trigger warnings for really the same stuff as usual. some swearing, graphic violence, and a bad mindset.

word count: n/a

author's note: im gonna be honest i have like 10 wips that are all 2,000+ words, i just don't have anything finished so here's some things that are a bit too short to post individually as consolation, sorry :/
the song at the top is attached because it is samcore and causes me Emotions.

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they fucked him up. they fucked him up and hollowed him out, ripped all the goodness through his chest and tossed it aside. they made him all hollow to make room for eldritch shapes but now his skin is stretched. there's so much room and nothing to fill it but he'll never forget the feeling of being full to bursting with rustling wings and snapping teeth, his body a massive chamber full of a monster and it haunts him. he never wants that again. every time the emptiness pangs it reminds him that he is tragically, beautifully, and totally alone in this vacated vessel and it just about makes up for everything else. he's looking different these days and good. Sam doesn't want to look like a kid with human blood on his hands because that was impossibly long ago and he's different now, of course he's different. a hundred years and a hundred violations will do that to you. Sam finds in himself that he can't fucking care to end the concerned glares because goddamnit they did this to him. it's not his fault they will not reap what they sow. and really, at the core of it all, there is a gaping maw in his middle. it consumes everything and is hungry for more. food doesn't fill this hole, love doesn't fill this hole, kindness doesn't fill this hole. he's tried to pretend it does, like dying designer dog on a vegan diet. but it doesn't, never has, and willful ignorance was never sam's style. no, this emptiness is where Lucifer reached in and carved a place for himself, not bothering to disinfect it. when the wound was open and raw, darkness crawled in and festered, growing. there's a ring of necrotic flesh in his chest and it's growing. the only way to stop the spread would be to die, become one with the wild dark nipping at the edges of his soul, a demon and a monster. but winchesters don't accept one answer. there's another way. if he practices restraint and abstinence in every act, worships purity at the alter of light, makes goodness his religion, he can hope. maybe if he does it right, then sam can disinfect this festering wound, this insatiable hunger. maybe he can starve it out. maybe it will take him with it. maybe that's not a bad thing. at least he'll die human. at least he'll die alone.

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Sam knows death. He knows every word of every verse that trickles into your ears as you die. The way the beats fall on the rhythm of a slowing heart, the melody woven between stardust and ancient forests. He can sing it just fine but it's not complete, not without the mournful sound of heartstrings twanging. This is what gets him. The song is as much for the living as the dead, it's a consolation to turn your pain to song. Death is no simple melody, and Sam falters on the last note. There's a rule of musicianship that whatever is played the first time is what you want to play every time after. Sam was just a child when he first heard the song, creeping over the hills to tickle his ears and sweep up a soul and he flinched as the light left their eyes. It still happens. No matter what, this will not be easy, and he will get that last note wrong. All he can do for it is hope it doesn't curse them into the next lifetime.

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you spend so much time worrying but love, didn't anyone tell you that evil can't recognize itself? oil slick eyes don't show the light but that's all you are. you dissolved that rot, deep in your core, you killed it with briny tears and crushing light. you aren't evil, child, and you never will be. you are bleeding out but you never asked for whom. you were so happy, too happy, to let that blood from your veins. you warned there might be a scent but i smell nothing. there is no demon in you, boy. there hasn't been since you were deconstructed and put together. watch the blood flow, your heart beats so you must be alive. for better or worse, you live and you are kind. don't worry about the icy fingers of death, they're resting far from here, your warmth has scared them away. throwing your body up like a shield has worked but don't you want a pulstice for your wounds? they'll kill you child, with their dying flesh. you must not think that's a terrible thing, but it is. it would be sad to see a light so bright and gentle as yours go out.

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author's note: I'll try to finish something up for next week im just having trouble finishing things haha

comments, critiques, requests, opinions on the great tea v.s. coffee v.s. hot cocoa debate?