#Their names are Shade and Sam lol

[dandi-yaps]

My Humanized Sonic Au I've been cooking up that makes them into Nascar Drivers :)

[stargazedwinchester]

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `thrifting, sam winchester

Summary: You take Sam thrifting. Word Count: 831 Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader I absolutely love thrifting, so I thought Sam would be the one that’s the most willing out of the brothers to join! <3 Plus it's a sense of normalcy for once lol

Initially, Sam insisted that you didn’t need to go thrifting. In fact, he tried to hold you back, just in case you were to get hurt without either of the brothers there.

You had practically begged Sam to join you, ‘just this one time,’ you’d plead. ‘Please, Sammy, come with me. You’ll love it.’

After a lot of consistent talk, he gave in. You even insisted on driving there yourself, just so he could relax before you talk his ear off about how good thrifting actually is.

You arrive there early, knowing that sometimes the queue can feel like it’s miles long. Sam rubs his eyes, the redness and bed head indicate he’s still tired. He yawns. “How much longer will this take? I’m bored already,” he groans, and you shove him playfully. “Quit moaning, Winchester. The fun hasn’t even begun yet.” You say, and he huffs like a little kid.

As you walk inside, people clamour to the baskets and carts, darting through the store to ensure they get the best deals. Whilst you, you take your time as you know that rushing means you won’t find the hidden treasures. Sam follows close behind you. Acknowledging Sam’s moodiness, you B-Line straight to the men’s section, instantly searching through sweaters and jackets. You flick through multiple unique items of clothing. “What about this one?” You ask him, picking a muted light blue Nike hoodie, the logo embroidered in the middle with ‘NIKE’ written above it. Sam’s head turns quickly, gently taking the hoodie from you. “Wow, this is nice, actually…” He examines it, holding it up to his torso. “It looks exactly like the one I had back in college.”

“See? This is exciting! Now you can relive your college years. Which was many, many years ago.”

“Hey,” Sam whines playfully, folding the hoodie and placing it in the cart. You slide through more items, finding another Nike hoodie, this time in black. Sam didn’t look it over this time before putting it into the cart.

After finding a few unique pieces for Sam’s wardrobe, you move upward toward the jackets and coats. It feels like there are thousands of Carhartt-style jackets, all similar shades of brown. You watch him as he searches through himself, and you take a quick gander before he lands on something quite rare. The tag reads ‘Carhartt’. The label itself is hand-sewn into the back of the jacket, stamped with 1980 underneath the brand name. Your eyes widen and you hold it up to Sam, who’s still searching through the garments. His head turns to you, pulling a ‘wow, that’s-a-really-nice-jacket’ face. He gently takes the coat from you, taking it off the hanger and puts it on. He can’t hide his smile as it fits his frame almost perfectly. The right amount of bagginess on the underarm, the length just reaching his hips. Sam usually has trouble finding the right clothes that are long enough for him, so this is an amazing find.

After just over an hour of searching for Sam, it’s your turn. The pair of you head over to the women’s section, the bright colours instantly catching your eye. You sift through the pinks, blues and whites - before settling on the darker, earthier colours. As nice as it would be to be able to wear lighter colours, you feel as if you wouldn’t actually get a chance to wear the prettier clothes. You know it’s best to wear darker colours for hunts, so you blend in easier.

You pick up a lovely maroon, deep wine slim fit v-neck vest. You look it over, and it’s in nearly perfect condition. Without thinking more of it, you put it in your cart. “Y/N,” Sam calls, and you turn around. He’s further down the aisle, holding up a pair of vintage jeans. They’re flared at the bottom, the pockets at the back display a beautiful array of embellished sequins, creating a cross that covers the whole pockets. The front pockets have inner pockets with buttons on them, a swirl pattern embroidered with lighter and darker denim. You swear you can feel your eyes fall out of your head. “Sam, what the hell,” you exclaim, walking toward him with an excited grin on your face. He laughs at you. “They’re gorgeous.” You say, aligning the jeans with your hips, measuring whether they can fit. Either way, you throw them in your cart. They’re too good to pass up. Sam clearly has a keen eye for unique items of clothing.

You both enter the Impala, a couple of enormous bags taking up the back seat. “You happy to be done?” You ask Sam, and he pauses. “Honestly? That was fun. I take back my grumpiness from this morning.”

“Yeah, you better, ‘cause you’re coming with me all the time now. You’re my good luck charm.” You nudge him, and he rolls his eyes blithely, with a smirk on his face. Your lonely shopping days are finally over.

[supernova41st]

ok but like I loved ur mercy!reader post and considering my love for crossovers ESPECIALLY character interactions I was wondering if u could do more???

Nerf this! ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎

Tf2 x Dva!Reader

A/n: If you’re not familiar with Dva then I suggest watching the Dva Cinematic. It’ll sum her character up and she’s a fun one at that ^^. A lot of my tf2 x ow fics are platonic so unless I outright say that it’s romantic you can imagine it however you’d like, enjoy <33

Warnings: None

Divider creds: Sister-Lucifer on Tumblr

Engineer

Since you guys were forced to share a workshop it looks pretty similar to the bedroom from Sam and Cat, one side being dull and grey with little to no decorations while the other is pink with cute plushies/figurines around the place.

After a bit you grew closer, sitting around in silence while working on your projects got pretty awkward so it was about time before someone broke the ice.

“You ever name your bots?”

“Huh, don’t think so.. you?”

“Yes! I call her Tokki, she’s cute isn’t she?”

“And one hell of a shade of pink”

Engineer is really competitive when it comes to you, being that you both are engineers/inventors. You guys have fun 🫶

“That’s 10 kills! Can you do that grandpa?”

“Haha! Just wait til’ you see what my other babies can do”

Will gladly show you some old tricks that he’s learned over the years since he’s more experienced. Plus he’s the only person you’ll ever trust your dear Tokki with.

Speaking of which-your self destruct sequence is always done by him, any of the other mercs will FUMBLEEE

“how do I friggin do this?? Is there like a joystick I can move around?”

•

“Too many dæm buttons on this zing! I zon’t know what I’m doing”

•

“pulls out glasses your mouse controls the small pointer on ze screen, use it to-WHAT DOES ANY OF THIS MEAN?”

“IT MEANS YOU’RE STUPID HEAVY.”

Interactions/Voicelines 🎤

Team kill with Self Destruct

“How’s that for a shade of pink?”

•

“Definitely haven’t seen somethin’ like that in my years.”

•

“Thanks Tae-I mean!-Engie!!”

Domination

“Too slow, peepaw!”

•

“Hope that wasn’t hard on your arthritis -3-“

Medic

Medic gets so excited when you’re on a mission with him. Loves pocketing you, partly because you’re the nicest when it comes to asking for help

“CMON THEN DOCTOR”

“heal me pussy.”

“DOCTOR, HEAL NOW”

“heals plss 😚”

He also enjoys how you’re full of surprises, he thought you were gonna die when your mech broke down but no! You jumped out that thing and pistol whipped the whole team’s faces off like the diva you are.

“PISTOL TO THE FACE!!”

“Y/n slow down 🙂”

He loves you but you overstimulate him.

Interactions/Voicelines 🎤

Ubering

“LETS GO!”

•

“RAHHH!! GET OUTTA MY GAME!”

Spawn Interactions

“Vill you surprise me out there, Hase?”

“Of course! You know I always do ^.^”

•

“Nett mech”

“Nett coat!!”

“Aw, vy thank you”

Spy

This ho won’t stop talking shit. Every time he opens his mouth about you it’s him complaining about how “you’re too young to be on this team” or “your ‘experience’ with video games doesn’t serve a war” or “stop playing video games y/n we’re in the middle of battle”.

He avoided you for the most part until you decided to make some small talk while you both awkwardly stood in an elevator, big mistake 😬

“I bet your gun does a ton of DPS”

“Must you always muster up your video game vocabulary with reality?”

“Must you always be so petty?? 😒 old Frenchie fuck you and your dps gun”

Clearly he’s not fond of youngin’s joining the team. Though he does find you more “tolerable” than scout since you at least have some experience with fighting in a war (kinda)

He hates that he has to crawl to you for tech help, he doesn’t know what he’s doing-you’re the tech expert!!

“Y/n.. something is wrong with the radio.”

“..oookkayyy??”

“Can you help?”

“LOL!!”

Meetings with you always end up in him taking your game console away, he just won’t leave you alone 🙄

“Hey! I was in the middle of beating a boss!!”

“You’ll have it back once you listen to what I have to say, girl.”

“Ughh fine”

Interactions/Voicelines 🎤

Spawn interactions

“Don’t you think your little pink robot will be a distraction?”

“That’s.. just the way I like it!”

Blaster light gun kill

“See that, Spy? Pure skill.”

Spy callout

“Ping!Ping!Ping! Spy around here!!”

[ominous-faechild]

WRITEBLR ASK GAME

BLORBO SPAM!

Rules: - list out characters of your wip(s) (preferably ones on the sidelines) that people don't know enough about! - list questions (or borrow from a previous reblog) for people to ask of them! - open the floor for people to ask about the characters!

Request: please send an ask to whoever you reblog this from! This way, everyone should receive at least one ask!

GENERIC QUESTIONS:

Who are they?

What's their role in the story? Or, if they don't have a role, why are they important enough to be named and have an identity?

What's some important information about them?

How easily do they trust? Why?

What motivates them?

Did anyone inspire them to live the way they do?

What's their perspective of the world? Do they think it's a good place, or a bad one?

What formed their perspective of the world around them?

If you had to summarize them into a single sentence, how would you describe them?

Describe them and/or their backstory poorly?

How well do they take care of themself?

What's their biggest flaw?

What's their greatest quality?

What would their friends call their biggest flaw/greatest quality?

Create your own question(s)!

EXISTIWAR QUESTIONS: (although they can kinda be used in other contexts lol)

Who do they belong to/work for? Why?

If they could leave their god, who would they go to and why?

What's their opinion of the Existential War?

What's their opinion of the god they work for?

Do they respect other avatars of their god? Why or why not?

Do they respect avatars of other gods? Why or why not?

Would they spare an opponent they've defeated? Regardless of the answer, would they want their opponent to spare them if the situation was reversed?

Are they on good terms with their fellow god's avatars? What about other gods'?

How did they become an avatar?

Before becoming an avatar, did they believe good things about the gods or their god? How close was their opinion to the truth?

In their early years, did they try to fight for the god's best interests? Did that change as time went on? Why or why not?

GENERIC CHARACTERS:

Faerie's Dawn:

Nova

Branch

Shade

Marri

Eve

Asa

Aster

Rising From The Ashes:

Carmin

Kieva

Sammy

Mei

Caron

“Demonic” Magic:

Genesis

Duke

Steward

Demon

Delilah

Scylla

Eidolon

Waves of Misfortune:

Zarina

Cricket

Yesval

Benji

Flavie

Tián

Zhihao

EXISTIWAR CHARACTERS:

Avatars:

Zuriel (Zuri)

Azriel (Az)

Leliel (Lei)

Matriel (May)

Cassiel (Cass)

Zophiel (Zoph)

Abdiel (Abdi)

Victor (Vic)

Rivka (Riv)

Samael (Sam)

Ariel (Ari)

Paltiel

Lenore

Raun

Shamara

Wither

Azade

Ansgar

Zenebe

Malachi

[frodo-with-glasses]

More Reading Thoughts: Three Is Company

Frodo calling it “Our Birthday” is making me feel things. Oh would you look at the time, it’s Crying About Bilbo and Frodo O’Clock again TT~TT

It’s honestly such a mood that Frodo says to himself “I’m following Bilbo!” so he doesn’t have to think about “I’m carrying a thing of great evil into danger and unseen ends”. Me too, Frodo. Me too.

“And see that Sam Gamgee does not talk. If he does, I really shall turn him into a toad.” 🤣

“Bilbo went to find a treasure, there and back again; but I go to lose one, and not return, as far as I can see.” OH WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE TIME—

Also “and not to return” is so heartbreaking, especially knowing that by the time he gets to Mordor Frodo is fully expecting to die at the end of his journey TT^TT

“It may be your task to find the Cracks of Doom.” JUST DROP THAT FORESHADOWING RIGHT THERE LIKE IT’S NOTHING, HUH, TOLKIEN??

Also teehee crack

Yes I am a twelve year old boy on the inside, moving on

The local shade towards the Sackville-Bagginses is HYSTERICAL

“Ah yes Merry is looking out for a house for me in Buckland.” INSTANCE #2 OF MERRY BEING ORGANIZATIONALLY GOATED

I’m honestly very impressed by how neatly Tolkien crafted Frodo’s backstory and interwove it into the story. The idea that he’s going back to Buckland where he grew up really does seem credible! None of the hobbits would suspect a thing! I almost have to wonder which came first in Tolkien’s mind, Frodo’s backstory or the fact that he’d need a good excuse to go East. It’s so well-crafted and it makes my writer brain happy.

F in the chat for Folco Boffin; we know your name and nothing else about you

Frodo draining the last of the wine like “lol at least the Sackville-Bagginses won’t get THIS!” is very funny to me

I have said it before, I’ll say it again, Frodo looking in the mirror and going “geez I’ve gotten fat” will NEVER NOT BE FUNNY

“Frodo did not offer [Lobelia] any tea.” I hereby name you Frodo Sassville-Baggins.

Aww, the Gaffer agreed to Sam going to Crickhollow to work for Frodo!

If only he knew just how far he was really going

“…though it did not console him for the prospect of having Lobelia as a neighbour.” o7 for the Gaffer, everybody

And they had tea by themselves and left the dishes for Lobelia 🤣 FRODO SASSVILLE-BAGGINS

“‘Coming, sir!’ came the answer from far within, followed soon by Sam himself, wiping his mouth. He had been saying farewell to the beer-barrel in the cellar.” LOL

Also I can’t blame him, knowing what he’s walking into

“He waved his hand, then turned and (following Bilbo, if he had known it) hurried after Peregrin down the garden-path.” OH WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE—

Frodo, whining: "My bag is so heavy" Sam, lying: "I could carry more, sir!" Pippin: "Oh no you don't, let him suffer"

Honestly the dynamic of this trio is super underrated LOL

I'm honestly not sure whether "well, we all like walking in the dark" is meant to be sarcastic or genuine—the way it's repeated later on makes me think it's genuine, but I can't be sure—so just to be safe I'm bringing the Frodo Sassville-Baggins score up to 2.5

I'm taking the time to read the walking bits slowly now, and honestly, the way Tolkien describes the countryside of the Shire is so beautiful. I want to go there, and I want to walk there, and I want to see what the hobbits are seeing. Every little piece of nature and topography elicits an emotion; from the enclosed safety of Hobbiton, cradled in its cozy little valley, to the great fir tree standing guard over the hobbits as they sleep, to the road winding endlessly on before them, promising still more work and beautiful scenery and adventures to come. Is this slow reading? Yes. But I love it so much.

Frodo wakes up and the first thing he does is grumble to himself about his back and neck. He really is an old man. I love him.

Honestly this entire scene is comedy gold

Frodo: "Wake up, hobbits! It's a beautiful morning." Pippin, a literal teenager: "What's so beautiful about it?" ROFLOL

Pippin, literally out in the middle of nowhere: "Sam, draw a bath!"

And for that, Frodo steals his blankets and makes him roll over. Frodo Sassville-Baggins score: 3.5

Pippin: "Water! Where's the water?" Frodo: "I don't keep water in my pockets!" SASSVILLE-BAGGINS SCORE: 4.5

And then he makes Pippin come get the water with him, since he wants it so badly. I love Exasperated Older Sibling Frodo and I wish we got to see so much more of it.

Pippin, after Frodo randomly bursts into poetry: "Wow, was that Bilbo's poetry, or yours? It's kind of a downer."

I'm so glad they kept the "it's dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door" line in the movies, because it really is so good.

Sam's canonically good hearing returns!

Frodo suggesting they prank Gandalf for being late is honestly so cute lol

Twice in this chapter we get the eucatastrophe of Frodo just barely not putting on the Ring, right at the last second. The first time, the Black Rider just walks off on his own, and the second time the Elves show up and scare him off. I will praise Frodo's virtues 'till Spring turns into Winter, but I think this is clear evidence right from the beginning that Frodo was not, and could not, be saved from the temptation of the Ring by any virtue of his own. He is saved; he does not save himself. All of which is honestly very Christian of Tolkien.

Pippin, to Frodo: "All right, keep your secrets!"

I love the walking song. I might do a revised recording of it, if you guys will tolerate my singing voice again X-D

Can we just acknowledge how bad*ss it is that Frodo sneaks up and spies on a Black Rider, just out of curiosity?? Like, I know this is more a feat of stupidity than it is of courage, but given everything we know about them by the end of the book, that is honestly WICKED cool.

Sam, having to be dragged back by his arms: "ELVES! ELVES!"

GILDOR!!

GILDOR MY UNDERRATED BESTIE

I can't wait to draw Gildor. He's gonna be so PRETTY

"But we have no need of other company, and hobbits are so dull" is so funny tho

The Elves, with all the love in their hearts: "You can't sit with us, you're boring!"

FINROD MY MAN

I have not read the Silmarillion, but I know enough about it to know that Finrod is the G.O.A.T.

The Elves: "You're being followed by Black Riders?? Okay you're coming with us now"

Frodo speaking the High-elven tongue like a NERD

I love him

And Gildor immediately like "LOL y'all watch your language, the babies can understand us!" I love him dearly

....Okay wait I have a thought about the hobbits walking with the elves until they nearly fall asleep on their feet. A thought about soldiers and Tolkien's experience in war. Wait. I'm gonna have to make a post about this.

Eyyyy it's the Turin constellation!

Something about the Elven hall did indeed become a core memory for young Lady Glasses. I spent quite a few years building a fantasy world that would capture that sense of mysticism and wonder. Just like Sam and Pippin, I never really remembered the details, but the emotion stuck with me, and it enchanted my imagination.

The Elves bringing out a Thanksgiving feast and saying "sorry we don't have better food" is like going over to your friend's immaculately cleaned house and them saying "sorry for the mess"

Frodo speaking the Elves' language and charming them all is so cute

Sam falling asleep at Frodo's feet as he talks to Gildor is SO CUTE

“At last Frodo asked the question that was nearest to his heart: ‘Tell me, Gildor, have ever you seen Bilbo since he left us?’” OH WOULD YOU LOOK AT—

"My faithful Sam" UGH THE FEELS

Gildor: "But it is said: 'Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.'" Frodo: "And it is also said, 'Go not to the Elves for counsel, for they will say both no and yes.'" HAHAHA GETTIM FRODO

SASSVILLE-BAGGINS SCORE: 5.5

Gildor saying "you don't need to understand the Black Riders, just stay away from them" is honestly very Christian of Tolkien too. The best spiritual warfare advice I've ever heard is "don't try to understand demons; just get as close to your Protector".

Anyway Gildor complimenting Frodo is very cute and that is all

[helloheyhihowdyheya]

Rose Thorn Blues | p. 3

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Part One Part Two Masterlist

Summary: At the fundraiser, you and Parker go undercover as husband and wife. Which puts you two in some very interesting positions.

Word count: ~6.5k

Warnings: Enemies to lovers!! Fake dating!! Forced proximity!!! (< my excitement for those tags lol). Kissing. Banter. A lil' bit of jealousy. Sneaking around. Mention of throwing up. Swearing. Tension.

A/n: Sorry it's been awhile. You know how it is. Thank you for the love on the past parts :) I like how this one turned out. Let me know what you think, and thank you for reading! <3

As soon as Parker led you through the towering front doors of the mansion, you clung just a little tighter to his arm. Your fingers fidgeted with the simple wedding ring sitting on your ring finger, something he had picked up yesterday — presumably from “the guy he knew.” To save your nerves, you hadn’t asked, instead just accepting the likely fake diamond ring that felt too heavy and gaudy for your tastes. It certainly fit right at home here.

People in gowns and tuxedos you guessed cost more than you could ever afford walked throughout the sprawling main room. The clicking of their shoes against the hardwood floor joined their voices and the small live orchestra sitting near the podium at the other side. The sight of all these people only made your fingers play with the ring faster, your nerves alight.

A soft touch along the back of your hand had you stopping your fidgeting, your muscles stilling as you looked to your right. You slowly blinked your eyes at Parker’s, the chandeliers above bringing out the shades of brown they held.

In the boyish grin he gave you, there was calm reassurance flashing across his face. It sat somewhere between the confidence of his persona for the night, Sam, and the smugness of the Parker you were often met with. In an instant, his expression dropped easily into the facade as he grabbed two flutes of champagne for you both from a passing waiter holding a tray.

“For you, dear,” he said, handing one to you before taking a sip of his own. You watched his gaze flick across the crowd of wealthy guests. Maybe they were in the dark about where their donations went, but you guessed that more than a few knew the truth — and benefited from it. 

“Hello,” a soft voice said from behind you, and your body fought the urge to jump at the sound. A smile that didn’t reach all the way up to your eyes spread across your face as you turned. 

Parker’s arm wrapped around your back while you were met with an older couple focused on the two of you. The women introduced themselves, but you found trying to play your part convincingly while focusing on their names and the conversation proved harder than you’d expected. Especially as the heat of “your husband’s” body settled along yours.

But Parker’s voice pulled you back into the moment as he answered a question they must have asked, the rumble of his voice vibrating against you. “Rose’s grandmother recently passed. She loved this city and Beaumont’s work. The two of them were good friends, so we’re here to support him in her memory.”

The one on the left reached her hands out, clutching onto your free one. “I’m so sorry. What you’re doing here would make her very proud.”

You quietly thanked the woman before her wife asked, “And what do you two do for work?”

A long beat of silence passed over all of you, to the point where you could hear Parker swallow hard beside you. In all the planning you’d done the last few days, neither of you had come up with jobs. 

Shit.

“Teacher.”

“Teacher.”

You both said the word at the same time, a slight panicked look passing between you. 

You turned back to the women, letting out a laugh that felt too tight and forced. “My grandmother left our family money. To donate,” you clarified with a straight smile. You muttered out, “Since there’s not too much money in teaching…”

“Oh, how lovely. Do you work together?”

“Not anymore,” Parker answered. “But we’re happy with our jobs.”

“And what do you teach?”

Internally, you clenched your jaw and cursed these women for being so friendly and asking so many questions you didn’t think about beforehand. But that didn’t seem to stop Parker as he responded with ease.

“Chemistry for high schoolers. And Rose here teaches, um…” His words briefly trailed off, his tongue coming out to wipe over his bottom lip as he hesitated. Okay, maybe not as smooth as you’d hoped.

“English,” you finished for him. Leaning into Parker, you let out a laugh. It almost felt natural to place your hand on his chest as you spoke, lied, to these women. “Sam would lose his head if it wasn’t attached to him.”

That sent them both into loud giggles, a smile spreading across your face as they held onto one another.

“Oh, you two sound like an old couple already,” the left woman said between breaths. 

At least you had the bickering side of things down already. 

But as their laughter died down, the one on the right opened her mouth once more, probably to ask another question you had no answer to. The tightness holding your body hostage sagged as another couple came up, hugging the two women like longtime friends. 

Your rapid heart silently thanked Parker as he took the moment to lead you both to a quiet corner and around the crowd of people waltzing to the soft music, but you still gritted out, “You didn’t think to come up with our careers?”

“Guess my pea-sized brain can’t do all of the work here. What’s your excuse?” he whispered back. His words had you shoving your elbow into your side, but all it did was earn your bare arm a light pinch from him. 

Finding a quiet-enough area, your steps slowed, letting your mind calm down for a moment. Somehow, Parker still wore that casual smile as one hand held the glass and the other sat along your side. But you took a step out of his grasp once you saw no one was looking, letting the space between you two give you extra room to breathe. To think.

You took in the sight of the busy mansion. Mentally, you ignored the now cold spot from Parker’s missing heat, instead marking doors and noting who spoke with who. You were able to recognize some of the attendees — most of which were other local politicians. 

How far did all of this go?

Before you could think further, Parker leaned over to speak close to your ear, a distinct scent of  coffee and something familiar wafting from him. You’d expected him to explain your next steps, so you quickly looked at him in surprise when he asked, “Did you want to be a teacher as a kid?” 

Raising an eyebrow, scanning the expression he wore, you replied, “Yeah… I did. You too?”

“Yeah…” He nodded, staring downward as if in thought.

Your attention went back out to the people, chewing on the inside of your cheek as brief moments passed in silence. All too quick, he followed up with, “Though there’s not much espionage or breaking and entering in teaching these days.”

You gave a quiet laugh, suddenly wishing you’d gone into teaching. The thought made you take another sip of your champagne. A small sip — you needed to stay focused on tonight and learn as much as possible about Beaumont.

But Parker once again came close, the back and forth of him almost making your head spin more than the alcohol could. He whispered, “I spotted a sort of VIP section I could make my way into. It’d be easier to do with just one person, so you can mingle yourself into some important conversations. Beaumont’s not out here. And his little speech and the auction aren’t until later anyway. How does that sound?”

His eyes traced over your face. A slight crease forming between his eyebrows was the only indication that he wasn’t actually the suave Sam Bennet.

You gave a few hesitating nods, your gaze looking at anything but his eyes. You could do this — you’d spoken with people to get information from them before. And even if you couldn’t, maybe Rose could.

Before leaving, Parker shot back the rest of his champagne and set the glass on the nearest flat surface. You fought back a disbelieving scoff when he winked at you and strode toward a closed door on the other side of the room. 

For a few moments, all you could do was watch after him. The party felt much bigger as you stood there alone. A small part of you wondered whether he also felt like that.

You shook your head, clearing your mind with a deep breath in and out. You straightened your back and lifted your chin. Scanning the crowd, you spotted a member of Ellis Beaumont’s team. The middle-aged man stood along the wall near the orchestra, his attention fixed on his phone. You felt as if you’d found your prey as you set down your drink and made your way toward him, one heavy step in front of the other.

You knew he handled marketing for Stronger Together and Beaumont in general, a target full of information ripe for your picking — information you could ask about without drawing suspicion. But all the false confidence you built up deflated as you approached, watching as another member of Beaumont’s team pulled him aside for a hushed conversation. 

Swallowing down a frustrated groan, you instead pivoted to look as if you were enjoying the band. The dancing strings and piano would normally be lovely to listen to, but now it felt like the soundtrack to a headache threatening to form along your temples. 

The two team members walked to the door Parker went through. You didn’t have long to look around for another person to question before you felt a presence to your left. 

“So, do you prefer the upbeat plucking style of Brahms or the legato tone of Debussy?”

The question came from the young man next to you, and within an instant of seeing his styled hair the color of the night and the sharp line of his jaw, you knew who he was.

“I’m just kidding,” he said, flashing a white smile that crinkled the corner of his dark eyes. “Classical music’s never been my strong suit, and I stopped learning their names years ago. Though…” He paused, admiring you, “I wouldn’t mind learning yours.”

Your mouth opened slightly, your mind forcing out a small laugh that you hoped sounded believable enough. Was this actually happening?

Shaking your head, you stuck out your hand. “That might be the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard. But the name’s Rose,” you told him. 

He took your hand, wrapping his long fingers along your skin with a smile that could take anyone’s breath away. “You’re not wrong about that, but it got you to talk to me,” he said, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m Will.”

You bit back the urge to say I know. You’d done enough research to recognize William Beaumont, the only child of Ellis. In his mid-20s, Will had already quickly risen through the ranks of politics — though not that it seemed to interest him all that much.

But he had to know something and might just share that knowledge with you. Whether he saw the wedding ring around your finger, he didn’t say. 

Flirting for information was not something you had much experience in (or any experience in), but how hard could it really be?

At the expectant look he gave you, one that said he’d rather have his attention on you than anything else in the world, it suddenly felt very hard.

Shoving down your worries and trying to fall into your role like Parker could, you smiled sweetly at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Will.” You let your hand drop back to your side as you said, “And for the record, I’d have to go with Debussy.”

His hands sat casually in his pockets, his head giving a light nod. “Since I’m not entirely sure who he really is, I’ll have to agree with you.” He let out a soft laugh, his easy tone lightening the tightness in your chest just a fraction. 

A moment passed as you laughed along, the band continuing to play softly. “So, if you were being honest with me, do you ever get tired of these things?”

He sent a sly side eye your way, a smirk crossing his face. “If we’re being honest, then I’d have to say yes. If you’re going to repeat my answer to my father or his associates, then I’d say that I never bore of helping this wonderful city of ours.” The way his voice turned almost mocking at the end made you hide a smile, your face turning slightly away from him.

“What a very professional answer. I can only imagine how many meetings you’ve had to sit in on and say something like that.”

“An excessive amount, yes,” he said, running a hand down his jaw.

“Do these fundraisers all go the same way? Conversing, speech, dinner, auction, then more conversing? I’ve never attended one like this before.”

He gave a short nod. “For the most part. It’s close to the same speech every time, and nearly the same kinds of things auctioned off — most of them coming from donations made primarily by the wealthiest guests here.”

Things you were sure you could only imagine owning. The thought of listening to another speech from Beaumont after all your research only made the small stabbing in your head increase.

Trying to sound casual, unassuming even, you asked, “And what do you exactly do?”

His face shifted toward an unreadable look, making you fight uneasiness rising through your body. You followed up with, “I think it’d be boring if you just sat and listened, so I hope you get to actually play some part in the organization.”

You watched his gaze consider you for a moment, the seconds passing forcing your heart into your throat. Part of you debated faking getting an emergency phone call to get away if this went south.

Tilting his head, a soft smile spread across Will’s face. He held out his hand toward you, palm facing up. “Would you care to dance with me, Rose?”

A twisting feeling reeled through your stomach, your body on edge in an instant. At your hesitation, he said, “Just one dance. And I can answer your question while we’re out on the floor.”

As you raised your hand and laid it in his, you mentally said every expletive you knew at this terrible summer internship, at Parker, and at yourself. But you held an easy smile while the two of you made your way to where others danced along to the orchestra’s playing.

He brought your right hand up in his left, his other hand smoothing across your arm and landing on your back. You tried focusing on your fingers laying atop his shoulder, feeling the soft material of his jacket beneath you. 

“If we’re still being honest with one another, I am not the world’s greatest dancer. I apologize for any toes I step on,” you quietly told him, your words accompanied by a nervous laugh you didn’t have to fake.

His hold on you supported your body as he began to move, your feet trying to follow his. He gave a kind laugh, his hand squeezing yours once. “I won’t hold it against you.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, your gaze cast downward to make sure you moved the right way. Slowly, you began to recognize the repeating pattern of steps, your muscles becoming a little less wound tight.

“That’s it,” Will said with an encouraging tone. “Now, can you bear looking up instead of at our feet?”

A laugh slipped from your lips as your eyes trailed higher until they connected with his. You appreciated his kindness, but being here by yourself, there was no way you’d relax enough. Not until–

From the corner of your vision, you spotted Parker walking from that door he’d slipped through. You watched him begin walking this way and scan the crowd, one hand holding another champagne glass and the other running through his hair. It was only once he found you that he stopped, and it brought a relieving sigh from your chest.

As you danced and turned though, you couldn’t see Parker from this angle anymore, but Will said, “There you go. Not so tense anymore.” 

You offered him a grin, one that you fought to maintain as too many thoughts ran through your head. You needed to focus.

“So, I’m dancing,” you began with a laugh. “Your turn to hold up the bargain.”

He returned the laughter, those crinkles around his eyes returning. “Fair enough.”

People passed by in a blur as he continued to lead you across the floor, the orchestra’s music thrumming along with your heart. You’d long lost sight of Parker with all the spinning.

“Sometimes, I do just sit in meetings — whether I’m also listening depends on how boring the topic is. And other times, I pitch ideas for projects or try to lead them.”

You nodded. “Which seem to be doing well, correct? I haven’t followed Stronger Together all that closely lately, so I haven’t seen its impact up close yet.” 

Please, you silently begged him, to give you something.

His eyebrow twitched upward as he hesitated, the muscle of his jaw feathering. “It’s never as easy or quick as we’d wish, but that doesn’t stop us from working toward the organization’s goals. Especially ones I’m passionate about.”

“Like what?” you asked almost a bit too quickly. You tried giving a look that said you were just excited to hear about him.

“Like ensuring everyone has the right to a proper education. We don’t always have jurisdiction for these projects, but what does jurisdiction matter when people’s lives are at stake?”

A smile — a real, genuine smile — overtook your face. “That’s exactly what I say. How can we let red tape get in the way of helping one another?”

He let out a sigh, one that seemed to course from his whole being. “I sure wish my coworkers thought the way you did,” he said, pulling your body just a little closer to his. 

A small feeling, one spreading from your chest, hoped that he was telling the truth. That if you discovered Ellis Beaumont’s crimes and told the world, maybe there’d be a better future in his son.

As that comforting thought passed through you, your eyes caught a moving figure from the corner of your vision. You couldn’t miss the sight of Parker dancing with a woman several yards away. She looked vaguely familiar, perhaps someone involved with the non-profit. 

Your gaze drifted to where Parker’s hand laid on her, the deep plunge of her gown’s back letting his hand rest across her skin. The two of them danced easily, their hold on one another looking so natural. 

You eventually looked up, your steps nearly stuttering when you saw his eyes were already on you. They traced over your form, just the flash of a hard look crossing his face before his mouth began to move. Hopefully, he was asking a question that would lead you both somewhere. But even as he spoke, he stared over her shoulder at you.

That warmth in your chest spread outward. Up your neck, the heat snaked through your skin until your breaths came a little quicker.

Only once you and Will turned again were you able to break from the moment, to focus back on the man you were dancing with. You squeezed your eyes shut for just a second. 

Determined to get something out of this whole thing, you opened your mouth to ask him another question — but he spoke first.

“So, tell me about your husband, Rose.”

Your gaze immediately found his and the expectant darkness waiting in them. “What?”

“Your husband,” he repeated, angling his head toward your wedding ring. “What’s he like?”

A breathy “Oh” passed between your lips…

So this wasn’t flirting? Your mind couldn’t make sense of what William Beaumont wanted, not as you danced in his arms while “married” to another man.

“He’s, um. He’s nice.”

At Will’s laugh, one of your own following, you said, “Most of the time, he’s sarcastic — and I wish there was a way to attach a zipper to his mouth. I think, though, underneath it, there’s kindness that he doesn’t always show. But you know it’s there when you get to know him.”

As you turned again and made eye contact with Parker still far away, you mindlessly muttered, “Sometimes, I wish he wasn’t so smart. It makes me look bad.” A wry smile crossed your face, and you could’ve sworn the ghost of a grin appeared on Parker’s as well. “And while he’s the most chronically late person I know, he’s there when you need him.”

A moment passed before Will pulled back, staring at you as if he could see all the way through you. The orchestra played the final note of the song, your steps slowly coming to a stop. You could only stand there as he leaned closer, his mouth right along your ear. His breaths made goosebumps rise across your shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Heart pounding in your veins, you whispered, “For what?”

“For dancing with me.”

With that, he pulled back, squeezing your hand once more before letting it return to your side. “Enjoy the night, Rose,” he said, nodding his head and turning. You quickly lost him through the sea of people, not that you really tried to search for him long.

Guests around you began to disperse to their tables, a sign to get your feet to move — wherever your own seat was. Lights dimmed above, creating a stir of conversation between people while you looked around, searching for Parker.

You barely finished the thought when he appeared at your side. His arm wrapped around yours as he whispered, “C’mon.”

You followed, the cold shock of Will disappearing under the warmth of Parker against you. But as you both weaved through people still going to their tables, you saw he wasn’t taking you somewhere to sit down and listen to Beaumont’s speech.

Instead, the two of you went through double doors into a hallway leading to the bathrooms. People walked in and out, and if you hadn’t done the research beforehand, you would’ve seriously questioned where he was taking you.

But you’d remembered there was an exit near here, past the bathrooms. There would also be another door — one that took you up and further into the mansion. 

With minimal guests around to witness, he walked right to it.

The staircase behind was thin and illuminated by only a few warm lights. Unable to walk side by side up the steps, Parker let go of your arm and led the way. You only heard the muffled sounds of the hallway behind you, making you a little hopeful that this wasn’t an often-used section of the house. 

“What did you find?” you asked, your hands pulling up your dress while you climbed the stairs.

After two flights, Parker stopped before a door. He turned the knob, letting it swing open silently into a hallway shooting off into many rooms. As he stepped through, he angled his head toward you and said, “Nothing. Which makes me very worried.”

All you could do was begin chewing on your bottom lip and follow him. The plush carpet luckily hid your footsteps, but every nerve in your body stood on edge. You imagined that they’d be fraying and burnt out by the end of this night.

“I know there’s something here though.” Parker motioned toward a door on your left. “You check that one. I’ll look in this one,” he told you, pointing to the room across from it.

Eyeing him, you grumbled under your breath, “A please would be nice.”

And without looking, you knew he was rolling his eyes. Still, you went to the room — even though some instinctual part of you almost insisted that it was safer to go together. You had no idea what was on the other side of this very nice and expensive hardwood door.

The only thing that got you to turn the handle was the sound of Parker going into his room without hesitation. Though you thought calling it the “sound of his audacity” had a better ring to it.

And following in his footsteps brought you to a… bathroom. Sure, it appeared fancy with its probably imported floor tiles and French-inspired sink or something, but the only suspicious thing in this room was why anyone would choose those ugly decorative towels.

Still, you looked through everything — even the medicine cabinet, which made you feel like some sort of rude house guest. You took a photo or two of the bottles inside, most of which turned out to be painkillers. Strong ones.

Before moving to the next, you listened for any footsteps or voices. With silent steps and slowed breathing, you crept from the bathroom — only to be met with Parker walking freely from his room without any caution. At the incredulous look you gave him, he just gestured for you to hurry up.

You made a point to glare at him as you approached the next door. As it creaked open, your body wincing at the noise, you stepped inside. At first glance, it seemed to be a bedroom, which wasn’t exactly what you were looking for. It had no computer to search through or a convenient map laying out their entire plans.

It appeared to be largely unused, a faint layer of dust coating most of the furniture. But as you walked toward a small desk in the corner, you saw some papers scattered atop it. Some appeared to be emails that held no significance without any context. Others seemed to be invitations to a few of Beaumont’s fundraisers.

The walls or shelves in the room gave no indication as to who these papers belonged to, but you took pictures of them regardless. As you set them back, you looked further down. The desk also had drawers.

One pull on it told you they were locked though, and surprisingly, lock picking wasn’t a skill you listed at the top of your resume. Maybe you could try and get through the back…

The door squeaking open made you jump, your body straightening up and hitting the desk. You stifled a groan as your eyes found Parker at the entrance of the room. Silently, he held up his hands — not in apology but in a way that was supposed to somehow absolve him of any guilt. 

You could already feel a bruise forming along your hip, your hand rubbing the bone. Parker approached you, whispering, “Settle down, Nancy Drew. Have you found anything useful?”

“Unless you can open these locked drawers, how about you keep your mouth shut, Parker,” you quietly gritted out.

His grin grew into something taunting. “Guess I’ll keep this mouth wide open then, sunshine.”

You watched with furrowed eyebrows as he knelt down and took two bobby pins from his inside pocket. Before you could even ask, he interrupted. “I come prepared, so keep your smart comments to yourself.”

Widening your eyes with a huff, you stood there, leaning against the wall. Your arms crossed in front of your chest as you observed him. 

“So… when did you learn to pick locks?”

Under his breath, you barely heard him mutter, “When’d you learn to flirt for information?”

As you were still processing his words, your mouth opening slightly in shock, Parker popped open the drawer. Any retort died in your throat — but stayed very clearly in your mind — as you looked past him at the papers he pulled out.

They seemed to detail some sort of… super suit? Scribbled notes sat on the margins of blueprints for a suit with metal arms, protective armor, even grenades. Almost like they were a mismatch of parts from Spider-Man’s villains. Doc Ock, The Rhino, The Green Goblin.

A shaky breath punched from your lungs, your stomach sinking so low you had to set a hand on the desk to steady yourself. Was Ellis making himself into a supervillain?

The thought barely seeped into your mind when you both heard a floorboard groan from out in the hallway. Your head whipped to the door, neither of you moving an inch. At another creaking sound, Parker silently made his way to peek out from the room.

He must have heard something you didn’t because his entire body tensed, but your hands were already moving. By the time he turned back to you with wide eyes, you stood next to him, your heart beating rapidly in your ears.

“We’ve gotta go,” he whispered, the words barely audible. You fought back the urge to say no shit. You weren’t sure you’d even be able to utter the words with how your body now shook.

Parker crept out into the hallway, looking both ways. He nodded for you to follow with a quick jerk of his head. But as you closed the bedroom door behind you, the squeaky hinges echoed into the air. Your eyes met Parker’s, his jaw tight as alarm flashed across his face.

In an instant, his fingers grabbed onto your wrist. He pulled you across the hall to the nearest room and clicked the door shut behind you. 

Through the whiplash from sudden movement to stillness in complete darkness, you felt a hand cover your mouth. The back of your body leaned against what felt like wooden shelves while your front pressed into Parker. 

You felt the beating of his heart against your own.

Despite him covering your mouth making you want to do the opposite, you willed your breaths to slow down until they were nearly silent. Though you couldn’t see, you guessed the two of you were sandwiched inside a closet of some kind.

You brought your hand up to remove Parker’s from your face. You might’ve pinched him if you weren’t hiding from whoever was also here, though that didn’t stop you from flipping him off in the shadowy closet. You felt him push your hand away with a quiet huff.

Only a moment later, through straining ears and clenched muscles, you heard a door open. Then footsteps.

Your eyes squeezed shut, the heat in the tight space beginning to grow unbearable. That, on top of your mind and body turning into a live wire from your nerves, made it feel harder to breathe.

And you knew you had to be quiet, but your back screamed at you to move from the hard shelves digging into your spine. As you tried to silently shift forward to find any kind of relief, you were stopped by palms quickly landing on your hips. 

You heard a strangled sigh come from Parker as he held you firm, your body unable to move any further under his grip. Your top half leaned into him more in this position, your hands instinctually holding onto him and finding hard muscles beneath. 

In the dark and under the threat of making any noise, you were unable to ask him what he was doing. All you could do was feel him.

But his head came nearer. You swore he whispered, “I…” before trailing off. He was close enough that you could feel the word caress your cheek. Then, as if time froze for a few seconds, neither of you even breathed while the footsteps grew louder and louder until they came so close to the door.

And then they kept going, the footfalls becoming just a bit quieter with each one.

You would’ve sighed had the hands on your hips not still held on so tight. His breathing sounded labored, his body rigid. With worry starting to take over your senses, you barely let his name pass your lips. So quietly, you whispered, “Peter?”

You knew he heard you because every muscle of his tensed. The movement had his arm hitting the shelves, and all of the blood rushed from your head as something fell and hit the floor with a dull thud. 

The footsteps stopped.

Parker grabbed your shoulders, his grip twisting the material of your dress wherever he touched. Maybe he knew that your mind was spinning, that your stomach threatened to empty itself, or that most of your extremities had gone numb despite the heat. He held you there, keeping you grounded as the steps became louder once more.

“Do you trust me?” Parker said, the words wrapping around your body with a gentleness you hadn’t expected.

Your mind’s first instinct was to tell him no, you absolutely did not trust him. You wanted to ask him whether he even trusted you. But your throat allowed no response to pass, your tongue unable to shape any of the sounds. 

And… if you were to once again follow your heart, follow the pull in your gut, you’d nod. 

So you did. 

With that, he leaned forward to press his lips to yours. A quiet noise of surprise came from you as his fingers now danced up to hold your jaw. Only once you responded, your fuzzy mind catching up enough to kiss him back, did he lunge further forward. 

Quick breaths came from his nose as his mouth overtook yours. His body pressed roughly against you, the feeling doing nothing to slow your dizzying senses. Your fingers gripped the hair at the nape of his neck. And by the time you’d finally responded with the same intensity as him, nearly fell face first into the feeling, light flooded in from behind your eyelids.

Breaking apart from Parker with a start, you blinked until your vision made out the security guard in front of you. Your chest still heaved and your heart still pounded. Even your fingers still itched for him to ground you again — so much so that you grabbed his hand as the worker let out a scoff.

“Christ… Don’t you have anything better to do? Or any place better than this?” he asked, his flashlight flicking between the two of you.

“Sorry, sorry. We’ll go,” Parker muttered, his voice tighter than you remembered. He used one hand to shield his eyes from the light and put the other on your back to guide you from the closet. 

He made a good show of not knowing which way to go, making the guard point toward the door you came from with a tired look on his face. It took everything in you to not hide behind your fingers, embarrassment crawling up your neck and heating your cheeks.

Neither of you said a word while walking back to the main room, just pointedly not catching each other’s eyes. It felt harder to swallow, to think even.

Finally, outside the bathrooms, Parker broke the silence. He turned to you, saying, “Your, uh, dress.”

He approached, trying to fix the rumples he created in your gown. But you batted his hand away, unable to deal with his touch on you again right now. Your fingers smoothed it out yourself while you told him, “Flatten your hair back down.”

And before he even finished, you’d begun walking down the hallway to the doors. Anything to create room between you two — because you could still feel the weight of him clutching your jaw and the burn still present on your lips. 

And you didn’t want to think about what you just did for this story, or about kissing Peter fucking Parker.

His shoes clicked against the tile as he caught up. Your eyes saw a glimpse of him reaching out, your body bracing itself for his grip around your arm. But he stopped short, instead pleading, “Wait.”

“What?” you asked, a soft bite to the word. Your head sat on a swivel for anyone who could be watching or listening.

He gritted his teeth for a moment, thinking. “Should we go back? To take pictures of the diagram?”

With a tight smile, you told him, “No need.” 

Your fingers pulled the papers from where you’d tucked them into the front of your dress. You only paused long enough to feel smug at the surprised look on his face before hiding them once again. 

Without seeing whether he’d follow, you strode through the double doors — just always walking barely ahead of him. Luckily, your seats were near the back and away from the spotlights trained on the stage. 

Once settled into the chair, your hands firmly in your own lap, you let out a long breath. From beside you, Parker leaned in close, whispering, “Sunshine… Can I ask you something?”

Your eyes darted in his direction, nausea suddenly flooding your system all over again. You only looked at his shoulder as you slowly nodded, wondering if it was a mistake to do so. 

“Am I…”

He paused, and you could’ve bolted right then and there. Letting out a sigh, he asked, “Am I like the best kiss you’ve ever had?” 

He barely made it to the end of the sentence before his usual shit-eating grin returned to his face.

You relished in the way it twisted in pain when you kicked him under the table, hoping it’d leave a bruise. Partly, you were grateful he broke the tension, but that didn’t mean you weren’t thinking of breaking his foot too.

Turning back to the stage, you finally focused on the man standing atop it. That salt and pepper hair, dark eyes, and “winning smile” looked back in return.

It was hard to pay attention to his speech still going on when all you could think of was Beaumont’s diagram of the super suit. In your head, those eyes turned hateful, that smile cunning. You still felt them even as the speech ended, all of it just propaganda as you expected. 

What information you took from the auction was just how much money was going toward Stronger Together — which was a hefty amount. And all you got from the dinner was that they needed to learn how to better season their food.

After it all, Beaumont was immediately surrounded after the auction. People you assumed were shareholders or investors (i.e., rich people) took the conversation back into the VIP area before you could even think of approaching him. Honestly, you weren’t sure you could handle any more sneaking or lying for the rest of the night anyway.

But you had what you needed, for now.

And while making your way toward the mansion’s towering front doors alongside other couples, you could’ve sworn there were two sets of eyes burning a trail past your every move. One of them you refused to meet.

@reidslovely @keepingitlokiii @thedevax @sincericida @dil3mma @hollandweather

[chiefpapermuffinpasta]

a deadly calm inside - 5

pairing: dean winchester x oc!witch!reader

chapter summary: After reluctantly seeking refuge at Cordelia’s, Sam and Dean begin to suspect there’s more to her past with Marjorie than she’s letting on. As Marjorie battles her own demons, both literal and personal, she sets a trap for the wraith that has been haunting her, forcing herself to face the pain it thrives on. But when Marjorie finally enacts the ritual, she is left with no choice but to destroy the wraith and walk away from the only mother figure she’s ever known. Now, wounded but resolute, she joins the Winchesters in hunting down Meg, setting the stage for a new, volatile alliance.

word count: 14.0k

marjorie outfit inspo 2 3

marjorie get behind me! i really loved writing this chapter and building marjorie's relationship with the winchesters. i know there still isn't any smooching, but it's a slow burn for a reason lol. also, i know this is a dean fic, but how would we feel about a sam fic? im actually a sam girl and i don’t think he gets enough love on tumblr, but u guys can let me know. enjoy!!!!!

*****

The scent of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air as Marjorie slid into the diner booth, stretching her legs across the seat. The place had a charming, old-school feel- faded red vinyl booths, a jukebox humming in the background, and the faint clatter of plates in the kitchen. It was the kind of place that felt untouched by time, a perfect slice of normalcy. 

Dean grabbed the toe of her boots, shoving her legs to the floor, and dropping into the seat across from her. His eyes looked over the menu, scanning to see shock on her face. She couldn’t see the rest of his face, but she knew he was smiling. Sam slid next to him, giving him a pointed look. 

Sam looked over at Dean’s menu. “You’re really gonna order that much grease this early?” Dean looked down at his watch- 8 am. 

“It’s never too early for a bacon cheeseburger.”

A waitress walked over, her name tag showing ‘Becca.’

“What can I get started for you guys?” Her deep brown hair was tied loosely into a side braid and she had a pretty shade of red painted on her lips. Dean definitely noticed. 

He flashed her a toothy grin, giving her his order. 

Sam rolled his eyes, Marjorie mirroring the movement. 

“I’ll just get some eggs and whole wheat toast, thanks.” Sam gave her a nod, handing his menu to the woman. 

Marjorie followed, Becca not even making eye contact with her as she ordered a short stack of their chocolate chip pancakes. Becca gave her a small smile, though it didn’t really reach her eyes. 

“Coming right up,” she said as she her teeth found her bottom lip and she gave Dean the same eyes the main character of a rom-com gives the love interest. 

“That happen a lot?” Marjorie asked Sam, pointing to Dean.

“Why? You jealous, carrot top?”

Dean's smirk quickly turned to a grimace as one of Marjorie’s heels jammed into the top of his foot. 

“You wish.” Marjorie huffed.

The three fell into a comfortable silence, and Marjorie leaned back in her seat , soaking in the moment- the warmth of the diner, the smell of sticky syrup, the rare, fleeting sense of ease. It felt normal.

Normal never lasted.

Sam cleared his throat, eyes flicking back and forth from Marjorie to the salt shaker in front of him. “Do you ever talk about it?”, he asked, his voice so soft she almost didn’t hear him.

Becca sauntered over to their table, carrying three plates gratefully. 

Impressive, Marjorie thought. 

The woman placed the three plates in front of the trio, the smell overwhelming Marjorie’s nostrils. She was hungry, genuinely hungry. She smiled at the feeling. 

But then she remembered Sam’s question.

With fake confusion, she shoved a forkfull of pancake in her mouth. “Talk about what?” 

Dean watched her cheeks double in size as she ate, a fluttering in his stomach appeared. Just hungry, he thought to himself. 

Sam hesitated before clarifying. “The night you died.”

Marjorie froze mid chew. Her fingers tightened around her fork and knife, swallowing thickly. She glanced between them- Dean was quiet, watching her carefully, and Sam, ever the empathetic one, looked like he already regretted bringing it up. 

She let out a dry laugh. “Really? We’re doing trauma talk over pancakes?” 

Sam started to backpedal. “You don’t have to-”

“No, it’s fine,” Marjorie exhaled, pouring a mountain of syrup over her already soaked pancakes. “I mean… you guys already know the basics, right? Might as well go all in.”

Dean shifted. “You really don’t have to.”

She nodded to him as a thanks. She considered brushing it off but Cordelia was right- she need to talk about it. Exposure therapy or something. If this brought her closer to killing the wraith, then she was willing to do it. 

“I remember it being cold. The kind of cold you feel in your bones, you know? Eleanor and I… we were inside by the fire. I was reading her a story.” Her voice wavered slightly.

“Then the door busted open.” She remembered the way to wood cracked and flew around them by the force. 

“There were so many of them. Neighbors, people I’d helped, people I thought were my friends. They dragged me outside before I could register what was happening.” She let out a hollow laugh. “I was kicking. Screaming. Fighting. They used a witchcatcher.”

Dean raised a brow. 

“It’s a collar used on witches. Once its on, we’re completely restrained. I had no control of my powers.”

His jaw tightened, his hands clenched under the table. 

“None of them could look me in the eye. I was nothing to them anymore.”

Sam’s expression was unreadbale, but she could sense the pity.

“They called me unnatural,” she spat. “That I was cursed. That I was dangerous.” Her throat tightened and her eyes looked to the window next to the booth. “And then they took Eleanor.”

Silence. Sam stiffened and Dean let out a heavy exhale. 

Marjorie continued, pushing through the lump in her throat, resting her head on her hand. “She was only six,” she whispered. “She didn’t understand what was happening. She just kept calling for me, kept crying-” she sucked in a breath. “I begged them to let her go. Swore I’d leave too, do whatever they wanted, but they didn’t listen.”

The room felt smaller. Heavier. 

“They tied us up,” she said. “Strapped us to the stake.”

Sam’s lips parted, but no words came out.

Marjorie’s gaze was far away now, lost in memories she couldn’t escape. “I told her to close her eyes,” she murmered. “Told her that everything was going to be okay.” A bitter smile twisted on her face. “I lied to her.” 

Deans voice, when it came, was hoarse. “Jesus, Marjorie.”

She blinked rapidly, willing herself not to cry. “She was so scared,” her lip trembled. “And I couldn’t do a damn thing.” 

Silence again.

Marjorie took a deep breath, then another. “The flames caught so fast,” she continued, voice steadier now, colder. “I remember the pain- you don’t forget something like that. How it felt like my skin was peeling away, like my insides were boiling.” Her fingers twitched as if she could still feel it. “But I didn’t scream. Not at first.” 

Dean’s head dropped slightly, like he physically couldn’t take it. Sam didn’t take his eyes off her.

“Her screams were terrible. Such a small thing, subjected to so much pain. And then she stopped- there was nothing.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. 

“That’s when I cried. I tried so hard to soothe her, but it did nothing. How could it, you know? And then, she died.” 

For a moment, no one spoke.

The Marjorie let out a shaky laugh, bitter and humorless. “And then I woke up. The air wasn’t cold anymore. I had been gone a while. ”

Dean muttered, “You said you killed them. The ones who did that to you.”

Marjorie snorted, though there was no real amusement in it. “I did. I hunted them for months- I wanted them to know I was coming. I wanted them to be scared.”

Dean met her gaze, and something shifted. 

Not fear. Not wariness.

Understanding. 

He might not have known what is was like to be burnt alive, to lose a child, but her understood vengeance. Understood the kind of pain that carved out a piece of you and left something rotten in its place. 

Sam exhaled slowly. “Marjorie, I’m so sor-”

“Dont,” she cut in. “No ‘I’m sorrys.’ That’s not why I told you.” 

Sam nodded, understanding her boundary. 

Marjorie forced a smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “So. That’s my super fun backstory. Now you know why I’m such a delight to be around.” 

Dean shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “You were definitely a pain in the ass way before that.” 

A genuine laugh bubbled in her throat, surprising even her. Sam rolled his eyes, but the heaviness in his expression had eased, just a little. 

“What was she like?” Dean asked, shoveling a fry into his mouth.

Marjorie stuffed a pancake into her own as her eyes lit up. 

“Eleanor?” 

Dean nodded in confirmation. 

Marjorie stared at him. No one had really bothered to ask her that before. The people who knew about Eleanor didn’t care much to know about the girl. Just that she was Marjorie’s daughter, and that she was dead. 

For a second, she didn’t know what to say.

“She was…” a small, distant smile ghosted her lips. “She was sunshine.” 

Sam and Dean both listened, the weight of her words settling over the table. 

Becca had made her way back to the table, starting ask them, Dean mostly, if they needed anything else at the moment.

“We’re fine,” he told her, his eyes not leaving Marjorie. 

Marjorie’s fingers traced the rim of her coffee cup absentmindenly. “She had the biggest laugh. You know the kind- too big for her tiny little body. It would just burst out of her, completely uncontained.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “She used to laugh so hard she’d get hiccups.”

Dean’s lips twitched upward. “She sounds like a handful.” 

“Oh, she was,” Marjorie said, her smiling growing. “I was sixteen when I had her, so we were basically just two kids trying to figure everything out together.” 

It was Sam’s turn to raise and eyebrow. 

“It was the 1800s Sam, not a nunnery. Though my father wasn’t very happy about it.” Sam laughed at this.

Marjorie continued, leaning back again, placing her palm against her chest. “She was stubborn as hell. Always asking questions, always pushing limits. If she wanted something, she wasn’t gonna stop until she got it.”

“She sounds like you,” Sam told her. 

Marjorie huffed. “She was better than me.” 

Something flickered in her expression then- grief, love, something deeper than either of them could name. 

“She used to bring home stray animals,” Marjorie laughed. “Birds wth broken wings, half-drowned kittens, even a damn fox once. She’d look at me with these big, wide, brown eyes and say ‘Mama, we gotta help them.’” She huffed a breath through her nose. “I could never say no.”

Dean swallowed hard, breaking his gaze from Marjorie to look down at his hands. 

Marjorie didn’t notice. “She loved flowers,” she added. “Would spend hours in the yard, picking them just to give them away. She’d shove them into people’s hands, tell them they needed to smile more. Hers was my favorite. Her front teeth were bigger than the rest so they poke out everytime she smiled. She was a beautiful little girl- she had this long brown hair and when she was in the sun for too long, she’d get a couple freckles that scattered across her cheeks. I don’t know where she got that beauty from.” Marjorie brought a hand up to her own face. 

A confused look spread across Dean’s face, but he shook it away quickly. His voice was low. “She sounds like a good kid.”

Marjorie nodded. “She was the best.”

The weight in the room was different now. Not just grief, but warmth. Love. A memory that wasn’t just pain, but something worth holding on to. 

Marjorie stretched her arms over her head. “Anyway,” she said, forcing herself back to the present. “That’s enough tragedy for one morning. “Who’s paying for my breakfast?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m too young to be a sugar daddy, sweetheart.” 

Marjorie smirked. “Scared of a little philantropy?” 

Sam sighed, already reaching for his wallet. 

Marjorie and Dean met eachother eyes again. They could feel the shift.

Niether of them minded. 

It was nice to be understood. 

*****

The Impala rumbled to a stop in front of Cordelia’s house, the engine ticking as Dean threw it into park. Marjorie sighed, already reaching for the door handle.

“Well,” she said, forcing a lightness into her voice, “it’s been fun. Thanks for the food, the riveting conversation, and the ride home.” She popped the door open and slid out, turning back with a half-smile. “Drive safe.”

She expected them to nod, maybe toss out a keep in touch before peeling off into the horizon.

Instead, both brothers got out of the car.

Marjorie’s stomach dropped. “What are you doing?” she asked, brows knitting together.

Dean shut his door with an easy shrug. “Walking you to the door.”

Sam shut his a second later. “And letting you know we’re staying.”

Marjorie blinked. “Come again?”

Dean stretched, like the answer was the most natural thing in the world. “Look, you told us everything you know about Meg, which means we’re dealing with her. But first, we’re handling this wraith situation. Might even get us closer to her.”

“What about your dad?” she challenged.

“He’ll be fine. Right now, we’d just be in his way,” Sam said simply.

Marjorie stared. “You—what—no, that’s not—” She exhaled sharply, raking a hand through her hair. “That’s not how this works.”

Dean tilted his head. “Says who?”

“Says me!” She threw up her hands. “I told you what I know, so you can go do your whole heroic martyr routine and deal with Meg. I’ll take care of the wraith.”

Sam arched a brow. “And if you die?”

Marjorie faltered.

Dean sighed, planting his hands on his hips. “Look, sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but we’re in this now. I know you don’t need help, but it wouldn’t hurt.”

Before she could fire back, the front door swung open.

“And where exactly do you two plan on staying?”

Dean grinned up at Cordelia, still standing in the doorway. “We were just getting to that part.”

Cordelia snorted. “Let me guess. You two decided to be knights in shining Carhartt and refuse to leave until Marjorie stops being self-destructive.”

Dean’s grin widened. “See? You get us.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes, but Marjorie caught the flicker of relief beneath her usual dry amusement.

Cordelia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Come inside.”

Dean clapped his hands together. “Not you.”

Dean blinked. “Uh—”

“I was talking to Marjorie.”

Cordelia leaned against the doorframe, extending an arm in invitation. Marjorie didn’t hesitate, bounding up the steps, a quiet sense of security settling over her the moment she reached Cordelia’s side. She didn’t leave the house much these days. Standing out here, on the open lawn, she felt exposed—like a raw nerve waiting to be struck. The wraith could be watching. Could be waiting.

Instinct told her to go where she felt safest.

Sam cleared his throat. “Look, we’re not trying to overstep. But we’ve got strength in numbers. If we handle the wraith first, we don’t have to worry about it getting in the way when we go after Meg.”

Marjorie hesitated. Damn it. He had a point.

She turned to Cordelia, their eyes meeting in a silent conversation.

Cordelia, for all her posturing, sighed like she was already regretting this decision. “Fine. But don’t touch my stuff.”

Dean let out a triumphant laugh. “Define stuff.”

She pointed a warning finger at him. “If anything in this house explodes, goes missing, or turns up broken, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair,” Dean said, strolling past her. “So, you got a guest room?”

Cordelia shut the door behind them with a long-suffering sigh. “You’re staying wherever you annoy me the least.”

Dean beamed. “Your couch is pretty comfy.”

Cordelia muttered something under her breath, but Marjorie caught the ghost of a smile before she turned away.

Maybe—just maybe—this wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

*****

A week passed. Somehow—against all odds—they hadn’t killed each other yet.

If anything, it was almost… nice.

Mornings settled into a rhythm. Cordelia staked her claim over the kitchen like a queen defending her throne, muttering hexes under her breath if anyone so much as glanced at her coffee before she’d taken her first sip. Marjorie quickly took over cooking after the first morning when Dean’s attempt at making bacon nearly set the entire house on fire. (No one knew how it happened. The bacon was fine one second, then whoosh.)

Sam, unsurprisingly, was the easiest housemate. Up at the crack of dawn, he spent his mornings buried in whatever lore books he could scrounge up, helping Cordelia research while sipping black coffee like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the mortal plane.

Dean, on the other hand, had a talent for making himself very present.

And Cordelia?

Cordelia had made it her personal mission to make Dean Winchester’s life as inconvenient as humanly (or magically) possible.

It started small.

Dean would reach for his coffee, only for the mug to slide an inch out of reach at the last second.

Then his knife and fork would flip out of his hands every time he picked them up.

At first, he thought he was losing his mind—until he caught Cordelia smirking over the rim of her cup.

“Oh, you think you’re funny,” he muttered.

“Kid, I know I’m funny,” she shot back.

The next day, his beer mysteriously turned into chamomile tea the second he took a sip.

The day after that, every time he put on his boots, something inside them squished unpleasantly—like Jell-O had been melted into them overnight.

“You’re a menace,” Dean grumbled after discovering his leather jacket had inexplicably shrunk two sizes.

Cordelia patted his cheek with faux sympathy. “Don’t test me, hunter.”

Meanwhile, Sam was treated like a prince.

“Oh, Sam,” Cordelia cooed one morning. “I made you some tea for your headache.”

Dean, mid-bite of toast, nearly choked. “Wait, what?”

Sam, amused but wary, accepted the cup. “Uh… thanks?”

“Oh, and I found an old book in my collection.” Cordelia placed a massive, ancient tome in front of him, dust curling up from its worn leather cover. “It has some theories on dream-walking that might help with your research.”

Dean stared at the scene in utter betrayal. “Where’s my book?”

Cordelia didn’t even look up. “I gave you a book.”

“No, you gave me The Beginner’s Guide to Knitting and You.”

Cordelia sipped her coffee with a slow, smug smile. “Exactly.”

Dean groaned, shoving the book away like it personally offended him. “Unbelievable.”

Marjorie snorted into her tea, and Sam barely hid a smirk.

*****

Marjorie wasn’t sure why she was awake.

It wasn’t a nightmare, for once. It wasn’t some lingering shadow of her past creeping in. She just…wasn’t tired. 

So, she wandered to the living room, where the fire had burned down to embers and the whole house was quiet. She expected to be alone. 

The brothers had been sleeping in a room off the back porch on a small, cramped pull out couch. Dean had offered he and Marjorie share a bed as he was too big to share with his brother, but Marjorie, obviously, turned him down. 

She wasn’t alone. 

Dean was sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over his chest, the other loosely gripping a bottle of whiskey. His eyes flicked up to her when she entered, and instead of the usual smirk or snarky remark, he just tilted the bottle slightly.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Marjorie shook her head, sitting on the armrest of the couch. “You neither?”

Dean shrugged. “Whiskey helps.” He took another sip then glanced at her. “You want some?”

Marjorie considered it for a moment. She could’ve made a joke about how carrying around a bottle of whiskey is usually a tell-tale sign you should go to AA, but she didn’t. She just nodded. Dean leaned forward, offering the bottle, and she took a long sip before handing it back. 

For a few minutes, they just sat there, passing the bottle back and forth in comfortable silence. 

Then, Dean glanced up at her, something amused in his expression. “So, be honest with me- how much of Cordelia’s magic is just to mess with me specifically?”

Marjorie laughed. “Oh, at least seventy percent. The other thirty is just Delia’s sass.”

Dean groaned. “I knew it. She turned my beer into tea.”

“That one was actually my idea,” Marjorie admitted, smirking. 

Dean turned to stare at her. “You’re evil.”

She grinned, stretching her legs out to sit atop the coffe table in front of them.

Dean noticed her socks had tiny witch hats and brooms on them. Cute, he thought. 

“Not evil, just…magically gifted in the art of pettiness.” 

Dean shook his head, but he was laughing. “Alright, I’ll admit, it’s kinda cool. You’re magic, I mean. I’ve never really spent this much time around a witch.”

Marjorie raised a brow. “You, really?”

“Whatever.” Dean lifted the bottle to his lips again.

Marjorie bit the skin on her lower lip shyly. “You wanna see something cool?”

Dean sat up a little. “Hell yeah, I do.”

Marjorie help up a hand, finger curling slightly. The air in the room shifted, warm and electric. Then, suddenly, tiny glowing embers- like fireflies made of pure blue light- flickered into existence between her fingertips, dancing through the air like they had a mind of their own. 

Dean’s eyes widened slightly. “Damn.”

Marjorie flicked her wrist slightly, and the embers swirled upward, shifting into different shapes- first a bird, then a flute, then a car that looked suspicously like the Impala. 

Dean let out a low whistle. “Awesome.”

Marjorie smirked. “I know, right?”

Dean reached out, as if trying to touch one. Embers curled around his fingers gracefully, then flickered away softly. “So, what else can you do?”

Marjorie thought for a second. The, grinning, she lifted her other hand and snapped her fingers. The fireplace roared back to life in an instant, sending warm golden light soaring around the room.

Dean raised an impressed brow. “That’s useful.”

“Sure is,” Marjorie said. “Especially in winter. Or when I want a dramatic exit.”

Dean snorted. “I knew you were the type to make your own dramatic lighting.”

Marjorie rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it. 

The pair sat there, the fire crackling , the half-empty whiskey bottle between them. 

Dean watched the tiny glowing shapes fade into the air. “You know…you’re alright Marjorie.”

She glanced at him, rasing an eyebrow. “Was I not alright before?”

“Jury was still out.”

“Well, thanks, I guess.”

Dean tipped the bottle toward her. “To magic, whiskey, and not murdering each other in our sleep.” 

Marjorie tinked a knuckle against the bottle. “Cheers to that.”

The air around them continued to warm. Marjorie smiled to herself.

She liked Dean Winchester.

*****

Dean was two bites into his sandwich when his phone buzzed against the worn wooden table, rattling slightly.

Marjorie leaned beside him against the counter, idly flipping through one of Cordelia’s old spellbooks, though Dean doubted she was actually reading it. Sam stood at the sink, rinsing out his coffee mug with the methodical precision of someone pretending not to eavesdrop.

Across the room, Cordelia sat cross-legged on the couch, lazily flipping through TV channels. To the untrained eye, she looked disinterested. But Dean knew better. She was watching. Analyzing. Measuring the space—no, the tension—between him and Marjorie. And maybe, just maybe, pretending she couldn’t smell the desperation coming off both of them. Clueless.

The phone buzzed again.

Dean ignored it.

It stopped.

Then immediately started ringing again.

“Just answer it,” Sam sighed, shaking water from his hands as he reached for a dish towel.

Dean scowled and snatched the phone up, barely glancing at the caller ID. “Yeah?”

The voice on the other end was unmistakable.

“Where are you?” John Winchester’s tone had a way of filling a room, even over the phone.

Dean’s jaw tightened. His grip on the sandwich went slack. “Still working that case.”

“The case should be closed by now,” John snapped, his irritation cutting through the static. “I told you boys to track Meg, not play house with some—”

Dean shoved back from the table so abruptly that his chair scraped against the floor with a sharp screech. Marjorie’s fingers stilled against the pages of her book.

“We got a situation, alright? We’re handling it.”

Silence. Heavy. Tense.

On the couch, Cordelia finally stopped flipping channels. Even Sam, who had been making a valiant effort to appear disinterested, turned slightly, his back going rigid.

John exhaled, the sound crackling over the line. “What kind of situation?”

Dean hesitated. His eyes flicked to Marjorie, who kept her gaze stubbornly fixed on the book in her hands, though he knew damn well she was listening.

He wasn’t going to rat her out. The wraith was her fight.

“Just some complications,” he said finally, choosing his words carefully. “It’s nothing we can’t handle.”

John’s sigh was sharp and unimpressed. “We don’t have time for complications, Dean. We’ve got a demon on the loose, and she’s dangerous. I need you two back on the road.”

Dean clenched his jaw. “Dad, we’ve got something dangerous here too. Once we finish this, we’re back on Meg. I promise.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

Then John spoke again, his voice lower, laced with something heavier than before.

“You’re getting attached.”

The words landed like a blow to the ribs.

Dean stilled.

Cordelia finally looked up from the TV. Sam abandoned the pretense of not listening, his fingers curling into the dish towel.

Dean forced a hollow chuckle. “What?”

“You know what,” John said, voice cold and clipped. “I warned you about her, boy, and now look at you. You think I don’t know what you’ve been up to? When did some crush become more important than your mother?”

Dean’s fingers tightened around the phone, his knuckles turning white.

John sighed, a sound weighted with finality. “Do what you want. But don’t forget why you’re out there.”

Then the line went dead.

Dean exhaled sharply and set his phone down—harder than necessary.

Cordelia, ever unfazed, flipped another channel. “Well,” she drawled, stretching her legs out on the couch, “that was tense.”

Marjorie moved toward Dean, reaching for his arm in a small, hesitant attempt at comfort.

“You alri—”

Dean jerked away, shrugging her off with a roughness that wasn’t entirely intentional. “I’m fine.” His voice was sharp. Clipped. He turned on his heel. “I gotta go get some stuff. Be back in twenty.”

He grabbed his jacket off the couch in one fluid motion and stomped toward the door, slamming it behind him with enough force to make the walls rattle.

Marjorie scowled, throwing her hands up in exasperation before flopping onto the couch beside Cordelia.

“Men.”

They said it in unison.

From the sink, Sam let out a barely contained snicker.

*****

The air outside was thick with the scent of pine and earth, the evening still humming with the remnants of the summer heat. The back porch creaked under Marjorie’s weight as she stepped outside, a glass of wine perched inbetween her fingertips. Dean was already there, lounging on the old wooden swing, one foot braced against the railing to make it sway in a steady rhythm. He was still in the same clothes as earlier; hadn’t even taken off his boots when he got back to Cordelia’s. He didn’t look up when she approached, but there was a tension set in his shoulders that told her she knew she was there. 

Sam was perched on the porch railing, leaning back with his arms crossed against his chest, his face lit only by the soft glow of the setting sun and the illuminating porch light. He hadn’t said much since Dean got back, but his posture was relaxed, which for Sam, was probably the closest he got to being at ease. 

Marjorie hesitated for a moment, looking between the two men. The weight of John’s call earlier, hell the few weeks, was pressing on her chest, and she could feel exhaustion in every muscle. But there was something about the quiet of the night, the low chirping of cicadas, being here with them, that made it a bit easier to breathe. 

Dean shifted slightly on the swing, and the motion pulled her out of the spot. He patted the spot beside him without saying a word. 

It wasn’t much, but it was an invitation. 

She sat down in the free space next to him, her eyes darting over to Sam briefly. Her gave her a small, almost knowing smile before leaning back against the railing again, staring out at the backyard. 

Marjorie could feel Dean’s presence next to her, and for a moment, she let herself enjoy the silence, the only sounds being the creaking of the swing and the distant rustle of leaves.

The arm Dean had hanging over the back of the swing knocked against her shoulder with every sway of the seat. The warmth she felt was definitely just the wine. His fingers twitched a couple times, brushing against her skin lightly, almost featherlike. Neither of them did anything about it. 

It was a peaceful kind of tension. She didn’t know how long it would last, but she knew she didn’t want to be the one to break it. 

After a long moment, Sam broke the silence. “So, about Cordelia…” His voice was casual, but there was something about the way he phrased it that made it clear he had questions. 

Marjorie’s lips curved into a faint smirk. She leaned a bit more into Dean, the small swing not giving them much room for personal space. “What about her?”

Dean snorted, reaching for the beer bottle resting beside him on the swing’s armrest. “You mean, why does she hate me?”

Sam tilted his head, his eyes narrowing in amusement. “I wasn’t gonna put it like that but, sure. Seems like you two have a special connection.” 

Dean groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hand. “I don’t get her. She’s got that vibe like she’s too cool for school. Hell, she thinks I’m the enemy.” His voice softened slightly, and Marjorie caught the hint of frustration in it. “I don’t know. Can’t seem to break that woman’s guard.”

Marjorie tilted her head, studying Deans profile for a moment. “She’s been through a lot,” she said quietly, her voice softer than intended. “Trust isn’t something that she just hands out.” Her fingers traced the rim of her cup, eyes unfocused as she thought about Cordelia’s hard exterior. 

“She loves Sam,” Dean complained, his fingers now grazing against the red strands of hair sitting next to him.

“Sam’s…nice,” Marjorie saw the way Dean’s face contorted as if he couldn’t believe she didn’t think he was sunshine and rainbows. “He’s not as rugged as you- he didn’t come barging in here like he owned the place. Plus, she has a thing for pretty brown hair.” She winked at Sam.

“Gross, Marj. She’s old enough to be our mom.”

Marjorie shrugged. She’d seen stranger things.

Sam’s gaze studied Marjorie’s relaxed attitude. The scene in front him him looking almost domestic.

“Maybe that’s why you two get along so well.” The words hung in the air, and Marjorie blinked, unsure of what Sam was getting at. 

Before she could ask, Dean shifted beside her, the action causing her to sink deeper into his side. 

“Don’t you start,” Dean muttered. 

Sam threw his head back, looking up at the sky, his voice taking on a teasing tone. “What? I’m just saying. You two have a thing for doing things the hard way.”

Dean’s lips twitched, but he didn’t laugh. “I don’t have thing, Sammy.”

Marjorie glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, catching the way his lips turned into a tight, almost pained smile.

Something about it made her want to reach out, even if she didn’t know how. 

And then the moment passed, just as quickly as it had come. 

“You definitely have a thing.” Marjorie tilted her glass toward Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh, but it was obvious he wasn’t mad. He was the little brother, the one who always played the peacekeeper, and tonight, it felt like that role was written into the lines of his face. “I think we’ve both figured that out by now,” Sam said, then added with a grin.

Dean scowled at Sam but didn’t argue.

The evening stretched on, and for once, Marjorie didn’t feel like she was standing on the edge of something dark. She didn’t feel the weight of the past or the unrelenting pull of the wraith chasing her. Instead, she felt normal- like the kind of person who could laugh and joke with two brothers who had somehow become her allies in a world of chaos.

Dean shifted again, his thigh brushing against hers. They sat there, side by side, the easy warmth of the night wrapping around them like a blanket.

They existed in the same space, content to share the silence and the quiet rhythm of the swing creaking beneath them.

At some point, Dean nudged her with his shoulder, the playful grin creeping back into his voice. “So, you think Cordelia has a friend for me? S’ not fair that Sam gets all the fun.”

She arched an eyebrow, leaning just a little closer. “You’re a dog.”

He chuckled softly, the sound more real than it had been all day. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Her lips parted with a small, teasing smile. “It wasn’t meant as one.”

The evening stretched on, and the trio continued their stay on the porch, their voices mingling with quiet sounds of the night. 

Dean was mid-sentence, telling some old hunting story when Marjorie’s words cut through the comfortable banter with a sharp edge. 

“You guys can leave if you want.” 

Sam snapped his head over to her. He glanced at Dean, who was suddenly still beside her, a slight tension creeping into his posture. 

Dean, who’d been so lost in the conversation just moments before, now gave her his full attention, his brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” His voice was low, the playful tone from earlier gone.

Marjorie shifted slightly on the swing, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She finally met Dean’s eyes, and there was a vulnerability there that she didn’t usually show. "You’re not really stuck here with me. This is your job- hunting down Meg. I know you’ve got bigger things to do. I wouldn’t blame you for leaving. You’ve got a lot on your plate, and I'm not some…side quest."

Sam’s gaze softened as he jumped down from the railing, his large frame blocking her view of the night sky. “Marjorie, no,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. He crossed the space between them and stopped a few feet away, as if he wasn’t sure how to approach her. “You’re not just some side quest.” He shot a glance at Dean before focusing on her again, his words sincere. “We don’t just leave people behind. That’s not how this works.”

Dean’s jaw tightened at Sam’s words, and for a moment, there was an awkward silence. Marjorie could see the flash of frustration in Dean’s eyes- he was tired, she knew that. But there was something more there, something that wasn’t just about their situation.

After a long pause, Dean finally spoke, his voice gruff. “You think we’d just walk away now? We’re a part of this, Marjorie.” He gave a short, dry laugh, as if he didn’t even believe what he was saying, but there was no denying the sincerity behind it. He ran a hand over his face, rubbing his tired eyes before turning to face her fully. “This thing with the wraith…it’s your fight, yeah, but that doesn’t mean we’re just gonna pack up and leave. We’re here. We finish it.”

Marjorie felt a strange weight lift from her chest, but there was still an ache there, a tightness she hadn’t realized was lingering.

Sam gave her a small, reassuring smile. “It’s not about the wraith. It’s about you. We’re not going anywhere until you’re safe. That’s the deal.” His voice was calm, a little like the brother Marjorie never asked for.

Her eyes softened at Sam’s words, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She swallowed hard and leaned back against the swing’s edge, letting out a quiet sigh.

Dean watched her carefully, his gaze more intense than usual, the weight of everything that had happened hanging between them. Finally, he spoke again, quieter this time. “Look, Marjorie… You think we don’t want to be here? You think this is some kind of burden? Nah, it’s not. We’re doing this because we want to. Yeah sure, at first we thought you and Meg were in kahoots, and honestly I was coming here to kill you,” He took a deep breath, his voice rough. “But obviously, I was wrong. We’re gonna help you.”

Marjorie looked away for a moment, her chest tight with something she couldn’t quite name. She felt a strange mix of gratitude and guilt- a nagging feeling that she shouldn’t be relying so much on them. But the warmth of their words, their concern, melted some of that doubt. She could feel the sincerity in every glance, every word.

"I’m just saying," she said, her voice quieter now. "You’ve been here for over a week and we’re only a bit closer to being able to kill this thing. You guys have to go save the world or something."

Dean cut her off with a shake of his head, the stubbornness in his voice as unmistakable as the set of his jaw. "We’re not going anywhere."

Sam nodded firmly, his smile softening as he glanced between them. "We’re gonna take care of it. After that, we’ll go find Meg."

Marjorie swallowed her words, a lump forming in her throat. She didn’t expect this level of care- not from them, not from anyone but Delia anymore. Just months ago Dean couldn’t be in the same room as her. It was overwhelming, in a way that made her feel like she might break, or maybe- just maybe- she might let herself believe in the possibility of something more.

She turned to Dean, her gaze softening, and allowed herself to breathe a little easier. “Thanks,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “I-I wasn’t sure where I stood with you two. We don’t have the greatest history.”

Dean leaned back against the swing, the motion easy, casual, but his eyes never left hers. “That’s old news. Don’t sweat it.” he said simply, his voice quiet but certain. 

The words hung in the air for a long beat before Sam cleared his throat. “Well, if you two are done being all sentimental, I’m pretty sure there’s a stash of candy bars in the kitchen, and Cordelia isn’t awake to tell me they’re gonna rot my teeth.”

Dean snorted, breaking the tension with a laugh. “Sam’s right. We don’t want to exhaust ourselves on all this emotional crap.” He nudged Marjorie with his elbow. “Besides, there’s no way I’m letting you sit there and feel sorry for yourself.”

Marjorie chuckled softly,“Who says I’m feeling sorry for myself?” She raised an eyebrow teasingly at Dean.

Sam smiled, stepping back toward the door. “Oh, you’re definitely feeling something.”

Dean stood up, offering her a hand as he did. “You coming? I’m not letting Sam eat all of them. I need my chocolate too.”

Marjorie hesitated for a moment, looking up at him with a faint, teasing smile. “Are you sure you want to share with me?”

Dean’s lips twitched. “I’m a generous guy.”

“Generous? I’ve never seen you share anything willingly,” Sam chimed in from the doorway, shaking his head with a knowing grin.

The three of them shared a quiet laugh before heading inside. For now, Marjorie knew she didn’t have to do this alone. 

*****

It had been days since the phone call with John, and Marjorie hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something was wrong. The wraith’s presence was like a shadow, always lurking just beyond the edge of her perception. At first, it had been whispers- a faint voice barely audible, like a soft breeze brushing against her ear. But now, it was louder, clearer, and it seemed to be coming from everywhere.

She sat alone in the kitchen, the flickering light above her casting odd shadows on the walls. Sam and Dean were in the next room, likely discussing their next move, but Marjorie couldn’t bring herself to focus on anything. The wraith’s voice was too loud. It had been for the past few days.

“You’re weak,” the voice crooned from the corners of her mind, the words curling like smoke around her thoughts. “You think they’ll save you? They won’t. You’re just a liability.”

Her hands shook as she set the coffee mug down on the counter, the sound of it clinking sharply in the quiet room. Her gaze flitted to the doorway, where Dean had been standing earlier, and for a moment, she saw him again- only it wasn’t Dean. The figure that filled the frame of the door had hollow eyes, a twisted grin, and an unmistakable air of malevolence.

“They’re just waiting for you to break,” the wraith whispered, its voice wrapping around her like chains. “You’re nothing but a ticking time bomb. They’ll leave you. They’ll all leave you in the end.”

Marjorie blinked rapidly, pushing the image away. Her pulse hammered in her ears, and she had to remind herself that it was just the wraith. It was not real.

She stood quickly, wiping her face as if to rid herself of the unwanted visions. The last few days had been a blur of hallucinations and taunts, each worse than the last. At times, she felt like she wasn’t even in control of her own body. The wraith had gotten inside her head, and it was starting to feel like the walls were closing in on her.

Dean moved to where she sat in the kitchen, his expression unreadable, but there was concern in his eyes. “You good?” His voice was steady, but there was a slight tightness to it, as if he could feel the shift in the air.

Marjorie didn’t trust her own voice. She nodded curtly, unable to shake the feeling that the wraith’s whispers were still echoing in her mind.

Dean’s gaze softened, and for a moment, she saw something flicker there- something more than just concern. “Don’t let it get to you.”

But Marjorie didn’t hear him. The wraith’s mocking voice came back, louder this time.

“They’re just lying to you. They don’t care. You’re nothing but a tool to them.”

Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she thought she might crumble. But she didn’t. Not yet.

“I need some air,” she muttered, forcing herself past Dean and out the door before he could stop her.

Dean’s voice trailed after her, low and urgent. “Marjorie-”

But she was already outside, pacing on the porch, trying to drown out the wraith’s voice with the cool night air.

Behind her, Cordelia stood by the door, watching with a careful, measured gaze. She’d seen it all- the way Marjorie began to flinch and cower, the way the wraith’s taunts had started to chip away at her. Cordelia watched the slow descent, seemingly out of nowhere, knowing exactly what it was like to feel the weight of something haunting you, pushing you to the edge. But she couldn’t let Marjorie see her own fears. Not now. Not when the girl needed her. 

Her chest tightened, but she shoved the feelings down, forcing a calm exterior. She should have known this would happen. The wraith was a curse, not just a creature. It would latch on, find a weakness, and exploit it- exactly what it had done to Marjorie. Her own secret crawled up her spine like a cockroach, suffocating her. Meg was back and she led the Winchester’s here. She had taunted Cordelia the same way the wraith was taunting Marjorie. If Marjorie found out- Cordelia didn’t believe the girl of cold murder, but she didn’t do well with betrayal.

But still, watching Marjorie like this, it felt wrong. Cordelia wasn’t someone to wear her emotions on her sleeve, even with Marjorie, but now as she saw the toll that the wraith was taking on the younger girl, she couldn’t help the bile that rumbled in her gut. She should be helping her more. She should be doing more than standing back. Selfishly, her fear of Meg interfering the second Cordelia made too much of an effort stopped her from giving Marjorie the comfort she deserved. If she did too much, Meg would find them and expose Cordelia to all of them. That she had once worked with Meg on deals just like Marjorie’s. That, deep down, she knew the wraith would be back one day- no one escapes a deal with a BloodWraith. That she could find Meg’s location in minutes, and the Winchester’s could have a shot at ending her. But that was uncertain, and Cordelia wasn’t one for wishful thinking.

She glanced at Sam, who was silently observing, his concern for Marjorie clear. Dean had gone silent, the tension in his body palpable. The unspoken bond between the three of them was tangible, and Cordelia knew she was the outsider here, unable to be part of that. But still, the guilt gnawed at her.

Marjorie was fading quickly and despite everything, Cordelia couldn’t ignore the pang of fear that she might lose her. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the thoughts. She loved Marjorie, truly. Looked at the girl like she had hung the stars in the sky. That’s why she was terrified. Terrified of seeing hate in Marjorie’s eyes and knowing it was directed at her. She couldn’t bear it. 

"I don’t know how much longer she can take this," Sam muttered, as though reading her mind. He was standing next to her now, his hand resting on the back of the porch railing, his eyes focused on Marjorie.

Cordelia’s gaze flickered to him before she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “She’s strong. She’ll push through it. But…”

Her voice faltered, and Sam’s brow furrowed in concern. "But what?"

But I’m scared, she thought. She couldn’t say it. Not now. Not when Marjorie needed every ounce of strength she had left to fight this. Cordelia bit her lip, staring at the woman she had known for so long, seen so many versions of, and cared for each of them. But still, she kept her secrets locked away.

“I just hope she can,” Cordelia said, her words edged with something more than just concern. It was fear. Fear that the wraith would break Marjorie. Fear that Marjorie would break them- and maybe it wasn’t just the wraith she was afraid of.

The air grew heavier, the tension building between them as they watched Marjorie move through the haze of the wraith’s influence. Dean stepped forward, his hand gently landing on her shoulder as he joined her on the porch. The others followed suit, standing in a quiet solidarity.

But Cordelia couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. Whatever the wraith was doing to Marjorie, it was far from over.

*****

The wraith’s taunts were becoming more frequent, more aggressive. Every time she closed her eyes, it was there, twisting her thoughts, feeding on her doubts. Marjorie barely slept, knowing that even when she closed her eyes, the wraith would find a way in.

The silence in the room was oppressive, suffocating even. The air itself felt thick, as if the wraith had somehow infected every corner of the space, bending it to its will. Marjorie felt the walls closing in around her, her breath shallow as the taunts continued to echo in her mind.

"You don’t belong here," the wraith whispered again, its voice cold and biting. "They’ll all leave you eventually. You’re nothing to them, just a tool. Once they get what they need, they’ll cast you aside. Just like everyone else."

She shook her head, pressing her palms harder against her temples, trying to force the voice out, trying to push the suffocating weight of its words away. She didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t.

"You're worthless," the wraith’s voice came again, louder now, more insistent. "They’re already starting to see it. The cracks are already showing. They’ll know you’re weak. And then they’ll abandon you."

The world around her blurred, her vision swimming as the wraith’s words dug into her like sharp needles. She stumbled backward, the edge of the table digging into her ribs as she tried to steady herself. But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

Except, in her heart, a tiny part of her wondered if it was. What if it was right? What if everyone else really would leave her? What if the wraith’s voice had seen the truth before she could? What if she was already a burden to them, already a failure?

"Marjorie?" Dean’s voice was soft now, more tentative. "We need to talk."

The sound of his voice snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in her chest. She could feel him standing outside the door, waiting, probably wondering why she hadn’t answered. But she couldn’t bring herself to respond, couldn’t let him hear how far gone she felt, how much the wraith had already taken from her.

"Yeah," she finally said, her voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. "I’m fine. No need to get all soft."

The words felt like they were scraping against her throat, but they were the only ones she could force out.

A heavy silence followed, stretching between them like a chasm. She could almost feel Dean’s hesitation on the other side of the door, his concern mixing with something else- frustration, maybe. Was he angry with her? Did he think she was hiding something?

"We both know you’re not," Dean said quietly after a beat, his tone softer now, but still holding that edge of worry.

Marjorie didn’t respond. She couldn’t. If she did, she feared the crack in her composure would widen even further, and she’d be lost. She didn’t know how to explain it to him- how to make him understand the way the wraith had invaded her mind, how the darkness felt like it was eating her from the inside out. She couldn’t tell him how it whispered to her when no one else could hear it, how it twisted her every thought, every feeling.

She pressed her back into the wall, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to push the images and voices away. She could feel it all closing in again, the suffocating grip of the wraith creeping up on her, and the fear that it might be right- maybe she was weak, maybe she was just a failure.

But she wasn’t ready to let that truth- if it even was the truth- consume her. Not yet.

She opened her eyes slowly, and for a moment, just a moment, she could hear Dean on the other side, waiting, still unsure. His presence, even from behind the door, felt grounding, a reminder that maybe she wasn’t as alone in this as the wraith wanted her to think.

But still, she couldn’t let him in- not yet. Not until she could hold herself together, at least enough to face him without falling apart.

"Just give me a second," she finally whispered, so softly that she wasn’t sure he would hear it.

And for a long while, there was nothing. No answer, no footsteps retreating. Just silence. The kind of silence that left her trapped between her own thoughts and the wraith’s relentless whispers.

*****

The wraith didn’t let up. Not for a second.

Marjorie had barely slept in days, the taunts digging into her mind like claws, twisting her thoughts until she couldn’t tell what was real anymore. But tonight—it was worse.

She had been lulled into sleep, exhaustion finally winning out, but rest never came. Instead, she was there again. The house smelled of burning wood and blood, just as it had all those years ago.

And then, she saw her.

Eleanor.

Her daughter stood at the edge of the bed, small and fragile, just as she had been the last time Marjorie had seen her. Her dark curls were messy, her nightgown torn. But it was her eyes that made Marjorie’s stomach twist with terror- because they were filled with fear.

“Mama?” Eleanor’s voice wavered, tiny and afraid.

Marjorie couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Then she saw what stood behind her.

The wraith loomed over Eleanor, its skeletal fingers curling around the girl’s small shoulders. It grinned, wide and monstrous, its yellowed teeth glistening in the dim light.

“You let me have her once,” it cooed, its voice echoing through the house. “You’ll let me have her again.”

“No,” Marjorie choked, finally finding her voice.

“Oh, but you will.”

The wraith’s grip tightened on Eleanor, and the little girl screamed- a heart-wrenching, piercing cry that shook the foundation of the dream itself.

Marjorie lunged forward, but the second she reached for her daughter, the image shattered.

She gasped awake, her body drenched in sweat, her heart slamming against her ribs. She was in her room at Cordelia’s, but it still felt like she was there, trapped in the nightmare.

The wraith’s laughter echoed in her skull.

Marjorie sat up, breathing hard. The truth hit her like a slap to the face.

This was never going to stop.

It would keep tormenting her, keep whispering in her ear, keep dragging her daughter into her nightmares. It would never stop unless she ended it herself.

Her hands trembled as she pushed the blankets aside. She wouldn’t let it win.

She wouldn’t let it take anything else from her.

Not now. Not ever.

She stood and crossed the room, grabbing the small bag she had packed earlier that day- just in case. Her fingers curled around the leather strap, and she took one last look at the room before slipping out the door.

She was doing this alone.

Because it had to be her.

*****

The stillness of the house was off.

It wasn’t the typical quiet of the night, where the wind rustled the leaves outside, and the world seemed to hum with secrets whispered just beyond reach. This silence felt wrong, sharp- a quiet that pressed on Dean’s chest like a weight, making him uneasy for reasons he couldn’t quite place.

He hadn’t been able to sleep, the tension from the last week still eating at him. They had now been at Cordelia’s for two weeks, and each day Marjorie seemed to get worse and worse. After hours of tossing and turning, he’d given up on rest. Coffee was the only thing that could numb the gnawing discomfort that had taken root. As he passed Marjorie’s door on the way to the kitchen, a fleeting thought stopped him in his tracks.

Her door was cracked open.

A thread of anxiety coiled tight in his gut.

"Marjorie?" Dean called softly, his voice cutting through the oppressive stillness. His feet carried him closer to the door before he even realized it.

There was no answer.

He pushed the door open, his heart rate picking up, eyes scanning the dark room. The moonlight streamed across the bed, empty but for tangled blankets. The missing bag from the corner, the one she’d packed earlier, was gone.

And then it hit him.

She was gone.

Dean muttered a curse under his breath, his body already moving in the direction of the stairs, a cold, familiar panic curling at the edges of his mind.

“Son of a bitch.”

He stormed down the hallway, intent on finding her, his thoughts running wild. The wraith. She was going after the wraith. And she was doing it alone. Damn it, she was reckless, always so damn reckless.

Sam was already awake when he appeared at the door of the backporch, rubbing his face and trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. “What’s wrong?” he asked, blinking at his brother.

“She’s gone.” Dean didn’t stop to explain, barely slowing his pace as he strode past Sam.

Sam frowned, confusion still clouding his features. “Wait, what?”

“She took off. Packed a bag. No sign of her anywhere.” Dean reached for his jacket, frustration mounting with every second that passed.

Cordelia appeared then, emerging from the shadows like a shadow herself, her sharp eyes immediately landing on Dean. “What’s all the noise?”

“Marjorie’s missing,” Dean snapped, feeling the weight of the situation pressing in on him.

Cordelia’s face darkened, a storm brewing in her expression. “Damn it.”

Dean’s frustration bubbled over. “You knew she’d do this?”

“I suspected she might,” Cordelia admitted, her voice tight with a mixture of anger and fear. She grabbed her coat, her movements precise. “But I was hoping she'd have enough sense to wait.”

Sam, ever the detective, was already putting the pieces together. “She’s going after the wraith.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair, the words coming out in a tight, exasperated breath. “Yeah. Thanks, Sherlock.”

Cordelia’s jaw tightened, her eyes flickering with a mix of concern and something darker, something she couldn’t quite hide. “Then we’d better move.”

Dean and Sam exchanged a look, that silent agreement passing between them like a spark. No hesitation. No second thoughts. They couldn’t let Marjorie go face the wraith alone. Not now. Not after everything she’d been through.

Dean grabbed his keys, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “Let’s go.”

As they rushed out of the house, Cordelia’s thoughts churned, a storm she struggled to contain. She was terrified for Marjorie, of course. But that wasn’t the only thing keeping her up at night. If Marjorie went after the wraith, if she confronted it—there was a real chance that Cordelia’s secret, the one she’d buried so deep inside for so long, could come to light. And if it did—if the brothers found out what she was hiding—there was no telling what would happen next.

She could feel it closing in on her, that dark fear that she might lose everything she’d worked so hard to protect.

And maybe, just maybe, that was what scared her more than anything else.

*****

The abandoned warehouse loomed out before Marjorie like a hollow, forgotten shell. The air inside was thick with decay, the once strong structure now bowing under years of neglect. The cieling, lined with rusted beams, creaked and groaned in protest as the wind outside clawed at the walls, but in here, it was dead quiet. The scent of damp earth and rotting wood mingled with the sharp, pungent tang of incense, creating a strange tension that clung to the air, making every breath feel heavy.

The candlelight flickered, casting long, distorted shadows that stretched across the cracked concrete floor. Marjorie moved carefully, each step deliberate as she centered herself within the sigil-marked containment circle. The symbols were intricate and glowing faintly- a brilliant blue- barely visible in the dark, but they had been drawn with precision, each stroke of chalk and blood a calculated effort to trap the wraith. 

An incessant drip fell to the floor, the thick, crimson liquid draining from her now cut wrist and plummeting to the floor with each step she took. The pain from the cut did not phase her- one, insignificant injury was helping her end this. 

Her fingers tightened around the relic she had brought- the locket. It was small, fragile, and twisted from the fire that had destroyed everything she had once known. No one knew she had kept the jewelery- she was scared it would be taken from her. The delicate metal had been burned, the glass cracked, but it was still there, the remnants of her daughters life. A life lost. A past that haunted her.

She had allowed Eleanor to occupy her thoughts more in the past two weeks than she had since the day she lost her. Perhaps it was Cordelia’s warmth and admiration, or maybe it was the way Sam looked at her with those soulful, puppy-dog eyes when he asked about what happened. Or maybe it was how Dean gazed at her, as if they were the only two people in that diner, while she rambled on and on about her little girl. She wasn’t sure what it was. But one thing was clear: she had stopped avoiding it, letting the brothers slip past the walls she’d worked so hard to fortify.

Her heart hammered in her chest, as she knelt before the circle, placing the locket directly in the center. This was the final step. The wraith would come for her, of course. It had been lurking in the shadows, feeding off her fear, her grief. But this time, it wouldn’t win. This time, she would take back control.

The chanting started, the words flowing from her lips, ancient and familiar, yet foreign at the same time. Latin. Or perhaps something older. Something her grandmother had once spoken, something that had been passed down through generations of women who had carried their power in silence. She didn’t understand all of it, but she didn’t need to. She knew the intent. She knew what needed to be done.

The air around her vibrated with energy as she spoke the incantation, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. The sigils around the circle flared to life, glowing brighter as the ritual took hold.

For a moment, everything was still.

And then, the wraith answered.

A gust of wind, sharp and sudden, whipped through the space, though the windows were shattered long ago. The candles flickered wildly, casting strange, erratic shadows against the walls. Marjorie felt the shift in the air, the temperature plummeting, the weight of it pressing against her skin like a heavy hand.

It was here.

Her breath hitched as the whispering started, faint at first, like the rustling of leaves on a distant breeze. But then it grew louder- closer. A sound that slid under her skin, into her bones.

“Marjorie…”

The voice was soft at first, almost tender, like a memory. But there was a dark edge to it, a twist that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

She gritted her teeth, trying to keep her focus. This was it. This was the moment she had been preparing for. The wraith would show itself, and she would confront it. She had no choice.

“Mama…”

Her heart stopped, and for a moment, she felt the ground beneath her shift. She could hear it so clearly- Eleanor’s voice, sweet and innocent, calling to her from the depths of the memory she had worked so hard to bury. It was different than her dream. Eleanor was here. The same voice that had echoed in her ears the night of the fire. The same voice that haunted her dreams, her waking hours.

The memory hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her with the force of something she couldn’t outrun. She was back there, back in that horrible place. The heat of the flames licking at her skin. The smoke that had suffocated her. The crackle of fire eating away at everything she had ever loved.

“No…” Marjorie whispered. She couldn’t. She couldn’t let herself go back there. Not again. Not now.

But the wraith was relentless. It wasn’t just a shadow. It was a memory made flesh, a cruel manipulation of everything Marjorie had ever feared.

The temperature dropped further, the air thickening with a cold that bit into her skin. The warehouse seemed to darken, the walls stretching and shifting as though the very space itself was warping under the wraith’s influence.

And then she heard it- the scream.

It was so real, so visceral, that Marjorie felt her chest tighten, her breath catching in her throat. She could see it now- Elanor’s face, pale and twisted with pain, her small body writhing as the flames consumed her. The smoke choked her, and the heat was unbearable. The vision was vivid, too vivid, like it was happening all over again.

“Eleanor…” The name slipped from her lips, a cry of agony that she couldn’t hold back.

The wraith was feeding on her grief, on the weakness it had always known was there.

But Marjorie fought to stay grounded. She could feel the ritual pulling at her, the energy of the sigils battling against the wraith’s pull. She had to stay strong. She had to let go.

“Mamma… Help me…”

Eleanor stood before her. Barefoot. Soot-stained. Brown eyes hollowed by death. 

“Why didn’t you save me?”

The words dug in like barbs. Marjorie’s entire body went rigid, the knife in her hand growing impossibly heavy.

“You let me burn.”

The words twisted, warping into something grotesque, the voice no longer her child’s, but something ancient and cruel. The girl’s lips turned into a sneer, her small hands flexing as nails blackened and sharpened into talons.

“You let me die, screaming for you.”

Marjorie staggered back, nausea curling in her stomach.

“No, El, I swear. I tried everything. Baby, there were too many of them.”

“You were supposed to be powerful, mama. You left me alone. I have no one.”

“You’re not real.” Marjorie jammed her fists into the side of her head, over and over again, trying to rid the image of her dead daughter standing in front of her.

The wraith was a parasite, feeding on the worst parts of her. It was using her love for Eleanor as a weapon, twisting it into something ugly.

Eleanor was gone. The child she couldn’t save was lost to the flames.

The wraith wasn’t her. It wasn’t Eleanor. It was just an echo, a twisted thing that had been feeding off her pain.

Marjorie’s eyes snapped open, and she stood taller, her hands clutching the blade. “You cant control me anymore,” she hissed, her voice steady, almost cold.

The wraith’s form flickered and shuddered, its distorted figure contorting as it reached out toward her. The air around them seemed to scream with a deafening roar, the force of the wraith’s power shaking the very foundation of the warehouse.

But Marjorie didn’t flinch. The fire in her veins wasn’t just from the ritual-it was from the anger. She wasn’t just fighting the wraith. She was fighting her own weakness.

The sigils around her flared with light as the wraith fought to maintain its form. The more Marjorie accepted the truth, the more it shrank, its ethereal body weakening.

“I’m not scared of you.”

And then, just as it seemed the wraith was about to snap into full corporeal form, the door to the warehouse crashed open.

Cordelia stepped into the room, her eyes wide with shock at the sight of the writhing shadow in front of Marjorie. She hesitated, fear flashing across her face as she watched the battle unfold.

“Marjorie, you-” she started, but Marjorie didn’t listen. Her focus was fixed entirely on the wraith, her grip tightening on the blade she had drawn earlier- a consecrated weapon soaked in blood. The ritual was almost complete. The wraith was vulnerable.

Suddenly, the air felt alive, buzzing with malignant energy, and a whisper cut though the stillness. 

“Cordelia, how nice of you to join us.”

Marjorie stiffened. Her eyes flickered toward Cordelia, who had stepped back slightly, her expression panicked. Marjorie’s pulse quickened- what was going on?

A soft laugh echoed, cruel and guttual, from somewhere deep in the shadows. The sound twisted, warping, and then the wraiths form expanded- larger and stronger than before. It was using Cordelia’s fear. 

It’s eyes, dark and glistening with malicious intent were fixed on Cordelia.

“Oh this one,” the wraith hissed, stretching its words like a snake, mockery evident in its words. “She’s so good at pretending, isn’t she? At hiding her true nature… her secrets…”

Marjorie’s heart stopped for a moment, but her stance stayed firm and her eyes didn’t leave the wraith. She could feel Cordelia stiffen, but her hands rattled against her sides. 

“You think you’re so clever, Cordelia… you think you’ve hidden it all so well… but I see you… I know you…” The wraith’s form flickered and rippled, growing more solid with each passing second. Its voice grew louder, more distorted, like the scraping of nails on a chalkboard. “How many times have you danced with darkness, hmm? How many times have you betrayed those you claimed to love?”

Cordelia’s breath caught. Marjorie’s eyes widened as she saw the flicker of panic in Cordelia’s eyes- the subtle tremble of her shoulders. It was the same look Marjorie had seen in her own reflection, the same terror of being exposed, of being known for something terrible. The wraith was feeding on that fear, twisting it into something sharp, something deadly.

The wraith’s laugh echoed, guttural and sharp. “Poor, poor Cordelia… how many times did you think you could lie to her?” It was a sickening mockery of sympathy. “You think you’ve escaped your past, but I know what you did.”

Marjorie’s mind spun, and suddenly the pieces started clicking into place. The way Cordelia had always been so protective, so careful with Marjorie. The unspoken tension. The guarded glances. The secrets she’d kept hidden beneath the surface.

The wraith’s shadowy form grew bolder, twisting into something almost human now, a grotesque, sneering parody of a person. The voice that came from it was now low and slithering. “What was it you offered to get all of this? To live this lie? Tell her, Cordelia… tell her what you’ve done.”

Cordelia’s hand tightened at her side, her knuckles white. “No- stop,” she hissed, stepping back. But the wraith’s voice only grew louder.

“You don’t have to hide anymore, Cordelia. I know. I see you. How much blood has stained your hands? How many people have you thrown away to keep yourself safe?” The wraith took a step forward, its eyes glowing with cruel delight. “How you led me right to your precious Marjorie. You and Meg. Does she know that you were one of my best soldiers? How you found all those sad, innococent people and tricked them into deals? How you’re the reason I am here in the first place.”

Marjorie’s pulse thundered in her ears, her stomach twisting as she watched Cordelia’s mask crack, just a little. Just enough for her to see it- the fear. The guilt. The truth.

“I- I didn’t-” Cordelia’s voice was shaky, her lips pressing together as if she were struggling to keep herself from breaking down. But the wraith didn’t give her the space to explain. It wasn’t interested in explanations. It was interested in torment.

You think I didn’t see the way you looked at her? How you tried to control everything around you?” The wraith’s sneering face moved closer to Cordelia, its shadow darkening her features. “You were never just her ally, were you, Cordelia? You were her jailer. You thought you could hold her down, keep her from realizing the truth about herself. About you.”

The air was thick with tension, a mixture of guilt, betrayal, and suffocating fear. Marjorie could feel it pulling at her, tightening around her chest, but she didn’t look away. She couldn’t. Not now. She had to see it. She had to know.

The wraith wasn’t done. It turned its attention back to Marjorie, its mocking grin widening.

“You think she’s your ally? Your friend? Your savior?” It twisted the words, each syllable laden with contempt. “What happens when you find out she’s been playing you all along? Without her, you would’ve never made that deal with me. Would’ve never had the false hope of a daughter reborn- would’ve never had to see sweet Eleanor die for a second time.”

Marjorie’s blood ran cold as the wraith’s form flickered and twisted. Its laughter echoed one last time before it finally evaporated, leaving only the cold, suffocating silence that remained between them.

For a moment, no one spoke. No one moved.

Cordelia stood frozen, her face pale, her eyes wide with something that was a mix of shame and terror. The breath left her in a shaky exhale, as though the wraith’s words had carved deep into her, leaving marks that would never fully fade.

Marjorie’s heart pounded, a cold rage beginning to grow in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t just confronted the wraith tonight- she’d confronted her own darkest memories. But Cordelia had betrayed her, too. The truth was undeniable now.

Cordelia had known. She had known the wraith’s true power, and she had been hiding it all along, playing a dangerous game with both Marjorie and herself.

Marorie turned to Cordelia now, blazing tendrils of blue surging down her arms and curling around her hands. “You knew.” Her voice was tight, controlled. “You did this to me.”

Cordelia opened her mouth, but the words came out weak, barely a whisper. “My girl, I didn’t-”

“You brought that thing to me. You knew I would say yes- that I would die.”

Marjorie’s voice cracked. Cordelia had been just as much part ofthis as the wraith. 

“I left that life behind,” Cordelia’s voice was choked, full of something that could’ve been regret. Probably fear. “I chose you. I protected you for years, Marjorie. Everything I did- it was to keep you safe.”

“You lied to me.”

“I had to.”

“No, you didn’t!” Marjorie’s entire being was shaking now. The ground beneath them rumbled slightly, shaking the old building like the wind in a thunderstorm. 

Cordelia, her Cordelia, the woman who had raised her, cared for her, loved her- had been hiding this from her the entire time. 

The wraiths form flickered again, its mocking laughter filling the room with the worst kind of poison. “It’s too late now, Cordelia. She’s got you all figured out.”

Marjorie barely heard it. 

Her eyes were locked on Cordelia’s, searching for something, anything that would make this hurt less. 

“Do you have any regrets?” she whispered. “Doing this to me?”

Cordelia swallowed hard. “Every day.”

The wraith laughed again. 

"Tell me, Marjorie-if I let you hear her voice again, if I let you see her little face just one more time-would you let me in? Would you let me crawl inside your head, take all that grief, all that guilt, and make it stop?"

It stopped in front of her, right in her face, breath like spoiled meat.

"You want that, don’t you? To be free of this?"

Her throat was so tight she could barely breathe.

For a terrifying, shameful second-she did want that.

No more waking up gasping for air.

No more hearing screams in her dreams.

No more guilt sinking its claws into her ribs.

Just… nothing.

But then she thought of Cordelia’s voice, steady even in her betrayal.

She thought of Dean’s concern, of Sam’s quiet faith in her, of the life she had built-however fragile.

She thought of everything this thing had taken from her.

She would not let it win.

"No."

The wraith’s grin twisted into something monstrous.

"Liar."

It lunged.

Marjorie barely had time to react before it was on her, knocking the knife from her grasp. She hit the ground hard, the impact rattling her bones.

Cold fingers wrapped around her throat.

Her vision blurred, the air squeezed from her lungs.

The wraith hovered over her, its face shifting-Eleanor, Cordelia, Meg, even herself.

It wanted to break her.

To own her.

Her fingers scraped against the floor, desperate, searching-until they curled around something familiar.

Cold metal.

The locket.

The last thing she had of Eleanor.

The offering she had used to summon this monster.

Marjorie gritted her teeth.

With the last of her strength, she slammed the locket against the wraith’s forehead.

The sigils in the containment circle flared to life, blinding-bright.

The wraith let out a shriek of agony, its grip loosening just enough for Marjorie to throw it off. She scrambled to her feet, gasping, reaching for the knife-

And then it was just her and the wraith, both on their knees, facing each other.

Marjorie lifted the blade.

The wraith smiled.

"Do it, then."

Marjorie’s breath was ragged.

The wraith wanted her to kill it in anger. It thrived on rage, on suffering.

But it wouldn’t get that.

Not from her.

"Shut. Up," she whispered.

She drove the blade into its heart.

The wraith screamed, its form twisting, breaking. Its body blackened, its flesh curling away in wisps of ash as the containment circle erupted in light.

For a brief, agonizing moment, its shifting form locked onto Eleanor’s face one last time.

Marjorie clenched her jaw.

"Go to Hell."

With a final, piercing shriek—

The wraith was gone.

Ashes scattered to the warehouse floor.

But the silence that followed felt different. Empty. Marjorie stood there, panting, the blade still in her hand, staring at the spot where the wraith had once been.

Cordelia stepped forward hesitantly, her face pale, eyes full of something Marjorie didn’t recognize-fear, regret, and guilt all mixed into one fragile expression.

Marjorie turned her back on her, unable to face her any longer. Her heart was still pounding in her chest, but there was something else now. Something cold.

She turned to leave.

“I trusted you,” Marjorie said , her voice low, almost calm now. “I trusted you and you didn’t care. One-hundred and fourteen years, Cordelia. That’s how long you’ve had to tell me. ”

“Marjorie-”

“The worst part about all of it, is that if you asked me now, I would probably forgive you.”

Cordelia flinched as though struck, her mouth opening and closing, desperate to find words that could undo the weight of what had just happened. But there was nothing. No excuse, no justification that could erase the truth.

Marjorie stopped at the threshold of the warehouse, her back still to Cordelia. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of burned wax and old blood, remnants of the ritual that had bound and killed the wraith. But the betrayal, the realization that Cordelia had been playing her all along- that was what suffocated her now.

Slowly, she turned her head, her voice barely above a whisper, but sharp enough to cut like a blade.

“If I ever see you again…” She let the words hang in the air, thick with unspoken threat. “I will kill you.”

Cordelia sucked in a breath, but she didn’t move, didn’t try to stop her.

Marjorie didn’t wait for a reply. She turned and stepped out into the night, her boots crunching against the gravel outside the warehouse. The air was cold against her skin, but inside, she was burning.

She didn’t look back.

*****

Marjorie didn’t stop walking until she reached the edge of the warehouse lot, where the Imapala was parked haphazardly, its doors already open. Sam and Dean stood by the car, tense, weapons in hand. Deans face was a storm of emotion- anger, concern, something deeper he couldn’t put a name to. Sam looked exhausted, eyes flickering between her and the warehouse like he was still piecing everything together.

She barely registered them. Her body felt like it was moving on auto-pilot, her hands shaking as the adrenaline wore off. The night was still, unnervingly so, after everything that had just happened. 

Dean was the first to speak. “Marjorie.”

She didn’t stop. Didn’t acknowledge him.

He took a step forward, cutting off her path before she could get any further. “What the hell happened in there?”

Marjorie didn’t look at him, her eyes somewhere else, far away from any of them. She was breathing hard, the taste of ash and blood lingered on her tongue. “It’s dead,” she said flatly.

Dean searched her face. “Cordelia?”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Gone.”

Sam stepped forward, cautious. “Gone?”

“I told her I’d kill her if I saw her again, so for her sake. I hope she’s long gone.”

Silence. The weight of her words hung heavy between them.

Deans mouth pressed into a tight line, but he didn’t argue. He just watched her, eyes scanning every inch of her like he was trying to make sure she was still standing, still her. 

Sam, however, frowned. “Marj…”

“Don’t.” She shook her head, her voice raw. “Don’t make this into something it’s not.”

Sam backed off, knowing better than to push her right now. 

Dean took a second step forward. “You’re bleeding.”

Marjorie finally blinked, looking down at her hands. Her knuckles were raw, her nails still lined with the remnants of the ritual. The deeper wound on her arm, a thin angry cut from where she bled to summon the raise pulsed quickly.

She swallowed. “It’s a paper cut.”

“Yeah, well, your ‘paper cut’ needs stitches,” Dean muttered, already moving toward the trunk of the Impala to grab their make-shift first aid kit. 

Marjorie watched him for a second, some of the ice in her chest cracking, just barely. Then she let out a slow breath and sat down on the open passenger seat of the car, her body finally succumbing to the exhaustion she had been pushing back.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Dean said after a moment. “Not now.”

Marjorie gave a short, bitter laugh. “Good.”

Dean retuned with the first aid kit and knelt beside her. “This is gonna sting.”

Marjorie met his gaze and sighed, “Go ahead.”

As Dean cleaned her arm, his hands careful but firm. Marjorie leaned her head against the door, her eyes fluttering shut. Sam stood next to her, giving her shoulder a squeeze everytime she would wince. 

Dean finished wrapping the gauze around her arm, his mouth set in that gruff, focused line. Marjorie watched the muscle in his jaw ticked, the way he worked through his emotions by doing something. She wanted to say something- maybe to ground herself, maybe to pull the concern off his face- but nothing same.

“We should go,” Dean spoke, rising from his kneeling position.

Marjorie blinked, her gaze stuck to him. He wasn’t looking at her, but his tone was pointed.

Sam looked down at his brother. “Go where?”

“Meg.” Dean exhaled. “She’s still out there, and after everything tonight…” He hesitated, then finally locked eyes with Marjorie. “She’s numero dos, isn’t she?”

Sam scoffed. “Hold on, you’re telling me we’re going into this with no rest, no plan- just full-speed ahead to whatever the hell Meg’s got waiting for us?”

“Yes,” Marjorie’s voice was steady. “And I’m coming with.”

Sam’s eyes snapped to her. “You just took on the wraith alone, and now you want to go hunt a demon?”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not sitting around while she’s still out there.”

Sam shifted, like he agreed but didn’t quite want to say it aloud. 

Dean let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. “I swear to God, you two are gonna kill me.”

Marjorie smirked, just a little. “You’d be bored otherwise.”

Dean shot her a look, but there wasn’t real heat behind it.

Sam cleared his throat, pushing off the car. “We need to figure out where she is. I’ll dig into possible leads, but she’s smart- she’s not gonna make it easy.”

“Perfect,” Marjorie muttered, rubbing her now bandaged arm.

Dean pointed at her. “You are getting rest first.”

She opened her mouth to argue. 

“Not negotiable,” he added.

Marjorie huffed, but didn’t push. 

Sam pulled out his phone, already scanning for anything that might give them a lead. “Marjorie, get some sleep.”

She nodded, moving to crawl into the back seat. Dean moved toward’s the drivers side, but before he climbed in he shot her another glance.

“You’re with us now, huh?”

Marjorie tilted her head back against the worn leather. “Guess so.”

Dean shook his head, but a faint smile made its way to his face. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Sam snorted.

Marjorie gave him a wink, allowing herself to relax into the seats, eyes falling shut once again. 

Despite the exhaustion, despite everything, they were a trio now. And now matter what came next, they were in it together. 

*****

[maryhadalittlehobby]

Recap of my experiences at the IWTV Premiere April 30, 2024

I found out about if from one of the most unlikiest sources. A person I thought was an even bigger fandom lurker than myself😅 I wasn't even gonna ask but I said fuck it, maybe they know someone who knows someone. And they did but said people were under ndas. Initially said they couldn't say but then last minute said they believe they knew where it was going to be.

I didn't say anything because 1) I didn't want them or their friend to get in trouble by spreading the info. 2) possibly spread misinfomation if that wasn't the place and 3) nobody asked lol

I thought I would just show up and see what I could see. In the past I have done this at a Walking Dead premiere. At that event it turned out that they had a lobby full of props that anyone could enter and take pics of. They even had walkers roaming around. Then the kicker-I got into that TWD premiere TICKETLESS by pure accident! So why not fuck around and find out again.

I put on a "closet cosplay" of Claudia in the upcoming yellow dress using all stuff I already owned and headed out.

I walked up to Mckittrick hotel, asked if there was a standby or waiting list but the person said they didnt know. There was a lot of important looking people surrounded with guards double checking lists and whatnot so I gave up that angle and loitered around with the other 15 or so fans who found the location too hoping to just see a glimpse of our favs.

Didn't have to wait to long as one by one they started showing up. The first one I noticed was Delainey and she slayed in that black sheer number. She was soft-spoken and a little shy but took her time and signed/took pictures with all the people who were there. Not sure if she knew I was cosplaying Claudia but she did compliment my contacts.

I had all my pics on motion video so if I didnt like the actual pic there was a few frames of vid to pick from as well. The actual video is a bonus! Too bad I can only link 1 video here but a lot of vids are on my IG in the highlight. Same name!

Then Sam came. As soon as he exited the car the wind blew his hair back and I lost my train of thought. He is pretty and his eyes are a lighter shade of blue than they look in pics. Also he is blonder! And so slim! The suit they had him in was a fun nod to vintage suits.

He too complimented my contacts! In the vid he is asking me questions about them but as soon as I take the pic another fan was yelling his name and grabbed his attentionl. Not mad lol I probably would have gotten less coherent the more I talked😅

Jacob showed up soon after-all smiles. What a cutey. He was damn near falling in the garbage they had us lowly non invites next to trying to contort this way and that to sign and take pics. Again-so small! And he too complimented my contacts😁 if the suit would have been properly tailored( the pants looked to long!) It would have been slay

Not gonna lie I kinda blacked out after meeting Sam so my memory with jacob is fuzzy.

Assad and Luke arrived together shortly after but got whisked away pretty quickly so I didn't get a pic with them. Eric was the very first to arrive and despite me being there I missed him too.

But I was sooo happy getting the unholy family little else mattered. I contemplated waiting after but I was BUZZING with adrenaline and starving lol. My fandom plug said she did come after and met EVERYONE and their momma. Cast and crew alike and they were still happy to engage even after their long night❤️

Finally Fang Gangers, please do not repost/ reupload/ or screenshot anything of mine as your content. Linking back / sharing is ok.

🖤🧛🏾‍♀️

[mmmichyyy]

weekly tag wednesday 🎀

tagged by @mybrainismelted @energievie @lingy910y @sgtmickeyslaughter @catgrassplantdad !

Name: michelle

Location: rainy gloomy westcoast canada

Age: 31

You have an unexpected extra day off work or school! What are you going to do? sleep in, maybe check out a cute cafe (because all cafes here usually close at 4 on weekdays and way too busy on the weekend)

What is your favorite way to spend a summer day? stay in the shade (because the sun/heat gives me migraines), check out cool shops, get ice cream or bubbletea, watch a movie

What is your favorite way to spend a winter day? stay inside, watch movies/read in bed, drink hot tea

What do you do to unwind at the end of the day? my skincare routine, read fics in bed until i fall asleep

Do you play any sports? nope

Other than fanfic, what is your favorite genre to read? i love asian diaspora lit and personal essays, anything that covers the themes of identity, family, displacement, etc

What is your comfort movie/tv show? i'm always rewatching a sitcom as background noise. i have a looooong list of shows that i consider comfort shows, but my all-time faves are community, bojack horseman, daria, new girl, etc etc. comfort movies hmm probably the ocean's trilogy, national treasure, mission impossible, red white & royal blue lmao i rewatch them a lot (shamelessly going to plug my letterboxd i swear i watch other cooler movies too)

Do you write or draw? write, i can't draw for shit

What other arts or crafts do you do? punch needle, pompoms

Describe your perfect breakfast: an iced matcha latte, a cup of seasonal fruits, bacon, either a glazed fruity/savoury scone or avocado toast or rosemary rocksalt bagel with smoked salmon and dairy-free cream cheese or eggs benedict. realistically for breakfast every day i just eat a banana or buttered toast lol

tagging @stocious @jrooc @gallawitchxx @thisdivorce @gardenerian @heymrspatel @spoonfulstar @sam-loves-seb @blue-disco-lights @whatthebodygraspsnot @callivich @sickness-health-all-that-shit @loftec @darlingian @crestfallercanyon @suzy-queued @creepkinginc @palepinkgoat @burninface @deedala @deathclassic @vintagelacerosette @celestialmickey @doshiart @crossmydna 🌸

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep8 Musings - Pyromaniac Du Lac 🔥 (Spoilers)

NGL, as much as I love this finale, I'm disappointed. I wanted to see way more violence.

That's the thing about necromancy--be careful who/what you wake up!

"FATHER! THE SLEEPER HAS AWAKENED!"

There he goes.

Was that NECESSARY, smashing that old man into the window like that!?

You better ACT, JACOB, with your Arya Stark hit list!

I'm so sorry I laughed at his mental illness, but MEOW!? Omg he's cracked. XD

So they gave him a baby scythe/machete--I wanted Sam's scythe. :( But it's cool how Louis broke his sickle screaming at Armand, and HAD to switch to the machete.

Not Louis talking to his victims, who help him plot the murders, LOL. He can't concentrate with all that French jibber-jabber! He's got a mass murder to plot! Yeah, he'll bring your truck back in mint condition! LOLOLOL.

Yeah, STFU corpse!

IKR, STFU Armand! Ain't nobody thinking about YOU! (But actually, Louis WAS thinking about him, and warned him to stay away, sooo.... :\)

The whole Sam reveal later was SO good, I love this show!

(Not Louis shading Hans' ugly costume. XD) And Tuan WANTS to die? Whaaaat?

LFG

This jazzy film noir crime boss heist music is an interesting choice.

HIS EYES DILATING.

Louis went full-blown Carrie. 😈

I CANNOT BELIEVE Y'ALL OFF-SCREENED THE SLAUGHTER, AMC. 😩

You showed Lestat dragging Louis by his effing JAWBONE, and punching a HOLE thru a PRIEST, but can't show us Louis cutting a red streak thru that stupid theatre!? Wtf!?

My Humanities arse sucks at math, but my bff's in STEM and immediately caught that the math wasn't mathin here.

Yeah, eff that flute guy!

(Estelle had me dying.) Interesting tea though--I wonder who's in the London coven?....

Louis' EYES this episode were the best yet. 👌

(RIP Estelle; I liked you the most.) I just wanna know if Louis ignited that rag from all the way at the Theatre, or if something in the exhaust or whatever triggered the fire on its own. (And now we know what that weird reaction from Santiago was about.)

Not Louis calling Santiago by his government name, LOL. 😭

AND Lou called you a colonizer too, you "'bleached-blonde, bad-built, butch body" British hack! XD

Using Francis at the end of every bar(b) was right out the "Crodie" Kendrick vs Drake playbook, I LOVE IT--THIS IS SURLOIN BEEF.

DANG, emasculation and evisceration in equal measure! No one cares about the eraser when the pencil's shaved down to a nub!

And not Louis using "Come to Me" as a death threat!

That MIMIC Gift must've STUNG, Francis! 😜

His death was WAY TOO FAST. These are the kinds of mofos you need to SAVOR.

That shot of the machete was sooo vintage Hollywood noir, it's really clever, especially to be used for Gothic Horror.

Rot In Pieces, FRANCIS! 💩🔪

[starcanwrecked-confessions]

Friendly reminder that not all of us are involved in drama. for example: i'm here, i'm neurodivergent and I really like perfume

Here's what lush perfume I think some Hatchetfield characters would wear any why they wear it:

Grace - breath of god - It caught her eye when she went shopping with ruth. She picked it up because of the name. She bought it because it smelled like the incense they burn at her church

Ethan - lord of misrule - It was a gift from Lex. He'd been having problem's at work, people leaving Tony bad reviews because Ethan worked there and smelled like w33d, and it was making him feel like a burden. Lex noticed the toll it was taking on him and gave him this to make life a bit easier for the Greens. After Ethan stopped working there, either because he just got a better one at some point after Lex and Hannah left or because the three of them got to California (depending on how delulu you're feeling - I'm going with the second option), he kept wearing it because it makes him think of Lex.

Becky - american cream - It's the same scent shes worn since high school. Tom said it suited her back then. Stanley said it was too sweet so she stopped wearing it while they were married. when she killed him, she started wearing it again. it felt like *her*. it reminded her of Tom.

Emma - 4:20PM - helps her get up in the morning.

Ziggs - breath of god - They used to go to a festival every year as a kid. It always smelled of incense (and w33d but they've got that covered). When they were looking for perfume that smelled like incence they stumbled across this online

Steph - rose jam - She and Pete both got help from an employee to pick out scents. she landed on this

Pete - vanillary - see above (I also think its funny that the perfume is really sweet and he has famously low blood sugar)

Ruth - lust - *the* lush lover of Hatchetfield. Picked it because of the name. Didn't even like the scent at first but she learned to love it the more she wore it.

Lex - 4:20PM - she, unlike Ethan, wants to smell even more like w33d because it pisses people off.

Linda - goddess - makes her feel powerful and mysterious (plus its really different from Becky's. might've been on purpose. might've not)

Richie - dirty - ironically the mint makes him feel fresher. It doesn't work on him though, he just sweats it off.

Hannah - new romantics - It smells a bit like oranges. she likes orange juice. what can you say? she saved up for it. plus Webby liked it so that's a bonus. she probrably also steals Ethan's from time to time. She's not allowed to wear Lex's.

Miss Holloway - ginger - has a lot of popular smells from the 80's within it. (totally forgot she was ginger herself when picking this out for her lol)

Deb - sappho - she and Alice got it to share because it's the lesbian perfume and that's funny. It turned out to not be Alice's thing but Deb loved it.

Alice - love - she just likes it. Deb did say it smelled as lovely as she is tho so its special now.

Charlotte - Shade - Sam bought it for her for an anniversary. She hates it but she wears it anyway. Sam never notices. I feel like she would rlly like alina tho!

-🛼 ( i cant tell if thats showed up right- currently not on my normal device - but it's the roller skate)

~~~

[aurorialwolf]

Ok I’m feeling better (got burnt out) so now I’m gonna continue my posts about next gen redacted ocs!! I made a custom tag for these posts, so you can click that to see the rest of them :D (it’s tagged on this post)

This time: David’s son, Dante!

- His full name is Dante Gabriel Shaw

- His nickname is probably smth like Danny, so Davey and Danny lol

- He looks a lot like Gabe, his eyes being closer in shade to Gabe’s than David’s, and his facial structure & hair being very similar as well. This makes David both happy and a little sad, which Dante doesn’t understand until he’s a little older and David explains everything about Gabe to him.

- David brings him and Angel to visit Gabe’s grave regularly, and they leave dahlia flowers and honeysuckles (which i stole from other ppls flower hcs sry fhksdhjs)

- He’s besties with Ashlyn (Asher’s daughter) because of course

- He has a sort of inner circle who are all his friends in the pack, so that includes Samuel Jr., Ashlyn, and Milo’s daughter

- He’s always acted like a mini alpha, protecting his friends like David does, he started mimicking David when he was 2, attempting to do speeches to the rest of the pack toddlers

- He shifted for the first time when he was 14, a week before the winter solstice, and while it was painful, he managed pretty okay. His shifted form is very similar to his dad’s (large black wolf in my hc), but with a white swirl pattern on his right flank.

- He is the most responsible in his friend group, making sure they’re all eating, they’re on time, etc. would absolutely be the guy who has all the papers and passports when they go on an international trip.

- He may act a lot like his dad, having a gruff exterior, but it’s mostly a cover, and he can be a little goofball sometimes, like his other parent (Angel)

- He loves playing minecraft, started when he was 5, and co-ops with Angel often to make cool builds

Ok now for official alpha / security company stuff that he’d do!!

- He’s David’s only kid (in this version of things) so he’s naturally expected to become Alpha

- So, he often shadows his dad to important events, as well as security gigs

- One of the major things is he accompanies his dad to Solaire-hosted events, and while his dad greets William and shakes hands with him, Dante greets Emilie (William’s daughter), and shakes hands with her.

- She enjoys messing with him, and has held him in a couple second trance to see how he reacts (like I said in her post, she’s not great with mortals), which he eventually, after a couple meetings, can reliably break out of.

- Usually at these events, he stands around with his dad mostly separated from the vampires, interacting only with those who approach them, because David is worried about him being vulnerable to attacks or trances

- Luckily for him, Samuel Jr. (Sam’s son) is a regular attendee at these events, as William invites him, Vivienne (Vincent’s daughter), and their parents. Of course, Samuel is very protective of his friends, so whenever Dante has been at risk, he’s protected him, albeit maybe too violently, but it gets his point across.

- Now I feel like it’s a good time to mention that Samuel jr and Dante are boyfriends / eventual mates!! So it adds an extra layer considering Samuel has a rightful claim to him (the magic bite thingy), mostly for the purpose of being allowed by vampire law to protect him somewhat violently 👍 (Samuel also visits Gabe’s grave independently to leave flowers, because he’s paranoid about getting permission to date and eventually propose to Dante cuz blah blah tradition even though Gabe wouldn’t care if he were alive)

- He also shadows his dad on security gigs, learning all the best ways to keep large groups safe and orderly in case of an emergency. He also gets properly trained in gun use, just in case, and does pretty alright (they train at a typical gun range after he gets the proper licenses)

- Dante eventually heads his own event security gig, and manages pretty well. He’s doing it with his group of friends, so they goof off a bit over radio, which he scolds them for, though lightheartedly

- He does experience some rough gigs, not ever quite inversion level but there was a time when a clan of vampires descended on a large event being held in a stadium that had similar levels of danger, with luckily less losses

- One day, when Dante is ~25, David gets pretty sick, though is not in any danger, simply is somewhat immobilized and can’t perform his usual duties. Asher takes over, as a beta typically does, but starts trying to convince Dante to take over as alpha, which has been a previous conversation before, especially between Dante and David, but Asher is now making it a bit more urgent, and Dante is resistant to the idea.

- Dante says something along the lines of David not being dead, just sick, so he doesn’t need to take over yet, since he’s scared of taking over so soon. Asher flinches at that, and things become awkward. He eventually apologizes, but Asher insists it’s okay.

- Dante takes some convincing, but eventually decides to step up and take over, after David promises to support him in learning his duties.

- He picks Ashlyn to be his beta, and she does a good job! His takeover of the pack goes pretty well, mostly because everyone was expecting it anyways. David recovers fully, and helps him keep everything orderly, and keeps being in charge of the security company for a few more years before signing that over to him as well.

Taglist: @vegafan69 @darlin-collins @kxemii @professionallyyappin @sereh624

[maryasmorevna]

i was tagged by the lovely @rhaenyra-the-gracious - thank you! ❤️

rules: answer + tag 9 people you want to know better and/or catch up with

favorite colour? indigo... any shade of blue really.

last song? red right hand by nick cave & the bad seeds.

currently reading? last night i started assassin's apprentice, the first volume of the farseer saga by robin hobb. i read like, 4 books in a week lmao - yesterday i finished the aleph and other stories by borges, before that code name verity by elizabeth wein, and before that, in the dream house by carmen maria machado... as you can see i was quite busy 😅

currently watching? the sopranos! and the last movie i watched... i think it was the two towers; they reproposed the lotr trilogy in my city's major theater and let me tell you, seeing the fellowship and its sequel on the big screen was an Experience. my sister - who hadn't watched the movies in ages - cried like a baby during sam's speech at the end... and i was also quite moved, even though i know every. freaking. line and scene of those movies lmao

currently craving? some cold tea. it's so damn hot here, i can't stand it 🥵🔥

coffee or tea? despite what i said above, i actually prefer coffee (with unholy amounts of milk and sugar in it) to tea. estathé is an exception.

a hobby you would like to try? jogging! and horseriding - it's something i've wanted to do since i was a teenager - if only i had the money lol. some martial art would also be great for my self-esteem.

tagging: @mircallaruthven, @pontipines, @theatredelabsurde, @dwellordream, @franfinesheffield, @littlelattewanders, @feydrautha, @cafeleningrad and @caffeinosis (no pressure, of course!) 💜

[det2x-fanfic-dump]

YUU-SONA/ YUKI-SONA SKETCH DUMP 02

MORE OBEY ME x TWST FeMC CONCEPT ART. FeMC 's name is Yuki.

I like to draw the uniforms for some reason.I colored the clothes nicely but not the hair and eyes cuz coloring with layers and shadows is tedious for me.

Disclaimer: I tend to lose motivation doing full bodies, complex poses and full on shading.

A. NRC Uniform: 1. Grim's Ribbon Without an official band and badge like the rest of the seven dorms, Yuki made a ribbon similar to Grim to classify themselves as part of Ramshackle House. She bought or asked Sam the fabric pattern that is closely similar to Grim's. Having been enrolled in an all boys school, Yuki was given a uniform that is very big for her. Crowley must have forgotten to alter the right size using magic.

2. Hints of Royal Academy of Diavolo She was wearing RAD's uniform at the time when she woke up in the floating coffin during the orientation so she improvised, wearing RAD's undershirt and belt to at least look decent. If you asked, why not sew or clip it on the back to make it look fitted or asked someone to magically alter it for her... her defense...upon seeing Vil's black undershirt and Ruggie's rolled up sleeves and pants or Jamil's jacket under his school coat and etc. she realized maybe... the school isn't that strict with uniforms. B. RAD's Uniform:

Horn Accessory

Being a human representative at RAD, every demon probably wants to have her as a meal. Hence, she always have those croissant-shaped horns as disguise to make herself look like a demon.

The horns also have some magic essence to fend off hungry demons.

2. White Ribbon

A magical item given by Lucifer along with her DDD upon arriving at the Devildom. It changes color if she ever wanted to call one of her pact demons. Multiple colors can appear depending on which demon she called in her DDD or in general.

3. Bell Pin

Yuki have two bells in possession. One from Lucifer when she arrived at the Devildom as an exchange student for the first time and the other one is from Satan when he and Yuki reunite in Twisted Wonderland after Riddle's overblot.

Satan gave it to her so that Yuki can still use summoning magic in times of need since she lost her magic abilities when she arrived at Twisted Wonderland.

Janitor Arc Prologue

What's underneath that thick leather RAD coat lolol...I swear seeing the uniform looks so hot (in terms of heat lol)) to wear.

Yuki has no extra casual clothes when she arrived in Twisted Wonderland and being in a world with an actual sun and the fact she was hired as the janitor by Crowley, she got no choice but to roll up her sleeves and clean.

She had that red scar thingie from RAD's uniform to be used to tie her hair since she be cleaning.

This can be her casual clothes at her first few days in NRC.

CASUAL CLOTHES IN THE DEVILDOM

The Devildom is a cold place so she always wear long sleeves and skirt. Didn't draw it but she also had her boots and black leggings

Witch Hat

Yuki owns a blue witch hat when she took a part time job in Akuber.

Solomon's Coat //gasp

Solomon gave one of his extra coats and insisted that it's a uniform to symbolize that they're student and mentor even though they're both exchange students in the Devildom.

Yuki would wear the coat during their study sessions and going outside. She doesn't mind matching clothes with Solomon despite the brothers' protests at first.

I also drew this cuz sheep mc is so cute and I'm surprised Grim is like 2'2... I wanted to draw Grim but I can't make him cute so need more practice behind the scenes lol

[koreanbibliophilegirl]

Personifications of Dream SMP Factions

Okay so I came up with this idea during my exams. (Exams always do something to my brain lol) I was thinking about Pandora's Vault as a hot butch, then I remembered this fic about L'Manberg personified, plus this fic about personified countries, and it somehow spiraled into this.

(This is all based on personal interpretation & recollection of DSMP lore, please don't come at me for getting things wrong!)

The rest of the post is under the cut:

I gave all the factions it/its pronouns, since they're manifestations of, well, factions. I think they would have other preferred pronouns though, mostly related to the faction's characteristics.

(For instance, Snowchester uses he/him pronouns because Tubbo and Ranboo are so close & act almost like one entity.(I know, I know, c!Ranboo uses they/them pronouns too, but idk I thought this fit...) On the other hand, Manberg uses he/him pronouns because it's a dictatorship and Schlatt operates the country as the sole mastermind behind it all. Pandora's Vault uses she/her pronouns because Pandora deserves to be a butch because while Sam is its warden, Pandora is, at it's core, different from what Sam himself strives to achieve.)

Plus, all factions have an inherent love for its' members/citizens, since any faction is a collective of its people. Except Pandora, bc y'know, she's a literal prison.

Also!!! every name mentioned is c!, not cc!.

-

L'Manberg- (it/they/he/she) Dressed in L'Manberg soldier attire. Looks like a mix of all the L'Manbergians. Hair is auburn, kinda curly, and wears red-and-blue tinted sunglasses. Has fox ears(?), braces, is boisterous and kinda overdramatic. Enjoys growing flowers, beekeeping, and baking. Follows the L'Manbergians around, Wilbur and Tommy the most. Pretty young, but gets older and more serious as the war drags on. Manifested in the drug van.

Pogtopia- (it/he/they/she) L'Manberg's other form. Hair is darker now(more like Wilbur's than a mix of everyone's), has eyebags, sunglasses are gone, and dresses darker. Looks like Wilbur mostly now, but near-exclusively follows Tommy around like he's a lifeline. Is not manic like Wilbur, despite looking a lot like him now, and recognizes how far-gone Wilbur is. It tries very hard to cheer up the rest of the Pogtopia people.

L'Manberg(new)- (it/they/he/she) Dresses in red, blue, yellow, black and white again(not the soldier attire, but the flag design is incorporated into its clothes), is scarred all over and sadder. Hair is blond now. Tried to follow Tommy to exile but Tubbo stopped it. Cries every day & grows weaker.

L'Manberg(post-doomsday)- (it/they/he/she) A ghost. Invisible to most now, new members of the SMP can't see it unless they're told about L'Manberg. And even then, it's very hard to see or recognize them. Tommy sees him clearly though, and she still follows Tommy everywhere. Even more scarred and wounded now. Sad and quiet.

Manberg- (it/he) Wears a suit, has ram horns, and face is completely featureless, no eyes or nose or mouth. Has dark, slicked back hair. Follows Schlatt around silently. Usually follows Schlatt's orders without complaint, but absolutely refuses to hurt anyone, even at the expense of being hurt itself by Schlatt. Tried to stop Tubbo's execution and ended up being blown up as well. Didn't die(since Manberg was still intact) but his featureless face gained a huge scar like Tubbo's. This scar stayed even after Tubbo went to Pogtopia. Exact age is difficult to determine, but is physically quite small.

the Butcher Army- (it/they) Dresses in black clothes with the Butcher Army standard bloody apron. Face is shaded and unremarkable, just one face in a crowd. Doesn't speak much, and when they do, it's just general Butcher Army stuff like how they're trying to bring Technoblade to justice, or whatever. Doesn't seem to have much personality.

Snowchester- (it/he) Young, younger than L'Manberg was. Looks a little like it too. Has snowy gray hair(a mix of Ranboo's black and white), goat horns like Tubbo, and is missing an eye like Michael. The other eye is wintery green. Dresses in snow clothes, a black-and-white bomber jacket and a pale green-blue dress shirt with a tie underneath. Is quiet, has a shy smile like Ranboo, and is generally quite innocent like Michael. He likes pranks and chaos too though, like Tubbo. It's a peaceful little thing, but if you somehow get him angry its eye will turn purple and his body will start giving off a pale, eery green glow like radioactivity.

Kinoko Kingdom- (it/she) Looks like her namesake, Komori Kinoko from My Hero Academia. (Specifically, Komori's powered-up version with the chubbier cheeks and visible eyes, not her normal, emo version.) Wears light flowy clothes in earthy colors, soft purples and blues and ruddy browns and greens. Loves taking naps in the sunshine, reading old books, and exploring the Kingdom. Tiny mushrooms sprout wherever it walks, which is usually just inside the borders of the Kingdom. She never really goes far beyond that. Also likes training & sparring, though it tends to be relaxed about it, treating it more as a sport than anything else. She's usually sweet and kind, but also a tad chaotic. Bit forgetful. Looks somewhere in its twenties.

Las Nevadas- (it/he) Also looks somewhere in its twenties, though it looks a bit younger than Kinoko. Gelled-back jet-black hair, classy dark green beanie(beanie like Q, green like Slime, dark bc Classy™️). Dress shirt, tie, suspenders. Lots of gold accessories. Has a few purple freckles on its face, and orange highlights in his hair. Maybe green creeper markings? Give the boi some neon splashes. Acts slick and confident(and kinda manipulative) like a businessman with outsiders, but is super nice and sorta anxious when he's only with his members. Cares way too much about its citizens, even though it knows Purpled doesn't like him. Low self-esteem. Usually follows Quackity. Q flaunts its existence to people & is genuinely very proud of his country, but is also slightly unnerved by his knowledge of Nevadas's real personality. He knows personified factions reflect its people and the ideals it stands for, but he isn't entirely sure what Nevadas's nervous, slightly obsessive disposition is implying. Also, Nevadas has a crush on Kinoko. Kinoko is a bit confused, but thinks Nevadas is cute, so she might as well go along with it. Nevadas puts on a suave & slick act with Kinoko, though Kinoko can see right through it. She thinks he's sweet and silly, and also maybe a little lonely. Q doesn't approve of them flirting so much, and tells Nevadas to stop visiting Kinoko all the time. Not that Nevadas listens.

the Eggpire- (it/they/he/w̴͚̮͒̇̓e̴̺̬͉̅̋) Demon with red skin, white glowing eyes, two huge horns of red diamond sprouting from its head, and flowing robes. Has a missing arm, torn-up fairy wings, a red gold medallion, and a cat tail. Looks like a child, but you can tell it only looks like one. Unnerving smile with sharp predatory teeth(also red), sweet & melodious voice, silver-tongued and manipulative. Upon closer inspection, you can see that their entire body, clothes and all, is made of writhing, pulsing red vines.

the Syndicate- (it/she/they) Nicknamed Syndi by her members. Electric pink hair with a black-and-white half-and-half streak, tied in a short, tiny braid down one shoulder. Large black angel wings and enderman horns(one black, one white). Wears fingerless gloves, the opposite color of the horn on that side. Blood-red eyes. Anarchist, obviously. Snarky and deadpan, but smiles a lot too, and is generally quite a warm and kind person. Is nimble & fast on their feet, and is a quick thinker. A wise scholar and fearsome warrior, a sharp-eyed strategist. Enjoys reading, baking, and dancing with its members. Looks like a young adult. +Also, I haven't decided whether the faction personification thing is a general occurrence or strictly a DSMP thing, but if it's a general thing, Syndi is best friends(and possibly in a QPR) with the Antarctic Empire(it/he, fully-grown adult, nicknamed Antares, AE emperor attire, blue-and-white bucket hat with a wider brim than Phil's, thin and pointy white gold crown, snowy-white longish hair with ice-blue eyes, one emerald earring, giant white wings and piglin hooves, loves the thrill of battle, enjoys reading & woodcarving, makes lots of deadpan jokes, would like to just retire already please and thank you).

Pandora's Vault- (it/she) Ah yes, the one who started this whole ordeal. Despite me imagining Pandora as a hot butch at the start, I changed Pandora to be a teenager! Albeit a butch & pretty teenager. Looks like a creeper mostly, like Awesamdude, but her torso is made of crisscrossing obsidian bars that resemble a prison or a really messed up ribcage. Usually wears enchanted golden armor on top of it though. Has long hair that looks like dark curling smoke with lava-like streaks running through it, and a gold head guard that kinda looks like a tiara. Has a gold gas mask too. Stickler for the rules, as expected of it, and scarily efficient with weaponry. She seems stoic and fierce on the outside, all rigid ideals and indifferent cruelty, but it's actually really desperate for peace and order. Would go to extreme lengths to enforce order. Dislikes Dream and Technoblade. Also doesn't like Ponk. While Sam feels guilty about what he did to Ponk, Pandora is quite vocal about her opinion that Ponk had it coming to them. Is uncomfortable with opening the prison cell for Quackity, but thinks it's for the greater good that he gets the Revive Book away from Dream. Not many hobbies, it spends most of its free time patrolling/guarding the Vault. She does like inventing though, usually things to improve the efficiency of the prison. Sam was surprised when she appeared, since he didn't think Pandora counted as a faction. He still treats it like a daughter though. She's daddy's little girl.

Greater Dream SMP- (it/they/he) A child. Really. It looked like Dream at first(at least, people assumed that was what Dream looked like behind the mask), with straw-blond hair, bright green eyes, and pale freckles. It gained new features every time a new person joined the server. When they grew up, they grew up suddenly, aging in shocking speed during the L'Manberg War. He settled as a sad, serious adult with a haunted look in his eyes. It stopped following Dream after he went further and further off the deep end, choosing to wander the land instead- keeping well away from L'Manberg(and later, other countries) of course. Slowly loses the features they got from people who abandoned the Greater Dream SMP to create their own country/faction. Eventually people stop seeing him and think he's disappeared, but he's still there, just lurking. It looks unremarkable now, with next to no distinctive features. They hang out with Eret in her palace and museum(they love the museum), visits multiple factionless members of the SMP, and greets/sends off Aimsey on their little pit stop in the server. When the server loops & resets, he resets alongside with it, and returns to his original form. It kept all it's memories, but it never says anything, choosing instead to give its people a fresh start, with a blank slate.

-

I probably missed a few factions, but this is all I could think of haha.

Also I accidentally posted this as a draft a few days ago, panicked, and privated the post in record time. This is a repost😅

[shibiichi]

as an artist, who are some of your biggest inspirations?

also, i have loved seeing your art style develop over all the years we've been friends :)

Hello Sam…. The Uncle Biscuit…. Samilton… Sammiey. :)

I’ve had a few artist inspos over the years!! Few years back I was really into this artist over on YouTube called Salty Milk! I love their style to this day actually. Such a cool look! My favorite piece from them was their Freaking Out animation!

The next artist is also on YouTube but also on insta and other platforms! Their name is Apselene! (I think their page here is @apselen-e ! I hope it’s ok to tag! I think they really deserve so much love.) Adore this artist so much! Whenever I’d watch their videos I’d suddenly get super inspired and I’d push myself to improve my skills and try to tackle bigger pieces!

My biggest inspirations rn tend to be my friends actually! One of which is @mythostars !! Indigo is legitimately so cool! You can see more of their work via their insta! I may blab about them a bunch to my other friends… listen!! They are just so freaking skilled! I’ve seen how much they’ve improved over the years personally! Always excited to see what they make!

Another friend is @reb00tart ! They rock both 2D and 3D pieces! Plus their character designs are crazy cool. I also really like @shadysubject06 !! I became friends with them recently! Their style is so fun and the ideas they have are super impressive! Genuinely their art makes me smile! @lowsodiumlevels is also wicked asf!! He’s improved so much over the years! I can’t wait to see where their art takes them next! Another person who’s crazy skilled is my bestie flipperdoodie! Another person who I’ve been friends with for such a long time! They’ve improved a crazy amount and their shading is just.. MWAH!! Absolutely gorgeous. Not a digital artist but my friend TheVoiceOfComfy is an amazing VA! He has such cool character ideas and it’s always a delight to hear about what he comes up with. I genuinely love creating ideas with him!

There’s a few other people that inspire me but if I kept going I think this post would be 6000 words long ngl. One last thing tho… I have a musical artist who inspires me too! His name is Dustin Bates! Better known as the singer for the band Starset! Yeah, they work mostly with music but the stories they sow into their art is so freaking cool. I’ve been inspired by that band since like 2015 I think haha! Their sound influenced the early days of my main original character, Vincent. Without them, Vincent would not be where he is today!

I LIED ONE MORE THING!! Same to you honesty, Sam!! While you may not draw, I’ve loved getting to see what kind of person you’ve become since middle school!! You are the reason I binged a bunch of MCR songs LOL. I wanted to have more in common with you back then! Thank you for always supporting me! I care you so much!