#chyremn

SENDER blocks RECEIVER from seeing something horrifying. + SENDER helps RECEIVER wash ash or grime from their face. | @chyremn

Bern was an absolute mess. The mine was condemned for a reason, and their ankle hurt like hell from when the boot had gone right through a rotten board they hadn't seen under all the dirt. It didn't matter, not when they were determined for this case to be over. Missing kids. A bunch had disappeared at the same time, and Bern was certain they were stashed somewhere in that awful mine. Too many to just eat. It was a mantra that repeated in their head over and over, too many. It was too many. They had to be alive. The rest of their squad was on another case, so it'd been left to Bern and Cas to bring these kids home. He'd gotten ahead of them a ways, and they frowned as he pulled to a rigid halt.

"... What is it?" All of a sudden Cas turned and grabbed Bern's arms, even pushing them back a step. At only 5'1, it didn't take much for the tall angel to block out their entire world, but they craned for a look around him regardless. "Cas, what!?-" The beam of their flashlight streaked across faces in the dark. Tiny faces. Frozen, grimy, glassy. Every damn one of the missing kids, piled together like a nest.

Dirty hands tightened like a vice over Cas' arm and one of his lapels, but all Bern could do was stare as the color washed out of their face. The angel's stance shifted at the sound of shuffling and snarling behind them, and it was muscle memory that forced brown eyes shut as the ring of grace filled that mine, and holy light poured in to the sound of something screaming. Bern felt a rush of air once the light faded, and their eyes opened to find the interior of their shared, long-outdated motel room.

random headcanon q’s  | accepting

In his main verse, it's not very often. Every minute of the day is spent knowing he and everyone he's responsible for and cares for might have to run at a moment's notice. Most of what he imagines there is fleeting, little things like the taste of fresh coffee, fresh produce, the smell of books. A lot of the time it's tiny instances that remind him of Rebecca, and he doesn't let himself live in those very long.

@chyremn gets a plotted starter for some Jimmy & Cas chaos

                                IT'S A BAR DEAN WOULD HAVE CHOSEN, TOO. Strange that Castiel knows this, strange that she even noticed. The new vessel is short and the line of sight thus suboptimal, but she recognizes Jimmy Novak's dark mop of hair and the broad shoulders she used to hold rather stiffly. Now they're slouching. 

@chyremn ;; shit said in discord servers (still accepting) Castiel said: "Penguins can accidentally end up in gay relationships."

It had been several months since a vessel had been built for Castiel. He would like to think of it as repayment for his services, but that iteration of the archangel Michael would have done so simply because he asked. Not their Michael, but that of another world's. Restored, healed, and elsewhere on the planet after fulfilling the Seraph's request. Resurrect Jimmy Novak, and build him an identical vessel. The ad salesman had been left to wake alone with new clothes and a wad of cash in a motel room in the same city as his family home. The home, the street, even his wife and daughter had been warded in every way he knew.

Nothing could make up for using Jimmy's body, and allowing him to be destroyed... but Castiel tried. The Seraph had vowed to never go near him again.

When a case kicked up in the next town over, Castiel had been hesitant to go. Human life mattered more than his discomfort, his need to protect, so he went. Followed the signs of demonic presence, and found... Jimmy. Maybe he remembered how to read the signs as well. The man was pushed against the side of a car, pinned fast so the demon could attempt to possess him instead of the elderly woman it was wearing. Black smoke tried to pour into Jimmy's mouth, and it slid to the sides of his face instead. Repelled. The demon tried to retreat back into the woman when a piercing ring consumed their world, and the smoke writhed, twisted, thrashed, and was PULLED from her throat. The vile essence was reeled down the street, and it burned with a burst of holy blue-white light that dissipated to reveal a perfect replica of Jimmy. Swathed in the suit, the blue tie, and the tan canvas trench coat.

A lump in her throat. Sweaty palms. Tears brewing. A reminder that she is not alone, nor is the demon, within this body of hers. Remnants of her humanity arise, a cold breeze of acquiesce. The child misses her mother, yet 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝓩𝖔𝖒-𝕭𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍 kills the emotion in one swift: [FLUTTER OF FELINE SLITS.

𝕾he is not alone. She never truly is, but she only revels at the thought. How sweet it would be, to live a life free of wondering, free of tormenting, killing, – 🇷​🇴​🇹​🇹​🇮​🇳​🇬​. Lacquered in acceptance, the succubus turns, emerging from a dark booth.

@chyremn: A CHAPEL WITH THE LIGHTS OFF EXCEPT FOR CANDLES.

𝙰n ember-lit, porcelain face greets him. ❝ I didn't think anyone else was here. ❞ It's sweet, almost child-like –her voice, laced with complete submission & coy. Already, underneath its latex, you can sense danger. [IT SEEMS THIS PLACE IS NOT FOR HIM, EITHER...

❝ I thought it'd be like the movies. Someone on their knees, (one way or another.) ─ WAS THAT RUDE OF ME? "Blasphemous", or whatever. Sorry. I'm not really, used to this. ❞

Dean had been rolling with hits since before the age he would have outgrown toys. Always bounced back, refused to give anyone a reason to worry. Not that anyone should, it was his job. But, sometimes? Sometimes he couldn't get back up. Sometimes the world shrank to a pinhole and the sound of his own ragged breathing. This was one of those times.

Inhale... exhale...

There was nothing in his ears but the overblown echo of air trying to move past his throat. Only one green eye could see, the other giving him nothing but darkness, and it found the world had shifted by 90 degrees. The dark half of his face was pressed against something, the ground if he had to guess, and it was growing slick and warm with the heavy scent of iron. What little he could see felt distant. Blurred and dimmed and threatening a darkness Dean was ready to welcome. He's tired, man. You wouldn't believe how tired.

Inhale... exhale...

A muffled sound filtered in once, twice, a third time. That green eye propped open to see a flash of beige and black before it closed again. A hand folded over the wound, and the pressure sent a sharp pain through his cracked skull for a fraction of a second. Then, all at once, every sense sharpened with sickening clarity. Dean sucked in a ragged gasp as his entire body healed between one heartbeat and the next, and the adrenaline burst left him reeling. Green eyes pressed shut, and he peeled his bloody face off the pavement, reaching blindly for the angel to help pull him up before he opted to just stay where he was, hold onto him, and breathe. Cas being there meant he could hold on a fucking second, and come down from that dying-to-perfectly-healthy rollercoaster.

there's something tense and sticky strung through the air. it sticks to the roof of her mouth like something to spit out, but she doesn't. she could, if she wanted— all sickly sweet and does-your-hair-always-look-like-that, slapped with a smile that bites more than it barks, but if she did then she's sure she'd be graced with that patented disappointment castiel knows how to wedge into her heart just the right way. whatever. for now, she figures hesitance is the best medium. peering a half-glared gaze around the corner of cas' shoulder, fist clenched around the fabric of his sleeve, jaw set like she's already decided dean is someone she can't stand ... and maybe she can't. maybe there's something solid in him that's as wrong as she feels, maybe there's something shaky in him that she can break apart, maybe there's some sort of clockwork mechanism that'll peel right out of his jawline for her to break. or maybe she just doesn't like change, and dean's a little too different in her routine to bear.