Everyone Must See The Cozy Cat Boy Virgil.

Start of chapter two, Sins of the flesh.

Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1233104183-sins-of-the-flesh-chapter-2-newcomer Link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38974686/chapters/98769999#workskin --- Dean gasped awake, chest heaving as he drew in panicked breaths and gripped at the bedsheets, the adrenaline in his veins and anxiety slowly fading the longer he breathed in sweet, sweet oxygen.

The nightmares were horrible, always of the same grotesque beings, the demons, werewolves, wraiths and other monstrosities his father would fight off when he was a child.

The images and fights Dean himself had fought against them were always present in the back of his mind during his waking life, reminding him that he was living on borrowed time and that nothing was ever permanent; these thoughts only became more prominent when he was asleep as he did not have much control over what his own mind created. “Sonova bitch…” Dean muttered, letting out a relieved breath, relieved to have finally escaped the dream; he had been allowed to remove his blindfold when fighting these beings to ensure that he wouldn’t get too injured, but some days he wished he hadn’t seen anything.

Dean reached over to his bedside table for his braille watch, the cool metal and leather strap coming into contact with Dean’s hand as he did so. He had, of course, learnt to read braille at a young age simply to make his life easier due to the blindfold, and as a result, his father had bought him the watch on his thirteenth birthday, but Dean somewhat believed he only did that so he would stop asking what time it was every half hour.

To his dismay, it was only around three am, which aggravated Dean to no end; it was a Saturday, so he didn’t have to be up early and he had only gone to sleep three hours ago. Thoroughly disgruntled, Dean placed his watch back on his side table and yanked the sheets back up to his chin, rolling onto his side in an attempt to get comfortable. Despite his greatest efforts, the dream had shaken him too much for him to feel even a pang of sleepiness.

After nearly an hour of tossing and turning, Dean kicked his sheets off in frustration, slipped out of his bed and located his fluffy robe, tying the string around his abdomen as he walked. The house was mostly silent, nothing but the sound of the wind howling outside and the near-silent creaking of the old home; an eerie feeling hung in the air, the feeling of being careful watches unnerving Dean to the core, though he tried to ignore it as he made his way through the house.

The man allowed himself to simply wander through the house, not bothering much to do anything but trace his fingers over the walls and the picture frames hung up them; he had never seen what was in the picture frames, but he hoped one day he might. He remembered his father often having him and Sammy pose and stand for pictures, but Dean had never seen a single one of them; he wondered if somewhere in the house, there might be a photo of his mother... Continued on Wattpad and Ao3!

My blog is definitely a polyam-safe place. Welcome! 

can y’all just… like or reblog if y’all are polyam-safe blogs

Start of chapter five, Sins of the flesh

Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1274665060-sins-of-the-flesh-chapter-5-50s-throwback

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38974686/chapters/105834339

----

“Good morning, father Winchester, how was your hiatus?” A young mother asked as Dean welcomed her into the church, her little daughter perched carefully on her hip.

“My hiatus?” Dean questioned, though tried to make it too obvious that he hadn’t any idea what she was talking about.

“Why, yes; your four-month hiatus, to strengthen your relationship with god. How was it?” She questioned once more, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice. “Oh; yes, it was wonderful, thank you,” Dean hummed, doing his absolute best to smile as he continued to greet the guests into the church.

Dean eventually carried on the service, as usual, standing in front of everyone; however, about three minutes into the service he began to struggle slightly. The braille pages beneath his fingers felt foreign after all this time, the words seemed almost caught in his throat but Dean had to push through it, the quiet shuffles and coughs of people in the building overwhelming him slightly.

Near the end of service, the man almost had to have Sam take over, but he was too stubborn to allow it and ushed on; it was a relief when it was finally over, Dean’s energy mostly depleted by the time lunch was served.

“So get this,” Sam announced as he sat down at the table for lunch after Sunday service, the newspaper resting in his lap as he ate. “Apparently, there’s a town in the next state that’s had an unusually high amount of mariticide; nearly a dozen wives in the past two months murdering their husbands, all from the same town,” Sam told them, though Dean was slightly distracted by the sheer amount of noise that the many guests were making.

The many chattering guests mixed with the sounds of his two associates chewing their food, along with whatever other bothers were coming from the forest, the eldest Winchester couldn’t help but be reminded of his time in hell. “That is very odd… do you think it may be worth travelling for?” Castiel asked as he took a bite of his burger, a bit of ketchup falling onto his plate.

Dean shrugged, stuffing a bite of food into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in days. “I think it’d be worth looking around, I'm in need of a good fight,” The priest joked, straightening his posture and whipping his face with a napkin as he heard someone approaching. The person veered away, though, walking off towards some other table away from the priest, his brother and best friend.

“Alright, we’ll leave right after lunch clean-up, then,” Sam settled as the three finished their meals. Dean continued to struggle throughout the cleaning process, his ears beginning to ring and his blood pumping in his ears as he fought off what could only be called a panic attack, caused by overstimulation.

Start of chapter four, Sins of the flesh.

Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1263570085-sins-of-the-flesh-chapter-4-raised-from-perdition Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38974686/chapters/103642149#workskin -CAUTION: This one may include trigger warnings for those who are sensitive to descriptions of hell and very mild gore. You have been warned- ---- Hell was a horrible place; it was filled with the vilest of human beings, demons and creations you could ever imagine. People who had sold their souls were hung on hooks like meat hung in racks; in hell, a human and a cow were no different. The stink of sulphur, blood, smoke and flesh was constant, but if you were there you would find that the rotten scent was nothing compared to being whipped; to having your flesh torn and ripped repeatedly as blood and sweat rolled down your back. It was always ablaze, fiery hot and bright; never for a second was hell silent, but you would get used to the splitting headaches and the lack of sleep eventually.

Screams of pain and gurgles of pure agony surrounded Dean in hell; pain radiated throughout the man’s body and he didn’t have his blindfold over his eyes to allow him to feign ignorance to the many bloodied and beaten people surrounding him. The man didn’t remember how long he had been in hell, the pain too much for him to think about anything else; he hung on hooks, screamed and bled until he couldn’t take it anymore. He fought as hard as he could, avoided becoming a torturer at all costs and tried to remember what earth was like and who he was.

He was a priest, yet he was in hell; he struggled for forty long years until a saving grace came upon him. Hell lit up with a yellowish-white glow bright enough to blind you with a single glance, demons perished all around and Dean was raised from hell once again as a hand burned his left shoulder.

~♰~♰~♰~

Dean gasped as his eyes flew open, arms flailing and hands desperately grasping at something to hold on to; the first thing he registered was the feeling of cold stone beneath him, as well as beneath his palms when finally he had a grip on something.

Looking up, he saw towering ceilings and archways stretching high above his head; the many depictions of angels painted skywards were new to him, he had never even known that they were there. His left shoulder ached, and he came to realize his left hand lay on a very familiar statue; dozens of rosaries hung around her neck, swaying just slightly in a breeze that carried itself through the open door at the very back of the church. Dean sat up, breathing in the still-stale air; he could smell rain on the breeze and yet the church’s oxygen remained dusty and scented like history, it seemed no one had cleaned it properly in a while. The man only barely registered the pounding in his head as he looked around at the pews and the windows of his church, still a little disorientated by the sudden drag up from hell. Finally understanding that he was safe, Dean hauled himself up onto shaking legs and got a more thorough look at his surroundings...

Just an amazing comic my an amazing artist 

i can’t stop thinking about @ehlihr‘s teacher!jon au i couldnt NOT draw something for it

Fanfic writer.

I really do love being a fanfic writer; being able to create content for my favorite shows is an incredible gift that I’m greatful to have-

But it also means that I am cursed with truly horrible ideas at times..

I have always been a lot like my father. I have his hair, his face, his taste in music, his last name, some of his old jackets and shirts. I’ve often hated that I’m so much like him, as the only thing I don’t and will never have from him is his support. Now, however, I carry pocket watches and work towards education, a feat he never achieved. I do not use his last name, he doesn’t deserve the credit of my success. His music I’ve integrated along with violins and melodies that his rough and tough demeanors would never fit into. His clothing and jackets are reserved for when I make art, the paint that is left on the shirts show how I can make beautiful things as opposed to the blood that had previously stained them when he got into fights. I am very much like my father, but never will he be like me.

trans masculinity, when u have a shitty father, is abt taking pieces of him for yrself & reclaiming it & turning those things delicate & caring in ways he could never, ways that would disgust him. in his hand-me-down jacket, i carry bandages. the knife he used to skin deer is now the knife i use to sections apples to share with my brother

Atelophobia is a plague that attacks your mind and not only instils the fear of not being good enough in your mind, it is a package deal of insecurities and overworking. Atelophobia is working into the late hours of the night, writing and thinking for fear of failure; it is empty coffee cups and fighting insomnia to get just one last page of work done, or so you say. It’s feeling eyes watching you as you type until your fingers are sore, until you really can’t keep up your own eyelids, until your eyes are burning from the amount of hours you’ve forced them open.

It is worrying about the future, wondering if you really are taking on too much but forcing through it, all for the sake of not failing. But what is failing, if not the fear of never achieving perfection? Atelophobia at it’s core is the fear of losing a battle you had no chance of winning.

Yessssss I love him, look at this beautiful art, at this beautiful manz Look at him

Inventory check: Seth

This is just a small glimpse at some of the things he carries around. He has a secondary bag for other items. (And i got too lazy to draw anything else lol)

My writing process

1. Make myself some coffee 2. Sit down at my desk to write 3. Look for music 4. Make a new playlist 5. Make a pinterest board for that playlist 6. Oh look it’s 3 am and my coffee’s cold. 7. Cry about not being productive 8. Repeat. :)