#Does God elect some to be damned

[thinkingonscripture]

Divine Election

Election is a biblical teaching that every serious student of the Bible must address at some time. It addresses issues related to God’s sovereignty and human volition, predestination and foreknowledge, sin and salvation, justice and mercy, love and faith. Election is a difficult doctrine to fully understand, and when discussing it with others, it’s always best to keep an attitude of love and…

[starpros-sunshine]

This is so annoying why can't I ever just gave a normal and quiet evening.

[deanwritings]

The Guest House - Chapter 12

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,760

A/N: I'm back! Therapy has been great, I'm feeling like myself and that I can breath again. It's been a tough year and ya girl's mind needed a restart, but I am back and doing good.

Also, hope this chapter can be a bit of escape with the election insanity this week. Take care of yourselves everyone! 💖

Dean squeezes his eyes shut as he rests against the door.

What the fuck are you doing? Is all that rings in his mind.

Here he is, with some random girl who's staying in his guest house, put there by his bitch of an ex wife, basically groping her while his mother is a room away. Like he’s seventeen again. 

Really and truly. What the fuck. Are. You. Doing?

Dean rubs an exasperated hand down his face, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes before his hands slap down against his sides. 

It’s the whiskey. He tells himself. Just the whiskey. 

It has nothing to do with your smile. Like when you lit up on the track when you found out Rick would be taking you racing in your dream car. 

Nor your smart ass remarks that always seem to be waiting behind those pretty lips of yours. Or how you drive him crazy in the best and worst ways. Like making him say “please” in the garage this afternoon. 

It definitely has nothing to do with the way you look at him, no longer with disdain, but more recently with shining Y/E/C eyes and something that makes him want to throw you against this damn door, his nose running down the delicate skin of your neck as he takes you in as his hands explore every part of you. 

It also doesn’t help how you react to him; like when he turned your manners game around on you in the garage, and your eyes lit up in a way that made him want to throw you across the hood of Baby and have his way with you. Then just now in the hallway, how you seemed to want this as much as he did. How you leaned into him at his touch, the feel of your curves everywhere as he held you against him.

Those god damn hips. 

Dean’s jaw tightens at the thought, his teeth grinding down as something besides his heart rate starts to rise. 

Fuck. His head falls back with a thud against the doorframe. 

Y/N is hardly the first woman he’s been attracted to since his separation from Lisa. Hell, in the beginning, women were what kept his mind off his imploded marriage. Benny had laughed that Dean was making up for lost time since he and Lisa had gotten together when they were so young, but in reality, Dean just hated coming home to an empty house every day. All he could think of was Lisa and Gavin in his house. In his bed.  

But Dean would be lying to himself if this was only attraction. Ever since their hike, he’s found himself looking towards your cabin everyday before work, hoping to catch a glance of you before he has to leave. When sitting at his empty dining table, he would think about texting you, or maybe even going over and knocking on the cabin door, envisioning interrupting your own meal and riling you up in the process. Watching that fire come alive in you set something alive in Dean. It was like a wildfire, and he was happily caught in its path. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like that. Somehow, at some point, you had drawn him in, and god damn did he want more. So much more. 

And it’s not just your body he wants to get to know. He’s found himself wondering what your favorite color is, or what movies you like to watch. He wanted to know, besides him, what made you tick? What makes you happy?

Could I make her happy?

Dean shakes his head and toes his boots off, shaking his head, trying to rid his thoughts of you. He doesn’t want to think about that last question, because he knows the answer. 

And while he tries to focus on undressing, his body is not willing to let go of the idea of you just yet.  

He’s wound up, and god damnit did he need a release. 

He undoes his belt and reaches into his boxers, feeling himself strain against the fabric as he takes a deep breath. He grunts, squeezing his eyes shut before pulling his hand out of his pants.

He shakes his head. He can’t do this. Not with you a wall away and his mother across the hall. He has some self respect. Not much, but he couldn’t sink as low as jerking off to you while you slept in his little brother’s room.

Sam.

And just like that, thinking of Sammy snaps him out of it. He relaxes with a deep breath, the tension finally beginning to fade away.

For extra measure, he pushes himself off the door and pulls it open, striding quickly down the hall to the unoccupied bathroom. He locks the door behind him and reaches into the shower and throws the water on. He drops his undone pants, letting them and his boxers pool around his feet before stepping out of them and throwing his sweater over his head before stepping into the shallow tub. 

He takes in a sharp breath as the cold spray of the shower meets his heated skin, his teeth clenched tight as he drowns himself under the stream as he works to think about anything but you.

Your eyes flutter open, a glimmer of the morning sun sneaking through the gaps of the curtained window. You take in a deep breath, flipping from your side to your back and sigh as you look up at the ceiling. 

Your mind is still reeling from last night; Dean’s hands holding you tight against him, his lips teasing your neck. 

You shut your eyes and swallow.

It was simultaneously one of the hottest and most frustrating things a man has ever done to you. Of course you had wished he had done a hell of a lot more, but the tease of it somehow made it that much more exciting. It made you wonder what else was in store for you. Just a sweet little taste of the possibilities that was Dean Winchester. 

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand beside you, and you shake off last night’s memories as you lean over to pick it up, the screen reading 9:52 with a few notifications beneath it.  

Shit. You quickly sit up. Normally, this would be a regular wakeup time for you on vacation or on the weekends, but you were a guest in someone’s home, and it felt incredibly rude to be up here sleeping while they were most likely downstairs waiting for you. 

As you scramble out of bed, the throb from last night’s wine is front and center in your head. You reach into your purse and throw back two Advil with a swash of water that you set out on your bedside last night before you throw on some fuzzy socks and a hoodie large enough to snuggle yourself into.

Before you reach for the door, you peek at yourself in the full-length mirror and grimace. You smooth down your hair and give it a fluff with your fingers before you reach into your makeup bag, dabbing on some concealer under your eyes and on a few of your red spots, with a light swipe of subtle blush on your cheeks before you deem you look good enough without looking like you’re trying.

You take a deep breath and open the door, taking in the quiet hallway and noticing both the doors to Mary and Dean’s rooms are ajar.

Fuck. You were at least hoping Dean might have also slept in after last night. But no such luck. 

You head down the stairs, your hand on the rail so you don’t slip in your socks before you wander into the kitchen. Mary is sitting at the table in front of the windows, one of her legs propped up and her head hidden by a book. Dean is hunched on a barstool at the island, a plate of food in front of him, currently being shoveled into his mouth, his usual caveman behavior, you’ve noticed, when it comes to food. 

“Morning,” you offer softly as you head over to the coffee maker, a half pot waiting for you. Mary had given you a tour of the kitchen while you cooked dinner last night, and you reach into the cabinet above the brewer and grab a light yellow ceramic mug and fill it about 3/4s of the way.

“Milk’s in the fridge.” Dean mumbles over the food in his mouth and you turn to face him fully. His eyes are cast down at a paper spread flat in front of him next to his breakfast. A smile you hadn’t intended falls at his lack of attention and you head over to the fridge, pouring until your coffee resembles the color of sand. Exactly how you liked it. 

“Want some coffee with that milk?” That deep voice rings out again, and this time when you look up, you’re met with Dean’s enchanting, forest eyes. Your heart skips a beat in your chest and you recap the milk before putting it away and closing the fridge door.

“Some of us enjoy flavor.” You smirk at him as you lean against the counter behind you, your hands wrapped tightly around the warmed mug, the kitchen cool in this March morning. 

“Milk doesn’t have flavor.” Dean grumbles, shoving a fork filled with eggs into his mouth. You frown at him. 

It’s like the tale of two Deans. The suave, sexy sweatered Dean who looks at you like he’ll throw you over your shoulder and make you scream until your voice is hoarse, and the pain-in-the-ass, mannerless idiot you’ve mostly grown accustomed to these last few weeks. 

Looks like you were getting the idiot this morning. You sigh at your own disappointment and swallow down your frown, wondering what that means about last night. 

When you don’t respond, Dean looks back to you, a question in his eyes. 

“There’s a plate for you in the oven.” Dean points his fork to said appliance. You turn your head, following the direction of his utensil-turned-compass.

“Oh,” your shoulders drop. “You didn’t have to save me a plate.” You feel your cheeks flush at the thought that they waited for you so long this morning that they had to keep a plate warm for you in the oven. 

“Oh don’t worry, Dean made it fresh.” Mary peeks out from behind her book for a quick second before disappearing again behind the cover. Dean drops his fork with a clank and shoots his mother a look, one she misses. 

You push off the counter and pad over to the oven. You pull open the door to find a blue ceramic plate.

No way.

You pull out the plate from the oven, the platter only slightly warm, and are greeted with two pancakes and a side of bacon. 

You quickly close the oven and turn on your heel facing Dean.

“You made me pancakes?” Your voice catches in your throat as you stare down at the fluffy buttermilk pancakes sitting poised on the plate. 

“Yeah, well, mom made eggs and I know your picky ass won’t eat those. Can’t have you starve before a big day.” Dean’s eyes met yours for only a moment before he shifts on the barstool and returns to his paper. 

You smile, even though Dean’s not looking at you anymore. You maneuver around the kitchen, grabbing a fork and knife before settling down at the island, a barstool between you and Dean.

You turn and look at him, his shapely jawline adorned with a devilish level of scruff.

“Thank you.” You say earnestly. This catches Dean’s attention, his gaze finding and holding yours long enough to make your heart skip a beat. 

“Don’t mention it.” He lingers on you for a moment longer before turning back to his paper and flipping a page. 

Your lips quirk but you try to not think too much on it as you begin digging in; the pancakes, buttery and full of vanilla, melting deliciously in your mouth. 

The rest of breakfast goes on in silence; Mary reading her book, Dean focused on the paper, and you left flipping through your phone since no one seemed interested in chatting. 

As you load up your dishes in the dishwasher, Dean folders his paper up and slaps it down on the counter before sitting up straight and crossing his arms as he stares you down.

“Think you can be ready in an hour?” Your face falls.

“More notice would have been nice, but yes, I can be ready in an hour.” 

“Good, cause we’re leaving in an hour.” You cross your arms, matching his stance.

“You don’t say.” Dean rolls his eyes at you and you huff. 

“Just go get ready.” He shakes his head, and now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. 

Such a pain in the ass. A handsome pain with a handsome ass. But still a pain. 

“Fine. See you in an hour.”

Forty-seven minutes later, you’re showered, your hair is dried and curled into a soft wave, and you’re putting on the finishing touches of your makeup when there’s a soft knock on your door.

You peek at your watch.

“I still have thirteen minutes!” You call out. 

Dean really was pushing the boundaries today. And it was driving you crazy. 

He practically dry humps you last night, ignores you this morning, but makes you a delicious breakfast because he remembered you hate eggs. The man was impossible and it was starting to annoy you. And frustrate you, in a way you were not used to. You bite down on your lip.

“It’s just me.” Mary’s gentle voice calls back.

Shit. 

You drop your mascara into your makeup bag and push yourself off the floor and scurry to the door.

“Sorry about that,” you apologize as soon as Mary comes into view. “I assumed you were Dean.” You offer a half smile as Mary chuckles.

“It’s okay. Mind if I come in.” You step aside and open the door fully, allowing Mary to step in. 

“I just wanted to see if you need any help with your outfit.”

“My outfit?” Your brow furrows, and you look over to your bed where your black chunky sweater and jeans lay waiting for you. Mary’s eyes follow your line of sight. 

“I’m going to guess Dean didn’t give you a heads up, since men never think about these things, but these car shows tend to be on the dresser side.”

Fuck. No, Dean did not tell you that. Your jeans were the nicest thing you brought with you. 

“Yeah, he failed to mention that.” Now you stare at your outfit, anxiety flooding through you at the thought of sticking out for being underdressed. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Mary just smiles at you.

“Come with me.” She waves at you before heading out of the room, and like you’re told, you follow her, heading across the hall and into her bedroom.

The room is large and full of windows and natural light. The lake-chic theme of the downstairs continues through the primary bedroom, with white furniture, a canopy bed with a blue bedspread that matches the wainscot walls, and yellow accents throughout the room. On one of the dressers is a large, framed, selfie of Mary and John, which looks more recent than a lot of the pictures in the living room. Mary’s smile is bright as ever as John kisses her cheek, the two of them in heavy jackets and beanie hats, the hint of snow behind them. 

Mary continues through the room, stopping in a short hallway before disappearing through a doorway. 

“I’ve got a few options that will probably fit you.” Mary’s muffled voice carries through the open doorway before she steps back into view, several hangers in her hand. “You look to be about my size from twenty years ago. And luckily I’m terrible at throwing out old clothes.” She chuckles as she lays out her six options on the ombre comforter that probably matches the lake when it’s not frozen. 

They’re all a mix of dresses, different colors and styles, but the fifth from the end catches your eye.

“Ohh, how about that one.”

Dean taps his foot as he waits in the foyer, checking his watch again. It’s now been an hour and seven minutes since you went upstairs. 

“God dammit woman,” he mutters out in a sigh. 

He meant to tell you last night what time you had to be ready, but the two of you got a little preoccupied. Now he was paying for it by not giving you more of a heads up. 

He should have said something the moment you came downstairs this morning, but he wasn't ready to face you right at that moment. The dreams he had about you last night made it hard to look you in the eyes. And when he finally did, you looked absolutely beautiful, sleep still in your Y/E/C eyes and a glow in your cheeks. You looked like you belonged here, resting against the counter in his mother’s kitchen, cozied up in some giant hoodie and pajama pants with coffee-flavored milk in your hands. 

The floor above him creaks and he turns quickly on his heel, his face dropping with his mood when he sees who it is. 

“Is she ready yet?” Dean all but whines to his mother as she descends. Rather than answer him, she stops two steps from the bottom, standing slightly higher than her statuesque son, and smacks him right in the side of the head.

“Ow!” Dean’s hand jumps to where his mother landed her stinging blow. Not that there was much power behind her swat, but she hasn’t smacked him like this since he was a teenager. 

“What the hell was that for?” Dean bemoans with a grimace, cradling his head.

“Dean Michael Winchester.” Dean’s eyebrows furrow at his mother’s use of his full name.

This was not good.

“You didn’t think,” Mary takes another step down. “To one,” she raises a finger. “Tell her that the car show is cocktail attire.”

Shit. 

“And two.” The second finger goes up. “What time to be ready. So don’t you stand here with a puss face asking when she’s going to be ready.” Dean drops his hand at his mother’s scolding and rolls his eyes. 

He starts to shake his head when Mary’s hand makes contact again, the surprise sending Dean stumbling.

“OW!” Dean yells louder this time, more annoyed than actually hurt. With how much smaller Mary was compared to him, Dean doubted she could actually hurt him even if she really wanted to.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Dean.” Her voice is sharp as her grass-green eyes stare him down. 

“I’m sorry, fine.” Dean concedes. “I just didn’t think about it.” But Mary doesn’t break eye contact.

“She’ll be down in a few minutes.” Mary gives him one last pointed look before taking the final step down and disappearing into the living room. 

Dean watches her go before glancing back towards the empty staircase, sighing out his frustration and giving you a few more minutes of grace.

Three minutes and forty-two seconds later, Dean is leaning against the frame of the front door when the upstairs landing groans again.

Dean’s head whips in that direction as he pushes off the door, just in time to see you take the first step. You’re wearing the black heeled boots you had on yesterday, but it’s paired with a strapless beige dress, the edges trimmed in black with a matching belt wrapped tight around the gentle curve of your waist.

Without thinking, Dean lets out a low, impressed whistle, ignoring the pounding in his chest as he stands up just a little straighter. 

Your hair is down, styled off to one side, with the most makeup Dean has seen you in so far; with full, dark lashes, pink cheeks, and bright red lips, which Dean can’t seem to look away from.

Something else is starting to stand a little straighter too.

Dean clears his throat, and offers out a hand as you get to the last step.

“Thanks,” you reply gently before you drop his hand and head for the coat rack.

“You look nice.” Dean’s now taking in the view of you from the back, leaving little to the imagination like those workout pants did a few weeks ago as the dress seemed to hug your body perfectly. 

Damn. And here mom thought you weren’t prepared. 

You spin on your heel, one arm shimming into your jacket sleeve, your eyes as bright at your smile.

“Thanks.” You repeat. “The dress is your mom’s.” You smirk.

Dean’s mouth drops open as his stomach falls.

“Please don’t tell me that.” Dean groans. The last thing he needs to think about is his mom in that dress. The same dress he was just checking out your ass in.

You just quietly chuckle as your other arm flails for your second sleeve, just missing the opening.

Without a word, Dean steps closer, grabbing your jacket for you and holding it steady so you can slip your arm into. Once it’s in, Dean raises your jacket just a bit before resting it on your shoulders. 

You turn back to him with a smile of thanks, which he can’t help but return.

“Ready?” 

“Sure am.” 

Dean opens the front door for you and you step outside into the bracing afternoon air.

“Have fun, kids!” Mary’s voice travels behind the two of you as Dean steps outside and closes the door behind him. 

You take gentle steps across the driveway, avoiding the few patches of ice that are still lingering. This gives Dean the opening he needs to step in front of you, getting to the passenger door of the Impala about three steps ahead of you.

Without a word, he pulls open the door.

“Wow, getting the full gentleman treatment today, huh.” Your cheek dimples with your half smile as you lower yourself into the passenger seat. Dean smiles down at you.

“What can I say, I’m full of surprises.” You chuckle as Dean gently shuts the door before heading around to the driver’s seat and hopping in.

With one last check of the mirrors, Dean backs out of the driveway, and the two of you were off. 

[yingandzhan]

You know, one thing that boggles my mind is how some in the fandom can dispute that Yu-furen "didn't whip WWX", "only whipped him that one time in the novel and once in the extras" and my absolute favourite response... "WWX said she never hit him".

All of which are the most ludicrous statements I've heard since Trump won the election...

Obviously YZY hit and abused WWX throughout his life. Not only do we see her doing so, but we are given a vivid description of his back in the extras and it's covered in old scars alongside the new ones she has just given him for no good reason. Before anyone cries "but it's propriety, he was half naked in front of a young woman!" and all the other crap I've seen people spout, he's not the only one with a bare chest... Yet she specifically blamed and targeted him. Your precious "tiger mom" YZY was being unreasonable and you god damn well known it!

Anyway, regardless of whether you believe WWXs obvious lie to save face and cope with the trauma (just like JL does when he denies JC hits him and we clearly SEE otherwise) there is an actual line in the novel, from the narrator, not WWX... that spells it out for readers in black and white!

...and Jiang Fengmian’s wife Yu Ziyuan had never spoken well of them to him— honestly, things had been pretty good if she didn’t WHIP HIM or tell him to scram, or kneel in the ancestral hall, or stay away from Jiang Cheng.

- Vol 1. 7S, which is my least favourite translation because I really do feel the translator actively tries to play the abuse down.

Jiang Fengmian’s wife, Yu Ziyuan, never had a decent conversation with him. He would be fortunate if she didn’t GIVE HIM A FEW LASHES, or banish him to kneel at the ancestral hall so that he would keep his distance from Jiang Cheng.

- Chapter 29, Taming Wangxian

...Jiang Fengmian’s wife, Yu Ziyuan, had never been interested in having a conversation with him at all. If she didn’t WHIP HIM A FEW TIMES and tell him to get out, kneel at the ancestral shrine, and keep far away from Jiang Cheng, he already considered that pretty good

- Chapter 29, Fanyiyi

...Yu ZiYuan never spoke properly to Wei WuXian at all. It was lucky for him if she didn’t GIVE HIM A FEW WHIPS and send him to kneel in the ancestral hall so that he’d keep his distance from Jiang Cheng.

- Chapter 29, ExR

It's in...Every. Single. Translation. So there's no excuse if you're talking about the novel or tagging things as MDZS or Mo Dao Zu Shi. It's right there for everyone to see. WWX deemed it a good day if he wasn't whipped! Which would have been the days YZY was off night-hunting and nowhere near Lotus Pier.

Thankfully YZY being away from the clan residence seems to be the case more often than not. But those days she was there... It was a likely scenario WWX was going to be "punished" (for absolutely nothing) in some way or form and judging by the scars he had across his back, she very much liked to hit him with her spiritual weapon.

[thrashkink-coven]

I wasn’t even going to post this, because I didn’t want to contribute to some of the anxieties that you all are having about the election, but when I spoke to Lord Lucifer about it yesterday, he got really quiet.

“Why do you ask? What does it change?”

well it changes a whole lot. Project 2025 is extremely concerning. Of course it matters.

But when I looked at him, his eyes communicated something incredibly intense. I could see flames and hear anguish.

“I have never seen a group of slaves so concerned with its master’s mythology”

and damn that hit me. The way we treat politicians as Gods, and politics as mythology, how we allow it to inform our sense of self and morality, when did we all get so comfortable with that?

“Tomorrow the elites will decide who the new commander is. They will dictate who’s ideas become law, and who must obeyed. One day, when all is lost, we will turn around and wonder why we ever cared about law, why we ever allowed people to dictate our movements, why we ever acted as audience to this drag show. For reasons xy and z , reasons that even you do not understand, there is a new chief, a new law, something new to obey, because the people refuse to make their own law. They refuse to be their own Gods, they cannot write their own myths, so they accept what they are told. How the heavens, or government, acts, is absolute and unknowable. It’s been so long since they tasted freedom, they don’t know what it tastes like anymore. I want you to accept that the world is what it is. Disregard this illusion that things have suddenly, or will suddenly change. Disregard the idea that this timeless battle will resolve through politics. You’ve been fighting and will be fighting for the rest of your life. Who wins? I don’t care. The fight won’t happen in the polls. It doesn’t transform based on these myths. You will have the law, the one that even they do not obey, and they will have the land.

But the enemy has always been the same, the battle has always been the same, since the very beginning, no matter how many times the myth is rewritten. Be it he or she who sits on the throne, there is still throne, you are still slave. When slaves reconnected with their Gods, understood that they were divine, as worthy as kings, they began to recreate their mythology and that began to recreate their idea of law. You want freedom? You crave liberation? Stop thinking like a slave. Stop hoping that master will be kind. Stop buying into the lie that the power exists only in the hands of others. They are not the only ones capable of creating law, they are not the only ones capable of changing minds. America is the perfect embodiment of the doctrine of supremacy who wraps itself in the false flag of freedom. True freedom starts in the mind, extends to the community, and embraces humanity with love. Reinvent the mythology, write one in which all people are Gods, and all power is in all the people. These kings are not kings without their myths and stories, they have no power beyond the power you all give them. I don’t care what the kings are doing, they aren’t real. I care about you and all your kin, and that’s truly all you should care about too.”

…. so voting is useless?

“Imagine if you knew and loved everyone in your community, and you all got together once a month to compile your assets and equitably distributed them. Imagine if you all knew what was going wrong and worked together to fix it. Imagine if you compromised with each other, and found a way to coexist peacefully. Is such a thing truly impossible? Do you even know your neighbour’s name? Do you even care about the man sleeping outside? Could you love them? Could you try?”

[appleflavoredkitkats]

my little champion

(a semi-poetic essay about c!fundy)

“my”

is a possessive term, denoting something, particularly an item, singularly belongs to the person speaking. you use this term a lot, especially when referring to my sister.

my l'manberg, you said. my unfinished symphony, forever unfinished. the country we grew up in, the country we share with those i consider family, is solely and singularly yours. what does that bode for me? how undistinguishable am i from my sister? l'manberg was a peaceful community, but it was your peace and your community, founded on people-centric principles that you hypocritically created on your own. my, because you wanted to hold a one-party election, where your running mate threatened to exile me from my birthplace. my, because you exploded the damn place because it didn't seem to meet your ideological standards, even if you and schlatt are two sides of the same charmful coin.

my, because no matter how dead or looked down upon you are, your fingers grip around me like a ball and chain. i am eternally connected to you via being.

“little”

is an adjective, denoting how miniscule a specific object is.

i am a mere speck, no matter where you are. you have a tendency to crouch. if not, you're on a stage that's ten feet tall, being slaughtered by grandpa as you look down on me. i see your eyes everywhere. in the tall trees that vignette my tiny cabin in the woods, in the casino that looms over my half-built shack next to the las nevadan horses.

unfavorability is a gene i did not expect to possess, because that doesn't seem like a possibility in the family. grandpa is favored by the god of death. you were resurrected to fulfill some vengeful power dynamic. meanwhile, grandma has granted me the ability to take my own life— the only one in this wasteland who has done it upon themself. how meaningless, she might have thought, when she saw me throw myself into pits of broken promises.

i am absence personified. schrodinger's fox trapped in its box. i was not invited to save tommy and tubbo when they regained the discs. i was not there when quackity concluded his quest for power. i am air, i am silence. i'm smaller than a breath, than the atoms that compose our bodies.

“champion”

defines a winner. someone who has triumphed, whether because they gained something in copious amounts, or because they've overcome a persistent struggle.

this word can only exist with the other two prefixes. little champion, because i am the breathing time in between your bigger victories. my champion, because my joys in life are not mine. they must be and always are tied to you. we celebrated our nation's independence, long ago, and i anticipated to be repaid the promises you've made. in dread, i waited, i waited, and i waited.

but the truth is, you’ve given it to me on that same day. you dream of peace, of community-shared resources. of protection, of families forever devoted to each other. that is l'manberg. it is a case of your desired triumphs, of the ideal world you fought for incessantly. but at some point, something switched— perhaps, a button— and you saw it as burdensome weight. you coughed it onto me and i collected it. that baggage, that immunity to this wasteland's cyclical violence.

you have injected upon me the parts of yourself undesirable, and thus i have become undesirability itself. i have become what the server seeks but is never seen, dragged down by the prefixes that make me invisible and an irrevocable pathway to you.

when dream stops killing, when swords are sheathed and shields tucked away, when the wasteland starts growing lilies and unwithered roses again, that is me. that should be me. they will pick those flowers up, the ones that have bloomed from my previous carcasses, smell their wonderful fragrance and think, why haven't we thought of this before?

and yet, i will smile. i will sit beside them and keep them company. if i had the capacity to be selfish, i would impart my cassandrian screams. but i'm not. instead, i will smell the same flowers with them, happy that, perhaps, their wasteland would be salvageable, even if i wasn't included in the blueprints.

[nikimisery]

Season 1 Episode 6 - Skin

“Darius looked around the club, taking in the teeming, half-naked bodies on the dance floor. Screamer’s was packed tonight, full of women wearing leather and men who looked like they had advanced degrees in violent crime.

Darius and his companion fit right in.

Except they actually were killers.

“So you’re really going to do this?” Tohrment asked him.

Darius glanced across the shallow table. The other vampire’s eyes met his own. “Yeah. I am.”

Tohrment nursed his Scotch and smiled grimly. Only the very tips of his fangs showed. “You’re crazy, D.”

“You should know.”

“Alright, I figure we’d hit Tucumcari by lunch, then head south, hit Bisbee by midnight.” Dean’s voice called from outside the car. Because of the case with Mary Worthington, I hadn’t been able to finish my book, so I was busy reading that while he got gas. “Sam wears women’s underwear.”  

“I’ve been listening, I’m just busy.” Sam responded. 

“Busy doing what?” 

“Reading e-mails.” Sam replies, holding up his phone to show Dean. 

“E-mails from who?” 

“From my friends at Stanford.” 

“You’re kidding. You still keep in touch with your college buddies?” Dean asked him, his tone was all disbelief. 

“Why not?” 

“Well, what exactly do you tell them?” He asked. “You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doing?” 

“I tell them I’m on a road trip with my big brother and his girlfriend.” His words made my cheeks hot as I hid my face further in my book. “I tell them I needed some time off after Jess.” 

“Oh, so you lie to them.” 

“No, I just don’t tell them… everything.” 

“Yeah, that’s called lying.” Dean stated. “I mean, hey, man, I get it. Telling the truth is far worse.” 

“So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life?” Sam asked, but Dean just shrugged his shoulders, electing not to answer him. “You’re serious?” 

“Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period.” Dean explained to him. My heart dropped when he spoke. Did that mean we couldn’t be close? We’re we close? 

“You’re kind of anti-social, you know that?” Sam asked him. “And what about Freya? We’re close to her.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” He replied. “She’s with us, it’s different.” Right…

“God…” Sam trailed off, reading another e-mail on his phone. 

“What?” I asked, sitting my book aside. 

“In this e-mail from this girl, Rebecca Warren, one of those friends of mine.” 

“Is she hot?” Dean and I both asked at the same time, causing Sam to roll his eyes, but he ignored us. 

“I went to school with her and her brother, Zack. She says Zack’s been charged with murder. He’s been arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn’t do it, but it sounds like the cops have a pretty good case.” 

“Dude, what kind of people are you hanging out with?” Dean asked.

“No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer.” 

“Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you.” I leaned out of the window where I could see Dean. 

“Be nice to your brother.” I told him, but he just made a face at me. 

“They’re in St. Louis. We’re going.” Sam said, making Dean chuckle a little. 

“Look, sorry about your buddy, okay? But this does not sound like our kind of problem.” 

“It is our problem. They’re my friends.” Sam argued. 

“St. Louis is four hundred miles behind us, Sam.” Dean tried, but I cut him off. 

“Dean, just get in the damn car. What’s the worst that’s going to happen? You get to tell Sam you were right?” I asked, but instead of answering me, he just huffed, getting back into the drivers seat and pulling back out onto the road. 

                “Oh my God, Sam!” I heard a peppy voice call from the front door we had just walked up to.

             “Well, if it isn’t little Becky.” Sam said.

             “You know what you can do with that little Becky crap.” She responded. Oh, I like her.

             “I got your e-mail.” Sam told her, pulling back from a hug.

             “I didn’t think that you would come here.” She said, just a Dean stepped forward, extending his hand.

             “Dean. Older brother.” He said. She shook his hand before speaking.

             “Hi.”

             “Hi.” He responded, smiling. Stepping up, I ‘accidently’ bumped into his shoulder as I did.

             “Freya.” I said as I shook her hand.

             “Oh, you must be the girlfriend.” She said with a smile. I was confused for a second before I remember what Sam had said he told his friends.

             “That’s me.” I said, smiling back at her.

             “We’re here to help. Whatever we can do.” Sam told her.

             “Come in.” She said, opening the door wider for us to enter.

             “Nice place.” Dean commented from his place beside me, looking around the house.  

             “It’s my parents’. I was just crashing here for the long weekend when everything happened. I decided to take the semester off. I’m gonna stay until Zack’s free.” She told us.

             “Where are your folks?” Sam asked.

             “They live in Paris for half the year.” She began. Of course they do. Must be nice. “So they’re on their way home now for the trial. Do you want a beer or something?” She asked as we followed her into the kitchen.

             “Hey –“ Dean began, obviously about to accept her offer but Sam cut him off.

             “No, thanks.” He said, earning a bitch face from Dean. “So, tell us what happened.”

             “Well, um…” She began. It was clear she was uncomfortable discussing what happened, but she pushed her way through it. “Zack came home, and he found Emily tied to a chair. And she was beaten up and bloody, and she wasn’t breathing.” She paused, tears forming in her eyes. “So, he called 911, and the police—they showed up, and they arrested him. But, the thing is, the only way that Zack could’ve killed Emily is if he was in two places at the same time. The police—they have a video. It’s from the security tape from across the street. And it shows Zack coming home at 10:30. Now, Emily was killed just after that, but I swear, he was here with me, having a few beers until at least after midnight.”

         “You know,” Sam began. Every time he starts a sentence out like that, one of us ends up getting shot at… This is gonna be good. “Maybe we could see the crime scene. Zack’s house.”

         “We could?” Dean asked.

         “Why? I mean, what could you do?” Rebecca asked.

         “Well, me, not much. But Dean’s a cop.” Sam responded. There it is. There’s that pesky little catch. Oh I love this already.

         “Detective, actually.” Dean said, a grin on his face.

         ‘He’s loving this.’ I told Val.

         ‘Yeah, but he’s cute though.’

         ‘Hush, you.’

         “Really?” She asked him, making him nod. “Where?” OHHHHHH what’s he gonna say?

         “Bisbee, Arizona.” He told her. “But I’m off-duty now.”

         “You guys, it’s so nice to offer, but I just – I don’t know.”

         “Bec, look. I know Zack didn’t do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he’s innocent.” Sam explained.

         “Okay. I’m gonna go get the keys.” She said, turning and walking away down the hallway.

         “Oh, yeah, man. You’re a real straight shooter with your friends.” Dean snarked at him as soon as she was out of earshot. I lightly smacked him in the chest, but he just grabbed my hand, holding it to his chest as he rolled his eyes.  

         “Look, Zack and Becky need our help.”

         “I just don’t think this is our kind of problem.”

         “Two places at once? We’ve looked into less.” Sam said.

         “It’s true, sugar.” I piped up.

         “You’re supposed to be on my side.” He said, turning to me with his puppy dog eyes and a pout.

         “You’re so cute.” I told him, patting his cheek, but he just scoffed at me, kissing the back of my hand before dropping it and ushering us out the door after Rebecca. 

                “You’re sure this is okay?” Rebecca asked Dean for what had to have been the hundredth time.

             “Yeah. I am an officer of the law.” He responded, stepping into the house and taking a look around. The smell of blood assaulted me the moment the door was open. It was so strong, everywhere around me.

             “Bec, you wanna wait outside?” Sam asked, gently.

             “No. I wanna help.” She said, ducking under the police tape and entering the house. Dean could see my hesitation as he watched me from his spot inside.

             “Princess?”

             “I’m good, I’m good. Just strong.” I said, tapping my nose. I didn’t want to say too much in front of Rebecca, but he understood what I was saying.

             “Maybe breathe through your mouth?” I just nodded at him as I stepped in, following his eyes as we took in the room. I was right, there was blood everywhere, all over the walls and the furniture. There was so much.

             “Tell us what the police said.” Sam said.

             “Well,” She began, eyes tearing up again. “There’s no sign of a break-in. They say that Emily let her attacker in. The lawyers – they’re already talking about a plea bargain.” Looking around the room, she let the tears fall. “Oh god…”

             “Look, Bec, if Zack didn’t do this, it means someone else did. Any idea who?” Sam prodded.

             “Um…” She trails off, shaking her head as she thought. “There was something, about a week before. Somebody broke in here and stole some clothes – Zack’s clothes. The police – they didn’t think it’s anything. I mean, we’re not that far from downtown. Sometimes people get robbed.” Sam had started to walk away as Dean and I walked over towards the windows. There was a dog barking outside which had caught Dean’s attention and I joined him at the window, looking out. “You know, that used to be the sweetest dog.” Rebecca remarked from behind us.

             “What happened?” Dean asked her.

             “He just changed.”

             “Do you remember when he changed?”

             “I guess around the time of the murder.” I shared a look with Dean as she finished talking, both of us thinking the same thing. At that, we turned and found our way back to Sam, who was stopped in the hallway, looking at a picture of himself, Zack and Rebecca that was framed and hanging on the wall.

             “So, the neighbor’s dog went psycho right around the time Zack’s girlfriend was killed.” Dean began.

             “Animals can have a sharp sense of the paranormal.” Sam answered.

             “Yeah, maybe Fido saw something.”

             “So, you think maybe this is our kind of problem?”

             “No. Probably not.” He began. “But we should look at the security tape, you know, just to make sure.”

             “Yeah.” Sam said, smirking at his brother.

             “Yeah…” Dean trailed off as Rebecca rejoined us. “So, the tape. The security footage – you think maybe your lawyers could get their hands on it?” He asked. “Cause I just don’t have that kind of jurisdiction." I giggled a little to myself as he spoke, causing him to poke me in my side, making me jump.

             “I’ve already got it. I didn’t wanna say something in front of the cop.” She said, making Dean laugh a little. “I stole it off the lawyer’s desk. I just had to see it for myself.”

             “All right.” He said grabbing me, pulling me after him out of the house.  

                We were back at Rebecca’s house playing the security tape. Dean was sitting on the couch, I was on the arm rest next to him, his arm resting around my hips and Sam was sitting in the arm chair across from us.

             “Here he comes.” Rebecca said, pointing to the TV. The tape was showing Zack going into the house.

             “22:04, that’s just after ten.” Dean started. “You said time of death was about 10:30.”

             “Our lawyers hired some kind of video expert. He says the tape’s authentic. It wasn’t tampered with.” She told him. I had been intently watching the tape when I noticed his eyes. Sam must have noticed it too because he spoke up.

             “Hey, Bec? Can we take those beers now?”

             “Oh, sure.”

             “Hey.” He said, getting her attention. “Maybe some sandwiches, too?”

             “What do you think this is, Hooters?” She sassed at Sam before leaving the room.

             “I wish.” Dean said. I smacked him in the back of the head as we got up to walk over to Sam. He retaliated by pinching my ass, causing me to glare at him. Of course, he just shrugged. “What is it?”

             “Check this out.” He said, rewinding the tape to show Dean what we had caught.

             “Watch his eyes.” I said as Sam hit play.

             “Well, maybe it’s just a camera flare.” Dean said.

             “That’s not like any camera flare I’ve ever seen.” Sam said. “You know, a lot of cultures believe that a photograph can catch a glimpse of the soul.”

             “Right.”

             “Remember that dog that was freakin’ out? Maybe he saw this thing. Maybe this is some kind of dark double of Zack’s, something that looks like him, but isn’t him.”

             “Like a Doppleganger.”

             “Yeah. It’d explain how he was in two places at once.” Sam said just as Rebecca brought us the beers. We left shortly after that, Sam telling her we needed to get some sleep, mull over what we had learned. We were in the car, driving to the motel when Dean spoke up.

             “Princess, can you talk to dogs?”

             “Ummm… what?” I asked.

             “Dogs, can you talk to them?”

             “The hell do you come up with these questions, Winchester?”

             “Just answer the damn question.” He said, rolling his eyes at me.

             “No?” I said. “Why are you asking?”

             “Well, you know…” He started “You got claws and fangs, Valkyrie said she’s your wolf, you get all growly…” He trailed off. “You know, just forget I said anything.”

             “Yeah… sure.” I said as we pulled up to the motel.

             “I’ll go get us a room.” He mumbled as he all but ran out of the car.

             “Dude, I think you embarrassed him.” Sam chuckled.

             “He did it to himself.” I defended. “No one told him to ask me that.”

             “He likes you, you know.”

             “What makes you say that.”

             “He’s different with you.” Was all Sam was able to get out before Dean rejoined us, pulling the car over to a parking spot in front of one of the doors. He got out of the car and opened my door, before walking to the trunk to get our bags.

             “Only two beds, no couch. Looks like you’re stuck with me again, Princess.” He didn’t look at me when he said it, but I could still hear Sam’s words ringing in my ears.

             “Whatever will I do?” I said dramatically, hand on my chest. “Sam, save me!”

             “Alright, that’s enough.” Dean cut me off as Sam laughed at us, walking into the room. I just rolled my eyes at him as I turned to walk away, but he stopped me, a hand on my arm, pulling me back to him.

             “Did you just roll your eyes at me?” He asked, pushing me back against the car, caging me between his arms.

             “Maybe I did.” I said, looking up at him through my lashes.

             “What did I say about that, baby girl?” His voice was low, gravelly, as he spoke to me.

             “That I would regret it.” His hand had slid from the car, down to my hip where he pulled me into him, roughly. I could feel every single inch of him against me. He moved to nestle his head into my neck, leaving little nips with his teeth as he moved.

             “Did you think I was kidding?” He whispered against my skin. My breath caught in my throat as my hands tangled themselves in his hair.

             “Dean…” I whispered, arching my back into him. I could feel the smirk on his face when he felt me move.

             “You guys coming?” Sam’s voice called out from the motel room, causing me to jerk against Dean. He let out a groan, letting his forehead fall against my shoulder.

             “Yeah, Sammy.” He yelled back. He raised his head from my shoulder before leaning it against mine. He took a deep breath before backing up, picking up the bags and walking into the room. I had to take a minute, my legs were shaky and I needed to steady my breathing before I could even think of moving.

             ‘The hell was that?’

             ‘That was your bond with the older Winchester. It will only grow stronger.’

             ‘What kind of bond. What are you talking about?’ She didn’t answer me as I finally gathered myself enough to follow him into the room. I didn’t bother with a shower, just went into the bathroom and changed into Dean’s flannel before falling into bed. Sam was already snoring away and Dean was laid down by the time I got done and crawled into bed myself. When I got under the covers, Dean wasted no time in grabbing me, pulling me into him. I turned to face him, my head resting on his chest when his hand came up, lifting my chin to look at him.

             “Good night, Princess.” He said, lowering his face to me, lips grazing mine. I don’t know what came over me at that moment, but I couldn’t handle just a small, chaste kiss, so before he could pull away, I reached up and grabbed the back of his head, pulling him closer to me, pouring emotions I didn’t even know I was feeling into that kiss. He gripped my neck, deepening the kiss causing me to let out a small moan in the back of my throat. His hand slipped down my neck, fingers grazing my skin till they came to rest on my thigh, pulling on it till it laid across his waist. His grip was tightening the longer he kissed me, pulling me into him. There was nothing quite like kissing Dean Winchester. He pulled his head back, lips moving across my cheek and down to my neck, nipping and sucking at the skin there, pulling more sounds from my throat. I couldn’t help the roll of my hips when it happened, but he didn’t seem to mind, pulling me into him even more.

             “Baby girl, we gotta stop.” He said, making me whine. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, but I am not going to have your first time with Sam 4 feet away from us.” He whispered against my lips.

             “That would be great.” Sam’s voice piped up, causing me to jump in Dean’s arms.

             “Holy shit, Sam, I thought you were asleep.”

             “Surprise!” He said sarcastically. “Now shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”

             “Sorry!” I squeaked out, hiding my face in Dean’s chest. He was just laughing throughout the whole thing. Placing a kiss to my forehead, he settled down and pulled me to lay on his chest. My eyes drifted closed. I’ve always had a hard time falling asleep, but here, in the arms of Dean Winchester, I had never felt more safe, more content… I fell asleep before my thoughts even finished. 

                “All right, so what are we doing’ here at 5:30 in the morning?” Dean asked, annoyance dripping from every syllable he spoke.

             “I realized something.” Sam said, walking away from us towards the house we were parked behind. “The videotape shows the killer going in, but not coming out.”

             “So, he came out the back door?” Dean asked him, coming up to lean against the hood of the Impala where I was. He had his jacket in his hand, wrapping it around my shoulders before settling next to me.

             “Right. So, there should be a trail to follow. A trail the police would never pursue.”

             “Cause they think the killer never left.” Dean started, picking up Sam’s trail of thought. He handed me a Chai, though I must have really been out of it, because I don’t even remember stopping to get it, but I smiled up at him gratefully, nonetheless. “And they caught your friend Zack inside. I still don’t know what we’re doing out here at 5:30 in the morning.”

             “I was comfortable.” I grumbled, leaning into Dean’s warmth.

             “Blood.” Sam said. He had been looking around, checking the outside walls and surroundings for any sign that our target had come this way. “Somebody came this way.” He continued, pointing at the telephone pole, blood smeared on it.

             “Yeah, but the trail ends. I don’t see anything over here.” Dean told him, looking at the ground around the Impala. An ambulance drove by at that moment, the loud siren splitting into my head causing me to whine against Dean’s shoulder. “You okay, Princess?”

             “That was just really loud.” I told him, nodding my head to let him know I was okay.

             “Has it always been that way?” He asked me, ushering me up to follow his brother, who had walked off to investigate where the ambulance had gone.

             “It’s been getting worse, but I’ve always had really sensitive hearing.”

             “Worse, how?”

             “Everything is more intense.”

             “We’ll have to see if we can figure something out for that.” He said before we reached where Sam was standing, observing the scene. “What happened?” Dean leaned up and asked the woman standing in front of in the ever growing crowd.

             “He tried to kill his wife.” She answered him. “Tied her up and beat her.”

             “Really?” Sam asked.

             “I used to see him going to work in the morning. He’d wave, say hello. He seemed like such a nice guy.” She said, watching the guy get loaded into the back of a police car. Sam just shook his head before he put his hand on my back, guiding me away from the crowd, Dean right behind us.

             “Hey, I’ll be right back.” Dean said over his shoulder as he walked away, towards the cops surrounding the house.

             “You two seemed…” Sam began, trailing off. “Awfully cozy last night and this morning.” I couldn’t help the blush that hit my cheeks.

             “He kissed me…” I told him, hiding my face in the cup Dean had gotten for me.

             “I know… I heard… though I REALLY wish I hadn’t.” He said, voice colored in annoyance, but his eyes were teasing.

             “No, before that.”

             “Oh?”

             “The night we finished up the Bloody Mary case? Remember that?”

             “Yeah…” He said. “Oh wait, when he told me to wait in the car?”

             “That would be it.”

             “And?”

             “Do you really want me to talk to you about my romantic feelings towards your brother, Sasquatch?" I asked incredulously.

             “Hey, you’re my best friend. He’s my brother. And while the two of you together, literally makes my head hurt, I couldn’t be any happier for either of you.” He said, all hints of teasing were gone. “All we have is each other. I remember, when I was still with Jess…” he began to say, pain evident in his tone. “Sometimes I needed to talk to someone about it. The good, the bad, the completely unimportant little things…”

             “I don’t know what we are. He kissed me. We made out last night, but I don’t KNOW anything.”

             “Have you asked him?”

             “Really, Sammy? Asking Dean to talk about feelings? That’s gonna go over well.” I answered him sarcastically.

             “I think…” He began, seeing Dean jogging back towards us. “You’d be surprised what you could get out of him, if you just asked.”

             “Hey.” Dean’s voice called out, effectively ending the conversation. “Remember when I said this wasn’t our kind of problem?” He asked us.

             “Yeah.” Sam and I both answered at the same time.

             “Definitely our kind of problem.”

             “Ohhhhhh Sasquatch, he’s saying he was wrong!!!” I said, swatting him in the arm, earning a glare from the older Winchester.

             “Hush, you.” He said, putting his hand over my mouth. I giggled, but didn’t say anything else as I listened to them talk.       

             “What’d you find out?” Sam asked him, amusement in his eyes as he watched us. Dean still had his hand over my mouth, so I stuck my tongue out and licked his palm. What I’m not going to tell you is how the taste of his skin on my tongue made my brain short circuit. Pulling his hand back, he made a disgusted face, but then a smirk pulled at his lips.

             “Brat.” He said, stepping closer to me, crowding me against the Impala before he turned, leaning against it as he spoke to Sam, his arm around my waist, holding me against him. His fingers had found their way under the hem of my shirt, slowly stroking the skin on my hip bone. Very distracting, if I do say so myself. “Well, I just talked to the patrolman who was first on the scene, heard this guy, Alex’s story. Apparently the dude was driving home from a business trip when his wife was attacked.”

             “So, he was two places at once.”

             “Exactly. Then he sees himself in the house, police think he’s a nutjob.”

             “Two dark doubles attacking loved ones in exactly the same way.”

             “Could be the same thing doin’ it, too.” Dean said. I looked up between the brothers, Sam deep in thought, before I spoke up.

             “Shapeshifter?” I asked, Dean shrugged, but Sam looked up to meet my gaze.

             “Something that can make itself look like anyone?” He asked me.

             “Every culture in the world has shapeshifter lore.” Dean said.

             “You know, legends of creatures who can transform themselves into animals or other men.” I finished.

             “Right, skinwalkers, werewolves.” Sam said, listing a couple of the creatures we knew of for certain.

             “We’ve got two attacks within blocks of each other. I’m guessing we’ve got a shapeshifter prowlin’ the neighborhood.” Dean said.

             “Let me ask you this…” Sam began. “In all this shapeshifter lore, can any of them fly?”

             “Not that I know of.”

             “I picked up the trail here.” He said, gesturing to the back of the house. “Someone ran out of the back of this building and headed off this way.”

             “Just like your friend’s house.”

             “Yeah. And, just like at Zack’s house, the trail suddenly ends. I mean, whatever it is just disappeared.”

             “Not necessarily.” I said. Both boys turned to look at me when I spoke. “When I was on my own, sometimes I would sleep underground to get away from the elements.” I explained.

             “Well, there’s one way to go down.” Dean said, pointing to the manhole not too far away from us.

             “Great….” I began, trailing off. “You guys are gonna love this.” I watched the brothers struggling to get the manhole cover off before I intervened. “Move, move.” I said, reaching down and with one hand, pulled it up and tossed it aside over by the building.

             “You couldn’t have done that earlier?” Sam sassed at me.

             “You guys were doing so well…” I giggled. Sammy Winchester’s bitch face was in full effect, causing me to laugh even harder, but Dean came up behind me, grabbing me, pulling me into him.

             “Real cute, princess.”

             “I thought it was.” I said, stepping away from him as Sam started down into the manhole. When it was my turn, I started down the ladder as Dean spoke up.

             “Eyes up, Princess. Focus.” He said.

             “Yes, sir.” I told him, looking up at him from where I standing on the ladder. He bit his lip at that, but didn’t say anything. His eyes had darkened as he nodded at me. I reached the bottom and looked around, waiting for Dean to join us. Sam had his flashlight out, pointing it in every direction he could, before accidently shining it right in my eyes. “Fuck, Sasquatch!” I said, holding my hand up to my face. It had burned my eyes and now I was having to adjust to the sudden, bright intrusion.

             “Hey, your eyes…” he said.

             “What about her eyes?” Dean asked, having just joined us.

             “They flashed when the light hit them. Like an animal.”

             “Let me see.” Dean demanded. I knew it wasn’t going to be fun, but I would let him see regardless, so I lowered my hand and looked at them as Sam directed the flashlight beam at me again. “Holy shit, they do.” He said. Sam hadn’t shoved the light directly into my eyes that time, so the adjustment wasn’t as bad.

             “What’s wrong?” I asked, seeing the worry clouding Dean’s face.

             “It’s nothing…” He said trailing off, but when I grabbed his arm and forced him to look at me, he sighed. “They just reminded me of the video from last night.” I dropped his arm quickly as he spoke, backing up a little. That video was of a creature who was running around, brutally murdering people… I couldn’t be like that, right?

             “Hey, hey.” Sam said, grabbing both of my arms, making me face him. “You’re not like this thing, okay? Having a similar feature doesn’t mean you’re going to go around killing people, okay?” He had hit that one right on the head, I thought to myself.

             “How do you know for sure?” I asked quietly. I tried to reach out to Val, but she was suspiciously quiet right now.

             “Look at me, Princess.” Dean said, coming to stand beside us. I turned my face to look up at him. “You are nothing like this thing.” He began, bringing his hand up to my back, running his fingers up and down my spine. “You’re a pain in my ass, but you are good. You are so good.” He encouraged.

             “You are kind and you do everything you can to help someone.” Sam continued. “That thought alone makes you one of the good guys, regardless of what you are.”

             “Promise?” I asked, looking down at the ground. Sam pulled me into a tight hug, like he was trying to shield me.

             “We both promise.” Dean’s voice came from behind us, his hand still on my back. Closing my eyes, I nodded my head, fighting the tears before I pulled away, running a hand over my face.

             “Fuck…” I said, pulling away from Sam. “I’m sorry. We have a murderer to catch.” Chuckling a little as I looked around, my eyes flashing so I could see better.

             “I bet this runs right by Zack’s house, too.” Sam said after a brief pause. He cleared his throat before continuing. “The shapeshifter could be using the sewer system to get around.”

             “I think you’re right.” Dean said. He had walked a little ways away from us exploring, and was now knelt down on the ground. "Look at this.” He was pointing at a small gooey pile of what looked like blood and pieces of skin.

             “Is that from his victims?” Sam asked, watching Dean take his pocketknife out of his pocket and lift up a piece out of the pile.

             “You know, I just had a sick thought. When a shapeshifter changes shape – maybe it sheds.”

             “That is sick.” Sam said as I scrunched my nose at the thought.

             “Let’s get out of here.” I said to the boys, leading them back to the ladder and out of the sewers.

             “Well, one thing I learned from Dad, is that no matter what kind of shapeshifter it is, there’s one sure way to kill it.” Dean said, opening up the trunk and propping open the special compartment with that shotgun.

             “Silver bullet to the heart.” Sam answered him.

             “That’s right.” Sam’s phone ringing cut off the conversation as he pulled it out, answering it.

             “This is Sam.” He said, turning to walk away from the car.

             “Who is it?” Dean asked me.

             “Rebecca. And she doesn’t sound happy.” I told him.

             “What’s she saying?”

             “She’s yelling at him for lying to her. She talked to the lawyer, found out you weren’t actually a cop.”

             “Bec –“ Sam started but she cut him off again.

             “Damn…” I trailed off looking at Dean. “She is big mad at him.” Dean chuckled a little as Sam hung up the phone and rejoined us by the car.

             “I hate to say it, but that’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Dean began. “You lie to your friends because if they knew the real you, they’d be freaked. It’s just – it’d be easier if –“

             “If I was like you, two.” Sam cut him off.

             “Hey, don’t bring me into this.” I said.

             “Hey, man, like it or not, we are not like other people.” Dean told him, ignoring me. “But I’ll tell you one thing. This whole gig – it ain’t without perks.” He said, holding out a gun for Sam, handing me one as well before putting his Colt in his jeans, closing the trunk and walking back towards the sewer. Once we were back down in the sewers Sam took up the lead, heading further down the tunnel.

             “I think we’re close to its lair.” Dean quipped.

             “Why do you say that?” Sam asked him.

             “Because there’s another puke-inducing pile next to your face.” He said, pointing with his flashlight to the pipe running right next to Sam’s head.

             “Oh, God.” Sam said, completely disgusted. He jumped back a little when he saw it, causing me to giggle a little.

             “Hush, shortcake, or I’ll pick you up and rub your face in it.”

             “You wouldn’t…” I trailed off, backing up away from him a little.

             “Looks like it’s lived here for a while.” Dean cut in.

             “Who knows how many murders he’s gotten away with?” Sam said. I smelled him before I saw him. Dirt, blood and something tangy, wild and overall unpleasant. “Dean!” Sam yelled out causing both Dean and I to spin around finding the shapeshifter there, still looking like the dude that had gotten arrested earlier, standing behind Dean. I started moving before I even realized what I was doing, but the shapeshifter punched Dean, right in the side of the head, causing him to crumple, before I reached him. Sam pulled his gun out, shooting after him, but I wasn’t watching to see if anything connected. As soon as I reached Dean, I dropped to the ground next to him, pulling him up to a sitting position, wincing as my hand touched his shoulder, Sam right behind me.

             “Get the son of a bitch!�� Dean growled out, pushing me away as he stood up. He was pissed. We raced over to the ladder, heading up and out of the sewers in pursuit, but when we got topside, we didn’t see him anywhere. I tried following his scent, but there were so many people around and we were right next to a park, I couldn’t pick it up.

             “All right, let’s split up.” Sam spoke up.

             “All right, I’ll meet you around the other side.” Dean said, turning and taking off before I could say anything.

             “I’ll head into the park, look there. Meet you at the car?” I asked Sam, watching him nod at me, then turn and walk the opposite direction his brother took. I jogged over to the small park, trying to pick up the scent, find a trace of his face, anything to help with locating him, but came up empty. After several minutes, I made my way back to the car, beating the boys. I was leaning against the drivers side when I caught sight of Sam, Dean appearing a few seconds later.

             “Hey.” Dean called out, causing Sam to turn to face him. “Anything?”

             “No. He’s gone.”

             “All right, let’s get back to the car.” Dean spoke up, pausing to let a car pass, before he crossed the street.

             “You think he found another way underground?” Sam asked.

             “Yeah, probably. You got the keys?” Dean asked, Sam stopped walking and looked at me before turning to his brother. I could feel the uncertainty and tension rolling off Sam, but I couldn’t place why.

             “Hey, didn’t Dad once face a shapeshifter in San Antonio?” Sam asked him.

             “Oh, that was Austin.” He said. I remembered reading about that in John’s journal. “It turned out not to be a shapeshifter, it was a thought form. A psychic projection, remember?”

             “Oh, right. Here ya go.” Sam responded, tossing the keys to Dean. When he threw his hand up to catch the keys, it hit me. The smell of dirt and blood and that wild spice I couldn’t place. Not leather and pine. This was NOT Dean. “Don’t move!” Sam yelled, turning back around and raising his gun. “What have you done with him?”

             “Dude, chill. It’s me, all right?”

             “No, I don’t think so. Where’s my brother?”

             “You’re about to shoot him. Sam, calm down.” He said, turning to me next. “Nik, tell him.”

             “You aren’t Dean. Sam calls me by my middle name, not you. You’ve never once in the whole time we’ve known each other called me Nik.”

             “You caught those keys with your left.” Sam said, cutting me off and drawing the attention back to himself. “Your shoulder was hurt.”

             “Yeah, it’s better. What do you want me to do, cry?” Okay, so that was something Dean would say, but the smell, coupled with the nickname… I was convinced this wasn’t Dean.

             “You’re not my brother.”

             “Why don’t you pull the trigger, then? Hm?” ‘Dean’ said, goading Sam on. “Cause you’re not sure. Dude, you know me.”

             “Don’t.” Sam said as ‘Dean’ took a step towards him. I was silently watching, trying to figure out what was going on when he hit Sam with a crowbar, knocking him out before turning on me.

             “Come on, doll. It’s your turn.” He said, walking towards me. I could do this, It’s just Dean’s face, not actually Dean. He lunged at me, swinging the crowbar towards my face, but I caught it before it connected with my head, pushing him back against the car. He recovered fast, bending, then swinging his leg in a wide arch, knocking my feet out from under me. I landed on my back, head cracking against the pavement, causing everything to lose focus for a moment, but a moment was all it took. He was on top of me, straddling me. He was stronger than I was expecting and caught off guard, he got my arms gathered in one hand and trapped against my chest.

             “Sorry, doll. This will only hurt for a moment.” He said, then everything went black. 

                When I woke up, I could feel my arms tied up above my head, chains wrapped around my body where I was sat on the ground, secured to a metal beam. There was no give, so I couldn’t wiggle around to get any leverage and I could barely breathe.

             “Where is he?” I heard Sam’s voice breaking through the silence, but he sounded far away. “Where’s Dean?”

             “I wouldn’t worry about him.” Came Dean’s voice, the shapeshifter. “I’d worry about you.”

             “Where is he? Where’s Freya?”

             “You don’t really wanna know.” He said, laughing to himself. “I swear, the more I learn about you and your family – I thought I came from a bad background.”

             “What do you mean, learn?” Sam asked, a groan coming from the shapeshifter after a second.

             “He’s sure got issues with you. You got to go to college. He had to stay home. I mean, I had to stay home. With dad.” He corrected himself. “You don’t think I had dreams of my own? But dad needed me. Where the hell were you?”

             “Where is my brother and Freya?”

             “I am your brother. Don’t worry about pretty little Freya, I have plans for her.” He said, pausing for a second. “See, deep down, I’m just jealous. You got friends. You could have a life. Me? I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later, everybody’s gonna leave me.” I heard shuffling and what sounded like footsteps before Sam spoke up.

             “What are you talking about?” I could hear the confusion in his voice.

             “You left. Hell, I did everything dad asked me to, and he ditched me too. No explanation, nothing, just poof. Left me with your sorry ass. But, still, this life? It’s not without it’s perks.” He laughed. “I meet the nicest people. Like Freya. You know, you don’t know half of the deep, dark, depraved things he thinks about her. If it wasn’t for her, Dean would bang little Becky if he had the chance. Let’s see what happens.” I heard more shuffling and then more footsteps before the shapeshifter came into my view.

             “Oh good, you’re awake.” He said, stopping next to me. He knelt down, lifting his hand to run the back of his fingers against my check. “You’re skin is so soft. You should hear the thoughts he has about you.” He said, his hand had slid down from my face, tracing the vein in my neck before skimming down my chest. He then gripped my shirt in his hands, yanking it open causing the buttons to fly everywhere, exposing my bra to his disgustingly greedy eyes. “The things he wants to do to you, what I want to do to you, how I want to mark your skin up, make you feel me for days…” He trailed off.

             “Please…” I said, tears springing to my eyes. “Stop.”

             “You don’t really want that, do you, doll?” He asked, rough hands cupping my breasts tightly, causing pain to shoot through me. I tried to kick my legs out at him, get him away from me, but he moved to sit on them, pinning them down. I couldn’t move any part of my body and the panic was starting to sit in. My eyes were glowing, I could tell that much, and I could finally feel Val in the back of my head again.

             ‘Let me in. Relax and let me handle this.’ She whispered in my head. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do, but I let my instinct guide me and I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, in the same moment, he had ripped my bra in half, completely exposing me to the air. Next thing I know, it was like I was riding backseat in my own body. I could see everything, hear everything, feel everything, but I wasn’t in control. Valkyrie took over my body.

             “Get off of me.” She spoke, a deep growl coming from my chest, causing him to pause. His eyes widened as he lifted his head to look at me. She lifted my legs, causing him to fall backwards before she kicked out, sending him flying back. When he stood, I swear he almost looked scared before his face hardened again, eyes sharp as he took me in.

             “I’ve got business to attend to, but when I get back. You’re going to regret that.” He threatened as he stomped out, leaving me tied to the pole, my shirt hanging open and limply on either side of me. She gave me back control as soon as he was gone. I have no idea how long I sat there, trying so hard to get out of the chains before I heard Sam curse from the other room.

             “Damn it.”

             “That better be you, Sam, and not that freak of nature.” I hear Dean’s voice speak up, immediately causing me to tense up again.

             “Yeah, it’s me.” Sam laughed. I could hear more rustling before I heard footsteps. “He went to Rebecca’s, looking like you.”

             “Well, he’s not stupid. He picked the handsome one.” Dean’s voice spoke up again. What he said was funny, I won’t lie, but I couldn’t get past the way the shapeshifter spoke using his voice. I could hear the sound of ropes and more rustling.

             “Yeah, that’s the thing. He didn’t just look like you, he was you. Or he was becoming you.”

             “What do you mean?”

             “You mean, like the Vulcan mind meld?” And he calls Sam and I nerds…

             “Yeah, something like that. I mean, maybe that’s why he doesn’t just kill us.”

             “Maybe he needs to keep us alive. Psychic connection.” Dean said. I could hear the ropes fall and Dean helping Sam up. “Where’s Freya, she’s not in here, she wasn’t back there.”

             “I don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me. He said he had plans for her.”

             “That fucking thing better not have touched her. I’ll kill him.”

             “Dean, I’m sure she’s fine. She’s stronger than both of us combined and smarter too.”

             “I’ll skin it alive if he hurt her.” Dean growled out.

             ‘You need to tell them you’re in here.’

             ‘I can’t…’ I whimpered in my head.

             ‘Then I will.’ She said as another deep growl released from my chest.

             “Did you hear that?” Dean said. “It came from in here.” I could only hear the sound of their footsteps before the brothers came into view. Sam noticed me first, the color draining from his face as he got Dean’s attention. When his eyes locked on my frame, the fury I could feel radiating off him was almost suffocating. “I’m going to rip the skin off his bones.” He said, making his way over to me. The moment he reached me, he picked up the pieces of my shirt, trying to cover me, but not completely succeeding. “Are you hurt?” He asked, looking over the chains, trying to figure out how to get me out.

             “No…” I whispered. He paused at that, eyes searching my face as he noticed my hesitation to interact with him. He started to back away, his hands held out in front of me like a peace offering, before he spoke again.

             “Sam, I’m gonna look for a key. See if you can find another way to get her out of those.” He said, eyes still on mine. I tried so hard to hold his gaze, but I was having a really hard time right then. When he reached the door frame, he turned and headed out into the rest of the sewer.

             “Are you okay?” Sam asked softly.

             “I’m fine.” I answered.

             “Freya, are you okay?” He asked again. This time, I just looked up at him trying to fight the tears in my eyes.

             “I will be.” He didn’t say anything else, just walked around behind me, tugging on the chains.

             “There’s a lock up here, securing the chains to the top of the poll.” He explained. Dean reappeared a few seconds later with a large pipe wrench in his hands.

             “I couldn’t find a key, but this should break the lock.” He handed it over to Sam, ensuring he stayed where I could see him at all times. The loud clanking of metal against metal rang in my ears making me flinch every time Sam swung at the lock, until I finally heard a thud where it fell to the floor, the chains loosening around me and my arms falling to my sides. “Can I help you, princess? Please let me help you.” He all but begged, but still he didn’t come any closer to me until I nodded. “Sam, your shirt.” He said. Sam pulled off one of his shirts, handing it to Dean without question, as they both worked to get the chains off me. I kept my eyes glued to Dean the entire time. Logically, I knew that this was the real Dean. My Dean. Not the monster who had touched me, who had hurt me, but my mind just wouldn’t make the connection. I couldn’t help the flinch every time he moved and I could see the hurt in his eyes, but he never said anything about it. When the chains were finally gone off of me, he helped me sit up further, pulling the scraps of my shirt and bra off of me, Sam turning his back, before he helped me slide into the shirt his brother had handed him. “Can you walk?” He asked.

             “Yeah.” I whispered, moving my eyes to the floor.

             “Don’t do that.” He whispered back. “Don’t ever be afraid to look at me, please.” He said, his fingers grazing my chin before he seemed to remember himself and dropped his hand.

             “I’m sorry.”

             “Do not apologize.” He said sternly, slightly pushing me towards Sam. “Let’s get you out of here.” Sam wrapped his arm around my shoulders as we followed Dean, trying to locate the exit. He found a small window at the top of the wall, leading out into the street, turning and pointing it out to us. “Here.” Sam let go of me long enough to push open the window and pull himself out. He turned back around to me, reaching out his hands for me to hold onto as he helped me out of the window, Dean following right after.

             “Come on. We gotta find a phone, call the police.” Sam said, arm wrapped back around me.

             “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re gonna put an APB out on me?” Dean asked, but Sam just shrugged.

             “Sorry.” He said as Dean walked past us, looking back and forth down the alley before heading left.

             “This way.” He led us down the alley and out into the street, in front of a few stores before the news caught my attention. I tugged on the back of Sam’s jacket to get his attention, his eyes settling on mine in confusion before I nodded towards the TV in the window.

             “Man! That’s not even a good picture.” Dean complained, noticing what we were looking at.

             “It’s good enough.” Sam responded, pulling me along with him away from the news.

             “Man!” Dean exclaimed, following behind us and into another alley.

             “Come on.” He said. “They said attempted murder. At least we know –“ Sam trailed off.

             “I didn’t kill her.” Dean finished for him, my stomach dropping at his words. It wasn’t him.

             “We’ll check in with Rebecca in the morning, see if she’s all right.”

             “All right, but first, I wanna find that handsome devil and kick the holy crap out of him.”

             “We have no weapons. No silver bullets.” I spoke up for the first time, causing both brothers to stop walking.

             “The guy’s walkin’ around with my face, okay?” He said to me, a little harshly, but I knew it wasn’t directed at me. “It’s a little personal, I wanna find him. He hurt you.” His words caused me to look at the ground again, hearing a sigh leave him.

             “Okay, where do we look?” Sam asked.

             “Well, we could start with the sewers?” I tensed under Sam’s arm at those words.

             “We have no weapons. He stole our guns, we need more.” Sam said, reiterating my words.

             “The car?” I asked quietly.

             “I’m betting he drove over to Rebecca’s.” Dean answered, less venom in his voice, his eyes softening when he looked at me.

             “The news said he fled on foot. I bet it’s still parked there.” Sam spoke up.

             “The thought of him driving my car…” Dean trailed off, getting worked up again.

             “All right, come on.” Sam said, tugging me with him.

             “It’s killing me!” Dean called from behind us and despite everything, I felt myself giggle a little, causing a soft smile to grace Dean’s lips for a moment.

             “Let it go.” Sam told him as we continued making our way to Rebecca’s house. 

                We were running down an ally lined with garage doors as we rounded the corner, finally finding what we had been searching for.

             “Oh, there she is! Finally, something went right tonight.” Dean spoke, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, a police car pulled into sight on the other side of Baby. “Oh, crap.” He said, turning around to head back in the direction we came from, but another one was pulling onto the end of that street as well. He paused, spinning in a circle trying to find us a way out. “This way, this way.” He said, moving towards the fence on the opposite side of us.

             “You go. I’ll hold them off.” Sam said, pushing me towards Dean, making me trip and fall, right into Dean’s arms.

             “What are you talking about? They’ll catch you.” Dean said.

             “Look, they can’t hold me. Just go, keep out of sight. Meet me at Rebecca’s.” He said, motioning for us to move. Dean had ushered me over to the fence, his hands on my waist, lifting me up to get over the fence. “Stay out of the sewers.” Dean was up and coming over the fence now, hand on my arm to guide me away. “I mean it. Take care of her.”

             “Yeah, yeah!” Dean yelled back, pushing me ahead of him and out of the backyard we had climbed into. I could hear the police cornering Sam back behind us.

             “Don’t move! Keep your hands where I can see them!”

             “Come on, Princess. Let’s find somewhere to lay low for the night.” He said, guiding me down the road and to a motel we had seen a few blocks down. He led me into the lobby, leading me to a chair in the corner. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” I nodded at him, but didn’t speak. He just sighed before walking off to get us a room. I took in the lobby of the motel I was sitting in, pale red walls, pink plastic chairs, a yellow phone sitting on the desk. Soon enough, Dean was coming back to get me. “They only had one room left, a single. I’ll sleep on the floor.” He said, helping me stand up, but again I didn’t say anything. He led me out of the motel and down the row of doors till we reached our room, unlocking it, then holding the door open for me to go in first.

             The first thing I noticed was, like he said, the single bed, sat right in the middle of the room, up against the wall. The second thing was the small fridge, sitting right on top of a very suspicious looking stain on the carpet. Dean brushed past me, walking up to the small round table and sitting down at one of the two chairs in the corner.

             “You probably want a shower.” He said. “I can run down the road and grab you some clean clothes while you’re in there, if you want.” He was trying, so hard, I could tell, but I just couldn’t make myself respond to him.

             ‘You’re closing yourself off to him.’

             ‘I don’t mean to. I’m trying.’

             ‘Breathe.’ She said to me.

             ‘I am.’

             ‘No, Freya, darling, breathe him in. Take in his scent. Smell him. It will help.’ Her words confused me, but I didn’t question what she was saying.

             “What?” Dean asked, he could tell I had been talking to her again. Instead of answering him, I made my way, slowly, across the room to stand in front of him, closing my eyes tightly. “Are you okay?” He asked quietly.

             “Don’t move.” I told him. With that, I leaned closer to him and took a deep breath. At first, all I could smell was the gross, damp motel room and the sweat on our skin, but slowly, leather and pine started to make it’s way into the air. Dean. It really was him, sitting here in front of me. I couldn’t stop myself as soon as his scent hit my nose. I crawled into his lap, burying my head in his neck, my arms wrapping around him and I just let go. Sobs tore through my body as his arms came up to hold me close to him. He didn’t say anything, he just held me as I cried, running his hand up and down my back, pressing kisses to my hair. I don’t know how long we stayed like that before I was able to get my crying under control, but he was patient with me.

             “Can you tell me what happened?” He asked me, causing me to tense again. “Please. I need to understand what happened.” He begged me. I couldn’t deny him that. I needed to tell him.

             “He was stronger than I expected. We fought for a minute, but he ended up knocking me out. When I woke up, he had me chained up to that pole. I…” I trailed off, tears stinging my eyes again. “When I first woke up, he was with Sam. I could hear them talking… then he came into the room I was in, talking about you and what you think about me… then he…” I paused, my breath catching in my throat.

             “Shhhh… you’re safe now, you’re safe.” He whispered, running his hand down my hair. “What did he do?”

             “He… ummm.. He ripped my shirt open… and then he… he touched me… He squeezed me… he hurt me…” I said, tears escaping my eyes again. “I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t make him stop…” I cried out, willing my body to stop shaking. I could feel the anger in Dean’s body as I spoke, but he kept himself in check.

             “Did he do anything else?”

             “No, he didn’t get a chance to. Valkyrie made him quit.” I told him.

             “What do you mean?”

             “I don’t know how, but she took over, like she was controlling me and I was just along for the ride.” He pulled back and looked into my eyes at that, worry clouding his features.

             “Can she do it whenever she wants?”

             ‘No. Only when you let me, or when you and yours are in grave danger.’ She whispered in my mind, so I relayed the message to him.

             ‘Can I speak to him?’

             “She wants to talk to you.” I could see the hesitation in his eyes, but he nodded his head, regardless. I lowered my head, closing my eyes before I let her take control, just like I had in the sewers.

             “Hello, Dean.”

             “Val.”

             “You don’t need to fear me. I wouldn’t ever hurt our mate.”

             “It’s not me, I’m concerned about.” He replied.

             “Let me explain. Freya and I, we are the same. Two souls combined in one body. Her needs and wants are my needs and wants and vise versa. If she dies, I die. If I burn, she burns. We are one. But that is not why I wanted to speak to you.”

             “What is it?” I felt him sit up a little straighter.

             “The shapeshifter, he really scared her. But it’s your scent that calms her. Your likeness may have been what caused her pain and distress, but only you can get her through this. Be patient with her. She needs you now more than ever.”

             “My scent?”

             “She can explain. Promise me you’ll take care of her.” He nodded at her words. “Use your words. Promise me.” She said, a little more harshly to him.

             “I promise. I will take care of her.” His voice was hard, determined. With a nod, my head dropped and Val moved to the back of my mind again. It was almost like I could see her curling up in my head, like a puppy getting ready for sleep.

             “I’m so sorry.” I told him, lifting my head back up to look at him. I was almost afraid of what I would see there.

             “Don’t be sorry, Princess.” He began. “She’s just worried about you, same as I am.” He shifted beneath me. “How about that shower?” He asked. Nodding, I stood up off of his lap. He stood up as well, going to head to the door.

             “Where are you going?” I asked him.

             “Just to get us something clean to wear. I’ll be right back. 10 minutes.”

             “Yeah, okay.” I said, sitting down on the bed.  

             “Why don’t you head to the shower while I’m out?”

             “No. No, I’ll wait for you.” I told him. He looked, tilting his head a little before he nodded, slipping out of the door and closing it behind him. I sat there, stuck in my head while I waited for him to come back. It’s crazy how something simple as your sense of smell can change everything for you. I wasn’t scared of Dean. No, I knew he would do anything to keep me safe, but I was scared of what would have happened if Val hadn’t of taken over like she did. I was mad at myself for letting me get caught in that situation in the first place. One thing is for sure, I needed to get better at hand to hand combat. I needed to ask the boys to train me. Help me understand how to defend myself better. Claws, fangs and brute strength could only get me so far, as tonight proved. I was still in the same position when he got back, my instincts driving me as I lunged, knocking him into the door, my arm braced across his throat.

             “It’s me, Freya. It’s me.” He said. His scent hit me as soon as he finished talking and I jerked back, dropping him in place.

             “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” I repeated over and over to him, falling back against the bed and onto the floor. I pulled my knees into my chest, wrapping my arms around myself.

             “Princess, it’s okay. I’m okay. Look.” He said, taking my hand, placing it over his heart on his chest. I could feel the warmth seeping into my palm and I could feel his heart beating into my hand.

             “I’m sorry.”

             “It’s okay, everything is okay.” He said, standing up and pulling me up with him. “Let’s get you in that shower now.” He told me, guiding me to the bathroom. He sat me down on the toilet before turning the water on, getting it hot enough before turning to leave. My hand shot out, bragging him by the wrist before he could leave, but as soon as I touched him, I dropped his hand again.

             “I’m sorry.” I whispered.

             “What do you need, princess? Tell me.”

             “Don’t leave me…” I whispered back. He paused for a moment before he nodded. He seemed to know exactly what I needed as he reached down to pull Sam’s shirt up and over my head, before he knelt down on the floor in front of me. He reached up, unbuttoning my jeans before pulling them down my legs. His eyes stayed on mine the whole time, being respectful of my boundaries, but also making sure he was being attentive. He opened the curtain and helped me into the shower before closing it behind me. I made a move to stop him, but he spoke up, cutting me off.

             “I’m just getting undressed. I’m not going anywhere.” He assured me. I could hear his clothes hitting the ground before the curtain opened back up and he joined me. He ushered me forward under the water, stepping right up behind me. His arms came around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. I could feel myself relaxing into him the longer we stood there. He eventually pulled away, reaching up to grab the shampoo, squeezing out enough before putting it back. His hands made their way up, massaging the shampoo into my hair, kneading his fingers into my scalp. When he was done, he gently turned me around, tilting my head back so he could wash the shampoo out. Next he grabbed the soap, palming it in his hand before he began to lather my skin. When he reached my chest, though, I couldn’t help but freeze, remembering the pain that the shapeshifter inflicted on me.

             “I’m not going to hurt you.” He whispered.

             “Dean…” I started, trailing off. I was having a hard time telling him what I needed. What I needed from him.

             “What is it, Princess.”

             “I need you to do something for me.”

             “Anything.” And I could tell that he meant it. In that moment, he truly meant it. If I wanted him to go out, right now, and rip the spine out of that shapeshifter, he would find a way to do it. If I asked him to get on his knees and wash my feet, he’d do it. He’d do it for me.

             “I need you to erase his memory.”

             “What do you mean?”

             “What he did…” I trailed off. “I need you to replace it. I need to know your hands, not his. I need to know how you feel, not him.” I said, tears stinging my eyes again. He turned me around to face him cupping my face before he leaned down, pressing his lips to mine. This kiss was different than the others we had shared. It wasn't hot or demanding or needy, it was sweet and caring. It was gentle. 

                        “Show me what you need.” he said, pulling back from the kiss. I nodded, leaning up to kiss him again as I gripped his wrist, moving his hand down my neck and over my collar bone. I broke the kiss is his hand reached my chest. 

                        “Here,” I told him, holding his hand across my breast. “He squeezed so hard, it hurt so bad…” I trailed off. He didn't say anything, not at first, just stared down at me in quiet contemplation for a moment before he spoke.

                         “Do you trust me?” 

                         “Completely.” I answered him. He nodded his head before he reached around me to turn off the water, pulling the curtain back and guiding me to get out of the shower. He grabbed one of the towels, wrapping it around my body before drying himself off, leaving his towel in the bathroom. He guided me into the room, pushing me towards the bed.

“Lay down for me.” He said, his hands only leaving me to help up on the bed, following me before settling above me once I reached the pillows. “If you want to stop, for any reason, at all, you say the word and this ends.” he told me, pushing my hair back from my face. I nodded at him, lifting my hands to cup his face and bring him down to me. His weight was comfortable, safe, as he laid on top of me, his scent surrounding me, calming my broken mind. His kisses were still sweet as he moved his lips against mine, never taking more than I would give him. Pulling away, he trailed his lips across my cheek and down my neck, nipping and sucking at the soft flesh below my ear. It shot heat straight through my body, making me arch against him. Once again, his hand found my body, starting at the top of the towel, where it was tied together. Pulling back, he looked at me, hand resting on the towel, waiting for me to say yes or no before he moved.  

“I’m okay.” I whispered, moving my own hands up to help me undo the towel. It fell away from my body, falling open against the bed under us.  

“Beautiful...” He whispered against the skin of my neck, his tongue darting out to lick up a drop of water left over from the shower. His hand found it’s way to my hip, fingers trailing fire along my skin as he moved higher. When he reached his destination, he pulled back. “Here?” He asked, palming my breast in his large, calloused palm. I nodded my head as he started to move, his hand gently kneading the skin, thumb brushing over my nipple. He was so gentle in his actions that I almost started crying again. He pulled back from my neck to look at me again. “Okay?”  

“Okay.” I whispered back, arching against him again when his thumb swept over me again. He bent down, attaching his lips to my throat, before moving lower, leaving kisses and nips across my collarbones until he reached the valley between my breasts. He left open-mouthed kisses, trailing the skin with his tongue before he made his way to my right nipple, swirling his tongue around the bud before sucking it into his mouth. I couldn’t keep in the sounds that made their way out of my mouth, my back once again arching into him, seeking everything he was willing to give me. His thigh moved between my legs, pressing up against my core as he continued his ministrations.  

“So sensitive...” he said, pulling back to move to the other side, not wanting to neglect it. “I wonder if I can make you cum, just from this?” He wondered out loud to himself. When he sucked my other nipple into his mouth, causing my back to arch again, it made me grind down on his thigh, shooting pleasure through my entire body. I let out a moan at that, my body deciding to repeat the motion before I could even comprehend what was happening. “There you go, good girl.” He whispered, gripping my hip with his free hand, guiding me to move along his thigh. “Take what you need.” I found his lips on mine again as I kissed him, but this time, I let my desperation leak into it. His tongue made it’s way into my mouth, licking deep as it caressed mine. I didn’t know if I was doing it right, but when I sucked on his tongue, the deep groan it pulled from his chest fueled my actions. I could feel the tension building in my lower stomach, the knot was tightening and I was so close to coming undone when he pulled away. “You’re doing so good for me.” He whispered, his mouth finding my nipple again right as that band snapped. Sounds I never knew I could make had left me, my hands gripping his shoulders as I saw stars. I’ve had orgasms before, but never one given to me by someone else. I couldn’t even begin to explain how intense the moment was as he helped guide me through my high. When I slumped back limply against the mattress, he leaned down, kissed me softly before brushing the hair away from my face. “That was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” He said to me before helping me get the towel out from under me, cleaning me up and raising to get the clothes he had picked up for us. He helped me get dressed, sliding my shirt over my arms, pulling my underwear up my legs before he threw on a pair of boxers. I pulled back the covers, motioning him to join me, and as we settled I turned to him.  

“What about you?” I asked him, concerned that I had gotten off, but he was left unsatisfied.  

“What about me?”  

“You didn’t... you know.” I gestured down to his legs but he understood what I meant.  

“This wasn’t about me. I’m perfectly fine.”  

“Are you sure?”  

“Sleep, princess.” He said with a kiss to my hair. I swear, I don’t know what it is about this man, but it was like my whole body heard his command and was just like, sure, okay, yeah. I fell asleep before I even fully settled against him. 

The next morning, I woke up, reaching out for Dean, but the bed was cold. Raising my head, I found a note on the bedside table, written in Dean’s messy handwriting. 

‘Princess, I know Sam told me not too, and you’re probably going to be really mad at me for it, but I went back to the sewers to find this son of a bitch. I didn’t want to wake you or make you go back down there with me after everything that happened. You don’t need that kind of shit. I got this. I’ll be back before you know it.’ 

‘I’m gonna kill him.’ 

‘He’s doing what he thinks he needs to, to protect you.’ 

‘I’m still gonna kill him.’ I jumped up, throwing on the clothes he had left and rushed out the door, following his scent that still lingered in the air.  I really need to get myself a cell phone... I followed his scent until it led me to the same manhole cover I had pulled up yesterday, but just as I was about to go down it, I heard voices coming up from inside.  

“Rebecca?” Dean’s voice called out. “What happened?” I could hear her crying and the rustling of what sounded like rope coming up through the opening. 

“I was walking home, and everything just went white. Someone hit me over the head, and I wound up here just in time to see that thing turn into me. I don’t know, how is that even possible?” She asked him.  

“Okay, okay. It’s okay.” Dean told her, the sound of ropes hitting the ground reached my ears. “Come on. Can you walk?” There was a pause before he spoke again. “Okay, we’ve gotta hurry. Sam went to see you.” The sound of their foot steps got louder as the reached the opening of the manhole. Rebecca was up first, noticing me as I offered her my hand to help her out.  

“Are you okay?” I asked her, hoping he didn’t do to her, what he did to me.  

“Yeah, I’m okay.” She answered me.  

“Did he...” I trailed off, having a hard time finding the right words. Dean was up out of the manhole and watching our interaction.  

“Did he touch you?” Dean finished for me. I shot him a grateful look before turning back to her.  

“No, no he didn’t touch me.” I let out a sigh of relief as she spoke. Good.  

“We need to move.” I spoke up, turning back to Rebecca. “How far to your house?” I asked her.

Reaching Rebecca’s house, I could hear the shapeshifter speaking to Sam in the house, taking off running, leaving Dean and Rebecca outside.  

“I must say, I will be sorry to lose this skin. Your brother’s got a lot of good qualities. You should really appreciate him more than you do.” I heard him pause as I snuck into the room. “Cheers.” I could hear a scuffle break out in the house, signaling a fight. “Oh, you son of a bitch. Not bad little brother.”  

“You’re not him.” Sam’s voice echoed out.  

“Even when we were kids, I always kicked your ass.” the Shapeshifter said. I decided to make my presence known then, stepping into the room. “Well would you look at that.” He said with a grin, turning towards me. “Just couldn’t stay away, could you?” His arrogant tone completely contradicting any tone that Dean had ever spoken to me with.  

“You know where you made your mistake?” I asked him, keeping his attention on me as Dean snuck into the room behind him.  

“What’s that, doll?” He asked, stepping over an almost unconscious Sam, making his way towards me. 

“You touched me.” I growled out, flashing my eyes as Dean stood up behind him. 

“Hey!” He yells out, causing the Shapeshifter to turn around. Before he could even make a move, Dean had sunk two shots straight into his chest, knocking him back into the wall and onto the floor. 

“Sam!” Rebecca yelled, rushing over to him, cradling his head in her lap. Dean made his way over to me, cradling my head in his hands turning it back and forth for a second, before nodding to himself before he walked over to the dead shapeshifter, looking down at him. I joined him, noticing the necklace he had taken from Dean. I reached down, yanking it from around his neck before going to check on Sam.  

“Sasquatch?” I asked, placing my hand on his shoulder. “You alive?”  

“Fuck you, shortcake.” He wheezed out with a laugh.  

“Fuck me? That’s not very nice, Samuel.” I told him, relieved he was okay enough to joke with me. It was over, at least for now, and we all made it out alive. Grabbing his arm, I hauled him up, bracing him against my shoulder. “Jesus Christ you’re heavy.” I joked with him. He really wasn’t heavy, at all, and I had no problem hauling him outside to the Impala, but his small laugh followed by a groan of pain was totally worth it.  

“Are you calling me fat, Freya? Now who’s not being very nice?”  

“Can it, Winchester.” I said, helping him out of the house and down the steps, Dean and Rebecca right on our trail.  

“Are they always like this?” She asked Dean.  

“Worse.” He joked, laughing a little when I flipped him off over my shoulder.  

“Can I ask you a question?”  

“What is it?”  

“Is she...” She began. “Is she like him?” I heard her ask him. She must have been talking about the shapeshifter.  

“She’s nothing like him.” Dean all but growled out at her.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean be offensive, she just... her eyes.”  

“She’s not a monster, Rebecca. She’s special. She has such a beautiful soul, you have no idea.”  

“If she has someone like you, defending her like this, I think I can kind of grasp the idea.” She said as we reached the Impala.  

“I’m going to put you in the backseat, Sasquatch, so you can lay down, okay?” He nodded as Dean opened the door for me to lay him down. Once I got him situated, Dean opened the passenger door for me to slide in. He said something else to Rebecca, but I was too focused on Sam to listen in. Once he got in, he started the car and drove us back to the motel we stayed at last night. We got Sam in and on the bed, housekeeping thankfully had come in and changed the sheets while we were gone.  

“Can you get the first aid kit?” I asked Dean as I got Sam’s shirt off, heading into the bathroom to get a towel and washrag to clean him up. One thing the boys didn’t know about me, is that I had studied nursing before I was homeless. I never because a certified nurse, but I knew my way around the medical field well enough. Dean brought in the first aid kit from the car, opening it and laying it on the bed next to me.  

“What can I do to help?” He asked me.  

“Take this,” I said, handing him the damp cloth. “Clean the blood off of his face. I need to see how bad those cuts on his eyebrow and lip are.” I told him. He didn’t question me, like I expected him to, just got straight to work. Sam had passed out on the bed, exhausted by the day's events as we worked, but the sting of the alcohol pads I used woke him up with a hiss. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m almost done.” I told him, pushing him back down onto the mattress. He stayed awake the rest of the time, idly chatting with Dean as I worked. I wasn’t paying attention to them, focused on the job in front of me. He ended up needing 2 stitches in his eyebrow, but his lip would be fine.  

“Okay, all done.” I told him, clipping the last stitch.  

“Where did you learn how to do all of this?” Sam asked.  

“I studied nursing at Duke for a little bit before everything.” He seemed shocked at my words.  

“Before...” He said, pausing and thinking to himself. “How did you get into Duke before you turned 18?” Dean had perked up at that, intently listening to our conversation now.  

“I graduated high school at 15, got into Duke at 16, and then when everything happened when I turned 18, I couldn’t stay in school anymore.” I explained.  

“Oh, so you’re like... smart, smart.” Sam said, chuckling to himself.  

“Shut up, Mr. I got a 174 of my LSAT at Stanford.” I joked back.  

“Nerds.” Came Dean’s voice, making both Sam and I laugh.  

“You’re calling us nerds?” I asked him, disbelief coloring my tone. “You’re the one who compared the connection between you and Mr. Dead dude to a Vulcan Mind Meld.” Sam started laughing when Dean’s face turned red at my words.  

“What else was I supposed to call it?” He asked with a scoff. Glaring at us, but there was nothing but amusement in his eyes.  

“I don’t know, but calling us nerds after that...” I trailed off, joking with him, but he just lunged at me, pulling me into him and tickling me. “Get the fuck off me, you fucking neanderthal!” I yelled at him, scrambling away from his fingers, laughing so hard I was almost crying at that point. “Sam! Help me!” I cried, my pleas going ignored.  

“You’re on your own, shortcake.” He laughed out. “I’m injured.”  

“Assholes!” I laughed as Dean finally ceased his assault, kissing me on the forehead before he rolled off me, where we had fallen onto the floor.  

“Time for bed, kids.” Dean said, getting up, pulling me with him.  

“Kids?” I scoffed at him. “I’m like 2 years younger than you, and I’m older than the living tree, lying on our bed.” It didn’t even register to me what I had said as he raised an eyebrow at me.  

“Our bed, huh?” He joked, making my cheeks heat up as I dropped my head.  

“Oh god.... What did you guys do? Fuck you, I’m not sleeping here. Give me the fucking keys. You guys are gross.”  

“Nothing happened, Sammy, calm down.” Dean told him.  

“It’s too cold for you to sleep outside, Sam, lay your ass back down. You need to rest.”  

“You take the other side, Princess, I’ll lay here.” He said, pointing to the floor right next to where he wanted me to lay.  

“Are you sure?” I asked, I was more than okay with sleeping on the floor, but he just nodding, shushing me up with a kiss.  

“I’m sure.”   

“So, this is what you do?” Rebecca asked. We were at her house the next morning, getting ready to head out. “You and your brother, his girlfriend – you hunt down these kinds of things?” No one bothered to correct her and tell her I wasn’t his girlfriend.  

“Yeah, pretty much.”  

“I can’t believe it. I mean, I saw it with my own eyes. And, I mean, does everybody at school – Nobody knows that you do this?”  

“No.”  

“Did Jessica know?” She asked him. I could feel the sadness coming off him at that question, but he kept his expression light.  

“No, she didn’t.” He answered her.  

“Must be lonely.”  

“Oh, no. No, it’s not so bad.” He said, turning to glance back at us before turning back to her. “Anyway, what can I do? It’s my family.” She laughed at his words, but they made something warm wrap around my heart and settle in my chest.  

“Well, you know, Zack and me, and everybody at school – we really miss you.” She said, reaching up to pull him into a hug.  

“Yeah, me too.” He said, pulling away from her. 

“Well, will you call sometime?” She asked.  

“It might not be for a little while.” He told her. She nodded, waving to Dean and I. We both waved back at her as Sam joined us back at the car, walking around to the passenger side. 

“So, what about your friend, Zack?” Dean asked.  

“Cops are blaming this Dean Winchester guy for Emily’s murder.” He said, leaning his elbows against the roof of the car. “They found the murder weapon in the guy’s lair, Zack’s clothes stained with her blood. Now they’re thinking maybe the surveillance tape was tampered with. Yeah, Becca says Zack will be released soon.” He smiled at us before getting in the car. Dean winked at me as he opened my door for me before settling in the front seat, starting up the car and driving away. We had reached the outskirts of town before Dean spoke up again.  

“Sorry, man.”  

“About what?” Sam asked. 

“I really wish things could be different, you know? I wish you could just be... Joe College.”  

“No, that’s okay. You know, the truth is, even at Stanford, deep down, I never really fit in.”  

“Well, that’s cause you’re a freak.” Dean said with a smirk.  

“Yeah, thanks.” Sam said sarcastically.  

“Well, I’m a freak too. I’m right there with you, all the way.” He said, making Sam laugh.  

“Yeah, I know you are.”  

“Freya is definitely a freak.” He said laughing a little.  

“You wish...” I trailed off, winking at him in the rearview mirror, causing him to smirk at me.  

“You know, I gotta say – I'm sorry I’m gonna miss it.”  

“Miss what?”  

“How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?” He said flashing a smile at Sam.  

“Fucking weirdo.” I mumbled with a small smile, just loud enough for him to hear, barking out a laugh as he pushed his foot down on the accelerator. 

[bonnieura]

every time i hear a freaky grandma nitpick JFK's weight after 1960 an angel loses its wings and god kills a kitten. I cant ever understand why they [american public] are so fixated with his appearance and especially his weight. It just screams fatphobia. literally no one is dying if he gained a few pounds . its not ww3. The way its said is always just so condescending and backhanded? putting his early life his illnesses his medications and his plenty near-death experiences into consideration i am damn glad he managed to be even if only a little, HEALTHY . something he literally never got the chance to say about himself

you can say that it's a given considering his whole campaign strategy was built around his *youth* and looks in general but that does not take away from the RUTHLESSNESS i see from people when his weight is the subject of matter. and thats from today in *2024* like jesus christ imagine how it was in the 60s 😭

you can say that the "reason he put on weight" (as if it even needs a reason, he wasnt overweight or anything at all) was to look less boyish and more like formidable or something for the elections. he already had to deal with criticism on being too young for the presidency. And all of that isnt something to be ashamed or remorseful of at all either?? I genuinely dont get why so many to this day just outright degrade him for it. as if a middle aged man not being borderline underweight is satan's incarnate.

speaking of underweight, he was the aforementioned for YEARS during his service in the senate and the house. having just returned from ww2 with near fatal injuries he was clearly ill and malnourished. And yet i still see people romanticize it as if its something commendable. You can commend him pulling through and getting his health together even if just barely, not whatever people glorify of his illness

If you read a little back you can see i mentioned his early life. well yeah thats cause his parents single handedly almost gave him and his siblings [tw] || eating disorders || [unfortunately i wouldnt be surprised if he had one] from disturbingly young ages . Im certain that it did a number on him and stuck to some degree. So I am damn glad he was able to break out of it [or at least look like he did , i cant tell you whether he did manage to break out or not considering he was hypervigilant on his appearance till the day he hit the grave atp

plus im pretty sure some of his medicine consisted of cortisone [known for puffing up the face and leading the patient to gain weight]. I hate how hyperfixated people are with his weight and body. yeah no damn wonder he was so worried 24/7 and love or hate the man literally no one should have to go through that. theres so much more i wanna say rn but im tired of yapping

[tumblingxelian]

@maestro04yayyy & @just-that-asshole-withaknife you may be interested in this?

Sort of an overarching S1 restructuring around the Chloleka Match My Freak AU.

So, my own "Episode order" is different to canons but in this case canons actually works better, cos it means things start quite early, as where my own puts Rose's Akuma late in the game.

Plus, Dark Cupid comes right after Princess Fragrance, which adds a new layer to Chloe's rejection of Kim. Not sure if her being extremely gay about Juleka would really stymie Kim, so it could just be a shift in Chloe's dialogue about who she has her eyes on, and otherwise remain the same. Or be altered somewhat or even not happen.

Sticking with the canon list for the moment, Mr Pigeon might remain the same, though I could also see Chloe deciding to try and get Juleka's opinion and or design the hat around her aesthetic, which is likely when her interest becomes like... Obviously genuine to outside observers and or Juleka if she wasn't 100% sure yet.

Pixelator she naturally tries to have herself and Juleka working together, but she may also want Adrien around so maybe she puts them together in a sort of My two favorite people" way. & opts to be 'management' then is distracted helping Jagged and that may be a whole kettle of god damn fish actually.

Andre's presence also means this is when he loses the "Sad old dog/used car salesmen"" vibe to Juleka with how he switches from brutish & classist bastard to simpering fawner and backstabber.

I'd say maybe around Copycat is when All in The Style happens, so Juleka's aware of Chloe's interest, their matched freakness, and is getting comfortable enough with Chloe's flirting even if she doesn't return it and now it doing modelling.

So they are spending more time together.

Bubbler may be a bit of a setback given Rose was freaked out and Juleka would prioritize her, but that may just mean Chloe decides to be like "Right, ending this situation now!" and convinces Bubbler that trashing all Gabriel's stuff is also teen party activities so everyone can bail out while he's busy. Juleka may actually stay behind with her in this case once she's sure Rose is safely on the run.

Simon Says is likely the same.

Rogercop may not even happen as Chloe would likely either be showing off the bracelet to Juleka, or giving one to her, or they're discussing modelling stuff. Though friction may be caused by Roger deeming Anarka a bad influence and this may be where Andre starts realizing why Chloe's not been fawning on him lately.

This could also be where perception of Andre starts going from "OK he's teaching Chloe shitty ways to behave" to, "He's also possessive of Chloe."

Gamer & Animan, basically the same, again if they happen at all.

This could be where the dancing and first kiss happen then? IE, not quite dating but sure are something.

Darkblade is... Interesting, I think if anything this might be where Andre really realizes Chloe's disconected from him. She likely isn't super interested in the election, she's helping manage Julea's burgeoning modelling career, much more proffesional, mature and important. Plus not going for it means she doesn't need to fawn on Andre.

Plus if it does come up, maybe Chloe thinks she and Juleka should run? (Could lead to Sabrina Akumatizing in a sort of "Pay attention to me" may) but that leads to some brief tension as it reminds Juleka of how Chloe tended to win those elections, which upset Rose. But, she'd also be keyed in enough to Chloe-isms, to read between the lines of Chloe's explanation and hasty dismissal of doing so again.

This may not stop Andre from trying to push in, in some way; it may exclusively be classroom drama, or Akuma drama brought by Andre cos he showed up to be a nuisance and Darkblade followed. Regardless I'd say this is where Juleka keys in that Andre's a real, real problem, in more ways than just being negligent and over indulgent.

Also potential Jagged appearance again.

The Pharaoh, no changes, Timebreaker likely doesn't happen cos Chloe's clingy with Juleka over going all crow brain on a watch.

Though if it comes close it'll be like, Chloe making grabby hands for the watch and then Juleka sliding up next to her like, "Behave~" and Chloe just melts.

Horrificator is actually what inspired this post cos of some ideas I had:

Juleka had gotten a good sense for when Chloe was building up to tear into someone and even before she'd started feel stronger in her own skin, she'd been getting quite comfortable putting her foot down on the matter.

"Well I think-" Chloe let out a squeak as Juleka prodded a long nail against her side, but followed it up with an affectionate hip bump and arched brow.

Chloe took the silent reprimand and encouragement like a fish to water and switched gears without missing a beat.

"That its utterly ridiculous they moved up the submission date for this project, ad its clearly stressing everyone out."

That got several assenting murmurs of agreement and Chloe beamed excitedly at her; like this was some miracle Juleka had worked for her.

It was a nice feeling to be beheld with such blinding adoration, so Juleka wasn't about to tell her to stop either. Nails now teasing along Chloe's thigh she mouthed, 'good girl' and watched the blonde blush and preen under her gaze.

Unfortunately, or somewhat fortunately in Juleka's reckoning, Myleene did end up so stressed she Akumatized.

Which meant Juleka had a front row seat to a mass of monstrous flesh and fangs looming over her. Gaping mouth unhinging, viscus fluid and turgid flesh laid bare in a brutal, bellowing roar.

Rose ducked behind her but was peaking over her shoulder caught somewhere between scared and likely deeming it "Ugly Cute!"

Chloe was caught between also ducking behind her and looking like she wanted to pounce the Akuma and tear its face off with her teeth.

Juleka just took in the beast and grinned, "Cool~"

Then it began to shrink, a lot.

Less cool.

Chloe however was inundating her with praise for her bravery, very cool.

Mylene's final form was outright cute in Roses' reckoning so that was cool, maybe?

Whatever.

Pupeteer & Mime are likely the same, again if they happen, and Andre is likely starting to make things weird.

This could also dovetail with Guitar Villain or that's its own thing, the fact Jagged basically lives there is something to potentially be explored in general, especially if Anarka hears about it, drama~

That could also lead into Reflekta, though as Juleka would lack the photo curse insecurity. (Chloe hounded the fuck out of the first photo shoot to make sure everything was 'exceptionally perfect') So Juleka may get a different Akuma form and it could be over Jagged, or some mixture of elements.

Chloe's still pissed about photo day though.

Antibug, very conditional anyway and not liable to happen due to sheer willpower and or differing circumstances.

Kung Food, Chloe probably traded her spot on the judge panel with Juleka to boost her public prole. Andre's pissy about it, but she just went behind his back to do it and the showrunners are like "Look, we're already here, we're already shooting, your daughter doesn't want the part, so like... Call my boss about it or whatever." Plus Jagged again.

Volpina, hmm, I feel like there may be more suspicion around her, but also like, indifference, she may key into the pair though and be like "Oho, other potential targets." So who can know? & regardless, things are likely distracted by the missing book.

Ooh that could be a fun Akuma for Chloe actually, the books missing, Adrien can't come to school or leave the house anymore, boom, Akuma. Gabriel may regret it if Chloe deems him the problem over the missing book though XD

Andre may try and drag Audrey back to Paris early or maybe not or fails, everything but my timeline puts Style Queen quite late in the season but I prefer or earlier for various reasons. Anyway have other things to do and this kind of got way from me, but I hope its interesting?

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXIII. “desperation”

parts: previous / next

plot: you receive a suspicious phone call. Bruce meets with your boss, and runs into a psychiatrist from Arkham.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, panic attack, gaslighting

words: 3.2k

Bruce awoke the next day to Alfred opening his blinds, accosting him with the sun. "The university president called. You have a meeting in an hour." He had to make sure he wasn't still dreaming, but the only word that found him was: "Why?"

Alfred flicked on the overhead light, which always drove the boy mad—he needed a force to jolt him into quicker action than his usual sloth speed in the A.M.. "Something about the university's journalism department. It's 11:02, you're set to meet her no later than noon." As he left the room to allow Bruce to ready himself, he called out some details. "Dr. Janay Vry, she said you'd met at graduation." If Alfred had lingered in the room a moment longer he would've seen his eyes widen, and Bruce jump out of bed to rush to his closet. Not even stopping to grab the toast the butler had made for him, no sooner than Alfred had readied a single scrambled egg for himself, Bruce had climbed into his vehicle and started off for GU.

The route given to him at graduation allowed him to take a back road to campus; there were very few in Gotham that weren't filled with pedestrians during the light of day, but he tempted the law by speeding and having increased his window tint beyond the legal limit. The route would lead him to an employee parking garage on the Northeastern side of campus. If he took the stairs to floor five, shot across a hallway to the right, then another hallway to the left, he could find himself at the admin office. He assumed her office would remain in the same location, and he was correct. After peeking to see if she was in the vicinity, he stepped inside and a screeching alarm sounded. It only ceased when he'd fully stepped out of the room, out of the doorframe, and into the hallway.

Dr. Vry showed up not thirty seconds later, but with enough time between for Bruce to catch his breath, rapid blinks reorienting him to the present setting. He didn't think he'd ever clawed his way anywhere as fast as he just had. "Mr. Wayne, you're early." She held a black card to the placard beneath her name on the door. A small Ding! sounded and she walked in with Bruce in tow.

The chair was the same, and the cobwebs remained. His thighs stretched against the wood and the webs swayed gently from the air conditioning. Even though it was overcast and dreary, it was still a sweltering August. His stomach grumbled, and he daydreamed fondly about the Mulligatawny in the fridge back home. Thankfully, she wasted no time getting to the point. "Mr. Wayne. I wanted to talk with you about your aversion to speaking with our journalists here."

Damn. He should've brainstormed answers on the drive. He was too consumed with hearing potentially devastating news of a local journalist's murder that he hadn't thought of a single thing relevant to what she might ask otherwise. "My apologies, I've been unexpectedly busy the past few weeks with the election coming up." Where are you? What does she know? Does she know anything?

"If you were busy with the election, wouldn't you want to speak with the candidates?" God this was frustrating. He needed to figure out what had happened with you yet here she was, refusing to divulge information as the only other person in Gotham who knew you existed. He cleared his throat to cover another stomach grumble and tried to stave off an interrogation.

"They should be coming to the next meeting."

Dr. Vry wasted no time interrogating him anyway. "Ms. Langley was our journalist last week, and she said you refused to speak with her."

"Doctor," Bruce was quite pleased when she interrupted him because he had no idea how he would've finished the sentence.

"You didn't mingle longer than a minute or so with Mr. March, either."

Who gave her the play-by-play? Bridgit? Did they train their journalism students to be hawkeyed? "As I said, I was unexpectedly busy." Be pleasant. He wrung his hands together under the desk, not entirely sure she didn't have super vision which allowed her retinas to pierce through mahogany.

She sighed, which made her peppered gray bangs flutter. Her lipstick was feathered around her lip line, a visceral reminder of the sour note you'd both left on the night you disappeared. Could one be tracked by lip print alone? "Did Ms. Langley do something inappropriate, Mr. Wayne?"

"No." He grit his teeth, then hoped she wouldn't notice. "She was pleasant." He hated how well he could lie. It was never comfortable, but he was able to grin and grit his way through any turn in conversation with unsuspecting ease.

"She said you asked for our former employee by name. Ms. Y/L/N." FINALLY! He tried not to visibly sink into the seat with relief. His ears had a pavlovian response to your name, interrupted by echoes of the word 'former'. As much as he wanted to follow that thread, he hoped she might extend it on her own grounds.

"I was under the impression it would be the same journalist every week." He paused, and she didn't take the space. "It appears I was too assumptive."

It was like he hadn't spoken at all. "Ms. Langley said you told Mr. March you were set to be interviewed by Ms. Y/L/N."

He paused, the both of them making uneasy, penetrating eye contact. "I was." So where were you? Home? Dead?

"Peculiar." She looked down and sighed. "I fired her under the pretense she refused to interview you. Yet you say you had one set."

Bruce wanted to sink into the floor making such a faux paus. He also stifled a jump and high-five because now he knew with confidence you were at the very least, alive. The dueling emotions threatened to spin out his vision. "I must have misheard, or misread something."

"She didn't seem keen on talking to you whatsoever. She refused to write about you in our column." She shrugged and sighed again, sinking dramatically into her thick leather seat. Bruce didn't care that you weren't going to write about him, even though you'd apparently denied the prospect so thoroughly it had led to unemployment. He no longer had to lug lifelong guilt at not having done anything to save you, because you didn't need saving. His body was light and tingly, and it was only when he felt the weight lifted that he realized how heavy it had been weighing him down.

"I didn't know the column included me." He didn't much care to humor Dr. Vry any longer, his brain going into autopilot now that his most pressing concerns were assuaged.

"You do not need to perform humbly here."

He stifled an eyeroll. "I assumed she was there to report on the meeting's content."

Dr. Vry laughed. It startled him. "It's as if you rehearsed it together."

"I do not understand."

"Must I remind you that you are Bruce Wayne?" She mimed handing him a piece of paper he could only imagine was intended to be a birth certificate. "Bruce Wayne taking on an active role in the community is the news. What do people want to read more than that?" She threw her hands in the air and leaned back again, the leather squeaking.

He began to speak when Dr. Vry questioned him more deeply. "What happened with the interview last spring?"

The one-sided rapport she'd developed seemed to be fraying at the edges. Keep responses benign. "It didn't work out."

"Will it ever, Mr. Wayne? Or should I pull the plug on the department before we get into more debt?" Her voice was raising and getting shrill. He was close to walking out—the only thing tethering him was the weight of his family name.

"I was unaware of the financial strain the university was under." Good. Basic. It was the first time in his life he hoped someone would ask him for money. A check was easy to write, easy to talk about, easy to segue from to a quick exit. His mask was threatening to slip.

"One exclusive interview, the first of its kind will sell. The credibility it would lend this university... priceless."

Bruce watched on as Dr. Vry became teary and fidgeted in her seat. She wrung her hands together palm-up, which exposed a hammered-silver ring with the tiniest of owls etched into the metal. Seeing the same symbol that had been on the knife handle, the same symbol that had been on her pin, it rung hollowly and deeply in his chest. One was gold, one silver, one etched into a knife. This couldn't be coincidence. His brow furrowed and he leaned inward. "Is that an owl?"

She stared at him, not once glancing down to the ring. "What could you mean?"

He pointed at the ring and leaned so forward in his chair he had to palm the wood to catch himself. "Your ring. Is that an owl design?" He hoped she was more of a fool at spotting his mounting anxiety than you were. It was beginning to take every crumb of energy from last night's dinner to regulate his breathing.

She followed his finger down to hers. "I have no idea of what you mean."

Bruce saw it clearly, like peering at the bottom of a sparkling, transparent lake. Defiance snuck into his tone. "What would you call that symbol, then?"

"What symbol?" She spun the ring around her finger, befuddled. His anxiety was melting into desperation. "There's a symbol etched into it." His stare bore into her, and he wished he could grab the ring off her finger and show her. She gazed down at it, moving it back and forth between her thumb and forefinger, fully exposing the owl icon. It even glinted off the light. She shrugged. "This is the wedding band my husband got me thirty years ago. I'd know if something had been 'etched' into it."

Bruce sank back into the chair, realizing he'd leaned until only an inch of ass remained on the seat. He let his face fall into frustration, and he didn't conceal his shaking head. What had been defiance drowned itself under his shame. His faculties were indeed failing him. It was so clear. So vivid. It made his chest ache and his soul bristle.

"Would you rather her or Ms. Langley?"

His eyes flicked to hers again, which stared at him expectantly. He paused so long she reiterated herself with further clarification. "Would you rather speak with Ms. Langley or Ms. Y/L/N?"

He blinked. He spoke slightly above a mumble. "I don't think it's appropriate for me to make your employment decisions."

"Very well then." She stood up and walked around Bruce to the doorway, and called out for Bridgit. She came careening around the corner like a dog whistled to at a park. It was peculiar, but he didn't have the capacity to follow that lead any longer. He didn't know what his capacity was currently, and how quickly it would be stolen from him entirely.

Dr. Vry and Bridgit stood at the inside of the doorway. "Have a good day, Mr. Wayne."

Silently he removed himself from the room. Dr. Vry was swift to shut the door, and Bruce lingered just long enough to catch a phrase. "We don't have all the time in the world and seeing as he wouldn't even speak to you,"

"Mr. Wayne! Fancy seeing you here."

A shorter, slim man with dark, ruffled hair spoke from across the hall. As he drew closer his light blue eyes shone behind sterile rectangular glasses. He wore a deep gray suit and tie with a plush sweater vest atop the usual white button-up. He vaguely recognized the man, but not enough for name recall. Bruce grinned. "Turns out getting more involved in Gotham means meetings with the president." Keep up the playboy facade. He stuck out his hand and the man took it, firmly.

"Dr. Jonathan Crane. I'm sure this will not be the last time our paths will cross, especially with your new venture to save the city."

He wanted to dig his own grave. "Ah, yes. You work at Arkham, correct?" Information was coming to him now, loose memories of seeing his name in court records, and seeing him coming out of the GCPD offices every now and then. As a psychiatrist he floated between the jail and the courts, but his home base was Arkham Asylum. There he would counsel, treat, and refer the patients to whatever outside services they needed. But what did it matter? He'd forget him soon anyway. Imagine him in some other form. Maybe in a few year's time everyone's heads would morph into an owl's.

"Correct. But today my services also require a meeting with Dr. Vry." He emphasized the salutation which Bruce could only fathom was due to his own educational background. His nerves were shot from the life-ruining confirmation of him hallucinating, and he quickly bid the man adieu. He went back down the hallways and stairways, and stepped out into the employee parking lot. It was empty, as it was when he arrived.

Suddenly a trembling, tingly feeling arose in his chest, bursting out to his fingers and down his legs; when his knee rendered unsteady he began to panic, his heart thundering profoundly in his chest. He struggled to breathe, to gulp breaths, but he couldn't find air. Tears erupted from their ducts and streamed down his face automatically, and he fell to his knees heaving toward the cement. He feared he might never stand up.

You awoke to the blaring sound of your ringtone assaulting your ear. DR. VRY lit up in pulsing green text. You cleared your throat and dove for the water at your side table to take a sip before picking up on the last ring. "Hey, Dr. Vry." It was the first time you'd spoken in days other than to call for Walter, which rarely happened as he never left your side. Your fingers shook a bit thinking on how this could be the start of immediate unemployment. You'd been telling yourself since you'd come home to expect the worst, and you'd begun to feel relieved at the prospect of being fired instead of having to quit. This would be good, splendid even; it would open up your horizons and give you a guilt-free escape. You'd break the news to your parents when they got back—but only after a few hours when they'd napped, showered, eaten, and had settled in for the evening. You hadn't thought seriously of how you'd break the news of the reasoning, but you knew that whatever you said you couldn't say the whole truth. There wasn't a single fantasy in where they did not have a very specific, and specifically annoying response to knowing Bruce Wayne was the reason you were fired, and that really, the only reason you'd been fired in the first place was being a stickler about wanting to engage with the man as little as possible. They'd think it petty, and immature, but they didn't know the whole story; they didn't know what it felt like to truly see Bruce Wayne, they only saw him gussied up to public satisfaction. They didn't know that he was Batman, they didn't know the dire straits you were put in every minute you rotted in Gotham—

"Y/N." Dr. Vry sounded impatient, exasperated even.

Oh. "What?"

"As I was saying, the board... and I... have decided against firing you. You may remain in your position until renewal applications open in the end of Spring. You shall take your post immediately." The words rushed out of her mouth. You briefly imagined her being held at gunpoint to re-hire you, and your immediate assumption was that the billionaire had something to do with it. Was he meddling again, after explicitly promising the opposite? The thoughts couldn't linger long, as all the color swiftly left your face and you fell back on the bed, dizzy. You felt it in your heart of hearts that you could not go back to Gotham, and little would work to convince you otherwise. Oh god. Telling the biggest Bruce Wayne fangirl in the city you weren't going to be her puppet wasn't going to be pretty. "Dr. Vry, I can't,"

"Ah ah." You visualized her wagging her finger. It was the same tone she used in class when someone who had spoken up too often raised their hand yet again. "The stipulations of your duties has changed. You no longer need to interview him once per week, but biweekly." The silence that followed her was thick. Before remembering she couldn't see you, you shook your head, your heartbeat quickening. "I'm sorry, but I can't, I really can't," She chimed in as quickly as she ever had. "Once per month. Only once."

She had you in a pickle. Before your resolve could loosen and you gave in, you declared yourself. "I'm not coming back."

Dr. Vry didn't speak for almost a full minute. She was absent from the line so long you had to check the screen to see if the call had dropped. "Hello?" Another minute passed and your finger hovered above END CALL.

"What would bring you back?"

"I don't think anything could." You huffed into the phone, letting it out. "The city is not mine. I don't enjoy it, I graduated, and I would like to be home."

"So nothing can convince you? Not even an increase in base pay?"

"I'm sorry,"

"A better apartment, perhaps?"

"Give it to someone who needs it. Thank you, but I am not going back to Gotham." You pulled the phone back from your ear and tapped the screen to wake it. A split second before you successfully ended the call, Dr. Vry spoke yearnfully. "One interview. Next week. Then you can be finished."

She was beginning to truly frustrate you. "Let Bridgit do it. I'm sure anyone else would jump at the opportunity."

"I'll be very clear. The department has until the end of this month before we're cut. If a student of this program was able to secure the first interview with Bruce Wayne, the combination of sales from the Gazette and credibility it lends the department at GU... it's our last chance."

"There are no journalism graduates?"

"He'll only speak with you.”

[leporellian]

thinking about mudclaw again as he lives forever in my heart. i think so many people are wrong about him. him and onestar are in reality two sides of the same paranoid coin and both of their actions are explained most by fear than anything else, which makes sense bc windclan was (still is?) the lowest-ranking of all the clans and constantly shit on in different ways by the other three especially in the tpb era. but of course instead of realizing that there's a sense of constant sunk cost fallacy and NEEDING to get to the top. tallstar is clearly mudclaw's father figure (at least like . the way i interpret things. what with shrewclaw's death and their interactions esp in winds of change) and mudclaw to some extent idolizes tallstar because he equates him- and leadership, and power, and etc- with the idea of windclan and the very ideal of their clan society. he certainly sees tallstar as fallible and doesn't agree with his decisions (and later becomes like almost annoyingly aware of tallstar's mortality) but i think it's in an 'only i can say that about him' way.

so of course when tallstar changes his mind and demotes mudclaw at the last possible second before mudclaw achieves (what is in his mind as) The One Path To True Success mudclaw feels a visceral sense of betrayal, not only because that was his father figure but also because it kind of flies in the face of everything mudclaw had led to believe was Worthwhile- all of it meant nothing, as does much of the system of the clans themselves do. but instead of willing to consider that (even if his subconscious sees it like A Little) mudclaw spirals into justification until he's ultimately turning on everything he once held dear to justify this One Perfect Concept in his mind of How Things Ideally Should Go. and then his own gods turn on him to kill him! as he dies in the same pointless battles that killed both his father and grandmother! fucking insane!

and the REAL tragedy is that even IF mudclaw became leader he'd fall apart into a paranoid wreck, just as much if not more than onestar did, because ultimately he and onestar have the same rampant paranoia and fear of reliance that dooms both of them. for all intents and purposes until near the end onestar wasn't too bad of a leader by clan standards; windclan certainly became much more self-sufficient and hardy under his leadership (thunderclan be damned lmfao) and for having been elected amidst civil war there wasn't That Much dissent going on besides like crowfeather or whoever thinking onestar was being a jackass. mudclaw not only should have never been deputy, there's no universe where he could've achieved his own definitions of success ad prosperity because he was born not only in a clan that will never fully escape its position as the bottom of the pecking order but in the shadow of a leader who possessed traits that mudclaw could never have and who didn't even want the same vision of windclan mudclaw did.

so like ! damn all that was for nothing ! and he was killed to make a fuck ass BRIDGE! And hes trapped inside a horribly written wildly christian children's book series FOREVER!!!!!! Insane!!!! Insane!!!! I am going to think about this freak forever!!!! in short

[dandelion-wings]

On thing about Mondstadt’s government that bothers me is that everybody boils it down to just the Knights on one side, and the Church on the other. Which, sure, they’re what we know the most about…

But it completely ignores the ‘Community Representative’. Considering their signature is one of three needed to (legally) make use of the Holy Lyre, alongside the Grandmaster and the Seneschal, they must be pretty damn important. So assuming they have equal power to those positions, which are at the head of the Knights and the Church respectively, what actually is that power? Presumably it’s an elected position (the title is that of a ‘representative’, plus I would be severely disappointed if there wasn’t even a hint of democracy in the Nation of Freedom), but is there a structure under it similar to the Knights and Church? Is there a completely separate civilian, secular government that for some reason just barely comes up? If it is elected, how is that handled? If both Grandmaster Varka and the Seneschal are on expedition, does that mean they hold more authority than Acting Grandmaster Jean and whoever is Acting Seneschal (assuming an acting-title’s authority, though still above everything else below the proper-title, is still considered secondary to that of said proper-title)? But if so, why hasn’t it come up? Or is it just some guy elected to act as a more expedient alternative to something like a full referendum?

God, I have an education in history and political science that is just begging for some damn answers!

I mean, I don't have an education in those things and am not real good at working those things out myself, so I don't know that I can provide you too much useful commentary here. XD;; But while I'd love if Mondstadt did have some democracy, I... am pretty convinced that it's a theocracy, actually. The Knights and the Church (which tbh seems to exist under the overall umbrella of the Ordo, given that Jean says in her voiceline about Barbara that "the order also manages the Church") fulfill pretty much all the governmental functions we actually see happening at all, including the whole thing in Jean's quest where Charles expects tax forms from her.

I'll admit I also lean that way because I read into Mondstadt as a whole (its history but also our introduction to it, where Amber initially nabs us for unauthorized entry and then there's a whole early section about gliding regulations) a theme of humans repeatedly being given freedom, and gradually rebuilding restrictions upon themselves. Which I don't think is entirely a bad thing, in that I do think communities generally function better with organization and administration and such, but, like, Mondstadt has gone all the way into tyranny before and could again. Mondstadt building itself an increasingly restrictive theocracy feeds into the theme I like drawing from it, so of course that's the reading I tend towards! But, still, that's where I'm at about it.

(I draw a lot of my read of this national theme from the line, "Mondstadt is the City of Freedom, but unchecked freedom without any kind of rules only invites chaos and anxiety," in Jean's character details, and I haven't seen anyone else talk about it, ever, so it's entirely possible this is actually character brainrot I'm projecting onto the city as a whole. I'm fine with that.)

Presumably there is a further government apparatus, but I tend to believe it's probably under the higher authority of the Ordo. Maybe with checks and balances, maybe not (exactly how I arrange the setup for fic where it's needed is specific to individual fic, because the openness of canon leaves the kind of room that makes it easiest to go with what works for the plot). "Community Representative" on its own is very vague; looking at the line where it actually appears, it's talking about the Holy Lyre in the context of the Ludi Harpastrum, so it could even be a role specific to the yearly organization of that particular festival! That said, it does sound a bit more like it's a regular thing, and given my presumption of theocracy above, I think this:

Or is it just some guy elected to act as a more expedient alternative to something like a full referendum?

honestly is the most likely possibility. It would make sense given Mondstadt's ethos and history--you have a representative of the community to sign off on certain decisions (hopefully elected, as you said, but who knows exactly how it happens), like that one about the Lyre, to show that the people agree. Possibly it's a triangle with the Grand Master at the top and the Seneschal (given the above "manages the Church" line) and Community Representative as equals who have input but not ultimate power on the next level down, possibly they both exist largely to rubberstamp the Grand Master and Seneshal's decisions, possibly it's an area-of-authority divide. Regardless of the exact divisions, Jean does seem to have some fairly unilateral powers in the areas of domestic defense and peacekeeping, but that's... something you do want the head of your military-and-police order to have, generally, so who knows how broad her powers actually are to act without the Seneschal and Representative's approval in other areas. The game is, as always, frustratingly uninformative.

Anyway, tl;dr: my personal reading of Mondstadt tends to render the Community Representative as relatively unimportant, despite the equal billing in that quest, because over and over again in quests and lore and voicelines we don't see anything but "the Ordo handles things," and Mondstadt honestly makes most sense to me as a theocratic city-state. I think they're more likely a representative "voice" in the government than a significant power, and I don't think they represent any significant "third branch" other than possibly, given Mondstadt's history, a symbolic reminder that its people have toppled tyrants before and can do so again.

[takerfoxx]

On the night of the election, I had an honest-to-God dream where I woke up and found out that Harris had shockingly come in from behind and won the election. I remember how relieved I was that the nightmare had been averted. That we did choose to not elect a senile fascist back into office. That most of my country weren't willing choosing evil over progress.

Then I woke up, literally and figuratively.

Obviously, this has been a heavy blow. Honestly, as someone who was raised as a conservative Christian, who was a huge fan of Linkin Park, Kanye West, JK Rowling, Joss Whedon, Neil Gaiman, and the Undertaker for years, and who felt like I could trust my friends and family to have my back, it's been like these last few years have been a relentless train of disappointment and disillusionment in everything and everyone I once believed in and looked up to, and who I would go to for escape when things were bad. I know you should never meet your heroes, but damn, could they just have been like salty jerks who were caught being mean to the waiter instead of fascists, abusers, bigots, and so on? Could the entire world view that I had been raised in and fervently believed for over half my life not have turned out to be so awful? And yeah, I'm including the friends and family part in that as well.

Obviously, since the election, there's been a lot of finger pointing. Did Harris run a bad campaign? Did she abandon the working class? Was it the Gaza issue? Was it the fault of moral abstainers or third-party voters?

And honestly, I get it. Given the sheer horror of what we're facing, I get being frustrated with people who don't help and/or vote against their own interests only to go all Shocked Pikachu face when the worst possible scenario occurs. But I've been doing some thinking, and I personally believe that even if all those groups came out in support of Harris, whether it be because they do support her or even just as a way to block Trump, she still would have lost. This is the first time in a long time that a Democratic nominee lost the popular vote, after all. I think Biden would have lost too, and he only won in 2020 because of the very unique circumstances caused by the pandemic.

I think we need to face the facts. America's been sliding into fascism for decades.

Reagan. The extremism that erupted after 9/11. Birtherism. Gamergate. The Manosphere. The far right has been busy, whether it be stacking the deck politically or pinpointing the fears and insecurities of every generation and tuning their messaging to draw people in. They tell them what they want to hear, that it's not their fault that they aren't getting what the American dream promised them, and it's all the fault of (insert minority group here). It's been targeted. It's been methodical. And it's been working.

Trump won. He's going to get away with everything. The far right won. This sucks. I wish I had some inspiring words about never giving up the fight, but I'm not that guy. And honestly, I'm starting to feel that spiteful part of me come out, the one that sort of hopes that everything does get much worse so that every braindead moron who voted against their best interests gets exactly what they got coming to them.

But I also know how dangerous that line of thinking of. So please, Do NOT listen to me. There are plenty of people still rallying the troops, still encouraging people to fight, people who are in far more danger than I am. I'll be fine. I'm just a tired and disappointed middle-aged white guy living in a boring California suburb. I'm safe. But there's a lot of people that aren't. And those are the voice that you need to be listening to.

As for me, I'm not giving up, I'm going to keep voting, going to keep supporting the causes I believe in, and going to keep helping how I can. But I'm also going to go away for a while. Not long, probably just a few weeks or so. But I'm going to disengage from social media for a bit to keep from doomscrolling and just focus on writing, because that's all I really know how to do. And when I do come back, I'll have a lot more stuff for you guys.

In the meantime, please be good to yourselves. Be good to those who are scared and hurting. The world needs you in it, now more than ever.

[muddypolitics]

(via Daring Fireball: It Doesn’t End)

By John Gruber

Hunter S. Thompson, writing in September 1972, a little over month ahead of Nixon’s landslide reelection:

The polls also indicate that Nixon will get a comfortable majority of the Youth Vote. And that he might carry all fifty states.

Well … maybe so. This may be the year when we finally come face to face with ourselves: finally just lay back and say it — that we are really just a nation of 220 million used car salesmen with all the money we need to buy guns, and no qualms at all about killing anybody else in the world who tries to make us uncomfortable.

The tragedy of all this is that George McGovern, for all his mistakes and all his imprecise talk about “new politics” and “honesty in government”, is one of the few men who’ve run for President of the United States in this century who really understands what a fantastic monument to all the best instincts of the human race this country might have been, if we could have kept it out of the hands of greedy little hustlers like Richard Nixon.

McGovern made some stupid mistakes, but in context they seem almost frivolous compared to the things Richard Nixon does every day of his life, on purpose, as a matter of policy and a perfect expression of everything he stands for.

Jesus! Where will it end?

If every damn word of that doesn’t ring true to you today, you’re deaf. I have quoted this same passage once before, in the opposite context (or at least the opposite mood) — the day after Barack Obama’s election victory 16 years ago. I wrote then:

It ends here, today.

I love this country.

That first sentence sounds hopelessly naive today. I don’t blame my younger self for having written it though. That 2008 Obama win was euphoric. It remains our nation’s high-water mark. Until that day there remained large swaths not merely of the American electorate as a whole, but of Democrats and liberals, who believed they’d never live to see this nation elect a black man as president. But that happened. Barack Obama was elected, then reelected four years later, and left office and remains today a popular leader. Obama’s win in 2008 (365-173) was far larger than Trump’s win this year (312-226), measured either by Electoral College results or the popular vote. Obama’s 2012 reelection against Mitt Romney was a slightly larger win than Trump’s now (332-206).

The lesson is that it never ends.

But my god, look at the results Thompson was writing about in 1972. Richard Nixon won the Electoral College 520-17 and the popular vote by 23 percent. He won 49 of 50 states. “Jesus!” indeed. This now is not that. This is bad and dangerous and dark, but while Trump’s win was brutally clear, it was still a very close, deeply divided election. Barack Obama ran in 2008 opposing gay marriage. The Democrat. That was only 16 years ago. The iPhone was already out. Progress hasn’t stopped, but it’s never easy, and never without backlash.

It doesn’t end. Keep the faith.

[shrimpfossil]

Okay so I know I post like once a year but this is important to me so:

For the USamericans

Please go vote Harris. If you care about the marginalized in this country, vote Harris. If you care about women’s rights and reproductive rights, vote Harris. If you care about the environment, vote Harris.

And I’m gonna address folks who don’t want to vote for her because she’s not left enough:

I know she’s not as far left as we wish she could be. But she’s the best we’ve had since I was able to vote, and she’s a damn sight better than Trump in literally every respect.

In my opinion, if you choose to withhold the chance of doing some good in favor of feeling morally purer by doing nothing. You withhold your right to complain about anything the Republican Party does. You had your chance to help stop it. And you didn’t.

You should not hold your feeling like your hands are clean in higher regard than actually helping the marginalized.

Voting should not be the end of your activism. You can and should get out there and fight for the causes you believe in that your local candidates are center or right on. But vote. Please, gods, vote.

Remember how bad Trump was. Vote to stop him.

Please, please, please stop him.

(Also vote in your local elections too. Keep anti-trans candidates off your school boards and anti-homeless candidates off your town council. Voting doesn’t stop at the presidential level.)

[till-death-us-do-part]

Have you been able to find the booklet or any lyric information for Philiae’s Scapegod? I’ve been working on transcribing the lyrics manually but some are tough

Hey! I did not find the actual booklet (as of yet at least) but I did find the lyrics from an official source (their official now defunct website circa 2004), some of them are missing certain stuff, like repetition, background words etc, but with having these in general you can fill in the blanks really easily when listening, I hope this helps! I'll update this if I find the proper booklet <3

Putting under the cut the lyrics copied exactly as they are on the site:

1. GOLDEN GOD what do you think we come around what do you think | you hear that sound what do you think | how do you think to use the nose what do you think | how do you like to overdose the missing link | what do you think i justify myself and i | i’m not that guy what do you think i love that lie | how do you think i try to deny what about you | i’m like a bitch i’m like a queen how do you do? || they always take a lot of what they give: drugs | i’m on… || what does it mean to be a drug what does it mean | it was the inc. that called it rock your slates ain’t clean | the jesus freak that called his dad the G.O.D. | he is a product that I call S.H.I.T. ||

2. FOR THE DECEASED all proud and pretty people | how mouldy can you get? | when the son breastfeeds the daughter there’s mud inside the bed | with flowers on his back he’s trying to feed the death | hides the hickeys on his neck | the blood it tastes like ash | ”didn’t it?” | all their warm and slender bodies | filled with a cold and lonely soul | wanted the white and spooncooked love | to crawl inside another hole | they never ever understand | what by “sacrifice“ is meant | and searched theirselves inside a kiss to repress that they live | “I bet right now: you don’t know if you wanna kill me - or fuck me! i wish i could believe | we go to a better place | but science has damned my innocence | and now I damn your faith” | splinters of assurance | strong enough to devastate | see i’ve to discover they’re not strong enough to free our hate | whatever’s lost is found today | tomorrow's dreams assimilate | an empty crib of burning hay | no more the need to medicate | delete the ground under their feet | to reveal what lies beneath | the guilty one dies on his knees | the head in hope, the heart deceased | we’ll never die | it’s already done | we’ll never cry | for the deceased son

3. HATEGRENADE fuck revolte and fuck anti | fuck your life, fuck suicide | fuck the pope but fuck divine | fuck your judgement, fuck your lies |fuck religion, priests and fate | fuck suppression, fuck constraint | fuck real love and fuck blind hate | fuck this song, fuck hategrenade | fuck the holy, fuck them hard | fuck you satan, fuck you god | fuck the fraud and fuck the truth | fuck the me and fuck the you | fuck the vice, I rape to fuck | in my heaven is no god | fuck the people’s hollow soul | fuck sex and drugs and rock n roll || doors down, fuck you | born into this world tonight | hate | the last innocent child || I made my sins but are they just seven? I tried to resist, o lord I can’t stand them | oh no I can’t oh no I can’t stand them | I’m trying, I’m craving, I’m praying for heaven || learn to hate | hategrenade | learn to hate

4. CRUCIFIXION DAY someday i’ll escape to space | searching for a bitter place | someday i will find a way stop breathing your nonsense all night all day | even blind apes can see | i’m already dead and already free | all the hollows are taught to be to be deceased and dead as me | the “lie“ in beLIEve may save you from your selfmade hell | someday i’ll give the startshot for the last hour | maybe today, maybe right now | the taste of faith is not enough to swallow | rest in pieces in your WTC’s | finally god wasn’t true | see the elected dying with you || see the stars | refuse so hard | they deny the descent of god || slaves give birth to slaves again in your beautiful “master & servant“ world | cut your teenage wrist to end your subhuman creature sustaining world || in today’s tomorrow is no god | morning has come | it’s already day | the sun feels numb | he’s not on his way | on the black grass | dead bodies shot | where are the stars now | where is my god?

5. SCAPEGOD the exit flag is furled | the clock counts five to twelve | the baptized son in a hater’s world | is never strong enough to keep it well unfurled | we laid down when there was nothing left to scar in our childish-discouraged hearts | one day we fold our hands to pray unto || the exit flag is furled | the clock counts twelve | to hate this world | to kill ourselves | the scapegod flag is… || “father what have i become, the hate i feel is almost fun!“ | we were right when we were singing songs of love about a world high up above | the real and true below was never enough | could never be enough | homogenicly raised to score and fit | our strangled soul had enough of it | now we just don’t give a shit || all heil, now it’s furled | for a wretched scapegod world | pure silk all soaked with dirt | the scapegod flag is… || we live fast and we die young | we torture and suffer on our run | this is what we all deserve | legal through the barrel of a gun | we live high, we’re on the trip | we’re the scum of adam’s rib | we commit suicide or assassination | we’re dying to breath salvation | the hate I feel is almost fun || fuck you!

6. FOR THE BELOVED this feeling hurts like hell | it’s almost physical | cause rationality is too vulnerable | who sees goes blind | who gives is bleeding | who loves will find || we’re dry like biblepages | hollow like a soul | billions of white coloured cases | there is no tomorrow || don’t think i feel | don’t think i’m real | i walk through decayed crowds | masses of moaning vacuum holes | automatic and cold | death remote controlled | leave me in emptyness | i’m beyond and love is dead | and love is dead || we’re dry like biblepages | till eden isn’t shown | billions of white coloured cases | tomorrow i’m alone | memories are crossing my way | like shooting stars in a dead white ray | reattached emotions and reflexions | of the past lessons | i see masses of slaves (but no master) | i feel infinite hate (but no ventile) | i got boundless love without an aim | but to make me feel || you set the needle | i know you needed me | i regard reality stealing the content of my fantasies | this song means nothing more | than a dream about one love | that lets me cry for someone | for the frail and scarred | this song means nothing more | than a dream about one love | that lets me cry for someone | for the beloved

7. BEAUTIFUL LIE || cause i’m a liar there’s no desire | a lie | there is no fate | yes, no, right, wrong || we are so fresh | so very clean | swallowing all secretions | and licking all our queens | yes, no, right and wrong || we’re only well | when somebody’s god | only having fun | when somebody’s not | yes, no, right and wrong || there’s no fate in our direction | just the will of an erection ||

8. WHITE SUN you taught me not to feel and how to see all the shadows in my truth | how could I’ve done it cause you knew it’s all so relative when you want it absolute | love’s an insect dying in slo-mo | recycled and remote controlled | inserting ‘bout a thousand hands to create a feedback in the soul || I’m like a million and you, you are just like one | I loved a spitting image resigned to your white sun || we are waiting to die some day but we are not yet on the way | a million points of view through hours like delays | i love you, i wish i could explain that i hate you anyway | there’s nothing left to take from me | not even the fucking – responsibility || hate myself for loving you | love myself for hating you | i’m like a million and you’re just like one

9. FOR THE HOLLOW come on | in times we wrote these words we were living like you yet | if you ever read these lines we’re still but already dead | we always tried to avoid responsibility and guilt | but now we’re getting on top of it | on the top of it || when I’m not your favorite model on the covers | then I’m the untrue virgin denying lovers || what was the eden tree without the snake | what was jesus without pilate? It’s just this death we live it’s just what we create | we always tried to avoid responsibility and dead white lines | cause the world she whispered “give it to me like it was for the last time!” || I’m not your face of indifference to the others | if you need a scapegoat you blame on one another | if we need a satan we just blame it on us | if we need a god we just pray to us |

10. SEVEN MILE PLATEAUX what comes behind the end | is it numb like under the sea when the whole world gets undone | the scratched mirror jaw cries to overthrow | gain the steeples | sweat the pills | revive your own jane doe | on a seven mile plateaux || never kill the world for you | tumbling puppets in a row | i don’t care, i’m walking on my seven mile plateaux | never kill the world for you | push the maggots in their hole | i don’t care, i’m walking on my seven mile plateaux || when we are feeling fine we sell you our believe | when we are feeling bad we push you on your knees | before you fainted through your nostrils i saw god | the crucifix is turning to the pain you had ignored | you’re feeling so adored || never kill the world for you | keep on walking on my seven mile plateaux ||

11. PLEXUS the wasted generation is the right complication for the righteous swollen men | rule the roost away | refuse the nerves and cut them to sway in the wind of pollen strands | never try to escape | never try to be great || yeah motherfucker you‘re nothing to me | trying to be satanic? | trying to be the new christ? | you got a mind to hate but a heart to feel | as long as you’re mechanical it ain’t alright || billionaires corrupting nations | brats bored on vacation | love statistic’s low and down | devil versus adonai | begging for my decay | i’m the king without the divine crown || yeah motherfucker you’re nothing | instead of loving you | they will cut your head off | instead of crowning you | they will push your ass down ||

12. SCARRED TEENAGE WRIST i saw a black rose in the garden | her sight gave me the creeps | although i cut her stalk | she pricked my heart and cracked | today i lie to you | tomorrow you will die for me | yes i had an unrequited love | but that’s not everything about me || can’t you see | this is me | i’m signing the contract with the enemy | can’t you see | the unguilty boy i’ve been | i’m signing the contract with the enemy || from his eyes like a shot | with a smile and hard as hell | he forced me to recognize | the begetting was a sacrifice | today i lie to you | tomorrow you will die for me | no i don’t know much about my father | but that’s not everything about me || today i lie to you | tomorrow you’ll die for me | may i’ll make a deceitful decision | today i lie to you | tomorrow you’ll die for me | would you even understand | what i’ve been elected to? ||