#angelicjackles

i would love to join your event, it sounds pretty cool! perhaps your moodboard will give me some much needed inspiration, I'll do black and red, please ♡

THANKS 🥹 you speak my language with that color scheme

colour: black season: autumn chosen word: unapologetic

ʚଓ٠࣪⭑ your chosen weapon is a serrated demon blade with a blackened hilt. it's aggressive and impossible to ignore. it’s not elegant fighting because it’s survival. it's messy, it's emotional when it needs to be. you don’t fight to look pretty. you fight to win.

ʚଓ٠࣪⭑ there’s something fierce underneath your calm. you're tired of swallowing things that were never meant to stay buried. you’ve spent too long being expected to soften yourself, explain yourself, apologise for reacting to things that hurt you. now? not so much.

The demon won’t stop talking. Even tied to the chair, even bleeding from the nose where you already punched it once, it just keeps grinning at you with someone else’s face. “That all you got?” it sneers. “C’mon, sweetheart, I thought you hunters were supposed to be scary.” You tighten your grip on the blade. Behind you, Dean shifts against the wall, arms folded, watching carefully. He knows that look on your face. The one where you’re holding yourself together by a thread. The demon notices too. “Ooh,” it laughs. “There it is.” You stay quiet. Then it tilts its head, eyes black and sharp. “You know,” it says mockingly, “I can always tell which ones spend their whole lives angry. You’ve got that look. Like somebody taught you to swallow every bad thing that ever happened to you.” Dean straightens slightly. “Hey,” he warns. But the demon keeps going. “Bet you spent years biting your tongue, huh? Smiling nice, acting normal—” The knife slams into the table beside its hand so hard the wood cracks. Silence. Your breathing turns uneven. Then the demon smiles wider. “There she is.” Something in you snaps. You move before Dean can say anything, grabbing the demon by the collar and driving the blade straight into its chest. Once. Twice. Again. Black blood splatters across your hands, your jacket, your face. The demon screams. You don’t stop. Every hit feels years overdue, all that anger finally tearing loose at once. By the time the body finally goes limp, the room’s gone completely silent except for your breathing. Your chest heaves as you step back slowly, blood dripping from the knife in your hand. Dean’s still leaning against the wall. Just staring at you. You wipe at your mouth with the back of your wrist, still furious. “What?” Dean blinks once, then lets out a low whistle. “…that was kinda hot.”

that is all ♡

mikey 🥺🥺🥺

this is so beautiful. you are so beautiful. thank you so much for this ask. it really made me smile (and cry because i’m me) and i just adore you. thank you so much, i can’t even put into words what this means to me.

you’re literally such an amazing person and i’m so lucky i have you in my corner <3

This is so kind what the f 🥹