#I’d also like to note that I did not get sick with ANYTHING for three years

[stagefoot]

(Note: The point of this rant is not me being smug, and I know luck has also very much been a factor for me. I have been fucking privileged in a lot of ways since the pandemic started, and I fully acknowledge that. This is just a disabled person with a chronic lung condition being…frustrated. Really fucking frustrated.)

So today everyone in our little tech corral (video, audio, and me (lighting), about 10 people in all) were talking about their experiences having covid.

Now, I have not (🌳✊) had covid. I am the only one in the group who has not. I am also the only one wearing a mask. Almost no one in the crowd (2000+ people) or who is part of the show is masked. I’m supposed to see my 80+ year old grandparents in two days and uh yeah I don’t really feel safe doing that. So that sucks.

[twelveyearsofit]

under pressure

word count: 3.8k

summary: You can’t seem to get away from the Marauders and their hopeless flirting. After turning them down continually, the four of you get paired up for a Potions project. With the help of a messy dorm room and a record player, you find out you may have more in common than you thought.

content: poly!marauders x slytherin!reader, just a bit of language, kind of enemies to lovers maybe?, a tiny mention of jegulus tehe, grumpy x sunshine trope, idk i think that’s it?? lmk if there’s anything else!

authors notes: here it finally is!! sooo sorry it took me so long to post this, life has been crazy recently! also i know that under pressure isn’t exactly time accurate for when they were at hogwarts but just go along with it ily! i’m probably gonna make this a series so if you have any ideas or suggestions please leave a comment or request! anyways pretty please lmk what you think!! enjoy lovies!

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Another day of trying to fend off the Marauders with a fucking stick. You weren’t known for being particularly warm to anyone, let alone to the three boys who terrorized your house-mates daily, even though you always seemed to escape their pranks untouched. Unfortunately, your cold demeanor never deterred them from trying to charm you. Each of them, in their own way, had attempted to catch your attention, only to find your wit and icy demeanor an insurmountable wall. Every attempt was more vexing than the last, and you were growing more perturbed by the sight of them every day. It did, however, brighten your day a little, in some sick way, seeing their faces when you turned them down.

James was the first to try. Armed with his trademark confidence and lopsided grin, he cornered you outside the Potions classroom one afternoon, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Hey angel,” he greeted, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“We have class together, Potter,” you replied flatly, brushing past him and into the classroom.

Unbothered, he followed you, sliding into the seat next to yours despite the scowl you shot his way. “You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“That sounds dangerous.”

He laughed, undeterred by the jab you threw at him. “You’re funny. I like that. So, how about this—you, me, Remus, Sirius, a butterbeer in Hogsmeade this weekend?”

You didn’t even look up from your parchment. “I’d rather spend the weekend brewing Bubotuber pus.”

“Come on,” he said, leaning closer. “You’ll be missing out on the best date of your life.”

You leaned away automatically before finally meeting his gaze, your expression blank. “And you’ll be missing out on your dignity if you don’t leave me alone.”

James blinked, momentarily stunned, before letting out a bark of laughter. “Alright, angel. I like a challenge.”

“Good,” you said, turning back to your work. “Because you’re not getting anything else.”

He nodded with brows raised, “I’m aware.”

You spent the rest of class dodging his looks and ignoring his sickeningly sweet comments, gathering your books and hurrying out as soon as class was over, successfully avoiding any more hopeless persuading from James.

Sirius Black was the next to suffer. He prided himself on his charm. He’d never met a girl he couldn’t win over—until you.

It started in the library, where you were seated alone at a table, engrossed in a particularly dense-looking book. Sirius slid into the seat across from you, his signature smirk firmly in place.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he drawled, propping his chin on his hand.

You rolled your eyes internally and didn’t look up. “Black.”

“Studying hard, I see. Not that you need to. I bet you’re brilliant at everything.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” you said, turning a page.

He grinned. “I’ve got other tricks up my sleeve.”

“I doubt that.”

His smirk faltered for a split second, but he recovered quickly. “Alright, love. What would it take to get you to have dinner with me?”

“An entirely different personality,” you said, still not looking up. You knew that statement was mostly true, or maybe, deep down, you were trying to convince yourself more than him.

He let out an exaggerated gasp. “You wound me.”

“Not yet,” you muttered, scribbling something in the margins of your book.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, clearly torn between frustration and amusement. “You’re playing hard to get.”

“No,” you said, finally meeting his eyes with a deadpan expression. “Try impossible.”

For once, Sirius had no response. He dragged in a breath, knowing he was losing momentum the longer he stayed silent. He sided with giving the table a quick tap as he got up and reluctantly walked away, mentally kicking himself for being off his game.

Remus Lupin was the final victim. He was subtler in his approach. He wasn’t one for grand gestures or flashy lines; instead, he opted for quiet conversation and shared study sessions. You were virtually looking over your shoulder every five seconds, knowing he would be trying his hand with you at some point. You avoided all three boys as much as you could, turning heel and leaving if you saw them coming your way in the corridor or entering the room you were in. Of course, your luck ran out.

He found you in the greenhouse one afternoon, tending to a particularly finicky Venomous Tentacula.

“Need a hand?” he offered, stepping carefully around the plant, his hands in his pockets.

You glanced at him, brow raised. “Not from you,” You paused, taking in the calm air around him, and against your better judgement, spoke again. “What would you know about Venomous Tentaculas?”

“Not much, but enough to know not to touch it,” he said with a small smile.

Your lips twitched, but you didn’t smile back. “I’m fine, thanks.”

He leaned against the workbench, watching you carefully prune the plant. “You’re good at this.”

“Obviously.” You kept an eye on him out of your peripherals, apprehensive, surprised he wasn’t trying to get in a spare word wherever he can, like James and Sirius did.

He chuckled softly. “I was being polite.”

“Well, don’t,” you said, setting down your shears and brushing dirt off your hands, turning to face him. “It’s unnecessary.”

Remus hesitated, then said, “You know, you don’t have to be so guarded all the time.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And you don’t have to waste your time trying to psychoanalyze me.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were,” you scoffed, cutting him off. “And for the record, I don’t need your pity or your approval. So, if you’re done, I have actual work to do.”

Remus sighed, pushing off the workbench. “Alright, dove. I’ll leave you to it.”

And there’s another dreaded pet name. “Good idea.”

As he walked away, he glanced back over his shoulder. You were already focused on the plant again, seeming as if he hadn’t been there at all. When you heard the door shut behind Remus as he left, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He was the most tolerable out of the three, giving you space when you asked for it, leaving when you wanted. He was calmer than the others, a quality you appreciated. You shake the thought out of your head and pick up the shears once more.

The boys reconvened in the Gryffindor common room that evening, nursing their bruised egos.

“She’s impossible,” James declared, flopping onto the couch.

“Completely heartless,” Sirius agreed, though his tone was more impressed than frustrated.

“I told you,” Remus said calmly, sipping his tea. “She’s not interested.”

James sat up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Or maybe… she just doesn’t know us well enough yet.”

Sirius grinned. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Remus sighed. “This can’t possibly end well.”

But he didn’t stop them from planning their next move.

Within two weeks, their plan was in motion. The three boys were so dedicated that they spared time out of their precious weekend and stayed after Potions one day, ambushing Slughorn. Somehow, pretty easily in fact, they managed to convince him to make the four of you partners for the new project. Sirius put it under the guise of needing your “brilliant brain and knowledge” because he and James were “trying to be better students”. As if.

The next week, Slughorn announced the groups for the project. You sighed and narrowed your eyes at the three boys, knowing that somehow, this was their doing. If it was one thing, they were persistent. If only they put that effort into their schoolwork.You hoped you could just get this over with as soon as possible, you would even do all the work yourself to avoid being stuck in a room with them. You hurried out of class that day, annoyed. You shoved through the boys as they had tried to make their way to you as soon as you were dismissed.

You sat at your usual spot in the library, a fortress of books surrounding you, quill scratching furiously across parchment, trying to possibly finish the project without having any contact with the three menaces seated across the library. You could hear them whispering just a few tables away, their presence proving to be an irritating hum in the back of your mind. Sirius laughed, low and rich, and you refused to look up.

“Hey, angel,” James called, sliding into the seat across from you. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and instead flipped the page of your textbook. “Since we’re all partners for the Potions project, we thought we’d… collaborate.”

“I don’t recall asking for collaboration,” you replied dryly, not sparing him a glance.

“That’s the thing about group projects,” Sirius chimed in, plopping into the chair beside you, a roguish grin plastered on his face. “It doesn’t require your approval.”

You raised a brow, scooting your chair away from him slightly. “I didn’t realize Gryffindors believed in forcing unwilling participants into things. Aren’t you supposed to be noble or something?”

Remus, the most tolerable of the trio, slid into the seat on your other side, carrying a stack of books. “You’re right, dove,” he said smoothly, voice calm and measured. “But unfortunately for you, Slughorn paired us up.”

Your jaw clenched. Sluggy and his infuriating belief in “Inter-House unity.”

“Fine,” you said sharply. “But don’t expect me to do all the work while you three mess around.” In truth, you were happy to do all the work if it meant you could escape this conversation.

“We wouldn’t dream of it,” James said, eyes sparkling behind his glasses.

The next evening, you found yourself in the Gryffindor dormitory, an unfamiliar space that smelled of old parchment, broom polish, faintly of Sirius’ cologne, and something you can only describe as teenage boys. You had practically begged to meet anywhere else, their dormitory being the last place you wanted to end up. Coincidentally, every option you came up with seemed to be taken. Your dorm-mates were using your dorm for their own projects, and were firm on their stance of “no boys, especially not those ones.” The library had a suspiciously timed incident of smoke bombs exploding, and all the students had to vacate until it was aired out. It had Marauders written all over it. Your house-mates would rather die than have three Gryffindors in their common room, so you didn’t even suggest it. As a last resort, you tried to coax them into working in their common room, but, once again, the answer was no. The rest of their in-house friend group decided to work right in front of the fireplace. The girl who introduced herself as Marlene definitely had a glint in her eyes, as if she was in on it. You just couldn’t win.

Reluctantly, you followed them up the stairs to work in their dorm. The room was, oddly enough, exactly what you expected. The space that was tidy with stacks of books on the floor next to the bed had to belong to Remus. Fitting. James’ and Sirius’ beds seemed to blend together, the only telling factors being the Quidditch posters by James’ bed and the record player and band posters by Sirius’. Also fitting. You knew most of the bands on Sirius’ posters. Surprised, you shook your head slightly. You couldn’t have anything in common with these boys, could you? The fourth bed, which you learned belonged to Peter, one of the boys in the group holed up in the common room, was a mix of tidy and messy, with a half-played game of chess sitting on the blanket.

There were clothes strewn on the floor between James’ and Sirius’ beds, both of the boys scrambling to pick them up and throw them out of sight as you walked in. They looked at you like they hoped you hadn’t seen it. You had. Remus scoffed a chuckle, which you somewhat appreciated, but didn’t let it show.

Now here you were, perched awkwardly on the edge of Remus’ bed, the cleanest place in the room, with your arms crossed, as the boys arranged their notes across the floor. The Gryffindor dormitory felt strangely foreign to you, with its warm tones and cozy chaos. It was nothing like the pristine coldness of the Slytherin common room, where everything was sharp edges and muted colors. Here, the atmosphere was alive, buzzing with an energy you couldn’t entirely place—and didn’t trust.

“So,” Sirius began, lounging on a pillow in his usual carefree manner, “any brilliant ideas, gorgeous?”

“I have several,” you replied, not acknowledging the irksome pet name, “but I doubt you’d appreciate the brilliance.”

James smirked. “Why so cold, angel? We’re charming, aren’t we?”

You snorted. “You’re persistent. That’s not the same thing.”

Sirius grinned, leaning forward. “I bet we’ll grow on you.”

You ignored him, focusing instead on the pile of notes on the bed in front of you. That was, until Sirius got up and began rifling through a stack of records near his bed. You rolled your eyes.

This was supposed to be about the project.

At least, that’s what you told yourself when you agreed to meet them here instead of putting your foot down and insisting on the library or another neutral space, or perhaps even working together on another day entirely. But you weren't naive—you knew better. The Marauders had been relentless in their attempts to worm their way into your life, and you had been equally relentless in shutting them down.

“You know,” James said, glancing up from his notes with an infuriating grin, “it’s not every day we let a Slytherin into our sacred quarters.”

Sirius spoke over his shoulder as he searched through the records. “Even Regulus hasn’t seen it.” You glance at Remus as he tries to catch your attention.

He mouthed, “His brother.” to you. You roll your eyes and mouth back, “I know that. House-mates, remember?”

James responded to Sirius aloud, “...Right, yeah.” You narrowed your eyes slightly, knowing his response was suspicious, but not pushing further. None of your business.

“Oh, I’m honored,” you replied to James’ initial comment, deadpanned.

Remus shot James a look. “Don’t mind him. He’s been insufferable since he got that Outstanding in Charms.”

“Not insufferable,” James protested, recovering and tossing a quill at Remus. “Confident.”

“Arrogant.” You corrected without missing a beat.

James clutched his chest as if you’d wounded him. “You wound me, love.”

“No,” you said, inspecting your nails. “But I’m considering it.”

From the corner of the room, Sirius laughed, his voice rich and warm. “I like her. She’s got bite.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Black?,” you muttered, side-eyeing him as he turned around with a record in hand. You immediately kicked yourself mentally for saying something that could be misconstrued as flirting.

Sirius’ eyes lit up. “In fact I would, doll. You offering?” Sirius said, flashing you a grin. You rolled your eyes, your silence being response enough. He took the record out of its sleeve.

“What are you doing?” you asked, brow furrowing.

“Setting the mood,” he said with a wink, sliding the record onto the turntable. Moments later, the opening notes of a familiar song filled the room. The unmistakable opening notes of Under Pressure by Queen and David Bowie graced your ears.

Your quill paused mid-sentence.

You didn’t mean to react, but the music stirred something in you—an instinctive recognition, a fondness you couldn’t quite mask. Maybe you could have something in common with them after all. Your lips twitched, just barely, and though you fought to remain impassive, your lips began to move slightly to mouth the words of the song. Anyone looking would probably just assume you were just talking to yourself to figure out your assignment. Unfortunately, you had no such luck.

Remus was watching you from his place on the floor, leaning against Sirius’ bed. A small smirk formed on his face as you continued reading a Potions book, still mouthing the words to the song. He scoffed a small chuckle and shook his head, not having expected you, of all people, to listen to Queen or Bowie.

The small noise caught Sirius’ attention and his eyes flicked to Remus. He followed his gaze to you, and he caught it immediately. His dark eyes lit up like fireworks. “Wait a minute.”

You looked at him sharply. “What?”

“You like Queen,” he said, his voice brimming with something close to awe.

“It’s just a song,” you replied, tone clipped, feigning indifference, but the words didn’t carry much weight.

James and Remus exchanged a glance, both clearly intrigued.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Sirius said, practically bounding over to you, his excitement spilling over. “This isn’t ‘just a song.’ This is Queen. This is brilliance. This is art. And you, my darling—” he pointed at you dramatically, “—you know it.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, Sirius flopped onto the bed beside you, far too close for comfort. Remus chided him for messing up his blanket, a scold he hadn’t extended to you when you sat down. You leaned away from Sirius slightly, but made no effort to actually move.

“Admit it,” he said, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin. “You’ve got good taste.”

Your lips twitched again, and this time you couldn’t quite stop the ghost of a smile from appearing. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re avoiding the question,” he shot back, his grin widening.

“It’s just a song,” you said stiffly, though your body language had betrayed you.

“No, no, this is monumental,” Sirius declared, rolling dramatically onto his side and throwing his arms in the air. “I knew you had taste!”

Remus took this as an opportunity to chime in. “Queen’s one of his favorite bands.”

“They’re the best band,” Sirius corrected. “And now I know you have some semblance of a soul.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t pull away when Sirius leaned closer, his energy almost contagious. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Black,” you said, but your lips twitched upward ever so slightly.

James, not one to miss an opportunity, tossed you another question. “Alright, love. What’s your favorite Queen song?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “I’m not playing your little games, Potter.”

“Fine.” he looked away for a moment, before turning back with a hopeful smile. “Queen or Bowie?”

Remus, ever the observant one, chimed in gently after a moment. “It’s alright, you know. You can like Queen and still pretend you don’t tolerate us.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. The music played on, filling the room with its familiar rhythm, and for the first time that evening, for the first time with them, you felt yourself softening—just a fraction.

You hesitated, eyes flickering to Sirius, whose expression was a mix of hope and anticipation. He was grinning like he’d just won the Quidditch Cup. You scoff in resignation. “...Both. But I’m partial to Queen.”

Sirius let out a triumphant laugh, throwing his arms into the air. “I fucking knew it! She’s got taste!”

“Congratulations,” you said dryly. “You’ve discovered that I enjoy good music. What a revelation.”

“It is,” Sirius insisted, still grinning. “You’ve officially earned a pass in my book.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A pass for what?”

“For being tolerable,” he said jokingly, as if it were obvious.

“Oh, how generous of you.”

Remus chuckled softly. “You’ll have to forgive him, dove. He doesn’t know how to behave like a normal person.”

“I can see that.” You snickered dryly, appreciating the semblance of alliance you seemed to have formed with Remus.

Sirius leaned back on his elbows, watching you with an expression that was almost smug. “See, gorgeous? You’ve got more in common with us than you think.”

“Now I wouldn’t go that far,” you shot back, though the edge in your voice was noticeably duller. Sirius looked back at you deadpanned, but that smirk seemed to be glued to his face.

“Fine,” you muttered. “I like Queen. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Sirius said, beaming.

For the first time, you didn’t feel entirely out of place with them.

James, sensing the shift, tossed you a chocolate frog from his nightstand. “You’ve somehow found common ground with Sirius. That means you’re officially one of us now.”

You caught it, unwrapping it slowly. You raised your brows at him. “One of you? A kind offer, but no.”

Sirius threw an arm around your shoulders, grinning like a madman. The contact was uncomfortable, but you made no effort to pull away completely. Remus chimed in this time. “Sirius is the most judgemental out of all of us. You get in with him? You passed.” He shrugged at you as if his statement was absolute.

James leaned forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know, angel, we might just have to keep you around.”

You scoffed. “Please don’t.”

“Too late,” Sirius said, his grin practically splitting his face. “You’re one of us now, whether you like it or not.” He leaned towards you and placed a dramatic kiss on your cheek. This time, you leaned away, furrowing your brows at him, wiping your face with your hand.

“Watch yourself, Black. You want to keep those lips? Keep them off me.” You shot at him.

Sirius gave you the infuriatingly enticing smirk that seems to be consistently plastered to his face. “Whatever you say, doll. But soon enough, you’ll be begging for our lips on you,” He shot a wink at you.

You rolled your eyes in response, popping the chocolate frog into your mouth. You glance at the other two boys, who seem to agree with Sirius. “In your dreams, Black.”

Sirius got up from the bed, scurrying to his corner, “Oh, believe me, we see you plenty in our dreams, gorgeous.”

For the first time, you don’t have a response.

Before you could wallow in the feeling of being speechless, Sirius came back with a thick stack of records and tossed them down on the bed next to you, earning him another scold from Remus about getting floor germs on his bed. You chuckle and share a look with him, shaking your head at Sirius’ antics. Sirius began to shuffle through his albums, questioning you about every band he knew of, as he tried to find another similarity between you. James chimed in every so often, commenting on one of the few bands or songs he knew of, only to get brushed off by Sirius as he was awaiting your input. Remus looked on from the floor, periodically trying to continue to work on the project. After a while, all of your schoolwork layed forgotten on the floor. As the music played on and the boys pulled you into their banter, you found yourself relaxing—just a little. Maybe they weren’t as insufferable as you thought.

Not that you’d ever admit it.

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[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 5 - If You Let Me

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Welcome back Sam Winchester I’m sorry about your girlfriend are you ready to suffer for thousands of words as these two idiots dance around each other?

Chapter title from when the party's over by Billie Eilish

Word Count: 16.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean calls you for a case, you grapple with your growing power, and Sam has questions. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, monster of the week.

Chapter 4 - Chapter 6

Read on A03!

No matter what happens, Dean can never be allowed to know how fast you’re driving. Especially because every single traffic violation you commit is in his name. In the hope of seeing him just ten minutes sooner.

In your defense, you haven’t seen him in person in almost three months. You’d gone on a hunt together, parted with the usual smile and awkward high five, and then he’d just stopped asking to you hunt with him. He hasn’t left, hasn’t vanished, and he’s been the one calling you to talk, but he just doesn’t even mention hunts anymore. You just don’t see him. And over those four months of missing him—and shoving that aching, whining feeling deep, deep down where it couldn’t feed into the White’s vast desire—he’s started to sound… off.

“Did you know that people could curse animals?”

“Yeah,” you’d said, glancing down the hall to make sure Bobby was still gone, and not about to barge in and catch you talking to Dean. “I think you can curse most anything. I’ve heard of like, babies being cursed.”

“That’s creepy, Princess.”

“I didn’t curse them-“ You’d cut yourself off with a frown. “Did you and John run into a cursed animal?”

“Uh. No?”

You’d raised your brows. “Why are you asking me, I wasn’t there.”

“No, I’m just- It’s complicated. I’ll tell you later. How did that hunt in Montana go?”

“Oh, super fucking easy.” And it had been. You may have destroyed a fire hydrant when the chimera chased after you—unable to contain or aim the Darkness like you could when you were with Dean—and almost bashed your head against the wall from the sickness crawling over your head and setting it on fire when you returned to the motel, but you’d been done in a day. And you’d been lonely—hollow and long and vastly lonely—but Dean didn’t need to know that. “What’s complicated?”

He’d sighed into the speaker. “I said I’d tell you later-“

“Are you safe?”

There had been a long pause of static noise. You’d been about to check if the call dropped—Bobby didn’t really get great reception—when Dean spoke again. His voice had sounded soft.

It had been worrying.

“I’m alright,” he’d whispered your name, and your grip on the phone had tightened. “It’s- There’s a lot going on right now.”

You’d frowned into the air, the White making a pathetic noise like it could convince you to take a car and just go. Go to Dean—you didn’t even know where he was—and try to help him with whatever was a lot, when you’d probably end up making it worse. You always made things worse.

You might have also destroyed a tree. And a mailbox. And a good part of the road.

Dean clears his throat, his tone almost nervous through the speaker. “Where are you?”

“Me?”

He'd chuckled. “Yeah, unless there’s someone else on the phone I should know about-“

“Shut up.” You’d rolled your eyes, sitting up in your seat as an engine sounded outside. “Shit.”

“Where’s Shit-“

“No, that’s not- Sorry, Dean, I have to go-“

“Why?” Through the phone, you hadn’t been able to tell if that was his worried voice or angry voice. “Are you-“

“I’m alright, I just-“

“Where the hell are you-“

“I’m home, in South-“ You’d cut yourself off with an internal grimace. Fucking Dean and his way of making you accidentally say too much of the truth all the time, even over the phone. “Park.”

“Isn’t that a TV show?”

Shit. Dean mostly watches children’s cartoons, daytime soap operas in motels, and really old movies. You hadn’t expected him to know that.

“No?”

“Why are you asking me-“

“Shut up. I really have to go-“

“Alright, alright, just, if you’re not busy, we’re near Pittsburgh. We could use your help.”

You’d frowned, taking careful steps up to your room, praying that Bobby wouldn’t immediately start looking for you when he got inside. “I don’t think John would want my help-“

“Not Dad.” Dean had sighed, and you could picture him running his hand over his face. “Sammy.”

You’d frozen, the door not fully closed. “Your brother? He’s done with college?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. Kind of. It’s-“

“Don’t say complicated.”

“Uh,” he’d paused. “Complicated.”

“Dean-“

“I couldn’t think of another word! What the hell else-“

“Messy? Confusing? Complex?”

“You know Princess, you’re really annoying-“

You’d scoffed. “That’s no way to talk your very good friend and possible savior. Message me where to meet you.”

“So you’re coming?”

“Yeah.” You’d grinned into the air, keeping an ear on the door as Bobby shuffled around downstairs. “I want to meet your brother.”

Dean had groaned. “You know, you’ve met him before-“

“Doesn’t count. I want to actually talk to him this time.”

“Fucking- Fine, but no funny business, or asking him stupid questions.”

You’d hummed. “No.”

He’d snapped your name into the phone, right as Bobby had called it from downstairs, and you really did have to go. 

“See you soon, Deano.”

You’d hung up, and barely a second later Bobby had knocked on your door.

“Hey,” he’d grunted you name, and you were pretty sure he hadn’t heard anything. “You in there?”

“Yeah, wait-“ You’d checked your hand and glanced in the mirror—no bite marks or scratches, the only evidence of your pain living inside where Bobby couldn’t see it—and opened the door with your best nothing’s wrong smile. “Welcome home, old man.”

Bobby had scoffed, scanned over you with narrowed eyes, and then met your gaze with a small, tight smile. “Ain’t I the one who’s supposed to- shit-“

You’d wrapped him in a tight hug, squeezing him and letting out the long breath you always held when you left. It was an oath you kept trying to keep for yourself, that you’d always come back home because you had to let out that breath. That the highways were long, and the nights were lonely, and the Darkness kept building and building inside you—sinking deeper and deeper into the White until there was always some part of you that strained and screamed from the pain of trying to pry them apart—but you had a home to come back to, and one person who’d never call you a burden.

Because you’ve grown sicker. You only grow sicker. You only destroy more and more things, and the Darkness only slips away from you with more ease, but Bobby doesn’t give up on you. 

The demons began, and they won’t stop coming, but Bobby doesn’t give up on you. 

Dozens of demons, more and more every month, ever since that one demon you’d killed for Dean. You don’t know why. You don’t know what beacon lit up inside of you, what’s calling every single fucking demon in America to come and find you wherever you went, but they are. They do.

It's been random. Gas stations and grocery stores, on random hunts and waiting for you near your car. It’s worse when you’re alone. When the Darkness and the pain get overwhelming to the point that you’re barely you anymore, and you end up curled in a bathtub, breathing heavy through your nose. Your clothing in a pile of the floor because it aches to touch something as sick as you, the whole room disgustingly clean because you can feel the grime itch and rot at your skin, your rings on the sink because the pain of the iron sears over your ribs and organs.

And then you’ll force yourself up to go get some coffee, and the barista will have something black and malevolent and glinting writhing inside of Her.

They almost never attack. It’s more terrifying, because you’ll feel an overwhelming sense of wrong, and you’ll yank everything down with a bite on your inner cheek, and there will be the demon.

Just watching you. Smiling at you, following you for a day, and then vanishing when you skip town.

Then there’s him. He’s the worst of them all. He’s more like fog, burning and glinting inside his vessel’s body. He’s yellow like sulfur or acid, and keeps appearing when you turn a corner. Passing you in the street and nodding at you in a bar, like he knows you.

He never approaches. He never attacks. He just watches, like you’re a specimen. Everything that’s wrong inside of you is worse inside of him. Potent. Eroding.

Terrifying.

And Bobby knows. Not about the yellow demon, or how the whole thing started, but that you don’t really sleep anymore because you’re afraid the night will take form and go for your throat. That you’re on more and more hunts because it’s distracting from how the Darkness always strangles the White when you’re static and useless. That all the pain has gotten far worse over these past few months. 

Although he does think that’s unexplainable. He doesn’t know it’s because you’re always alone when you’re gone, and the only reminder of Dean is his voice on your phone and his knife in your jacket. 

But Bobby still doesn’t give up on you. He made you create a plan for when the Darkness—inevitably, although neither of you would say it aloud—takes over and you aren’t able to drag yourself down in time. He still tells you to just come home and stay there every single day. And if Bobby was going to give up on you, he would have long ago. He wouldn’t return your hug with a long sigh and mutter your name like you were something important to him, instead of a leech. 

“Welcome back, kiddo.” He’d grunted, and when he pulled back and gave you another firm look, you knew he was checking for damage one last time. “Chimera go down easy?”

You’d flinched, the beast’s shrieks of pain still echoing around your head, and Bobby had frowned.

“You have another-“

“Yeah.” You’d whispered. “Big one.” 

Bobby had sighed, rubbing his jaw as he gave you an assessing look. “Anythin’ unfixable?”

You’d shaken your head. “I would’ve called you, but I wasn’t that far, and I’d finished the hunt anyway.” 

Bobby had opened his mouth, worry painted on his features, but you’d known what he was going to ask. It was the same fear that haunted you. 

“Nobody saw me.”

He’d nodded, letting out a long sigh. “Alright, but you’re gonna need to be more careful. Our luck ain’t gonna last forever, and when someone does get wind-“

“I’ll call you, then Rufus, throw all my phones off a bridge and abandon whatever car I was driving. Go one town over from wherever I am and lock down until either you or Rufus comes to get me.” You’d given Bobby a soft smile. “I know the drill. I helped you make it.”

Bobby had rolled his eyes. “Cool it, smartass. How long are you stayin’ this time?”

You’d given him an apologetic, tight-lipped smile. “Dinner?”

“That’s it?”

“I’ve got another hunt.” You’d mumbled, and Bobby had frowned.

“You need a rest,” Bobby had grunted your name, and you’d swallowed. “Ya’ look like shit.”

“Hey-“

“I ain’t gonna lie to you. When the hell was the last time you slept a whole night?”

You couldn’t remember. 

But you really wanted to go see Dean. You missed him. You missed laughing and talking to him, and you were worried about him. And you couldn’t tell Bobby that, because then you’d have to tell Bobby that you’ve actually been hunting with Dean for about two years when he’d specifically told you not to.

“A few days ago.” You’d shrugged, twisting a ring on your finger. “I’ll be okay, and I can come right back after this one.”

Bobby had sighed. “Where would you be headin’.”

“Pennsylvania.” 

“And you’re stickin’ around for dinner.”

You’d nodded, and Bobby hadn’t pushed further. You’d eat dinner with him, spoken about anything that didn’t make him look concerned and your whole body only pain, and climbed into the car with another silent promise to come back.

And you were holding your breath again. But this was a three-person hunt. A three-person hunt with Dean. 

You’d be fine.

He’s sent you to one of the usual, generic strip motels. Crowded lot, beige paint, cracked sidewalks, and stiff, square bushes lining the building. You’ve barely stepped out onto the pavement when a door slams, and there he is. Bags under his eyes weren’t there last time you saw him, a small bruise on his cheek that seems about a week old, but still grinning. Still impossibly handsome, still making the White buck and hum and ease into the Darkness, still not yours to ask for.

And really happy to see you. You’ve seen Dean’s fake smile.

This one is real.

He shouts your name, and you’re long past trying to fight your own smile at the sound of him saying it. At the sight of him jogging towards you, nothing but genuine joy on his face that you’re here.

And then he hugs you, and you’re not sure this isn’t a dream. Dean never hugs you anywhere but in your dreams. In real life he always grins at you and shoves his hands into his pockets, the most contact he offers being a nudge of your shoulder with his, or a drag of your body away from danger. But this is a hug. This is his arms wrapped around your shoulders, his body pressed right up to yours, and it’s so quick that you don’t have a chance to really return it before he’s gone.

Dean’s eyes are wide on yours as he steps back, and there’s more red near his ears than usual. His hands go in his pockets, you stand a little taller, and both of you stare at each other for a long, strange second before you find your voice.

“Hi.”

“Uh,” Dean clears his throat, glancing over his shoulder before looking back to you. “Hey. Good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.” You wrap your arms around your body, and suddenly there’s a ghost of a strong, warm body pressed to yours. Dean had hugged you, and it was far worse than just his hand. It had branded on something deeper under your skin, sinking down into the White, bleeding into the Darkness until everything was silver, and you were a little dizzy.

And you’re just staring at each other. You want to hug Dean again. He’d been warm and tangible, and he’d touched you on purpose and it had sent lighting through your blood and up your spine, and you can’t tell if your skin is prickling from the silence or the need to just go touch him-

“Dean!” A loud, annoyed voice cuts through the air, and you look over Dean’s shoulder to see a tall, shaggy-haired man walking out of the motel. “You left the fucking door open, dude, you can’t just-“

The man stops, blinking at you, and you offer him a small smile. That’s Sam. He’s somehow taller, and his face isn’t babyish and innocent anymore, but you recognize him. 

And he seems to recognize you, because his words are slow, and his gaze never leaves yours.

“Dean?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Don’t start, Sammy, I closed the door-“

“No, you didn’t. But that’s not what I-“ Sam glares at Dean, gesturing to you. “Is she your contact?” 

“No, she’s my hooker- fuck-“

You whack Dean’s arm, and Sam’s eyes widen.

“I am not a hooker-“

“Obviously, Princess, hookers are supposed to be nice-“

“I’m nice!”

Dean gives you a flat look. “You just freakin’ hit me!”

“Because you called me a hooker, Winchester.” You wrinkle your nose at him, crossing your arms. “And, just so we’re clear, if I was a hooker, you wouldn’t be able to afford me.”

Dean’s jaw twitches slightly, and you frown, because he’s not sparring back. He’s supposed to spar back. The strange, hanging tension from the hug is gone—he probably hadn’t even felt it deep in his body like you had, he’d probably just been awkward because you’d been too dazed from his contact to hug him back—so Dean’s supposed to make a joke about working out another form of payment, and wiggle his brows at you in a way he doesn’t know always makes you fall a little further into him. Makes your skin warm and the world technicolor. 

But he’s just looking at you, and there’s something taut flashing behind his eyes. You open your mouth to apologize—to ask what you'd said, because you know you’re bad at understanding the line, yet Dean always seems okay crossing it with you—but Sam clears his throat, and Dean turns away.

The White aches. You don’t have time to indulge it.

“So she is the contact.” Sam raises his brows, and Dean scowls at him.

“Obviously.” He mutters, and when he looks back to you the taut thing seems fainter. Buried down where you’re not sure you’re supposed to see it.

But you do. And it taints those fractured pieces through your body. Makes them wither and balk, because you struck something in Dean again, and you don’t ever really know how to stop.

Dean says your name, offering you a smaller smile than before. It’s still real. You’ll have to cling to the fact that it’s still real. “This my brother, Sammy-“

“Sam. It’s Sam.”

Dean shrugs. “Sure, whatever-“

“No, not whatever.” Sam frowns. “It’s bad enough you won’t stop calling me Sammy, I don’t need everyone we meet-“

“You two have actually met before-“

“Yeah, I remember. And Dad said that-“

Dean shoots Sam a sharp look, Sam snaps his mouth shut, and everything start to get too big as the Darkness vaults up to the surface. John had said something about you. He wasn’t here, but he’d told Sam and Dean something, and Sam didn’t look all that happy to see you. He wasn’t turning any weapons on you, but he and Dean were exchanging a silent conversation, and you were caving in as the world expanded. You could feel the bite of the wind on the trees, and the thirst of the yellowing grass around you, and fuck, you could taste bile in your throat because the Darkness was starting to rot in your stomach as you forced it down-

Sam says your name, and you almost don’t hear it over the ringing in your ears. “Is she good-“

“Yeah, shit- just-“ Dean places one hand on your shoulder, waving the other in your face. “Hey, Princess, come back down-“

He’s close. His hand is solid on your body. He smells like grass and spice. 

His thumb has moved to the bridge of your nose, stroking a slow line that moves the Darkness back into the cavity of your chest. Makes everything clear, even as the pain lingers. 

You let out a long breath, offering Dean a small smile. “Thank you.”

Something flashes in his eyes, and your breath is heavy in your lungs. Every time this happens, you worry he’ll snap. That he’ll demand more answers than you can offer, and his it’s probably just a girl thing will come to a crashing end as he puts together that it’s a you thing. And just you isn’t worthy of him wasting time on.

But this one doesn’t seem to be it. Dean’s lips press in a small pout, and he scans over your face, but he doesn’t push. 

“You good?”

“I’m fine,” you shrug him off, making your voice as casual as possible. “Just a long drive. It’s nice to meet you, Sam. Again.”

“Yeah, you too.” Sam offers you a tight-lipped smile. “Dean said you could help us out with this?”

You nod. “Well, he didn’t say what this is, but-“

Sam cuts you off with a groan, shooting Dean a frown. “Dude, you didn’t tell her the details of the case?”

“C’mon, it’s not my job to be a freakin’ database or whatever-“

“You still need to tell her what the case is, Dean, what if she can’t help-“

“I can help.” You snap, and Sam sighs.

“Look, I’m not doubting you, but this one is really complicated-“

“Good.” You raise your chin up, holding Sam’s gaze. “That’s my specialty.”

Dean clears his throat, looking between you and Sam with a weary expression. “It is, Sammy. She’ll get this. And you know we need the extra hands.”

Sam sighs, shaking his head. “Okay, fine. But you’re the one who’s explaining the case, Dean. You were supposed to anyway.”

Dean rolls his eyes at you as Sam turns around, and suddenly it’s all clear and bright again. You don’t know how he does that, how he stitches everything inside you together when it starts to rip. You need to figure it out and bottle it up. Learn how to use it on command, because this might be a long case. Sam doesn’t seem to want you here, or like you all that much, and John told them something. They haven’t killed you, but John told them something. And Dean might be strangely willing to just dismiss your episodes, but you catch Sam’s odd look as you walk into their motel room. He seems a bit sharper than Dean, a little more on edge, a little more guarded and cautious.

So you need to be careful. You need to keep it the fuck together, by yourself.

And you’re a little worried that’s not possible.

Dean gestures for you to sit in a creaking, wooden chair—Sam watching you both from across a round table—and claps his hands together as he begins.

“Alright, we’ve got five dead ladies. Three in their twenties, one in her thirties, and one hag-“

You raise your brows at him. “Hag?”

“Yeah, she was like a million. Wrinkly. Right, Sammy?”

Sam shrugs. “I would’ve just said old, man.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Fine, old. Point is, different ages. Different races too, and jobs, and social circles. We’ve been investigating for about a week, even broke into the vic's houses and went through their rooms. No connection between the vics outside of all being chicks, no deep dark secret, fucking nothing.”

You frown at him. “Like the mall.”

“Kind of, yeah, but these ladies are all going down the same way.” Dean points to his head. “Bashed in brains.”

“Gross.” You mutter, running a hand through your hair as you think. “Where are they dying?”

“Same office building.” Sam slides some papers across the table. “Different floors, though. Four of the vics were employees, but one was just visiting her boyfriend.”

You nod slowly, scanning over the files. “And why isn’t it a ghost?”

“Because we figured out who the ghost should be.” Dean leans over you, tapping another one of the files. You can feel the heat from his body, and it makes your gut warm. You need to get it the fuck together. “Maggie Robins. Got her brains bashed in by her husband, Joey, in his office after she found out he’d been cheating on her with her best friend. Son of a bitch offed himself and the mistress right after.”

“Yikes.”

“Oh yeah. But here’s the fucked part-“

“Maggie’s body was cremated.” Sam jumps in, and Dean glares at him. “And all primary possessions were auctioned off by the police. We triple checked the whole office building, and were only a few things left in Joey’s office, for evidence, but nothing that important.”

You raise your brows. “What are we constituting as important?” “Personal valuables.” Sam says, frowning at you. “All that was left were some pens, generic wall art, and makeup-“ “Perfume.” Dean corrects, and Sam nods.

“Yeah, perfume-“ He pauses, turning to Dean with a dry, amused look. “Why’d you remember perfume?”

“I’m observant.” Dean snaps, looking down to you with a shrug. “It was perfume, Princess.”

“Yeah, I’ll make a note.” You smile at him, Dean smiles back, and when you glance back to Sam his expression is strained. Unreadable.

You’ll have to worry about that later.

“So,” you sift through the papers, tearing slightly at the corners. “Not a ghost. Have there been other signs?”

“Flickering lights,” Dean drops into the last chair, watching you with a gaze that seems to sear into your bones. “Few people said they’ve heard moans and screams when no one was there, and a janitor told us he’s been wiping up ghost blood, but-“

“Oh, okay. It’s an onryo.” 

You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms, and Sam and Dean exchange surprised look.

“It’s a…” Sam blinks at you. “It’s a what?”

“Onryo.” You shrug, tucking your knees into your chest. “Japanese vengeance ghost, born from a really violent death that was emotionally charged, often because of a betrayal.”

“Shit.” Dean mutters. “Betrayal like your husband fucking your best friend.”

“Exactly.” You grin at him, and you could swear he puffs his chest out as he grins back.

“I told you she’d get it, Sammy-“

“Yeah, you’re a genius.” Sam’s voice is dry as he pulls the papers back across the table, his attention on you still weary. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. Did the janitor tell you he kept finding blood in random places, and it would vanish when he tried to clean it?”

Dean nods, you give Sam a pointed look, and Sam sighs.

“Fine. If it’s an onryo, how are we supposed to kill it?”

You hum, tilting your head at the air. “There should be a special kind of exorcism, but I’ve never actually done one before.”

Sam frowns. “Then how do you know-“

“My dad dealt with an onryo once.” You shrug. “And I’ve read a lot about them.”

Something flashes in Sam’s eyes, he tenses in his seat, and it makes your hold on the Darkness go slack.

He doesn’t trust you. 

Maybe he can see everything that’s wrong with you. Dean may have grown blind to it, but Sam hasn’t, and he might be able to see the rotting sickness that covers your whole body. He might not want you anywhere near him, or his brother. He doesn’t seem like John—from what Dean’s told you about him, Sam doesn’t even seem to like his father all that much—but you can’t shake the wired strain that Sam Winchester just doesn’t trust you.

“Your dad.” Sam’s voice is cautious, his eyes narrowed. “The hunter.”

You’re not sure why he says hunter like that. Like it’s a bomb that’s set to go off. 

“Yeah. The hunter.” You glance at Dean, who’s rigid in his seat, glowering at Sam. “Are you guys good?”

“We’re fine.” Dean snaps, and Sam gives him an odd, tight look.

“Dean-“

“We’re good, Sammy.” Dean turns back to you, and you’re really not sure what’s happening. No guns are pressed to your brow, but there’s a heated, brittle wire hanging over all your heads, and the Darkness is starting to slip through your fingers. Not breaching out—not as you dig your nails into your skin, and bite through your cheek—but brimming right on the surface. On an edge. 

Waiting for a snap.

It doesn’t come. Dean gives you a winning grin and Sam keeps frowning between you both, but nothing snaps. Not when Sam double-checks how sure you are it’s an onryo, and you say you’d bet a lot on it, because you would. Not when Dean suggests you all go figure out exactly what the onryo ritual is, and you and Sam look at him like he’s sprouted a second head. Not when Dean insists you all drive together, and you both try to protest—almost certainly for different reasons—but ultimately lose to Dean’s dramatic saving the trees and team spirit speech.

“Still no gun, Princess?” Dean hangs over your shoulder as you sort through your bag, and you shoot him a glare.

“Is the knife no longer good enough for you?”

“No.” He shrugs. “Not when you’ve been hunting alone.”

“Because you’ve been busy.” You raise your brows at him, and he sighs.

“Yeah, I know, it’s… Complex.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “Good job.”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes, but the air feels a little lighter, and the White is blending into the Darkness because it’s only you and Dean.

But it’s not only you and Dean. And Sam doesn’t seem to want you here. And it’s complex.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” you mutter, tucking your knife into your jacket. “And I did my job, I’m sure you can do the rest without me.”

“Do you want us to do the rest without you?”

You turn to fully face him, and he looks guarded. Standing a little too tall, his hands seeming to be fisted in his jacket, watching you wearily. Like you might lash out, or explode.

Something’s really off with him. He hasn’t looked at you like that in years. 

He hasn’t looked at you like that since you last saw him with John.

“I don’t have anything else to do.” You mumble, watching him carefully. “And I’m already here.”

“Awesome.” Dean’s shoulders relax slightly, and he nods his head away from your car, deeper into the parking lot. “C’mon.”

You sigh. “I really can drive myself-“

“Nope. We’re sticking together.” His hand finds your back, and all you can do is let him guide you forwards. “You’ve gotta meet my car, Princess.”

“I have met your car-“

“Doesn’t count. You’re actually gonna ride in her this time.”

Dean’s grin is shit-eating. You’re not sure if you want to punch or kiss him.

“Shut up.”

“Nah.” Dean stops in the center of the lot, saying your name with a smirk. “Meet Baby.”

The Impala looks the exact same as before, save for a sour-faced, taller Sam Winchester sitting in shotgun, glaring between you and Dean. He scowls the whole time Dean walks you to the back bench, and refuses to look at you when Dean closes the door.

You clear your throat, watching Dean move around the hood of the car. “Hi, Sam.”

He grunts, and you sigh, slipping off your shoes.

“It’s good to see you.” You try again, because silence with Dean is like soft music, but silence like this is suffocating. “You look, uh-“

“Taller.” Sam grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, I know-“

“I was going to say good.” You mumble, hugging your knees to your chest. “Not like a kid anymore.”

Sam’s eyes shoot to yours in the rearview mirror, you offer him a small smile, and his mouth opens right as Dean drops into the driver’s seat.

“Hey,” Dean turns in his seat, snapping your name. “No shoes on my car.”

You roll your eyes, gesturing to your feet. “I’m not wearing shoes.” 

“Oh.” He blinks between you and your socks. “Good.”

“I’m not an idiot, Winchester. And I’d rather not be murdered because I messed with the only lady in your life-“

“Shut up.” Dean rolls his eyes, turning back to start the engine, and right before he adjusts the mirror you catch Sam glancing you at again, a small frown on his face.

“You guys were gone for a while.” Sam says, mostly looking at Dean. “How long can it take to grab a gun?”

Dean scoffs. “Wouldn’t know, Sammy. Her majesty doesn’t hunt with guns.”

“Doesn’t hunt with-“ Sam blinks at you, his face painted in disbelief. “You don’t use a gun?”

You sigh. “No.”

“What do you use?”

You open your jacket to show him your knife, and Sam raises his brows.

“That’s it? I mean, how do you kill anything-“

“With talent.” Dean mutters, and you don’t appreciate how accurate his impression of you sounds. “I’d never use one anyway-“

“I wouldn’t use it. And someone,” You punch the back of Dean’s seat, and he huffs. “Has a lot of unwelcome options about that-“

“Because it’s stupid.” He grumbles, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, for someone who’s so annoyed about me not having a gun, you sure did buy me a knife.” 

You can hear the scowl in Dean’s voice. “You wouldn’t have taken a gun. You barely took the knife.“ 

“I could still throw it out-“ 

“Nope. You pinky promised.” 

You smirk as Dean sits up slightly—hearing his own words—and Sam gives him an incredulous look. 

“You pinky promised?

“It’s- She was being annoying-“

“He had to admit he was worried about me.” You tell Sam, leaning forward in your seat with a grin. “And that he thinks Charlie’s Angelsis the best movie ever made.” 

“I- I do not fucking think that-“ 

You giggle, rolling your eyes at Sam, who’s looking at you like you just fell from space. “He’s still in denial.” 

“I am not-“ 

“It’s okay, Deano.” You pat his shoulder, and he shoots you a glare that doesn’t really reach his eyes. “We all still think you’re very tough.” 

The words leave your mouth, Dean rolls his eyes and grumbles about not even knowing why he called you, and some sort of dam seems to break in Sam. All of his cautious, pricking hostility vanishes into thin air, and he twists to fully look at you with an open expression.

In that moment, he does look more like the kid you met in the motel. Curious and not quite in awe of you, but something close. Something similar. 

“Dean said you were at home before this?”

You run your thumb over your palm, tilting your head at Sam as you try to work out how much you can say. “Yeah, I was just stopping there after I finished up a chimera hunt.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “A- Those are real?”

“Tragically, yeah.”

Dean raises his brows at you in the mirror. “Tragically?”

“They’re mean.” You shrug. “And shit a lot.”

Sam makes a face, but doesn’t turn away. “Had you hunted one before that?”

“No, I think they’re pretty rare outside of like, Greece-“

“But you killed this one, right?”

You nod, and Sam looks like he’s going to fall out of his seat. You’re not really sure what’s happening.

“How?”

“Um…” You twist a ring on your finger as your voice trails off, because you’d killed the chimera with the Darkness. Let it rush out of your body and infect everything around you, until the chimera exploded in a disgusting rain of blood. But you can’t really say that, so you go with how you’d planned to kill the chimera. “I impaled it.”

“Like in the myth?”

“Exactly like in the myth.” You grin at Sam, and you’ve never seen someone so big look seven years old. “Bellerophon.”

“Bless you.” Dean mutters, and Sam gives his brother a look of exasperated disappointment. 

“No, dude, Bellerophon is the slayer of the Chimera in Greek mythology. He impales it in the mouth, using the Pegasus.”

“I don’t need to know why impaling worked-“

“Because of the angle.” You offer, ignoring Dean’s glare in the mirror. “It melts the spear with its fire-breath, and then it suffocates.”

“Yeah, that’s cool, but I still don’t-“

“What did you do with the body?” Sam interrupts, leaning forward to keep talking to you, and Dean seems to be pouting at the road.

Dean ends up pouting for most of the day, because after you lie about how you’d disposed of the chimera—once again employing the very useful tactic of what you’d meant to do—Sam starts to ask about other things you’ve hunted, and how you’d killed them, and what you’ve learned about monsters overall. It lasts from the car and into the library, through almost the entirety of your research, and Dean barely gets a word in, only sulking over a book as Sam shares their own hunts. You decide not to comment on it when Sam says curses can’t be broken, because you’re positive that’s not true but you can’t say why, and answer all of Sam’s questions about alternative ways to deal with various spirits and monsters.

You’re shocked he remembered you telling John that.

You’re baffed as to why he’s suddenly treating you like a friend to catch up with, instead of whatever he’d thought you were before. You’re not really sure want to know what he thought of you before. Not when it’s suddenly changed to something far better.

“You’re afraid of flying?” You raise your brows at Dean, and he scowls. 

“I don’t trust it.” He mutters, turning a page so aggressively you’re worried he’ll tear it. “It’s high, and loud, and pointless. People belong on the ground.”

You hum. “What about boats?”

Dean shoots you a glare, you just grin at him, and his lips twitch slightly. You won.

“We dealt with a guy on a boat too.” Sam looks up from his own book, a slight frown on his face. “But that was kind of a bummer. Did you know spirits could possess water?”

You did know that. A powerful enough, angry enough spirit can possess most anything. But you only nod, because you’re mostly looking at Dean. Sunken into his chair, still pouting, glaring at his book like it’s just insulted his car. You’ve never seen him act like this—silent, barely offering a comment or glance up at you and Sam, mostly pretending to read and fidgeting with his pen—and it makes the White spin and whine.

“Hey, De.”

You nudge his calf under the table, and he looks up at you with a frown.

“I’m hungry.”

“We passed a cafe on the way in,” Sam offers, and Dean raises his brows at you.

“You heard him.” He looks back to his book. “Go eat.”

You frown at him, even as the White bucks around inside of you. He’s not moving, or asking for food, or making fun of you for asking permission to go eat. Something’s off. Something’s been off, and you don’t know how to fix it—you don’t know how to fix anything—but you can’t stand how Dean’s silence is eating at your throat and lungs. You’re really going need to learn how to control his effect on you.

But not right now. 

“Do you want anything?”

Dean glances up at you again, something odd flashing in his eyes. “Me?”

“Yeah, you, dumbass-“

“Get me a burger.”

You give him a flat look. “It’s a cafe.”

“Whatever. Just figure something out.”

He still doesn’t move, or stop frowning. The moment you cheer him up, you’re going to kill him.

“Winchester.”

He grunts your name, and you glare at him as you continue.

“Where’s the cafe.”

“I dunno, ask Sammy.”

“Down the street.” Sam’s eyes bounce between you and Dean, a small frown on his face. “Just go straight, then to the left.”

You nod, giving Sam a thankful smile. “You want anything?”

Sam shakes his head, and you look back to Dean.

“Dean.”

That gets his full attention, and it seems to burn right into your body.

“I’m going by myself.” You rise to your feet, giving him a challenging look. “And I’m not good at directions. I might end up at the grocery store, and come back with carrots.” 

Dean narrows his eyes at you, but Sam just shrugs. 

“Actually, carrots sound-“

“C’mon, Princess.” Dean cuts off a surprised Sam with short words, pushing his chair back. “You’re paying.” 

Sam calls after you that he’ll call you if he finds anything, but you don’t really hear him. Not as Dean lowers his voice and leans down to your ear. His breath is warm. You might fall over.

“You’re really determined to get me to eat, sweetheart. Should I be worried?”

You hum. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean Winchester.”

He clicks his tongue, and he’s grinning again. You won again. “Full name. What did I do?”

“Sulk like a baby for an hour?” You raise your brows at him, and he’s a lot closer than you thought. You can count all his freckles. They’re kind of like stars. 

You can feel his breath on your face when he laughs. It’s warm, and smells like coffee and mint.

His body is like a furnace, and it’s melting everything to silver inside of you.

You’re losing your mind. 

“I can still kick you out of this hunt, you know.” He drawls, and you shrug, trying not to think about how Dean’s hand on your back shifts with the movement.

“Good luck with that.”

“It’s my hunt-“

“It’s your and Sam’s hunt.” You correct. “I think I’d have his vote to stay.”

“You would.” Dean lets out a dry chuckle, and you don’t even realize you’d made it to the cafe until Dean’s suddenly stops walking, and you’re waiting in a short line. “Fucking nerds.”

“That’s rude.” You shove his arm, and everything feels color when he laughs, and it’s real. There’s still something tight and coiled in his eyes as you make it to the counter and order, but he’s not slumping anymore, so you’re going to push it.

You’re going to ask what the hell is happening. Why he hasn’t been hunting with you, why Sam’s back, where John is, and why he’s been so strange. You turn your drink between your hands as Dean grabs the food—frowning at his empty seat and rehearsing your question in your head—and the moment he sits down you-

“Dad’s missing.” 

You blink at him. “What?”

“Our dad.” Dean mutters, sliding your food across the table. “He’s missing. And not just one of those longer hunts, we’ve been looking for months and he’s… Just gone.”

“Shit.” You mutter, pieces sliding together in your brain as Dean’s words sink in. “Where have you checked?”

“His last case. And we got activity on his phone, but…” He trails off with a shake of his head, not fully meeting your eyes. “We can’t fucking find him, and Sammy’s- He’s not doing well.”

You nod, and wait for Dean to continue. If you say something, you might say the wrong thing, because you don’t give a fuck if John Winchester is missing or dead or just on a bender. You’re breathing a little easier just from the knowledge that you can be here, and it won’t end in a bullet through your brain.

But Dean gives a fuck about John. And you—despite your best judgement and all rational reason—give a fuck about Dean. You give a fuck that he’s been so off because his dad’s missing, that there seems to be something a little heavier in his eyes and on his shoulders than the last time you saw him, that you can almost taste his bitter, taut worry for Sam. 

You give a fuck that he’s telling you at all. That whatever he sees when he looks at you, it’s bright enough that he’d trust you with anything at all.

So you’ll bite your tongue, and let him keep going when he’s ready.

Dean draws in another long breath. “You can’t tell Sam I told you this.” He mutters. “I- We’ve barely talked about it, and he doesn’t know you, and it’s really fucking complicated-“

“Dean.” 

His eyes meet yours, and the guarded expression is back. It’s not your job to break through it. It’s not your job to do anything for Dean, but you want to. His tension seems to be moving into your body and making your muscles and organs sore, the Darkness is twisting and coiling in your body to find something to break. Churning until you let it flood out, pushing at the White in a way that makes you feel a little sick. 

You might as well find something to break for Dean, while he’s still here. While he hasn’t left, and everything feels big in a way that’s not suffocating and crushing.

“I won’t tell Sam.” You say, holding his gaze as you lean forward, raising your pinky. “Promise.”

Dean swallows, but takes your pinky and shakes it. “His girlfriend died. The same way our mom did, too, right after we lost the trail on Dad.”

“Your mom-“

“Burned on the ceiling.” Dean mutters. “We don’t know what did it, but Dad’s been hunting the son of a bitch since it happened, and then he vanishes, and it happens again? Right fucking after? That’s-“

“Not a coincidence.” You finish—letting out a long, slow breath—and Dean nods.

“Never a coincidence.”

You hum, frowning into the air as your head starts to kick into a high gear. This is just another case. Just another problem to solve that might call to you, a piece of the Darkness you could use. You can help with this. You can fix something. Dean’s isn’t guarded anymore—only sitting a little taller than usual, watching you carefully—and he’s still here. Dean’s still here, and he trusts you, and those fractured pieces in you are starting to stretch towards each other again. Bleeding through the Darkness in vibrant color as Dean holds your gaze, and you can help. 

If Dean wants your help. If he’d want you. 

The thought makes the White flash and sing. You need to keep it together.

“Is Sam okay?” You ask, your voice soft, and Dean sighs, rubbing his face.

“He’s not sleeping well. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but we share a damn room every night.”

You nod slowly. “Are you okay?”

Dean blinks at you, a small frown on his face. “Me?”

“Yeah, who else could I be asking-“

“I-“ Dean shakes his head, tapping his knuckles on the table. “I’m fine, Princess. Dad’s gonna turn up, and he’ll have a good reason for going off. Maybe he found what killed Mom, and he’s just waiting to grab us for help. Then we’ll get back to normal.”

You narrow your eyes. You don’t believe him. He’s still off, and the weight on him suddenly seems bigger now that you know where it’s coming from. But you’ve barely opened your mouth to push him when the little cafe doorbell rings, and Sam calls your name.

“I got it!” He stops at the side of your table, looking between you and Dean with a wide grin. “It’s called a harae, ritual purification. We just need to build a shrine and learn the words.”

You take the book Sam passes into your hands, scanning over the pages as Dean gives Sam a pat on the back.

“Nice one, Sammy. Once we gank this bitch, we’ll get you nice treat as a reward for good work-“

“Fuck off, jerk.“ Sam shoves Dean’s arm away in your periphery, and Dean just laughs.

“Hey, Dean?” You look up with a frown, turning the book for him to read. 

He doesn’t. He just says your name and stares at you, and it’s not really helpful. “What’s up?”

“You guys did interviews, right?”

He nods. “I did a lot while Sam was looking at the office. Looked at all the vics and our suspects.” He frowns. “I lost rock, paper, scissors.”

Sam laugh. “Again.”

“Shut up, bitch-“

“You’re the one who lost, Dean, it’s not my fault you suck-“

“I do not suck, you just play fucking mind games-“

“Winchester. Pay attention.” You give him a stern glare and kick under the table, and he scowls at you.

“Sammy started it-“

“I don’t care.” You tap the book, pushing it closer to him. “If you did the interviews, I need you to write down a list of things people said about our onryo, and get some stuff for the shrine. It will work better if it’s in closer relation to who Maggie Robins was in life.”

“Why do I have to do it-“

“Apparently because you suck at rock, paper, scissors.” You shrug, looking up to Sam. “We can go back to the motel, learn the ritual, and hopefully kill this thing by tonight.”

It takes another five minutes to get Dean to agree, and he’s still scowling when he drops you and Sam back at the motel, but it’s not heavy anymore. He’s not silent either, grumbling the whole way about being saddled with freakin’ shopping duty, and shouting that he better not come back to find that you and Sam threw a party while he was gone. 

Then it’s just you and Sam. Alone. Speaking chopped and stilted Japanese, giving each other odd looks as you adjust to the shift.

It’s not hard to be alone with Sam. He’s nice, easy to talk to, and doesn’t seem to have nearly as much fun pushing your button as Dean does. But it’s still strange. He keeps giving you odd looks and opening his mouth with a small frown, but shaking his head and shutting it. Your brain keeps spinning around what Dean told you, and how the Darkness seems... Off with Sam. His presence doesn’t blend it into Silver like Dean’s does, and it’s not volatile like with a monster or spirit, but it’s not normal. It’s turning and humming and beating into the White, like Sam is setting it off.

And you don’t even know what it is.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom when it starts to get overwhelming. When the Darkness starts to leak and your breathing has to be shallow to control it. Sam asks if you’re alright, and you just wave him off and lock the door behind you. Sinking onto the cold floor with your fingers squeezing at your throat, trying to drag it back down by force. It’s not enough. Whatever is happening is only feeding the Darkness, and it’s not dangerous but it could be. One wrong word, one accidental push, and you’d lose control in a second. You can feel lingering warmth of the sheets on Sam and Dean’s beds, and the ache of the creaking bathroom door, and the grime of tiles, sick and itching and all over your skin-

You bite down on the back of your hand, and everything falls back into you. You’re alright. You got through it. You always get through it. You’ll get through this hunt—rising to your feet and rubbing your face, checking in the mirror that no pain is visible—and you’ll help Dean, and everything will be alright. Maybe if you figure out what killed their mom, John won’t try to kill you when they find him. Maybe they won’t find him. Maybe you’ll be safe, and Dean could stick around for you, just for you because you’d helped him, helped his brother, and done it without breaking anything or losing control. Maybe you’d be able to tell him what’s wrong with you, and you’d have been good enough—done a good enough thing—that he wouldn’t call you a monster.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” You give Sam a small smile, twisting a ring on your finger as you walk back to the table. “Just had some sketchy road food yesterday. Happens to the best of us.”

Sam nods, and you think he bought it. Most people usually buy it. Even Bobby isn’t great at picking up your lies, because you’re careful and deliberate and practiced, and every lie you tell is purposeful and vital. A barrier to the horrid truth of how you’re always a little cancerous. 

You’re pretty sure the only person who sees past it is Dean. And that’s just another thing you’ve given up on hating him for.

“Do you know when Dean will be back?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. You made the critical error of thinking of him, and suddenly the White is desperate for him to be close once more, and you’re too tired to fight it. 

“I dunno, probably soon.” Sam shakes his head, giving you another odd look. “Do you guys hunt together a lot?”

You hum, pulling another book from Sam’s stack. “Usually, yeah.”

“Usually?”

“We haven’t been on a hunt since October.” You shrug, and when glance up, Sam’s still staring at you.

“Has he been… Talking to you?”

“Yeah, uh, we call about once a week.”

“Dean calls you?”

You nod, frowning slightly. “That’s what I said, yeah.”

“Huh.” Sam’s looking at you like he did in the car. Like you’re an alien, or weird plant. It’s not hateful, and it doesn’t make the Darkness riot in defense, but it’s… unnerving. “How long have you guys been talking, again?”

“Uh,” you tilt your head, your brow furrowing slightly. “A little over two years?”

Sam makes a slight face. “Cool.”

It doesn’t sound cool. It sounds like Sam’s as confused as you are, which is unfair because you don’t even know what you’re confused about. All Sam should know is that Dean left you once, years passed, and now you’re friends. 

But maybe Sam knows why Dean left you. And he could tell you, and it could either mend all those shattered pieces lining your body in a single moment, or snap you entirely. At least if it snaps you this will be over. You won’t have to deal with the circling question of does Dean feel this too. Is he looking at you like that because he feels this. Is he still here—despite you being irrevocably you all the fucking time, despite John obviously hatred of you and what you are—because he feels this too.

“Hey, Sam-“

“Something’s not making-“ Sam’s eyes widen slightly as you speak over each other, and he raises his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Sorry, you first-“

“No,” you shake your head, keeping your desperate question lodged like a stone in your throat. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s not a big thing, just that it’s kind of strange that the onryo is going after only women.” Sam frowns at his book. “Everything I’ve found says they should either kill just about anyone in their path, or just target reminders of the person who wronged them. And with the whole cheating thing I’d imagine it would be men and women, not-“

“Just women.” You reach a hand out, and Sam passes you his book. “You’re right. If you’re sure it’s Maggie-“

“We’re sure.” Sam says, leaning back in his chair. “She had her brains bashed in exactly like all the vics. And the husband, actually.”

You pause. “And the husband?”

Sam nods, grimacing slightly. “The crime scene photos were really gross.”

“And…” You glance at the case files, still scattered on the table. “How did the mistress die?”

“Gunshot. The cops worked out that Maggie got her brains bashed by Joey, Joey shot his mistress-“

“What was the mistress’s name?”

“Uh, Becca. But-“

“And she was Maggie’s best friend?”

Sam nods, his brows drawing together as he starts to play catch up. “I think so, yeah. Dean said all the families were shocked that, uh, Becca would betray Maggie like that.”

You let out a long sigh, running a hand through your hair and giving Sam a disbelieving look. “Jesus fucking Christ, men are idiots.”

“Hey-“

“I’m back!” Dean bursts through the door, several plastic bags in hand. “Got all the shit, Princess. Looks like this Maggie chick even used the same-“

You hold up a hand, and Dean falls silent. “Sam, tell Dean what you just told me.”

“Uh,” Sam glances at Dean, who’s dropped down on the edge of his bed with a frown. “Becca-“

“Who the hell is Becca-“

“The mistress, dumb dumb.” You give Dean a glare, jerking your head at Sam. “Listen.”

Dean raises his hands in surrender, and Sam keeps going.

“Becca and Maggie were best friends, and you told me all the families were shocked about what happened.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, they all kept going on about how close those chicks were. Maggie’s mom said that Becca would stay with her when the husband was out of town on business.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god.”

“You got something you wanna say, sweetheart?“

“Not that you’ll want to hear, Deano.” You wrinkle your nose at him, even as a little bit of guilt eats at your throat. He’s gonna be pissed. “We need to start the ritual over.”

Dean blinks at you. “What.”

“Maggie isn’t the onryo.” You sigh, leaning back in your seat. “Joey is.”

Sam’s mouth falls open. “Fuck. That- It explains the targeting.”

“Yep.” You give him a tight smile. “And people don’t just bash their own brains in. Joey probably did kill Maggie, but then Becca killed Joey before shooting herself.”

Dean shakes his head, an adorable look of confusion on his face. “Why the hell would the douchebag get offed by his own mistress-“

“Because she wasn’t his mistress.” You say, and Dean just stares at you, his lips in a small pout that you want to bite.

“Huh?”

You exchange a look with Sam—who’s very poorly covering his snicker with a hand—and look back to Dean with a sigh. “Lesbians, Winchester. The mistress was the wife’s, not the husband’s.” 

“The- oh.” Dean goes red, scratching the back of his neck and looking anywhere but you. “Awesome. Good for them.”

You shrug. “I mean, they are both dead. But yeah, awesome.”

“For them.” Sam adds, letting out a long breath. “Not us. You’re right, we’re going to have scratch everything and work out how to do the ritual for Joey.”

“Fine.” Dean groans, kicking one of his bags. “But there’s no way in hell you’re making me do all those interviews again, Princess.“

You sigh, scratching at your fingers. “Sam, if you do the interviews, I can work out the MO to see if we can lure the onyro out, and Dean can make the ritual stick.”

Sam nods, looking back to a book, and Dean gapes at you.

“Ritual what?”

“Stick.”

“It’s a shaker made of paper.” Sam explains. “For the harae. It’ll be easy, dude.”

“And.” You give Dean a pointed look. “It’s either that or the interviews.”

Dean scowls, but relents with a grumble, and you grin at him.

“Great. We’ll have to wait for morning to do this, so, uh…” You trail off, frowning at your car out the window. You had really thought you’d be done by midnight. You can’t afford a motel room right now, and you don’t think Sam and Dean won’t notice you sleeping in your car. Bobby’s car. One of Bobby’s junkyard cars, which was in no way suitable for sleeping in. 

Dean says your name, and you turn your head on instinct alone. “You got a room?”

“Uh, no.” You glance back to your car. You can just drive it away, to a different lot, and make do. You know how to make do. “But I’ll find one, it’s fine-“

Sam shrugs, barely looking up from his book. “Just stay here.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you freeze in your chair. “What?”

“You can bunk with us, we’ve got the space.”

You can’t look at Dean. You and Dean don’t share a room. You don’t know why he doesn't offer, but you know why you haven’t, and at this point it’s an unspoken rule.

But Dean’s not shutting Sam down, and the White has started to burst and glow at the idea of it. Of being closer.

You cannot share a room with Dean. It will destroy this. It will give you the opportunity to ruin your friendship with him, give you another place to fall further into him, provide another opportunity for the White to pull you closer and closer, down, down, down into Dean. 

“No, no it’s okay, I’m sure somewhere has a room-“

Dean cuts you off, and you’re going to go insane. “You can take my bed.” 

“It’s- it’s really fine-“

“No,” He says your name casually—like your brain and heart aren’t exploding—and pushes up off his mattress. “You’re doing us a solid, we can put you up. And I’ve shared with Sam before. I can deal with his Sasquatch starfishing.”

Sam glares up from his book. “I do not starfish-“

“But you are a Sasquatch?” 

Dean smirks at Sam, Sam flips him off, and the conversation seems to be over. Sam’s still reading. Dean’s kicking the bag and grumbling about stupid rituals.

But you’re frozen.Time isn’t really flowing, and the world isn’t really moving, because you have to talk your way out of this. You have to figure out what you can say so you can leave, without Sam and Dean being gentlemen and insisting you stay, or asking questions about why you’re so frantic to be anywhere but here.

And you’re not. Every single fiber of your existence wants to stay in this room, where it’s warm and demons might not find you. Your body wants to rest in Dean’s bed, because it will probably smell like grass and spice and Dean. Your fucking tongue keeps trying to move against your will, to suggest you and Dean just share a bed. 

And you’re strong enough to hold yourself back from that, but not from the rest of it. Not from the high that rushes through you when you give in, mumble that you’ll go get your bags from the car, and Dean insists on walking with you. You can’t stop your laugh from echoing through the parking lot at his stupid jokes, or the Darkness from moving out of you in a way that’s not painful. In a way where you can feel how calm the grass is in the quickly sinking twilight, or how soothing the gentle wind is to the tree branches.

Dean guides you back inside, and you stumble. Just a normal, boring trip over your own feet that Dean saves you from, catching you with firm hands and a laugh. 

He’s real, and he’s not gone. The streetlight over his head is casting a gold glow over his skin and hair, and everything about him seems fake—still far too pretty, made of gold but warm under your touch—but he’s real.

And he smiles at you. And that light flickers.

And you’re so fucked.

——————

Dean needed to get a grip. He needed to stop being a freaking creep, and act like a normal person.

He couldn’t. And he wasn’t going to figure out how to in one night. But he needed to, because there was no goddamn way She hadn’t cast some sort of spell on him, and not a chance in hell he was going to make it through the night without acting like She wasn’t only a few quick steps away.

She couldn’t be doing this on purpose. She’d have to be a demon or something, sent to torture Dean with Her… everything. To make him sit at the table while She showered just a room over—if Sam had given him one more amused look, Dean would’ve punched his lights out—and then come out of the bathroom with steam and light surrounding Her, like a beautiful, tempting nightmare. She’d grabbed a little, colorful bag—given Dean a smile because she must hate him—and vanished back into the bathroom.

She’d come out a little while later with soft, almost glowing skin and shiny hair Dean had wanted to touch. She’d passed him on her way to bed, and smelled like sugar and fruit.

The whole room had been surrounded with that fucking fruit smell. Dean had been losing his goddamn mind. 

He’d ended up flat one his back, staring at the ceiling through most of the night, something tight and hot lodged in his throat and gut. Sammy was fine to share a bed with, but Dean wanted to be across the room.

With Her. Holding Her like they were real people, smelling her hair like a goddamn creep and talking to her in the dark. 

Dean really just wanted to be with Her in the dark. To wrap around Her and keep her against him, where She wouldn’t have one of those weird freak outs he’d slowly learned to handle, where no strange, haunting monsters would find Her and take her away.

He didn’t want Her to go away. It was getting fucking crippling, how Dean wanted Her around all the time. How he was so fucking selfish and empty that, since Jessica, he’d started to spiral into thoughts of Her finding out what a mess his life was, and leaving him alone. Of taking all Her blinding, silver light that Dean was more than happy to follow down into the dark, and turn it somewhere else. That he’d been given a chance to see the universe in brilliant eyes, and now it would be ripped away from him.

Worse, he had nightmares that She was on the ceiling. And he’d tried to dismiss them as stress—Dad was missing, Sam was on edge, and Dean was fucking exhausted, so stress seemed reasonable—but they’d persisted. Which was crazy. Jess had been Sam’s girl. He’d had her, and lost her. Mom had been Dad’s, and that was why Dad had become Dad after her death. 

Dean had never had Her. He’d held Her hand once, and kissed Her forehead twice. She wasn’t Dean’s to fear for, or protect, or imagine pressed against him in the dark. She wasn’t Dean’s to keep near him, wasn’t Dean’s to fantasize about, wasn’t Dean’s to want. To get anxious about introducing to his family, because they were all born and made in the mud and She seemed to be created from starlight. He’d never even meet Her family, because she still wouldn’t tell Dean the damn truth about them.

He still didn’t know how to be furious about that in a way that stuck. How to not care when Her eyes went glassy, when She looked small and lost. How to not feel alive when She smiled, and orbit around Her when her world was more colorful than his.

And Sam liking Her had made that worse. Made it more real. Sam liking Her meant Dean wasn’t going insane. It meant that Dad might have simply been wrong, and She wasn’t just an illusion, and that if She left it would just be because Dean wasn’t worth her time.

But She hadn’t left. He’d told Her about Dad and Jessica and Mom, and then watched her shuffle around their motel room in the morning with an adorable, sleepy face. He’d watched Her in Baby’s passenger seat—Sam taking her car for the interviews—and had to force his hand to stay on the wheel and not Her thigh. 

He was looking at Her, across the diner table and poking at Her breakfast with a fork. He wasn’t sure how She managed to look so beautiful all the goddamn time, even when her lips were still swollen from sleep and her eyes were a little glazed from exhaustion. How Her voice always sounded like a song that echoed through Dean’s body, spurring something a little to the right of his heart and making him do almost anything she asked.

Like making a that stupid stick while She wrote on a paper napkin, that adorable furrow in Her brow.

“Sam should be back soon.” She mumbled, crossing something out on Her list. “Are you almost-“

Dean placed the stick over Her napkin, grinning at Her when she looked up. “Done.”

She gave the stick a once over, sighed, and went back to Her napkin without a word.

Dean frowned, leaning over to try and read Her scrawling. “Can you read that?”

“I’m writing it.”

“That’s not an answer, sweetheart.”

She glanced up, Dean winked, and She rolled her eyes.

“Shut up.”

Dean just hummed, leaning at little further forward. “So that’s a no?”

“I’ll stab you.”

“Damn, Princess, I thought you liked me-“

He cut himself off with a grunt as She kicked his shin, and She was flushing. It was the best color Dean had ever seen.

“I can like you and stab you.” She muttered. “I’d stitch it up after.”

Dean wanted to ask how much She liked him. If She like liked him. If She breathed easier when he was there and felt peaceful when he was by her side. If his voice haunted Her dreams.

He shrugged the urge off, and pushed on.

“You stab me, I’m asking Sammy to fix it. You don’t have good bedside manner.”

“Or you’re just a terrible patient.”

Dean gasped—making his most dramatically wounded face—and when She looked back up, she giggled.

“You’re such a fucking idiot.”

He smirked, nodding in agreement, and Her words didn’t hurt him. People had called Dean an idiot before, and it had always stuck on his skin and coated over his chest. But She said it like it was endearment. As if the softer tone lining Her voice could be affection. For Dean.

She was looking back down to the napkin. Dean needed Her to look at him. To either help Her with what she was doing, or listen to her giggle again. Nothing was ever complicated when She was smiling and giggling at Dean.

“What’s it say?” Dean tried to grab the napkin, and She snatched it away with a glower.

“Hey-“

“C’mon, you’ve been losing your mind over that for like an hour, I could help-“

“So ask like a big boy, Winchester. Say please.”

Dean held Her gaze, grabbed Her wrist, and smirked as she flushed.

“Please, Princess.” He squeezed Her wrist, and he could’ve sworn She leaned into him. “Tell me what’s on your dumb napkin.”

“It’s not dumb.” She mumbled, Her voice a little breathy. It was distracting. “I’m just- I’m trying to figure out the onryo’s MO. Usually they don’t have one, but Joey seems to, and I can’t work it out.”

“What’ve you ruled out?”

“Appearance,” She frowned at Her writing. “Profession. Marital status-“

“Vics weren’t cheaters?”

She shook Her head. “Most were single. It’s just- It’s not making a lot of sense.”

Dean shrugged. He still hadn’t let go of Her wrist. His hand might be trapped there permanently. “Doesn’t matter, right? Long as we gank the fucker, we’re in the clear.”

“Yeah,” She let out a long breath, glancing up at Dean with soft eyes. “I guess. I just- It’s weird.”

“Our lives are weird, sweetheart.” He grinned at Her. “Chill out. Sammy’ll be back soon, and we’ll be done before dinner.”

She nodded, her features relaxing, and Dean felt something loosen in his stomach. He was still touching Her. He couldn’t pull away. She wasn’t even trying to move, not trying to break his gaze, and he had grabbed Her over her shirt but She’d shifted and now he could feel Her skin. It was soft. Warm. It felt so goddamn right under his palm and She wasn’t moving away-

Sam cleared his throat, standing at the side of the table, and She and Dean flew apart. He yanked his hand away—grabbing his fork and tapping it in an uneven rhythm on his plate—and She moved backwards in her seat, hiking a knee up to her chest and looking up at Sam with wide eyes. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Hey, Sammy, you’re back-“

“Yeah.” Sam was looking between them, his lips twitching. “Am I interrupting-”

“No!” Her voice was high, and frantic. Dean frowned. He would’ve said no too, but She didn’t need to say it like that. “We’re just, um, talking about the case. Did you get what we needed?”

Sam nodded, pulling out a folded paper from his pocket and passing it into Her hands. “That should be enough, right?”

“Uh… Yeah.” She scanned over the list, and Dean didn’t miss Sam’s grin at Her approval. “I’ll head out now to set up?”

He wanted to protest. To tell Her to just stay and eat with them. She’d barely touched her plate, and something in his stomach kept gnawing at the idea of Her going off alone. She might hunt alone all the time, and Dean might know she had her knife, know that he’d be right behind Her, but he still didn’t want to Her to just go alone. He had twisting feeling over his heart at the idea of Her going alone-

“Sure.” Sam passed Her the keys to her car, stepping out of the way so she could exit the booth. “Call if you need anything, and we’ll meet you there in an hour.”

She hummed in agreement, giving them both soft smiles, and Dean was rooted in his seat. He should follow Her, or insist she stayed, and she’d get all fucking pissy about him not thinking she could handle this alone, but he still rather get yelled at then watch Her walk away. She was walking away. Dean needed to shout after Her and-

“She walks fast.” Sam said, dropping in Her now empty seat, and Dean blinked.

“Huh?”

Sam said Her name, settling in his seat. “She walks-“

“I heard you.” Dean snapped, looking out the window to watch Her move through the parking lot. She did walk fast. He’d never really noticed it before, because She always walked just a pace ahead of him, matching his speed perfectly. But alone, She did seem to walk faster. With purpose.

Towards Her car. Away from Dean. He could still run and grab Her. Convince her to come back to the booth-

“Does Dad know you were hunting with her?”

Dean turned back to Sam with a frown. “What.”

“Dad,” Sam leaned back, giving him a pointed look. “I remember what he said about her, Dean. Shit, dude, he hated her, even before he dug that stuff up-“

“Dad didn’t hate her.” Dean muttered. “He was just looking out for us.”

“He was being paranoid. And, just for the record, that woman,” Sam pointed out the window, and Dean realized She was gone. Fuck. “Doesn’t really seem like a spoiled, bratty con-artist.”

Dean scowled. He fucking knew that. And Sam needed to stop saying it, because it made Her more real. Made Her more possible, made Dean crash further up into Her. Fed the idea that he could, maybe, touch Her and not get burned.

“Dad doesn’t know, does he.” Sam crossed his arms, raising his brows. “You lied to him.”

“I didn’t-“

“You did. There’s not a chance he would’ve let you just go off hunting with anyone, let alone her.” Sam grinned at him, and Dean didn’t appreciate the glee on his face. “You were fucking lying to Dad.”

Dean braced his arms on the table, lowering his voice to a hiss. “I’m serious, Sam. Drop it.”

Sam did not drop it. He might be trying to get punched. “No, Dean. You’ve been lying to Dad. You never lie to Dad about anything.”

“Sam-“

“I mean, you’ve lied for me. But c’mon dude.” Sam let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Even you have to stop and think about why you don’t want Dad knowing about her. I mean, she’s nothing like what he said, but Dad’s Dad.”

“What the hell it that supposed to mean?“

“It means he’s not going to like that he was wrong. That she’s cool.” Sam shrugged. “I like her. The only thing I’d worry about is the, uh…”

He trailed off, and Dean frowned. 

“Worry about what?”

“I don’t know.” Sam’s brow furrowed slightly. “I mean, I don’t know what they are. Panic attacks?”

Dean shook his head, his brow drawn in confusion, and Sam gave him an odd look.

“There’s- Dean, there’s no way you haven’t noticed. I mean, you helped her, when she got here. When you did the, uh,” Sam reached up to his face, running his finger over his nose. “That.”

“Oh, yeah, that always calms her down-“

“But what is that?”

“I don’t know.” Dean muttered. “Probably just some girl shit-“

Sam scoffed. “That is not a girl thing. That’s like… an episode or something. Have you asked her?”

“No. And you,” Dean pointed to Sam with a glower. “Better not say shit.”

He didn’t need to give Her a reason to leave. A reason to think he didn’t want Her around. Those moments were strange—and had been happening more and more frequently—but Dean had dealt with stranger, and he knew how to handle it now. 

And Sam paused, tilting his head. 

“Holy shit, dude.” His face split into a shit-eating grin. “You really like her.”

“What?! No- I- Why the-” Dean narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about-“

“Yeah, I do. I know you, Dean. You don’t want to make her upset, you have a crush-“

Dean slammed his fist on the table, leaning forward with a glower. “Watch it, I’ll kick your fucking ass-“

Sam just shrugged, a shit eating grin on his face. “Whatever. Won’t make you not have a crush on her.”

“I do not have a fucking crush. She’s my friend-“

Sam laughed again, this one louder. “Sure, man. You looked like you were gonna cry when she walked away. I bet you wanna go after her-“

“Because she doesn’t need to do this alone! We hunt together, that’s the point of partners-“

“Partners?” Sam raised his brows. “Do you not hear yourself? You’re so worried about her-“

“Sam, I swear to fucking god-“

“Fine.” Sam raised his hands in surrender, still smirking. “Chill out.”

“I am fucking chill.” Dean grumbled, glancing at Her abandoned plate. “If you’re not eating that, we can go now-“

“No, I’ll eat it. And she’ll be fine, Dean. There was a lot of overlap on this list from the Maggie one, she just needs to find a really specific kind of beer. Actually, you got the perfume, right?”

Dean frowned. “Perfume?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded, poking at the plate with his fork. “That bottle in his office, same kind you bought for the first ritual.”

Dean sat up in the booth, a creeping, almost painful chill shooting up his spine and through his blood. “The one with the yellow bottle?”

“Uh huh-“

“French name?” 

“Yeah, dude, I just said it was the same-“

Pieces fell into place in Dean’s head, and he felt sick. He’d fucking seen the bottle in Joey’s office, and remembered it because of Her. Then he’d forgotten until last night, and She’d cut him off before he’d had a chance to tell Her, when he’d gotten back. If he had told Her, she would’ve put it together faster. She would’ve seen the overlap on the lists, pointed out that it was strange to keep perfume in your office if you weren’t actually having an affair. 

If you were confronting your wife about her affair.

Dean shot out of his seat. “We need to go, now.”

“Woah, slow down, we still need to pay-“

“No, fuck, it’s-“ Dean ran a hand over his face, snapping Her name. “She uses that perfume.”

“So?”

“So, if you were a woman trying to cover your affair with your girl best-friend, how would you do it?”

Sam looked at him like he was insane. “I don’t know, Dean, that’s not a situation I’ve thought about once-“

“Would you make your girlfriend use the same perfume you use? Would you buy it for her?”

“I said I don’t know-“

“It’s the perfume, Sam!” Dean was shouting. He didn’t care. “We didn’t think about it! We thought it was the wife who got slighted, but it’s the fucking dude, and all the vics had that goddamn perfume! And-“

“The wife and mistress were using it.” Sam’s eyes widened, and his words far too slow when they had to go. “To hide their affair. And if the husband put that together, he’d… and…” Sam said Her name, and Dean felt his lungs tighten. “She uses…  Fuck.”

It was good Sam got up when he did, or Dean would’ve started to drag him out of the diner. The waitress shouted after them to pay, but he didn’t hear. There was red lining his vision and blood in his ears because he had been an idiot. They never would’ve gotten what the spirit was without Her, they never would’ve gone after the right douchebag without Her, and if Dean hadn’t managed to catch it, She would’ve paid the price for helping him. For Dean being unobservant asshole.

She still might pay the price. They hadn’t saved Her yet. Dean was violating traffic laws and testing Baby’s bounds, but She was in fucking danger and nothing else mattered.

“So,” Sam cleared his throat. “How do you know it’s her perfume?”

“Shut it, or I’ll fucking shoot you-“

“No, dude, I swear I’m not teasing. I just want to be sure-“

“I’m positive.” Dean grunted, not bothering to look over and see if his brother was listening. “And you better be ready to exorcise this son of a bitch-“

“I got the Japanese down last night. And I’m sure she’s fine, Dean-“

“Shut up.”

Sam raised his hands, and made the smart choice to close his fucking trap and let Dean focus. 

He didn’t bother with proper parking, stopping right on the curb outside the office and sprinting inside. The building was cold. Too cold. Fucking freezing the closer they got to the office, lights flickering in the hallways and all of Dean’s attention narrowed to listen for screams or bangs or cries for help-

The door to the office was locked. He pounded on it—shouting Her name and making the walls shake slightly—but there was no noise from the other side. The overhead lights sparked and flickered, wind seemed to rush through the half-empty hallway, and Dean took several steps back. This building was probably insured, and he needed to get in that fucking room.

Dean cracked his neck, braced his body, and threw himself forward.  

The room was pitch black when he crashed into it—one the overhead lamps hanging from the ceiling and light flooding in from the hallway—and She was sitting in the corner. Her back was pressed to the wall, Her hand around her throat, and Her eyes glassy as they found Dean’s.

He shouted Her name, dropping to his knees at Her side. “Fuck, are you-“

She shook Her head, pushing at his chest. “Dean, go, you need to go-“

“Are you fucking crazy? There’s no way I’m leaving-“

“No, I’ve- I’ve got it, please-“

Sam finally caught up, the paper shaker in one hand and a gun in the other. “Shit, where’s the-“

“Don’t know. Get ready.” Dean never looked away from Her bloodless face, keeping it cradled in one hand. “C’mon, Princess, you're a target, we’re going-“

“No!” She screamed, and Dean didn’t have time to feel something snap in his chest before She was kicking him away.

Before a large, white-clad and blood covered figure appeared right where he’d been before. Reaching down for Her as she curled further down into herself, not even trying to goddamn defend herself.

Dean was certain his heart stopped. That it exploded through his body in a firework of blood and feral, uncontrollable fear. And there was something else, too. Rioting in his chest, burning and golden and bellowing for Her. To save Her. To pull Her from danger, from the pain, from the dark-

He could only see red, only hear his own roar of Her name as the onryo grabbed Her head, slammed it into the wall, and She didn’t fight back.

Dean tackled the onryo. Wrapped his arms around its throat and yanked it away from Her slightly slumping body on the floor. Slammed his knees into its back and crashed them both against the desk, raising his fist to pummel it fucking bloody and uglier-

It threw Dean off with a guttural, ear-bleeding roar, and he felt pain pound over his back as he slammed into the wall. He was vaguely aware of Sam beginning the ritual, but he didn’t care. 

The onryo was heading back for Her. And Sam had realized and was running forward, but he wouldn’t be strong enough if Dean wasn’t, and She wasn’t fighting back.

All the lights in the hallway sparked and flickered, and Dean saw a flash of silver in the dark. He could hear low chanting and muttering in a soft, musical voice, and his head was spinning but he could swear She was moving.

The onryo screamed, and a blinding pillar flame burst through the room. Dean couldn’t think outside of fire. Licking at the ceiling and walls, and he couldn’t see Her anywhere at all-

It was gone in a second, and the room when dark once more. 

A small, weak noise came from the corner of the room, and when Dean’s eyes readjusted, he could see Her in the dark. He didn’t need to think to move to Her.

He just did. 

Holding Her face with his gentlest touch, angling it carefully to check for blood or bruising, muttering Her name until she made another soft sound and he knew she was conscious. He let Her slump forwards into him as Her eyes fluttered, and her breathing eased.

She’d be fine. Dean could see a cut on Her brow, a bite mark on her hand, and a gash on Her shoulder, but he’d stitched up worse for Dad. Her eyes weren’t staying open for more than a second, and her heart was racing when he checked Her pulse on her neck, but her gasps weren’t choked or stuttered so she’d be fine.

“Dean.” Sam muttered from behind them, his voice soft. “Is she-“

“She’s fine.” He grunted, wrapping his arm around her waist to hold Her steady as he moved to his feet. “Hold on,” he whispered Her name in her ear, and she listened, her arms looping around Dean’s neck. 

It was relieving and worrying all at once. She felt fragile again. 

Dean didn’t know if he could live with himself if he broke Her.

“Sam,” Dean didn’t take his eyes off of Her as he spoke, because looking at Her seemed to make just a little bit of the panic fogging his brain clear. He could see Her chest rise and fall. She’d be okay. “I know we still gotta check-“

Sam understood immediately. He usually did. “I can do it. Take her, I’ll meet you back at the motel.”

Dean nodded in silent thanks and—after carefully grabbing Her keys out of her pocket and throwing them to Sam—carried Her in his arms out of the office and into Baby. 

He drove slowly, his grip on the wheel white knuckled as She made soft sounds of pain at his side. Dean had brought Her here. He’d put Her in danger, just because he had missed Her, missed moving in her orbit. She was hurt because he’d been an idiot and brought Her into harm’s way. He’d triggered one of Her episodes because he hadn’t done his job and protected her, and She’d still ended up doing the ritual herself because he was fucking horrible at his job. He’d been lost in his head, just like Dad always told him not to be, and now She was in pain. She’d be okay, safe in a fancy home in some mystery town, if Dean just hadn’t called Her.

And he was a selfish, lonely piece of shit.

And he didn’t want Her to go.

She let him move Her from the Impala to the motel room, leaning into his side and walking in uneven, unsteady steps. At least She was walking. At least when Dean set Her down on his bed, she was able to pull off her own jacket and remove Her own shoes. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, and there was swelling on Her cheekbone where the onryo had grabbed her, but at least She was sitting upright, watching Dean grab their med kit. 

She was a statue, but at least She was here. With Dean. 

Where he could hear Her low, strained noises when he touched her gash, and he could rip his head apart with guilt. 

He’d fucking let that happen to Her. She wasn’t speaking, and Dean couldn’t tell if she was angry, but she should be. Because Dean had failed. 

Dad wouldn’t have failed. Dad would kill Dean if he found out he’d dragged Her into their family business, and she got hurt. He’d yell at Dean for letting Her everything distract him, because she wasn’t a real hunter, she was just a girl.

That’s what Dad had always called Her, when Dean managed to bring Her up. When he’d been testing the waters about telling Dad about Her, and always decided against it because Dad said She was just a lying, spoiled little girl, who didn’t give a damn about Dean.

But She’d killed the onryo. And She’d left him with the Poltergeist, but She’d chosen him with the Demon. When he’d only had Her, even if the worst of his injuries had been a mild concussion. 

Sammy liked Her. She liked Sammy. 

And when Dean glanced back up at Her beautiful face—cast like artwork in the shadows and cool lights of the motel—She was watching him the same way She always did. A little hazier, Her face more open and gentle than usual, but still the same.

Like Dean might be something. Anything at all.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, and Dean’s hands stilled.

“What.”

“I’m sorry.” She repeated it, and Dean felt sick. He might break his jaw. “I didn’t mean to. Please, I’m really- I didn’t mean to do that-“

Dean looked up at Her. Her eyes were glossy, Her features bloodless, and her every word choked as Her body curled into herself. Like She was trying to make herself small. Like She was trying to hide.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered again, and Dean glanced down to Her hands in her lap. 

Raw and bloody, lined with marks where She’d begun to scratch.

He grabbed them without a word, moving them apart to rest on the mattress. She made a weak, strangled noise, and Dean could feel it in the goddamn cavity of his chest. Echoing around and burning a hole in his body that was shaped like Her.

“I’m sorry-“

“Why.” He muttered, refocusing his attention onto the gash. “You didn’t fuck anything up. You ganked the son of a bitch, and Sammy’s finishing the ritual for you. We’re fine.”

“The ritual?”

Dean nodded, glancing up at Her. The little furrow was back in Her brow, and she was breathing so fucking fast-

His thumb moved up before he could think about it. Running a soft line down the bridge of Her nose until she let out a long, slow breath, and the sound washed over Dean like rain. 

She’d be okay. Her eyes were still clouded, and She still looked far too small, but Dean would patch Her up and She’d be okay.

He rose without a word when he finished the stitches, muttering an order for Her to stay there, and moves to the kitchenette before he can think better of it. Opened the cabinet and started heating some water, just because he had to do something. If Dean was something, She was more, and he had just fucking do this. A silent apology.

A plea to not leave. To stay with Dean, because he was the fucking worst, but he’d never let that shit happen again. 

She’d moved to the headboard, Her legs curled under her body as she rested against the headboard. And She was still watching him. He wanted to brush the sweaty hair from Her face, and kiss the bruise on Her head, and pull her into a long hug to swear that would never goddamn happen again. 

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t even know how to grab Her face between his hands and tell Her he was sorry. That he’d felt like was suffocating when She’d gotten hurt, that he felt like the lungs and heart—and something else he didn’t even have a word for—were being crush and shredded apart all at once when She’d screamed. 

But he could do this. Dean could walk mix in the cocoa powder, grab one of Sam’s stupid thermoses, and pass the hot chocolate into Her shaking hands. 

He just looked at Her for a long moment. Gorgeous in an almost indescribable way, right before him where he could touch Her if he tried.

He didn't know where to start touching Her. How to start caring about Her the way something like Her—breakable and furious and brutal, brighter than anything Dean had even seen before, would ever see again— would deserve to be cared about. But he had to try. He had to keep Her close, where he could always make sure She’d be okay.

“How’d you know to come?” Her voice was still a breath, but it sounded more like Her, and Dean could take that.

He shrugged. “Got a gut feeling.”

“A gut feeling?”

“Yeah.” Dean gave Her a small smirk, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “Tells you what’s wrong and right, when something’s going bad-“

She whacked his arm, and it was weaker than usual, but still Her. She looked more and more like Her by the moment. “Shut up.”

“Bossy.”

She wrinkled Her nose at him, glowering over the thermos as She drank.

He chuckled. “You know, I mean that as a compliment-“

“Don’t tell me what I know, Winchester.”

The laugh that left Dean was loud, and real, and made Her smile. And he felt alive. Right now, Dean was alive at Her side, golden under Her attention, and more relaxed in the dark than he’d been in days.

“Yes, ma’am.” He drawled, and She rolled her eyes.

When She moved the thermos away from Her mouth, there was a little line of milk above Her lips, and Dean grinned. 

“Nice mustache, Princess.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“Your- here.” Dean reached forward before he could think better, and wiped it with his thumb.

He froze in place the moment he drew away. He’d touched Her. And She’d been warm and soft and real. His thumb had brushed over Her upper lip for only a second, so now the feeling of it might be branded on his skin. And when he looked back to Her, she was flushed. With the hitched breath. The parted mouth.

He wanted more. He wanted Her. He didn’t ever want Her to go.

“Uh, where are you going?” He cleared, trying to make his voice as casual as possible. He could do this. “Once we wrap up the loose ends here?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged, settling back into the mattress. “Probably home.”

“Which is where?”

She gave him a small smile, taking a long sip of the coco without an answer.

“Never gonna tell me, huh?”

She shrugged. “Maybe next time, if you make me more of this.”

She tapped the thermos, and Dean felt his own mouth twitch.

“I think that’s bribery, Princess.”

“Maybe.” She hummed, raising Her brows at him. “Are we above bribery?”

Dean chuckled. “Guess not. And, uh,” he took a long breath, scratching the back of his neck. “Would you need it to be next time?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if there wasn’t a next time?”

Something flared on Her face, she leaned slightly away, and Dean’s throat tightened. Not like that. Not at all like that.

“Oh.” She mumbled, and the words began to fall out of Dean like vomit.

“No, I’m not saying that. Opposite of that. I mean, I told you everything, and Sammy likes you, and we’re a good team, Sweetheart, so if you want to, I’m sure Sam wouldn’t be pissed. He’d be for it. He said you were cool, and three is ever safer than two. So, uh, yeah.”

She only blinked. “What?”

Dean felt his face heat. He hadn’t actually said the thing. “Stay.”

“Stay?”

“With me. And Sammy. Just to help us find Dad, then Sammy’ll probably go back to a normal, boring life, and you can do what you do. Just, uh, you can stick around after the hunt. If you want.”

“Stay with you, to find…“ She trailed off, and Dean couldn’t read that expression. He couldn’t fucking think, not outside of Her eyes on his, and the smell fruit dragging him into a pure sense of Her.

“Our Dad.” Dean finished Her sentence, and her throat bobbed. 

She let out a slow breath, hugging Her own body and ducking Her head, and Dean felt his chest go numb before she even spoke.

“I can’t.” She mumbled, rubbing that scarred palm over her calf. “I’m really sorry, Dean. Just, my dad-“

“Don’t. It’s fine.” He rubbed his own brow, his gaze fixed on Her hand. Close enough to touch.

But not really close at all.

“Dean-“

“I’m serious. It was just an offer.”

“But-“

He snapped Her name, and it was harsher than he meant it, but something also felt like it was peeling along his ribs. She didn’t want him. Nobody would want him. He’d gotten Her hurt, and he had no good reason to think She’d stick around for him. She didn’t feel this, it was all only Dean losing his mind and falling to his knees for a woman that he could never have. She sounded wounded and desperate, but She wasn’t his to wound, and She’d told him she didn’t want to stay. That She wanted to go back home. Somewhere of the mud, somewhere Dean wasn’t good enough to follow her to.

“I’m-“

“Don’t apologize.” He muttered. She needed to rest, and Dean didn’t need Her sorrys. He didn’t really deserve them. “Go to sleep, Princess. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She took a long breath. “Dean?”

He grunted, unable to look Her in the eyes, and She sighed.

“I know I, you-“ She cut herself off with a swallow, her voice growing softer by the second. “But can you, um, can you please- I don’t want to- Could you please sit?”

Dean frowned at the floor. “What.”

“With me. Sit with me. Until I fall asleep.” She whispered. “You can go after, if you do, but… Please.”

Her voice was so goddamn light, so dream-like, and Dean didn’t think he’d ever learn to not bend for it. Not when his eyes dragged back to Her’s, and they were calling him further down. Drawing him closer with only Her. Still just Her, at Dean’s side, in the whole universe of a motel room.

And She wanted him for this. Only this. 

But at least it was something.

He nodded, and forced himself to ignore the spark up his spine when a She mumbled a thanks, and closed her eyes with a soft breath.

She was passed out in only a few minutes, and Dean stayed at Her side. Just a nod felt like it was an oath, when it was for Her. So Dean sat at Her side, and watched her sleep like that same creep he’d been the night before.

He didn’t really notice Sam returning. He couldn’t look anywhere but Her. Slack faced and breathing slow, drooling onto the pillow in a way Dean wanted to wipe from her chin, hair in her face he wanted to brush away, lips parted that he always wanted to touch. 

Beautiful. Not his to have. 

But She’d be here until morning. And She’d asked him to stay with Her, so he’d sit in the dark for Her and practice how he’d let Her go when she walked away. Remind himself that it was for the better She wouldn’t stay. She wouldn’t get hurt. And he would see Her again.

Maybe, while she was hunting without him, She’d find someone who actually kept her safe. Who did what Dean wasn’t good enough to do, and didn’t just watch Her in the dark. They’d hold Her in the dark. They’d be Her dark, just like Dean irrationally craved, but deserving. Worthy of a star falling into their hands, worthy of holding it with them all the time. 

Dean felt sick. Her hand was splayed across the mattress. 

He let himself hold it. If this was the only chance he had, and She didn’t flinch away when he twined his fingers with Her’s, he’d hold Her hand.

He’d take tonight. 

And he’d learn how get a grip in the morning. 

End Note: Diversity win! These Lesbians were part of a triple murder suicide!

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[morganski-19]

The One Where Eddie Gets Another Job

Steve and Robin walk into the coffee house after work. Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle already sitting in their spot. Robin sits next to Nancy on the couch while Steve flops into the armchair.

“How was the first day of school,” Nancy asks Steve.

Steve groans. “I have three Gabriels in my class and all of them want to be called Gabe. And two of them have a last name that starts with H. Then the fire alarm went off because Beverly decided that popcorn was the perfect lunchtime snack. Three moms tried to hit on me when I was doing car line, and I think one of the kids was sick. So that’s about to be spread around my classroom.”

“That’s,” she starts, trying to find something positive to say. “I have nothing, that sounds like shit.”

“I could never be a teacher,” Robin sighs into the couch. “I didn’t like kids that much to begin with. And after the things you tell me, never.”

“I don’t know,” Argyle pipes in. “It could be fun. And very rewarding.”

“I could totally see you being a kindergarten teacher,” Steve suggests.

The group does a vague nod in agreement.

“For anyone wondering how my day was,” Robin perks up. “I had a very nice conversation with this Italian man. He’s opening up a small bakery with his wife and wanted someone to go over the contracts with him. He’s bringing me some pastries as a thank you when they get up and running.”

The conversation about work continues for a bit, each of them sharing how their day was and destressing.

“Where’s Eddie,” Steve eventually asks. He’s normally here by this point.

Nancy starts laughing. “Oh just wait.”

“What,” Jonathan looks up from his laptop. “Did we miss something?”

“Like I said,” Nancy continues to laugh over her coffee. “Just you wait.”

Like speaking of him suddenly made him appear, Eddie walks out of the backroom of the coffee house. With an apron tied around his waist and a pencil behind his ear. He heads over to an empty table with a wet rag, wiping it down.

“Oh my god,” Robin whispers with surprise.

“Is that Eddie, working?” Argyle questions. “Here?”

Nancy nods, her laughter getting louder. “Yes.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Eddie working,” Robin comments. “It’s like watching an animal out in the wild.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Eddie groans. Shoving the rag in his apron pocket and walking over.

Robin smiles. “I meant you to.”

“How long have you been working here?” Steve asks.

Eddie shrugs. “A few days now.”

“I thought you were working on being a tattoo artist,” Jonathan says. Taking a break from editing photos on his laptop to invest in this conversation.

“That I am. But I needed to shut down my Etsy page for art commissions, because people were being a bunch of dicks, so now I’m down one job. So I got another. Because rent is fucking expensive.”

Nancy makes a gesture with her hand. “And that’s with it rent controlled.”

Eddie makes a gesture toward her. “Also, I blew all of my savings moving out here, so I am trying to build those back up.”

“Aw, look at you being financially responsible,” Robin teases. Poking Eddie’s arm.

“You’re growing up,” Nancy eggs on. Feigning wiping away tears.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You guys are the worst. I knew it was a bad idea getting a job here.”

“I don’t think I ever envisioned you being a barista,” Argyle notes. “Bartender, yes. Barista, no.”

“Well, I work the late shift too. So I am both of those things.”

“Oo,” Robin turns around on the couch. Standing on her knees to see him better. “Do you get a discount? Can we abuse it?”

Eddie shakes off her hand. “Yes, I get a discount, no you cannot abuse it. I sort of need this job, so I’d rather not get fired. It says strictly in the rules that I cannot use it for friends.”

Robin falls back down, defeated. “Boo, you’re no fun.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Eddie walks away behind the counter. Cleaning off the counter and starting to make someone’s order.

“I’m going to go get something to drink,” Steve says, standing up. “You want anything, Rob?”

“Just a green tea. Not feeling coffee right now.”

Steve nods while going over to the counter. Sitting down at one of the stools. “So, you work here now.”

“I thought that was already established.” Eddie hands off the drink he was making to the girl further down. Coming to stand in front of Steve.

“Is that why you couldn’t come over last night? You could have said that.”

Eddie shrugs. “I didn’t want you to know, quite yet. Thought you wouldn’t really like how much I bounce around jobs.”

“You’re not though. You have a job, you just needed a second one. No shame in that.” Steve leans further across the bar. “It also helps that I find bartenders to be really hot.”

“Steven,” Eddie gasps. “I am at work.”

Steve smirks. “I know.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Did you want anything, or are you just here to flirt with me?”

“Only if flirting with you gets me a discount. Otherwise, I’ll just take my business elsewhere.”

“Is that really all I am to you?” Eddie starts making Steve’s usual drink order. Waiting for the espresso to brew.

“And Rob wanted a green tea.”

Eddie nods, pouring some hot water into a glass and adding a tea bag. “How was work?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t even get me started. The first day is always hard.”

“Oh, I bet.” Eddie steams the milk, adding it to the top of the espresso and drizzling it with caramel.

“And I just can’t wait until I get to hear all of the single, and not so single, PTA moms throwing their cheap pick-up lines at me.” Steve says that with a leading tone. Hoping that Eddie takes that in the direction he wants it to.

Eddie slides the drinks across the bar. “That something they do,” he says, with a lilt of jealousy.

“Every year. Without fail.”

“Any way I can help with that?”

“Come over later and find out.” Steve gives him a flirtatious smile. “What do I owe you?”

Eddie waves his hand. “It’s on the house.”

“I was joking before. Seriously, what so I owe you.”

“And now I’m being serious. I get a free drink a day that I can give out to a friend, so consider that covering Rob’s, and then I am personally paying for yours.”

“What was it about needing to save up money?”

“That doesn’t apply to you, sweetheart.” Eddie leans over the bar a little bit, palms pressed into the edge of the counter.

“Steve,” Robin yells from the couch. “I thought you were getting us drinks.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m paying next time, no arguments.”

“Whatever you say so.”

He walks back over to the group and hands Robin her tea.

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low,

@thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady,

@apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic,

@fearieshadow, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging,

@potato-of-the-lord, @autumncrocusandladybug, @estrellami-1, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @gregre369

@my2amgaythoughts, @ellietheasexylibrarian, @emmabubbles, @eriquin, @grtwdsmwhr

@croatoan-like-its-hot, @dreamercec, @dreamy-jeans137

[sugusearrings]

( ' glass children. ' )

violet wrists and then her ankles, silent pain. then he slowly saw their nightmares were his dreams. monster, how should I feel? creatures lie here, looking through the windows i will hear their voices. i'm a glass child, i am hannah's regrets.

— summary: with the star plasma vessel dead, satoru and suguru need you (fem!reader) to lead them to their next path. — genre: angst. heartbreak. — playing: monster by meg & dia — note(s): i'm a sucker for what ifs. i love what ifs. good and bad. i thought about this what if a lot. i wanted to write about this since halloween and didn't have time to post it. i just know suguru and satoru are better than me cause everyone would have gotten this smoke. that's all imma say. anyways, mentions of blood & death. probably some spelling errors here and there. — word count: 866

Those beautiful cerulean blue hues still sparkled as the light down on them.

But the spark of life was gone. They were dull. Lifeless. Emotionless. You never saw them like this before.

You could feel the anxiety swallowing you whole. If someone looked closely, they can see your legs trembling slightly. The two boys in front of you were having a brief conversation but you couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything over the loud sounds of your heart rate picking up at a rapid pace. You couldn’t even hear the round of applause the strangers that crowded around the white hair teenager who held the lifeless body like he did the first time meeting her.

They were clapping for Satoru. Fucking clapping.

You just stared at the crowd in disbelief. What kind of people would approve of this? What kind of people are happy over this? The death of a young girl.

A young girl you considered your friend.

Monsters...monsters... “Suguru...should we kill these guys? The way I am right now I doubt I’d feel anything.” His voice was hoarse. But what made your heart ache was hearing no emotion in his tone. It matched his stare. Dull. Lifeless. Emotionless. Your eyes went over to Suguru. His back was faced to Satoru but you saw his almond shaped eyes were as wide as they can be but soon he pulled himself back together. He always does. He has too. “No. There’s no point. It’ll be dissolved soon enough.” His voice mimic the tone Satoru set. He began to walk towards the door to get out of there. He was sick of the clapping and the smell of the dried blood that lingeried. He was sick of this. He was sick of this life. He was sick of death. He was sick of curses. “No point, huh? Does there really need to be any point to it?” Satoru asked or stated. You couldn’t really tell. You went to follow behind Suguru like a lost puppy but Satoru called out your name.

“Name...”

"Y-yes...Satoru?" your gentle voice trembled.

"What do you think we should do?" Satoru asked you. His eyes didn’t look at you. They just looked straight ahead into nothing. Suguru's eyes went over to you almost forgetting you were even there. Your eyes was puffy and red from crying. You were the emotional one out of the three. That's why Satoru would tease you about being weak. You were a crybaby. But Suguru didn't see an issue with it, he likes you like this. So did Satoru but he wouldn't openly admit it. You reminded him about those certain emotions he swore he couldn’t feel anymore. "Name...what should we do?" Suguru also asked willing to do anything you said. The self proclaimed brains of this trio couldn’t think straight or logically. So it was up to you.

The boys looked over at you for an answer. An answer you didn't have. This wasn't fair. These higher ups using you children. Not caring if you killed one another or died in front of each other. You loved your best friends. Especially Satoru and Suguru, willing to do anything to protect them. Even Riko. They were the only family you have. But would the higher ups mourn you? Would the higher ups sink into a dark hole of depression? Would the higher ups get revenge on you? Or would they replace you like a piece of livestock. They would probably replace you in a matter of days.

They probably would assign Satoru and Suguru a mission while your ashes are still warm.

Satoru and Suguru.

The thought of leaving them behind made you feel sick at the pit of your stomach. How would Satoru handle it? You knew Suguru would break in a matter of days. He bottles so much inside of him it would just burst out. Would they keep it together if you were to die? Or would they lose it themselves.

You know you would lose it if either of them or both of them were to die. Leaving you all alone. To defend yourself. To love yourself. You couldn’t imagine a world without them. The three of you were glued to each other, couldn’t really function without the other.

You could feel the anger replacing the fear and anxiety. On the inside your morals and humanity was being teared apart, stripped away from you the more you stared at Riko's lifeless body in Satoru's arms covered by a thin white cloth. "Name..." Suguru called out to you once more. There wasn’t much time to make a decision. "Kill them," you finally answered losing all emotions you had that day, "kill them all." That's all Satoru needed to hear. His lips formed a wicked grin as Suguru silently summoned the rainbow dragon. You stood watched the blood being splattered on the walls and floors. The screams made you smile like that day on the beach with your best friends.

That’s where your mind was. The day on the beach with Riko and Satoru laughing at the sea cucumber while you, Suguru, and Misato were on the beach towels just watching them with smile of your faces.

[lght-roastcoffee]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ Always ⋆ ˚｡⋆

prompt: "If you won't take care of yourself, I will."┆Tuna-Tober ⊹ Day 5

pairing: dofp!Charles Xavier x fem!Reader

wordcount: 2.4K

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drug use, angst, broken Charles

author's note: So I’ve missed two days now… I really did intend to stick to the one story per day, but my week so far has been busy with work and college, and I think I’m getting sick so I haven’t been as willing to write when I go home. But I have the day off Friday, so I’m going to try and crank out at least the next two prompts (Day 7 & 8) just to kind of catch up a little bit. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢-𝘵𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

It’s been hard, the past few years. Leaving everything behind and traveling to a new country is never easy. However, he encouraged me to do so. After Cuba, I received an offer from Oxford University to take up Charles’ old position when he left to start Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. He said it would be a great opportunity for me and seeing how he acted with Moira, I thought getting away for a while would be the best decision for the two of us. 

I grew up living next to Charles and going to school with him and Raven. I met Charles in school when we were young. We were in a science class when my mutation developed, going over the parts of a plant and its inner workings when I could feel the teacher’s poor plant crying out to me in hunger. Mrs. Duvall hadn’t been watering it regularly and the pain I felt from the plant was agonizing. 

I lost control, the plant rapidly growing as its vines stretched up the walls and ceiling of the classroom, encircling Mrs. Duvall and the other students before I could hear another voice in my head. It was Charles Xavier, he had introduced himself. I needed to calm my mind and relax before any more damage could be done. I was able to find his bright blue eyes from across the room and it helped me calm down. Since then, Charles has been my only true friend, no one after that day willing to interact with the “freaky plant girl.” And after he found Raven in his kitchen that one, fateful night, the three of us have been like family to each other.

As we grew older, though, and we all moved to London-Charles and I for Oxford, Raven just to be close to us-I found myself falling for Charles’ boyish charms. His confidence, for one, was unlike anything I had seen in a man. Not only was his ability powerful and he knew how to control it, he was incredibly smart and used that for good. His research and interests opened new possibilities for him as a professor and intellectual mind. 

I had gone to Oxford for similar reasons, but mainly for research on mutations, like Charles, but also to research plant biology. What I learned in my studies helped unlock new aspects of my mutation. I can grow almost any plant imaginable, as well as experiment with creating my own. I can create deadly poisons and toxins that are beautiful to the human eye. 

After graduating, I decided I’d start my own path and travel the world discovering all there is to offer in my mutation and help those in need. I traveled to impoverished regions of the world and helped their farmers grow all kinds of produce and food for the people. I taught them how to find the best soils, the best fertilizers, and quickly, these places saw improvement in their hunger and trade. 

I continued this until one day, while I was in a secluded corner of the world helping someone recover their diseased crops, I felt an itch against my mind. I immediately knew it was Charles, my old friend I hadn’t seen in who knows how long. The brief, but most welcome contact brought a smile to my face despite the confusion of my students. And within days, he was there, with his cerulean blue eyes and smug smirk on his face, asking me to join him on his recent mission. How could I say no to him ever?

So I followed him to D.C., right into the CIA compound labeled as Division X where I reunited with Raven and met the other mutant recruits, as well as agent Moira MacTaggert. My feelings for Charles seemed to return the longer we were together. I followed him on his missions, my mutation and knowledge of it coming in handy at times. I got to know Erik Lehnsherr, who noticed my predicament quite early and secretly teased me, earning more whips from my vines than gentleness. 

But I saw how Charles looked at Moira and listened to his flirtatious comments. She was beautiful and had a brilliant mind, so open to the discovery of mutants and welcoming to us all. Erik tried to tell me differently, Raven, too. But I knew what I was seeing. If he was into me how I was him, why would he be making advances on Moira?

Then the fight on that beach in Cuba happened so fast. Erik throwing out Charles’ plan and declaring his own war against humanity. The bullet piercing Charles’ spine, leaving him paralyzed. And Raven taking Erik’s hand in the end and disappearing. There was no going back to the way things were. 

After we returned to the mansion in New York, Charles and I started making plans to open our own school for the children with mutations who had nowhere else to go. A place they could come to have a normal education while learning how to control their abilities. Moira helped, too, which I will forever be grateful for. A human willing to risk their career to help those who have previously tried to harm her. But she also helped Charles. The lingering touches, the niceties exchanged in hushed tones.

When it all became too much, my heart breaking more and more as I watched them around the mansion, I applied for the open position at Oxford. I didn’t mean to keep it secret, but I genuinely forgot about it, not thinking I’d get the job. But when a letter came in the mail, wheeled in on Charles’ lap, the guilt washed over me. 

He smiled at me, bright and genuine as he handed the envelope over and watched me open it. I remember a hand flying to my mouth in utter shock as I read the acceptance letter. I remember the warmth of Charles’ arms around my frame as I fell into his embrace, laughing along with me. I remember the completely genuine words of encouragement he said to me, telling me to pursue this opportunity and go to Oxford. 

Within the week, I was flying to London with my life packed back to Oxford and saying goodbyes to my remaining friends. Charles promised we’d call each week to recount our days. This only lasted the first few months before the calls started becoming nonexistent. I tried to visit as often as I could in the beginning, too. I’d fly over and surprise Charles at his new school, visit with some of his students, then return to London to continue my research and lectures. But work for both of us started piling up and never gave way for me to visit again. I wrote occasionally, hoping to hear from him, or even Hank, but never did. 

Soon, the years started to go by. I missed him. I tried dating to occupy myself when work allowed me, but no one ever lived up to my memories of Charles. I watched the broadcasts of President Kennedy the day he was assassinated, catching a glimpse of what looked like Erik, and tried calling the mansion again with no luck. My concern continued to build and build until I was given a week's vacation time for my contributions at Oxford and booked the first flight to New York. 

Now, as I follow the familiar roads to the Xavier mansion, I notice the front gate in shambles, like no one has been living there for some time now. I have to get out of my car to open the gates and let myself in. It’s evident that the maintenance of the mansion has been lacking as the drive up to the house has become somewhat overgrown. The fountain out front has dried up and started cracking in places and vines and hedges have started overtaking the front of the mansion, which is covered in dirt and moss from mismanagement. 

I walk up to the doors of what I used to call home and knock on the hardwood. I hear silence as time passes. I knock again and this time I can barely make out what sounds like running. The door jiggles as someone from inside unlocks it and cracks it open. Hank’s face appears, lacking his signature blue fur and pointed canines. 

“Y/N?” Hank asked, shock covering his features. “W-what are you doing here? I thought you were at Oxford?”

“I was- Am,” I say. “I got an extended vacation and thought I’d visit, since it’s been a while.”

I try to look past him into the foyer of the mansion, seeing nothing but darkness. “What happened?”

Empathy clouds his eyes. “Look, it’s not a good time right now. I’m sorry.”

“Where’s Charles?” I question as my nerves set on high alert. “What happened to the school?”

“He’s- he’s resting right now.” Hank adjusts his stance, blocking my gaze from looking inside.

“Resting? Is something wrong?” I frantically search his face to find something that will answer my questions.

“It’s really not a good time-” I cut him off.

“Hank, if you don’t let me in right now, I’ll string you up to the roof.”

I push past him, probably shoving a little harder than necessary. I thought I’d never see the mansion in the state it’s in, one of disarray and time long passed. 

“Where’s Charles?” I demand from Hank. “I need to see him.”

“He’s upstairs, but-” 

I don’t stay long enough to hear the rest of his sentence. I race up the stairs, checking each room I pass as I go. Soon I stopped at what used to be my room when I would stay over. Clothes, empty whiskey bottles, glasses, and trash covers the room. More concerningly, syringes are scattered across the nightstand next to the unkempt bed. Lying on top of the blankets is the body of the man I called my friend. 

I take in the state of him. His hair grew longer, reaching his shoulders and looking like it hasn’t been washed in days. His once clean-shaven face is full with a beard in desperate need of a shave. His once bright and energetic blue eyes now stare at the ceiling in a dull daze. He’s dressed in a ratted robe, stained t-shirt, and pajama pants, something I never would have expected to see him in. One of his arms is lying next to him bare of the robe and an elastic band tied around his bicep, a used syringe discarded next to him. 

“Charles…” I whisper, tears forming in my eyes at the sight of my friend broken. 

His head snaps to the side to look at me finally, confusion then realization crossing over his face.

“Y/N…” 

I rush to his side, quickly working to undo the band around his arm and moving the syringe. Then I take his hand, his other reaching out to touch my face in disbelief. 

“You’re here,” Charles whispers shakily, tears quickly falling from his eyes. 

My other hand wipes the tears falling as he caresses my cheek. “I’m here, Charles.”

We sit there in silence for a while before he decides to sit up. I helped him, also noticing him using his legs.

“Charles, your legs,” I gasp. 

He sighs, what looks like shame forming in his eyes. 

“What happened, Charles?” I move so he can swing his legs over the side before wrapping him in my arms once more.

“It all became too much,” he whispered into my shoulder. “It was all too much. I couldn’t shut them out.”

He told me about opening the school after I left. About the success he saw in that time. He told me about the building war and U.S. relations in Vietnam, how students, teachers, and staff were getting drafted exponentially more than anyone else in the vicinity. How everytime he used Cerebro, all he could see were mutant men and children drafted getting killed on the battlefield. The toll it took on him and his control of his abilities. He told me how it became overwhelming, the voices and pain in his head when he finally lost control. He told me about the serum Hank created to help him block out the pain and how it canceled out his powers, but gave him back his legs.

By the end, he was breaking down in my arms and I latched myself to him. One hand found its way to his hair, combing through the long tendrils as the other rubbing up and down his back. His sobs wrecked through me, pulling tears from my own eyes. 

After a while, his sobs quieted, but he didn’t let go. If anything, his hold on me seemed to tighten, almost like he’s afraid to let go. 

“I’m so sorry, Charles,” I whisper into the side of his head, pressing a gentle kiss there. 

He pulls back to look me in the eyes, his eyes glistening with relief. “I’m- I’m happy you’re here. But I…” He pauses, swallowing on words unsaid.

“It’s alright, I’m here now.” I smooth his hair back from his face, feeling him slightly lean into the touch. “Let me take care of you.”

His brows scrunch together, eyes closing. He starts to pull away, shaking his head. “No, it’s fine. I-I’m fine.”

I sigh, reaching for his hands again. “Charles, respectfully, if you won’t take care of yourself, I will.”

With that, I led him into the familiar en suite bathroom, setting him down on the toilet and grabbing the brush on the sink counter. I stand between Charles’ legs and his hands come up to the sides of my thighs. Gently, I work the brush through his hair, hitting more knots than I expected, but working them out as softly as I can.

Once the knots have disappeared and Charles’ face has begun to relax, I set my hands on both sides of his face, tilting it up so he’s looking at me.

“There’s some things we still need to talk about,” I begin, rubbing my thumb along his cheek. “But I want you to know that I am here for you. For whatever you need, Charles.”

I lean down and press a kiss to his hairline, feeling him slightly squeeze his hands still on my thighs. 

“Thank you,” He whispers, finally smiling slightly.

“I’ll always be here.”

[ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult]

All Press Is Good Press

A/N: This is part 2 to Bad PR. It feels like it took me way too long to write but I hope you enjoy it. Also, it's written with a black reader in mind and all credit goes to the original creators of the series and gifs.

Warnings: Some swearing, sensuality, and I was sick when I wrote this.

Word count: 9.3k

   

       “Run!” I shouted, shoving Marie behind me as Luke slowly approached us.

        My heart rate had slowed down dangerously, and I could hear my blood pulsing in my ears. Before I knew it, Luke’s body was ablaze and we flew at each other. At the last second, I set off my ability to block him from burning me and grabbed his shoulders.

        “Luke, breathe, it’s me, Y/N!” I pleaded.

        Luke’s eyes were both angry and hollow. “You were a part of this, you knew about this.”

       “I don’t know what you’re talking about but, if you extinguish yourself, we can talk about it,” I tried.

        “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

       He yelled as the fire around him increased and I felt my ability pushing against my skin as if it would rip itself out of me. But, I was desperate to put out his flames. I’d done it before and I could do it, had to do it again. The wind whirled around us and from the corner of my eye, I could see papers, fire, and other objects flying around us. Suddenly, the air around me felt hotter and something dark in Luke’s eyes flashed.

     I screamed as we flew several yards and he shoved me into the hard floor. Suddenly, the air stopped moving around me and I felt like I was suffocating under the heat. Luke kneeled above me and slowly wrapped his hand around my throat.

  “Luke…please…stop,” I begged, his hand warming with each word.

  I wanted to scream as he seared my neck but as soon as it started, it was over. Luke was suddenly off me and Jordan was standing in front of me in their masculine form.

   “Y/N, get out of here!” they yelled.

   “ I can’t believe you did that!” they seethed at me, moving as quickly as possible through the Crimefighting building hallway.

   It was the day after the joint interview with Marie and I hadn’t been able to sleep the night before. I knew Jordan would be furious since I told them that I would get Marie to recant everything.

  “Jordan, I’m sorry, I can explain.”

  At that, they stopped and whirled around to face me, fury in their eyes. “Okay, explain. Explain how you and that freshman decided to royally screw me over and keep me at Number Five.”

 “It’s not that simple, Marie has way more going on and she’s not trying to hurt anyone.”

 “And what about you? You were already Number Three and then you play along to kick me out of the number two spot?” They laughed humorlessly. “And the fact that they had you in white, making you look like a saint and show off the burn scar and the cast to highlight your sacrifice, genius.”

   The more they spoke, the more I wanted to cry. “I know it’s messed up and I know that this has made things difficult for you, but I can fix it, I promise.”

  “Like Liza would let you.”

 “I don’t have to do everything she tells me.”

“But you do everything she tells you. You say what she wants you to say, you post what she wants you to post, you wear what she wants you to wear, and you date who she wants you to date.”

“You’re the one who broke up with me, remember? You’re the one who said you wanted me to focus on my career, right, well, that’s what’s a part of it.” I adjusted my bag on my shoulder. “Just forget I said anything, I won’t bother you again.”

“Y/N…”

“Y/N, over here!”

  I flinched at the blinding camera lights but managed to smile, hand on my hip as I tried to reach all the best angles. The past couple of weeks had been a blur of flashing cameras, interviews, and tragedy. For some reason, school officials thought the best way to acknowledge all that was with a fundraising gala slash memorial for Brink.

   All the photographers were yelling different instructions and Liza hovered a few feet behind me, muttering notes. Turn my head this way, squint a little, laugh a little  It was eerily easy to smile for pictures, laugh when Andre messed up a TikTok challenge, and joke with some people on campus. For once, all the noise was nice, it was like a shield from anything bad. Then, when I was alone in my room, the thoughts came in.

   You’re a fraud. You should’ve partnered with Marie to give Jordan the credit during that interview. You weren’t strong enough to beat Luke, you never were. You’re weak and spineless. What did Jordan ever see in you? Sometimes tears came, sometimes they didn’t. It was probably a good thing that I was forced into attending this event.

   Liza had insisted I attend the gala that night, arguing that it would be bad publicity if one of Brink’s top students did not attend. Plus, it would not give the public a chance to see Andre and me interacting in a formal setting.

    After a couple of more pictures, I gestured to my parents, who were standing by Liza, to join me. They hesitated but Liza shooed them in my direction and they flanked me. When I took a second to look at them, they both looked so happy, not the kind of happy that I feigned but, true happiness.

     “You make this look easy sweetheart,” Dad chuckled.

      I sighed. “It’s all practice, Dad.”

      “Mr. Y/L/N, how do you feel about Y/N being a Guardian of Godolkin?” a reporter shouted.

       “Couldn’t be prouder of my little girl!” He called back.

       “She’s always been a hero and this is just another time she’s proved it!” Mom added, squeezing my side.

     I smiled sheepishly, the urge to tell the truth about that day bubbling in the back of my throat. Instead, I said, “It was nothing, I was trying to protect Marie and she didn’t really need my help.”

     Then, the crowd started to roar, and I glanced down the red carpet to see Andre and Polarity approaching us. They both had wide PR-approved smiles on as they posed together. When they reached us, Polarity shook hands with Dad, hugged Mom, and kissed my cheek.

      “It’s great to see you again,” he whispered before pulling away.

      “You too, Mr. Anderson,” I replied.

    Liza quickly coordinated our parents to move further up the red carpet and instructed Andre to stand on my right. “Her left is her best side.”

     He slowly wrapped his arm around my shoulders and I tried to relax my shoulders as the camera flashes continued. I couldn’t have been more grateful to Liza for not making us match. Instead, Andre’s light blue suit and my metallic silver halter gown were complimentary.

            “Andre, over here!”

            “They look great together!”

            “Andre, give her a kiss!”

            Andre laughed. “Not into PDA!” he called.

            “And we’re here as friends,” I added with a smile.

     Fortunately, Andre and I never had to do anything too intimate to garner attention. A few social media posts here and there and suddenly, we had the public filling in the dots that Vought wanted them to.

    After what felt like an eternity, Liza hurried us into the venue. The lighting was nice, not too bright nor too dark. Servers looped the area with flutes of champagne bubbling on top of their trays. A few alumni and upper-crust students were already mingling, all dressed in tuxes and gowns.

            “You two did perfectly, social media is going crazy about this,” Liza reported without looking up from either of her phones.

          “It’s not hard with a face like this,” Andre joked as he stroked his jaw.

            I laughed. “Please, I’m literally outshining you right now.”

            “I must say, you two do make a good couple,” Polarity commented.

            I smiled tightly. “Thanks.”

            “Now, don’t forget, we need you to get at least five shots together interacting with other attendees. Make it look natural, we don’t want to ruin the illusion,” Liza instructed.

            “Illusion is the right word,” I muttered.

            Liza arched an eyebrow at me and I stared back at her, offering a fake smile with a tilt of my head. “Watch the attitude, Y/N.”

            “Don’t worry, I’ll be delightful and charming to everyone I encounter,” I said.

      For a second, I glanced at Mom and thought I saw something flash across her eyes. Before I could address it, Andre gently pulled me further into the party.

     Schmoozing was an incredibly easy task. All one needed to do was smile, repeat the last thing the other person said as a question, and thank them for coming to the event. Andre and I spoke with around ten people, ensuring pictures were taken before we were left alone.

            “Nice job, partner,” Andre teased.

            “Back at ya,” I said, leaning on the table closest to us. “How long do we have to keep this up?”

            “An hour but, this,” Andre snagged a couple of champagne flutes from a passing server, “should make it go quicker.”             I smiled as I accepted the glass. “Thank you, but I meant this.” I gestured between the two of us.

            “What? Is there already trouble in the water?”

            “Please, Andre, I know I’m not your type. I’m not white nor am I taken.”

            Andre almost choked on his champagne and wiped his face. “What the hell are you talking about? “

            I rolled my eyes. “Cate’s my best friend, she tells me everything. But going after your best friend’s girlfriend, that’s pretty low.”

            “It’s complicated,” Andre muttered.

            I shrugged and downed the champagne. “How about we give it another couple of weeks and then you and Cate can go official and you won’t have to deal with fake cheating rumors?”

            “Y/N, I know this is a bad situation for both of us but, we’ve got to play it right.”

       Play it right, that’s all anyone was ever interested in. Finding the best angle or the best spin on things. It made me sick to my stomach knowing that all this had taken up the past five years of my life.

            “Don’t worry, I won’t use this as leverage to make you look bad,” I assured, setting my empty glass on a passing server’s tray.

            Andre opened his mouth to say something but cut himself off. “Sorry, I got to run to the bathroom. See you later?”

            “Sure.”

         As soon as he left, Dean Shetty and Marie appeared at my table.

           “Y/N, you are a star tonight,” Dean Shetty complimented, giving me a quick hug.

        Dean Shetty had been incredibly attentive in the last couple of weeks. Since the Luke incident, she insisted we had weekly check-ins and when I mentioned my sleeping issues, she gave me a prescription.

           “We can’t have one of our Guardians of Godolkin losing any sleep,” she’d said.

       With everything going on, it was nice to have someone as stable as Dean Shetty in my ear and in my corner. In our check ins, she truly listened to me and helped me make sense of the mess in my head.

            “Thank you, Dean, you don’t look too bad yourself,” I replied.

            “Y/N, wow,” Marie greeted.

            I smiled and gave her a side hug. “I could say the same to you.”

       She truly did look stunning in her floor-length red corset dress, her twists pulled away from her face. Her shoulders slumped slightly as she picked up the skirt to stand next to Dean Shetty.

            A server paused at our table. “More champagne?”

         I thanked her as I plucked another flute off the tray and started sipping.

            “You should be proud of Marie, Y/N, she’s done wonderfully tonight with our donors,” Dean Shetty said, squeezing Marie’s hand.

            The freshman smiled sheepishly. “I listened to Dean Shetty’s advice.”

            “You’re a quick learner and humble, that’s good,” I said, pointing at her.

            “I must also say that I am grateful that you joined us tonight. It would not have been the same without both of our Guardians of Godolkin,” Dean Shetty commented.

        No matter how much time passed, the name still made me cringe. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marie scratch the back of her neck and stare down at the table.

            “Of course. Professor Brink was a large influence on my life and I’m glad that I was able to be here, honor his memory, and hopefully get more money for the school,” I replied.

            Dean Shetty seemed pleased and grabbed her clutch. “Now, if you would excuse me, I have a few other alumni to schmooze.

            As soon as she walked away, Marie slid closer to me. “How are you holding up?”

            “Great.” I downed the last of my champagne and used a breeze to slip another flute from a passing server’s tray into my hand.

            “Not to be a prude but, shouldn’t you slow down?” Marie asked.

            I smirked at her. “Don’t worry, Marie, I know my limits. This isn’t enough to get me to trip in my heels but hey, more people in your favor.”

            Marie sighed. “I’m sorry about you getting dragged into all this. This is never what I wanted.”

            “You didn’t drag me into anything; I knew what I was doing when I went along with the story,” I assured her. “Besides, you came to GOD U to be a hero, and you can’t be a hero without attention.”

          “But this wasn’t my plan. I was supposed to keep my head down and survive,” Marie argued.

          “Well, things rarely go to plan and your success has been fast-tracked, congratulations,” I muttered.

            “What’s going on? You seem a lot different since the last time we talked,” Marie commented.

            I swirled my glass. “Marie, I’m going to give you some advice, if you want to be a hero, you have to make sacrifices.”             “That’s something Brink wrote,” Marie thought out loud.

            “And he was right, but he left out the part where you don’t get to decide what to sacrifice. He also forgot to mention how you are a commodity and these people…these people who tell you that you are perfect and special turn around and say that there’s this one thing holding you back. You can keep this one thing but, you lose the money, the reputation, the followers, and the fans, and a hero is nothing without any of that,” I confessed. 

            “But, you have a choice,” Marie countered.

       No, I didn’t, no one did. But Marie would learn that eventually, and maybe we could sit down one day and compare notes. I laughed humorlessly at the thought and sipped more champagne.

            When would this night end?

            “Excuse me, are you Marie Moreau?” Mom asked, sidling next to me.

            Marie nodded. “Yes, I am.”

            “I must say it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Mrs. Y/L/N,” she greeted, extending a hand to Marie.

            “It’s nice to meet you,” Marie replied, shaking her hand.

            “Has Y/N been showing you the ropes of all this?” Mom asked, gesturing around us.

            “Yes, Y/N has been great with everything. I’m learning a lot from her,” Marie stated.

        I straightened up slowly and started drawing patterns on the tablecloth. “She’ll be Vought’s new favorite before we know it.”

       Marie flinched and her eyes widened while Mom looked at me as though I said there was a headless chicken doing laps outside. Honestly, I did not mean to be so surly but the words just slipped out.

            “Kidding,” I sang, downing the last of my champagne.

            “Do you mind if I borrow my daughter for a moment?” Mom asked.

            “Of course not.”

       Mom slowly guided me away from the table, taking a moment to pause and smile at the cameras as we made our way through the space. Her grip on my arm was firm----the way it tended to be whenever she was upset with something I did. When we were out of earshot from enough people, she turned to me.

            “Y/N, what is going on with you?” she asked.

            “Nothing, I’m having a great night. I’m wearing Laquan Smith, I’m drinking expensive champagne, everyone’s happy and smiling tonight; what else could I want?” I argued.

            “Do not lie to me, Y/N. You’ve looked miserable all night and I can’t stand it. Now tell me, you can tell me anything, honey, you know that.”

      Before Vought noticed me, it was relaxing to talk to my mom about everything: school, stress, crushes, and the future. Now, it felt like if I was not super positive, I would add a burden to her and Dad. They were doing so well now, and I was not going to mess that up. I could handle this, I’ve always been able to handle this.

       Then, when I looked back up at her, there was so much warmth and concern in her aging mahogany eyes. There was the slightest hint of a frown on her forehead and I suddenly felt this strange invisible weight lift from my shoulders.

            “I messed up so bad, Mom,” I whispered.

            “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

            “I messed up with everything. I’m barely hanging on in all my classes, my footwork is sloppy in training, and I totally screwed over Jordan, and they didn’t do anything to deserve it,” I rambled.

        Mom gently moved her hands to grasp my shoulders and pulled me into a hug. Tears burned my eyes but they wouldn’t fall as I embraced her warmth and the scent of peonies and lilac. She ran her hand over my head and hummed.

            “Nothing you said is anything you can’t fix,” she stated.

            I slowly pulled away and looked up at her. “What?”

            Mom sighed. “This is not the first time you have met a setback, Y/N. You’ve had plenty of them, from racist classmates to adjusting when Dad lost his job. You can improve your grades and work on your skills.”

           At her words, I nodded, wondering if I would know exactly what to say at that age.

            “What about Jordan?”

            “I know they make you happy and you would light up in their presence. So, I don’t think you two can’t make up,” Mom admitted.

            I rolled my eyes. “But what about Liza? If I go against her, I’ll lose all the backing and…and you and Dad will----”

            Mom held up a hand. “First of all, never roll your eyes at me. Second, your father and I will be fine. Our mortgage is paid, we both work now, and we’ll do just fine. Have you been worried about us all this time?”

            I nodded. “I know you really struggled before the Compound V took and I didn’t want to ruin anything for you two. You’ve been so happy, and I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

            “Y/N, you could never disappoint us. You have been so, so amazing your entire life. We’ve been so happy because we are just that proud of you and we know you’ll do amazing things,” Mom insisted. “Your happiness is important too, don’t ever forget that.”

       On instinct, I hugged her so tightly that I thought I would crush her. But, she patted my back to let me know that she was okay. Her laugh made me laugh and I felt like an idiot when I couldn’t stop laughing even when I pulled away.

            “But who says Jordan would take me back? They broke up with me and I played along with Vought and that must have hurt them.”

            “Try not to overthink it. Come on, their memorial video is about to start.”

      As the video played, I could barely focus on not looking at Jordan. They were sitting at a table with their parents across the room. Both were whispering animatedly to a suit while Jordan sat across from them, looking like they wanted to cry. Jordan rarely cried, not even when they dislocated their shoulder during a sparring match sophomore year. Their parents were always a difficult topic, and I was stunned when Jordan brought me to meet them during a parent's weekend.

            “Just try not to make any reference to my other form,” they’d insisted.

            “Okay, I won’t,” I’d replied.

       The Lis were nice enough but, they always referred to Jordan as “their son” or “my boy” or “he”. It made me nauseous just thinking about it and how many breakdowns they’d had about their parents not accepting them. I wanted to hug them or distract them with top-shelf liquor. Then, Jordan looked up at me and I knew exactly how deer felt in the headlights.

       My heart ached as I slowly turned away just in time to see a picture of myself and Brink flash across the screen. It was from sophomore year after I helped solve an ongoing serial robbery case. Jordan had helped me with that but insisted I did most of the heavy lifting.

      Finally, the video ended and I snatched another champagne flute from a passing server as Dean Shetty returned to the podium amidst the applause.

            “Professor Brink always had an eye for outstanding students, and I know that he would want all of you to continue your generosity to foster their talent. There are a couple of students I would like to highlight tonight,” she stated.

            Liza leaned over the table. “Remember, shoulders back, head up like a princess.”

            “Uh-huh,” I muttered.

            “And where is Andre? This would be a great photo op!” she hissed.

            “I don’t know.”

            “First is Marie Moreau, a freshman who has become an asset to our community as a Guardian of Godolkin, showcasing such courage and wit in the face of adversity.” Dean Shetty gestured to the left of the stage, where Marie stood and smiled at the applause. “Second is a name I know you are all very familiar with. Y/N Y/L/N has created a positive whirlwind before she stepped foot on our campus. She has used this whirlwind not only to inspire other young people to dedicate their time to philanthropy and their studies, but to assist Marie in protecting our campus.”

      The spotlight was harsh, but I took Liza’s advice and posed the best I could. I desperately wanted to look at Jordan, to tell them I did not want any of this, that I wanted them to have the credit, but I endured the second round of applause. When the applause ended and the spotlight went away, I grabbed my champagne.

            “Not bad, but your smile didn’t reach your eyes,” Liza noted.

            “I’ll work on it.”

     The bubbles tickled the back of my throat and I looked over at Jordan again. They were looking down at their hands as their parents continued speaking with a different suit. For a split second, I wished that I could switch powers with Cate and have an idea of what they were thinking.

“…and don’t forget to schmooze some other donors. Did you get pictures with Marie?” Liza droned.

“I think Y/N has done enough schmoozing for tonight, Liza,” Dad interrupted.

“Excuse me, Mr. Y/L/N, but my job is to make sure that your daughter is seen is the best possible light at all times and---”

“Would you all excuse me?” I asked, standing.

      Without waiting for a reply, I made my way across the room, ignoring some other kids who asked for pictures or donors who kept eyeing my backside. Once I was at the Lis table, I froze. I hadn’t prepared anything and my head was totally empty.

This was bad.

Just when I was about to sprint back to my chair, Mrs. Li noticed me.

            “Oh, Y/N, it’s so good to see you!” Mrs. Li exclaimed.

            Thankfully, my PR training kicked in.

            “Good evening, Mrs. Li. How are you?” I replied.

             She stood and hugged me for a few seconds “Oh, you look beautiful. Doesn’t she look beautiful, honey?” She turned to Mr. Li.

            “Yes, my boy knows how to pick ‘em,” Mr. Li said with a grin.

             I blinked back the shock of my words and smiled slowly. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

            “No, we were done,” Mrs. Li insisted.

     Suit Guy nodded and excused himself while Mrs. Li gently pulled me down to sit next to her. Jordan stared at me the same way they did when I disagreed with them on a floor plan on Property Brothers. Honestly, I couldn’t blame them.

            “Y/N, I must say, I was so sad when Jordan told us you broke up,” Mrs. Li admitted.

            That made two of us.

            “And it was so unexpected. You two were inseparable,” Mr. Li added.

            I nodded. “Yeah, well, things change.” I took a long swig of my champagne.  

            “And where are your parents tonight, Y/N?” Mr. Li asked.

            “They’re here. I think they’ve been talking Polarity’s ear off,” I replied.

            That wasn’t too much of a lie. Dad was happy taking pictures with him on the red carpet and Mom thought that he was okay.

            Mr. Li let out a low whistle. “Impressive. You and Andre do make a nice couple, no offense, Jordan.”

            “None taken, Dad,” they scoffed.

            I hesitated for a second. “We’re just friends…Andre and me, we’re just friends. We’ve just been hanging out a lot more lately.”

        For a second, I hoped Jordan listened to me but I couldn’t tell as their eyes wandered away from their parents and me. This was a mistake, such a stupid mistake. I had to get out of there, someway, somehow.

            Mr. Li raised his eyebrows. “My son may still have a chance?”

      I smiled as mysteriously as I could muster before downing the rest of my champagne. It did nothing to blot out the embarrassment rising from my neck and over my ears. Mrs. Li gently grabbed my uninjured hand in hers.

            “You’ve been so brave with all this, Y/N. Fighting Luke must have been terrifying. Oh, I couldn’t imagine!” she exclaimed.

      No, she couldn’t imagine seeing those glowing eyes every time she blinked nor tensing every time she had to go past Brink’s office to get to the super nice bathroom in the Crimefighting building. She couldn’t possibly imagine all the stupid questions she would get asked or the strange itching pain the burn around her neck caused.

            “It was,” I whispered, glancing at Jordan.

            They finally looked at me but this time, I was thankful they didn’t have laser vision. I quickly set aside my empty glass and turned back to Mrs. Li.

            “But you survived and sacrificed so much,” she added.

            “You could say that again,” I replied.

            “That’s Y/N, always sacrificing herself for someone else,” Jordan seethed.

      It was awful being on Jordan’s bad side and I was doing nothing but exacerbating the situation. There had to be some escape route that I could take. Someone I knew had to come by or someone could maybe ask for a picture.

            “Jordan, don’t be rude,” Mr. Li admonished. “I thought I raised my boy better than that.”

     There was something about Mr. Li’s tone that made my stomach lurch. Or maybe it was the distressed way Jordan looked away and was suddenly fascinated with the fairy lights that hung on the walls. All I knew was that I was slowly pulling away from Mrs. Li and straightening up.  

            “Did Jordan ever tell you how we first met?” I asked.

            “No, never,” Mr. Li said, glancing at Jordan.

            “It was freshman year during the mid-terms. I was slammed with so many assignments that I thought I was going to drown but before that, I would bomb all my classes, especially Brink’s. One night, I was in the library having a total meltdown because none of my index cards made any sense and there were only two days left until the exam.” I paused. “In the middle of my snot and tears, Jordan finds me surrounded by my notecards and books, picks up one of my notecards, and says, ‘I’d be crying too if I was studying something that wasn’t going to be on the exam’. Then, they sat down with me and helped me study. Totally saved my butt freshman year.”

      I left out the part about how they were in their feminine form and rolled their eyes every time I sniffled. But Mr. and Mrs. Li looked surprised but pleased at the same time.

            “I had no idea,” Mrs. Li said.

            “Yeah, Jordan’s always looking out for the people they care about, even if they won’t admit it.” I glanced at Jordan. “They deserve to be Number One in the Top Five and I hope that one day, I can be half the hero I know they will be. So, yes, Mr. Li, you raised a great child who will be a great person and I am happy to know them.”

      Though I could feel Jordan’s eyes on me, I quietly excused myself and slowly walked away. The lights and noise began to blur in front of me. Soon, I felt the tear slip down my cheek and hurried into the bathroom before anyone else could see.

            I immediately walked up to the sink and placed my hands on the counter. “Breathe, Y/N, breathe,” I said in choked breaths.

      It was a difficult fete since the tears started falling as soon as the door closed behind me. I didn’t know why I was crying, I thought I did something positive. Maybe I was crying because I screwed up or I said too much to Marie. Maybe I was crying because I hadn’t cried since the night Jordan broke up with me. Their words tore a piece out of my chest, and I thought that I wouldn’t be able to get back. Maybe I never would.

            The bathroom door suddenly flew open, and I screamed, “GET OUT!” Sending a blast of wind with my bad hand.

      A loud bang and bright light followed, extinguishing the wind without incident. My eyes flew open, and I turned to find Jordan, in their feminine form leaning against the wall. They seemed unimpressed and angry.

            “Careful, don’t want you causing damage to another building,” they deadpanned.

            I swallowed and started wiping my tears. “Why are you in here?”

            “To ask you what the hell was that back there? You just bulldoze in our conversation and say…that?” Jordan said.  

            “I’m sorry, I guess I’m tipsier than I thought,” I muttered.

            “No, this isn’t you tipsy,” Jordan argued.

            “Fine, I got upset when your dad kept calling you ‘son’ and ‘boy’ and it just came out, okay?” I snapped. “I’m sorry I butt into your family stuff, it won’t happen again. We can go back to ignoring each other.”

            Jordan scoffed and walked closer to me. “You mean, you can go back to ignoring me?”

       Were they really arguing with me about ignoring each other? They had been ignoring me this whole time as well. No in-person conversations, no texts, no calls, not even social media interactions.

            “I’m not going to argue with you about this,” I said, my voice hoarse.

            “Look, I’m not going to pretend like after two weeks of nothing, it’s not insane that you would do that,” they continued

            “Okay, so I tried to do a nice thing for you and screwed it up, I’m sorry.”

            “I don’t want your apology.”

            “Then what do you want?” I glared at them. “I tried to fix the Luke and Brink mess but that backfired. Then, I tried to stand up for you in front of your parents, but I screwed that up too. Every time I try to do something nice for you, I end up hurting you instead and I’m tired of it. I don’t like hurting you and if we have to stay away from each other than fine.”

       Jordan was quiet for a long time and during that time, their eyes never left mine. They always had such a cutting gaze, like they could see through everyone and everything. Sometimes, I would be curious and terrified at what they would find if they stared at me long enough.

            “You didn’t hurt me tonight,” they whispered. “I just don’t understand why you did it.”

             I sighed. “Because I still care about you. It’s stupid, right? You broke my heart and I still care about you.”

            “Y/N…”

            I sniffled and turned away from them. “I should get cleaned up before heading back out there. I must look like a mess.”

            For a moment, the only sounds I heard were my sniffling and rifling for the paper towels to fix my makeup. As I dabbed the makeup Jordan whispered, “You never look like a mess.”

      The next time I spoke to Jordan was the day Tek Knight guest-lectured our class. The tall, slimy idiot made the side of my mouth twitch with each word he spoke. His show was ridiculous but maybe that was due to all the editing to make him seem normal. He spoke so grandiosely, and I wondered how Cate, Andre, and Jordan dealt with being interviewed by him.

            “I can’t stand this guy,” Marie whispered.

            “You and me both,” I muttered.

            “…and, as all you know,” Tek continued, “I am a master at interrogation and I would love to take this moment to show you proper technique. Now, I’ll need a volunteer.”      Fortunately, no one raised their hands and I went back to skimming some old class notes. Hopefully class would go by quickly, Dean Shetty couldn’t let this man prattle on the whole time, right?

            “Cyclone, one of our Guardians of Godolkin. Surely, you wouldn’t mind? It could make up for our missed interview,” Tek said with a slight edge to his voice.

            “You can call me Y/N and, fine.” I stood, straightened my blazer that I wore with a houndstooth mini skirt, and strolled down to the seat at the front of the class.

       All that was missing was a blinding light and a seedy interrogation room. I folded my hands in my lap and relaxed into the chair. This would be fine, nothing at all. I glanced at my classmates, offering Marie a small smile and locking eyes with Jordan for a second. I could get through this, Tek Knight was nothing.

            “Miss Y/L/N, I appreciate your participation,” Tek began. “Why don’t we start by going over the events of your friend, Luke’s, death?”

            I swallowed. “I have relayed the story many times, Mr. Knight, unless you didn’t see any of my interviews.”

        That earned a small laugh throughout the class and Tek’s jaw clenched but he smiled.

            “No, I can’t say that I have, I was too busy investigating the details of his death. So, humor me, please,” Tek requested. “What was that day like?”

            Easy.

            “It was a normal day. I had a morning class on forensics and then I had lunch with Cate. After lunch, I did some homework and I decided to go see Professor Brink about an assignment,” I said.

         That day, I did not need to talk to Brink but I had told the lie so much that no one would second guess it.

            “Your pupils just dilated, you’re lying,” Tek said in delight.

            I rolled my eyes. “I’ve told the story fifty times, I think I remember it correctly.”             “Ah, notice class just how defensive she got,” Tek instructed. “Why were you really there?”

     I paused again, my eyes glancing at Jordan. Their expression was unreadable but their jaw clenched for a moment. That day, I went to see Jordan and apologize for everything that happened with Liza since we had not spoken when we all went out the night before. However, Jordan was particularly icy about it and I ended up running into a frantic Marie.  

       A chill ran up my spine at the memory and I turned my attention back to Tek. He was waiting with bated breath and I wondered how much he got off on these.

      “I wanted to talk to Brink about an assignment,” I repeated.

      “Tell that to the sweat on your forehead but we’ll circle back to that. What happened when you got to his office?”

            “When I walked into the building, I saw Marie was in front of his office.”

            “And you didn’t think that was strange since she was a freshman?”

            I shook my head. “No, she was a fan of Brink’s work so it made sense that she would try to talk to him.”

            “Was anyone else there?”

            Yes.

            “No.”

            “Another lie. Who else was there, Y/N?”

            “Marie, Marie was the only person there.” I willed myself to calm down.

            Tek faced the class. “Notice, class, that Y/N is rubbing her hand on her forearm, a classic self-soothing gesture. We are one step closer to the truth!” Then, he whirled back around to me. “Who else was there, Y/N?”

            “Marie. I didn’t see anyone else.”             Tek shook a finger at me. “Oh, you’re a tough one, Y/N, and those are my favorites to break.”

            I huffed and glanced at Dean Shetty, who offered me a pity look. “Do you have any other questions?”

            “Plenty. What happened when you got to Brink’s office?”

            “Well, Marie was nervous to talk to Brink so I knocked on the door. There was no answer, and I opened it and I saw Luke burning him alive,” I said quietly.

            “The downcast eyes and lower tone suggest that not only is Miss Y/L/N telling the truth but there is emotional weight to it.” Tek gestured to me. “Please, continue.”

            “When Luke saw us, something was off with his eyes. He was…infuriated and he looked hurt.”

            “What did he say to you?”

            “He said that we shouldn’t have seen that and now we had to die.”

            “That must have been painful and scary, you had been friends for two years, correct?” Tek asked.

            “Yeah, around the time he and Cate started dating,” I confirmed.

            “What happened next?”

            “I told Marie to run and I tried to hold him off. We got into a pretty intense physical fight and I was able to extinguish his flames long enough for Marie to do some damage,” I reported.

            “We can see that it must have been very difficult with your injuries. What made you think that you could beat him?”

            I paused and looked at him. “Excuse me?”

            “Well, according to your record, you’ve fought Luke three times, lost twice, and ended in a draw once. To go from that to disarming him is a large leap.”

       My heart rate started to pick up and I brushed a loc out of my face to distract myself. I just had to stay calm and answer everything with confidence. Confidence was all anyone needed, Liza preached it enough.

            “Yes, Luke was incredibly strong and near-impossible to beat,” I added.

            “But you’ve extinguished his flames before? And you still lost? How did that work?”

       It was an easy gig when Luke was caught off guard. The most I could ever do when sparring with him was play defense. I could feel the heat of his flames still and the flash in his eyes.

            “Just tell them what they want to hear,” Liza’s voice coached in my ear. “No one wants the truth, they want what we tell them.”

      But what was the point of that? Why couldn’t Jordan get the credit? What truth would that be hiding? That they’re a good hero? What was the point of me fake-dating Andre? Who were we placating? Why did I have to play to anything?

      Slowly, I glanced at Marie and then I glanced at Jordan. Marie looked like she was holding her breath while Jordan was hyper-focused. I wondered if Marie knew how insightful she was or could be.

            “It didn’t,” I stated.

      Tek smiled like the Cheshire cat and everyone’s expressions around the room shifted from bored focus to interest. My heart was pumping in my ears and my breath was starting to speed up, but I had to keep going.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I tried to extinguish Luke’s fire that day but it didn’t work. It had worked during one of our sparring sessions but, his guard was lower and I took advantage. The day he died, I panicked,” I reported.

            “The Cyclone panicked under pressure?” Tek asked.

            “Yes, I was scared. Luke was never malicious in our fights, and I could tell he wanted to kill me. Plus, I had to protect Marie but, I ended up making things worse.” I took another deep breath. “When I tried to extinguish the fire, I exacerbated it and set fire to almost everything around us. Luke tackled me to the ground, and I landed wrong, which is how I broke my wrist.”

            “That is a harrowing story, Miss Y/L/N. What happened to Marie?”

            I looked apologetically at her. “She ran and I didn’t see where she went. For a minute, I thought I accidentally got her burned too.” My eyes went back to Tek.

            “And how did you escape?” Tek asked.

            Here it goes.

            “Jordan stepped in and tackled him off me,” I admitted. “Because they’re indestructible in their male form, they weren’t hurt, and they were able to hold him off long enough for me to escape.”

            There, it was all out there. I felt lighter than I had in weeks, and I could have cried at the feeling. For a moment, I wondered why it took me so long to just admit the truth.

            “I thought you said there was no one else there?” Tek countered.

            “I lied.”

            “Why lie?”

            “Partially to protect and help Marie. This situation was beneficial for her, and I played along to help. But she also doesn’t need this to prove how great she’ll be one day.”

            “So, is Jordan part of the reason you were there that day?”

            “Yes,” I admitted. “They’re the reason I was at Brink’s.”

            “But why?”

            “That’s your favorite word,” I scoffed. “I lied to protect myself. I went to Brink’s office to see Jordan to apologize.”

            “Apologize for what?”

            “To apologize for the position I put them in.” I willed myself not to glance at them because if I did, they might telepathically make me shut up.

            Tek walked closer to me and leaned over me a little. “And what position is that?”

            “I made them feel like a burden when they weren’t, they never were,” I whispered, eyeing Tek.

            Tek nodded. “That’s right, you two were an item.”

            “They broke up with me because they thought they were helping me but, they couldn’t have been more wrong. Jordan challenged me and made me think deeper about things.” Tears burned my eyes but I kept pushing. “But the facts are that Jordan protected everyone from Luke, not me and not Marie. You can quote me on that.”

      I crossed my arms and noticed I was breathing harder than usual. Was this panic or relief? How could anyone tell the difference?

            Tek smiled like the Cheshire cat as he continued to circle me. “Notice how even though she got defensive, she is relaxed. Ladies and gentlemen, we have found the truth!”

       Some sporadic applause broke out and Tek leaned over to shake my hand, but I stood, brushed past him, and headed back to my seat. On the way, I could feel everyone’s eyes boring into me but for the first time in a long time, I could not have cared less. Marie was stunned when I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder.

            “What was that?” she whispered.

            “I’m sorry but you were right, I had a choice,” I whispered back.

     Marie hesitated but nodded as I turned and walked out of the class. Finally, the truth was out there, and it would spread like wildfire on Twitter, TikTok, and Instagram. Part of me wondered how long it would take for the news to reach Liza and another part of me wondered how that conversation would go. She would be infuriated and try to work on a counterattack but, I also could not bring myself to care too much. I did care about how my parents would feel once they found out. They had no idea that I lied.

      The sun was brighter than usual and the students frantically typing on their laptops or talking on their phones were productive, not overly stressed. There was a sense of calm over campus, and it made for a nice ambiance for my walk back to my dorm. As soon as I walked in, I got a FaceTime call from Cate.

            “Okay, what was that with Tek Knight?” she interrogated.

            “Wow, those kids work fast,” I commented, setting my bag on my desk.

            “Seriously. Did you skip the interview so you could do…that?”

            “First of all, I skipped the interview because I had a shoot with Nike that I was contractually obligated to. Second of all, Tek wanted the truth and I gave it to him.”

            I flopped down on my bed and propped my phone on my side table so that I could see Cate’s frowning face which was a mixture of shock and pride.

            “Well, I know this is super therapist-y of me to ask but how are you feeling?” she asked.

            “I feel light. It’s true about the truth setting you free, you know. I feel like I can fly,” I drawled, stretching myself out further on my bed.

            “Technically, you can already fly,” Cate teased.

            “Not the point, Cate. I didn’t realize how much Vought and Liza caged me in. If this is what they did to me, I can’t imagine what they did to Luke.”

            Cate hummed, a solemn expression rolling across her pretty features. “I knew he was under a lot of pressure but…” Cate cut herself off. “Anyway, I am happy that you are feeling better; you can only hold things in for so long before you snap.”

            “Like you would let me snap,” I teased.

            “Of course. Are you worried about your parents?” Cate asked.

            I shrugged. “Only the fact that they had no idea I lied about any of this. I told you how my mom and I had a heart-to-heart at the gala. They want me to be happy and this feels like a good start.”

            “I want you happy too. I gotta get back to psych before Professor Banks sends someone looking for me.”

      As soon as she clicked off, I put my phone on Do Not Disturb and rolled onto my back. This seemed like a fantastic moment for less noise.

            Knock! Knock! Knock!

            Or not.

            I huffed as I pushed myself off the bed and made my way to the door. “I am not going to do any of those stupid TikTok interviews or----”I stopped when I saw Jordan staring back at me.

            “Sorry, I didn’t come by for a statement,” they muttered.

            “N-no, it’s fine.” I stepped aside and they quickly brushed past me.

     As I closed the door behind me, I willed my heartbeat to slow to a normal rate and wiped my palms on my skirt. Jordan dropped their bag in the middle of the room and whirled around to face me.

            “Why did you do that?” they demanded.

            “I wanted to tell the truth,” I answered.

            Jordan laughed humorlessly and rolled their eyes. “Sure you did. Is this another ploy from Liza that you’re playing along with? I’m wondering how exactly this is going to screw me and make you look better.”

            I shook my head and took a couple of steps closer to them. “There’s no ploy! You’ll believe me when the rankings come out.”

            “Oh, I’m sure nothing will change except you might be at Number One this time,” they seethed.

            “Why are you mad at me? I did what you’ve been asking me to do since this whole thing started.”

            “But I didn’t want you to make yourself look bad in the process!” they exclaimed.

    As their words sunk in, I had a chance to think. Class was not over for another thirty minutes, and Jordan never skipped class unless they were deathly ill. At the gala, I did not see Jordan or their parents until I approached them. At the time, I thought they were avoiding an awkward conversation----that still happened-----but now, I wondered if they were trying to protect me or themselves from something. When we broke up, they disappeared until that night Cate practically forced me to go out with everyone and even then, we never spoke. I thought they were avoiding me because they were angry but maybe they were hurt. And when they yelled at me to run from Luke, they almost sounded…scared.

            What did that mean?

     Slowly, I closed the distance between us, swallowing at the tension rising in the room. “I don’t care about rankings or social media engagement right now. If anything happens, I can bounce back but like I said the other night, I care about you and I am tired of hurting you. I know that my lying about what happened with Luke and Brink was messed up and must have caused a different kind of pain and I wanted to make it right.”

            “There’s still smarter ways of doing that, Y/N. Did you coordinate with Liza or something? And what about Marie?” Jordan rattled.

            “No, I decided on my own and Marie inspired me to do it. I had a choice, and I made the right one,” I argued. “Can you please just enjoy the glory and attention you’ll get from this and stop trying to poke holes in it?”

            Jordan shook their head. “No, not when I know there’s an angle to this.”

            “You want an angle? Here’s your angle: I love you and I wanted to help you, just like I tried to at the gala. If it lowers my ranking or makes me lose followers, I don’t care!” I announced. “I am sick of spending hours making sure total strangers like me and avoiding mistakes. I can help other black girls outside of being a hero, through charity or promoting positive representations of us in media. So please, for the love of all that is good in the world, just accept what I did and enjoy the benefits!”

     It was only when the silence filled the room that I realized what I had said. My face immediately warmed, and I felt kind of nauseous. The fact that we never really said the L-word to each other in a year and a half of dating was ludicrous but, we agreed that we did not have to say it if we felt it from each other. It sounded great at the time but the truth was that saying it out loud made it more real.

     Suddenly, my dorm did not feel like the safe space where I could cry, binge-watch Psych, or share a joint with Cate. I suddenly felt like a child again as Jordan stared at me wide-eyed. After a few seconds, they spoke.

            “Oh.”

    Great, that’s what every girl wants to hear after they confess their feelings to their ex. I ran my hands through my locs and started walking towards the door.

            “You can go now. Just try to keep the gloating to a minimum,” I whispered.

    Before I could make it to the door, I felt a familiar strong hand grip my good arm and pull me closer. I did not have time to react as Jordan pressed their lips against mine. This kiss was much different than any kiss we’d ever had, well, any kiss that I ever had. There was pain, passion, anger, lust, and tenderness.

             They slowly pulled away, barely a millimeter from my face, and I exhaled. “You don’t get to ruin your career for me, say that, and then kick me out of your dorm,” they growled lowly.

   A tingle ran up my spine as I leaned forward to kiss them again. It was strange that I had almost forgotten how good they were at this, how much I missed this feeling with them. I felt their hands run up the nape of my neck and pull gently on a couple of locs. I pulled away for a second.

            “You didn’t give me a chance to fight for us,” I muttered.

            Jordan sighed, trailing their hand from my hair to the back of my shoulders. “I didn’t think…I didn’t think I was worth it.”

             “Of course you are, you always were,” I insisted.

            Something lit in their eyes and Jordan smiled so widely that I thought they might crack. They gently pulled me in closer for a hug, scratching my back with featherlight touches.

            “I’m sorry I broke up with you,” they whispered into my shoulder.

            “I’m sorry that I made you think you had to break up with me,” I replied. “Thank you for saving me from Luke, sorry for lying about that again.”

            They groaned. “Please stop apologizing for that.”

            I laughed. “Okay.”

            “Besides,” they stood to their full height, “I didn’t do that great of a job.”

     Their eyes zeroed in on my bruised neck and then glided to my injured wrist. It was as though I could sense the doubt rising within them and I grabbed their face.

            “Hey, this was my fault, not yours. I’m here in one piece because of you, never forget that, okay?”

            “Well, I guess when you put it that way…” They smirked and I swatted their arm with my good hand.

            “Seriously, do not get a big head from this,” I instructed.

            “No promises,” They teased. “So, what now? I mean, I know you love me and all but where do we go from here?”

            “You know how I feel and I’ve done enough heart-opening speeches for one day. But, I would be lying if I said I haven’t thought about getting back with you ever since you broke up with me,” I said.

            “Well,” Jordan rocked back on their heels, “I would also be lying if I said that I haven’t thought about getting back with you too and those posts with you and Andre drove me nuts.”

            I raised an eyebrow. “You were jealous?”

            Jordan looked away from me for a moment. “He was looking at you all weird and flirty.”             “It was a fake relationship and you got fooled!” I cheered.

            “It didn’t look fake on his end,” Jordan grumbled.

            “Aww, is little Jordan feeling a little sad still?” I sang in a baby voice.

            “Don’t do that voice, Y/N,” Jordan warned.

            “Or what?”

    Quickly, Jordan’s hands started tapping on my sides in rapid succession and I could hold the giant laugh down. Somehow, I wriggled out of their grasp and made a run for it. I made it about halfway across the room before they tackled me into my bed, continuing their attack. I laughed so hard that tears were rolling down my face. After a few moments, they stopped, laughing as well and slowly playing with the hem of my shirt.

            “Seriously, though, what do we do now?” Jordan asked, slightly out of breath.

            I pushed myself up on my elbows. “Well, I’m open to sneaking around to ease us back into things but I’m also open to suggestions.”             Jordan’s hands slowly moved to rub my sides. “Then I would suggest that we pick up where we left off, if that’s okay with you.”

            I hummed, pretending to think about it, before quickly pecking their lips. “Of course, that’s fine with me!”

            “And you’re sure you don’t care what Liza says?”

            I nodded. “Can we please stop talking about her? You have a lot of making up to do.”

            “Me? You’re the one who chose a freshman over me.”

            “She had a compelling story!”

   I didn’t see Liza’s frantic missed calls or texts hours after Jordan and I competed to see who could “make up” the best. I didn’t see any of the memes or clips from Tek’s interrogation of me either. I didn’t even see the comments on our Instagram official post. All I knew was that I was at peace for maybe the third time in my life and I was not going to let anything get in the way of it again.

[darl-ingfics]

Sicktember Day 5: Rogue Organ

Fandom: Seventeen

Sickie: DK/Seokmin (tonsilitis)

Caregiver(s): Vocal Line

Word Count: 1266

Notes: Medical inaccuracies who? Also, for the timeline, we're putting 'late award season' around early January cause I was getting overwhelmed looking at different lists. Also, was this inspired by this post by @btshurtcomfortprompts? Yes, it was, but it clearly took shape for a different group, so I do apologize for that.

“Wait. Are you sick again?” Seungkwan asked after Seokmin’s coughing fit subsided. The older vocalist shrugged noncommittally, rubbing at the base of his throat. “Hyung, that’s like… the fourth time in as many months. That’s not normal.” Seokmin mumbled something unintelligible as his head fell into his arms folded on the table. Seungkwan looked desperately between Jeonghan and Joshua. “Guys, this isn’t normal!” 

The two older members exchanged a glance. No, this certainly wasn’t normal. Seungkwan wasn’t exaggerating: Seokmin had indeed fallen ill several times in the last few months. It had started near the end of award season, when a nasty cold had spread around the whole team. No one had really batted an eye when he was sick again in early February, assuming he’d jumped back into work too fast after bug from January. March had seen the members completing more solo activities, coming and going at such odd hours that his third cold had almost gone completely unnoticed, except for the watchful eye of Soonyoung and Seungkwan, who’d forced him to the doctor for antibiotics. Which had helped. Obviously, temporarily.

Joshua pulled out his phone. “I can call our company doctors and see if they…”

“No, no doctor.” Seokmin cut him off with a violent shake of his head. “I’m fine. It’s probably just overuse.” He missed the way Jeonghan and Joshua’s eyes narrowed at that excuse, how they made eye contact. 

“Okay, first of all, overuse doesn’t cause a cough like that,” Jeonghan argued. He crossed his arms over his chest, worried hyung-mode activated. “Second, you take incredibly good care of your voice so it doesn’t get overused. And third, we haven’t even done anything recently that could even cause…”

“Okay, hyung, I hear you.” There was an edge in Seokmin’s voice none of them were used to hearing. Seungkwan grabbed Joshua’s shoulder, confusion and worry clear on his face. 

“What’s with the attitude?” Jeonghan asked. 

“It’s not an attitude. I just don’t appreciate being treated like a child.” Jeonghan scoffed at that, and Seokmin glared up at him. “I’m serious, hyung! I can make my own health decisions, and I say no doctor.”

“Seokmin, you’re being ridiculous. It can’t hurt to at least see a doctor…” 

“I’M NOT GOING!” Joshua and Seungkwan both jumped at the volume of Seokmin’s voice. Jeonghan flinched away too. All three were frozen in shock as Seokmin bent over coughing again. When the fit finally left him, gasping wheezily, he whispered, “Please don’t make me go. Please.” With those words, Seokmin shrunk in on himself, hiding his face in his hands. The silence that followed was palpable. The remaining three members’ eyes volleyed back and forth.

Joshua moved first, sliding into the chair next to Seokmin. He gently wove his hands with the younger man’s, noting how Seokmin’s muscles tensed at his touch. “Why don’t you want to see a doctor?” Joshua asked, voice quiet, as if they were the only people in the room. 

Seokmin finally raised his eyes. Joshua did his best not to flinch at the tears clouding his friend’s vision. “Cause last time I was there, they said it might be my tonsils and that I’d have to get them out!” The last word was choked by a sob that sent the tears pouring down his face. 

“Oh, honey.” Joshua pulled Seokmin to him, allowing the younger vocalist to completely break down. Seungkwan ran to the other side of Seokmin’s chair, rubbing his friend’s back. 

“It hurts so much,” Seokmin cried, words muffled in Joshua’s shoulder. 

“I’m sure it does, if it’s your tonsils,” Joshua replied. 

“Hyung, it might not be the worst thing to get them out, though,” Seungkwan suggested carefully. “That would stop the pain.”

“But…” Seokmin took a shuddering breath, sitting up from Joshua’s embrace to look at them both. “But what if something goes wrong?” 

“Goes wrong?” Joshua asked. He gently tucked Seokmin’s hair behind his ear, attempting to maintain as much contact as possible. 

Seokmin nodded, clearly trying not to sob again. “What if they ruin my voice and I can’t… I can’t sing any-anymore?!” The hiccup in his voice triggered another cough.  

Joshua smoothed away a tear from Seokmin’s cheek. “Baby, that has to be so rare.” 

“But not impossible!”

“Minnie, look.” Jeonghan, who had appeared without any of them realizing it, thrust his phone between the trio, pointing to a highlighted quote on the screen. “I’ve been doing research and it says that it’s a myth that tonsillectomies change your voice. They don’t even touch your vocal cords.” Seokmin took the phone, rereading the screen several times. He clicked out of the article, scrolling through other articles from Jeonghan’s search. “Plus, if you do get your tonsils out, that means unlimited popsicles.”  

“That’s not helping right now,” Seokmin admitted simply, eyes still glued to the phone. Joshua patted Jeonghan’s back, a ‘thank you’ for trying. 

“Well you know what might help?” Seokmin didn’t even have time to respond before Seungkwan threw his arms around him from behind, crushing him in a hug that nearly squeezed the phone from his hand. With the speed of vipers, Joshua and Jeonghan swooped in, capturing their sunshine from all sides. “What do you say now? Feel any better?”

“A little bit,” Seokmin conceded, even though fresh tears were brimming in his eyes. But that had more to do with the love of his members than the pain in his throat or the fear that came with that pain. “Thank you.”

“What else are we good for?” Jeonghan joked. A ripple of laughter passed through the group hug. 

“But I still don’t want to see the doctor.”

“It’s not a matter of want anymore, hyung,” Seungkwan replied. “

Seokmin rolled his eyes. “I said I didn’t want to, not that I wouldn’t go.” 

“Well now you’re just being difficult.”

“Did I… miss something?”

Instead of breaking apart, the four men assembled in the group hug simply craned their necks to see Jihoon standing in the doorway looking desperately confused. 

“Dokyeomie needs to get his tonsils out,” Jeonghan explained. “So we are providing him moral support and positive vibes.” 

Without a word, Jihoon hurried to join the hug. “I’m so sorry, Kyeomie.” 

“It’s okay. I had a bad feeling it was coming when the doctor said it last month.” He laughed once, a tad of embarrassment hidden in the noise. “And I may or may not have overreacted a bit about it this morning.” 

“What? You? Overreacting? Never!” Jeonghan gasped much to the delight of his dongsaeng who nudged him, shuffling the whole hug in the process. 

“I assume that means you haven’t told anyone about this yet?” Jihoon sighed. 

Joshua shook his head. “It was kinda hard to call a manager with a friend so severely upset.” Seokmin gently rested his forehead against Joshua’s shoulder, a soft ‘thank you’ for the support that shoulder had provided just moments before. 

“So what I’m hearing is that you have no real confirmation that your tonsils need to come out…”

“Hyung, please don’t give me hope. I want to keep my delusions low.”

“I think that’s nearly impossible for you, hyung,” Seungkwan said in reply. “But I admire your delusion in your own delusions.” Seokmin attempted to elbow him, managing to hit Jeonghan instead and setting off a minor skirmish that ended in the breakup of the group hug. But the hug had served its purpose: all five of them, especially their precious Seokmin, were laughing together. And that laughter would carry them through, no matter what the doctor had to say.

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter 31 - Alternate View. Okatsu and Mitsunari have only one night left before she returns to the future. So why is Mitsunari wasting time talking with… Shingen? 

Mitsunari x OC; Nobunaga x Mai

Previous Chapter

Logline -  In order to protect a political alliance, Katusko and Mitsunari must pretend an engagement. But this “all business” arrangement is threatened by a coup against Nobunaga… and by feelings.

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

I understand the basic concept of alternative timelines … however, what I do not know if there was, at some point, only one Katsu, and the splitting of our timeline created several, or, if these multiple timelines have always existed with only minor differences. If I get a moment, I will ask this Sasuke what he believes.

A more pressing concern – the other timeline’s Okatsu (or, Katsu as she preferred to be called) is in love with Lord Shingen. Does that mean that my Okatsu is destined for this timeline’s Lord Shingen?

I am torn. I wish her to be happy. But the thought of her with him is more painful than anything I have ever experienced before.

As it happened, Sasuke and Toshiie arrived at the wormhole site before we did… and they had a third person with them. Even at a distance, I recognized the taller figure poking at the fire as the man I had just met at Aki’s. Lord Shingen. “Another one?”

I heard a soft sigh from Mitsunari’s direction. “While it was no strain to meet two additional Okatsus, I could have lived happily without encountering two Takeda Shingens.”

The Shingen at Aki’s had seemed pleasant enough –  he had also been thoroughly focused on Katsu. But of course, he was an enemy of the Oda, and as such, Mitsunari’s history with him was probably not as benign.

Once Mitsunari and I got closer to the other group, I realized that this Shingen was … not as healthy as the one we met earlier. He was thinner, and his skin had a yellowish cast to it. It appeared he was Sasuke’s sick friend that Toshiie had gone to treat.

All three of them stood up as Mitsunari and I approached. Sasuke again greeted us in that overly formal way he had. “Okatsu, Mitusunari - you made excellent time. I didn’t expect you until tonight.”

“Oh well. We sort of took a shortcut.” I’d have to tell Sasuke the rest later.

Lord Shingen looked at me and smiled. Ok. That is a weapon right there – though his smile didn’t have Mitsunari’s sweetness, it carried a metric ton of charisma. “Hello Angel. The future is looking brighter already. To meet such a dazzling creature as yourself is evidence that fortune is smiling upon me today.”

Whoa.

Dude.

Dial. It. Down.

Behind me, I sensed Mitsunari bristle like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on. Lord Shingen looked past me to Mitsunari, then said in a much less (much much less) friendly tone of voice, “Ishida Mitsunari.” His confident demeanor didn’t change, though the warning behind the words was somewhat mitigated by a wheezing cough.

Mitsunari saw the cool tone and raised it with a barely polite bow. It wasn’t icy. Mitsunari didn’t do icy. But it held none of his normal friendliness. “Lord Shingen. I had never expected to see you outside of a battlefield.”

“I intend for you to get that opportunity as well.” He glanced at Toshiie. Yup that was a consulting my doctor glance.

“I look forward to that.” And perhaps Mitsunari was. As obsessed with military theory as he was, I figured he would be interested in turning theory to practice. “However, at the moment, you are standing far too close to Lady Okatsu.”

“Ah. I see now.” Shingen’s laugh was interrupted by that terrible cough. “’Lady’ Okatsu? You are the mysterious Oda Princess who accompanied his entourage to Genba?”

How the hell did he know that?

Mitsunari stepped closer to me and said quietly into my ear, “Lord Shingen’s spy network rivals Mitsuhide’s.”

“It’s better than Mitsuhide’s.” So, apparently, is Lord Shingen’s hearing.

Worried that Mitsunari and Lord Shingen were about to get sidetracked into a discussion, I stepped in to ask Sasuke, “What time tomorrow?”

“Wormhole? Er, late morning. Or early afternoon. Theoretically.” He reached into his kimono and pulled out a bundle of papers with long sets of computations. “I confirmed these numbers before Toshiie and I left Kyoto, but over the past week, my observations have revealed contradictory information.”

The past week? As in the week that three Katsukos, another Shingen and another Sasuke were in that strange waystation? Yeah, we really needed to talk. I looked at Lord Shingen and wondered how much Sasuke had told him about time travel. Obviously, he wouldn’t be here if he weren’t aware of the concept. “Are you bringing Lord Shingen to the future as well?”

“Hopefully,” Toshiie said, just as Lord Shingen replied, “I have yet to be convinced that the healers in your future will be able to cure me. The idea continues to be a point of discussion.”

“It’s true that I can’t guarantee success.” Toshiie inclined his head toward Lord Shingen. “But I would know more after running some tests.” Under his breath he mumbled something inaudible, but knowing my brother, he was likely indulging in more Dr. McCoy style disparagement of Sengoku era-medicine.

“I have not made a final decision on the matter. It’s difficult to agree to this journey when the people of Kai are homeless, and our lands are overrun by Nobunaga’s brutes.” Mitsunari bristled again (IMO rightfully so – I wouldn’t have characterized any of Nobunaga’s inner circle that way – some of them were annoying, nosy, and micromanaging… but not brutish) while Lord Shingen paused to catch his breath. “If there is no cure to be found, I will have wasted my final months chasing a dream, rather than on the battlefield with my people.”

The Lord Shingen that Mitsunari and I met earlier today had been to the future – and he seemed much healthier than this one. While I wasn’t sure about the rules of time travel when it came to revealing the future, it would also be medically unethical to keep such information from him. Besides, I wouldn’t be revealing this timeline’s future – I was revealing another timeline’s past. Right? “Um, I think it worked.”

“Worked?” Sasuke picked up on the past tense, as I had intended him to do.

“It’s… a long story – but it also might explain why your observations gone haywire.” A very long story, and I didn’t want to continue to stand around in a circle telling it – especially when there appeared to be a bowl of stew of some kind sitting on a tripod over the fire. Technically, Mitsunari and I hadn’t eaten in a week.

Proving that he at least had the observational skills of a spymaster, Lord Shingen herded us all toward the fire. “This appears to be a tale best told with a meal… and…” he opened a basket which contained an assortment of pastry, “of course, sweets.” He sat down, then patted the space next to him. “Come sit by me, Angel, and tell me more.”

“Shingen, do I have to remind you that Katsuko is my sister?” Toshiie sat himself down in the space that Shingen had indicated.

“We can’t take him anywhere.” Sasuke magically produced two extra bowls from his Mary Poppinsesque ninja gear. Once Mitsunari and I had performed our traditional exchange of carrots for mushrooms, we all settled down to eat.

I’m not an idiot. I sat next to Mitsunari, as far away from Lord Shi- The Warlord from the Brothel! That was where I had seen him before. Huh. Yeah. Staying far away from him. I don’t know how Katsu managed to tame that one in her timeline, but I knew a heartbreaker when I saw one. Belatedly, I realized I had been staring at him since I sat down. He clearly realized that too, and he smiled and winked at me.

Oof. I scooted closer to Mitsunari. “Aki disappeared – right after you two left for Kasugayama.” I again summed up what happened at the tower. “Mitsunari and I went looking for him today. Or, well, last week, I guess.” I shook my head. I was confusing myself, as well as everyone else.

Mitsunari took over for me. “What Okatsu means is that for us, our search has lasted a day, but we spent the afternoon in a place where time has no meaning. When we left, we discovered a week had passed.”

“Time has no meaning? Holy Crap on a cracker!” Sasuke nearly spilled his dinner in his excitement, but used to flying crockery, I caught it before it spilled. Sasuke didn’t even notice. “Where is this place? Is there time for us to go there? Where does it lead? How do you -?”

He paused only when Lord Shingen held up his hand authoritatively. “Sasuke, rather than sending them various avenues, allow them to continue their story uninterrupted, until they complete it.”

Ok, I could now see how this one was also a spymaster. Toshiie was looking at him like he was a tasty treat…. Ooh, someone has a crush! But I figured his medical ethics would ensure he kept his hands off a patient.

Mitsunari explained about finding the rotating wall and the hidden room. “The room was nearly empty, aside from two trunks containing clothing that Okatsu recognized as Akihira’s. However, before we could investigate further, we were interrupted by two other people looking for Akihira.” He looked at Lord Shingen. “One of them was you.”

“Multiverses! I knew it!” Sasuke pumped his fist, then subsided at a quelling look from Lord Shingen.

“The other person… was me. Except, not-me. Anyway sir,” I directed my comment to Lord Shingen. “You, or rather he, was not at all ill – he appeared to be strong and healthy, and he did not have a cough or any problems breathing. He and Katsu said that they had travelled through a wormhole previously. Therefore, I figure that whatever disease you have is treatable.”

“Beauty and brains. Thank you, Angel. Yes, that does appear to be a logical conclusion.” Lord Shingen nodded, and a weight seemed to fall off his shoulders. Toshiie seemed to relax as well – so he hadn’t been completely confident that modern medicine could cure Lord Shingen.

“Two of you. My childhood would have been horrible with two Katsukos always getting me into trouble.” Toshiie stuck his tongue out at me. I threw a twig back at him. And since I have fantastic aim, it thwapped him right in the forehead.

Mitsunari got our story back on track. “Katsu mentioned having been in the wrong timeline prior to this – however we were interrupted again. The second interruption was from you, Sasuke.”

Once again, Sasuke looked like he wanted to leap up and perform a tribal dance of joy, but he restrained himself to another first pump. “Was I with the other Lord Shingen and the other Katsu?”

I sighed. “Um. No. You were with a third Katsu.”

My comment prompted Sasuke to scramble for his notes. Before he could get too far off track, I hurried to finish the story, with Mitsunari jumping in to fill in details that I had forgotten or missed. “When we returned to this – timeline – a week had passed. Although neither Okatsu nor I felt hungry or tired.”

“Interesting that you were able to exist in the same space as the other Katsus.” Sasuke pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “In some multiverse theory, it’s impossible for the alternates to meet without causing damage to the fabric of reality.”

“Alternates? I’m already weirded out enough without slapping a sci-fi label on it.” ‘Other-Katsu’ was clunky enough.

“You aren’t twins or clones, and ‘duplicates’ seemed even worse.” Sasuke waved that all away. “However, it might be a good idea for your brother to take your vital signs.”

I couldn’t see where that would yield any interesting data, but it seemed like a harmless idea, so I shrugged and agreed.

Sasuke had wanted to hover over the “medical exam” and continue to quiz me about the room outside of time, but in the end decided it would be better to examine the sky for updated wormhole data.

“Did the stethoscope or the cuffs freak anyone out – ow!” I glared at Toshiie when he inflated the blood pressure cuff too tightly.

“Not at all. In fact, Shingen wanted to take the stethoscope apart to see how it worked – I think he wanted to Macguyver a version of it that could be used in spying.” We looked over at where Shingen and Mitsunari were having what appeared to be an actual friendly conversation. Their mutual interest in tactics and strategy had allowed them to temporarily put aside their differences.

“Interesting. Your pulse just shot up. Katsuko, don’t go there. Shingen is a brilliant man, but he goes through women like butter.” Toshiie frowned and poked through his medical bag of anachronisms.

“Mixed metaphors much? I think the saying is mmmmph.” Toshiie shoved a thermometer in my mouth.

“I said what I meant. Women melt as soon as he starts flirting with him. When he even looks at them.” He stuck some kind of probe thing in my ear. “And you just sent a hungry look his way.”

I hadn’t been looking at Lord Shingen.

As my mouth was still full of thermometer, I kept that to myself.

“Shingen plans to stay with Sasuke, but we’ll all probably spend a lot of time together. So, just… be careful. You and Sasuke have spent years here, and Lord Shingen may gravitate to you because you’re a bridge to both eras… Lean forward.” I obeyed as Toshiie listened to my lungs.

Toshiie continued to lecture me. “Have you thought about what you want to do with your life? You could go back and finish the physical therapy training.”

I resented the parental way he was treating me. Had he forgotten we were the same age? Maybe in his mind, I was still the teenager I had been when we were first separated, but I wasn’t, and in this era, I was much better equipped to take care of myself than he would be.

Although… what would I do in the future? I’d just spent seven years running and fighting and scouting. Maybe I could get a martial arts certification and teach? I mean… it appealed to me more than going back to college. Once again, I glanced at Mitsunari, who was still intently listening to Lord Shingen.

Toshiie pulled the thermometer out of my mouth and checked it. “Ok doofus, you are disgustingly healthy.”

“There is nothing disgusting about Okatsu.” Mitsunari, demonstrating that he could, on occasion follow more than once conversation simultaneously, piped up to defend me. “Okatsu, you are as… you are like… you are not disgusting.” His shoulders slumped.

“Mitsunari, it’s ok. This is just the way we talk to each other. I know Toshiie loves me. We like to tease each other sometimes.” I thought for a moment, then added, “Sort of how Ieyasu is – he sounds grumpy but deep down, you know he really likes you.” Deep deep down.

Still, for whatever reason, Mitsunari continued to look miserable, and I would have tried to reassure him further, but Sasuke’s ears had perked up at Ieyasu’s name and he plopped down down next to me.

“Ieyasu – that’s right, you got to spend time with him. I’m kind of a huge Ieyasu fanboy and I’d love to get your impression of him.” To be honest, Sasuke’s questions kind of faded in and out of my consciousness, because Mitsunari had once again embedded himself deeply into a conversation with Lord Shingen.

Even though I absently answered Sasuke’s questions, my mind was still on, as Kayten had called him, the cinnamon roll. This was our last chance to hang out before I returned home. It had been bad enough during the times Shohime had demanded his attention – I had never imagined I’d also have to compete with Lord Shingen!

By the time I went to bed, Mitsunari was still talking with Lord Shingen. Waiting around for him would be rather obvious, so I dug my blanket out of the bottom of my pack, and curled up on the ground.

I used to be able to sleep under the sky without any problem – in fact, I often preferred it to sleeping inside. But my years here unrolled inside my head, from Aki’s rescue of me, through the months of training, all of the times I had ridden across the …

Damn it.

What was I going to do about my horse? If things had gone to plan, I would have left her at Aki’s. But I hadn’t known the place would be deserted (and potentially protecting a hellmouth).

I couldn’t just leave her. Could she come through the wormhole with us? Sasuke, Toshiie, and Lord Shingen hadn’t brought horses with them, so probably not. Even if I could bring her, could I take care of her in modern Japan? Also probably not … I still wasn’t sure if I could take care of myself in modern Japan.

Eventually, I decided to ask Mitsunari to take her back to Azuchi – maybe she would make a good mount for Mai, once her own riding improved. Yes. I’d ask Mitsunari. If he ever stops talking to Lord Shingen.

Meanwhile, it might be nice to get some sleep, but though I could shut my eyes, I couldn’t turn off my buzzing thoughts. Face it, Katsuko, you can’t sleep because you’ve gotten used to Mitsunari’s presence nearby.

I resigned myself to lying awake until dawn, and once I’d accepted that, I rolled over on my side, rested my head on my arm, and watched Mitsunari and Shingen for a while. The firelight played off Mitsunari’s face, highlighting that intent expression. Whatever Lord Shingen was telling him, had inspired that ‘learning something fascinating’ look. I tried to burn that expression into my brain, so that I could take it out and savor it some lonely night in the future.

Sometime later, when I was half awake and half lost in a dream about being stomped on by a dinosaur (likely prompted by a rock that was lodged under my spine), I opened my eyes to see that Mitsunari had spread a blanket on the ground next to me. He seemed to be asleep, with one hand stretched toward mine. I let my hand drift closer to his, and then as if we were magnetized, our hands snapped together, and he gave mine a squeeze.

I looked to his face, he was awake too. He smiled at me, one of those smiles, the ones that could always calm me. I squeezed his hand back.

“Will you come back? At least to visit, if nothing else? Will you be able to do so?” He inched closer and rested his head on his other hand.

“If I can – I don’t know. Either way… you’ll take care of my horse, won’t you?” I didn’t want to believe that I would never see Mitsunari – oh, and everyone else – again. But it had taken seven years to find a way back to modern Japan. Maybe it would take another seven years to figure out how to return here. By that time, who knows what will have happened?

“I’ll take her back to Azuchi with me.” He let go of my hand and brushed my hair out of my eyes. “I will miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.” I summoned a smile. “We’ll always have Genba.”

I felt a drop of water on my face. Great. Was I about to spoil a great goodbye line by crying?

BOOM!

Thunder crashed, sounding almost on top of us. Not tears then. Rain. Another drop hit my nose, and then as if the first two had just been the advance scouts, the sky dumped buckets on us.

In the mad scramble to get up and find shelter, I heard Toshiie yelling at Lord Shingen to put on his mino and try to stay out of the wet, then Sasuke scanned the heavens, as I realized that it was only dark because of the clouds and not because it was still night. “The wormhole’s materializing.”

Forget shelter. We hastily grabbed our things, as Sasuke barked out instructions to stay together.

In the distance, the wall of fog crept down the mountain, like a writhing avalanche.

“Mitsunari.” Sasuke gently patted his shoulder. “You need to stand back, unless you want to spend an indefinite amount of time in the future.” He bowed to him. “I have enjoyed knowing you.”

“Katsuko! Hurry!” Toshiie yanked on my arm.

“I’ll be there in a sec.” Trust Toshiie to pick this moment to be early for the first time in his life.

I turned and hugged Mitsunari. “Goodbye. You were the best fake fiancée I’ve ever had.”

He hung on tightly, his grip strong and unusually fierce. “It did not feel fake,” is what I thought he said, but it was raining so intensely that I was no longer sure.

I stepped out of his embrace and turned to follow Toshiie toward the future.

@lorei-writes @bestbryn @katriniac @lyds323 @briars7

[dirtbra1n]

directors commentary about Impulse in the shape of Today you are a girl.... and surrounding scene of course.... i love you and peace and love on planet prevpreshanzashiro

hi it’s november 27th and I’m back here again. mindmelding between friends @aranarumei Hi kiri. is something that can be so personal. I’ll go in extra deep on still-unnamed tashiro post current events’ Side note this is why you don’t leave asks out to dry for four calendar months. close side note. extra deep on today you are a girl paragraph when we get there. I love you guys so much by the way did you know this.

speaking to you from the future: I started back on this thing at work, maybe an hour before we closed. that would make this about three hours now.

I’m putting this under a cut.

tashiro’s phone pings with a message from shirahama that reads, If you do anything to screw up your hair I’m shaving it all off your head

ping. And making you eat it

ping. Keep one foot on the ground at all times if you do anything insane I’m really gonna do it

first thing is that shirahama’s here again. everyone say hi shirahama :) he’s a few hours from getting the anxious shakes with no known cause (he was responsible for tashiro’s hair for the girlification competition). shirahama’s here again because he does an excellent job at carrying tashiro through the days and nights, and because the advice to keep one foot on the ground at all times if you do anything insane I’m really gonna do it. is topical always but especially now. he’s also here again because you have to identify a chance at comedic timing and lunge for it hungry with both hands:

tashiro purses his lips. glances out the open window; first floor.

the picture he takes of his feet, hovering as he sits on the windowsill and clad in black crew socks—he left the shoes somewhere else, he figures miyano will chase him down about them later—is waiting to be sent with incomplete text suck i when he spots someone out the very corner of his vision.

set-up is happening here. black crew socks highlighted as a reference to the black sailor uniform option from tashiro girlification poll 2023 as drawn by You 🫵 sunnfish. tashiro’s shoelessness as a cog is working steadily to do its part for a theme that was accidental, clocked, and left in. tashiro almost finishes typing suck it to send shirahama before pausing the action entirely—shirahama watches the typing bubble linger. uh-oh shirahama—because of

the very corner. an unmistakable figure at the edge of the crowd, staring over the living mass of strangers, right into tashiro stood in the window, until he isn’t anymore.

funny thing about crossdressing, see, is the worldview shift. that broad back looks broader, a piece-of-work senpai haunting his memory like a grief-hallucination.

that was him though. there are only so many people tashiro could recognize from the moon and he’s one of them. how many people in the world could possibly look like that.

relative to the rest of the thing, this scene was brand new; I’d written it a few days before tashiro’s birthday, when I posted the lot of it, because Creative process keeps me in a rock tumbler mostly. this matters really only because It was that evening, july third, when it really slotted into place in my mind exactly how prev prez should exist in the context of river. incidentally Neither your asks nor this post is about it obviously but the bathhouse scene and the others related to it are also “new” in this way, for the same reason.

anyway prev prez. from the start it was my understanding as wielder of the authorial godhand that he is, you know. functionally and narratively dead. if hanzawa masato is an active haunter straddling the line between Wanting to live and Being just so so sick of Various things, prev prez is about as passive a dead guy as the average dead guy can be. except for the fact that he is, in some way, to tashiro specifically, an exceptional (adj. unusual; not typical) person. an unmistakeable figure that tashiro could recognize from the moon. unrelated to anything right this second I think somewhere along the way I mindlinked tashiro to hanako tbhk. hmm. Okay well moving on. tashiro has a real certainty on that figure having been prev prez, because prev prez lives, in a very real way, in tashiro’s mind. he’s also a massive Haha. catalyst for the most prominent #tashirogirlification here; his gravity, the masculinity of him, works in tandem with the sailor uniform makeup and done-up hair.

because tashiro is crossdressing as a girl, he feels like a girl. because tashiro is crossdressing as a girl, prev prez (who is already recalled by tashiro in a super masculine way—it’s important to me as usual that Love & Passion is told by tashiro, seen through his eyes, because it says, to me, that those fucking photos of prev prez are also as tashiro saw him. this is present elsewhere in tashiro post, ideas of memory and recollection) Okay that was a long parenthetical let me restart. because tashiro is crossdressing as a girl prev prez Already looking the way he does. looks even more that way. okay great now the crown jewel:

it’s a second of stirring in his stomach that bridges the space between shoujo manga and violent murder. his feet are back on the ground but they might as well be dangling out the window; an impulse in the shape of today you are a girl has him gripped by the shoulders, nearly chasing after a living ghost and using strangers as stepping stones to do it.

hi killing point. first point of discussion is that this scene’s cinema is one of the most vivid ones I see; hands braced on the windowsill, head out the window, feet twitching where they stand on the floor. look up and watch yourself bound over still water stepping stone by stepping stone, grace and beauty completely hallucinated where the fantasy, in reality, is exactly as clumsy and cruel as you’d expect it to be. hup! out the window onto the heads and shoulders of strangers, clammer over the shifting tides of the dense crowd—great turnout!—and emerge worse for wear, but very quick, on the other end to continue the pursuit. this fantasy is only mostly completely hallucinated, in that tashiro really nearly goes through with it. this paragraph I just wrote explains nothing.

I’ll concede: solid alliteration with s in the first half of the first sentence leads cleanly into two sets of four quarter notes; the killing point, to borrow Words, shou-jo man-ga (kiss) and vio-lent mur-der (kill). next sentence in both of its semicoloned halves continues the yet-unstated not-quite run-on capital f Feeling where tashiro’s mind is running 10 miles a minute, but the first half embodies the feeling of Having a Body, the sensation of gravity contrasted by the tantalizing appeal of swinging your feet out the window, void calling as a siren would, and the second half (the first half of it) has impulse (personified) grabbing tashiro by the shoulders (not, by any metric, narrow these days) and nevertheless speaking into him the refrain Where’s your girlish whimsy? the second half of the second half, as we went through just a second ago, has tashiro watching himself (in spirit, haha) doing the worlds least considerate parkour, and closes with another instance of solid s alliteration. I want to put on the record that the alliteration was not intentional but I think in retrospect that it is neat. hit the button and call it time!

one foot on the ground with his hands braced on the sill, he hears, “tashiro.”

sky still looks like rain. indistinct collective murmur hangs over the crowd outside like smog. a metal rod’s pang clefts clean through his forehead, up between his eyes. taiko drums. dwarfed by encroaching shadow miyano calls again, “tashiro,” from down the hall. tashiro’s shoes dangle limply from his hands.

thundering resonance. tashiro croaks, “what?”

continuing on to what I’ll call the second point of discussion: where the camera was—tashiro facing out the window—shifts to lead into I think THE most vivid cinematic scene I see. tashiro in the foreground, caught, miyano in the background, catching. tashiro’s name throughout the whole piece has this cleaving quality I think, where it cuts through where you were to bring you where you are, and here it cuts through delusion fantasy and reckless daze to remind you that tashiro is someone who is more sensible than this. which is why, following “tashiro” the word (ice cold water poured down his back), tashiro the person suddenly sees feels and hears all that he’d been unconsciously tuning out.

prev prez just has that effect on him.

the second time around miyano’s voice is just miyano’s voice, bouncing off the walls a little with the way he projects it, more than a little concerned. by separating the information extra attention is drawn to tashiro’s shoes in his hands, words dangle and limply doing exactly what they were meant to, once I realized something. tashiro’s shoelessness as a cog is working steadily to do its part for a theme that was accidental, clocked, and left in. <- You know chekhov? TFW you accidentally liken tashiro’s impulsively wanting to jump like a girl that chases her first love, shoelessly, to jumping in a way that kind of feels a little like. river…y. in a suicidal way. you see why this is the scene I see the best and most frequently.

well anyway. As for the other things this bit is doing. the atmosphere merges a little with the water. in a lot of ways that cold water reality check description of the scene works just as well to describe the Fucking River, because I can’t ever leave it alone. because it can’t ever leave me alone. miyano is here and real but shadow works as a cloth backdrop behind him, upon which he stands stark and separate from the Fucking River because, even now, Nobody’s told miyano about whatever the hell tashiro and hanzawa senpai have got going on. all he sees is his friend, needed elsewhere, shoeless, about to jump out of the goddamn river, and all he has are his goddamn shoes. tashiro, caught, embarrassed kind of, with blood roaring in his ears, could only say, “what?” bonus points for my use of cleft when grammatically speaking it would be cleave. I have the conch, and I say grammar be damned.

anyway as I finally close this out, I’ll say Speaking of river,

see the tweet in the middle. there was a point on the third of july where I thought really hard about whether I wanted tashiro’s girlification to itself exist in dream time, as a dream, because tashiro post took forever and we’d all seen harusono’s own third year culture festival by then. ultimately I decided otherwise, but I really thought about it really hard. in any case I’m glad I didn’t do that because as I found out that friday following tashiro’s birthday. as we ALL found out that friday following tashiro’s birthday. harusono shou was on exactly the same page as me as far as One Thing in particula

aaaaand scene.

[chitty-chitty-bang-bang-bang]

“The Big Kumara”

Word Count: 1,912

Age Restrictions: 16+ (mild gore/vulgar language)

Trigger Warnings/Tags: Horror, descriptions of blood and corpses, anxiety, mental illness.

Synopsis: Your concerned relatives sent a psychologist to your house, so you can finally open up about the incident, that sent you into this spiral in the first place.

Author’s note: This is my Halloween Special for y’all guys. It’s not my usual style, because I’ve never written horror before. But I tried really hard to make it unsettling and scary, because I feel like this is the wwdits fanfic field, that is not explored enough. Anyways, hope you enjoy it. Happy Halloween!

__________________________________________

“February 24th, 2006.” The woman across from you said, after pushing the record button on the dictaphone, only then did she turn to you. “So, tell me the whole story.”

You took a deep shaky breath, feeling cold shivers run down your spine as memories flooded your mind once again and you started speaking.

“It was almost two months ago. January 5th. That day was as normal as you could imagine. I woke up, did my usual routine, marked off the day in the calendar and went to work. I used to work in a call centre at that time. I don’t anymore. Can’t return there… Anyway. I came to work and my friends Sutton and Jean said they wanted to visit some new place that opened during winter holidays and asked if I’d tag along, because they needed a sober driver.

I… agreed. Of course, why not? I don’t drink that much anyways. That’s fine.

The place was called ‘The Big Kumara’. Some student party bar, not the fanciest place. I remember, when we walked in, I was instantly hit with a very strong smell. I thought it might be some cleaning chemical, but it didn’t seem like it. The smell was nauseatingly metallic. I asked if anyone else feels it, but neither of my friends seem to notice, so I thought I might be getting sick and tossed that thought away.

We sat at the table in the corner. We can be a little loud, especially Jean, after he gets drunk, so we didn’t want to disturb anyone. They ordered a few drinks and went to the dance floor, I decided I’ll join them later, because I still didn’t feel very well. The smell. The smell was driving me crazy and I didn’t know why.

The place itself was also not my scene. There were mostly people, who were way too young to be there and some weird goth people, which for some reason seemed to make up the majority of the bar’s visitors. Funnily enough, the place couldn’t be further away from being traditional ‘goth’, so I didn’t know what that was about.

But my friends seemed to like it quite a bit, because about an hour later, Sutton excused themselves to go out for some ‘air’ with a European guy in a big fluffy overcoat and a top hat. Jean and I laughed it off, but some time later he did the exact same thing, giggling and waving at me, as he left with another man, this one was wearing… I think some kind of a cravat tie and a jean jacket, which was a bit weird, considering it was pretty cold outside.

They both promised to be back soon and I didn’t mind. I mean, we’re young, we’re having fun, who cares? And I was sure they would be fine, because it’s not the first time they were up to this kind of things. Heck, I also wanted to have a fun time, but I was way too sober to do it with anyone in that place.

So I waited… And waited… and waited, and waited, and waited, and waited. But they didn’t come. It’s been almost three hours. I called them, I texted them and I got absolutely no response. Naturally, I was terrified of what might’ve happened. So I went outside and started looking for them, tried to see if I could spot those guys they left with or anything that could give me a clue of where they were.

Finally, I went into the alleyway behind the bar. Oh fuck… How do I even describe this?…

I heard someone talking in there. They seemed pretty upset about something, maybe even bickering with each other. But when I came over they seemed to notice and the talking stopped. I turned around the corner and saw a cloud of smoke and two bums lying on the ground, fast asleep. At least, that’s what I thought initially. I came a bit closer and recognised the clothes. Those were Jean and Sutton. For a moment I breathed out in relief, because I finally found them. These two dumbasses just fell asleep there!

Then I came even closer to wake them up. I still remember, how I put my hand on Sutton’s shoulder to shake them awake, but felt my fingers sticking to her jacket. There was some weird thick fluid on it, it was half dry and I pulled my hand away reflexively and noticed that this goo was dark. I couldn’t distinguish the colour in almost pitch blackness of the alleyway, but it was blood. I knew it, because now I started to smell that same metallic reek, that I became nose blind to, while sitting in the Big Kumara.

I don’t know what came over me at that moment. I knew, I should’ve called the police right away and leave it to the professionals, but… but something just prompted me to touch it again. I put my hand on Sutton’s jacket, then let my palm glide over to their neck and feel their cold skin with two dents in it. Like a bite. I wiped off the blood from their collarbone with my fingers and smelt it again, just to make sure it was actually real. Then I did the same with Jean. For a few minutes I just sat there in front of their corpses, examining them, as if I was trying to understand what those strangers had done to them, before I made it even worse by picking at their bite marks, making them bleed with stale cold chunks of red liquid.

I soon realised that my hands were now fully covered in their bodily fluid and panic took over me completely. I felt like I was part of it somehow. That I was also an accomplice to their murder. I didn’t know what to do, so I just took off running home. I left my car in front of the Big Kumara and sprinted home like my life depended on it.

I didn’t sleep that night.

I didn’t know what happened to them. I didn’t know how they died. I didn’t know why I let myself destroy what might’ve been the key evidence to how they were killed. I didn’t know why I kept silent about that and didn’t tell the police or even call the ambulance. I was a horrible person. I knew it. So I thought I was next.

The next day, I had to walk three blocks down at sunrise to get my car from the Big Kumara, but the place was surrounded by cops. I was too scared to come close, because the fact that I just randomly left my car in front of the bar last night would be strange, so I left it there for two more days. The weekends passed and at work, I felt even worse.

There were two empty places next to me, where usually Sutton and Jean would be. It seemed like a gaping hole in my life, that would never be filled again. I felt like people were staring at me. Each time I turned to look at someone, I always accidentally met their glance and I was freaking out. It’s like they knew. It’s like they all knew I was there and did nothing. Nobody talked to me, nobody wished me good morning or even waved. They just stared and whispered to each other. Maybe it was all in my head, but sure didn’t appear like it.

Also… each night I felt a weird presence in my room. I live on the fifth floor, but I can swear, there’s somebody at my window, coming in every night and spying on me. I don’t know who it is, but they just come and look at me… and they whisper something, but I can never make it out and I’m too terrified to take a look at whatever is hovering outside my window. I don’t know…

Soon, I became very paranoid. I got additional locks on my door. I flinched at any weird sounds around the house and at work. I couldn’t even focus on my job anymore, because I felt that when I’m not looking, everyone else has their eyes on me. Judging… Knowing…

I left work. I couldn’t be there anymore. Couldn’t sit next to two empty places. Couldn’t take the prying eyes of my coworkers. I couldn’t stay. Not a second longer… Now I’m unemployed. I’m not leaving my house. It’s too dangerous. Whatever that thing is, that goes after me ever since that incident. It will get me, as soon as I’m too comfortable. As soon as I don’t expect it anymore.

I’m not insane, I swear. And it’s not just a nervous breakdown. I know what is happening. I am not stupid. Somebody is after me. They’re after me…” You finally finished.

“But the culprit was found, right? Walenty Nowicki. He’s in trial.” The therapist said, showing that she did quite a bit of background digging on your incident.

“It’s not him. He didn’t do it.” You shook your head immediately.

“How do you know?”

“I just feel it in my bones. It’s not him. It’s something… else. Something abnormal…” You mumbled, realising how crazy you sound from an outsider’s perspective.

“Abnormal? What do you mean by that?”

“I… And this might sound stupid. I think it was a vampire.” There was no way you actually said it out loud.

“Or maybe, it wasn’t a vampire. Maybe it’s just the guilt that you keep suppressing, coupled with high levels of anxiety and lack of a support system?” She leaned on her hand.

“You don’t even believe me. You don’t even want to listen! Just because my relatives think I’m insane, does not mean I actually am! I never asked for a therapist, they just sent you in here! And this is my flat! My place! My temple! And you need to leave! Now!” You didn’t quite understand, why you were freaking out so hard. You shouldn’t be screaming at her, she’s trying to help.

But she can’t, can she?

You ended up forcing her out of your apartment and locking the door on all five locks you had installed. Suddenly, everything felt so quiet. It was already dark outside, but you left little to no light on. Otherwise, someone might see you move inside your house. Someone might notice you. You sat down under the kitchen table as usual, opening up another can of stew. They can’t get you here. You’re safe.

A brief moment of peace made you loose your concentration and that’s when it hit you. A cold hand on your shoulder piercing your skin with sharp claws. You wanted to scream, but couldn’t. Whatever it was, it covered your mouth with its palm. You turned around to see a man. He was there, but wasn’t. It’s like a hallucination or a projection… Scruffy in his appearance, his eyes stared right into your soul, making your heart beat faster than it ever had.

“You will forget about what happened to your friends. You will forget about vampires and you will forget ever going to Big Kumara. You are leaving a completely normal life.” He whispered and you recognised his voice as the one of the silhouette at your window.

What window? What silhouette? What voice?

You couldn’t recall anymore, as your mind drifted into blissful ignorance.

[trulybetty]

2023 Tumblr Top 10 Posts

This was really interesting to go through as I really try to avoid anything related to stats - but also fun to revisit some posts/fics I’d forgotten about!

This year was such a transformative year in many different ways, that I’m still trying to process with 2024 quickly approaching. I’m looking forward to seeing what the New Year brings. But I hope it brings me more of the same I’ve experienced here - community building and some wonderful people that I get to call friends 💕

So if you’re interested, check out the following! If you do your own Top 10, please tag me in it! 🙌 you can do your own here!

1. 879 notes - Jun 26 2023 - Pre-Outbreak/Non-Outbreak Joel (photo set)

2. 413 notes - Sep 10 2023 - Sequins (Joel)

Still so thankful for @wildemaven posting that gif - because if she hadn’t Sequins!Joel would never have been created! It’s the gift that keeps on giving. This was also my first foray into anything non-TLOU themed for Joel and I’m still shocked it was received so well. 

3. 306 notes - Sep 26 2023 - Happy Birthday (Joel)

Written for Joel’s birthday - this was just straight up smut and birthday sex. But hey, it’s canon Joel likes it gentle, steady, nice and slow… so who was I to not give him nice and slow 🫠

4. 237 notes - Aug 16 2023 - Stood Up (Frankie)

To this day I don’t remember where this idea came from. I was really intimidated to write for Frankie, like I almost didn’t post this! But I’m so glad I did, it’s spurred several other one-shots involving Frankie x Mav and a current (neglected) WIP that I’m excited to get back to in the new year.

5. 227 notes - Aug 31 2023 - Marcus Pike coded Pedro, which inspired this (and number 7).

6. 225 notes - Jul 6 2023 - New (to me) Whiskey promo shoot (photo set)

7. 205 notes - Sep 2 2023 - Sick Day (Marcus)

When I first came back to fanfiction I was so confused by the reader insert format. The last time I wrote fanfic, it was canon characters or OC’s - which is what both Gold Rush and Chiffon (my first) are written in. So in order to try out the format I started with Marcus and what is now the Sweet Jane series. I have plans for those two, I have how they met mapped out in my head, that I hope to explore soon!

8. 175 notes - Aug 4 2023 - Strings (Joel)

This was another nerve wracking foray - reader insert Joel and because it was a challenge to write Joel with someone other than my OC. It started as a one-shot, that then was three parts, then four and finally finished at five. It’s also the only series I’ve managed to complete 😆. I’m so proud of this one, it has a special place in my heart - this is the ending Joel deserves, living on a little farmhouse being taken care of and a reluctant chicken dad.

9. 167 notes - Aug 14 2023 - A Sunday Night Ramble (text post)

This was a late night epiphany - where I realised that I was trying to force writing and make my two OG series’ fit into more palatable moulds for others consumption rather than writing the story I wanted. It’s also a good reminder that it’s okay to take a break from something that isn’t currently serving you. If you come back to it two day later, two weeks later or never - it’s okay. You’re not beholden to anyone. This is all supposed to be fun first and foremost, if you’re not having fun then it may be time to step back and re-evaluate.

10. 166 notes - Aug 24 2023 - Drip (Joel)

I still get sad when I think about this piece. Like real sad. I don’t know if I could write something like this again now - or ever. I was well and truly in my feels with this one. I made the decision to watch a walkthrough of all the cut scenes of TLOU2 and it broke me. I knew what was coming, but knowing and watching were two different things. I do like that I left this one open to interpretation - meaning I can revisit one day if I want, so who knows.

NPT’s: @wildemaven, @gnpwdrnwhiskey, @rhoorl, @morallyinept, @frenchiereading, @maggiemayhemnj, @magpiepills, @goodwithcheese, @secretelephanttattoo, @sin-djarin, @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, @undercoverpena, @nerdieforpedro, @linzels-blog, @for-a-longlongtime, @avastrasposts​, @musings-of-a-rose, @mysterious-moonstruck-musings​ & anyone else who wants to play - consider this me tagging you in! Please tag me if you do it! I’d love to see! 🙌

[humbledragon669]

S1E4 – Saturday Morning Funtime Write Up P4 - Saturday (The last day of the World) from "You bad angels!

It’s no good, I’ve had to resort to making my own banners. I don’t think we see another one for a little while. And it just looks so much more inviting to start a post with a nice pretty picture, don’t you think? Cool, let’s see if we can’t finish up this episode.

This scene in the woods provides an interesting subtextual commentary about people being capable of becoming very rational and emotionally intelligent when faced with dangerous situations, whilst the instigators of those same dangerous situations being capable of regression to more childlike behaviours and attitudes. And we finish the scene with the first undeniable display of something that’s not of this world about Adam as he levitates off the ground, clearly terrifying Pepper:

Some questions about the upcoming scene:

Anathema’s research boards. I’m sure there’s a good reason that she has to have two walls full of scribbling, but why does she need two maps that are exactly the same?

Anathema knew when Newt was going to show up, almost to the minute. Why didn’t she know the same details about the timing for the arrival of the tornado? And even if she didn’t know the timing, I’m fairly sure they would have been able to hear the wind outside the house before opening the door.

Why, when they go back into the house, do they go straight from the front door to Anathema’s bedroom? I know she has knowledge of the events to come from Agnes, but the entry back into the house doesn’t seem particularly well thought through. It just seems like strange behaviour to do that when they could just as easily have gone into the kitchen from the front door.

Why has someone written “sherbet lemons” on the prophecy about the upcoming coupling of Anathema and Newt (which apparently is “opaque, even for Agnes”)? I know they were used as a linking device with the missing nuclear reactor, but this prophecy has nothing to do with that.

Why has the pin in Shadwell’s map been shoved exactly in the map icon for Jasmine Cottage?

I know Shadwell pushed it in to mark Tadfield, but how did he manage to single out the exact building where Newt would end up? Newt hadn’t meet Anathema before he left London, so there’s no way either of them could have know that’s where he was destined for. Side note: how beautiful is that zoom-out shot to get from underneath Anathema’s bed, out through the roof, transitioning into the map in Shadwell’s apartment? What an incredibly stunning and beautiful way to get the audience from one location to another without feeling disjointed.

What insult exactly is Shadwell trying to throw at Madame Tracy? The line in the Script Book backs up what’s on film, and reads “murrain plashed berrizene”. Apparently “murrain” is an epidemic in sheep and/or cattle, and to “plash” is to cause a splashing effect. The word “berrizene” appears to be made up. Even without knowing what the last of these three words is supposed to mean, the idea that Madame Tracy has been spattered with a bovine disease is pretty repugnant to say the least. I’d wager that she has no idea what any of those words mean, because even the most smitten (smited? smote?) of kittens couldn’t interpret that as a compliment, though it’s also possible she’s well aware that she’s the only person he throws offences that heinous at, revealing his true feelings for her.

Why is the bed spinning? If the shot through the springs is anything to go by, it would appear that it’s not just the bed but also the rug that it stands on, complete with Anathema and Pulsifer on it. And it’s not exactly spinning slowly. It’s a wonder they didn’t get physically sick from dizziness.

Absolute kudos to the prop guys here by the way: the map we see in Shadwell’s apartment is an OS map of Hambleden – the village used as the stand-in for Tadfield. The map appears to be an exact replica of the map for the area, but with an additional building inserted for Jasmine cottage.

I have to say I feel a little sorry for Adam in this next woods scene. He’s just a child, who has grown up with no knowledge of the power he wields or its consequences, and deep down he just wants to please the people in this life that he loves. He’s offering the rest of The Them what he thinks should make them happy – the opportunity to never have to do anything they don’t want to do. His fury is triggered by the frustration that his gestures aren’t being received in the way that they were intended. It must be very confusing for a young boy to be faced with all of that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not endorsing the removal of somebody’s mouth as a way to combat this tumult of emotions, just saying I feel that he’s as much a victim in this storyline as anyone.

Note for future reference: Aziraphale’s angel rank is disclosed to us in the book shop as being at the principality level. There is also a whole paragraph about his official title in the book. There are quite a lot of things to be said about his title and how it fits with the rest of the Heavenly organisational structure, so I’m going to look at it in a future post just about that. So, for now all I’ll say is Aziraphale = principality. Noted.

Another note for future reference: Aziraphale doesn’t recognise the voice or face (or indeed purpose) of the Metatron. This is something that comes up much later in season 2, and on a much wider and more obvious way, so I’m going to address that elephant in the room when I get to that point (and hey, it’ll help delay the inevitable write up of the Final 15, which I am already dreading, despite it being more than an entire season away from where I am now).

I also find it interesting that Aziraphale has to ask if he’s speaking to God. We know that he refers to God as a female entity, yet the voice that speaks sounds definitively male. You’d also think that Aziraphale would know the voice of God when he hears it. Ultimately, he’s clearly pretty uncomfortable that he’s not getting to speak to the only being that he thinks is able to fix the situation, but he realises he has little choice in the matter.

I absolutely love the strength of Aziraphale’s characterisation in this conversation with the Metatron. The fact that, whilst staring Armageddon in the face, the first concern he raises has to do with little scrap he had with some other angels, and despite the fact that he knows his time is short, his sense of righteousness in seeing those bullies are dealt with in an appropriate way still trumps his need to save the world. Well done, Angel, way to show how non-selfish you are. He makes up for it with his dogged determination that this has all just been a big mistake, his surety that this has all been caused by the loss of the Antichrist child and that Heaven can’t possibly really want the war that they are careening solidly towards. He’s so sure in fact that he completely misses the sarcasm in The Metatron’s “praise”.

It’s actually quite heartbreaking when the realisation that Heaven fully intends to have this war, regardless of any external circumstances, finally filters into Aziraphale’s brain. We can see from his reaction that he was genuinely convinced that Armageddon could just be called off if he could get the message through to the right being, the one his moral code dictates is the best being.

Watching the hope slide off of Aziraphale’s face really does feel pretty devastating. Perhaps not quite as devastating as the look of grief we see from him as he looks around his book shop.

What I find interesting about this part of the conversation is that the Metatron offers Aziraphale the opportunity to join their armies. There’s no compulsion, no threatening – there’s even a compromise that the gateway will be left open for him to use when he’s ready. Granted there is an assumption that Aziraphale will do nothing else but take his place amongst the Heavenly hoards, but the offer itself is of a very different tone to that we saw from the archangels on the street outside.

And here’s where all the pieces finally do all come together – we now have all of the timeline to be able to put them together. We’re back at step 6 of the timeline:

It’s almost a relief at this point to see that the first thing Aziraphale does after he’s left alone in the book shop is pick up the phone to call Crowley. It’s immediate too – no hesitations, doubts or second thoughts. And we get an extra line of dialogue from that telephone conversation that we didn’t hear before as a reward for finally solving the riddle of the timeline:

Remember what I said about him not knowing he was talking to an answerphone? Well in that case, it’s quite sweet hearing this line really – he’s settled right back into the comfortable patois of their usual conversations. No hurt, angry, or uncomfortable feelings about both of the break-ups they’ve been through in the 24 hours previous, just an absolute certainty that they can pick things up where they left off and work together as a team again. Because isn’t that what they’ve been doing for millennia? Regardless of whether you think they’re actually in a romantic relationship or not at this point, or how long that might have been going on if you do, you can’t deny that their working relationship has been in place since “the beginning”, even if it was only formalised less than a thousand years before.

 I need to take a moment to appreciate the soundtrack to this scene in the bookshop. It first caught my ear because I felt like there was an something about it that reminded me of the Witches of Eastwick soundtrack, with its heavy emphasis on the violin part (which might be a duet, rather than a solo instrument with double stopping), which in and of itself would be a lovely little reference to have, now that our Witchfinder Sargeant is about to perform an “exorcism”. There are some cute little parallels in that idea – after all, Daryl van Horne being dismissed by women who had previously welcomed him into their lives using the very thing that frightens them about him isn’t so dissimilar to what’s about to happen. I got a bit distracted from this idea when I listened to the piece of music in isolation on the soundtrack. After “End Titles”, I think it immediately took second place for my favourite piece on this soundtrack. The treatment of the melody from the main theme in the violin is inspired and it builds, not exactly from quiet beginnings, but from a place of tension that grows and grows as it becomes more epic when the choir comes in, and that tension is really polished off when the guitar re-enforces the driving bass line towards the end of the piece. The use of a harpsichord to provide the answering phrases to the violin(s) provides a connection to a lot of the other orchestration settings we’ve already heard throughout the season, and the arrangement makes use of percussion and some techniques with string instruments to really set the scene (I think the odd “whiny” noise might be glissando strings played with the wooden part of the bow, rather than the horse hair). Honestly, outstanding work (in my opinion anyway).

Right, a quick note to move me away from that music, because I feel like I could talk about it all day. I find it interesting that Shadwell refers to Aziraphale as “foul fiend” here. It’s the same phrase Aziraphale used to refer to Crowley way back in episode 1 when they entered the book shop. We’re coming back around to the idea from Anathema that the meaning of words and the judgements that are made with them being entirely dependent on one’s own preconceptions and contextual setting. Aziraphale is too surprised by Shadwell’s appearance to notice that particular slur, but he’s very quick to point out that he doesn’t have anything to do with getting women to do anything for him.

I love this little scene between Aziraphale and Shadwell, I feel like there are so many things to appreciate about it, not least the angel’s initial response to being told he’s about to be exorcised:

Yes, fine, but please, keep away from the circle.

There’s Shadwell’s incredibly ironic choice of book, in a building full of tomes, to serve as an exorcism tool (I mean really, a Witchfinder using a book written by the last true witch in England to exorcise a demon from somebody, it’s too ridiculous). There’s Aziraphale processing that somebody has accused him of being a demon and realising how ridiculous that really is. There’s the use of one the angel’s most hated words, by him himself, to try and get his message across. There’s Shadwell telling Aziraphale to go to whence he came from (which he’s about to do, albeit rather unwillingly). There’s the little noise of a firework exploding as Aziraphale is discorporated. There’s the confirmation that there is a compass in the middle of the shop, with the portal to Heaven lying at its centre. There’s Shadwell’s pitiful and confused “Hello?” to an empty space after he’s just witnessed the only being that was inhabiting it burst in white sparks. And there’s the music. Did I mention the music? Oh, and there’s this, which I feel needs no explanation or subtitling:

Largely though I just spend most of this exchange wondering why Aziraphale doesn’t just give Shadwell a hearty shove backwards – that really would have avoided a whole lot of trouble.

As a final side note for this episode, it’s nice to see that the first thing to catch fire is the programme for the musical that we know Aziraphale has little regard for, even if it’s his boss’s favourite.

And there we have it. High drama to lead us into the penultimate episode of the season. As always, questions, comments, discussion, always welcome! See you next time 😊

[iimplicitt]

OPHELIA | OP81

part two of twenty nine

act i sc. i

ophelia table of contents

pairings: oscar piastri x original female character, lando norris x original female character

summary: 𝙙𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚; 𝙙𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙣 𝙙𝙤𝙩𝙝 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙚; 𝙙𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙧; 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙩 𝙞 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚. Only issue is, Oscar had been lying his whole life and she had absolutely no reason to believe him. Not anymore.

warnings and notes: retelling of hamlet, also retelling of a harry potter work i have. violence. language. suggestions of sex though not too descriptive. mentions of suicide/death. religious themes. alternate universe. dual pov. socioeconomic class issues. racing is still slightly involved. catholic school. act 1, 3, and 5 are from oscar’s pov. the others are from ophelia’s, 18+

𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖊𝖋 𝖔𝖋 𝖛𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖚𝖊

I was an idiot.

Plan and simple. I had never known when to quit, when I had pushed too far, when I was being selfish, ignorant, or cruel. All my life I had been raised in wealth, I was the heir of a massive fortune and with that came the scrutiny of my father.

He never knew when to quit, so neither did I.

God, I was awful to you.

Thinking about it made me sick to my stomach as I’d watch you walk by with your cherry stained lips forming a smile as you helped some guy with his homework. I watched you as long as I dared, Ignoring the world pounding on the door, begging to be let in and infecting my mind with worry.

You kept it out of my head, though.

The kindness that bloomed out of your skin used to disgust me. Deep down I knew I never deserved it, so ridicule and venom would slip off my tongue every time you had said hello. Even the first time we met, I was floored.

Hello, Oscar. It’s so nice to meet you. You said with that twinkling glimmer and your soft hand held out. All I did was silently snarl at you like a wounded animal. Yet you never relented, you were stubborn that way and I admittedly liked the attention I was getting from you. Sure, everyone’s eyes were on me, they always were. But all you did was smile, you never asked me for anything and you never offered anything.

For the first three years our only exchanges were hellos, though my side was typically mute, staring down my nose at you in disgust.

I could never bring myself to say anything to you.

They would crawl up my tongue like a spider, its legs tickling my throat and the poison awaited to drip out and spin its webs around you with derogatory terms. Anything really, everyone didn’t seem to have any qualms on tearing you down. Calling you filth.

You were the purest thing alive.

The summer before fourth year is when I caved, but I didn’t shed the shadows that clung to my skin like tar. It was reckless, on your behalf, honestly what were you thinking? My father had hit me, nothing new, I was used to the sting of his rings.

Then you waltzed along, the fury of the heavens in your eyes and your chestnut hair swirled like a breeze in a storm. Glaring up at my father as you told him off.

You shouted at my father, in public, and I couldn’t help the flicker of endearment that ignited in my chest. I never said thank you, though. I yelled at you afterward. Not meaning a single word but it sounded like I did. I made you believe I did. Your beautiful eyes became pools and ichor slid down your flushed cheeks.

I was only trying to help, you said in a faint whisper.

That exchange weighed heavy in my chest all the way up until Christmas and the school’s holiday dinner reared its head.

I caved again.

I asked you to the dinner.

You were shocked.

Mine doubled when you actually said yes.

But halfway into the night my wickedness swallowed me whole, whispering doubts and taunting me with a devilish fiend. Lando scolded me for even talking to you.

I left you at the table.

Your eyes found me later on when I was kissing Margret and my hands were halfway up her dress.

We didn’t talk, but you still smiled your greetings. Every time the breath left your lungs I felt like a prayer was washing over my tainted skin. Purging me of sin every morning and throughout the day it would layer back on again like heavy wool.

We didn’t talk again until the school incident and that seventh year was expelled. Guilt in my chest because I knew who was actually responsible. They were currently lounging on a chair across from me and reading a book.

The next day you walked up to me right before mass, crossing the aisle that separated the boys and girls, hands clasped in front of you and you bit your lip as if it was ripened fruit.

I couldn’t breathe.

Are you okay?

I sat dumbly, blinking up at you with my fox-like eyes. But for the moment I was out of tricks. No one had ever asked me that before and I hadn't the faintest clue how to respond.

Then you smiled again and took hold of my hand.

We'd never touched before.

My heart stopped and for a moment I feared I was dying.

Everything froze, it was just you. You and your curls of amber and eyes made from the water of Aphrodite's fountain.

No wonder you cried the blood of gods.

I stared at you and you understood. Panicking, I let go of your hand, turning away.

We didn't talk.

Fifth year I found you bleeding in the hallway well past curfew. A hand pressed to your bruising cheek.

Your boyfriend had a temper. I wanted to castrate him. I wanted to do so every time he touched you or pressed his ungrateful lips to your holy skin.

Which confused me and I ended up drunk and punched a wall.

I fractured my hand.

The badge that was pinned to my jacket seared into my skin like a brand fresh off the lick of flames and I felt bad as I walked closer, wishing I wasn't a prefect.

Wishing I wasn't me. Like somehow your pain was my fault.

I nearly apologized to you. I nearly asked if you were okay.

Get back to your dormitory or else I'm giving you a detention.

But you didn't look affronted. You smiled instead. The sight looked as if it was carved from Michelangelo himself. Because you knew, I never let people simply walk away. I gave the impression of basking in getting people in trouble. I should've written you up, but I didn't. My eyes shone like the moon as I watched you step closer, tilting your head back to look up at me as if I was the art work.

Goodnight, Oscar.

Goodnight nearly slipped out of my mouth, my throat bubbling with acid. The smell of hot honey and roses and lemon... the smell of you swinging down like a pure diamond guillotine and cutting the rationality right off my shoulders. I could hear it hit the floor with a heavy thump. I could see it as it rolled away, leaving a bloody trail.

I panicked and wrote you up.

You had more bruises.

We didn't talk.

Not until it was your birthday and I impulsively sent you a single rose and an old piece of paper with sorry scribbled in ebony ink.

It was pathetic.

But you said good morning to me again, the flower in your hold and your smile was bright despite the storm raging outside and the yellow and purple stain on your cheek.

I finally said it back.

The words foreign on my tongue, my lips pressing together and warm from the tea I was drinking.

Later that night I found a rose petal in my bag with a letter that asked are you okay?

I crumpled it up and threw it in the fire.

[thewitcheswitch89]

The Witches Image

Papa Emeritus IV - Part 4

you can also read on:

Min Heyoka (@TheWitcheswitch89) - Wattpad

Notes: mentioning of blood

I spent the whole day reading the dark script. I went through all the steps of the ritual. And even though I knew what to expect, I couldn't stop the excitement from growing inside me.

Madison had tried to persuade me to eat, but I could barely get anything down. Just thinking about tonight made me feel sick again. Lost in thought, I kept scratching the wound on my shoulder that wouldn't stop itching. As if it wanted to make sure I didn't forget it existed. Even the music couldn't distract me. On the contrary, Copia's voice made me even more nervous.

He would perform the ritual, and I couldn't avoid him. After the incident outside Sister Imperator's office, I had tried to avoid him all week. But as soon as I closed my eyes in the evening, I saw his face. His white eyes that cast a spell over me.

I still wondered what had happened that day. The way he had touched me, his sudden closeness. The way he looked at me. How had it come to this? And why hadn't I been able to keep my mouth shut? 'That feels good', why did my brain always have to have such lapses? I buried my face in my hands at the thought. Lucifer, I was such an idiot...an embarrassing idiot.

I was brought out of my thoughts by a soft knock on my door. I glanced at my alarm clock. It was just before 11 pm.

"Yes!" I got up from my bed and turned off the system.

Madison opened the door. She was already wearing her habit and had hidden her blonde hair under her black veil.

"It's time!" she said, looking at me with concern. "You look tired."

"Yes! I've been trying to study all day...now I feel like I've been run over!" I replied, taking the white dress off the hanger. I’d have to wear it to the ritual. It was more like a loose-fitting nightgown with long sleeves, knee-length.

"You've got this!" She gave me a little smile and nodded encouragingly.

I followed her. Out of the room, down the hall to the chapel. We stopped in front of an old wooden door with iron rivets. I smelled herbs and oils. Madison knocked, and Sister Imperator opened the door.

"Come in!" She stepped aside to reveal a tub. Three sisters in habits stood next to it. I recognized them; I had seen them at meals. They nodded and smiled. Madison took the nightgown and put it on a chair.

"Sister Lia," Sister Imperator said, placing an arm on my shoulder. I swallowed against the lump in my throat. "It's time now. Please undress to receive your ablution."

I nodded, feeling a bit nervous, and glanced at Madison. She nodded back. I got out of my clothes and handed them to Madison, who took them. I was completely exposed, so I made sure to cover the wound with my hair. I didn't want to have to answer any awkward questions. Sister Imperator looked me over from head to toe, which made my face flush. I was tempted to cover myself with my hands. But she smiled at me and nodded towards the tub. One of the three sisters helped me in and I closed my eyes as I felt the hot, fragrant water cover my nakedness. They began to wash my back, arms and face with a sponge. They murmured prayers as they did so. They were addressing them to Lilith.

After what seemed like an interminable wait, Sister Emperor's voice rang out: "It's time! Come out and meet your destiny, my child!"

I let out a sigh as I stepped out of the warm water and into the cold. Madison helped me dry off with a towel. I would have loved to get back into my warm clothes. The ritual required me to wear only this nightgown. I was supposed to give in completely to the dark lord. All I had to do was wear a thin layer of fabric between us. After a short time, my feet felt like ice, and the cold made its way up my body, causing me to shiver.

"My child, please proceed to receive the unholy mass." Sister Imperator nodded to Madison, Who helped me out of the room with a gentle nudge.

"Are you okay?" she asked as soon as we were alone in the candlelit hallway.

"I'm freezing my ass off!" I replied. This made Madison laugh. She briefly stroked my back.

"I can see it!" I sighed, wanting nothing more than to cross my hands in front of my chest.

"Okay, come on, we can't be late! Otherwise Imperator will kill us!"

It was time. When we got to the big door that led to the chapel, I took a deep breath. Madison made sure she walked behind me as I approached Primo, who was standing in front of the door in his black choir robe. The candles cast shadows on his wrinkled face, which was adorned with black and white makeup, making him look even more sinister. But it was standard practice for those in higher positions to show off their unholiness with this makeup at events like this. Nobody should doubt their unholiness.

I stood in front of him, making sure not to break eye contact.

"I beseech you, let me in, for I am a sinner." My voice was shaky and uncertain. Primo lifted his chin and looked at me with a furrowed brow. I had to pull myself together. I couldn't mess this up. Primo ran his eyes over my trembling body and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.

„Those who are truly sinful are the only ones who are permitted to enter the presence of the Dark Lord!“, His voice, firm and convincing, bounced off the walls. I swallowed and tried to calm my racing heart. Lia, you can do better than that!

"I beseech you, let me in, for I am a sinner." My voice came across better this time. But it still didn't seem to be enough to convince Primo.

„Those who are truly sinful are the only ones who are permitted to enter the presence of the Dark Lord!“ His voice seemed to mock me and I could feel the impatience growing inside me. I was cold and I hadn't eaten all day. I wanted to finally get this over with. Primo's grin widened. I breathed harder, clenching my hands into fists next to my body. Inside, I cursed his stupid grin. I knew he was teasing me and he had succeeded.

"I entreat you to permit my entry, for I AM a sinner.", My voice echoed in the dark corridor, and I cringed a little. Primo looked down.

"Open wide the door, open wide the gate...The Lord welcomes you...because you are a sinner!"  he said, his voice loud and dark. Not long after that, the doors to the chapel slid open. Primo nodded to me and stepped aside.

The chapel was lit by candles. The pews were filled to capacity. Faces in shadows, their eyes fixed on me as I walked slowly down the aisle to the altar. It was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. I could feel Madison behind me, and I felt a little better.

In the front pews sat the most senior members of the order. Next to Sister Imperator, Papa Nihil, Secondo, and Terzo. Terzos gaze remained fixed on my chest as I walked past them.

Copia took his position in front of the altar. When our eyes met, I had to pull myself together not to give in to the urge to avoid his intense gaze. This gaze that completely captivated me and made me unable to think about anything else.

I stopped in front of the steps leading to the altar, my gaze fixed on Copia. He smiled and came over to me. He motioned for me to kneel down with a gesture of his hand. When my knees hit the cushion, I let out a soft sigh, still watching him. I noticed Madison standing a few meters away. As the guests sat down, i could hear the rustling of fabric.

Copia came over and I looked up at him. His makeup was on point, no smudges, the black lines were sharp over the white paint.

It was only then that I realized how subdued my position was. His body seemed to literally hover over me, his dark gaze on me for a second too long, scrutinizing every inch of me. The thin night shirt didn't leave much room for imagination.

A soft clearing of the throat. Copia turned his gaze to the chapel and the person behind me.

"Brothers and sisters...We have gathered here today to welcome this sinner into our unholy covenant" He said, his voice dark and beautiful. His eyes were on me again, expectant, almost demanding.

"Are you ready to sacrifice your soul to the Dark Lord? So answer...Yes, I am!", holding out his hands, he leaned towards me a little.

"Yes... I am!" My voice seemed convincing and strong despite my excitement. Copia couldn't hide a benevolent smile as he drew in a sharp breath and continued speaking.

"So call him by his names and he will hear you! ", placing his fingers under my chin, he nodded to me. His touch gave me goose bumps and I shivered under his gaze. Swallowing hard, I tried to remember the names.

"Belial...Behemoth...Beelzebub...Asmodeus...Satan...Lucifer!" I cried, feeling a knot in my stomach as he removed his hand from my chin, the black leather cool against my skin.

"Glory to Satan!",  the chapel resounded in chorus. With one last look, Copia turned his back on me and walked to the altar. Where he raised the large chalice and held it in the direction of the devil's figure.

 „In the present moment, we call upon you, Satan, the fallen angel who was banished from heaven. We ask that you bless this wine and transform it into your own blood, there by making this oath and this sister yours!“.

"Glory to Satan!".

His richly decorated mitre shone in the light of the candles, his mozetta played around his chest as he approached me with the chalices.

"Rise, brothers and sisters!" he demanded with a serious look. His eyes seemed to darken as he turned his gaze back to me. The smile had disappeared.

"Our father, who is in hell,

Unholy his name,

Curses his daughters and sons

Before your archenemy,

Who is guilty

Of desecrating thy kingdom.

For thine is the kingdom, the darkness

Forever and ever...

Glory be to Satan!"

The voices fell silent and I took a sip from the goblet, sweet wine slid pleasantly down my throat.

"Glory to Satan... Glory to Satan... Glory to Satan!".

With my eyes fixed on Copia, I put the cup to my lips again.

"Glory be to Satan...Glory be to Satan...Glory be to Satan!".

His lips parted, dark eyes scrutinizing my wine-soaked lips as I took another sip.

"Glory be to Satan...Glory be to Satan...Glory be to Satan!".

I ran my tongue over my lower lip to take in the last drop of wine. And I saw Copia swallow hard before I handed him the chalice again and he put it back on the altar.

Then he turned back to the statue, lifted up a host, blessed it and approached me, willingly i open my mouth. The host was sweet and dissolved on my tongue.

"Glory be to Satan...Glory be to Satan...Glory be to Satan!".

Clearing his throat, he turned to Madison: "Do you swear, Sister of Sin... to bear witness to this sister's unholiness. To accompany her on her path. And to support her on her dark path to Lucifer and to uphold her dark faith. That her soul may only light up in darkness!".

"Glory be to Satan!".

Madison raised her hand to swear, "As I stand here in the eye of the dark lord, I do!". 

"Glory be to Satan!".

He turned to the altar and handed Madison an athame. I hated this part.

"So take her blood, so the oath can't be broken!"

Copia turned to the altar, picked up the Unholy Scripture, and stepped in front of me. My knees were killing me as I stood up. Madison took my right hand, gave me an apologetic look, and then stabbed the tip of the athame into the top of my finger. After a brief stabbing pain, blood ran down my finger. I turned to Copia, who held out the page with the contract. It was a contract with Satan to dedicate my soul to him. I looked for a free line. Many had signed before me, leaving brown dried blood with each signature.

I climbed a step up to him and signed my name with my blood in Satan's book.

"Glory to Satan...Glory to Satan...Glory to Satan!".

As soon as I wrote my name in the book, I felt a sharp pain shoot through me. It spread from my shoulder across my entire body, and everything went dark.

„ Bibe me...Manducare me...videam lucem...veni ad me...ego sum tu...tu me..."

Lilith lifted her head and seemed to want to escape Satan's grip around her waist. Her eyes flashed red, and her hair framed her face as she turned to me. Her voice echoed in my ears, though her lips did not move.

"Vocavie te ...venisti...traxi te...tu pertinent et Me"....

Her arms were outstretched towards me. "ita sit"

her hand grabbed my forehead and pushed it back with a lot of force. A loud laugh rang out. Then I hit the cold ground beneath me. The shadows grew longer and enveloped me. The pain in my shoulder was just a faint echo.

Tranlation:

Bibe me...Manducare me...videam lucem...veni ad me...ego sum tu...tu me..

"Eat me...Chew me...I saw the light...I came to you...I am you...You are me..."

Vocavie te ...venisti...traxi te...tu pertinent et Me

You came to me...I brought you here...you belong to Me

ita sit

So bei t

[bvannn]

Weekly Update February 9, 2024

The sick has returned. I took my medicine for it this morning but so far it doesn’t seem like it’s gone away, but admittedly my symptoms today could be the result of me having a bad day and it being cold outside, and not necessarily the sick. That’s also why I’m posting this update earlier than usual. If it persists tomorrow I’ll know it’s more surgery side effects, and maybe I’ll message my doctor if it stays throughout the week again. Last week went pretty well so I want to assume this week being messed up was just a fluke. I still got some stuff done, though.

I got a bunch of drawings done, most of them epithet erased and fanart rather than OCs but that’s fine. Fwiw I did get a few more comic pages done, though not one a day like I was hoping. I’ll try another tonight, maybe more if I’m in a good mood. I’m also starting to listen to more music, which should hopefully get inspiration flowing a bit better so I can do more OC art as well.

I still got an animation shaped void I need to fill but haven’t figured out what to do yet. I’d like to try something to music but I gotta get a song done first. So I’ve been trying to work on music but I’ve been so scatterbrained that it’s a bit hard. I’m hoping this weekend I’ll have time, but good chance I’ll try to spend it keeping my mood high instead. I guess I could do some OC animation tests, figure out how clip studio animation works too. Maybe.

Music: been toying with some slow ambient instrumental stuff, and that bigger edm one with the piano I posted a sample of a while ago. Turns out EDM is super easy, so if I can find reasons to keep doing it I will, although admittedly I’m not as big on it as I am on other genres. I’m close to done on that EDM one, partially because it’s supposed to be kinda short. I haven’t touched lyric stuff, I might have to soon though since my congenial medical bs is flaring up again too, and lyrics are luckily something I can do while bedridden. Idk I like how the instrumental is going.

I redid that melody I posted the other day for the ambient track, admittedly didn’t change much but I swapped the third measure out, dropped a few notes, and actually tried it on a lower bpm and with some reverb because I forgot to do that for the samples I posted (whoops), and it sounds fine. I need some other parts for that one still, maybe I’ll use placeholders and just figure out the rest of the instrumentation bc I got that half finished.

Haven’t touched vocaloid again yet. Maybe I’ll make some quick demos so I can understand how tuning works. I’ll probably pick a memey or old song and if I make anything presentable I’ll post it.

Been looking for more VSTs too, I compare it to looking for new brushes whenever you’re dissatisfied with your art. Vital has been good for EDM, basically fixed all my problems for me, again. Also started messing with decentsampler again and it’s probably going to fix my problems when I’m working on that ambient track.

I think this weekend and next week I’ll aim to get some time with the big fancy keyboard and just unload a bunch of recording at once. Force myself to finish shit. Tonight I’d like to as well, but that depends on how bad my homework ends up. And if I get flare ups again. I’m still working on dealing with that condition but I need two or three more surgeries before it’s really going to be gone. And I have to wait for those. I’m not worried about money for now since I’m pretty sure I can get a decent job after I graduate (and at a minimum I can go back to the job I had last summer which I liked and paid pretty well). Right now I don’t have a source of income but I think I’ll be fine, I just need to not spend money, which I’m pretty good at. Next week I’ll focus on music stuff first, throw in some drawings if I can, and keep at those comic thumbnails. Once those are done I’ll start on pages.