Title: Filling the Hole (Part One)

Author: winbesters

Word Count: 1263

Character(s): Sonny Carisi, Olivia Benson

Summary: Since Nick Amaro left, you haven’t had a partner. Benson thinks it’s time you found a new one. 

Trigger Warnings: None

A/N: If you read this, I would appreciate a like or a message telling me so! I would like to continue with this, but only if a few people are actually reading it, so I’ll base my continuation on that. Thank you!

It had been two months since Nick left. There was hole within the squad, the precinct, but most importantly in you. You had never been one for partners- in school you always did projects alone, yet this hurt more than you could say. It wasn’t like you two were romantic, but the feeling tugging at your heart was more like losing a family member in a horrific, fiery car accident. A car accident that left the desk across from you empty and void of a body. 

Of course, Amanda and Finn were still intact and working cases with you, but it wasn’t the same like having a person that you knew you could always depend on, someone who would lie to Benson for you, someone who would take a bullet for you and vice versa. And on the subject of Benson, it wasn’t like she wasn’t trying to find a replacement, which of course infuriated you at the thought. Only two days after Amaro walked out that door, she hired a hick from South Carolina, who inadvertently ended up getting fired only three days later after complaints of sexual harassment by female cops in the building made their way to Benson. Thinking that you needed more time to process that the man who had been by your side for two years was gone, Benson gave you two more weeks without a partner, but ended up hiring a know-it-all from Bronx the following the week, who happened to quit four weeks later after someone hid a street rat in the lower compartment of his desk. Hmm, wonder who that would have been?

               After another two weeks, you were still alone. You felt guilty every time you went with Finn or Amanda because that meant one of their partners was always stuck with desk duty, so you took on the role of filing paperwork a majority of the time which was less than thrilling. The adventure-seeking blood running through your veins yearned to get back in the streets and take creeps down, but you stayed put to avoid your will to be alone getting in the way of your relationships with your coworkers. As you typed up the report on the latest case, you were shocked to hear Benson call your name from her office. As you turned and looked behind you, you saw her standing in the doorway with a file in her hand, motioning you towards her. You plucked the earbuds out of your ears and leapt up, striding over to her doorway. She held her arms out to show you in first as she followed behind. You stopped midway into the room and studied the desk which was filled to the brim with paperwork. God bless Benson and her dedication, you thought. Benson waltzed in and leaned on her desk, facing you while still clasping the file.

               “Detective Y/L/N, this is your new partner, Dominick Carisi.” Her voice shot out and she pointed to your left to reveal a man standing next to you, whom you even failed to notice. His hair was slicked back with what was presumed to be some of the thickest oil known to man, and his lips were curved into a polite smile. Wrinkles outlined his bright, hilariously hopeful eyes that glared at you while he held his hand out for a shake. You grasped onto his bony, yet strong fist and gave him a cautious smile. What was Benson thinking, bringing you another partner? Didn’t she know by now that you work best alone? Alright, not best, but better? You didn’t have to worry about another soul other than yourself. You didn’t have to worry about someone like you did for Nick ever again.

               “I-a, I go by Sonny, but nice to meet you,” You flashed your small smile again while he enthusiastically shook your hand up and down, almost as if he were trying to yank your arm out of its socket.

               You took your hand away, crossing your arms over your chest. “You can call me Y/N. Nice to meet you, too,” You replied. You could feel Benson’s glare on you like the fiery flames of hell.

               “I can’t wait to start working with you. I’ve heard nothing but great things about this squad and-,” He began rambling like a little child at the carnival, unsure of what ride he wanted to throw up on first.

               “Y/L/N,” Benson cut him off, thankfully. You started to feel embarrassed for the kid. “If you will, show Carisi to his new desk and introduce him to everyone, show him the ropes,”

               You smacked your lips in annoyance which you tried to cover. “You got it, boss,” Carisi still stood there like an excited puppy about to receive his first belly scratch.

               “But first, stay in here for a bit. Carisi, could you wait outside for a seond? And shut the door?” Benson requested as she stared at Sonny with the same look a mother would give to a child. He obliged and left the room, leaving you and your boss alone together.

               You stared at her and took a deep breath, preparing you for whatever lecture you were about to receive.

               “Y/N, I want you to give this one a chance. Please, for the sake of the squad,” She started as you rolled your eyes. You should have known this would be about him. This proves you were better off without a partner; you wouldn’t be getting talked down to if it weren’t for him. “I know that you butted heads with the last two, but I feel like Carisi is the guy for the job. Albeit, his perkiness can be a little obnoxious,” Thank god she said it before you could. “But I think he is the type of partner you need. His last sergeant said that he’s dedicated, loyal, and stands up for what’s right. He’s basically you in a nutshell, which is the type of detective I want working for Special Victims. I hope that you can put aside your pain from Nick’s departure-,”

               “Please, don’t talk about him,” You interjected, raising your finger to her while you paced back and forth from nervousness. She held her hands up to her chest, palms to you as if she were surrendering.

               “I’m sorry. Just please give this one a shot, Y/N. For me, for the squad, and for you,” She finished, giving you a stern yet caring look that breached into your heart. Benson always had a way of getting things across to people so that they could understand it better emotionally, and she was damn good at it. You stopped pacing and stared her for a second, but then dragged your eyes to the floor.

               “Fine. I’ll do it for you and the squad,” You began to tap your toes on the floor in anxiety as you heard her shuffle to stand up.

               “I was hoping you’d say that,” She said with a childlike smile, handing you the file that was in her hand. You took it and opened it, gazing over the paperwork that consisted of a photo of a young girl with bruising on her face, along with papers on a police report of an assault. “This is a report I just got from the cops in Syracuse. You and Carisi go meet the girl at the hospital. Good luck,”

               You couldn’t help but let a small grin sprawl across your face at the chance to get back in the action. Maybe having a partner wasn’t going to be so bad. Maybe.

Title: The C-Team, Chapter Three

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Author: walkingdean

Word Count: 2,854

Trigger Warnings: Blood, Cursing, Death

Summary: TFW & the reader investigate the house where the case happened when they realize what did it, and that it’s striking again. 

Fic:

    The air inside of the rustic car consisted of different emotions from every contemplating body in the vehicle. The rugged driver tugged at the gearshift with his leather jacket hanging just over his wrist comfortably, parking the beloved contraption. His brain was pumping with different reflections that he attempted to understand. A feeling of reluctance overcame him for he did not await the future- he never has due to the life that he has lived so far. The longer he lived, the more suffering he endured such as going to hell, his brother losing his soul, and the worst fate of all- the death of his parents that he had never recovered from. He hadn’t known the prophet in the backseat for long. Hell, he had only known her for about four hours at this point, but he didn’t want her to die. He never wanted anyone to die while the Winchesters were reigning over a case, yet it was different with her. She was so innocent to what she could do with her abilities and Dean felt as if he had to guide her because he had nursed Sam during his tribulations years ago with his abilities from the Yellow-Eyed Demon, Azazel. Call it poetic, but Dean felt that he was meant to be her shepherd- if shepherds had the overwhelming feeling that they were going to fall in love with the sheep. On the other hand, Sam had formed the idea that she could almost act like a sister in his life. He felt no romantic attraction for he felt Dean could barely keep his pants on around her, so whatever sort of relationship he felt with her was completely platonic. However, Castiel felt slight resentment towards her due to the past of her type of prophet and the literal hell that they had risen up in the past.  The angel was wary of her and his prediction that he hoped would not come to fruition. And finally, the prophet sat in the back seat just attempting to process what had happened in the past week; she had witnessed a murder, sent to a mental institution, and was now in a car with two supernatural hunters and an angel of the Lord. And you thought your week has been crazy?

               Dean stumbled out of the Impala as his eyes adjusted to the harsh sunlight that struck down on the ground like rain during a hurricane. The rest of the crew quickly followed behind, yet she had hesitation about getting out. The yellow hazard tape that dressed the front yard of the Peterson house was almost as vibrant as the blood that had spilt out of the youngest member of the clan just days ago. The grass was annoyingly green and happy unlike the rest of the houses that rested on the block. No more cop cars harassed the street for they took all of the evidence that they could and called it quits on the investigation; she had it in the back of her mind that the cops probably assumed her as the prime suspect as of now, but she could barely care. She just wanted the hideous being that took an innocent life off the streets.

               “So, why exactly do we have to come back here?” She questioned as she struggled to catch up with the crew. “I’m pretty sure the cops would have found anything worthwhile,”

               Dean shook his head in disagreement has he charged on towards the house of horrors, or rather his ‘job’ in his point of view. Sam was matching him in his stride while Castiel was behind them and the prophet followed. “The cops would look for anything physical: weapons, blood, signs of a struggle. We get that information from them, which we don’t need because we have you, and then we look at the unnatural side of the case: smells, plasmas or ectoplasm, and the behavior of the flesh-easting bastard. We’re like the CSI cast revamped, I guess,”

               Sam casted a side glance to his brother, his eyebrow cocked and a smirk spread on his lips. “I thought you said you hated procedural cop shows? Are you watching them like you watch Doctor Sexy?”

               Castiel had a grin grow like a wildflower on his face at the banter that was nonetheless true. Dean rolled his eyes dramatically as his cheeks blushed in embarrassment. “Anyhow, if you could just go inside the house and get any vibes from the place that have importance, let us know. We’ll be doing the investigating,”

               Dean saw no harm in his directions, yet irritation bubbled up inside the angelic being for he saw it as Dean encouraging the ticking time bomb to take advantage of her powers and increase their effectiveness. She still had no clue as to what she possessed, and Castiel wanted to keep it that way, but Dean wasn’t helping. Cas felt as if Dean was doing it on purpose as he could tell that Dean had already formed a connection with the prophet; he probably thought that if she found out what she really was, she could learn to control it sooner but the angel had his doubts with that scenario. Hopefully, she would become scared enough of what she can do that she’ll stop using her abilities for good.

     Whenever Dean rested his hand on the doorknob to the front door after he had finished picking it, she could feel her chest swell tremendously with anticipation and reluctance. Of course, she wanted to help in any fashion she could for Jacob deserved that at the least, but she was circumspect to even setting the sole of her foot within the haunted house. The brothers and the angel had already made their way inside and were poking around the kitchen and living room that looked the exact same way it did the last time she was there. She could picture Jacob running around in his Hawkeye pajamas that he always got picked on for by other kids when he mentioned it. He wasn’t a huge fan of the Hulk, Iron Man, or Captain America. He always sided with the lesser known, the underdog without even realizing it. He had a good heart that was horrifically ripped from him.

      Castiel stood inside of the home, waiting for the prophet to breach into the stained area. “Are you coming?” He asked. There was a hint of annoyance that wasn’t hidden very well in his voice. Sam and Dean glanced behind them to see the prophet still standing on the porch, then when back to plundering through cabinets and pulling out their EMF reader to scan around. They didn’t worry too much because they assumed it wouldn’t be the easiest thing for her to come back to the unholy ground, but Castiel lacked the human knowledge to understand that. She glared at him with her eyes beginning to water. She placed a foot on the hardwood flooring which sent shocks of electricity through her legs and up to her brain. Soon enough, her entire body was inside as she decided to stride up the stairs to the bedroom that Jacob took his last breath in. As she walked down the lengthy hall, the aura of the house was becoming a force to reckon with. Along with the ability to see spirits, the power to get energy from people, places, and things also came along with the package for her. Whenever she was first hired, she could tell the Peterson’s were good-natured, do-well people that would kill a fly. Whenever she had shaken Mr. Peterson’s hand, she received the knowledge that he had been in New York whenever 9/11 had taken place; he was one of the citizens that helped rescue stranded victims on the first couple of bottom floors. He was meant to die that day, but he didn’t. And she knew this. Whenever she had hugged Mrs. Peterson, she learned that she had recently had a miscarriage and it was to be a girl, but she lost it after she was in a car accident two months before. All of this was learned the first time she met the family when she responded to their ad in the paper. She has yet to touch either of the Winchester’s or Castiel with her hands, so she wasn’t too familiar with their back story, but the vibe they gave off was coated in pain and misfortune. Most people had this, but it was only for a moment because something put them in a bad mood. However, these two had a stigma about them that made them seem like swirling vortexes of suffering.

     She came to the end of the hall that led into Jacob’s messy room. Legos and toy arrows from his Hawkeye playset were always scattered around like lethal, fun booby traps that could make a person want to amputate their foot if they were to put their weight on it. Yellow tape outlined where his body was devoured on the carpet; blood still stained the white flooring like fine wine that was spilt too soon. She rested her head on the archway and crossed her arms in thought. She was fighting hard not to cry, especially since she didn’t want any of them to see it. Footsteps were ringing behind her as they marched their way up the stairs and made their way to her back, peering over her at the scene.

     “Are you okay, Y/N? It’s okay if you want to go back to the car for a bit,” Sam expressed as his brooding figure glared down at her. His eyes glanced over to the red splatters as his mind tried to fathom what had caused them.

     “Yeah, I’m okay, Sam. It’s just weird being back here. It doesn’t seem real. I’m still expecting Jacob to put his gum in my hair whenever I tell him he can’t go outside,” She chuckled faintly to herself as she lifted her head off of the arch and strode into the bedroom that once housed a kindred soul. Her feet were wary to not intrude on any of the blood or the way that Jacob had “organized” his room with toys scattered everywhere. She placed her hand on the bed which gave her images in her head of him bouncing with jubilee upon the mattress to his parents’ dismay. Sam was poking around the room curiously, opening every drawer and door with expectance. He eventually made his way to the window where he crouched down.

      “Was this open the night that the attack happened?” He questioned her. She stared at him for a moment, trying to remember, but she couldn’t.

      “I’m not sure. Jacob would open it sometimes so he could launch arrows outside on the neighbor’s cat. I can probably get a read off of it and it’ll tell me if it was, if that’s alright,”

      “Yeah, that’s fine. Whatever will work,” Sam agreed as he scooted over to make room for her. She gazed at the glass for what seemed like a millennium trying to prepare herself for what she would see, and Sam could tell there was some hesitation. “Whatever you see, it’ll help us get rid of whatever took him, alright? This is for him. Not for you, Dean, or me. This is for him,”

       His eyes poured into hers deeply which sent a wave of reassurance through her as she placed her hand upon the glass. Image upon imagine soared through her mind as she shut her eyes to see them better play out. First, she saw an older man handling the window as he installed it into the hole in the wall while he was on a ladder outside. That flew from her eyesight as it was replaced with children leaping in front of the window, jumping from couch to couch. They were dressed as if it was the seventies with their short hair and bellbottomed jeans. After that slung itself away, Jacob appeared getting dressed in his favorite pajamas, turned away from the window. It was closed. It slowly started to rise as Jacob turned around to find the source of the noise was something creeping in through the hole. The lock turned violently, but before he could call for help, the being tore into him, rendering him speechless. He could hear her threatening to call his parents which he didn’t want, but he couldn’t open the door. Tears began to run down his face-.

      She yanked her hand away from the paneling before she went even deeper. Tears began to swell in her eyes as her throat closed tighter than a virgin’s legs on Easter. She rubbed her hand on her jeans to rid herself of the oil that she collected from it as she sniffled quietly. Sam stared at her with his eyes growing in concern. “It was closed. I saw the thing open the window from outside,”

      “Are you okay?” He asked. Of course he was concerned that the window had been closed, but he was more preoccupied with the emotional heap in front of him. She nodded her head.

      “Yeah, I’m fine. I just saw more than what was necessary,” The prophet explained as she sat on the floor next to Sam who was still crouching. “So what does the closed window mean?”

    He sighed and decided to give up on talking about her emotions. “Well, while you were doing that, whatever it’s called-,”

    “Reading,”

     “Okay, well. While you were reading, I noticed something on the outside of the window,” He revealed as he slid his finger against the outside ledge to reveal a yellow powder coating his finger.

     She furrowed her brows as she leaned in closer to it. “What? That’s just pollen,” She shrugged her shoulders in confusion.

   “Smell it,” He ordered and she did to which he received a face of disgust in return. He smiled softly at the childish reaction. “That’s sulfur. Whenever ghosts are somewhere, they sometimes leave this behind. A ghost wouldn’t need to open the window. It could just walk through walls if it wanted to,”

     She bit her lip in puzzlement. “So, you’re saying we’re hunting something that’s a ghost, but not a ghost?”

    Footsteps were beginning to sound on the stairs. Sam nodded his head. “Yeah, good job. The only thing we have to do is figure out what it is and how to kill it,”

    Dean and Castiel waltzed into the room suavely. Castiel began to fiddle with the Legos on the ground as Dean made his way over to the sitting prophet and younger brother. Dean decided to plop himself down as well. “Thought I’d join the campfire crew. What’s next? Are we going to sing Kumbaya My Lord?”

    Sam and the prophet rolled their eyes as Sam began to relay the information to his brother who had found nothing downstairs. “So, you’re saying we have a monster that’s not a monster, and a ghost that’s not a ghost? What the hell?” Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out the drawing from a few hours ago as he gazed at it. His eyes flickered to her. “If this thing had to resemble any animal, what would it be?”

     Everyone in the room, including the distant Castiel, furrowed their brows in confusion. “I…I guess a human? Arms, legs, a face, a torso,”

      “Sammy, I know what this is. You remember a few years ago whenever we were in Douglas, Georgia and bodies kept going missing from the morgue?”

    Sam nodded his head, but still seemed to not make the connection. “Yeah…but how does this relate?”

     “Well, it turns out it was monster that liked to dine on dead bodies. I think this is the same thing, it’s just gone rogue. It’s killing people to eat their bodies,” Dean’s head bobbed enthusiastically as a lightbulb seemed to illuminate brightly over Sam’s head.

    “Oh, yeah! It was that Jikininki. That would explain why Y/N thought it was a ghost, left sulfur behind, and needed an entryway,”

     The prophet glared at the brothers with her eyes growing bigger by the second. “Okay. I’m sorry, but what the hell is a Jikininki?”

     Dean inhaled as he revealed the information. “It comes from Japanese Buddhism. It’s basically a ghost that’s reincarnated as a monster that feasts on dead bodies as punishment for being greedy in their physical life. In this case, the asswipe has started killing people in order to feed. All we need to know is how to gank the fu-,”

     Dean stopped his sputtering lips in their tracks as he observed the prophet, Sam doing the same. A glazed over look rocked around in her eyes, her mouth faintly hanging open. Dean placed his hand on her shoulder and shook her slightly. “Hey, Y/N. What’s the matter?”

    Her eyes focused back to him quickly as all the blood drained from her face. “It’s back,” She confessed as she returned to stare at a seemingly blank wall that was behind the figure of her mother-who was missing her skin, just like Jacob.

Title: I Love You

Author: walkingdean

Word Count: 1629

Trigger Warnings: Sexual Content, Cursing, Mention of blood

Request: Maybe a twd one where ur daryls daughter and you go on a run with other group members, get stuck because of a herd/horde and ended up being separated and he looks for you?

           Perhaps it was the debilitating stench of decaying bodies that lingered in the area or the fact that no one had showered in months, but you couldn’t muster up the desire to respond to Carl’s insistent and flirty suggestions. You told yourself that it was just the less than desirable surroundings that had mutated you to be immune towards the young boy’s wishes of making out in one of the deserted buildings, but it wasn’t the truth. Plain and simple. The buried reason was something that you couldn’t stop thinking about even though you knew it was downright foolish, lacking any credibility. Everyone had gone through some sort of loss, some people being family and others’ being their luxurious lifestyles they used to possess. For you and your father, Daryl, it was something different. You were thankful that a rotting, hellish being from satan’s womb had not dug it’s teeth into your dad yet and turned him into a nightmare, so you felt guilty when your emotions crept back in. You knew that this was a stressful time that was layered in bloodshed, so you kept the belief that your feelings of your father not loving you were unimportant compared to other things. He had other things to worry about: food, shelter, survival. You kept this in mind every time you wanted to voice your opinion, so here you were trudging through the rotten streets with Carl by your side. You had your eyesight fixed on the city hall building at the end of the stretch, keeping watch for walkers with Carl’s feet poking into the bottom of your eyesight with each step he took.

           “So…I think I saw a mattress on the floor in that building back there,” The young boy suggested as he continued his steady pace next to you, tucking his hands into his pockets. A smirk was on his lips for a few seconds, but it faded like the sun on the rise of nightfall whenever he saw that your bleak expression had not faltered. “What’s wrong? Walker got your tongue?”

           You took a deep breath without moving your eyes from the wrecked cars and dead bodies ahead, which you were used to by now. “It’s just… It’s a little stupid, Carl. I mean, I know my dad is one of the main gatherers for the group, like your dad. There’s a lot of pressure put on them to keep this miserable bunch afloat, you know? I just feel like sometimes my dad cares for everyone else before me. God, I sound terrible saying that out loud,” You stopped walking and covered your face with your hands, fighting the tears that were dancing around the corners of your eyes. Carl marched in front of you, put his hands around your wrists, and forced your arms down to reveal your wet eyes. His irises seemed to infect yours with a virus of understanding.

           “Babe, I know you’re a terrible person,” He joked which resulted in you giggling softly at his attempt to get you to smile. “But you know your dad loves you. If he didn’t he wouldn’t try to satisfy everyone in the group in order to keep you guys in. You’ve always been his main priority, even over that damned crossbow, beer, or anyone else in the group,” You flashed him a small grin as you allowed your lips to collide with his and mix both emotions emitting from you two. “Now, how about you put that mattress back there as one of your priorities?”

           “I’m going to start making an itinerary for these runs because all we ever do is hookup in a worse place than the last time,” You sighed as you stood up, buttoning your shirt back together. Carl was in the corner, sliding his pants back onto his dirt-stained hips. You shook your head to yourself as you thought about the both of you shacking up while everyone else was trying to gather supplies. That’s seventeen year olds for you.

           “Oh, come on. That place over in Valdosta wasn’t too shabby. Wasn’t it in like, a music store or something? That was romantic” He murmured from the other side of the room while finishing up covering his body again in the dingy clothes. You began to grab your weapons and assemble them back onto your body as he did the same, and continued outside together.

           “Carl, it was a funeral home run by a family with the last name of Music. I swear to God. I don’t know which is worse: you not remember that place or us being so used to being surrounded by dead bodies we could do it right then and there,” It wasn’t long before the two of you were walking in sync, approaching Daryl and Rick who were loading tons of supplies into the back of the truck. Today had obviously been successful without the help of you two.  

           “Where have you love birds been?” Rick muttered as he handed Daryl another load of food to toss in the back. Both of them had sweat radiating off their bodies in the Georgia heat from the excessive amount of work. Your dad kept giving Carl darting looks as Rick had a sly smirk on his lips that Carl was reflecting. Oh, the awkwardness.

           Carl took in a breath as he relaxed his hands onto his torso. “Well, we were searching buildings with no luck and we see why. You two ransacked them all before we could. Woah, what’s that? Cream corn?” The giddiness in his voice was something that couldn’t be left alone as you and Rick began to chuckle at the child-like innocence that emerged within him. You stared at your father, tension rising in your head. You waltzed over to the truck, hopped into the bed and began to take the boxed from him instead of his arms stretching to plop the supplied down.

           “Thanks, darlin’. I appreciate it, but I don’t appreciate you being reckless with Carl. You have to be alert when you’re out on the field. Remember when I used to take you huntin’ on Sunday mornings?”

           You weren’t surprised for this conversation to turn into a lecture, so you just let it unravel. “Yeah, daddy. I remember that time uncle Merle told you that you could pee on an electric fence and that the myths of getting shocked were bullshit,” You chuckled softly to yourself as Daryl spread a gentle smile of his own.

           “Haha,” he mocked as he continued. “Anyway, we’re the deer now, Y/N. The deadies walking around, they’re us but with bigger guns: a sickness. I can’t let my doe go runnin’ off into danger, especially when it’s huntin’ season,”

           “Alright, daddy. I understand,”

           This recollection of memories began to flood your mind as you tuned into the herd right above you. The image of your father kept flashing into your head as your eyes scanned for anything that could be used in case a walker found their way in. Nothing. You had slid into a broken window that belonged to an abandoned apartment that seemed otherwise untouched. That seemed to be good news, but unfortunately you found your way in here over two hours ago. Either your group was dead or they gave up on the search for you, both thoughts being extremely difficult to process. In your heart you knew you hoped that they had gone on without you so they’d still be alive, but you also knew your dad would be asking where you were at and even the smallest glimpse of his tears in your imagination would spark a chain reaction in your eyes.

           You slid your back on the wall next to window and lowered yourself down onto the floor, covering your face with your hands since that’s what you do when you’re upset. It was polite to say that you had given up hope, but in the harsher truth you had about as much hope as Jack did in that water. You were so distraught your mind began to fill your head with illusions of your dad’s crossbow plunging arrows into the scalps of the walkers outside. Hell, it was almost like you could hear it.

           “Get the hell up,” Your dad’s hands gathered your body as he tore through the window and led you out past the remainder of the walkers. He would dodge and pick his arrows back up from the heads of the unfortunate souls on the ground and reuse them in the bodies of other hellish beings to lead you back to his motorcycle. It wasn’t long before you both were zooming away from the ditch of blood in the distance. Whenever it was safe, Daryl stopped his mode of transportation and hopped off of it, covering his mouth with his hands out of residual anger and fear. You stood off of the motorcycle and walked over to him.

           “Listen, dad. I’m sorry I went even though you didn’t want me to. I just wanted to show you that I’m capable of putting forth an effort for the group. I needed to show you that I’m grown and that I can take care of myself because I know you have all of those other people to care for-,”

           “Y/N, I love you so much. If you ever put yourself in that kind of danger again, I swear to God I’ll kill you faster than any of those lurkers can,”

           “That’s all I needed to hear, dad.”

walkingdean:

PROLOGUE

AUTHOR: walkingdean

WORD COUNT: 2037

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Cursing, Blood, Weapons

CHAPTER ONE

Whenever a piece of literature writes about a stairwell, it usually dresses the reader’s imagination with some image of a magnificent, beautifully carved structure of wood that…

swiftdean:

Title: Sleepover

Author: swiftdean

Word Count: 1646

Trigger Warnings: Cursing, Blood, Violence

Request: oh ok… so can you write a Daryl x Reader one where the reader rescues Daryl (when he went to find Sophia sometime in season 2 and had that leg injury and hallucinations) and when she…

Title: Sleepover

Author: swiftdean

Word Count: 1646

Trigger Warnings: Cursing, Blood, Violence

Request: oh ok… so can you write a Daryl x Reader one where the reader rescues Daryl (when he went to find Sophia sometime in season 2 and had that leg injury and hallucinations) and when she returns him to the farm is also shot by Andrea by mistake? Then Daryl is concerned about her since the injury is somewhat life-threatening? Thank you :)

Fic:

    The leaves circling the ground and the roots polluting their way to the top of the messy dirt were just obstacles in your way to a more important mission. If you had it your way, you would eliminate every single piece of foliage in the forest just in order to find him- your him. If only he were a vampire from Twilight and could glimmer brightly in the sunshine so I can find him, you thought. Unfortunately, he was not a supernatural being that could glow brighter than the sun, but in your eyes he did. Not physically, but emotionally. He gave off the vibe of being some tough, won’t-take-shit country thug, but you knew that was just a cover up. The minute he heard of Sophia’s disappearance, he leaped into action to locate the little girl- he didn’t even think about his own safety first. That was how he truly shined. 

     "Daryl! Daryl! Can you hear me?“ You tried to yell as loud as you could without enticing any nearby Walkers, but loud enough to get your screech across. No answer. Your eyes prodded every inch of that forest, searching for just one little sign of the youngest Dixon brother. Maybe a stray arrow would protrude from the ground, but there wasn’t any. The only thing you saw were skid marks on the band of a lake. Holy shit. You sped down to where the track led and there he lie on his back, knocked out. He seemed to be in a deep sleep, but his head would tilt every now and then in convulsion like movements. Mud clung to almost every inch of his beloved leather vest, leaving the wings coated in the mess. Even the back of his head was dressed in the semisolid, but you didn’t care. You crouched down next to him as you placed both palms on his cheeks, caressing his face. His lips would move every now and then in inaudible speakings, but at least he was still alive. 
      "Merle…you son of a bitch…” Daryl’s voice softly muttered as his eyes began to flutter feverishly. “Get away…”
     A look of panic struck your face at the sheer look of how out of it he was, so you searched your bag for any source of water you could find and dumped it in his throat. The liquid spilled out occasionally and ran down his chin, but you still managed to get some of it down his throat to help cure his obvious dehydration. Sputtering, Daryl sat up with still a slight look of confusion on his face, but he seemed a little bit more back to earth. You moved your hands to his thighs, resting on him as you poured your eyes into his. They were almost as mesmerizing as the water that was flowing in the lake behind you two.
     "Daryl, are you alright? What the hell happened?“ You whispered as you waited for an answer. He raised his arms and rubbed his eyes which left little traces of mud around his hairline. "Who the fuck is Merle?” You cried.
     His gaze broke from yours as he stared at the flowing water for a few seconds in silence. “Nobody,” He replied. Nobody? Merle was somebody, and you knew it. He shook your hands from his body and began to collect himself as he grabbed his crossbow from the ground and marched back into the forest as if nothing had happened. Bullshit, you thought. You hiked your figure right up behind him and shoved him harshly from the back.
     "What the hell, Daryl? You tell me ‘bout your past, your old dreams, and all that lovey dovey shit whenever you’re drunk, but you leave out the part 'bout someone named Merle that you obviously despise? Oh, okay. I get it, then,“ Your ranting continued to flow from your mouth like a dam that had burst open in a river of anger. You crossed your arms defiantly as he stopped in his tracks. You could almost see smoke erupting from his ears from all the irritation. He whisked his body hastily towards you, shoving his finger in your face. All that closeness even made the thought of wishing that finger was shoved somewhere else cross your mind.
     "You know what, you don’t know shit, Y/N. Merle is my brother. A low life piece of shit who’s probably dead out there somewhere. So please, forgive me if I don’t want to braid each other’s hair and whisper secrets about each other’s life while we discuss boys, alright? If you want to, I’ll go pop some fuckin’ popcorn for movie night since you obviously think that this is a goddamn sleepover!” He yelled with so much confidence and passion in his voice, it made goose bumps sprout onto every inch of your body. “Well, wake up, honey! This isn’t a dream.”
     Towards the end of his rant, your back had ended up pressed into the sharp bark of a tree that was digging painfully into your skin, but you were too frightened to move. Your chest was moving almost as wildly as his was so they seemed almost in unison, like drums beating with the same amount of anger. You knew that Daryl had a temper, but you never saw this side of him. This pointed your mental compass to the fact that his brother, Merle, must have really mattered to the ray of light in front of you. It was tough, but you had to let his words go.
     "Let’s just get back to the camp, alright?“ You briskly sighed as you pushed passed Daryl and made your way back to the camp, fighting back tears. You lost your struggle, though as you let the tears drop slowly down your cheeks. You had to fight to violently sob because it would worry Daryl and it may also attract Walkers. The apocalypse has more downsides that you could imagine. You can’t even cry without fearing for your life.

     You could faintly see the RV in the distance, Andrea sitting on top of it as usual. You ended up having to slow down after the heat of the Georgia sun began to affect you, which also altered your gait slightly from exhaustion, so basically you looked like your bones were just melting away. The weight of the mud sticking to your clothing wasn’t helping you either. "Now when we get in there, just tell carol you didn’t see a damn thing involving Sophia. Don’t try to lie to give her hope or nothin’.” You murmured under your breath. You could hear Daryl grunt in agreement as he tried to trudge along the tall grasses. “Do you think that little girl is still out there? I mean, I ain’t tryin’ to be a Debbie Downer or anything, but I know it’s what we’ve all been thinkin’. I know it’s what you’ve been thinkin’,”
     "Y/N, I just wish Carol could see that. She’s done lost her husband, which was a blessing as she says, but I don’t see how she coulda lost a daughter, too. I know this world is fucked, but it can’t be that fucked,“ Daryl protested as he began to catch up with you slightly. Andrea’s gun went off as probably a testing shot, but it didn’t phase Daryl until he realized that you stopped dead in your tracks. "What?” He asked you, but you couldn’t utter a response. “Y/N, this isn’t funny. What are you starin’ at?” He began to creep closer to you, staring at you in bewilderment. Whenever he came to the front of your body, he found out why you weren’t responding. A pool of blood was circulating on the front of your shirt on the corner of your lower abdomen. You were in shock from the horrendous pain- you could barely move. Blood began to arise in your throat as you began to cough it up, some of it even landing on Daryl. As you began to collapse, his arms eloped themselves around you, but that was the last thing you saw as your eyes clamped shut.

     "Goddamit, Rick! We can’t just sit here as she bleeds to death! I say we go out and search the nearest hospitals for a doctor, a surgeon, even!“ Daryl’s voice penetrated the air almost as sharp as Andrea’s bullet pummeled your stomach, except his voice didn’t hurt nearly as much. Pain was radiating throughout your stomach so intensely, you could barely mobilize yourself. Hershel’s pleasant eyes appeared into your line of sight as he smiled softly. 

     "We’re gonna get you fixed up, darlin’,” The older man whispered into your ear calmly as he began to dab your wound with bunched up cloths. Streaks of red bleached the white fabrics or at least that’s what you could see out of the corner of your eyes. Hershel waltzed over to Rick and Daryl, whom of which was still arguing. “She’s awake-”
     Daryl didn’t even wait to hear the last of the vet’s words as he ran to your bedside in anticipation. You looked over at him slightly and began to softly giggle even though you were still thriving in pain. “What the hell is so funny, Y/N? I’m pretty damn sure the bullet didn’t hit your funny bone,”
     You sighed as you revealed what had amused you so much. “It’s just that the positions had been swapped not too long ago. I was at your side while you were knocked out of your mind and covered in mud, and now you’re at my side while I’m covered in blood,” Another giggle fell off of your lips as Daryl’s lips cracked slightly as well.
     "Well, now that you’re in a bed, I guess this is a sleep over. I’ll go pop some popcorn, and we can discuss Merle,“

swiftdean:

Prologue: Welcome To The Group

Title: Welcome To The Group

Author: swiftdean

Word Count: 2153

Trigger Warnings: Cursing, Blood, Weapons

A/N: So, this is my first Walking Dead one shot. I tried to write the characters appropriate to their personalities without divulging too much of…

swiftdean:

Prologue: Welcome To The Group

Title: Welcome To The Group

Author: swiftdean

Word Count: 2153

Trigger Warnings: Cursing, Blood, Weapons

A/N: So, this is my first Walking Dead one shot. I tried to write the characters appropriate to their personalities without divulging too much of…

                             Prologue: Welcome To The Group

Title: Welcome To The Group

Author: swiftdean

Word Count: 2153

Trigger Warnings: Cursing, Blood, Weapons

A/N: So, this is my first Walking Dead one shot. I tried to write the characters appropriate to their personalities without divulging too much of what I have planned. Let me know what you think!

Fic:

      I still remember the day that Satan’s fists came knocking on earth’s door, shaking everyone’s courage and optimism. Those who had dreams of becoming doctors, lawyers, porn stars- all of them were probably gone now, or so I believed. The doctor had his patient feverishly bite into his neck, the lawyer’s defendant tore into her stomach with his bare teeth, with seemingly no cognizance of what he was doing. The porn star- well, I don’t really want to get into that one. I mean, sure it sounds like the goddamn apocalypse, which I’m not saying it isn’t, but it wasn’t like how old Hollywood depicted it. Man, were they off? No raggedy, lurid arms punched through six feet of dirt in the ground to feast upon the living flesh like they said there would be. There wasn’t a varsity football player named Tommy who saved the cheerleading captain, Julie, from being a feast to the living dead and would then wander off into the sunset like they said there would be, either. Based on what I’ve observed of other people, Tommy was probably shot in the head by Julie after he turned, only for the gunshot to alert more Walker’s to feed on the cheerleader. The matter of the fact is, this wasn’t a Hollywood movie; in fact, it was a production that was sponsored by hell itself, and I was one of the leading stars.

      “Oh, shit,” My voiced wandered through the alleyway quietly, contrasting against the loud clash of my gun falling to the ground beneath me.I was leaning over the rooftop of an abandoned library that I had managed to break into, not like there would be anyone living there to stop me. My arms were dangling over the brick-lined ledge as I let my cheek settle onto the foundation in defeat. That was my last weapon. No knives or screwdrivers were equipped in my back pocket or backpack; all of those had been lodged in Walker’s heads that were unable to be retrieved. So there I was, stuck on a rooftop that would collapse into itself any moment with Walkers on the roof next to it. I had planned on jumping since I had a weapon, but I saw that wasn’t a choice anymore. I pried my body from the harsh bricks beneath me and began to scavenge the area. My eyes poked around as my hands fumbled in rummage that was repulsive, especially to my gag reflex. I had to fight the urge to vomit on the roof because well, I had stuffed myself with canned peaches I located in one of the offices at the library. I didn’t even really read the label; it was food and I was happy, so I scarfed it down. If I were to hack the fruit all over the place, I would have to force myself to eat it. I know that’s more disgusting than Robin Thicke, but it would be what I had to do to preserve energy, so I forced the throw up back down to where it belonged. I lifted a large sheet of metal off of one section of the roof to uncover a cordless drill. Oh, great. That would help. I could totally turn it on and annoy the Walkers away. Not. I took the drill with me anyway and kept searching through the nearby debris where I found a small plastic baggie filled with nails. Not the kind that were shaken in your face whenever your prissy kindergarten teacher would nag you for eating glue, but the kind you could… drill. There were tons of fragments of wood laying around- fragments long, wide, and thick enough to support your weight. “Thank you, God,” I sighed as you hauled ass to the other side of the roof to begin your project. I placed one board on the edge of the bricks, praying to god the nail wouldn’t break against it- it didn’t. A small smile of victory plastered on my face, but I wasn’t going to jinx myself with happiness just yet. I still had the rest of the bridge to build. I pulled out the next piece of wood and drilled it onto the edge of the first. I placed the tip of the nail on the right side of the board, prepared to bury it deep in the wood, but a sudden boom stopped my motions. Out of instinct, I scuttled away from the ledge and crouched to where I was not able to be seen, but I could still see what was going on myself. My eyes shot to the rooftop that had been plagued with walkers next to me; some of them started falling down in defeat, blood splattering out of their skulls as they collapsed into a deadly mess of rotten skin and flesh. Gunshots were ringing like massive canon balls since I was relatively close and the walkers in the street below were crazed with anticipation to find a way to the new found humans. I crept up a little bit in order to see more of the insane battle occurring right in front of me, my fingers dressing themselves over the edge of the building until a sharp pain stung my left pinky finger; a bullet had skid by my hand. It was more than a bee sting, but less than an amputation. “Holy shit!” I screamed in agony, yanking my hand back over. The gunshots stopped and so did the final sounds of the living dead on the roof next to me. Footsteps could be heard crunching on the rocks that covered the space near me on the fellow building, then stopped.
      “Put down your weapon, stand up with your hands raised. We don’t want any trouble, not on your side,” The harsh voice rang. I glanced down at the drill in my hand, contemplating if to use it or not, but what could I even do with that? The item plopped to the ground as I stood up, my back to the figure talking to me, hands raised next to my head. My eyes scanned for any solution to this predicament, but I could not find a panacea. “Turn around!” The voice called. It was a man’s voice, I knew that for sure. Slowly, I churned my body to my new-found captain. His drastic look shocked my eyes as I took him in. He had dark brown hair with streaks of grey starting to protrude through that and his scruffy beard to match. His clothing was coated in blood too light to have been a Walker’s, but at least it seemed old. That meant it was either his own or he hadn’t committed a murder any time recently. He held the gun straight at me with confidence as if he had killed someone before. I wasn’t sure which exactly I was hoping to be the answer. Next to him stood another man who had longer hair, but near the same color. His beard was not as full as the other man’s, and had a different weapon than a gun. I couldn’t decipher what it was since I was so far away, but I knew it looked dangerous.
      “You alone?” The scruffy man called. Fear was starting to infest my body. I was used to being a little frightened of the Walkers, but not other living people.
      “Yeah, but I see you’re not,” I yelled back over. He grinned slightly as he looked over to the man next to him as he mumbled something that was inaudible. He didn’t seem like he was going to kill me, or at least so far.
      “How long have you been alone, by yourself, I mean? Have you ever been apart of any groups?” He questioned. I felt like I was being interrogated like a criminal, but I was going along with it.
      “Just about since this whole thing started. I was with my family the first week the shit hit the fan until what happens to everyone happened to them. I’ve been touring around the south, looking for any place safe. And no. I’ve never been in a group. Do those even exist?” I shouted.              Both men tilted their heads in disbelief as they glared at me with uncertainty. I decided to try to take control of the situation I felt so undermined in. I had been on my own for a long time, and conversing with people was something I wasn’t really used to anymore, especially not being in charge of what I do. “Can I like, jump over to that rooftop over there? That was the original plan and this roof isn’t too sturdy over here. I brush shoulders with death everyday, but I don’t really want to tell everyone in heaven I died because I landed on the teen romance section,”
       The man stuck his arm out, shaking his hand to motion that it was okay. I strapped my bag back onto my back, backed up, and got a running start. My feet slid like skates on ice as I flew from the ground and caught my arms on the ledge of the other building. I was expecting them to just leave me dangling there, fending for myself, but they didn’t. The other man who’s weapon turned out to be a crossbow, heaved me up to their level. They were significantly taller than me, and seemed to have more years on their faces. Both men were in their late thirties or early forties, or maybe they were teenagers like I was, but all the hysteria stressed them out to the point where they looked older. Who knew?
      “Thanks…I guess,” I muttered as I straightened out my bag and flipped my hair out of my face. “The name’s Y/N, but you can just call me the crazy bitch you tried to shoot off of a building,”
      “Rick. This is Daryl. We just have three questions to ask you before we take you anywhere, if we take you at all. Answer these honestly, and we’ll have no problems, okay?”
      I nodded my head in agreement as I waited for the quiz to begin. Daryl had remained quiet, still.
      “How many Walkers you killed?”
      “At least fifty, if not more. I kill just about everyone that poses a threat.”
      “Have you killed anyone?”
      “Yes.”
      His eyes didn’t falter from my face whenever I answered that last question. It was a little unnerving how relaxed he was about the fact of having a murderer in his midst. Oh, God. He was a murderer!
        “Why?” He finally pushed out. I noticed his hand reach for his gun tightly, but he didn’t pull it completely out of the holster quite yet. I better tell the truth, right?
      “It was the third week of hell on earth. I jacked a car to drive around a bit to find an army base to find refuge, but my car broke down. I got out whenever a woman and her little boy came running from the woods; the mother screaming, the boy crying. I got out my gun and knife and prepared to help the best I could. There was probably only about three Walkers to take down, which I could do, but before I could get the gun level to take them down, the woman threw the child to the Walkers so she could save herself. The boy couldn’t have been more than five. I shot the Walkers and she came over to thank me for saving her life and said it was okay that I couldn’t save the boy. I wanted to kill her, trust me. I wanted to put the barrel of the gun in her mouth and pull the trigger, but I didn’t. Instead, she ran back over to where the Walkers were to retrieve the shoe that popped off during the attack whenever the boy came back and started gnawing on her leg. She screamed for help, but I just got back in my car and left her. I could see her in the rear view mirror as more began to circle her. I constitute that as murder.” I had to take a deep breath after finally releasing that story that I hadn’t told a soul, but I found myself telling these two men about that misadventure. Was it because I wanted them to take me to safety or because I wanted to be honest and get it off my chest? I wasn’t sure.
      Rick bit his lip as he stared at the ground for a few moments. The grip on his gun let go as his armed drooped down lazily to his side. He shared a look with Daryl as the country-fied boy wandered away, down the stairwell that had led them to the roof. I gazed at Rick, my irises painted with intense anxiety.
       "Welcome to the group,“

I’m about to write some walking dead fanfiction if anyone has a prompt in mind

Title: Shitty Situation

Author: constipatedsam

Word Count: 1,066

Based on this

Trigger Warnings: Cursing, Sexual moment

A/N: its funny how my url corresponds with this lmao 

Fic:

      “Dean, that burns!” Your shrill voice pierced the air as it blended with the water falling like a passionate waterfall from the cheap motel shower head. Faint rust stains danced gaily around the holes in the steel that must have been instilled in the head fifty years ago when it was made. Tiles surrounding the tub were peeling off the frayed walls revealing brown muck glued to the ever so chipping paint that decorated the scenery. Other than the grotesque atmosphere, you felt pretty alive to say the least. You were thriving more than the mold within the ancient motel’s structure as you stood in the shower with the man that you had met that night. It wasn’t typical for you to engage in such risky behavior such as going home, or motel really, with a guy you barely knew. You were buzzed enough to where you didn’t really even care that you had caught a fleeting glimpse of an arsenal inside of his retro car’s trunk. He seemed nice enough to not butcher you, and hell, he was hotter than the water raining down on both of your bodies. The warm liquid didn’t even come close to the titillating warmth that felt like a pleasant shot of lava into your veins every time you acknowledged that his body was colliding with yours whether it be his fingertips gliding around the small of your back or your toes slightly nudging each other on the bottom of the tub. Buds of water were shining on his nose as the water splattered around from you recklessly flinging water upon him. He had thought it would be humorous to squirt the motel shampoo all over the shower to add some sort of childish excitement, but instead small droplets of the cleanser had found solace within your eyes. He was smiling to see you so aggravated, yet it made him want to kiss you more. His hands wrapped themselves around your wrists to prevent you from harming him with anymore of the water as he pulled his face onto yours, his lips quenching a thirst that that water never could. His lips were moist from the steam as you felt him force your back onto the wall, your head narrowly missing the shower head. You grinned slightly at the close encounter, but continued to hungrily collide with him. Each time his teeth pulled your bottom lip, you tugged back even harder. His hands found their way to your bum, grasping on tight as he prepared himself for what was bound to come next. A small hop lifted your body up on the wall as you wrapped your legs around his waist, not losing contact with his mouth. His hips made a small gesture as the door to the bathroom slung open with such a great force you thought that it was God himself storming into the bathroom to prevent the premarital sex. Your impromptu hookup immediately let go of you as you harshly slumped down the ground, your previously gripped bottom now encased by the pain of the plastic flooring of the tub colliding with your bones. A small ‘huff’ left your mouth at the sudden drop while the man abruptly pulled the curtain to, blocking any possible vision of you. He turned to poke his head around the other side of the curtain giving you a nice view of his backside. You were scared to death knowing that someone obviously was in the bathroom with you two, but you still managed to admire the wonderful line of sight. The man’s body twisted to where you could see his head crane to glance at whoever it was. All you could see from the corner you were still crouched in was the faint silhouettes of the two people beginning a conversation. The being that had stormed in so furiously was obviously a man but it was hard to defer from where you were because all you could see was the outline of long hair until you heard the unholy sound of what always comes out of men’s bums. It sounded like his intestines were waging a war inside of him as you listened into the encounter, afraid of what was going to happen. 

      “Sammy, you think you could come back later, like, when I’m not taking a shower?” Your date asked, his shoulders moving slightly as his lips pursed. The man on the throne lifted his head up from his phone that he was glaring at so intensely as he relieved himself and met his eyes with him. His mouth dropped open in wonder and his eyes squinted in confusion. His hands faltered as he propped himself up by his elbows leaning on his legs. 

      “What? Do you have a problem with involuntary acts of nature now? I swear to God something is always different with you. Can’t a man just take a nice dump every now and then without being interrupted? I mean, you know how stressful our lives are so I think I deserve this little piece of happiness,” The intruder defended.
      “Well, is this piece of happiness going to be a few pushes and then be over with or are you going to have to chug some milk of magnesia?” The man asked in return. Your stomach churned at the thought of being so close to a complete stranger’s waste.
      “Dean, what’s the hurry? I had Mexican yesterday and you know how that always makes me. Being in the cage doesn’t even come close to that burning sensation,” Sam chuckled as his shoulders shook in the self amusement. “Didn’t you have some Mexican last week? Her name was Maria, right?”
      You immediately launched your foot out as it collided with his ankle causing his figure to falter slightly. His hand struck out to catch himself on the wall next to him to prevent collapsing. Did he do this sort of thing often? How many times has he picked up lonely girls in bars? This hookup was turning shitty. (No pun intended).
      “Alright, fine. I’ll just come back later and do my business. And also, it’s really disrespectful to hide your girl in the corner of the shower like that,” Sam spoke as he slid from the bathroom, leaving you alone with your date once again.
      You tilted your head up as Dean looked down to you. “Maria, huh?”

constipatedsam:

Title: Monster, Am I

Author: constipatedsam

Word Count: 694

Request: If you are taking requests can you write a Cas Os where the reader is left handed and looked up something like “is left handedness a mutation ” and “is left handedness a sin” and after laughing at all the things people say…

Title: Monster, Am I

Author: constipatedsam

Word Count: 694

Request: If you are taking requests can you write a Cas Os where the reader is left handed and looked up something like “is left handedness a mutation ” and “is left handedness a sin” and after laughing at all the things people say she runs around screaming she’s a sinner and going to hell? If you do please and thank you. If you don’t still thank you for reading this ridiculous request
Trigger Warnings: Mention of weight, self hatred
A/N: I changed the request around a little bit if that’s alright. 

Fic:

      Oh, my Father. I am corrupt. I am the foulest creation that has ever roamed earth, heaven, and every other making that my Father has produced. There have been villainous snakes that crawled in the voluptuous trees that seduced His first humans into sin and turmoil, my own brother that currently rules the underworld and lures people into damnation, and Kim Kardashian, but none of these things amount to the power of evil I possess. The nubs at the end of my vessel’s arms didn’t own the same ability each, but instead my left hand was dominant. How could this be? I had never met anyone else with a left hand that was able to do more than their right. Even Sam and Dean had extra force behind their right hands, but I was different. I always knew I was in a different category than mostly every one else on earth because I have a combination of blue eyes and black hair, but there was also the unmistakable fact that I was an angelic warrior solely made for the purpose to be a warrior of God. There was that, too. I just didn’t know how to handle another characteristic that could make me so estranged from everyone else.
      I lifted my hand off of the computer as I rested my chin upon my fist that was acting as a massive support system to keep my dreary head from seeping down onto the table and planting itself into the wood. I was shaken from discovering this about myself to the point where I felt pointless, undeserving even. My eyes scanned the webpage for one final time before I canceled out the depressing scenery and redecorated my sight with Y/N who was walking into the study of the bunker, donning her usual cheerful expression upon her soft features. You right handed, lucky woman, I thought to myself as her body slid it’s way over into the chair next to mine. My trench coat was loose on my muscles, but whenever she came around my clothes felt tighter. And no, it wasn’t from the natural male response of being in the presence of a very attractive woman, but rather from how breathtaking she was. Her fingers tapped annoying on the wooden table as she gazed towards me.
      “What’s the matter? Sin got your tongue?” She jested with a kiddish smile sketching itself onto her pink lips. It quickly faded as she recognized that I definitely wasn’t in the most playful mood which of course made me feel guilty that I was diminishing her happy disposition, but I pressed on with my sadness. I shot my eyes towards her figure as I sighed with sadness. The sleeves on my coat rustled as I put a hand on hers which halted her tapping as my tie moved with my shifting chest.
     "Y/N, I feel guilty for having to weigh you with this burden, but I don’t belong here anymore. I am not one of you. This earth is no place for me, you know?“ Her eyes drooped down away from my glare as she took in her own deep breath.
      "Cas, why do you think that?”
      “I am left handed,” I solemnly replied, but I was greeted with an unexpected response. The largest, loudest, laughter exploded from the vocal cords as she chortled away the conversation. I was genuinely offended, worse than when Uriel told me I looked fat in my last vessel. “This isn’t a laughing matter, Y/N!”
      “Cas, it isn’t wrong to be left handed! My mom is left handed, you idiot. Tons of people are,” She explained with certainty in her voice.
      “Are you sure?” My voice was filled with wonder and relief. Her eyes seemed to illuminate greatly under the bright light from above, or maybe her irises were just reflecting the light from my halo.
      “I’m sure, Castiel. More sure than when Uriel told you you looked fat in your last vessel,” She kidded as she brought up that annoying memory.
      “Hey, it isn’t my fault if the only one available was a gym coach who didn’t follow his own example,”

Title: I’ll Be Seeing You

Author: constipatedsam

Word Count: 994

Request: Could you do an extremely major HUGE fluff Sam imagine based off “Not About Angels” by Birdy?

Trigger Warnings: Mention of Death, Mention of insanity, Mention of drugs and addiction

A/N: I feel like I went way off topic with this which I sincerely apologize and if you don’t like it, I will for sure write you a new one! It came out sadder than I planned. 

Fic: 987

      It seemed like only yesterday. Yesterday seemed so near, but at the same time felt so distant. Yesterday was a time frame that you had a craving for that was far worse than any other addiction that had could have infiltrated your body. Instead of cocaine dancing elegantly in your veins as the powder wrecked your organs or the sweet taste of pills such as Vicodin or Oxycodon sliding their way down your tongue to ease your pain, the only addiction that was making your bones weak and heart heavy was the constant yearning for yesterday. The past was vacant of these wants and were fleeting thoughts that you had always shoved to the back of your head to keep them from surfacing to the front of your mind and to the tip of your tongue. That apex of your tongue didn’t want to be tainted with your own fears of losing him being spoken aloud. It was accustomed to the taste of his skin, his lips, and everything in between. It had caressed every jagged corner that constructed his face and every crevice that had once held you such as his arms. His body was familiar to you. The heat of it. The structure of it. The comfort of it. He was by far the most sound structure that you had seen built. The grounds for his construction were unsteady with that of a distant father, a dead mother, and being cognizant that there were worse things out there than Kim Kardashian’s sex tape. A soldier that had served over seas wouldn’t be able to measure up to the horrors that your building had seen. Some of his windows were cracked from years of abuse, physical and emotional. The shingles on his roof were falling and decaying from being weathered down by years of disaster and destruction, but he claimed that they were stronger than ever. He had once exclaimed that you were reviving the bricks of his foundation and patching up the wood rot within the walls. You were fixing him, or at least what could be fixed. You were repairing every wall, ceiling, and floor that he consisted of and he couldn’t have been more thankful. Couldn’t have been. What a funny way to put it. You could no longer say ‘be’ thankful or 'is’ thankful. You could say 'was’ thankful and 'used to be’ thankful without being incorrect. You knew that when you lost someone that every aspect was painful, but you hadn’t experience this kind of hurt. His death was affecting you in every way possible. When you would lace up your shoes in the morning, you would catch a glimpse of him rounding the corner to tell you that you’re tying them wrong. He wasn’t really there. Sometimes you would flip through the channels on the television and leave it on a cheesy talk show and he would loudly complain that Oprah was overrated. He wasn’t really there. Occasionally you would lose your keys only to find them on a counter with a note attached from Sam that read 'See you when you get home’. He didn’t really do that. You couldn’t kid yourself much longer; you were losing it. You had lost your life, your sense of safety, your reason to live happily a month ago. You were now losing your mental state which was something that you could barely handle. Dean had ditched down a few weeks ago. He had gotten to where he couldn’t even look at you without thinking about his brother. He couldn’t even click a pin, pick up a piece of paper, or open a cabinet without seeing his life, safety, a reason to live. So he left. Dean was the last reminder that you possessed except for a couple of shirts and a half empty bottle of cologne that his brother had spritzed on himself only an hour before his death. The bottle sat longingly, almost as if it were begging you to pick it up and spray it on yourself to pretend that he was near. Once it was in your grasp, the glass that encased the light brown liquid was strangely cold against your finger tips. You lifted it to your nose as you inhaled the smell, a million memories flooding like a broken dam in your mind. A pair of arms wrapped themselves around your hips tightly, the hands binding themselves ever so strongly in the center of your stomach. You started to sway your lips back and forth, the grip swinging with you as a chin rested on the top of your head softly. A deep hum sweetened the salty air that was stained from so much despair and cries while the deepness of the voice caused goosebumps to rise all over your skin so strongly it felt like they had sprouted on your heart as well. The overwhelming scent of his cologne was infiltrating your nose at a dangerous level, but you didn’t care. You began to move your feet backwards, the body moving with you. His lips began to plant soft affections on your head as they moved down to your neck, leaving a warm trail. The bottle in your hand spritzed from accidental pressure from your finger sending the cool liquid onto your arm which shot your eyes open back to the vanity that you had picked it up from. The pressure of a body leaning on yours had disappeared as you glanced at your surroundings in the mirror. You were alone. Like always. Tears started to moisten your eyes but were abruptly halted by a harsh knock on the front door. You fled from the scene, forcefully flinging the wooden portal open to have your eyes take in the image of the older brother. His face was blank and coated with an eerie look of emotionless as the few murmured words trailed from his lips, his mouth hardly moving.
      “I’ve been seeing Sammy.”