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A thought came to the mind over the weekend.

yeah Dean was broke up about torturing in Hell, but I’m sure he was really good at it. Amazing at it. Art, as one said, and that was all under Alastair’s tutelage, the demon coaxing his hands until Dean relied on instinct, until Dean could pull someone apart just as well as Alastair, coaxed by the honeyed praises whispered in his ears.

And yeah, he liked it, he liked the freedom he got, he liked that he could escape the pain that haunted him for years and take it out on people who deserve it—souls who made deals for greed, souls who committed unimaginable crimes, etc etc. Anyways.

We’ve got Castiel (maybe Godstiel, whichever) in charge of Heaven, and we’ve got angels who aren’t too fond of that idea, angels who rebel against this new authority, angels who try to take out Castiel before he can do anymore damage to the new order.

Then we’ve got Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man who shed blood and liked it, who still remembers how to pull at certain nerve endings, how to make people scream with just a twist of his blade, how to make them beg for a savior that won’t ever come.

And, of course, Dean pledges himself to Cas, but it’s not out of fear over a higher power, no, it’s out of reverence and loyalty, it’s out of desire to stay by Cas’s side while he reshapes the world around them.

He stands by Cas’s side as an equal rather than a pet, and when he picks up the blade a second time, it’s not to escape the pain—it’s to cause it.

Those disobedient angels, the ones who try and stir trouble with their whispers, the ones who want to overthrow Cas’s throne, all of them end up caught and trapped in a room with Dean, where he makes art out of their soon-to-be mangled wings and carves his devotion into their grace, never letting them die no matter how much they beg for mercy because this is for Cas, his Cas, and that’s all that matters now.

#evil deancas #blood;#torture;#destiel #mine #YEAH I'M BATSHIT. WHAT ABOUT IT?#alastair mention;

“Those-”

The hissed word was punctuated loudly by a sharp kick to what had been the room their boss had occupied. A kick so strong it had ripped the door half off its hinge and put a hole in the wall as the handle slammed into it. Fury raged within the woman who had come to find no one sitting on the throne, a bitter reminder that what she had been told was true.

They had abandoned the team, disbanded was not the right term, not when they knew full well that so many of them had no one else to go to, nowhere else to live. No, those two had abandoned them and it absolutely infuriated the grunt to no end. They were supposed to have been family, the type with a bond thicker than the blood they had spilled for each other. She had considered them higher than her mother, trusting them with her life.

“fucking!-”

Another kick, this time to the overflowing suitcase of Buginium Z. The small crystals went flying everywhere. How many of those stupid things had they collected for the person they had considered a friend, an older brother. So much work and effort had gone into shaking people down for those stupid crystals and what for? Nothing! With a snarl, she stomped her foot down hard on of one without a care for how it dug into the sole of her shoe. What was another piece of pain to go with what those two had already dealt her?

Not just those two but all the grunts who had given up along with them.

“BASTARDS!”

One of the vases on the tables cluttered in the corner was picked up and tossed at the wall, shattering into a thousand pieces. Some of the shards knicked at her skin causing her boiling blood to bead to the surface and spill. That did not cease her rampage of fury but instead fueled it on to make her smash every vase and bottle in the room. Not even the laptop was safe as she kicked over the stool.

The lighting in the room suffered when she ripped out the cord to one of the lamps and threw that too at the wall. The room that had once looked like a mess now was worse ten-fold. One would not be able to traverse the floor without finding a shard of glass, porcelain or crystal. It was ages before Kana had calmed down enough to sit herself down on that extravagant seat that adorned the room.

A hand tiredly ran down her face, smudging blood down it before she finally ripped off her bandanna and tossed it to the floor.

“Team Skull will not die. Even without you two....”

#verse: collector of skulls #Post game AU;;#blood;#Hey look I wrote it finally;;#Now to draw it;;

Be pulled from the wreckage

It was a mess. Honestly, you remember barely anything, the ringing in your ears and the fuzziness of your vision making everything so hard to comprehend. You could hear the sirens from the ambulance that the track had for things like this, you could hear the chatter of the men and women pulling you away.

Were there screams leaving your lips? That was definitely a thing, but you could hear nothing. There was so much pain coursing through your body, there was so much warm liquid pouring out of cuts and wounds..

It hurt.

It fucking hurt.

When you were finally pulled out, after minutes, your chest and middle bleeding profusely into your shirt, legs feeling like they were shattered.. It hurt and the air burned your lungs- or was that the ribs that were probably lodged inside them.

It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, it hurt to think.

It hurt, it hurt.

Oh god.

KZ, Kan, Scuttles.. They were all watching this.

You wanted to scream out for them, wanted to scream out to see them, yet here you were, struggling to even breathe.

“Be quiet, it’s okay. We’re going to take you to the hospital, just keep breathing.” There was an oxygen mask strapped around your mouth, but you knew it wouldn’t help. You couldn’t tell if it was tears or blood running down your face..

For once in years, you were scared.

#blood;#repetition;#plot;

Headcanons about the Nightnight Tattletail’s spirit incoming! For now, have it’s little face (they/them)

#my art #nini #eye horror;#blood;

“i guess you better stop it, then; don’t you think?”

the magic of fuller: book one by will mallette

@mpmarklee

Changmin made a face at the stranger who had approached him in the back alley and watched Changmin slump down after ramming a fist into brick. He hadn’t meant to do that. Especially not considering he knew how dumb it was and how easily he could’ve broken so many bones in his hand from it. But here he was with bloody knuckles and a stupid phone in his hand. Before he throws the phone as well he slips it deep into a jeans pocket and then pushes his hands through his hair, ignoring the stranger who had spoken to him for the moment. He really had to yell out into the dark that he was done giving it his all...

Arestos had taken a walk earleir that evening after another day of to him utterly failed training in how he had to approach working with his powers. He had felt that he had disappointed himself and his father, and felt frustrated that he couldn’t get this right despite the amount of work he was putting in. Phobetor, rightfully so, had told him to calm down and go out to clear his head, otherwise “it won’t work”. Changmin had begrudgingly done just that. But the walk had done little to relief his frustration, in fact he’d just gotten more into his head and now he was here, in an alley, with a bleeding hand. Such a loser. “Yes, thank you.” It came out a little snide and ungrateful, his emotions still clouding his head. “I’m sorry but I’m not in a good mood. I’ll be fine, thank you.” He said as he stated the obvious to try to excuse his tone, while trying to get this man to leave so he could sulk by himself.

#asks #mpmarklee #tw;#blood;