so he's like 'heh.... knew it.... she wouldnt want those guys.....' hes so annoying i love him

he helps fix up a nice little barn for her, cuz slender gets riled up anytime she's at the cabin for more than a few days. something something about not wanting a distraction or 'outsiders' there.

but yeah :3

they never end up dating in my lore though. they never even admit having feelings for eachother. nats real good at pushing these things down, and toby just doesnt think its worth it. (plus i want toby to also have a little arc with jack.. LMFAOAOAO SORRY im a ticciwork and ticcijack shipper my bad).

eventually they do stop having feelings for eachother, but everything remains the same. theyre really close. theyre cute. i love them.

thank you anon

#asks #creeped #hcs #ticci toby #clockwork creepypasta #natalie ouellette #ticciwork #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon

[crazykuroneko]

Rewind the Tape — IWTV S1E04 Rewatch

Finally, I'm back with my rewatch for @iwtvfanevents after having to microdosing Ep 4 because of limited time, mood, and I just fell unconscious once I hit my bed. Again, FYI from before: this is my first time rewatching the show (excluding indirect watch through YouTube reactions), and its purpose for me to refresh my mind and noticing things. So, I won't dwell on certain ongoing or past theories, but I'll take notes about the possibilities I notice as the rewatch goes for myself. Also, disclaimer, because I've had people put words into my mouth before: When I'm assuming the reason a certain character does what they do, it's not to give them an excuse. It's my way of trying to understand what the writers have in their minds. For me, if the action of a character doesn't make sense in that character's eyes, based on their personality, then it's bad writing.

Okay, that's long enough. Be careful with the S2 spoiler alerts. Time to meet ✨ Claudia✨

• It's been 10 years since Daniel published a book and his publisher seems questioning his ability to write a book.

• Armand barely gets any sunlight here.

• *Googling* Levodopa is used to reduce Parkinson's symptoms, like tremors, stiffness, and slowness, which are caused by lack of dopamine. It works by being converted to dopamine in brain.

• "Electronic mailbox" Armand, you're so funny.

• Resting? Wait, have they ever did an interview during mornings before? Ep 1, it's night. Ep 2, during dinner time to late at night. Okay, it seems Ep 3 starts in the day to night. Gonna pay attention to this more. 

• The interior designer is a woman. "Louis is missing the 'natural' world" What tree is that again? I'm bad with plants.

• Claudia wrote her name and the year on her first diary. Cute. (But ofc she probably stopped doing that after Loustat read her diaries)

• They arrived in Paris November 14, 1945. A week after Lestat's birthday, fyi. There's a headcanon Armand's (it seems people got it from a wikia, which was taken from an official calendar, but no one has checked that calendar) is November 11. 

• They're in Ploiesti in 1941, eating POWs.

• My caption doesn't write it, but Lestat says, "Impossible. Elle est trop jeune." (She's too young) Oh, Louis 😔

• "I just need her not to die". And Lestat probably recalled Louis crying on their bed over not able to have a child, and there they went to doom themselves and Claudia. Anything (because unlike Louis, he knows all the consequences) to keep Louis happy AND stay with him. 

• The contrast between Louis' and Claudia's transformation. Lestat doesn't let her to drink much, just enough to turn her. There's no gentleness or anything when Lestat holds her. In fact, the camera stays on his rough hold, highlighting the ugliness of it. Isn't in the books being turned without consent seen akin to rape? 

• "Hell demons" lol. I wonder when she got his first diary and when she arrived at that conclusion. 

• "It's my new house?" "It is if you want it to be" as if she has another option. Louis, you're so funny. 

• Delaying to tell Claudia that she needs to feed on humans. Telling her there's another "choice" than eating humans. Expecting Claudia to feel regret the next day after killing a human. Louis, stop putting your own feelings in her.

• "He has to relay on my words to understand me. Just like humans." "We are a family?" Monsters who have to keep a bit of humanity to get along, who are also playing house like humans.

• You could tell Lestat is already sensitive about being left out in the telepathic conversation since the beginning.

• Claudia witnessing queer relationship for the first time is so amusing lol

• Claudia says ACAB 😌

• This scene doesn't feel "smooth" to me. I don't know if it's the editing or the writing. First, that last line by the cop is too long for such a short action. Second, i think they could pick a better intonation for "not a cop" there. Plus, the placement makes it feel like they almost forgot to put it. 

• Claudia needs twice amount of blood than Loustat. She's still energetic when the sleep time comes. Noted. 

• "Kill juice" Lestat and Claudia are bonding over vampirism.

• "Have you seen my slippers?" "Under the chair by the window" The domesticity uwu.

• The lines about Lestat talking about Claudia's writing habit are so witty when you remember he canonly writes the Vampire Chronicles books. A platonic kiss for IWTV writers again.

• Claudia's new coffin is called The Feathered Nest. A call back to Louis saying him in Lestat's nest in Ep 2. 

• Since the beginning, Claudia likes to ask and figure out things that she doesn't know, while Louis won't say anything to not rock the boat.

• "We try to accustom her to the thought of coming home to God" Oh gosh, Louis is so bad at lying 😭

• Okay, seriously. We know in Ep 2, after Louis is just turned that /at least/ his sight and hearing becomes more sensitive. And in this episode, Claudia can smell the cop's blood from afar. But this lore doesn't consistent with the stinky bodies at their home in Ep 5 and the fact Claudia can stalk Lestat many times (and ofc Claudia and Louis at Antoinette's place in Ep 6 as well). This uncontinuity gives me a headache. OR after they manage to control their senses (Lestat's saying "focus on my voice, a single strain"), their senses basically become normal and only can do more when they willing it? I'm trying to make sense of it here.

• "I miss sleeping with you." So, in good days, they sleep together in Louis' coffin. They /probably/ haven't been doing it since Antoinette thing started (I mean, I wouldn't). That's 8 months. (The sanctioned infidelity narration is on Feb 1917, Claudia started to write her diary in late Sept 1917 and she still sleeps with Louis by that time. Based on this timeline)

• "Sometimes, you gotta be careful where you dig, you understand?" Not to fast forward to S2, but this sounds so ominous. 

• Louis in the night with this pink striped shirt 🥰

• "Is that what he's up to when he goes out alone?" No wonder stalking Lestat is the first thing she does after Charlie. 

• Do I believe Louis' answer is true? I do, because writing-wise, I don't see there's any reason for Lestat to cheat (as in having a relationship with someone else, because I could see him still making out with humans before eating them) when they keep spending their time together except when Lestat is hunting and Louis and Claudia go out together like in this scene. Plus, unlike in Ep 6, during this era Claudia still follows the no telepathic talking rule. (See: Claudia's "I'll tell Uncle Les you talk to me this way" later) Something, I assume, makes Lestat feel alienated from the two and goes to cheat to find a connection with another on his own. But I digress.

• "Used to caught up in human affairs. Then you."

• Okay, at least Daniel waits Armand to finish his sunnah prayer before interrupting him, though Armand should continue doing his Ashr prayer soon. Anyway, i wish they used adhan that's clearer. I mean, I could only listen the beginning of each phrase, not the end.

• Claudia throwing a thing at Lestat and he barely reacted and proceed to pick it off the floor right away. For a period of time, Claudia is indeed the queen in that house. "This was given to me by a marquis..." If that's from Lestat's father, which makes that a family heirloom, and he gave that to Claudia. That means big for a Provider man like Lestat. (hashtag me and Lestat loved Claudia once propaganda) They are supposed to have 6 years of "good time".

• "When they can't (figuring out their problems), I can always get between them and make it right." Claudia is literally a band-aid. I suppose she helps them communicating because as I said in previous episodes, Loustat tend to not address the real problem, just shift to something that will make them feel better and forget it until it comes up again.

• *S2 spoiler alert* No, never think about how Claudia's interest in acting probably grew from the times Loustat bringing her to watch picture shows and Lestat acting them out in front of them. And in the end, it's what makes her fall into the trap of the troupe easier in S2. No, we're fine.

• "Know what her last words are?" I love her psychopath side, obsessing over last words after being called a devil in one.

• Oh, Grace's inflection when saying "uncle". They have heard a lot of homophobic jabber and satanic accusations from Florence over the years, no doubt. 

• This is from Claudia's POV, so it's interesting how she's paying attention and remembers to write it down. 

• Louis really has put down his dutiful son and brother "hat" after having a family himself.

• I think this is probably the last time Claudia admits she has a lot in common with Lestat *insert xie lian's idk whether i have to cry or laugh here*

• That scene of Claudia eating the guy is so classic horror, complete with the blood splatter on glass. Love.

• Lestat really brings her to Lovers' Lane without thinking about the effects. He probably thinks because her appetite stays big like a kid, her mind will stay like that forever. 

• "I don't remember buying that outfit" Lestat bought all Claudia's outfits ofc. (I don't regard interviews as part of canon, but Sam did say that Louis chose Claudia's outfits)

• My theory: Lestat could notice when Claudia and Louis telepathically speaking if he pays attention to their expressions. I mean, he clearly has a thing for being alienated by telepathic connection (for a good reason, if they adapt that part of the book, cmiiw), so it makes sense if he just can tell. 

• THE HORSE IS CALLED BELLA LOL

• She really has a crush on the first good man she meets. So adorable, if not for her monologue 

• She knocks the railing every time she walks towards Loustat's room? Oh I would like to know the backstory that causes this rule/habit 👀. But if it's a rule, it's an interesting when you recall Lestat's "Child. Intervening the romance of the parents" or something like that in Ep 6.

• Waiting on balcony just like her father in Ep 1. The writers are strong with their "Evil of my evil" propaganda.

• Claudia figures out how to block people's thoughts since teenager. Louis has never had a reason to do it

• Again, Claudia is such a curious girl. She dives right in with Charlie

• Sorry, but the editing in this episode is kinda sloppy. I keep noticing things 😭

• This connection Claudia has with last words. It's been awhile but I wonder if we'll get to see it again. *S2 spoiler alert* Perhaps Madeleine says something to her before you-know-what. Or Claudia says something to Louis instead. I just love patterns yknow. 

• Daniel Hart is just slaying in the background with his music. 

• Vampires feel "loose" when they're aroused, which leads to become very bitey.

• That's why she goes to find out how vampirism works right away. Suddenly Lestat can't do what he did to her. She realizes she knows nothing about her current life

• That scene of Lestat and Claudia at the incinerator... Past Louis doesn't know they're burning Charlie and what exactly what Lestat says there. Imagine reading the latter in her diary.

• The transition from Lestat's whole speech about not being close to a mortal to Daniel 🤌🤌🤌

• If Daniel is true that Louis has had all of the diaries in '70s, so my guess Louis doesn't look fine at all in the flashback is right. He's "wearing hats" again.

• I wonder what Louis wanted to say. But knowing him and judging from his reaction to Daniel's brashness, it's something that sugarcoats  Claudia's position in their "family"

• The way Claudia knocks the railing but then it goes weaker, she doesn't really care about the houserules or childish habits anymore 

• The last scene is a nice hint/nod to you-know-what, but also I once read someone saying that what she does is the equivalent of a teenager doing self-harming when they're depressed, and I can't unsee that anymore. I think that's a spot-on.

• This is the last episode we hear "In Throes in Increasing Wonder" as a closing music btw. You know, the music that represent Loustat's love. They really say we're going downhill 

Summary:

For the previous episodes, I always finished my rewatch and tried to figure out what theme of that episode. Of course it's always about Louis because this is Louis' season first and foremost. But for the theme of this episode, I think it's: Louis' first meeting with Claudia and the first time he has failed her. The first part is obvious, the second part, like I said above, Louis only finds how far Lestat's action is to Claudia after he reads her diaries later. I think, he sees that as his first failure to her; unable to stop Lestat making it worse for her.  And we will see Claudia criticize this more in Ep 6.

This episodes also shows Louis' misconception about Claudia. He expects Claudia to react the same way to vampirism as he is. And we will see more of this in the later episodes (but of course the most obvious one is in Ep 7)

This episode is in Claudia's POV, but I like to call it "the closest thing to ideal life Louis has ever gotten", at least until Charlie happens. Like Lestat says in the church scene, Louis wears a lot of "hats": being the good son and good executive in charge of their fortune for his family, being the good straight man, being the good savvy businessman for his family and his own people, and later being a good vampire for Lestat. This time, he gets to take most of them, if not all, off and focus himself wholly on Claudia and Lestat, his family. He says himself, Claudia's existense silences all the noise, chaos, the crisis of his former existence. He has a daughter who has literal telepathic connection to him, someone who can know what he feels without saying anything. Someone by whom he doesn't feel being judged because he can know what she thinks. He has a husband who spends most of his time with them as a family. Who takes their daughter together to shop, Louis choosing the stuffs, Lestat paying for it. Who protects their family when they need to fulfill their daughter's needs (see: the buying coffin scene). Who also has a quality time with their daughter, even though it's mostly about killing humans. Unfortunately, it's rigged to burn, because Claudia won't be a child forever despite her body, outgrowning the very particular role Loustat need from her to maintain their play house.

Oh, I almost forgot, I wonder what the arrangement is with Louis' diet during this happy period. He doesn't do as much action as he did in previous episodes and we do see him eating animals still, but it looks like his sex life is thriving. He has control over his emotions pretty well. So, I assume he doesn't starve himself completely. At least, not as bad as he did before. Perhaps, this is one of the problems Claudia says she has "to smooth out". Though we know later she has never said directly to Louis how she actually doesn't completely agree with his diet choice from Episode 7. *S2 spoiler alert* And we know he later decides to eat human every other day to survive their European trip. My long time theory is Lestat manipulates him into drinking from him at least once a week as a solution. (and that's why he's more powerful than his book counterpart when he's not completely starving himself) 🤔

By the way, since this is the middle of the season, I'd like to say I think this is overall my least favorite episode so far. Mostly from the technical side, but I still love how they sprinkle hints of Claudia's own personality. I think my most favorite episode overall is Ep 1. I just love how their built Louis' personality in it. The performance is crazy, and the directing set the tone of the rest of the season. The directing in Ep 3 is top notch as well, especially towards the end. You really could feel the growing tension. The writing weaving all this history and race problem into Louis' personal life is genius as well.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #rewind the tape #vampterview #iwtvfanevents #tw rape mention #tw ED mention #moi.txt

[trektraveler]

Breathe Free Part One

Summary: You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, thank you very much! Dean knew that, he also knew better. He'd seen you sick plenty of times in the past five years, but this was different. This was much more than a cold, but you were so stubborn about doctors! Dean Winchester isn't about to let you slip away, even if it means going against your wishes. He only hopes he's not too late!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean x Reader, Dean x You

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Sick!Reader, Hospitals, Kissing, fluff

Word Count: 5447

One Shot - Two Parts

Author’s Notes: I have been sick with Covid for a month. Well... down sick for 2 1/2 weeks and recovering my stamina for 2 more. Its been a real bitch. Plus my disabled mother has it now. This is following a nervous breakdown I had in June. Writing has been my passion and my mental health balm, but I've not been able to produce anything in months. So this... this is a fucking triumph!! I'm still working on all my other WIP, so please stick around. I'll get there... eventually :) I'm hoping to finish part two shortly and post in a week... ish.

Thank you all for the continued support!

Masterlist (Part Two)

     You were going to kill him.  Honestly.  If this fucking cold didn’t finish you off, you were going to make it your life’s mission to succeed where every bloody monster, demi-god, angel, demon, and creator of all had failed.  Ridding the world of Dean Winchester would be a public service at this point.  The church would canonize you for this!  There would be bank holidays and parades in your honor.  Maybe an annual postage stamp?  A drink named after you at the local bar, at the least. 

     Of course, you’d have to live long enough to carry out your plan for fame and fortune.  As it was, your odds were 50/50.  Congestion, muscle aches, dizziness, sore throat, non-existent appetite and low-grade fever.  How is it that each of these symptoms alone were minor?  Almost unnoticeable.  You could easily carry out any task battling them one on one.  Yet together they took you down hard.  It was unfair and utterly ridiculous!  Not to mention hugely inconvenient. 

     It was probably that sneezing sheriff from that last case.  You had to introduce him of the concept of personal space more than once.  The douchebag said it was just allergies.  Contagious creep!

     Still, you were home now.  Back at the bunker with three bags worth of pharmacy remedies to ease your pain until the virus ran it’s course.  All you had to do was make it to your room and you could drown yourself in cough syrup and peppermint oil.  Unfortunately, Dean was not making it easy.

     “You sound like shit, Y/N.”

     “Well, I feel like shit, so that tracks.”

     You coughed harshly into the crook of your elbow as you trudged down the metal stairs behind Dean.  Sam followed behind you, carrying your bags and his.  Gentleman that he was.  Levelheaded and sensible, God must have given Dean’s portion of those admirable qualities to his brother. 

     “That cough is getting worse,” Dean said, tossing his duffle down on the war room table. 

     “That’s because you won’t shut up.”

     “What does that have to do with it?”

     “Because you keep baiting me into conversation with all of your pushy opinions.  If you didn’t make me talk so much, I wouldn’t be coughing so much!”  You broke off into a hacking fit that proved your point in your mind.  This was entirely his fault!

     “That’s ridiculous.  You’ve been talking non-stop since we met you five years ago and you never coughed up a lung because of it.”  Dean shook his head and looked to his brother, “Sam, help me out here.”

     Sam usually occupied neutral territory during these debates, but one look at you and he sided with Dean.  “Why don’t we go get you checked out, Y/N?”

     “I got checked out in Billings, they said it wasn’t Covid.  It’s probably just a run of the mill virus.”

     “That guy was like twelve,” Dean scoffed.  “I’m surprised he knew what to do with swab.”

     “He was a doctor, Dean!”

     “Debatable.”

     “There’s no harm in a second opinion,” Sam pointed out. 

     You were so tired you just wanted to cry.  Why were they being so hard-headed about this?  Typical!  Men always think they know everything.  It was all so simple for them, they never had to jump through the hoops that you did when getting care.  It was always the same when you went to the doctor, which is why you never went.  Doctors who dismiss your symptoms and bill you for the privilege.  If you were up to your usual fiery disposition, you’d launch into a lengthy explanation, but you just didn’t have it in you. 

     “If I could get a decent one, I’d consider it.  But the fucking truth is, I won’t.  Not without a fight and I just don’t think it’s worth it.  I’m not dying, I’m not bleeding.  I’ve got a cold, a really shitty one that I hope to God neither of you get because dealing with sick Winchesters might actually finish me off.”

     Dean frowned down at you, “What do you mean?  What is it with you and doctors?”

     “I do not have it in me to explain to you the numerous and colossal failings of the American healthcare system, so I am going to simply say this.  It’s my health and I still get a choice.  So, I’m going to my room where I can die in peace and hopefully tomorrow, I will be rise like the Phoenix with clear sinuses.  If not, then my ghost will haunt this bunker and you two will have to fight over my George Carlin collection.”

     Dean blinked at you for a moment, “You know, we killed a phoenix a few years back.”

     You rolled your eyes and started down the hall towards the bedrooms.  “If either of you wake me before noon, I’m licking every doorknob in this place.”

     “It’s a great story, we had to time travel!” he shouted after you.

     You voice echoed back, along with a few coughs, “I’m using your pillowcase to blow my nose!”

     “I don’t like this, Sammy.”

     Sam picked up his own duffle, “Of course you don’t.  Your mother hen instincts go into overdrive whenever any of us gets sick.  Remember Fort Worth?”

     “Food poisoning, God that was awful.  The pair of you were doubled over the toilet for three days from a damn salad.”

     “And Nashville?”

     “Shark week,” Dean muttered, remembering you curled up with a heating pad while he and Sam hunted vampires.  You wouldn’t even talk to them, just whimpered occasionally and buried your head under the covers. 

     “Right.  She doesn’t get sick often, but when she does all she wants to do is sleep.  The more you try to help the more it irritates her.  Just leave her be, she’ll let us know if she needs anything.”

     That earned a frown from the older brother, as did the sound of another sneeze down the hall.  You were a damn stubborn mule when you wanted to be, but that didn’t bother Dean.  It was a useful quality that served you well in the field.  But you tended to double down when you were hurt or scared, making a challenge for people who loved you to help. 

     And Dean did love you. 

     He came to that conclusion long ago when you burst in on him fighting off a werewolf in your barn.  Barefoot, with a sawed-off shotgun in your hands.  You were fearless, clocked the beast right between the eyes. 

Then:      “Are you alright?”

     Dean rolled the dead body off him and got to his feet.  He quickly took measure of the woman standing in the opened doorway.  Silk short shorts and camisole peeked out from under a worn buffalo check flannel.  Blood ran down bare legs and splattered in the cloud of wild curls that framed a pretty face.  Angel with a shotgun.

     Her expression was one of concern, but she kept a tight hold on her weapon.  Smart girl.

     “I should be asking you that question.”

     You glanced down at the blood stains, “It’s not mine.  My neighbor he, ah…I don’t know.  He went… rabid.  I put him down, didn’t want to hurt him, but he came at me…”

     “If you hadn’t, he would have killed you.  Or turned you.  It was a mercy, believe me.”

     You took solace in that.  With a nod, you lowered your gun and glanced over at the werewolf, dead on the ground. 

     “I don’t suppose there’s a monster removal service we call in a situation like this?”

     “It’s your lucky day Sweetheart, cause that’s me.”  Dean stuck his hand out to you, “Dean Winchester, monster remover extraordinaire.”

     You grinned, pulling your lower lip between your teeth and your eyes warmed up.  It was a look he knew well; he’d seen it in women countless times.  You thought he was cute.  You put your hand in his for a handshake and he winked.  You laughed softly, confirming his theory.  You thought he was adorable, or at least charming.  A good start!

     “Y/N Y/L/N.”

     “Y/N.  Pretty name.  If you’ve got a shovel around here, I’ll take care of this.  Then we can decide what to do about your neighbor.”

     You grabbed a pair of shovels along with your rubber gardening boots that you kept by the potting bench.

     “I built the retaining wall in the west garden by myself last summer,” you said, pulling the boots on.  “I’m handy with a shovel.”

     There was a glint of respect in his gaze as he studied you.  It wasn’t every day he met a beautiful woman who offered to help him dig a grave in middle of the night.  In her pajamas. 

     He glanced at the dead body then back to you.  “You sure?”

     “I’ve been saving this bottle of Canadian whiskey for something special.  I think digging my first grave is the occasion I’ve been waiting for.”

     Dean was a grade-A smart ass and never at a loss for a clever comeback.  But damn if you didn’t knock him speechless.  Standing in the middle of a falling down barn with a dead werewolf only a few feet away and blood splattered all over… you were the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on.  He was a confident man who loved women.  When he met a woman he liked, he turned on the charm, pursued her.  Simple.  But you… you held challenge in your eyes, pride in the tilt of your jaw and confidence in the carriage of your body. 

     You were a match to be met. 

     “Well Y/N, lets earn that whiskey.” 

Now:      The following morning, you didn’t come out of your room for breakfast.  When he still hadn’t seen you by noon, he decided to hell with it.  Even if you bit his head off, he was damn well going to check on you.  He was Dean Winchester, damn it!  He’d faced the Devil himself; he could handle a cranky woman with a head cold.

     He stood quietly outside your bedroom, straining to hear any sign that you were awake.  A moment later you broke into a series of coughs, and he took the opportunity to knock.

     “Y/N?”  He cracked the door open and stuck his head inside. 

     Your room was dark except for the glow from your laptop and the tiny light from the vaporizer billowing out peppermint scented air.  Your bed was huge and took up most of the room.  A king-sized masterpiece of cloud-like fluffiness and ruffles.  Princess and the Pea inspired mattress topper and ivory striped pillows stuffed with goose down.  Dean bragged about his memory-foam mattress so often that you took it as a challenge when they invited you pick a room and make it your own.  The bed itself was so big it wouldn’t fit through any door in the bunker, begging the question… how did you manage it?

     You’d teased Dean for weeks, refusing to tell him the simple cheat.  Castiel did it for you.

Then:     “You’ve gotta be kidding me!  I pray to his feathery ass for weeks with no answer and you just up and ask him to move your princess bed and he does it?  Poof?”

     “Well, yeah.  I said please.”

     “It’s very… white.”

     “I know.  We go so many gross places, skeevy motels and hunts covered in monster goop.  I wanted something clean.  You know?”

Now:      With the abundance of pillows and blankets piled on the bed, it was hard to make out your form in the middle of it all.  Dean stepped over your discarded shoes and hunting clothes.  There were piles of crumpled tissues all over the floor, cough drop wrappers and half drank bottles of water. 

     “What time is it?” you asked from the mountain of covers. 

     “Just past noon,” he replied, coming closer to the bed.  “Thought maybe you’d want lunch.”

     You shook your head and Dean could see you a bit clearer in the light of the computer.  Your face was flushed more than it was the night before and your eyes were dull.  You looked utterly miserable.

     He sat on the side of the bed; his hand went to your forehead.  You didn’t even pull away, “Fever.  You take anything for it?”

     Your finger pointed to the table littered with over-the-counter drugs and bottles.  You’d taken everything for it, but nothing really helped.

     “You get any sleep last night?”

     “No,” you said on a sneeze, then groaned.  “This blows.  You should leave so I don’t give you the plague.”

     “Hmm.”  He stood there for a minute, then disappeared out into the hallway.

     You burrowed back under your covers with a shiver, for the first time in his life, Dean Winchester actually did as you asked.  You must be in worse shape than you thought.

     A few minutes later, he reappeared with a large mug in his hands.  “Wanna sit up, Sweetheart?  I’ve got something special for you.”

     With a grunt, you untangled yourself from the bedding and sat up against the padded headboard.  He smiled fondly, you looked adorable, even as sick as you were.  Your hair was held back in twin French braids that were starting to come loose and you were using one of his missing Henley’s for a night shirt.  A few sizes too big, it hung off one of your shoulders.

     “I was wondering where that went.”

     You were confused for a second then tugged self-consciously at the collar buttons.  “It made its way into my rotation after that Wendigo hunt.”

     “Looks better on you anyway,” he held out the mug to you.  “Drink this nice and slow, it’ll take care of that cough so you can sleep.”

     “What is it?” you asked, stirring the steaming liquid with the cinnamon stick that propped against the rim.

     “That is Bobby Singer’s patented, super-secret, cure all hot toddy.  Sammy used to get sick all the time when we were kids, that stuff always put him right.”

     You took a sip, it indeed soothed your throat and although you couldn’t really taste it, the burn of alcohol was distinct. 

     “Wow, how much whiskey is in Bobby’s hot toddy?”

     “Enough to send you off to dreamland.”  He stood and turned to leave.  He knew you didn’t want to be bothered and now that you’d accepted his help, he felt a bit more confident in leaving you.  For a while.

     “I’ll be back in a couple of hours and see if you can stomach some soup and crackers.  Your meds will work better if you eat.”

     He was almost to the door when you stopped him, “Dean?”

     “Yeah?”

     “How’d you kill the phoenix?”

     “It’s a… a long story.”

     You gave a small shrug, feeling silly.  You’d made such a fuss yesterday about being left alone and now you found you wanted him to stay. 

     “I’m not exactly going anywhere.”

     That earned you a genuine smile from him.  He toed off his shoes and launched himself into the middle of your bed with a bellyflop. 

     “Dean!”  You laughed, covering the top of the mug so the contents wouldn’t spill.

     He made a big show of climbing up over the mountain of blankets and pillows, “Jesus, Y/N!  How do you sleep on this pile of marshmallow fluff?”

     “Shut it.  You’ve been dying to try my bed since the day I moved in.”

     “Who says I haven’t?  Remember that trip you took to Jody’s last month?  Sammy and I had a great time painting our toes and talking about boys in here.”

     “Shut up,” you said with a cough.

     “He wanted to try on your underwear, but I drew the line,” he teased, pulling you in close so he could wrap his arm around your shoulders.  “Comfortable?”

     You tucked into his side and let your aching head rest on his chest.  “Mmm.”

     “Good.  So, the year was 1861 and the place was Sunrise, Wyoming.”

     Hours later, long after the hot toddy had done its job, you were deep asleep when Dean woke up.  He was unbelievably hot, and you were the cause.  Obviously, your fever had spiked.  Sweat dotted your brow and soaked through your clothes to the point he was feeling damp where you were cuddled against him.  He gently eased you off, feeling your forehead with a frown.

     “Y/N?  Wake up, sweetheart.”

     You grumbled in your sleep and burrowed deeper under the covers when he pulled them back. 

     “Come on, Y/N,” he urged, pulling a thermometer from his shirt pocket. 

     You were only halfway awake when you realized there was a thin, glass tube under your tongue.  “Wha thmm hemmm?”

     “103.”  He brushed the hair back that had stuck to your temples.  “I think I should take you to the E.R.  High fevers are nothing to mess around with.”

     You shook your head, coughing deeply.  “The meds just wore off.”

     He handed you a box of tissues, “I think you need more than cough syrup and Tylenol.  Let me take you to get looked at.”

     “I’ll be okay Dean; I just need to give it time.”

     Behind the exhaustion and illness, he could see flicker of fear in your eyes, and he was torn.  The last thing he wanted was to push you or take away your choice, but he wasn’t going to let this get out of control. 

     He sighed heavily, “Okay, we’ll try it your way.  On two conditions.  One, you need to eat something, so you keep your strength up.”

     “Okay,” you agreed, trying not to cough again.  “And two?”

     “If this gets worse, you’ll let me take you to the doctor.”  He could feel you instantly withdraw, but he wasn’t going to let you.  This was too important.  He crooked a finger under your chin, gently coaxing you to look at him.

     “I know it scares you, you don’t have to tell me why.  Trust me, I’ll take care of you Y/N.”

     Your reluctance met with his resolve and after a moment, you nodded.  “Okay.”

     “That’s my girl,” Dean praised, brushing a kiss across your forehead.  “Now, if you’re very good, I’ll bring you a bowl of tomato rice soup.”

     “With that bacon cheddar panini you made last time?”

     “Woman after my own heart,” Dean said.  He climbed out of the bed, then noticed you doing the same.

     “Whoa, wait a minute.  Where do you think you’re going?”

     “A shower, I feel disgusting,” you muttered, pawing through the bottles on the nightstand.

     “No way, that fever is way too high.  And you use water hot enough to burn off fingerprints.”

     You tossed back a couple of Tylenol with a generous swallow of water.  “If I smell as awful as I feel, then you shouldn’t be discouraging me.”

     “Y/N…”

     “Super quick, more of a rinse than a shower.”

     “Ten minutes.  Any longer and I’m coming in after you.”

     “Wouldn’t be the first time,” you replied, gathering a fresh set of pajamas.

     “Keep that water tepid,” he called after you. 

     Once you were alone in the shower room, you turned on the water and allowed yourself the coughing fit you’d been holding in.  Dean was worried enough about you.  As sweet as he was, there was a claustrophobic feeling bubbling within you.  It came from a childhood spent as a sick kid.  Parents, teachers, doctors all seemed to hover.  Stealing your air and breathing down your neck. 

     Hidden in the clean clothes were two small bottles of essential oils.  An old remedy passed down from your grandpa.  You striped down and stepped under the water.  It wasn’t nearly as warm as you’d like it, but it was better than nothing.  You uncapped the bottles and sprinkled the contents over the floor.  They mixed with the heat and made a fragrant steam of peppermint and eucalyptus.  You braced your hands against the tiled wall and let your head hang down.  A few minutes breathing in the steam worked to open your nasal passages and more importantly, your lungs. 

     Tightness had been building in your chest since last night and out of all the symptoms, that was the most troubling.  Not even that heavy duty decongestant cut it, and that stuff always helped.  Thankfully, Granddad’s method never let you down.  You breathed as deeply as you could, until the coughing it caused made the room spin and your knees go wobbly.

     You sank down onto the wall bench and turned the water off.  You shivered and tried to work up a bit of strength to dry off and get dressed.  Utterly exhausted, even the thought of standing was enough to tire you.  Of course, you knew if you sat there long enough, Dean would come searching for you.  Potentially naked or not.

     Then:      The shrill scream cut through the bunker, reaching Dean even through his headphones.  He was on his feet and down the hall as another shout echoed from the shower room.  A twist of the handle didn’t yield entry.  Sam was out on a supply run, which meant you were the one trapped inside.

     Dean took a step back and splintered the door off its hinges with a single kick.

     Gun drawn, he burst into the steam filled room, “Y/N?!”

     You were standing on top of one of the teak benches that lined the shower wall.  Soaking wet with shampoo suds cascading down your very naked body.  Your already wide eyes got even bigger, and you screamed again.  You crossed your arms over your breasts and crouched down into a ball, it was the quickest option for modesty.

     “Dean!”

     He peered through the steam and the still running water, gun still drawn, “YN, what the hell?!  What’s going on?!”

     “Spider.”

     He blinked, twice.  “What?”

     You pointed a watery finger towards the middle of the tiled floor, “By the drain.  Huge, HUGE spider.”

     Dean tucked his gun into the back waistband of his jeans, “Damn it, Y/N.  I thought you were being attacked!”

     “Why would I be attacked?  You guys said this bunker is the safest place on Earth!”

     Dean angrily threw a towel at you.  “You were screaming bloody murder!  What the hell else was I going to think?!” 

     You wrapped the towel around your body, tucking It securely under your arms.  “I don’t like spiders, okay?”

     “We just got back from a freaking ghoul hunt, with dead bodies and gore and guts… the whole nine.  You didn’t flinch once, but a bug’s got you clutching your pearls?”

     “It’s an irrational fear, professor,” you replied, switching the water off.  “But since you’re here to rescue me… would you please?”

     Dean rolled his eyes but inspected the drain all the same.  “I don’t see a spider.”

     “What?!”  You looked around frantically, then grabbed Dean’s arm and pointed, “There!  In the corner.”

     He pulled his red handkerchief from his pocket, “Alright, I got him.”

     “Wait!  Don’t kill him!  Just… catch and release.”

     “You’re awfully picky for a damsel in distress,” Dean muttered.  “Is this one of your superstitions, like that cricket in Rhode Island?  Is it bad luck to kill a north-facing spider on a Tuesday?”

     “Nearly every culture believes that killing a cricket brings bad luck.”

     “You know what brings really bad luck?  Going into a vamp nest on no sleep because a fucking cricket was cruising for a date in our bathtub!”

     “That spider doesn’t deserve to die because of my fear.  I just… I don’t want to kill anything else.  Not now, not if I don’t have to.  Do you?”

     You raised your beautiful, luminous eyes and searched out his.  His heart beat in double time and he was suddenly acutely aware of the tiniest details.  Tendrils of your hair dripped water like diamonds on your shoulders and collarbones.  Your skin glowed a healthy pink, you probably used that fluffy loofa thing you always left hanging on faucet.  The scent of your favorite soap hung heavy in the air… what was it?  Ginger peach?  God, he loved it!  You had lotion that went with it and a tiny hand sanitizer that you kept in your purse.  It made his whole car smell like you when you used it, even after you were gone. 

     Dean gave himself a mental shake.  In under five minutes you had taken him on an emotional rollercoaster from panic to irritation to confusion to completely mesmerized.  How did you do that?!  It was happening more and more.  Every time he was around you, he discovered another piece of the puzzle.  He could never predict what you were going to say, but somehow it was always just what he needed to hear.  You voiced the emotions that he had never been able to put into words. 

     “No,” he said at last. “I don’t want to kill anything else either.”

          Now:      Dean was at the stove when you shuffled into the kitchen.  He smiled at you over his shoulder while you sat at the table.  You were in your Christmas leggings and yet another of his missing shirts.  Your face wasn’t as flushed as it had been when you first woke up, a positive sign. 

     “Hope you’ve got your appetite back, because this batch of tomato rice soup is on point.”

     “Your cooking is always on point,” you smiled wanly as he set down a bowl in front of you. 

     “You’re not wrong,” he replied, running his hand over your forehead.  “Fever’s down.  You feel better?”

     “The shower helped.”

     “You smell like a candy cane,” he chuckled, taking a massive bite of his sandwich.

     “Peppermint oil.  For congestion,” you explained. 

     You considered the man across the table from you as you silently ate your soup.  You couldn’t properly taste it, but it was warm and soothed your raw throat.  You’d known Dean Winchester for five years and there were still moments like this, moments where you felt like you were seeing him clearly for the first time.  The delightful domestic behind the swagger and the grit.  He took such pure joy in the mundane that it was hard not to get swept up in it.  The greatest hunter in the world was also the kindest.  Surely there was some sort of cosmic balance working itself out there, but you were too tired to reflect on it.

     “So,” Dean said, pulling you from your thoughts.  “You up for a little movie marathon in the Dean cave?”

     “That would depend on what’s showing.”

     “Lady’s choice.  So long as it doesn’t have subtitles.”

     “La Dolce Vita is a classic!”

     “Die Hard is a classic,” Dean countered.  “Plus, it’s a Christmas movie so it counts double.”

     “Ugh, fine.  You big baby.”  You thought for a moment, covering a cough with the back of your hand.  “How about Ghostbusters?”

     Dean grinned at that, “Yeah?”

     “Or Stripes or um… Caddyshack.  Mom was a Bill Murray fan; we always watched him when I was sick.”

     “Sounds like Mom had good taste,” Dean picked up the dishes and headed to the sink.  “Why don’t you go find a comfortable spot on the couch?  I’ll be right behind you.”

     Laughter always was the best medicine.  And Dean always was the best cuddler.  He brought his gigantic triple thick comforter from his bed and tucked the two of you under it as the 80’s classic played on the flatscreen.  It didn’t take long for the full stomach and the warm hunter to lull you back into a deep sleep.  You were out before the credits rolled.

         Your hacking cough that woke Dean hours later.  It was different this time, you were coughing so much that you couldn’t seem to catch your breath.  He was right behind you as you hunched over the arm of the couch.  As he rubbed your back, he could feel how deeply your lungs rattled.  It was a distinct, wet sounding cough that shook your whole frame.  Heat from your spiked fever radiated through your shirt to his palm. 

     He was saying something to you, but you couldn’t make out the words, only the soothing tone of his voice.  You were truly miserable.  Your head ached with every cough and when you finally managed to stop hacking, you struggled to catch your breath.  A glass of water floated in front of you, and you drank it greedily.

     One word broke through your haze: Doctor.  You didn’t really hear him say it, but the implication was there.

     To his surprise, and as a testament to how awful you felt, you nodded your agreement.  The relief was evident in his voice, “There’s my girl.  Stay put; I’m going to warm up the car.”

     As Dean left, you took stock.  The fever ravaging your system left you feeling disgusting, but you were too tired do anything about it.  Your head was pounding from the coughing fit and your chest was so tight it was painful to draw breath.  You looked down at your pajamas; the snowflake leggings and borrowed shirt were hardly a fashion choice, but they would have to do. 

     There was an awful taste in your mouth had to go.  You could manage a swish of mouthwash, even if you had to sit on the toilet to do it. 

     The minute your stocking feet touched the ground, everything changed.  Your chest got painfully tight.  The feeling of a crushing weight on your chest, as if Dean had driven his car over you and parked it.  The room started to spin and not even holding on to the table made the world steady.  You went down with a thump, landing hard on your ass.  Breathing became like sucking air through a tiny straw, you simply couldn’t.  Your mouth gaped open as you tried and failed to draw air.  Panic swiftly set in as your fingers and toes went numb from lack of oxygen.  Your vision blurred and went dark around the edges.  You dropped to your side and prayed Dean would be quick.

     He was gone five minutes, tops.  The sight of you curled on the floor had him shouting for Sam as he quickly knelt beside you.

     “Y/N!  Baby, look at me, I’m right here...  Sam!!”

     You tired to talk but, no sound came out.  Your hand was on your chest and there was a wheezing sound.  Tears formed at the corners of your eyes. 

     Shit!  He wasn’t sure what had caused this attack, but it didn’t matter.  He had you in his arms as Sam burst through the doorway

     Sam’s eyes went wide as he took in your pale features and distress, “What the hell?!”

     “Hospital now, you’re driving!”

     By the time the Impala was squealing out of the bunker’s garage, you were fully unconscious.  Your limp body sagged against Dean’s chest while he tried to get you to respond.  Sam was alternating between watching the road and checking the rearview on your deteriorating condition.  His foot pressed the accelerator down, pushing the Impala to the limit.

     “What the fuck happened?  I thought she just had a cold.”

     “Its this cough, she couldn’t shake it.”  Dean kept you upright in his lap, knowing it was the easiest position for you to breathe in.  He could feel you losing the battle, even your lips were turning from red and chapped to slightly blue and it scared the hell out of him.

     How the hell did you get this bad so quickly?  He had kept a close eye on you, kept your fever under control, kept you hydrated.  It just didn’t make any sense!  If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought you had… asthma. 

     Flashes came to Dean’s mind; puzzle pieces fell into place.  The vaporizer in your room billowing out peppermint was not a new addition; you took it with you everywhere.  It made even the grossest motel rooms halfway pleasant.  You always kept a scarf wrapped around your neck if the weather was even a little cold, and you pulled it up over your nose when the wind got bitter.  Even that time you helped them burn a body.  You turned away from the pyre and pulled that scarf up… Dean thought it was the smell that got to you. 

     “Shit,” he muttered, digging through your purse as Sam got closer to the city limits.  He pulled out a metal tube with a plastic dispenser.

     “Son of a bitch!” 

      Sam’s eyes caught the reflection, “Is that an inhaler?”

     Turning it over, Dean read the prescription.  “She’s fucking asthmatic!”

     He steadied your lolling head with his hand and brought the inhaler to your mouth, “Okay, baby… this medicine is gonna help you.  Breathe it in for me.”

     He dispensed two puffs into your mouth and prayed the meds got down into your lungs.  Was it the right thing to do?  Use an inhaler on an unconscious person?  Dean had no idea, but he was going to do whatever he needed to do to save you.  He cradled you on his lap and prayed as Sam pulled into the Lebanon Hospital parking lot.

Part Two TAGLIST @deans-baby-momma @muchamusedaboutnothing @peterpangirl21 @ficbreaks @teresa-67 @sacriceria @verytoadpapersoul @heartbreak-of-a-marauder @savspersonalproperty @deanwanddamons @jenwinchester40 @perpetualabsurdity @starryeyeseunbyul @sexyvixen7 @katsbratsupernaturalwhore @agirlwithdemonblood @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @imthedoctorlove @roonyxx @smellingofpoetry @deanwinchesterswitch @thinkinghardhardlythinking @pink-sparkly-witch @barewithme02 @deadlynightshadeindustries @jc-winchester @mrswhozeewhatsis  @kinderousmaster @lyarr24 @aphorism-001 @onlinecemetery @allonsy-yesiwill @myeagletoadmaker

#dean x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #spn fic #supernatural #dean x you #sickfic #dean x sick!reader #Breathe Free #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen x reader #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen x you #dean x y/n

[iamsherlocked-1998]

Broken Branches

A classic night in the woods this time of year...

Words: 1247

Warning: Violence, description of wounds and blood, some body horror? monster sex, dubious consent at first.

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Things were going bad, really bad, like when you watch something spiraling terrifyingly towards the ground without remedy. Pike never had much luck, but always tried to look forward in the most positive way possible. He had led a quiet life since moved to the capital, but everything changed the day when, exceptionally, another section of the FBI office asked him for help in a theoretically simple and harmless interrogation, but that man without prior warning increased his aggressiveness and he received blows in addition to a bite. He had all kinds of tests done that confirmed that was healthy but then the symptoms came.

They started on a small scale, he was hungrier than usual, had greater physical resistance, in general his body was... changing. One night he felt unconscious and woke up in his bed naked and covered in scratches. The limit came when next to him found blood belonging to a half-eaten rabbit. His head was exploding.

He tried everything, but the therapy did not work, the phenomenon repeated itself and the recordings he made turned out to be blurry, the only solution was to tie himself periodically every month, he seemed to find some control in the madness.

In the same time began to meet a companion, the woman was charming and intelligent and she lit up when saw him, which was a great relief after the feelings that Lisbon's rejection caused him months ago. His chance at a normal life became clearer when a retreat to the forest courtesy of the government agency where they would share a cabin was announced.

He was happy, prepared everything for that weekend, but when he saw her everything changed, his senses were sharper, the girl smelled so good...

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

Seeing Marcus you approached with a smile and hugged him, you were grateful that he was assigned the same cabin as you. Pike was one of the most charming people you knew and never ignored your contributions like many of your other peers, the man really listened to you.

The hours passed peacefully between a bit of hiking and watching a movie on the comfortable sofa. The other agents went to have a drink near the lake but you and Pike stayed. Your friend seemed uneasy and distant, like he didn't fit into his own skin, but you chalked it up to exhaustion from the last few cases and the fact that you'd been half-heartedly flirting for months, maybe he was nervous. Even so, your hands frequently rested on his knee or reached for his hand, after hours you became discouraged.

You ended up falling asleep, when woke up the only lighting was the moon and a small lamp, the movie playing ended hours ago leaving a black screen. Marcus wasn't there, you called out to him but received silence in response. Then you heard footsteps from the rooms, but they weren't human, you froze, feared the intruder heard you, panicked when a growl joined the night crickets.

You left the cabin with the intention of taking shelter in the nearest bungalow, it was midnight and your friends would have already returned. A tree branch snapped right behind and you ran, feeling your own heartbeat in ears.

You were not fast enough and that being progressively got closer until you were knocked onto your back. You tried to scream but your voice swirled in the throat and then saw it. It was a kind of canid, with pointed teeth and enormous claws.

You really thought your time had come, the monstrous animal clung to you and was aggressive, receiving a scratch near the back of your neck. You sobbed pitifully when the creature looked at you, its eyes were amber but very familiar, you slowly looked away until you saw a gold bead on a string held barely by its claw.

A tear spilled down your cheek, it was the commemorative bracelet you gave Marcus for his anniversary in the capital. For that reason Pike didn't answer you, the beast caught him first. Then that being reacted to your cries, it stopped growling and seemed to become smaller, as if it were suddenly docile. You brought hand up to its ear in a show of bravery or stupidity, caressing the skin there. At the gesture the wolf sniffed the area of your chest, going down to stomach and licking gently in the process.

In your heart you knew, that thing didn't attack your partner, he was Marcus. You couldn't understand anything but it was the same feeling as when the man brushed your shoulder with his hand, waving as he passed on the way to office.

The creature's behavior changed, making a clicking sound with its tongue, roughly touching each area of your body. The animal's paw was placed between your legs, insistently rubbing your center. After a while you couldn't resist, the fabric of your baggy pants was thin and weren't wearing underwear for comfort, terror turned into excitement and you were getting wetter, moaning as the seams got tangled in your bundle of Nerves swollen from the rough movements of touch.

This encouraged the monster, he positioned so that you were facing the ground, you put your elbows to avoid hurting yourself, he raised your hips and ripped the pants with ease, making you feel the breeze on bare skin, the being gave a snort at the sight. His chest stuck to your back, covering you completely. You bit your lower lip as felt the hardness of him rub against your center until he entered you completely.

The grunts followed one another uncontrollably as you heard the wet sound of the thrusts, his manhood seemed to grow inside you, anxiety returned to you feeling the creature attack wildly, you really considered that it was going to split you in two. In the next few minutes you didn't even breathe, noticed the grass when you placed forehead on the ground.

You screamed as he spilled large amounts inside but the strength of his grip didn't waver. After a while the creature separated and settled on itself, while it trembled caressed its back until you succumbed to exhaustion, your whole body hurt and were sure that would not be able to walk well, your head rested on the fur of the beast as the night came to an end.

………………………………………………….

Marcus slowly came out of the drowsiness of sleep, you had your head resting on his side, everything was surrounded by trees and leaves. He tried to remember the previous night through the episode of mental confusion. He truly considered that everything would be fine, the moon was not yet full but he did not take into account that, like all animals, there was a season of heat. His solo sessions to seek relief were more intense at this time of the month, when the transformation had not yet taken place but it was not far away, that and your presence was intoxicating. He examined you carefully and gasped when saw the scratch marks and multiple bruises on your skin. Despite that, you had hugged him to calm in the post-sex haze.

He nervously woke you up, he held your face asking if you were okay or needed a doctor, but when you reacted you just looked into his big, haunted brown eyes with a smile.

“I'm more than fine.”

🎃 Happy halloween! @harmonity-vibes

#pedro pascal #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #halloween 2023 #18+ content

[lolipopjewel]

a draculaura kinnie (me) explaining draculaura’s hemophobia (fear of blood/fainting) as somebody who also has the same phobia

So its kind of a joke in monster high that draculaura will faint if she sees blood or even meat due to her being a vegetarian, however there are some other canonical events that i believe play into her reaction to blood and i’ll also give you my two cents on what fainting from being exposed to blood is like for me!!

if you were unaware, draculaura is actually adopted! she was adopted by dracula after her human parents died due to the plague, and she also was born a human as well - dracula turned her into a vampire to save her from dying to the plague as well and adopted her and raised her as his own from then on. its not clear if draculaura had severe hemophobia as a young child or when she became vegetarian, but a popular theory is that due to her not being a natural born vampire, she is more sensitive to blood and the concept of feeding off of it. 

now, i am a person with severe sensitivity to all things blood, gore, and medical related and i have a fainting disorder. if im exposed to any of my triggers, high levels of pain, or extreme emotional distress my body will automatically produce a vasovagal response, and i will faint. i can’t remember anything that caused me to form this phobia and most of my fear is related to not wanting to pass out, being unconscious is terrifying! so i don’t believe draculaura would need any sort of traumatic explanation for her hemophobia or fainting, i think it could be something she was born with and/or developed when she was very young like i was. 

the way draculaura is shown to faint in the series is obviously very dramatic for the cartoonish effect and also for humor (which part of me hates as i was teased about fainting at the sight of blood all my life), but she seems to recover very quickly. just as quick as she is out, she can be fully awake and talking again as seen in episodes like “Fear Pressure” when she tells frankie to get her out of the situation only a few seconds to a minute after fainting. she even is able to walk out with minimal help from frankie, so she may not even have fully gone unconscious in some of these situations which is also known as “greying out.” 

look i know its just a cartoon, but for the sake of spreading awareness about vasovagal syncope and using my comfort media to cope, here’s my take on how draculaura would actually experience a fainting episode in a more realistic setting; 

- First, a trigger is presented (blood from an injury, a meal with meat and blood in it, etc) and she is exposed to it - Internally, her blood pressure would spike due to the extreme fear and rapidly drop causing her circulation to be all out of wack which causes the vasovagal response (fainting).  - This can feel like extreme anxiety, tingling and numbness in her limbs, lightheadedness, weakness in her muscles, and her vision would darken until unconscious.  - Then, in order to help with a swift recovery, she should be laying flat with her legs propped up to allow for proper bloodflow to the brain, this will help her regain consciousness after no more than 2 minutes on average  - She may feel confused, have lingering numbness or tingling throughout her body, lightheadedness and other pre syncope symptoms, these could last until she has fully regulated her system again - It is unlikely she would be able to stand and walk on her own immediately after waking up, it would most likely take several minutes until she could do so without help, it could cause a SECOND vasovagal response if she attempted to stand up too quickly (iron deficiency gang where you at??) - Eating or drinking substances with high sugar can help with recovery as the sugar boost to the brain helps to basically kickstart it and get things moving again - After fully recovering from being unconscious, she may have no further problems throughout the day, or she may feel drained and tired after using so much energy in her body. it truly depends on how bad the episode was, how long the effects lasted after waking up, and the general stress of the situation involving her trigger

This is all explained by how i experience fainting and what i know about how vasovagal syncope effects the body, im by no means a medical professional. this is just for fun y’all. hopefully if you decide to include draculaura’s fainting and hemophobia in a writing, comic, creative project, etc. that this helped you understand a bit more! thanks for reading if you made it this far, it really makes me happy that anyone would be interested in learning about this condition and how difficult it can make life. 

#draculaura #monster high #mh #monster high draculaura #draculaura fainting #fainting #vasovagal syncope #monster high headcanons #monster high hcs #monster high drabble #draculaura headcanons #draculaura hcs

[bbbexe]

MINORS DNI

I can't draw digital to save my life, so I made my monster!Poppet oc Kalix, traditional. (I have been diagnosed with Vinnel brainrot, there sadly is no cure. Also I didn’t make this species, its heavily based off of a creature from game I used to play called a Kivarok)  Their main fur color is black, with the shaded in parts being a really really dark purple. Their horns and claws are orange with a yellow gradient at the top/end. Similarly, their diamond patterns are orange, and get more yellow that further they are away from their torso. They have 7 white eyes on each side (on the front view i forgot to add one pair you did not see that, nothing is wrong :'))) ) that they can close individually. Will usually close all but their two main ones to not look 'weird' or have people feel like they're staring at them. Kalix's eyes also don't usually have pupils, but they consciously make pupils so that, along with their exaggerated body language/movement, speech, and gesticulation, their emotions can be read more easily while masking in public. Pupils are orange. The first three diamond patterns on Sir are eyes, one being a light yellow color, and the others becoming white. Their eyes / horns / patterns / claws have a slight glow. Has four arms in total. (maybe one day i'll have the urge to try and draw on ibis paint) Kalix's blood is orange :). They also have a mouth on their main head, but really really don't want to scare people they want to be friends with, and keeps it closed and hidden for the most part. They are 6'0 because I wish I was tall :').

I've been completely obsessed with @eldritch-spouse's universe for the past few days and just had to make this. I love love love her writing and really suggest you check out her blog if you like yanderes and monsters >:D Under the cut is some of my oc's info if anyone is interested :D (it's a lot of rambling lol)

Tw mentions of cannibalism and other illegal stuff.

“Nothing can last forever. There isn't any memory, no matter how intense, that doesn't fade out at last.” ― Juan Rulfo This is Kalix! (Named them this purely because the word makes my brain happy) They are a young adult monster, who suffers from loneliness brain damage! With symptoms that are very similar to ADHD. They forget what day of the week it is often, forget words mid conversation, and have a shit short term memory. Often forgets to eat and has a habit of not eating until their tail-head starts to nip/chew (omnomnom) at them. Will constantly loose things, even if they are currently holding said thing in their paw. Brings noise cancelling earbuds around and wears gloves because they are touch averse. Usually has one part of their body moving, leg bopping, playing with their fingers, etc. (heavily projecting here lol, they just like me fr) Are a residual hermaphrodite who flip flops between sex depending on temperature/season (has a slit covered by their fluff) and goes by all pronouns. Demi ace/aro (hahaha slowburn + oblivious to their own feelings, have fun with that Vinnel). Has a hard time understanding sarcasm and understanding their own feelings.

Kalix's tail has been named "Sir" as they thought the word was cool. They usually eat / drink using their head-tail. Sir is Kalix's subconscious/lizard brain, though they don't seem to realize that themself, thinking the tail-head as more of a sibling/pet. (and example for the subconcious/lizard brain thing being, Kalix stubbing their toe, wincing and making a joke, Sir whimpering and getting teary like the crybaby they secretly are) They can consciously control Sir for about 30 minutes before a headache starts cracking open their skull (usually their species would be able to do this all the time, but shhh don't tell the poor child, they'll cry). While talking through Sir, Kalix can mimic many many sounds / voices. It would honestly be easier to list what they can't mimic than what they can. They do have a tell though, as when they speak through Sir, they have a slight whisper echo. Also sadly because of brain injury, they can't cut off Sir's senses from their own. Wagging their tail super fast like a dog when excited / to stim will leave make them super dizzy. Sir also has a taste for human/monster flesh :))) Has some other abilities, like being able to store stuff in their shadow (they do this more often and don't get nauseous from it unless they try to fit a bigger object inside. Kalix usually makes it look like they're pulling stuff out from their chest fluff becuse i thought that would be silly), make shadow apparitions for a limited amount of time, wrap themselves in shadows to hide or stalk their 'prey', and if they really push themself, they can teleport through shadows (within a certain range etc.) at most two times a week. They feel nauseous and get headaches after this, and using their power too often/long or trying to store large objects will make them violently ill. (won't stop the dumbass from overusing their abilities to pull pranks on The Clergymen though) Has little physical strength (for a monster at least), although they can jump pretty high when spooked (hehe get it? halloween pun :> also foreshadowing~) Speaking of Halloween, it's one of Kalix's main hyperfixations. Their hyperfixations include: Halloween, (and by extension) candy making, horror book reading, driving (although ironically if Kalix is a passenger they get extremely car sick), juggling (picks this up after they see Vinnel do it and realize 1. its a fun way to stim and 2. they have four arms. they are terrible at first), baking (which is kinda funny cuz they cannot cook for shit), insect related stuff, (piss poor) sewing, and drawing (they usually like to draw stuff with the combination of gore and plants).

Always has candy corn on them (or it seems that way, it’s just in their shadow. Kalix likes how it looks like they can just summon candy corn out of nowhere).

Also do not let them drive. They will turn it into a car chase. Somehow. (They just like slamming into the cars chasing them and showing off their drifts and sharp turns) They work as a party planner / decorator and will practically beg on their knees to Admin to help decorate for the holidays, especially Halloween. (Admin will have to wrangle them during other holidays to make sure Kalix doesn’t start making them Halloween themed as well...

”Decorate your own apartment Easterween themed, Kalix...” cue Admin’s signature tired eye roll as Kalix gives the smaller human puppy dog eyes) After they learn The Clergy has rent able rooms, they'll definitely start living there. Kalix's room will be completely Halloween themed all year long. They'll also ask Admin if they can help out around the Clergy / help them (Kalix feels bad for Admin and all their responsibilities, but also thinks they're amazing for being so focused and hard working)

Kalix is a complete virgin, having not even touched themself because again, they see Sir as a ‘pet’ or sibling sort of, only that Sir is attached to them. Kalix always chalks up Sir’s similar reactions to them as both them and Sir having grown up together.(if this sentence makes sense? basically they chalk up Sir having similar reactions to how they feel inside to just them growing up being attached to each other) Also them denying full heartedly that they are a crybaby and that they like the taste of human/monster flesh. To be honest, after a few months of being around Kalix, The Clergymen will probably pick up on Sir being more connected to Kalix than the oblivious lizard (idk why but my nickname for them is lizard despite them looking like some lizard/cat/owl/spider mix. it just fits. also all the picures of cute dumb little geckos connect with Kalix in my mind) realizes. Although Kalix sure as hell won’t realize themself, and won’t have any kind of sexual interaction with anyone while under the impression that Sir is a pet. Someone’s gonna have the explain the them eventually or Vinnel might somehow go even more insane.  (is a sadist masochist switch with a gore kink, though it'll take alot for them to admit it (or it would have if not for Kalix's first meeting with Grimbly and realizing they did not want to be a daddy/mommy/partner to the little dude, just a friend) Oh, and before i forget. Kalix unironically eats the most burned, charred, barely edible, can-barely-be-considered-food stuff. Completely unscathed. And they like it. They will eat coal (burning or not) in front of people occasionally to see their confused/grossed out/horrified reactions / to assert dominance. They're Vinnel's poppet for a reason :))))

They lived most of their life alone and when they were gracefully given a year long vacation by their warden, Kalix decided to try and make friends by integrating themself into human society. (Most others where they live avoid them/are afraid of them or occasionally someone will pity them but Kalix really dislikes that and would rather be ignored.) They stumbled upon The Clergy's Eye while stuck in a daydream / thought loop of how they were going to make friends. Going over the persona they had crafted (aka how they were going to mask the anxious, lonely, self conscious, and quiet crybaby they really are) and generally practicing conversations in their head. They were trying to go to the town's most popular bar, but ended up walking into The Clergy's Main floor / bar area (if im not mistaken). Kalix is just about able to handle being around Santi’s / and others pheromones due to years of exposure therapy (not a demon of my sort, will make sense in next post i prommy). (Ima make another post about how they met the TCE staff for the first time because this is hella long, thank you so much for reading if you made it this far. I hope you enjoyed my super self indulgent skrunkly child. I also left some stuff out that I really want to show via my writing later on :D)

#tw cannibalism #Kalix oc #my ocs #rambling #eldritch spouse #also sorry if I wrote anything ooc D: #I keep going back to add things I forgot #oh my god my poor brain

[photos-the-wereplant]

The Ancient Magus' Bride is legitimately one of the most wholesome, lovely pieces of media I've ever had the pleasure of enjoying.

I watched it when it first came out, and before then I hadn't really understood the importance of relatable characters in media. Mind you, I was in my 20s when it came out, meaning it'd taken me that long to find a character I genuinely related to in media. It was Elias.

He's viewed like a child in how little he understands, but he is so caring and thoughtful and KIND. He tells Chise that she now has a home and family to comfort her, and follows through on those things despite receiving nothing in return and knowing that she would die. Unlike everyone else, who gets warm fuzzy feelings from being kind, he gets nothing.

Elias is trying to be the best human he can be and is constantly putting himself through the motions and giving it his 100% for hundreds of years.

And yet Elias is the monster. He's the one they're afraid of. He's inhuman. He's the failure. Chise is the only one who accepts his kindness at face value.

Real people don't do that. When they sense the deep emptiness behind a kindness, they can't understand it. It disturbs them. They can't fathom such an existence.

There are two outcomes: they either believe you're a monster or they brush it off as some misunderstanding. You're not given a chance to be you. You have your role assigned to you.

But even better, he's juxtaposed with Chise. She lacks emotion and agency because of trauma. Elias doesn't have trauma. He is who he is. When Elias feels emotions, they're NEW to him. He's honest and straightforward, but sometimes he acts irrationally because he doesn't have the other emotions he needs to be able to deal with what he feels. He hides in a hole in the woods and traps Chise there when she follows because he doesn't have the other emotions to keep his jealousy and fear in check. It's only when his fear is triggered by something new that he can snap out of it.

I was 19 when I found out what sadness felt like. The most important person in the world to me had just died, and I didn't have any emotions to grieve for them. I needed to grieve, but I couldn't. Can you imagine? I stood there, seemingly unaffected, while my family fell apart around me.

The only thing I had was my kindness. I was an empty human, but I knew that it was right for me to take care of my family. I knew it mattered. I couldn't grieve or yell or anything, so I did the things I could.

When it was time for me to speak at my sister's funeral, I read The Raven, because I knew she would've loved that. When I got towards the end and Poe is grieving Lenore, I choked. I felt something new. I felt sad. I felt the enormity of the loss of someone I would've gladly traded my life for.

Without the positive emotions though, things like sadness will tear you apart. I will never regain my health from before. My body is internally scarred far beyond its age. I don't drink alcohol, smoke, eat junk food, or do drugs, and I drink a lot of water. When I was 23, the doctor told me they've never seen my symptoms in anyone under 50.

The monster in Elias isn't because he's part monster/part human, the monster comes from his emotions. The human in him is the monster. It's the human part that wants to protect or lash out or kill. It's the human that's irrational. The human that yearns for closeness and can't bear being lonely and will destroy what it loves because of that.

Chise is the only one who actually understands that. In the moments where her life hangs in the balance due to Elias's emotions, she understands that it is the most real form of caring that anyone has ever shown her. She appreciates it for what it really is, even at the cost of her own safety.

This whole thing came from me rewatching The Ancient Magus' Bride and wanting to gush about it. I've got so many more emotions than I did when I first watched it. The story made me cry happy tears. I couldn't believe it. I never would have thought that I'd figure that one out. But I guess I did.

But, back to why this representation is so important to me.

There's a big difference between not having emotions and being depressed or even being numb. At the beginning, Elias is content. He is not suffering. He is curious about the world, but it doesn't drive him. Most importantly, he is kind.

That's how I used to be. I wasn't depressed or numb, I was content. I didn't need the emotions others did. I pursued kindness in my own way. I hid the emptiness that frightened people, much like how Elias hides his face.

But for people like me... everyone assumes it's either depression or something like sociopathy when they hear it explained. We don't get someone like Chise who comes along and takes our kindness at face value.

So if Elias resonates with you... feel free to talk to me. You deserve to know that you're not alone. I only wish I'd known sooner.

#ancient magus bride #schizoid

[thelibrarylesstrektraveled]

Breathe Free (Part One)

Summary: You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, thank you very much! Dean knew that, he also knew better. He’d seen you sick plenty of times in the past five years, but this was different. This was much more than a cold, but you were so stubborn about doctors! Dean Winchester isn’t about to let you slip away, even if it means going against your wishes. He only hopes he’s not too late!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean x Reader, Dean x You

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Sick!Reader, Hospitals, Kissing, fluff

Word Count: 5447

One Shot - Two Parts

Author’s Notes: I have been sick with Covid for a month. Well… down sick for 2 ½ weeks and recovering my stamina for 2 more. Its been a real bitch. Plus my disabled mother has it now. This is following a nervous breakdown I had in June. Writing has been my passion and my mental health balm, but I’ve not been able to produce anything in months. So this… this is a fucking triumph!! I’m still working on all my other WIP, so please stick around. I’ll get there… eventually :) I’m hoping to finish part two shortly and post in a week… ish.

Thank you all for the continued support! Masterlist Breathe Free (Part Two)

You were going to kill him.  Honestly.  If this fucking cold didn’t finish you off, you were going to make it your life’s mission to succeed where every bloody monster, demi-god, angel, demon, and creator of all had failed.  Ridding the world of Dean Winchester would be a public service at this point.  The church would canonize you for this!  There would be bank holidays and parades in your honor.  Maybe an annual postage stamp?  A drink named after you at the local bar, at the least. 

     Of course, you’d have to live long enough to carry out your plan for fame and fortune.  As it was, your odds were 50/50.  Congestion, muscle aches, dizziness, sore throat, non-existent appetite and low-grade fever.  How is it that each of these symptoms alone were minor?  Almost unnoticeable.  You could easily carry out any task battling them one on one.  Yet together they took you down hard.  It was unfair and utterly ridiculous!  Not to mention hugely inconvenient. 

     It was probably that sneezing sheriff from that last case.  You had to introduce him of the concept of personal space more than once.  The douchebag said it was just allergies.  Contagious creep!

     Still, you were home now.  Back at the bunker with three bags worth of pharmacy remedies to ease your pain until the virus ran it’s course.  All you had to do was make it to your room and you could drown yourself in cough syrup and peppermint oil.  Unfortunately, Dean was not making it easy.

     “You sound like shit, Y/N.”

     “Well, I feel like shit, so that tracks.”

     You coughed harshly into the crook of your elbow as you trudged down the metal stairs behind Dean.  Sam followed behind you, carrying your bags and his.  Gentleman that he was.  Levelheaded and sensible, God must have given Dean’s portion of those admirable qualities to his brother. 

     “That cough is getting worse,” Dean said, tossing his duffle down on the war room table. 

     “That’s because you won’t shut up.”

     “What does that have to do with it?”

     “Because you keep baiting me into conversation with all of your pushy opinions.  If you didn’t make me talk so much, I wouldn’t be coughing so much!”  You broke off into a hacking fit that proved your point in your mind.  This was entirely his fault!

     “That’s ridiculous.  You’ve been talking non-stop since we met you five years ago and you never coughed up a lung because of it.”  Dean shook his head and looked to his brother, “Sam, help me out here.”

     Sam usually occupied neutral territory during these debates, but one look at you and he sided with Dean.  “Why don’t we go get you checked out, Y/N?”

     “I got checked out in Billings, they said it wasn’t Covid.  It’s probably just a run of the mill virus.”

     “That guy was like twelve,” Dean scoffed.  “I’m surprised he knew what to do with swab.”

     “He was a doctor, Dean!”

     “Debatable.”

     “There’s no harm in a second opinion,” Sam pointed out. 

     You were so tired you just wanted to cry.  Why were they being so hard-headed about this?  Typical!  Men always think they know everything.  It was all so simple for them, they never had to jump through the hoops that you did when getting care.  It was always the same when you went to the doctor, which is why you never went.  Doctors who dismiss your symptoms and bill you for the privilege.  If you were up to your usual fiery disposition, you’d launch into a lengthy explanation, but you just didn’t have it in you. 

     “If I could get a decent one, I’d consider it.  But the fucking truth is, I won’t.  Not without a fight and I just don’t think it’s worth it.  I’m not dying, I’m not bleeding.  I’ve got a cold, a really shitty one that I hope to God neither of you get because dealing with sick Winchesters might actually finish me off.”

     Dean frowned down at you, “What do you mean?  What is it with you and doctors?”

     “I do not have it in me to explain to you the numerous and colossal failings of the American healthcare system, so I am going to simply say this.  It’s my health and I still get a choice.  So, I’m going to my room where I can die in peace and hopefully tomorrow, I will be rise like the Phoenix with clear sinuses.  If not, then my ghost will haunt this bunker and you two will have to fight over my George Carlin collection.”

     Dean blinked at you for a moment, “You know, we killed a phoenix a few years back.”

     You rolled your eyes and started down the hall towards the bedrooms.  “If either of you wake me before noon, I’m licking every doorknob in this place.”

     “It’s a great story, we had to time travel!” he shouted after you.

     You voice echoed back, along with a few coughs, “I’m using your pillowcase to blow my nose!”

     “I don’t like this, Sammy.”

     Sam picked up his own duffle, “Of course you don’t.  Your mother hen instincts go into overdrive whenever any of us gets sick.  Remember Fort Worth?”

     “Food poisoning, God that was awful.  The pair of you were doubled over the toilet for three days from a damn salad.”

     “And Nashville?”

     “Shark week,” Dean muttered, remembering you curled up with a heating pad while he and Sam hunted vampires.  You wouldn’t even talk to them, just whimpered occasionally and buried your head under the covers. 

     “Right.  She doesn’t get sick often, but when she does all she wants to do is sleep.  The more you try to help the more it irritates her.  Just leave her be, she’ll let us know if she needs anything.”

     That earned a frown from the older brother, as did the sound of another sneeze down the hall.  You were a damn stubborn mule when you wanted to be, but that didn’t bother Dean.  It was a useful quality that served you well in the field.  But you tended to double down when you were hurt or scared, making a challenge for people who loved you to help. 

     And Dean did love you. 

     He came to that conclusion long ago when you burst in on him fighting off a werewolf in your barn.  Barefoot, with a sawed-off shotgun in your hands.  You were fearless, clocked the beast right between the eyes. 

Then:      “Are you alright?”

     Dean rolled the dead body off him and got to his feet.  He quickly took measure of the woman standing in the opened doorway.  Silk short shorts and camisole peeked out from under a worn buffalo check flannel.  Blood ran down bare legs and splattered in the cloud of wild curls that framed a pretty face.  Angel with a shotgun.

     Her expression was one of concern, but she kept a tight hold on her weapon.  Smart girl.

     “I should be asking you that question.”

     You glanced down at the blood stains, “It’s not mine.  My neighbor he, ah…I don’t know.  He went… rabid.  I put him down, didn’t want to hurt him, but he came at me…”

     “If you hadn’t, he would have killed you.  Or turned you.  It was a mercy, believe me.”

     You took solace in that.  With a nod, you lowered your gun and glanced over at the werewolf, dead on the ground. 

     “I don’t suppose there’s a monster removal service we call in a situation like this?”

     “It’s your lucky day Sweetheart, cause that’s me.”  Dean stuck his hand out to you, “Dean Winchester, monster remover extraordinaire.”

     You grinned, pulling your lower lip between your teeth and your eyes warmed up.  It was a look he knew well; he’d seen it in women countless times.  You thought he was cute.  You put your hand in his for a handshake and he winked.  You laughed softly, confirming his theory.  You thought he was adorable, or at least charming.  A good start!

     “Y/N Y/L/N.”

     “Y/N.  Pretty name.  If you’ve got a shovel around here, I’ll take care of this.  Then we can decide what to do about your neighbor.”

     You grabbed a pair of shovels along with your rubber gardening boots that you kept by the potting bench.

     “I built the retaining wall in the west garden by myself last summer,” you said, pulling the boots on.  “I’m handy with a shovel.”

     There was a glint of respect in his gaze as he studied you.  It wasn’t every day he met a beautiful woman who offered to help him dig a grave in middle of the night.  In her pajamas. 

     He glanced at the dead body then back to you.  “You sure?”

     “I’ve been saving this bottle of Canadian whiskey for something special.  I think digging my first grave is the occasion I’ve been waiting for.”

     Dean was a grade-A smart ass and never at a loss for a clever comeback.  But damn if you didn’t knock him speechless.  Standing in the middle of a falling down barn with a dead werewolf only a few feet away and blood splattered all over… you were the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on.  He was a confident man who loved women.  When he met a woman he liked, he turned on the charm, pursued her.  Simple.  But you… you held challenge in your eyes, pride in the tilt of your jaw and confidence in the carriage of your body. 

     You were a match to be met. 

     “Well Y/N, lets earn that whiskey.” 

Now:      The following morning, you didn’t come out of your room for breakfast.  When he still hadn’t seen you by noon, he decided to hell with it.  Even if you bit his head off, he was damn well going to check on you.  He was Dean Winchester, damn it!  He’d faced the Devil himself; he could handle a cranky woman with a head cold.

     He stood quietly outside your bedroom, straining to hear any sign that you were awake.  A moment later you broke into a series of coughs, and he took the opportunity to knock.

     “Y/N?”  He cracked the door open and stuck his head inside. 

     Your room was dark except for the glow from your laptop and the tiny light from the vaporizer billowing out peppermint scented air.  Your bed was huge and took up most of the room.  A king-sized masterpiece of cloud-like fluffiness and ruffles.  Princess and the Pea inspired mattress topper and ivory striped pillows stuffed with goose down.  Dean bragged about his memory-foam mattress so often that you took it as a challenge when they invited you pick a room and make it your own.  The bed itself was so big it wouldn’t fit through any door in the bunker, begging the question… how did you manage it?

     You’d teased Dean for weeks, refusing to tell him the simple cheat.  Castiel did it for you.

Then:     “You’ve gotta be kidding me!  I pray to his feathery ass for weeks with no answer and you just up and ask him to move your princess bed and he does it?  Poof?”

     “Well, yeah.  I said please.”

     “It’s very… white.”

     “I know.  We go so many gross places, skeevy motels and hunts covered in monster goop.  I wanted something clean.  You know?”

Now:      With the abundance of pillows and blankets piled on the bed, it was hard to make out your form in the middle of it all.  Dean stepped over your discarded shoes and hunting clothes.  There were piles of crumpled tissues all over the floor, cough drop wrappers and half drank bottles of water. 

     “What time is it?” you asked from the mountain of covers. 

     “Just past noon,” he replied, coming closer to the bed.  “Thought maybe you’d want lunch.”

     You shook your head and Dean could see you a bit clearer in the light of the computer.  Your face was flushed more than it was the night before and your eyes were dull.  You looked utterly miserable.

     He sat on the side of the bed; his hand went to your forehead.  You didn’t even pull away, “Fever.  You take anything for it?”

     Your finger pointed to the table littered with over-the-counter drugs and bottles.  You’d taken everything for it, but nothing really helped.

     “You get any sleep last night?”

     “No,” you said on a sneeze, then groaned.  “This blows.  You should leave so I don’t give you the plague.”

     “Hmm.”  He stood there for a minute, then disappeared out into the hallway.

     You burrowed back under your covers with a shiver, for the first time in his life, Dean Winchester actually did as you asked.  You must be in worse shape than you thought.

     A few minutes later, he reappeared with a large mug in his hands.  “Wanna sit up, Sweetheart?  I’ve got something special for you.”

     With a grunt, you untangled yourself from the bedding and sat up against the padded headboard.  He smiled fondly, you looked adorable, even as sick as you were.  Your hair was held back in twin French braids that were starting to come loose and you were using one of his missing Henley’s for a night shirt.  A few sizes too big, it hung off one of your shoulders.

     “I was wondering where that went.”

     You were confused for a second then tugged self-consciously at the collar buttons.  “It made its way into my rotation after that Wendigo hunt.”

     “Looks better on you anyway,” he held out the mug to you.  “Drink this nice and slow, it’ll take care of that cough so you can sleep.”

     “What is it?” you asked, stirring the steaming liquid with the cinnamon stick that propped against the rim.

     “That is Bobby Singer’s patented, super-secret, cure all hot toddy.  Sammy used to get sick all the time when we were kids, that stuff always put him right.”

     You took a sip, it indeed soothed your throat and although you couldn’t really taste it, the burn of alcohol was distinct. 

     “Wow, how much whiskey is in Bobby’s hot toddy?”

     “Enough to send you off to dreamland.”  He stood and turned to leave.  He knew you didn’t want to be bothered and now that you’d accepted his help, he felt a bit more confident in leaving you.  For a while.

     “I’ll be back in a couple of hours and see if you can stomach some soup and crackers.  Your meds will work better if you eat.”

     He was almost to the door when you stopped him, “Dean?”

     “Yeah?”

     “How’d you kill the phoenix?”

     “It’s a… a long story.”

     You gave a small shrug, feeling silly.  You’d made such a fuss yesterday about being left alone and now you found you wanted him to stay. 

     “I’m not exactly going anywhere.”

     That earned you a genuine smile from him.  He toed off his shoes and launched himself into the middle of your bed with a bellyflop. 

     “Dean!”  You laughed, covering the top of the mug so the contents wouldn’t spill.

     He made a big show of climbing up over the mountain of blankets and pillows, “Jesus, Y/N!  How do you sleep on this pile of marshmallow fluff?”

     “Shut it.  You’ve been dying to try my bed since the day I moved in.”

     “Who says I haven’t?  Remember that trip you took to Jody’s last month?  Sammy and I had a great time painting our toes and talking about boys in here.”

     “Shut up,” you said with a cough.

     “He wanted to try on your underwear, but I drew the line,” he teased, pulling you in close so he could wrap his arm around your shoulders.  “Comfortable?”

     You tucked into his side and let your aching head rest on his chest.  “Mmm.”

     “Good.  So, the year was 1861 and the place was Sunrise, Wyoming.”

     Hours later, long after the hot toddy had done its job, you were deep asleep when Dean woke up.  He was unbelievably hot, and you were the cause.  Obviously, your fever had spiked.  Sweat dotted your brow and soaked through your clothes to the point he was feeling damp where you were cuddled against him.  He gently eased you off, feeling your forehead with a frown.

     “Y/N?  Wake up, sweetheart.”

     You grumbled in your sleep and burrowed deeper under the covers when he pulled them back. 

     “Come on, Y/N,” he urged, pulling a thermometer from his shirt pocket. 

     You were only halfway awake when you realized there was a thin, glass tube under your tongue.  “Wha thmm hemmm?”

     “103.”  He brushed the hair back that had stuck to your temples.  “I think I should take you to the E.R.  High fevers are nothing to mess around with.”

     You shook your head, coughing deeply.  “The meds just wore off.”

     He handed you a box of tissues, “I think you need more than cough syrup and Tylenol.  Let me take you to get looked at.”

     “I’ll be okay Dean; I just need to give it time.”

     Behind the exhaustion and illness, he could see flicker of fear in your eyes, and he was torn.  The last thing he wanted was to push you or take away your choice, but he wasn’t going to let this get out of control. 

     He sighed heavily, “Okay, we’ll try it your way.  On two conditions.  One, you need to eat something, so you keep your strength up.”

     “Okay,” you agreed, trying not to cough again.  “And two?”

     “If this gets worse, you’ll let me take you to the doctor.”  He could feel you instantly withdraw, but he wasn’t going to let you.  This was too important.  He crooked a finger under your chin, gently coaxing you to look at him.

     “I know it scares you, you don’t have to tell me why.  Trust me, I’ll take care of you Y/N.”

     Your reluctance met with his resolve and after a moment, you nodded.  “Okay.”

     “That’s my girl,” Dean praised, brushing a kiss across your forehead.  “Now, if you’re very good, I’ll bring you a bowl of tomato rice soup.”

     “With that bacon cheddar panini you made last time?”

     “Woman after my own heart,” Dean said.  He climbed out of the bed, then noticed you doing the same.

     “Whoa, wait a minute.  Where do you think you’re going?”

     “A shower, I feel disgusting,” you muttered, pawing through the bottles on the nightstand.

     “No way, that fever is way too high.  And you use water hot enough to burn off fingerprints.”

     You tossed back a couple of Tylenol with a generous swallow of water.  “If I smell as awful as I feel, then you shouldn’t be discouraging me.”

     “Y/N…”

     “Super quick, more of a rinse than a shower.”

     “Ten minutes.  Any longer and I’m coming in after you.”

     “Wouldn’t be the first time,” you replied, gathering a fresh set of pajamas.

     “Keep that water tepid,” he called after you. 

     Once you were alone in the shower room, you turned on the water and allowed yourself the coughing fit you’d been holding in.  Dean was worried enough about you.  As sweet as he was, there was a claustrophobic feeling bubbling within you.  It came from a childhood spent as a sick kid.  Parents, teachers, doctors all seemed to hover.  Stealing your air and breathing down your neck. 

     Hidden in the clean clothes were two small bottles of essential oils.  An old remedy passed down from your grandpa.  You striped down and stepped under the water.  It wasn’t nearly as warm as you’d like it, but it was better than nothing.  You uncapped the bottles and sprinkled the contents over the floor.  They mixed with the heat and made a fragrant steam of peppermint and eucalyptus.  You braced your hands against the tiled wall and let your head hang down.  A few minutes breathing in the steam worked to open your nasal passages and more importantly, your lungs. 

     Tightness had been building in your chest since last night and out of all the symptoms, that was the most troubling.  Not even that heavy duty decongestant cut it, and that stuff always helped.  Thankfully, Granddad’s method never let you down.  You breathed as deeply as you could, until the coughing it caused made the room spin and your knees go wobbly.

     You sank down onto the wall bench and turned the water off.  You shivered and tried to work up a bit of strength to dry off and get dressed.  Utterly exhausted, even the thought of standing was enough to tire you.  Of course, you knew if you sat there long enough, Dean would come searching for you.  Potentially naked or not.

     Then:      The shrill scream cut through the bunker, reaching Dean even through his headphones.  He was on his feet and down the hall as another shout echoed from the shower room.  A twist of the handle didn’t yield entry.  Sam was out on a supply run, which meant you were the one trapped inside.

     Dean took a step back and splintered the door off its hinges with a single kick.

     Gun drawn, he burst into the steam filled room, “Y/N?!”

     You were standing on top of one of the teak benches that lined the shower wall.  Soaking wet with shampoo suds cascading down your very naked body.  Your already wide eyes got even bigger, and you screamed again.  You crossed your arms over your breasts and crouched down into a ball, it was the quickest option for modesty.

     “Dean!”

     He peered through the steam and the still running water, gun still drawn, “YN, what the hell?!  What’s going on?!”

     “Spider.”

     He blinked, twice.  “What?”

     You pointed a watery finger towards the middle of the tiled floor, “By the drain.  Huge, HUGE spider.”

     Dean tucked his gun into the back waistband of his jeans, “Damn it, Y/N.  I thought you were being attacked!”

     “Why would I be attacked?  You guys said this bunker is the safest place on Earth!”

     Dean angrily threw a towel at you.  “You were screaming bloody murder!  What the hell else was I going to think?!” 

     You wrapped the towel around your body, tucking It securely under your arms.  “I don’t like spiders, okay?”

     “We just got back from a freaking ghoul hunt, with dead bodies and gore and guts… the whole nine.  You didn’t flinch once, but a bug’s got you clutching your pearls?”

     “It’s an irrational fear, professor,” you replied, switching the water off.  “But since you’re here to rescue me… would you please?”

     Dean rolled his eyes but inspected the drain all the same.  “I don’t see a spider.”

     “What?!”  You looked around frantically, then grabbed Dean’s arm and pointed, “There!  In the corner.”

     He pulled his red handkerchief from his pocket, “Alright, I got him.”

     “Wait!  Don’t kill him!  Just… catch and release.”

     “You’re awfully picky for a damsel in distress,” Dean muttered.  “Is this one of your superstitions, like that cricket in Rhode Island?  Is it bad luck to kill a north-facing spider on a Tuesday?”

     “Nearly every culture believes that killing a cricket brings bad luck.”

     “You know what brings really bad luck?  Going into a vamp nest on no sleep because a fucking cricket was cruising for a date in our bathtub!”

     “That spider doesn’t deserve to die because of my fear.  I just… I don’t want to kill anything else.  Not now, not if I don’t have to.  Do you?”

     You raised your beautiful, luminous eyes and searched out his.  His heart beat in double time and he was suddenly acutely aware of the tiniest details.  Tendrils of your hair dripped water like diamonds on your shoulders and collarbones.  Your skin glowed a healthy pink, you probably used that fluffy loofa thing you always left hanging on faucet.  The scent of your favorite soap hung heavy in the air… what was it?  Ginger peach?  God, he loved it!  You had lotion that went with it and a tiny hand sanitizer that you kept in your purse.  It made his whole car smell like you when you used it, even after you were gone. 

     Dean gave himself a mental shake.  In under five minutes you had taken him on an emotional rollercoaster from panic to irritation to confusion to completely mesmerized.  How did you do that?!  It was happening more and more.  Every time he was around you, he discovered another piece of the puzzle.  He could never predict what you were going to say, but somehow it was always just what he needed to hear.  You voiced the emotions that he had never been able to put into words. 

     “No,” he said at last. “I don’t want to kill anything else either.”

   Now:      Dean was at the stove when you shuffled into the kitchen.  He smiled at you over his shoulder while you sat at the table.  You were in your Christmas leggings and yet another of his missing shirts.  Your face wasn’t as flushed as it had been when you first woke up, a positive sign. 

     “Hope you’ve got your appetite back, because this batch of tomato rice soup is on point.”

     “Your cooking is always on point,” you smiled wanly as he set down a bowl in front of you. 

     “You’re not wrong,” he replied, running his hand over your forehead.  “Fever’s down.  You feel better?”

     “The shower helped.”

     “You smell like a candy cane,” he chuckled, taking a massive bite of his sandwich.

     “Peppermint oil.  For congestion,” you explained. 

     You considered the man across the table from you as you silently ate your soup.  You couldn’t properly taste it, but it was warm and soothed your raw throat.  You’d known Dean Winchester for five years and there were still moments like this, moments where you felt like you were seeing him clearly for the first time.  The delightful domestic behind the swagger and the grit.  He took such pure joy in the mundane that it was hard not to get swept up in it.  The greatest hunter in the world was also the kindest.  Surely there was some sort of cosmic balance working itself out there, but you were too tired to reflect on it.

     “So,” Dean said, pulling you from your thoughts.  “You up for a little movie marathon in the Dean cave?”

     “That would depend on what’s showing.”

     “Lady’s choice.  So long as it doesn’t have subtitles.”

     “La Dolce Vita is a classic!”

     “Die Hard is a classic,” Dean countered.  “Plus, it’s a Christmas movie so it counts double.”

     “Ugh, fine.  You big baby.”  You thought for a moment, covering a cough with the back of your hand.  “How about Ghostbusters?”

     Dean grinned at that, “Yeah?”

     “Or Stripes or um… Caddyshack.  Mom was a Bill Murray fan; we always watched him when I was sick.”

     “Sounds like Mom had good taste,” Dean picked up the dishes and headed to the sink.  “Why don’t you go find a comfortable spot on the couch?  I’ll be right behind you.”

     Laughter always was the best medicine.  And Dean always was the best cuddler.  He brought his gigantic triple thick comforter from his bed and tucked the two of you under it as the 80’s classic played on the flatscreen.  It didn’t take long for the full stomach and the warm hunter to lull you back into a deep sleep.  You were out before the credits rolled.

         Your hacking cough that woke Dean hours later.  It was different this time, you were coughing so much that you couldn’t seem to catch your breath.  He was right behind you as you hunched over the arm of the couch.  As he rubbed your back, he could feel how deeply your lungs rattled.  It was a distinct, wet sounding cough that shook your whole frame.  Heat from your spiked fever radiated through your shirt to his palm. 

     He was saying something to you, but you couldn’t make out the words, only the soothing tone of his voice.  You were truly miserable.  Your head ached with every cough and when you finally managed to stop hacking, you struggled to catch your breath.  A glass of water floated in front of you, and you drank it greedily.

     One word broke through your haze: Doctor.  You didn’t really hear him say it, but the implication was there.

     To his surprise, and as a testament to how awful you felt, you nodded your agreement.  The relief was evident in his voice, “There’s my girl.  Stay put; I’m going to warm up the car.”

     As Dean left, you took stock.  The fever ravaging your system left you feeling disgusting, but you were too tired do anything about it.  Your head was pounding from the coughing fit and your chest was so tight it was painful to draw breath.  You looked down at your pajamas; the snowflake leggings and borrowed shirt were hardly a fashion choice, but they would have to do. 

     There was an awful taste in your mouth had to go.  You could manage a swish of mouthwash, even if you had to sit on the toilet to do it. 

     The minute your stocking feet touched the ground, everything changed.  Your chest got painfully tight.  The feeling of a crushing weight on your chest, as if Dean had driven his car over you and parked it.  The room started to spin and not even holding on to the table made the world steady.  You went down with a thump, landing hard on your ass.  Breathing became like sucking air through a tiny straw, you simply couldn’t.  Your mouth gaped open as you tried and failed to draw air.  Panic swiftly set in as your fingers and toes went numb from lack of oxygen.  Your vision blurred and went dark around the edges.  You dropped to your side and prayed Dean would be quick.

     He was gone five minutes, tops.  The sight of you curled on the floor had him shouting for Sam as he quickly knelt beside you.

     “Y/N!  Baby, look at me, I’m right here…  Sam!!”

     You tired to talk but, no sound came out.  Your hand was on your chest and there was a wheezing sound.  Tears formed at the corners of your eyes. 

     Shit!  He wasn’t sure what had caused this attack, but it didn’t matter.  He had you in his arms as Sam burst through the doorway

     Sam’s eyes went wide as he took in your pale features and distress, “What the hell?!”

     “Hospital now, you’re driving!”

     By the time the Impala was squealing out of the bunker’s garage, you were fully unconscious.  Your limp body sagged against Dean’s chest while he tried to get you to respond.  Sam was alternating between watching the road and checking the rearview on your deteriorating condition.  His foot pressed the accelerator down, pushing the Impala to the limit.

     “What the fuck happened?  I thought she just had a cold.”

     “Its this cough, she couldn’t shake it.”  Dean kept you upright in his lap, knowing it was the easiest position for you to breathe in.  He could feel you losing the battle, even your lips were turning from red and chapped to slightly blue and it scared the hell out of him.

     How the hell did you get this bad so quickly?  He had kept a close eye on you, kept your fever under control, kept you hydrated.  It just didn’t make any sense!  If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought you had… asthma. 

     Flashes came to Dean’s mind; puzzle pieces fell into place.  The vaporizer in your room billowing out peppermint was not a new addition; you took it with you everywhere.  It made even the grossest motel rooms halfway pleasant.  You always kept a scarf wrapped around your neck if the weather was even a little cold, and you pulled it up over your nose when the wind got bitter.  Even that time you helped them burn a body.  You turned away from the pyre and pulled that scarf up… Dean thought it was the smell that got to you. 

     “Shit,” he muttered, digging through your purse as Sam got closer to the city limits.  He pulled out a metal tube with a plastic dispenser.

     “Son of a bitch!” 

      Sam’s eyes caught the reflection, “Is that an inhaler?”

     Turning it over, Dean read the prescription.  “She’s fucking asthmatic!”

     He steadied your lolling head with his hand and brought the inhaler to your mouth, “Okay, baby… this medicine is gonna help you.  Breathe it in for me.”

     He dispensed two puffs into your mouth and prayed the meds got down into your lungs.  Was it the right thing to do?  Use an inhaler on an unconscious person?  Dean had no idea, but he was going to do whatever he needed to do to save you.  He cradled you on his lap and prayed as Sam pulled into the Lebanon Hospital parking lot.

#dean x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #jensen x reader #jensen ackles #jensen x y/n #supernatural #spn fic #Breathe Free

[defensivelee]

Alien Alien: Encephalitic×Lullaby

The Prince of Orange is infected with a strange virus never before seen in the Netherlands. Supposedly it will kill him, they say it all the time, but when you hear that this or that or the other thing will kill your Prince...well, Bentinck's patience is stretched a little thin.

I would post this on AO3 but I don't have a proper reference post yet, so I think people who find it will just be very confused. It'll be there eventually, maybe?

CW: illness, religion, attempted murder, cannibalism, violence, period-typical homophobia, sexual tension involving insects, mentions of drool, implied/referenced unreality.

Story under cut, please enjoy :)

The Defender of the Faith was but one of the species of insects that dominated the Netherlands; though they had been chosen by God to far outrun the intelligence and advancements of the other, insentient beasts, they still found themselves hunted on their own land as the prey of larger beings.

Their Prince could chase off a hungry spider with a few swipes, drive a sword through a frog’s eye, in no small part due to Johan de Witt’s mentoring of the little spiderling— but good luck getting the Prince to admit that. Yet it was not in one of these oversized monsters that William found his match.

They said it was something like rabies, caused by a virus that had somehow survived countless journeys through galaxies and many, many species. Hans William Bentinck shamefully knew very little about any of those illnesses; even his database found almost nothing. He only figured out that it could kill his Prince when he first came across the symptoms.

In that moment, despite William’s head being held up by a few pillows, his breathing was still labored, wheezing, his tail lashing furiously under the blankets as Bentinck approached. His lips were damp as he ran his tongue over them, again and again with an anxious fervor.

“Your Highness,” Bentinck greeted him with a dip of his head. So-called emotions had been coded into him long before, and yet he still couldn’t name many of the ones that came to him, such as this one he felt currently as he stared down at William.

“Hans,” the Prince managed. “What- what are you doing—?”

“Did you think I was going to leave you alone here?” Bentinck asked. He knelt beside the bed, reaching a hand out towards William’s head. “You know I am immune to illness, so why shouldn’t I come see you?”

William flicked his antennae back and snapped his jaws at Bentinck’s hand. Bentinck drew his hand back just in time, buzzing with irritation.

“Please don’t do that.”

William buzzed as well, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. His smaller eyes were screwed shut, as if the room was much too bright for all of them at the same time, even with the dim neon lamps flickering from the walls and floor.

“They tell me you cannot drink,” Bentinck went on. “So I wanted to try because I hear you keep trying to bite everyone.”

Another buzz from William.

“I think there are more civil ways of telling someone you don’t like something,” said Bentinck. “I think you can shake your head and just hide.”

William’s eyes widened with outrage, and he turned to Bentinck, trying to sit up. “No- no more hiding—!” He broke off with a fierce cough, falling back down with a shudder running through his body, and Bentinck hurriedly pulled the blanket back over him.

“Very well, you don’t have to,” he said. “But you don’t have to bite, either. You’ll get other people sick, William.”

William said nothing. His tail kept lashing in its erratic manner, and Bentinck realized then that he wasn’t doing it willingly. It swung before him like a noose, the spikes on it shaking and producing a rattling sound like a serpent’s tail.

Actually, he’d never heard a rattlesnake. He’d never even seen one, but he knew the sound as sure as he knew his own name. The name that William had chosen for him. So he decided that the snake sounded like William and not the other way around.

“Well, where is the water?” Bentinck glanced to the side, and William hissed, shaking his head rapidly.

“You have to drink something.” The android stood up and hesitated as he took the bowl of water from beside the bed. He could see the light of his eyes reflected right back at him.

Don’t spill it. His fans whirred faster for a moment, and then he turned to William, holding the bowl up to his lips.

William’s eyes widened, and he batted his claws out with another hiss, his tail slapping Bentinck in the legs. Bentinck pulled the bowl away with a sigh.

“Why don’t you want it? You need it.” He lifted William’s head in his free hand before quickly pulling his hand back with a shocked buzz. “Oh, look at how you are drooling!”

William opened his mouth, and Bentinck could see the saliva drip down from his deadly canines. He shook his head in disbelief.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he murmured. “Please, William, could you at least try?” He held the bowl out again, and this time William sank his teeth into Bentinck’s arm.

“Oh, um, ow, I think?” There was no pain from that, but he could feel the saliva begin to dampen his sleeve, too warm and too heavy. He shuddered, setting the bowl down before gently prying William’s jaws off of him.

William lay back, wheezing once more. “I am sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s...no problem.” Bentinck lifted his arm and realized there were tiny tears in the fabric where William’s teeth had buried themselves, the infected saliva aside. That would be a problem; not for him, but for all the Defenders he spoke to on the daily. The fingers he had used to pull William off of him, too, had the saliva on them, slipping deep into the openings where they bent.

“Don’t bite anyone else,” he said firmly. “Please.”

So William would not drink. He would only keep biting, Bentinck knew, and by experience he also knew that William’s bite force was possibly one of the strongest in the galaxy. Consequently he suggested to even the physicians that maybe they should keep their distance unless Bentinck was there.

He spent the rest of the night out under the waving flowers, blocking out the light of the moons, far from any Defender. On occasion he would blink to increase the brightness of his eyes as he paced in front of a stream.

Just wash your hands, he told himself. What are you waiting for?

He couldn’t do it, not ever and not now. He could almost understand William’s reactions to being given water, if only William would certainly die if he lapped up every last drop in the bowl.

But he’s not going to die. It would make him better.

He has to get better. He looked up to the stars and crouched down in front of the water. He held his hand out, cautiously dipping his fingers in for a second or two before pulling back again.

There. That’s enough, isn’t it? He buzzed as he examined the water dripping from his hand, then dried it on his coat before he had to stare at it any longer. Whoever heard of a wet robot? How unnatural.

No damage was done. All his systems were functioning properly and up to date.

He lifted his head, at that moment hearing a sort of miserable weeping behind him, sobs of a lady getting closer. He gasped and stood up, looking wildly about him before realizing that through the leaves he heard the steady crawling of an insect. A large one, too.

The animal dragged itself out into the light of Bentinck’s eyes. It was a green praying mantis, certainly a female judging from her size alone. He ducked back down to make himself smaller in front of her, and she looked at him, holding one of her forelegs up to her face. She was the one crying, though without any hint of tears.

“Oh, android, forgive me, I did not mean to interrupt- whatever you were doing,” she said in rather coarse Dutch, trying to speak through her gasps. “I- I had nowhere else to go.”

“It’s no problem,” Bentinck said softly. Somehow he wasn’t awfully shocked that a praying mantis should be speaking to him. Maybe they had always spoken to the Defender of the Faith, but none had ever listened. He could listen now.

“Thank you,” she said, a little quieter now. “Thank you.” She crawled around him, towards the water, and he sat down, looking curiously up at her. He had never dared to get closer to a mantis, de Witt had always forbidden it, but what could they do to him?

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “If I may know.”

“Oh, I suppose,” the mantis replied. “No one else will listen.”

“The Prince calls me a good listener.”

“The Prince himself?” She tilted her head to the side. “Well, may your android ruler reign long.”

“Oh, no, no, we- I do not- androids have no monarchy,” he said, shaking his head. “The very thought, robots ruling themselves! No, I work for the Defender of the Faith.”

“And who is that?”

“You have never seen them?” he said incredulously. “They’re magnificent Asterothiriots. They hunt the males of your kind sometimes.”

“Then they should come for my husband next!” the mantis cried then. “I cannot take it anymore! I- I cannot love him, much as I have tried! He will not listen, he will not even look at me.” Her voice shook, as if she would start crying all over again. “And I have been faithful.”

“Is that why you are here?” Bentinck asked.

“Yes, I just had to get away,” she said. She bowed low, burying her head in her forelegs. “He has no heart, though I suppose I should not have expected him to fit one in his tiny body.”

“Of course, he’s much smaller than you,” Bentinck murmured.

“He never speaks to me,” she went on. “And when he does, it’s only to be cruel. I feel as if I can never please him.”

“No man should treat his wife like that,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “What is he thinking he’ll get away with?”

“That’s just it, android.” She shook her head helplessly. “No one knows. He hides behind so much, but I just know- I know there is something there. There has to be.” She sighed. “I wish I knew how to find it.”

“Oh, trust me, it is very easy,” Bentinck said, reaching out to pat her on her leg. “You must look inside him.”

“Inside him?”

“Yes,” he said with a firm nod. “That is what you do with a robot. If something is not working right, you open him up and look inside. And then you repair him.”

“I must...repair him?” She sounded skeptical. “Why must it all be up to me?”

“Well, nothing of mine is up to me,” Bentinck said. “I would know love if I could. Maybe he knows nothing of it, either.”

“Love is something difficult to define. Maybe you do know it and you haven’t realized.”

“I- I don’t believe so,” he said, laughing a very metallic laugh.

“Why not? Already you have been much kinder to me than my husband has been in all the months I have known him.”

“Nothing is real within me.”

“It has a real effect on me,” she insisted. “And does that not make it real enough, Bentinck?”

He thought it very sweet of her to remember something he had never even told her. He shrugged his shoulders.

“To a girl like you, perhaps anyone looks kind,” he said. “Anyone that isn’t him.”

“I should have known,” she said, her voice hardening. “You and him— you crawl in the dirt like worms and never bother to stick your head out to the skies. Only when it rains. And by then it will be too late.”

Bentinck was silent. In the rain? He’d never come out in the rain.

“Very well, I will open him,” she said. “I will tell you how it goes. Thank you, Bentinck.”

“It’s been my pleasure,” he said. And he meant it.

The next morning, a dark, early morning, he was with William again, who had only worsened over the night. The bristles on his insect arms shook, and he bit down on his pillow constantly, his tail flicking from side to side in a manner that reminded Bentinck of when the Prince was younger. He loved to bite de Witt, constantly, and it was only acceptable because de Witt was the one who had taught him to bite in the first place. And William’s tail would always wag, like he found it very exciting.

Bentinck sat on the floor beside him and stroked William’s head, being very careful not to tangle the damp curls in his heavy fingers. William twitched once, twice, then sprang up and bit Bentinck’s hand.

“Please don’t do that,” the android tried, though he didn’t expect William to listen. “Do you want to try water now?”

William chewed on one of Bentinck’s fingers and shook his head.

“Please don’t do that,” Bentinck repeated. “Please don’t bite my hand.” He wanted to pull away, but it was as if the warmth trapped him there, the drool seeping into the open parts of his hand and wrist.

Please don’t...do that. He buzzed nervously and shook his head, unable to say more.

William looked up at him, and Bentinck took the chance to jerk his hand away, shaking off the excess saliva. He flexed his fingers to check if they still moved, but he had no time to run a system scan as William was snapping his jaws at him again.

“Alright, calm down,” Bentinck said, shuffling back. “What is it?”

William blinked, digging his claws into his blankets and bowing his head. Bentinck realized he was trembling.

“Do you think I will die?” he asked faintly.

“You?” Bentinck shook his head. “No.” He never once believed that of William. God was always watching the Defender of the Faith, for one reason or the other.

“They say it used to be fatal. Every time.” William paced on the bed, turning around to nip at his tail.

“Used to be. The chances of survival are higher now.”

“What makes you think that I will survive this?” he snapped. “Look at me, Hans!”

“I am looking.”

“I should have died,” William said. “I should have been dead long ago.”

“You know there’s a reason you’re still here,” Bentinck said. “Why do you think your life should have been cut short? You know God chose you. You cannot take that for granted.”

“You think this is a gift?” William wheezed out, his eyes widening. It gave him a wilder appearance, one Bentinck would have been afraid of coming across in battle. “Nothing is so simple.”

“Well, it has to be something. At the very least your reason to live.” Bentinck leaned in and cupped William’s face in his hand, carefully avoiding his lips. “Though I think you should live for more.”

“What do you live for, Hanni?” William leaned into the touch and closed his eyes, managing to purr.

“I—” Bentinck paused. “I live for you.”

“I told you you that you did not have to.”

“Then what else should I live for?” The robot shook his head. “I was created for one purpose.”

“So was I,” William retorted.

“Then maybe we can find more reasons to live later on,” Bentinck said. “Right now, you have to focus on getting better. You have to take what they give you, without biting.” He wagged his finger in William’s face, pulling it back just before William’s jaws closed around it. “What did I just say?!”

“I- I don’t know,” William said, backing away. He had always been small, but what he lacked in physical size, he made up for in determination, and, beyond that, spite. But Bentinck couldn’t see any of that in him now; he was just what he was, small.

Oh, William. He sighed and stood up, looking around for the bowl of the water that the physician had left for him.

“Are you not thirsty?” he asked.

“Very.” William glanced at him, lying back down and chewing on his pillow again.

“Then why...why do you refuse the water?”

William’s spikes shook warily at the word. “It scares me.”

“But nothing ever scared you,” Bentinck said. “And we are Dutch, William.”

“Do you fear water?”

“Well, I must. To survive.”

William said nothing, then sat up, turning to look at the bowl of water. Bentinck took it and cautiously held it out to him. Much to his surprise, William did not spring back nor try to bite this time. He shut his eyes and leaned forward, the spikes on his tail shaking rapidly.

He lapped at the water once, then jerked back, coughing and hacking up the few drops he had managed. Bentinck set the bowl aside and rubbed at William’s back.

“Closing your eyes was a good strategy,” he said.

“I- I want to try again,” William said. He shook himself and buried his face in his claws, this time nipping at the blankets.

“Very well,” Bentinck said. “I could try covering your eyes, if you’d like.”

William looked up and nodded. Bentinck brought his hand down on all six of William’s eyes, and the Prince fell still. Even his shaking stopped. The only sign of life from him was his heavy breath.

“Here,” Bentinck said, holding the bowl to William’s lips again. He stroked soothingly at the antennae as William sniffed the air warily and began to lap at the water with his tongue. Much of it he did not swallow, as he appeared to have great difficulty in doing so, coughing as he was, but Bentinck was pleased to see that he was drinking something now.

William made it clear he was done by throwing the hand off of him and biting into the wrist instead, shaking it furiously in his jaws. Bentinck buzzed and looked away to set the bowl down. The water and saliva from William’s mouth was sliding over him, into him, freezing and yet somehow burning him—

Do not say a thing. He covered the speaker on his chest and shut his eyes. Give him time.

Indeed, William did not let go for a long time, and Bentinck sat down on the floor, resting his head on the bed to watch his master slowly fall asleep. By then his hand and wrist felt nearly detached from him, and his fans were whirring faster than before. Somehow, despite the noise from the robot, William fell asleep, purring slightly.

“Very good,” Bentinck murmured, carefully opening William’s jaws and pulling his hand out. It was a little scratched up now, the fingers stiffer as he tested their movement. Or was he imagining it?

Oh, please don’t do that again. He stayed there for a moment as his fans slowed down. William snored softly away as if he had never bitten anyone at all. Bentinck wondered, for the first time, if he would wake up the next morning. He might have prayed, but surely God could not hear the words of an android.

As Bentinck had no reason to stay inside during the night, he made his way back through the plants once more. There were Defenders still out, watching him warily from their places on their flowers and webs. He knew they could smell the sickness on him.

He ignored them and kept walking until they fell behind him and he was sure he was alone. He had dried his hand, but not very well, so the saliva still clung to him and his parts. He hadn’t been imagining it— movement was definitely limited.

He didn’t want to wash his hand, but he remembered his First Law and decided to walk to the stream again, where smaller insects and bacteria swam. He threw off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and shoved both of his hands into the water, scrubbing hard with his fingers.

He hadn’t realized water was so heavy. His movements were not as flexible, and he was relieved to finally pull his arms out. He found he could no longer make a fist with either hand, rather the fingers stopped short before reaching his palm and shook in place.

Reduced mobility. Well, that was going to be a problem.

“Are you doomed to die, android?”

“W-What?” Bentinck looked up, high above into the cattails, where a black spider hung from a small web. “Oh. No, not me. My master might be, though. I mean, I wouldn’t like to think so, but they always say he will. I never believed it.”

“Because you have no concept of death,” said the spider. “You think you live forever.”

“No, only until my plutonium core has reached its half-life,” Bentinck said. “And- and I know what death is.”

“What is it?”

“When life ends,” he said indignantly. “Everyone knows that.”

“I fear you have a dull understanding of the world,” the spider said. “Poor thing. Why is it all so simple to you?”

“I was created to understand the world around me as I see it,” Bentinck replied. “I know what life is as I know what ends it, and that is death.”

The spider barked out a laugh, a highly unnatural sound from its body. “Well, is that what you were seeking when you touched the water?”

“No, I wanted to get clean.”

“Are there not better ways?”

“No, I—” Bentinck paused. “Sometimes the Prince will wipe at my face and hands with bleach, but I never liked it.”

“I assume it is safer than this,” the spider said.

“I suppose, Mijnheer. But he is very ill right now, so I couldn’t ask,” said Bentinck. “And I cannot do it myself.”

“But you can- you think you can touch water?”

“Water I must have an aversion to,” he said. “That is part of my Third Law; I must protect myself from damage. But I can disobey it if it comes in conflict with my First Law, part of which is to stop harm from coming to biological beings. It is not a specifically coded restriction like avoiding dangerous chemicals is.”

“What odd programmers you must have had,” the spider said.

“My mother did very well,” Bentinck protested. “It is for the safety of the Prince and everyone else.”

“You care so much for the safety of your master,” the spider said thoughtfully, raising a leg to his face. “The Prince, is he? Look here upon my web, android, and see all the harm that would have come to your beloved Prince had I not caught it before.”

Bentinck narrowed his eyes. There were flies and mosquitoes tangled in the web, even a bee near the center. All creatures potentially dangerous to Defenders, but nothing William had never fought off.

“Those are just your meals,” he said.

“Ah, ah, ah, Bentinck,” the spider said, shaking his head. “They told me themselves that they were all plotting here, amongst the cattails. They said that they were coming for your Prince, that they would kill him and bring about the rule of the queen bee, who ruled long before he did and will rule for centuries after.”

“The queen bee?” Bentinck buzzed in disbelief. “I have never heard of such a thing.”

“She is a Catholic,” the spider said. “All bees are.”

“Truly?”

“I have met many bees myself. All follow the same God.” He kicked a leg out towards the dead bee in the center of the web. “Including this one.”

“Then why do they produce honey for a Protestant planet?” Bentinck asked.

“Because they had no choice. It was either work for the Defenders, swear allegiance to the Prince...” The spider tilted his head to the side. “Or die.”

“No one ever told me that,” Bentinck said ruefully. He was always sort of offended to hear new information; he was supposed to know everything!

“Why would they?” said the spider. “You would think it unfair.”

“I do not.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“I see.” The spider ducked his head. “You are a very faithful robot, Bentinck. And yet for all your loyalty, it was I who caught these traitors. Not you.”

“You cannot call them traitors if they never had an allegiance to us,” Bentinck said. “They were just a bunch of angry insects.” He stepped forward, precariously closer to the edge of the stream. “And you took care of them, yes? So there is no more problem.”

“Of course, I will be expecting a reward,” the spider said. “I saved the Prince’s life.”

“He could have fought them off himself. He did not need you.”

“Never underestimate the cunning of the queen bee,” the spider went on. “Besides, these ones may be dead, but there are still traitors within your web.”

“You cannot be serious,” Bentinck scoffed. “The Prince knows who he employs. He can get within their heads. He knows where every Defender is at every time.”

“But you said he is ill, yes?” The spider leaned in, crawling onto one of the cattails. “He has no mind for that now. There are Defenders in your midst who would kill for the queen.”

“And- and your prey told you this?”

“I injected them with my venom,” the spider said, “and then they told me everything. They were going to assassinate the Prince, but should they fail, it would be up to their Defender allies.”

“Traitors.” Bentinck’s fans whirred in fury.

“Yes.”

“Who are these men?” the robot demanded. “If you tell me, I will make sure you are rewarded.”

“I do not share such things with the Prince’s little android,” the spider said. “Bring him here, up to my web. I do not mind his illness; he cannot infect me with it.”

“But he may be too weak,” Bentinck said. “Can you not come with me instead?”

“No, it must be here. In my web, it is safe. Safer than any other place in the Netherlands.”

“Safe?”

“Very, very safe. I will protect him. He is my Prince as much as he is yours.” The spider crawled upwards again. “In fact, you must come see how safe it is.”

“What- up there?” A spiderweb had never held Bentinck before.

“Yes.” The spider tilted its abdomen towards him, shooting down a thread of silk. Bentinck lifted his hand to catch it, but as his hand could not close around it, he felt it slip through his fingers, getting caught there.

“Oh, it’s...very sticky,” he said. “And a little thicker than what we— than what the Defenders produce.”

“I do take pride in it,” the spider said. “Nothing escapes my web, Bentinck. Now come up here, come see it.”

“Shall I climb the plant—?”

“Yes, I will pull you up.”

Bentinck brought the silk up to his mouth and clamped his jaws around it. It was a better hold than the one he could take with his stiff hands. Instead, he climbed up the cattail with them, which bent slightly under his weight, but was surprisingly strong enough to hold him as he made his way up to the web.

The spider, too, was strong, helping him up and moving back onto his web as Bentinck got closer. He pulled Bentinck onto the web, and the android lay back on it, staring up at the sky. He was closer to the stars.

“You have a nice view up here,” he said. He looked down and realized he still had the silk in his mouth. He tried to lift a hand to pull it out, but it was stuck to the silk he lay on. “Oh, I- I am sorry—”

The spider stared at him. “What did I say, Bentinck? Nothing escapes my web.” He severed the silk that still connected them with his fangs and began to crawl towards Bentinck. “You have nothing to apologize for, save perhaps to your master for betraying him.”

“What are you talking about?” It seemed to Bentinck that the more he struggled, the more the silk stuck to him.

“You will bring him to me,” the spider said, “so I can kill him.”

“No- no, I will not!” Bentinck buzzed in terror as the spider looped silk around his limbs, pulling his arms behind him. “Please don’t do that—!”

“The Prince is a shameful excuse for a ruler,” continued the spider calmly. “Peace will come only when the queen bee rules the universe, but you only know what you are told.”

“Nothing can kill William!” His arms having been tied back, he kicked out at the spider, who hissed and backed away. “And I certainly will not allow you to do so!”

“They all say that, until they get a taste of my venom,” the spider said. He shot silk out at Bentinck’s legs and pulled hard on it, pinning them back against the web.

I can’t move! He buzzed again like a helpless insect as the spider crawled up behind him.

“Your Prince was a mistake,” he said. With that, he dug his fangs into Bentinck’s neck, and Bentinck tossed his head back with a metallic shriek. The fangs had not pierced through his metal, but he felt the venom that they injected slip through the opening in his neck, leaking into the parts within his chest. It was like a snake in him.

“Mijnheer- please don’t— please—” He couldn’t even finish a sentence, breaking off with his miserable, broken buzzing. He was sounding more and more like static.

But the venom was still going, and when the spider at last stepped away, he felt it dripping through the openings in his legs and feet. The spider snapped some of the threads behind him, and he fell forward with a cry, towards the water. The silk had not let go, however, instead leaving him dangling upside down over the water.

Oh, my God! “Please don’t do that, please don’t do that, please don’t do that—!” He tried in vain to wrench his arms free from the silk. The venom ran back down to his face, trickling out his lips and eyes like tears.

“How are you still fighting?” the spider said curiously.

“I- I will see to it that you are never forgiven—!” Bentinck’s voice could hardly be heard through the rapid glitches; he did not know if it was caused by the fluid in his parts or simply his fear.

“Bring me the Prince and I will consider not letting you drown,” said the spider, “like you robots know how to do.”

“Caution: vision impaired,” came automatically from Bentinck’s speakers. Indeed, the venom falling from his eyes was pooling in his eyelids, blurring the sight of the water before him.

“Never,” he said of his own volition.

“Then you can die.” The spider snipped the remaining silk from his legs, and Bentinck shut his eyes and mouth, a bit like a Defender who held its breath.

The impact did not come from below, however, like he expected; rather it came from the side, powerful arms throwing him against another cattail. He landed a fly-length away from the stream, and he looked up to see what it was that had saved him.

It was the praying mantis from the other day, staring at him with her wide eyes. “Are you damaged?” she asked him, but Bentinck did not get to answer as the spider jumped from his web and landed in front of him.

“You think you can get someone else to protect you?” he snarled. “Just like the Prince thinks he is so safe. I will kill him, and the queen bee will return, and you will die like all unnatural children do—”

“That is enough from you!” The mantis fluttered her wings and carried herself over the stream. The spider looked up at her and hissed, batting his legs out at her, which she sliced off with a nimble swipe of her foreleg. She hooked her other leg beneath his head and ripped it off without much effort at all.

That there is death. Bentinck shuddered, unable to look away as she kicked the spider’s body away. She landed in front of him and leaned in.

“There, he cannot hurt you anymore,” she said. “Nor anyone else.”

“Did you know him?” Bentinck whispered. It was the only thing he could manage.

“No. But I saw enough.” With the same leg she had used to kill the spider, she tore the silk off of him, and he stretched. “How are you?”

He wiped away the venom from his eyes and lips. “Running system scan.” He paused, then buzzed with alarm. “Moderate moisture detected in critical systems. Mild disruption and impairment of mobility signals.”

“Is that a problem?” the praying mantis asked.

“Yes.” Bentinck nodded, trying to quiet his fans down. They whirred away at full speed, but it seemed like it took more energy out of him than usual. For once, he was exhausted.

“I do not want it fixed,” he said.

“Why not? Is it not akin to illness?” She prodded him in the shoulder and handed him his coat. “And it can make quick work of you, too.”

“I was created to be very- very resistant,” he said, slipping the coat on gratefully. “It’s no problem.”

“Should you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“You sound a little muffled,” she said. “Muted. Even if you wanted to hide it, you couldn’t.”

“The Prince orders all repairs on me,” he said. “But he cannot notice anything now.”

“What about your Third Law?”

“You know about it?”

“Well, I must.”

Bentinck hummed thoughtfully. “I would hate to cause trouble.” Changing the subject, he asked, “How are things with your husband?”

“I did as you said,” she said, “but it only seems like he has spoken less and less to me. Truthfully, Bentinck, I cannot say if I fixed him at all.”

“It never goes right the first time,” he said. “There is usually a lot of trial-and-error involved in these sorts of things.” He winced. “Trust me, I know. It hurts very much.”

“For him?”

“For everybody involved. That was what my mother used to say, at least; supposedly I was very dangerous to create.” Bentinck shrugged. “I know very little about biological pain, though.”

“If he hurts, then he should tell me,” the praying mantis muttered. “I have tried to say— many times— what he does is hurt me. I tell him everything and yet I cannot tease a single word out of him.”

“Something has to work eventually.”

“I wish things were as simple as you saw them.” She sighed and waved her leg at him. “I must get back to him now. He would still like me at his side.” She helped him up and patted him on the head, accidentally tearing a few strands of the plastic wig out with her claw. “Be careful around spiders from now on.”

“I- I will,” Bentinck said, smoothing down his hair. “It’s one of the first things Defenders are taught.”

The mantis tilted her head to the side but said nothing more.

In the days following Bentinck realized he was trembling, which had never happened before save for a few times when he’d been shocked by the wires the technicians liked to shove in him. But this was something highly unnatural, and every movement, every step forward, felt like it took everything out of him.

Still, he was ordered by the doctors to stay with William, and he obeyed, even when the Prince’s jaws closed around his arms and made him want to vomit. There was a good, nice biological word; it made no sense to him, but it sounded like what he felt in the moment.

It was with this shaking, scratched metal that Bentinck was meant to bathe the filthy Prince with. They said he was getting better, but nobody knew if he was safe to approach yet, or truly how one could become infected at all, so they gave Bentinck some gloves and locked him in a room alone with William and a bathtub.

William immediately scurried to the door, his wide eyes fixed on the water in front of him. He had been able to drink more, but not yet without a great fight on his part.

Well, first of all, this is just too much. Bentinck shook his head and brought the switch down at the side of the door. There was a loud click heard from it, and then the two of them were in total darkness save for the light from Bentinck’s eyes. The light that was, he saw now, much dimmer than before.

“Is that better?” he asked.

William blinked and looked up, his pupils widening to cover much of his eye. He gave a slight nod. Under the spotlight of Bentinck’s eyes, his body fully exposed, the state he was in was all the more shameful— in particular his matted, tangled hair, almost resembling Bentinck’s own.

“Well, you certainly need the bath,” he said. “Come, William, get in.”

“Will it not— should it not hurt you?” William asked. He backed up against the wall, and Bentinck sat beside him.

“If it helps you, it cannot hurt me,” he said. “We can get this over with quickly. It doesn’t have to be so hard.”

“I- I cannot even look at it.” William turned away to nip at Bentinck’s finger, tearing the glove away, much to the android’s relief. “Oh, Hans...why are you shaking so much?”

“I don’t know,” Bentinck said honestly. He suspected it was the venom that had gotten into his parts, maybe that and something else, but it was all just his own theory.

“Are you afraid too?”

“Yes, very.”

“You don’t sound like it.” William bit into Bentinck’s wrist next, tapping his claws against his friend’s thigh.

“I have to sound calm for you,” Bentinck said.

William shook his head. Bentinck sighed, leaned his head back on the wall. Were they just going to sit here uselessly the whole time? The doctors at least wanted him to stop stinking of his own drool.

“Just take a look in, I promise it’s not so bad,” Bentinck said, leading William to the tub. They both peeked in, and then froze, buzzing warily as they stared at the water.

That spider nearly drowned me. He looked into his own eyes, batting at them once with his gloved hand, and as the water fearfully drew back, so did he.

“Just- just think about how nice it will be when it’s over,” he said.

“It will not have to be over if we don’t do anything.” William began to step away again, but Bentinck took his arm, pulling him back in.

“Maybe it will make your fever cool down,” he said. “My mother used to spray water on my core every time I heated up too much.”

“Water on...plutonium,” William said with a lazy flick of his antennae. “I see. And what am I?”

“You are the Prince of Orange, the hivemind ruler of the Defender of the Faith, William Henry—”

“I am all of those things,” William interrupted, “but not made of radioactive substances.”

“I would not be too certain. Your mother was definitely exposed to something before your birth.”

William coughed. “Hilarious. But I am no—” He broke off with another cough, and Bentinck rubbed at his back. “I’m not a- not a robot.”

“Lucky.”

“Unlucky.”

“So lucky.”

“Un-fucking-lucky.”

“How obscene.”

“I’ll cool down, Hans.”

“You have to do this first.” Bentinck held his hand out to William, who gave it the gentlest bite and wagged his tail in what was perhaps amusement. “Please? I want to see you recover.”

William drew back, glowering up at him. “You first.”

“Me? You- you want me to take a bath?”

“Just touch it some more. I want to see it is safe. I would like to- to convince myself.” William lifted his head, and Bentinck glanced uneasily at the water.

“Very well.” He tore off the remaining glove and braced himself before dipping his hands in the water. A dim, tantalizing feeling came over him, but it was by no means peaceful; in turn, it scared him how he wanted to fall in and let the water take him.

“Look how great it is,” he said, his voice blinking in and out in his speakers. “Look— come here, just look at it, William.”

“Is something wrong with you?” William asked, digging his claws into the ground.

“Never. Come here, William, you’re safe. See how safe I am—” He broke off with a buzz as William jumped into the water, splashing it all over his face and clothes.

Oh, no, no, no! Bentinck hurried to undress, and William bit into the side of the tub. Wet clothes were the closest thing to cold that Bentinck could feel.

“That was- that was very, very uncalled for, William,” he said once he was done, shaking himself off. “How are you doing in there?”

William bit down harder, the spikes on his tail shaking so quickly over the water that more of it was spilling out again. Bentinck pushed his tail under the water and stroked at William’s head, emitting a low, constant buzz like the one that Defender mothers used to soothe their children.

“You’re doing well,” he said, smoothing out William’s antennae. “See? If you can stay here, it means that you- you will survive, like you have survived everything else.”

William shut his eyes and let out a weak purr. He brought his insect arms out of the water and tapped them over Bentinck, as if he was attempting to crawl over him, but the rest of his body was still.

What is he doing? Bentinck winced when one came near his face. Kneeling down in front of William, still buzzing, he reached out for the soap, but his shaking hands only knocked the bar into the water. At the noise, William drew back a little.

“Oh- oh, forgive me.” Bentinck scratched William’s head between the antennae. “I have been...unstable as of late.”

“You have?” William opened one of his eyes. “And...why is that?”

“It could be anything.” It wasn’t the full truth, but it wasn’t exactly a lie, either.

Who knows what it was? He shrugged it off and tried to take the soap again, but it kept slipping on his sleek hands.

“Now that I hear it...” William sat up. “Something is wrong with your voice.”

“Nothing is wrong,” Bentinck insisted. “Nothing is wrong. Nothing is wrong.” His voice was being overtaken by glitches, his buzzing rising into high-pitched static. “This- this is nothing—”

William covered his ears. “Oh, whatever you say, just stop that noise!”

“Recognized.” Bentinck clamped his mouth shut, slowly bringing his buzz back to the low one William liked. As he did so, the light in one eye flickered, and when it came to again, he saw half of the world in black and white. Well, half of William, who was the world, anyway.

William started to crawl out of the tub, and Bentinck pushed him back in, more water landing on his face. His legs slipped out under him, and he fell forward, slamming his head against the water.

Oh, God, no! He brought his head back up with much effort; water had never been so heavy before. No, it wasn’t the water, he realized, it was all of his body, and he realized now why he had slipped.

My systems are not obeying me. He huffed and sat back, and William frantically jumped out of the tub and onto him, shaking the water and soap onto Bentinck’s face.

“Please don’t do that,” Bentinck said, pushing him off. He let out a frustrated sigh. “You are not going back in easily, are you?”

William narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

“Then that’s that, I suppose.”

Bentinck didn’t care where he found himself that night, he just wanted to get as far away from William as possible. When Defenders spoke of the stench of sickness, he thought he could almost smell it when he was by the Prince, but today it felt overpowering, like it followed him everywhere. He was not ill, though, certainly not— he could survive anything.

Anything except water! He glared at every Defender crossing his path, eventually just kicking out the wheels under his feet and skating past them. He was far less balanced than he usually was, though, and had to grab onto the surrounding plants to keep himself up.

He sat beside a pitcher plant and let out a relieved sigh as the light of the moons fell over him. The constant trembling of his body and the colorless vision of his eye, however, made it impossible to enjoy the moment.

Ugh! He turned his head abruptly to the side and slammed it against the pitcher plant. It didn’t hurt, but it was sudden, so sudden that as the plant wavered, it looked surprised as well.

“Very sorry,” Bentinck said hastily. “This is nothing like me, I swear. I fear that I am breaking, but I am afraid of making it better. I- I don’t know what else to do.”

He looked back down at the ground, only for a small, clever voice to come from the pitcher plant.

“You are breaking?” it asked.

Bentinck nodded. “Yes. Just a little.”

“Let me look at you.”

“You have no eyes...”

“What- of course I do! Who do you think is talking to you?” The plant leaned forward, and Bentinck shuffled back.

“The, uh, plant,” he said. “But I suppose plants don’t talk, do they?”

“No,” said the voice, laughing. “I am a moth trapped within the plant. If you can get me out, I can tell you what is wrong with you.”

“I know what’s wrong with me.”

“Then I can kiss it better.”

“You promise you really would?” Bentinck leaned in towards the plant, and the supposed moth laughed again.

“As to how effective it is, I cannot say,” it said. “But whatever helps you sleep better at night.”

“Robots do not sleep,” Bentinck sighed, blinking wistfully at the sky. “At least, I do not.”

“You must be run by nuclear energy,” the moth said.

“I- yes. How did you guess?”

“Those robots have no need to charge.”

“Oh.” Bentinck looked up at the plant. “How do I get you out of there?”

“I would tell you to rip through it, but then you would say that that is against your First Law,” answered the moth. “I would then say that I am a biological being, too, and that leaving me here would also go against your First Law. You would say that I am a prey animal of the Defenders, and you see my species hunted everyday, and I would tell you that I am no longer a prey animal if I can speak to you and the plant cannot. You cannot allow me to die alone here, and besides, it’s only one plant, so, Hansi, rip through it with your hands.”

“I think I may want to hear you speak forever,” Bentinck declared.

“I would return the compliment if you sounded any better!” the moth giggled. “Now, would you save my life?”

“Recognized.” Bentinck slammed his fingers through the plant, seeing the beautiful moth just barely managing to keep his body over the digestive liquid, gripping onto the slippery walls of the plant. “You haven’t been here for long, have you?”

“Long enough, my legs are weary.” The moth lifted one of its legs, and Bentinck pulled it out through the hole in the plant. The fur upon the moth was soft, and, he realized when it fell against him, delightful to press his nose to.

“Oh, my, thank you.” The moth shook out its wings. “What a horrifying situation.”

“It’s very good that I found you.” Bentinck sat beside it, running his hands through the white fur. “You can take a break here, if you would like.”

“I would like that very much.” The moth placed its head on Bentinck’s lap. “Why are you shaking so much? Are you ill?”

“Impossible, Mijnheer Moth.” Bentinck shook his head. 

“Ah, one would think,” the moth sighed.

They fell silent, and Bentinck looked back towards the plant that he had torn through. It really was a shame; it was so pretty.

“I can see you want to say something,” the moth said.

“I do, yes,” Bentinck said. “Did you know that what captured you is a cobra lily? Very rare around this side of the Netherlands, you see. Every Defender is taught to keep away from these plants, but my master once was caught within one; he thought it had a very nice smell to it.”

“Did he escape?”

“He had to be rescued by his tutor at the time. Mijnheer de Witt, perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

The moth shook its head. “No, never.”

“The Defenders said he tasted a little like spider meat.” Bentinck laughed. “Well, that’s nothing to think about now. What was I saying? Right, cobra lilies! Very beautiful plants, and such skillful hunters, too. I read that you cannot see the sky from in there.”

“I could not,” the moth murmured.

“Ah, wonderful!” Bentinck clapped his hands once. “Very, very good. My master said the same thing. Ah, such clever little things. If they were not so regulated, I would care for one myself.” He glanced fondly back at the plant.

“If they make you happy, why not?”

“They pose a threat to Defender children.” Bentinck sighed. “I would hate to see a little one in such agonies. My master only narrowly escaped.”

“You think about everything and everyone,” the moth said, drawing back and staring at Bentinck with its great, black eyes. “If only my kind had half the kindness that you robots exhibit.”

“Well, you are a very kind moth,” Bentinck said. “Your species is thought to be very annoying around these parts.”

The moth chuckled. “And isn’t that the truth.” It crawled closer to Bentinck, its haustellum hovering over the android’s lips. “Do you want your kiss now?”

“Are you leaving so soon?” Bentinck asked, disappointed. “I was going to ask if you wanted to come back with me.”

“I must return to my own master. I’m sorry.” It pressed its head against Bentinck’s nose, staring right into his glowing eyes.

“You will come back?”

“I don’t know.”

“I want you to stay.” His voice broke off at the end. He didn’t know why he wanted the moth to stay; William would never let him keep it, and yet he suddenly couldn’t imagine a life without it. “Nobody else understands.”

“I am a moth, I really understand very little,” the moth said apologetically. “Here is your kiss.” It extended its haustellum out towards Bentinck, and Bentinck placed a tiny kiss on the tip, as gentle as he could. It improved none of his systems, only made his fans whir faster. But he welcomed it.

“Thank you,” he said. The moth bowed its head and flew away, leaving nothing but the rush of a dam nearby to fill the silence.

Just when you think it all might get better. Bentinck lay back on the grass and stared up into the stars. Nothing could hurt him here.

“Mr. Bentinck,” called a gentle, familiar voice. “Mr. Bentinck, is that you?”

“Oh, yes!” Bentinck sat up, turning around to see the praying mantis from days before crawling tentatively towards him. She looked as mournful as ever. As she approached, Bentinck took her foreleg. “What is it, madam?”

“It is very good that you are here, I needed someone like you,” she said, glancing to the side. “What have you been up to? I waited yesterday night and you never came.”

“Well, things have come up,” Bentinck said with an awkward buzz. “You will have to forgive that.”

“And I do.”

“What troubles you?”

“My husband, sir, it is always him!” She raised her voice, then, turning to the side and pacing about the android. “I have done what you told me to do. So many trials, or errors, or whatever you called them; none of it matters because he is impossible to get through!”

“You have opened him, you have tried to repair him?”

“Yes!” She brought one of her forelegs up to her face and began to cry. “Heaven forgive me, I was never made for this—! Oh, what must I do now?”

“Please don’t do that,” Bentinck said. “Cry, I mean. If you take me to your husband, maybe I can tell you what needs improvement. I cannot do it myself, but I can at least point you in the right direction.”

“He would listen to a man,” she said miserably.

“No, no, not at all that, no,” he reassured her. “I am no husband, but I know what the proper way to treat a woman is.” He held his hand out, and she took it in her leg. “Take me to him.

“Well, if we must,” she said. She led him through the mess of plants everywhere, twitching her antennae as she walked. “I- I must warn you, he is very cold with strangers, from what I have observed.”

“You must not be a stranger anymore.”

“If only...”

She stopped at an exceedingly small pond, what would probably have been a puddle to one of the larger frogs inhabiting the planet. It was covered in black, but he couldn’t tell if it was the reflection of the dark sky or algae, or just his malfunctioning vision. 

“Here,” she said, “is where he last spoke to me.” She pushed the cattails aside and motioned for Bentinck to come closer.

He saw a far smaller mantis, indeed, lying beside the pond with its legs splayed out beside its body. The forelegs were still raised in their usual prayer, but the body never moved, and when Bentinck leaned in he saw that it was headless, and a black sort of blood flowed endlessly from it into the water.

“Madam,” he said, “did you consummate the marriage?”

“We did, but it was a very disappointing performance,” she said. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

“Do you think it might be because you ate his head?”

“What- what are you saying?” She drew back in horror, and Bentinck motioned towards the body.

“I don’t know death very well,” he said, “but this is what it looks like to me.” It felt then that something was splitting apart in his chest, like his core was being torn in two. He thought it was a familiar pain, and maybe he could fall to his knees and weep because of it.

He was nothing to me. Why should I care? He stepped back, covering his mouth with a trembling hand.

“I told you he would not listen!” said the mantis.

“Madam, we must go,” he said, turning to her and taking her foreleg. “There is nothing for you here.”

“But- but my husband—”

“Your husband does not deserve you,” Bentinck snapped. “No one can speak to him now.”

“You said I could make him better!” The mantis was crying again, pushing him away with one sharp swipe from her leg. “Is there no hope, then? Have I- have I failed, Hans?”

“No,” he said, stumbling back over the body. “You were only doing what you had to.”

She stared at him as she wiped at her tears, though they still came, falling over the body of her husband. “What now?” she whispered.

“You can start by leaving.”

“And then?”

“Kill more men?” Bentinck shrugged. “I was never a praying mantis.”

“I am no murderer,” said the mantis. She dipped her head towards him. “I thank you for everything, Bentinck.”

“Recognized,” he said, though he didn’t know what he had done.

He watched her leave, pushing her way through the plants, and he was tempted to follow her, knowing very well that he would never see her again. But perhaps it was for the best.

Instead he glanced down at the body and kicked it, letting it fall into the pond. Looking at it was only making him feel worse— he recognized it as grief, as if he had just lost his own husband.

Or...wife. He buzzed as if he were scolding himself and left the water as it was.

Apparently it should have been a shock that William was recovering well by the next week, because everyone couldn’t get enough of it. But Bentinck already had. He had to admit, however, that it was a great relief to see William crawl out of his bed and hurriedly lap at the water as if he had never feared it at all. He truly was biological.

“How are you today?” Bentinck asked, observing William bat around at a fairyfly that had gotten into his room.

“I want to hunt again,” the Prince said. He snapped his jaws in the air, catching the fly and shaking it furiously in his teeth. He spat it out again with a disappointed flick of his tail. “You think I want to catch these pathetic things for the rest of my life?”

“It isn’t for the rest of your life, Will, it’s just while you recover,” Bentinck said with a sigh. “In the state you are in, even a cicada could knock you over.”

“It’s no worse than it ever was,” William mumbled.

Bentinck paused, narrowing his eyes at his master. There was some truth in that, he supposed; William was as pale and thin as ever, but in fact his eyes were brighter than they had been in the past few weeks. They still fluttered shut when the light of Bentinck’s own eyes flashed over him.

“Maybe not,” the android said, “but I could never risk it. Maybe a walk when less predators are active would be nice. And I must be with you,” he added.

William rolled his eyes, turning away. “I was ill, not a prisoner.”

“You are ill.”

“I am going to bite you again.”

“Please don’t do that—” Bentinck lifted his arm as William sprung at him, clinging onto it while batting his claws against his friend’s metal belly. But he was purring, his tail flicking from side to side excitedly, once again in the manner that he had done it when he was younger with de Witt. The purrs weren’t so bad, Bentinck had to say.

“It’s not so long now,” he said. “You will recover, and then you can go back to terrorizing hapless insects and other horrible creatures.”

“Like the heart-eaters.”

“Yes, very good, Your Highness. You are very, very fierce.”

William drew back, licking his lips. “I know. So I can handle a little walk.”

“Not until the physicians say you can.” Bentinck lifted William in his arms and placed him back on the bed. “I can bring in a few larger flies if you would like.”

William groaned, falling onto his pillow. He blinked, staring out the window listlessly, before his tail twitched suddenly and he sat back up again. “Oh, would you?”

Bentinck nodded.

“Then go, I want a crane fly.”

“Which one?”

“The biggest one you can find, now!” William sprung forward, snapping his jaws, and Bentinck hurried off.

Biggest one I can find? Does he expect me to kill it before or after I bring it to him? He shook his head as he walked, causing his vision to be covered in static for a moment. He covered the speaker on his chest before anyone had to hear the embarrassing warning again and walked faster, calling for the wheels on his feet. Perhaps he was imagining it, but it seemed that every Defender who looked at him this time did so with fear.

Is something wrong with me?

He dismissed the idea and kept going. William always found crane flies near the streams; maybe he would have the same luck. Just as long as he didn’t fall for the claims of a spider again.

He heard a curious buzzing up ahead, one much louder than anything he had ever heard from any insect in the Netherlands. He was tempted to turn back, but he decided that as long as he didn’t provoke whatever it was, he would be fine.

He looked up, trying to find what could possibly be making that noise, only for the wheel on his left foot to spring back inside him. Before he realized what had happened, he stumbled, and he fell hard on the grass, his arm failing to catch him. He landed on his face, his vision shaking as if something had knocked him on the head.

What on the Netherlands is this? He put away the other wheel and tried to push himself back up on his shaking arm. He couldn’t find the strength this time, however, and let himself fall again, staring out at what he found in front of him.

At least I got to the stream. Much to his disappointment, though, there were no crane flies around.

But he did find the source of the buzzing. Looking up, he saw a huge bee perched on a water lily, staring right at him with its head cocked to the side. From the size alone, he recognized her instantly as a queen, but a very peculiar one. The fur on her abdomen had a strange, cross-like marking running across the back instead of the usual stripes.

“Your Majesty,” he blurted, trying to sit up to kneel before her.

“Hans William Bentinck,” she said. “Do not move.” In her voice ran the unmistakable confidence of a monarch, and he obeyed, bowing his head.

“F-Forgive me.”

“Ah, there is nothing to forgive.” She flew over to him, landing at his side. “I have heard much about you.”

“An honor to be known by a being such as yourself.” Bentinck tried to back away, but the queen flung a leg over him.

“Is something wrong, what troubles you?” she asked.

“My whole body, I suppose.” He shuddered at the feeling of the leg and closed his eyes. “I must be looking for a crane fly for the Prince of Orange.”

“The Prince, you say?” He felt her lean in, the fur brushing the side of his face. “How is the boy?”

“Error: you do not have access to that information.”

“What are you—”

“Error: you do not have access to that information.”

He cried out when she slammed her leg against the side of his head, forcing him on his back. “Look up here,” she growled, “look at me. What is it that you are so afraid of, Bentinck?”

“I said that you do not have access to that information.” He glared up at her, though looked only at her wings; the black eyes were terrifying things. “I only serve a Protestant monarch.”

“So you do know about me.” She laughed. “You think you are so faithful, don’t you? You think your loyalty can never waver because you are an android. But let me tell you something, Bentinck; it only makes it easier for you to betray your precious master. I mean, look at how easily you fall apart!” She leaped onto him then, ripping through his waistcoat with a swipe of her leg. He buzzed in fury, shaking his head but unable to do much more than that. He couldn’t hurt her.

“Please don’t do that.” He lifted his head, and she forced it back down with a fierce shove from her mandibles. He let out another buzz, this time one of fear.

“You think he cares for you?”

“Please don’t do that.”

“You think he would be surprised if you turned your back on him? If you began to work for me instead?” She shook her head. “No one would be. You know no such thing as loyalty. God did not create you.”

“Please don’t do that.”

“You believe in Him,” she continued, “but He does not believe in you.”

“Please don’t do that—!” He kicked his legs out, and she drove her stinger into the opening that connected his thigh to his torso, tearing through his breeches. He tossed his head back and screamed as he felt the stinger sever the wires there, the venom squirting through finally taking any movement left on that limb.

“A shame about your strength,” she said. “It really could have saved your Prince from my vengeance.”

“Please don’t do that,” he pleaded. “Please don’t hurt him.”

“Nothing can stop me from what I have planned for that little monster,” she spat. “Not you, not him, and not all the armies in the galaxy.” She lifted her stinger and shoved it in the same place in the other thigh, achieving the same result there.

Bentinck bit back another buzz. “You- you can always go be Catholic somewhere else—”

“This is my kingdom!” She buried her mandibles into his hair and slammed his head back against the ground, again and again until the vision was gone from his eye where color had disappeared.

“Please don’t do that— caution: vision impaired— please don’t do that-” His voice was quickly becoming unrecognizable.

“Then fight,” she said, leaning in until the only thing he could see was her empty eyes, “if you think you can give me orders.”

“I- I don’t know what I did to you—”

“You ask as if working for the Prince isn’t the crime!” She drove her stinger into the speaker on his chest until she broke through. He felt the venom seep through him, burning up everything it touched, and he let himself fall limp, unable to speak coherently anymore. He knew he was still speaking, please don’t do that, but it sounded like nothing to him.

“Pathetic beast, always breaking, always whining,” she said. She pulled the stinger free, flying high above him, and the venom from her stinger fell to his face. It was disgusting. “I would kill you now, but I want to see William’s face when he sees me do it.”

Do not speak his name! Bentinck opened his mouth to tell her so, but before he could manage a sound she took his head in her legs and pushed it back into the water.

It was so quiet. So peaceful. He knew he should have been fighting it, but what was his Third Law compared to this? He was prepared to go, if he could hear nothing forever—

There was a screech from the surface, and then the weight was lifted off of him. The instinct to live returned to him. Using all the strength within him, he pulled himself out with a gasp, water leaking from his eyes and lips. He turned his head to the side to see where the queen had gone.

She had not gone willingly. There was the Prince, beautiful William, swiping at her face, hissing as he drove her back. He was many times smaller than she was, but she couldn’t manage to push him off.

“No one will touch my android!” he snarled.

“No!” Bentinck tried to call out, reaching out towards William. He wasn’t supposed to be out here! He had certainly never fought a queen before.

“You have brought him straight to me!” At last the queen bee threw him off, and Willaim landed with a huff on the ground. She lifted her head triumphantly, glancing at Bentinck. “Good boy.”

No, that was never—! He dragged himself forward with his arm, but was too unsteady to keep the motion. He let his head fall. Was this how William would die, with Bentinck watching on helplessly?

I was supposed to protect him. He wanted to cry, then realized that he was, the water from the stream still dripping slowly from his eyes.

William bared his teeth as he stood back up, the spikes on his tail shaking in warning. And Bentinck saw then that he would not die here. If he had survived illness in the past month, if he had defeated mantises, spiders, frogs, and liars, liars, liars, then a bee would never be anything at all.

“I am going to rip those beady little eyes out of your skull until there is nothing left to see heaven’s light,” the queen hissed.

William’s eyes flicked to black, and he sprung once more at her, clinging onto her abdomen with his claws as she flew up. She kicked at him with her legs, thrusting her stinger forward, but he held on from behind. She could land nothing on him. He crawled over her body, bringing her lower to the ground, and out of the plants bounded out more Defenders, old and young, hissing along with him at the queen.

It was undoubtedly his hivemind. Their black eyes matched his as they pounced on the queen, and they moved as if they had tails, carelessly unbalanced on top of her. William himself slipped off the side and bounced back, wheezing and circling the scene.

He needs me! Bentinck tried to call out to William, but it was much too low to be heard, and William never looked over at him. He seemed incredibly focused as he shifted his claws on the ground, as his Defenders shot silk from their wrists and tangled it around the queen’s legs. He tensed, then jumped back onto her, burying his claws into her wings. With the way her abdomen was moving, trapped within the silk, Bentinck guessed she was trying to sting him again.

William bit into her head and rolled sharply to the side, taking her with him. The rest of the Defenders stepped back, their eyes returning to normal, though wide with terror. These were not soldiers— they were merely the Defenders closest to the area, and thus could be anything. There were even a few children in the mix, hiding behind their mothers with nervous growls.

William shook the queen in his jaws, then threw her down below him, his jaws dripping with the hemolymph he had taken from her. It looked as if he was drooling again, but he licked the liquid away almost too gleefully.

“Kill me, then, but I will always return,” she spat at him. “And when I do, you will have more to lose.”

“Heaven take you, Your Majesty.” William bit into her antennae and tore her head from her body. Her legs still twitched under the silk as he jumped off of her, shaking himself and trying to catch his breath.

“A queen without a hive,” he huffed. “Now I have seen everything.” The Defenders backed away from him as he bounded towards his android. “Hans! How are you?”

“You- you need me—” Bentinck propped himself up on one arm as William curled his tail around him. He could only manage a broken whisper; anything louder than that would spook William with all its clicks and glitches.

“Shh, don’t speak,” William said. “I- I am very well—” He broke off when he started coughing, and Bentinck shook his head.

“You were not supposed to do this.”

“Then who else would, if I had not disobeyed you?” William smiled, leaning in to purr against Bentinck’s cheek. “My antennae couldn’t have sensed danger if I had been inside.” 

“Enough, just kiss me.”

“I don’t need it—” He attempted to laugh, interrupted by another hacking cough, and Bentinck brought his head closer and kissed him. He prayed that the inhaler function in his throat still worked.

Out of all my systems, please, please, please.

William blinked, then backed away, his eyes wide. “No, Hans, I-” He took a deep, rasping breath, his tail twitching uncomfortably as he glanced at everyone around him.

Did it not work? Bentinck reached out, took William’s hand.

“I- I am sorry.”

“Hans, it isn’t—”

“She said she would come back.” Bentinck’s voice rose. It was like speaking through shattered glass.

William stared at him, still stepping away. “What are you talking about? Who?”

“The queen!”

William shook his head. “You are not well,” he breathed. Then, turning to his subjects, he said, “Help me- help me take him back—! Now!”

Did I say something wrong? It could have been anything, Bentinck thought.

“You are safe now, Hans, don’t speak anymore,” he heard William whisper on his blind side. His warm breath on Bentinck’s face was labored, but reassuring nonetheless. “Just- just close your eyes.”

He knew what that meant, but closed them anyway. He felt William reach his claws into his throat and shut him off. From there he could have been out for a few minutes or centuries upon centuries; he could never tell.

#alien alien au #lots and lots of tasty android whump for the soul!! #william is so creature here lel

[cloama]

The Ick is Back🤢

The usual autumn stomach bug is here but it is on turbo! It's a monster with staying power. My entire child care center is on hands and knees right now with what we refer to in the industry as Both Ends. You know...typically lasts 48 hours max. Drink plenty liquids, slowly eat soup, bleach your surfaces, get back to work, right? Right? Not in 2023!

I have been sick for 4 days. Doctors are offering no medical intervention bc its a "stomach bug" and I "work with kids. "

I mask and keep a very clean classroom. I don't even pick up my own groceries anymore. The only time I went outside was for Beyonce and Paramore. But I caught this thing from helping a child who had a potty accident on Friday. He'd caught it and we didn't know bc he hid it so he could stay and enjoy the Halloween Pajama Jam😩The one day I attended work that week (bc I was already out sick on my damn supermegaperiod) and it was all she wrote, smh.

Look after your kids. Do not ignore symptoms. Help them identify their bodily feelings like nausea and stomach cramping. Help them describe their bowel movements. They should be able to tell you if it hurt, was loose, or left them itchy.

Their little immune systems are not ready for this cold and flu season. I'm begging you all to take preventive care.

I am literally typing this from the floor next to a trashcan. I love you all.

[spncompostheap]

S1 Dean Head Canon

My main inspirations for this.

When Dean goes on a bender and loses track of John, he panics and goes to find Sam at college. While Sam agrees to go on one case, the death of his girlfriend hurls him back into the hunting scene. While the brothers hunt Wendigos, and a lake monster, Dean does his best to keep his drinking in check and only indulges heavily during his downtime. Dean’s mental health takes a hit after confiding in a child witness about his past traumas while on a case. CPTSD rears its ugly head sending Dean spiraling into self medication amidst nightmares and anxiety symptoms to the point that even Sam notices.

When the brothers get called about a demon possession case involving airplanes, Sam learns just how terrified his brother is to fly. Afterwards, they realize John has changed his voicemail and is now actively deferring cases to them despite continuing to not check in. When Dean tries to ignore his grief about dad and heads for Atlantic City, hoping to relax, Sam starts a fight and accuses him of being “a useless alcoholic just like dad”. Dean storms out, goes to a bar and gets smashed only to wake up the next morning in bed with a stranger and no memory oh he'd gotten there. 

Dean coasts for a while after, still drinking but trying not to go overboard. He hunts with Sam and mostly enjoys it, as much as anyone really can. Priorities shift suddenly after Sam has psychic visions of their childhood home in Kansas. Dean had promised himself never to return after his last trip, when he almost killed himself driving drunk and consequently been charged with a DUI. When ganking the ghosts involves a chance encounter with his mother’s spirit, Dean is left shaken. His nightmares return and intensify, and without realizing completely, he ups his frequency of alcohol consumption to daily as a counterbalance to protecting his mental health.

After investigating a haunted asylum where Sam gets possessed, and says some nasty things before shooting him, Dean starts to doubt his relationship with Sam. When John does eventually reach out it's to tell his sons explicitly to back off and stop looking for him, then order them to pursue a separate case. Sam gets pissed and the brothers argue which ultimately lead to them separating. While Dean doesn't let on how badly he’s hurting, having lost his family again over the span of a day; Sam sees his brother’s subsequent apology for the giant red flag that it is. Tracking his brother down, Sam saves Dean from a pagan deity, they eventually reconcile and continue hunting together.

Having been more than willing to go out in blaze of glory before Sam rescued him, Dean starts drinking on the job and hunting recklessly. When they encounter a Rawhead, Dean’s reactions are slowed, and he inadvertently electrocutes himself, killing the monster. After suffering a heart attack, Dean’s prognosis isn't good, but he’s more than willing to accept death over his brother’s attempts at some kind of magical cure. When Sam randomly finds a faith healer and tricks Dean into tagging along, he’s surprised when Rev. Le Grange actually heals him. When the other shoe drops, however, Dean realizes he’s only been saved at the expense of somebody else. Unable to justify having been saved this way, Dean is additionally burdened by Layla’s impending death once they've shut the faith healer down.

In the aftermath of nearly dying, continued radio silence from dad sends a louder message than if John had bothered to pick up his phone. Dean tries to put himself back together as best he can by getting drunk and celebrating Sam’s 23rd birthday. Later after a tip concerning a possible haunting in PA, Dean’s not entirely sure he’s ready to get back in the saddle again. Though he initially does go along with Sam, all bets are off when he gets an emergency call from his ex-girlfriend Cassie.

Sam psychoanalyzes until his brother starts to squirm, inadvertently giving away details of the only real romantic relationship he’s ever had. Amidst battling a racist ghost truck, Dean tries to gain some closure but only really gets overdue makeup sex instead. After leaving Missouri, Dean struggles between wanting to drink himself into oblivion and wanting Sam to give it a break with the psychoanalysis bullshit already. To save face, Dean starts carrying his flask again, only drinking when he knows Sam can’t see. Mother’s Day weekend becomes an additional trigger, and Dean’s actually kind of surprised just how easily one cheesy af Hallmark greeting card can push him over the edge.

When Sam starts having psychic visions again, Dean’s already been drinking steadily for days, adding to his anxiety about driving anywhere in the middle of the night. When the crime scene turns out to be real, Dean isn't sure how to cope sober and his intoxication contributes to him almost being killed by Max Miller. Though he tries to comfort Sam, Dean is in fact freaking out about pretty much everything. It becomes clear that Sam doesn't remember their childhood like Dean does at all. While that was kind of the whole point, it still hurts remembering all the ways Dean had shielded his little brother from John’s drunken rages.

Dean is overwhelmed and falling back into his more alcoholic tendencies- ignoring John’s rules and carrying a flask everywhere.When the brothers get a motel room, Dean over does it until he fears he may have actually poisoned himself after he starts experiencing loss of appetite because of nausea / vomiting, headache, dizziness & chest palpitations *(i.e. mild alcohol withdrawal symptoms). Hiding his illness from Sam, Dean tries to put himself back together.

When Sam gets kidnapped by humans, Dean freaks out and jeopardizes his own identity while trying to track his brother down. The guilt of almost having gotten Sam killed leads Dean into going cold turkey with varying degrees of success until he ultimately fails the way he does with everything. While Dean does manage to put down the flask, he’s left with constant cravings and no other foreseeable way to numb out his mounting internal pain. Meanwhile, Sam is as oblivious as he is distracted with finding John to support his brother's attempts at sobriety. When Dean falls back on his and John’s rules for drinking, he finds that he’s grown too dependent on alcohol for the rules to be much help. Dean vaguely remembers John having gone through detox several times over the years, although he never really thought about why it was happening until now.

In Chicago the brothers encounter Meg Masters, and without knowing it, accidentally lead John into a trap. When Sam alludes to quitting hunting again, Dean is noticeably crushed, unable to see past his dysfunctional views of family. Later on after telling John to go, Dean tries to find ways to keep Sammy close while engaged in hunting. Continuing his attempts at curbing his drinking, it’s a surprise to Dean when Sam seems to be going in the opposite direction by actively seeking out booze and dive bars. Although Dean hasn't said it out loud yet, he’s starting to accept his inherited alcoholism and worries about Sam meeting the same fate. Inevitably prank wars prove to be a safer form of brotherly bonding than getting wasted.

Dean’s feeling sentimental spending time with Sam and not thinking so much outside of that. Though arson works on taking out the Tulpa in Texas, things easily could have gone differently especially given how the future Ghostfacers were also thrown into the mix. Fearing that Sam’s just going to ditch him again contributes to Dean having intrusive thoughts and increased anxiety. Although he somehow maintains his tough guy facade by suffering through, eventually his attempts prove unsustainable.

When John texts coordinates the brothers revisit an old case, that’s extremely triggering for Dean. While they do manage to save the day, Dean’s forced to remember hard parts of their childhood along with the perceived guilt over knowing the shringa continued killing children for 17 more years because of him. Dean can’t take back his past mistakes and worries about how many kids have had to die at the hands of the Shringa because of him. But robbing Michael of his innocence is the icing on the cake, and soon Dean backslides into alcohol as his primary coping mechanism. Father’s day weekend brings up a bunch of other stuff for Dean, he’s spiraling again and likely couldn't maintain sobriety if his life depended on it.

After encountering a hot girl and a haunted painting in upstate New York, Dean is doing poorly and tries to deflect by pushing Sam toward Sarah Blake. Unbeknownst to Sam, Dean’s cycling through a constant state of intoxication with no idea how much less a desire to stop. Ganking the ghost and saving the day, Dean’s living it up with a beer in his hand and his brother by his side once more. Despite Sam’s ambivalence, Dean convinces him to celebrate the fourth of July. Everything’s great until Dean nearly gets another DUI and Sam has to find a way to save his older brother for a change.

Weeks later when they stumble onto a nest of vampires in Manning, CO and reunite with John. Dean is conflicted when John wants to enter the vampires' nest to steal a gun that can supposedly kill anything. It rapidly becomes clear that dad wants to ditch them again and this time Dean knows it’s because John’s on a suicide mission. Dean recognizes the look in John’s eyes because he’s been there himself enough times but he also knows that losing his dad this way will damage him beyond repair.

When John is captured by Azazel and Meg after she kills several close friends of the Winchesters’. Dean realizes that would give it all up  indefinitely just to have his family back together and safe. Reconnecting with Bobby Singer guides the brothers through exercising Meg out of her host's body. But although the boys do find their father Dean is first to see that John’s been possessed by Azazel. After Sam shoots his dad in the leg with the colt, the demon is forced to vacate John's body, and the Winchester’s escape. En route to safety, however, the impala gets struck by a demon possessed truck driver and leaves a badly injured Dean on the verge of death.

#supernatural #season 1 #spn headcanon #dean winchester #tw: depression #tw alchoholism #tw sucidal ideation #canonically fits into gaps between first season episodes #potential spoilers #fanfic inspo #ao3 wip

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

I was tagged by @harmonyowl to do the Last Line Meme, and by @schoute​ for WIP Wednesday so why not take this as an opportunity to combine them both (Sorry)

Tagging: @ivymarquis​ @direwombat​ @poeti-kat​ @natesofrellis​ @thomrainer​ @perhapsrampancy​ @beautiful-delirium​ @chadillacboseman​ @lethal-justice​ @roofgeese​ (no pressure of course!) and anyone else who’d like to!

Here is a bit from Chapter 6 of “Only You”

“Mark or not, I want ya. I meant what I said when I told you how goddamn lucky I was to find ya. I’ve heard stories about others where they had nothing in common, never saw eye to eye and yet they were bound with a mark. I saw it first hand with my parents, the drinking  and the beatings, my mother shut down because of who my father was. You and me, we aren’t like that. We’re the same.”

“Fucked up monsters?” Kit scoffed.

“Survivors. Warriors. We’re strong. You and me, we will end the weak together, we’ll make a better future for the others. We’ll get to New Eden.” He stopped, staring at her with those pale blue eyes, cold and empty. “If it wasn’t for you I know what my place would have really been, I’d have to die for Joseph. That would be my sacrifice. I knew it, I accepted it. But you change all that. You’re my reason to keep going. I know it’s fucked up and its wrong, but this is how things have to be.”

Her eyes softened and the voice in her head started up its tune again. Love him, care for him, he needs you, you need him, you were meant to be.  She hated to agree with it, hated how weak it made her feel but she could no longer ignore it.

She grabbed at the lapel of his jacket, pulling him down towards her. Lifting up on to her tip toes, she’d climb him like a fucking tree if that’s what it took. She pressed hungry, violent kisses against his mouth, bruising her lips against his. Desperate anger and lust, hatred and love left her wanting him more.

He was fucked up and broken and she was too. She knew it, he knew it, and that didn’t seem to be a problem. Her whole life she’d fought to be something everyone else wanted her to be, to be the soft girl with friends that her mom wanted, the brave soldier who never wavered just like her father insisted, all that time spent in therapy convincing her that what she felt was just a symptom of her trauma, that it was something she could get over, that it was something that wasn’t intrinsically part of her, smiling and nodding and pretending she was normal when every voice in her head told her she wasn’t. She was happy to agree with them now. There was finally someone in the world that looked at her for exactly what she was and felt no fear. He wanted her because of it. He saw those shadows inside of her and he didn’t try and make them disappear, he embraced them.

He cupped her face in his hands, brushing back her hair from her face. Their mouths were both raw and sore from their heated kiss.

“I can’t give you a honeymoon. But I can give you one night that’s just for us before everything changes. One night before you have to come to terms with what’s going on. Joseph still wants to have you baptized, to have you atone so that you’re ready to enter Eden’s Gate.”

“That’s what this dress is for isn’t it? I thought it looked familiar.” She sighed, she could keep fighting but what did it matter when she still wanted to be with him anyway, “You really agree with all of this?”

"I’m doing it because I want ya to be safe.”

#wip wednesday #fan fiction #fc5 soulmate au #far cry 5 #jacob seed x female deputy #jacob seed #kit cross