#but history drags. one way or another you will have to confront it one day.

[allseeingdirt]

me :

me : bloodline magic as an allegory for inherited privilege send post

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

you never knew how much i really liked you - s. crosby

summary: 'In truth, it wasn’t nothing – it was never nothing with Sid. It was always something, and usually it hurt. The timings; what wasn’t said; the history. There was more to the two of you than what even Nate and Taylor knew of – not even when they seemed to stop breathing when you admitted what it could be.'

warnings: sid x f!reader (ex-hockey player), swearing, miscommunication trope, mentions of the consumption of alcohol, bonus point if you spot the unintentional olivia rodrigo lyric, mentions of food aversion (in relation to illness & hints at anxiety), passing mentions of someone potentially having alcohol poisoning, confrontation

< a/n: the ending is abrupt but i can't be arsed changing it! sorry! ALSO: IT'S PENS PRE-SEASON DAY!! >

word count: 13k

 There was a chair, this time. They’d never been a chair there before, ever. You’d been to this house and you’d sat on the end of the deck with your feet hanging over the edge countless times in the last decade or so, but there had never been a chair there before, at least not one that didn’t have to be dragged from inside and unfolded. 

It didn’t particularly strike you as odd or anything, but it did stop you in your tracks at the top of the deck, and you did try to see if you could see him through the windows of his house, but it was early so the sun only reflected against the glass panes, completely blocking your view. But you’d seen his car in the driveway, and you knew he’d be up – probably eating his breakfast or in the gym already.

You gripped your book a little tighter, making your way towards the end of the pontoon and assessing the chair with your own eyes. You almost laughed at the blanket draped across the back of it, but it didn’t stop you from picking it up and covering yourself with it after you got settled.

It was a lovely morning, it always was here, and it was partly why you loved arriving earlier: there was something about the crispness of the sun in the morning and the rawness of the view. It wasn’t one you could ever imagine getting tired of. The water was gorgeous, the trees were gorgeous, the sky was gorgeous, the birds were gorgeous. As usual, it took you a while to work yourself up to actually pick up your book and tear your attention away from the view.

It was a muffled bark that finally did it, your fingers absent-mindedly playing with the pages of the book, and you turned to peer around the side of the chair, a golden labrador bounding down the pontoon, tongue lolling out and ears flapping as she did. You grinned, sitting forward in the chair and anticipating Sam to stop right in front of you, her tail wagging ferociously as you scratched behind her ears.

“Good morning to you, too.” You muttered, clenching your jaw and stroking her fur as she collapsed to lay at your feet, her belly exposed for you to scratch, “Where’s Sid?” At the mention of his name, Sam’s ears perked up and she barked, her head turning to something behind you, “Is he walking down now?” You didn’t turn around, instead focusing your attention entirely on the pup in front of you – until the pair of footsteps echoing against the wood became too noticeable to ignore.

The sun was still blinding from reflecting off the patio doors, but the silhouette of Sid was nearly impossible to ignore, more so when he was effortlessly carrying another chair in one arm and a travel flask with two cups balanced on the lid in the other.

You shielded your eyes with your hand, about to get up to help him in some way, but he shook his head adamantly, “I got it. Here.” He passed you the mug with the cups, and you sat silently, watching him unfold the chair (it looked a lot less comfortable than the one he’d set out for you, though you didn’t comment on it) and settled himself in.

“Morning.” You greeted, passing him one cup before unscrewing the lid and sniffing.

“Morning.” He replied, grinning, “It’s decaf, by the way.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, “Thank you.”

“‘Course.”

“Are you sure you wanna put this in your body this early?” You asked, taking his cup from him and pouring out the steaming coffee. It warmed your hands nicely through the plastic, and you snuck a look at him out of the corner of your eye. He was sitting comfortably, a little lower than you because of the height of his chair, and he was watching you carefully, completely unashamed at having been caught in the act. His grin did seem to melt into one more bashful, and he looked out across the water, blinking in the light.

“I feel like I’m gonna need it to get through today.” He answered, gently taking his cup from your hand, fingertips brushing delicately against yours.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be pretty hectic.” You agreed, placing the flask on the floor, giving Sam a quick pat before sipping on your own coffee, your book tucked under your chair. You had a feeling you weren’t going to get much reading done now anyway, not when Sid had decided to join you.

You both leaned back in your chairs, the blanket tucked around your waist, and nothing was said for around ten minutes. Nothing needed to be said. Even Sam seemed to get that message; she was curled up at both your feet, her head turned in the direction of the water. Every so often she’d perk up, maybe when a bird flew overhead or when she heard something in the woodland, but she’d always end up placing her head back down on the wooden beams, bathing in the sun.

“This is always my favourite week of the entire year.” You admitted a little shyly. It wasn’t something you were afraid of saying out loud, per se, but you’d known Sid for years. He was the one that started the week-long camp for the kids in Cole Harbour, and for some reason admitting that it was his creation that you always looked forward to the most was a little daunting.

He didn’t seem to think so, but he couldn’t quite keep the shock off his face when he registered what it was you’d said.

“It is?” 

You nodded, “Is that sad? I feel like it is.”

He shook his head, “Nah, it’s not sad at all.”

If it had been anyone else that had admitted that, Sid might have teased a little – or if you’d said something else altogether, but almost as soon as you’d thrown those words out there he felt a twinge of empathy for you. To have played hockey with each other most of your youth…you’d obviously stopped playing against and with boys at a certain age because of the regulations, but you’d managed to secure a spot on a local girl’s team and eventually you’d gone on to play at college. And by the time graduation came around, you had your degree, sure, but there was no women’s hockey league to play for, not one you could live comfortably off anyway.

Sid had often tried to put himself in your shoes…it killed him every time, like getting stabbed in the chest. Only, when you said that, the knife twisted and was pulled out, and he swore his heart broke a little. To have the skill and the talent to play professionally, but no league to play in was his worst nightmare.

To not have hockey, to him, was to not live and breathe. If he didn’t have hockey, he couldn’t even imagine what he’d be doing right now.

You just hummed, clearly not believing him, and he inhaled sharply, resisting the urge to give you a reassuring touch. He was about to say something, but you turned to look at him sharply, an odd expression on your face.

“What?” He found himself asking, taking a self-conscious sip of the coffee to hide his face.

Your eyes narrowed, and a small smile curled at your lips, “Aren’t you gonna make a comment about ‘wow, you must really miss me, huh?’, or–”

“I don’t sound like that.” He shook his head, managing a tight smile. You were trying to cover a wound that had scarred over the years by switching the subject, but Sid could only muster a forced laugh and a curious glance in your direction, “Did you miss me, though?”

There was a brief moment where he thought you’d play his question off and pretend you hadn’t heard him, and in that brief moment there were a few things that happened to him: his heart seemed to pound and drop to his feet at the same time; he realised that if you didn’t miss him he wasn’t quite sure what else to do, and regret. The regret was anticipatory, though, of you ignoring him.

And it also seemed to dissolve completely when you answered: “Yeah. Not as much as I used to, though.”

Sid swallowed, picking at his navy joggers. Instead of regret, it was guilt that ate away at him – for something he couldn’t even control.

“What do you mean?” His mouth felt dry, and his grip on the cup tightened.

You turned to look at him, shrugging hopelessly, “That first year without you was just a lot to adjust to, that’s all.”

“It was?”

Something on your face seemed to flicker; your brows twitched downwards and any trace of happiness that was previously written on your face was suddenly no longer visible. Your head tilted, and you stuttered, clearly not quite knowing what to say or where to start.

“I…” You trailed off, and Sid felt the beginnings of dread begin to creep up his stomach and settle there like a pebble, “Yeah. You didn’t know that?”

He shook his head, jaw clenching. You looked inexplicably sad at his reply, and turned to fix your eyes on the water in front of you, a sip of scalding coffee seemingly hinting at wanting to end the conversation.

But Sid wasn’t quite done, not yet. His first year in the NHL: he remembered it pretty clearly, and he also remembered that neither of you were that good at keeping in touch with each other. You were on the other side of the country in California for college, and he was mainly in Pittsburgh, but nearly everywhere. Moving out of Nova Scotia was a big thing for both of you, but having lived next door to each other for your entire childhood and having played on the same team as little kids? That first year was difficult.

“Did something happen?” He asked, voice a little frailer than he’d liked to have conveyed – so much so that even Sam’s ears seemed to prick at the slight twinge in pitch.

You shook your head, sighing deeply, “I just kind of had the sense that I was never gonna see you again those first few months, that’s all. I psyched myself out…it’s fine now, though.”

***

“Is Sid okay?” Taylor sidled up to you on the edge of the group of kids listening intently to the man in question, skates scratching to a stop as she murmured the question in your ear.

You felt your brows pinch, your gloved hands resting on the top of your stick hiding your mouth as you turned to her, “As far as I’m aware.”

He looked okay from where you were standing: the very picture of effortless leadership as he explained the next game to the group of kids all staring up at him intently, some with dropped jaws and some with frowns of concentration etched on their features. They were all wearing monochrome jerseys and the overhead lights were reflecting off their helmets. Not a single one wasn’t watching Sid talk.

His voice wasn’t wavering, and he was giving the kids his entire attention – devoted as usual to his sport…so?

“Why?” You raised a brow, looking at Taylor out of the corner of your eye.

Her mouth was pulled down at the corners, and she shrugged offhandedly, “I dunno, he just seems a bit off today.”

Yeah, okay. You turned your attention back to him, trying to commit every little motion of his hand to memory, intently keeping an eye out for any trembling or straying of his attention. It must have been another fifteen seconds before you sighed, turning back to Taylor, who was regarding you with an air of amusement, a sly smile hiding on her face.

“What?” You asked, feeling as though she was looking right through you.

“Nothing.” Then, after a pause, “Did he drive you over here?” 

You hummed, nodding, but your mind was stuck replaying and analysing what she’d previously said, “What did you mean by ‘off’?”

“What’s up with Sid?” 

Your heart thundered in shock, not having anticipated Nate to shuffle over to your other shoulder. His voice in your ear was jarring, but still as soft as yours and Taylor’s had been, not wanting to disrupt the talk at the front of the group.

“What do you mean?”

“Three guesses.” 

You and Taylor spoke up at the same time, and when you turned to look at her she was glaring at you rather pointedly, and Nate whistled lowly in your ear, a deep laugh shaking his ribs.

“No way, what did you say to him?” Nate asked, half-giggling, and you sighed, getting slightly infuriated by the lack of real answers and use of cryptic mutters that had you no closer to figuring out exactly just what they were on about.

A part of you was losing your cool a bit because you liked to think you knew Sid pretty well; in fact, you did know him pretty well. It was why you couldn’t possibly fathom another two minutes in the presence of these two without getting an answer, because he’d been like this since…

Oh.

Nate’s laughter immediately halted, and Taylor leaned forward, the two of them sharing a cautious look at the way you seemed to wince.

“What?” They chorused, the combination of their voices causing a few heads to turn in your direction, and you ducked your head, adjusting your skates as an excuse not to draw even more attention to yourself.

After a nudge in the elbow, you lifted your head up. 

There was no way that was what was causing him to be more distracted than usual. It wasn’t even a big deal or anything, and it certainly wasn’t a secret – you thought he knew, that wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t like he’d actually done anything all those years ago, either. That first year was almost radio silence on both ends, and you were honestly glad that wasn’t the case now.

But, still? No way.

“It’s not much, I don’t even think it could be what I’m thinking anyway.” You shook your head, watching him.

“What’re you thinking?” Taylor whispered, the lip of her cap catching you in the cheek with how close she’d shuffled.

You recoiled slightly, “It’s genuinely nothing. He just apparently didn’t know that I missed him the first year.” Your voice trailed off weakly, “Nothing.”

In truth, it wasn’t nothing – it was never nothing with Sid. It was always something, and usually it hurt. The timings; what wasn’t said; the history. There was more to the two of you than what even Nate and Taylor knew of – not even when they seemed to stop breathing when you admitted what it could be.

There were weeks and months and years where you didn’t talk much, mostly due to the distance and the clashing of schedules, but there was a lull that you’d both managed to keep from everyone else, and if you were being honest, now that you were thinking about it…that and with your earlier admission on top of it…

Maybe it was your fault.

“What did he say?” Taylor said, shaking you out of your own head. You blinked, apparently still looking at Sid.

There was something grave and more serious in her features that hadn’t been there earlier, and when you shot a look at Nate, he was wearing an almost identical expression: his brows were furrowed together and his mouth was pulled in a tight line, altogether looking uncharacteristically morbid.

You felt your pulse quicken in foreboding, “He asked if anything happened and then we got in the car.”

“Nothing else?” 

You inhaled, blinking twice, “Should there have been?”

***

The car ride back to your house was silent. Eerily so. Your body was exhausted and your brain was still playing the soundtrack of pucks smacking against posts, sticks and boards in your head, along with the joyous yells of the kids. That was why you loved it so much – not just the ice time and the familiarity of having a stick in your hands and a puck at your feet – but for the look on their faces when they looked up from the ice to see a grinning Sidney Crosby or Nathan MacKinnon singing them praises.

It made you wonder how many of them would eventually go on to play college hockey or even make it to the professional leagues.

You stifled a grin, your hand over your mouth as you turned to look out of the passenger window.

The only thing that broke through to you was the motion of the driver when his head turned to watch you briefly before returning back to the road. That simple movement had the smile melting off your face. 

You’d never been particularly nervous around Sid – and on the few occasions you had been, all it had taken was a fifteen minute conversation with him and it all dissipated – but this time was different. Not only was what Taylor had told you swirling around your mind, but the tension in the car was palpable, at least in your opinion.

Sid hadn’t said much, just kept his jaw clenched and his eyes focused on the road. Since this morning, it was probably the only glaringly obvious symptom that something wasn’t quite right, or something was playing on his mind.

It didn’t take much for you to box your own miseries and turn to him. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye first: the strong jaw, the full lips, the prominent nose, the dark eyes and darker hair. He really was quite breathtaking. The hands on the steering wheel, the rippling forearms each time he had to turn the wheel. It wasn’t something you were immune to at all: in fact, since the age of about fourteen you’d been hyper aware of the fact that Sid was stunning – and it wasn’t just in his looks, either. His work ethic, concentration, determination, kindness, generosity. He was the insurmountable sum of all of those qualities, and you were a damn fool if you didn’t recognise the fact that you’d been a tiny bit in love with him all your life.

And because of that, you knew him well. Not as well as some people might initially assume, but well enough.

“You okay?” You asked, earning nothing but a nod and a tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah, why?”

You shrugged, “You’re just quiet.”

“I’m tired, that’s all.”

You nodded, looking to your lap. He’d be tired the entire week, that was always how this went. But he’d get by and he’d manage and he’d recover like he wasn’t tired: he still kept smiling, still showed enthusiasm, and maybe he’d gotten used to it over the years, because you could have sworn each time he organised this he was less and less tired.

“You sleeping okay?” 

He nodded, running a hand from his wrist to scratch under his sleeve, and you followed the motion unconsciously with your eyes, “More than. You?”

You shrugged, pulling an unsure face, “The usual.”

He snuck another glance at you out of the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the road ahead, “What about you, are you okay?” He echoed your own question back to you, and maybe if it wasn’t for the genuine thin film of concern to his voice, you’d have brushed it off with an answer and a huff of laughter. Instead, though, you parrotted his words back to him, nailing the equal part-suspicion and amusement.

“Yeah, why?” 

“You’re hilarious.” He shot back drily, shaking his head.

“Hey, can you drop me off at my parents’ house please, I need to collect something. I’ll literally be five minutes.”

It was Taylor’s voice in your head that kept bashing about, repeating words and flashing images – Nate was thrown in there too from that earlier conversation you’d all had when Sid was oblivious, and it didn’t let up, not even when you pushed the key into your childhood home and shut the door behind you.

The house was pretty quiet, the sound of the door shutting echoing down the hallway. The TV was flashing in the living room, and you could hear voices, from both the news anchors and your parents talking over it. Only then did Taylor’s words quieten. 

“Who is it?” A voice yelled out just as you’d scraped your shoes off your feet, and the smile that bloomed on your face was almost instantaneous.

“Your favourite child!”

There was a brief pause, and you stopped in the hallway, waiting until he replied.

“That doesn’t sound like Sid.”

You pulled a face, snatching a pair of socks from the staircase before entering the living room, pelting the ball at your Dad’s head, the soft cotton smacking him straight in the nose. He was sitting in his PJs: plaid bottoms and a crumpled top, with slippers and no socks on his feet. When the socks collided with his face, that smirk was still there, even as he lobbed them back at you with surprising force to say he didn’t have a lot of arm room.

“Nice to see you, too.” You rolled your eyes, smiling at your Mom, who’d since gotten up off the sofa to peer through the blinds.

“What’re you doing?” Your Dad asked, turning his attention to his wife, and before she’d even answered you knew what she was going to say.

“Sid’s outside in the car.” You said, shrugging when they both turned to you with equal appal written all over their faces.

“Get him in here.” Your Mom grinned, knocking on the window and motioning for the man himself to come inside.

You just rolled your eyes, “I’m just gonna go get something from upstairs.” Your words fell on deaf ears, however, because almost as soon as you’d taken initiative and left the room, the front door was shutting and Sid was standing, smiling, at the door, still decked out in camp kit and looking every bit as nervous as the first time he’d ever met your family. And then he seemed to spot you walking towards him, your parents in front of you, and he let out that telltale breath, his shoulders and face relaxing fractionally.

He’d explained it to you before, about how he still feels awkward meeting people’s parents, no matter how long he’s known them, and you never seem to remember that until you see it with your own eyes: I don’t know, it’s weird, but if I see, say you, someone I know, it kinda gets me out of my head a bit. I don’t know why.

“Come in, come in – oh, she’s just picking something up–”

You immediately turned on the stairs, one hand still clutching the bannister tightly, to look upon a pair of eyes that practically gleamed ‘don’t leave me here’. The rest of his face was pretty neutral, a polite smile as your parents chatted his ears off, the both of them making their way back into the house, and there was a split second where they weren’t looking at either of you.

For some reason, instead of laughing at his misfortune, you inhaled quickly, leaning over the bannister, “Wait, I need Sid’s help with something.” 

Everyone seemed to freeze. Even despite the mental pleading he’d been doing, Sid couldn’t help it when his lips parted in shock, kind of like he couldn’t help it when his brows knitted together. Your mom stopped talking about how nice it was to see Sid again, and looked up at you too. It looked as though she was about to say something, but with the guilty, rather hurried smile on your face she clamped her mouth shut, nodding. Your dad hadn’t stopped walking, but even from the other room the rather loud ‘mutter’ of, “Is that what we’re calling it, now?” 

Needless to say, both yours and Sid’s cheeks were still a little bit pink by the time you’d walked into your old bedroom.

“What’re you looking for?” He asked, desperate to get his mind out of that gutter, and flopped on your still-made bed, picking up the penguin teddy he’d brought home after his draft. He’d bought it in one of the stores in the airport in Toronto on his way back home, and you’d never had the heart to even move it out of this house: it belonged here.

“Do you remember that video camera I used to have?” You pulled open the first contender: the bedside table drawer. There were loose cables, hair ties, various joint support bands…but no sign of the camera.

“Yeah.” Came the reply from near your head, and you blinked, not expecting him to be so close. He’d rolled onto his front, his face smushed into your pillow, and he made no attempt to pretend as though he hadn’t been watching you rifle through your drawers – at least not if that cheeky grin didn’t automatically make its way onto his face.

You pushed his forehead back, stopping your mild attack when he screamed before dissolving into giggles severely reminiscent of when he was younger. It was so incredibly infectious, so incredibly nostalgic that all you could do was crouch, an unconscious open-mouthed smile on your face.

“Why are you laughing?” You slammed the drawer shut, heaving yourself off the floor and over to your old desk. There were still some notebooks scattered across the surface, pens in the stand. The cupboard and shelves were almost full, and it was only as you started to pull everything out, looking inside baskets and boxes that Sid could be bothered to speak again.

“Because I’m pretty sure we had this exact conversation when we were twenty.”

“We did?”

“Yeah.” He punctuated it with a sigh, a despondent one, and you looked at him over your shoulder. He was sitting up now, his hands clamped around his ankles, a thoughtful look on his face.

The ‘twenty’ year with Sid had been very weird, and you never really figured out why. The nineteenth was almost non-existent, the twenty-first good, but it was tinged by what happened at the end of his season (not the winning the Stanley Cup for the first time, but the other thing), which made your twenty-second awkward, and the twenty-third was almost like a reset. You never really realised how much you’d both changed until you got to relearn each other as adults. 

He was eyeing the corner of your room you tried to avoid looking at. 

“So why are you looking for the camera?” He asked, voice sounding far-away. He was still staring at the trophy corner, and you turned your attention back to rifling through old relics in the hunt, gladly looking anywhere but that shrine.

“If I told you Taylor would murder me in my sleep.”

He groaned, “I told her not to do anything for my birthday.” 

“It’s nothing big, I think she just wants photos from when we were younger.”

“We?”

You shrugged, missing the slight catch in his voice, “Well, you, but there’s loads of photos of you on my camera, I think she just wants a look. I always forget how young she was when we left.” You sighed, slamming the cupboard door on your desk shut, before standing in the middle of your room, hands on your hips, “I don’t know where else I could have put it.”

He didn’t say anything, but the creaky springs of your mattress groaned under his hands as he pushed himself up off your bed, before walking straight passed you and into the forbidden corner.

There was a clinking sound of metal, and you whirled on your heel, watching him carefully rifle through the trophies, photo frames, certificates and medals all hung and displayed neatly, before spinning around on his heel, holding the camera in his hand with a knowing look on his face.

***

Saying you were nervous was a bit of an understatement considering what it was you were about to do. The camera’s SD card was safely tucked into your laptop, but you’d been staring at the folder on the homescreen for ten minutes, and you were sure you hadn’t felt this nervous since your driving test. Your hands were clammy, your heart was racing and your brain was loud.

You’d lied to Sid earlier – well, partially. Taylor had wanted to look at some photos, and you had every intention on bringing the camera in to the rink tomorrow so you could giggle at the contents in your breaks, but there was something else she’d also said, something that got your brain working, and you hadn’t been able to think about anything else since. 

You inhaled shakily, before double-clicking the yellow folder, the seconds where the mouse loaded into a swirl of blue almost knocking your soul out of your body from the sheer anxiety of it all. You hoped you were wrong, but a small part of you hoped Taylor had been right. If she had, it’d make so much sense as to what happened when you were eighteen-nineteen, but if she was right? You weren’t entirely sure what you were going to do.

The screen flooded with images…school corridors, ice rinks, soccer fields, bedrooms, cars, bars, Rimouski, until–

Fuck.

You froze, eyes fixated on the one photo that had caught your eye. It was someone’s back garden, you couldn’t remember who exactly, but you remembered being there. It was dark, string lights and strobe lights hung across the verandah and neon streaks flickered from between plants. 

You’d drunk so much that night but you could still remember handing your camera off to some of your classmates – it must have been graduation – and everyone had been drinking, that much you could tell from the quality of the photos, and this one in particular wasn’t any different. It was a blurred photo of someone celebrating a beer pong game, their arms raised over their head and their mouth open in some kind of celebratory roar, but it wasn’t that that caught your attention.

It was the shadowy figures of two teenagers sitting on the stools towards one side of the garden, a makeshift table pressed against the wall. They were sitting close together, knees slotted between each other, and faces mere inches apart. Both were wearing grins, even despite being mid-kiss.

Shadowy, yet so unmistakably you and Sid.

***

“You okay?”

You blinked, the staff room coming back to you. The fluorescent lights glared along the surface of the table you’d picked, your lunch tray sitting untouched in front of you, and there was a general buzz about the place. It was lunchtime, and you’d opted out of kid-duty – partly because you were on the brink of giving yourself a headache and mostly just because you couldn’t really focus on much without immediately thinking about Sid – which meant sitting at a table in a quiet room by yourself just for a breather.

Only, a rather determined, hazel-eyed man seemed to have other ideas if the tray plopped down opposite you was anything to go by. He collapsed against the chair with a sigh, hands picking up his knife and fork with practised ease, and he hadn’t even given you a chance to answer his question before he was pausing, eyeing you with mild concern. His eyebrows knitted together and he ducked his head to try to get a closer read on you.

“Yeah.” You nodded, swallowing, almost nervous.

This thing had happened all those years ago and he’d never brought it up. Yet, that still didn’t explain why he’d then…he was confusing, in the present tense. 

His mouth turned downwards for a brief moment and he shook his head in disbelief, “You disappeared ten minutes ago and you haven’t touched your food.”

You just shrugged, managing a tight smile, “Not very hungry.”

It wasn’t a lie, per se, but it was the honest truth when your stomach rolled just as he put a forkful of food in his own mouth. It revolted you to such an extent you pushed your own tray further away and turned to sit sideways on your chair, all just so you wouldn’t have to look at him eat.

He froze, his fork stilling, “Are you…I can take the food away if you want?” 

You shook your head, closing your eyes, “No, it’s fine.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and your hand found its way into the pocket of your tracksuit bottoms, fingers finding the smooth plastic of the USB stick you’d copied the photos for Taylor on. You had a plan, see. You wanted to kind of broach the topic of the graduation party with Sid, mainly just to test him for a reaction without outrightly admitting anything, and you figured – despite your current situation – that now was…appropriate.

“Do you know where Taylor is?” You asked, keeping your eyes screwed shut.

“No, why?” His answer came all too quickly, a hint of nosiness creeping into his tone. You could imagine the slight raise of one eyebrow and the thinly veiled look of ‘why the heck are you wanting my sister?’ expression on his face. You’d seen it many times before, and it never ceased to amuse.

“I have that USB of photos to give her and I haven’t seen her all morning, I was just wondering if you knew where she was?”

He would, of course. If one thing was ever going to be guaranteed about Sidney Crosby, it was the protective ‘eye’ he kept on Taylor.

“She’s in the canteen. Did you find any good’ens on there?”

“Yeah, actually.” You peeled your eyes open, ensuring to keep them fixated on his face instead of the sickly pile of food on his plate, “Do you remember that graduation party?”

He chewed thoughtfully, his jaw slowing as he nodded his head cautiously, “Yeah.” He said, dragging the word out, and there was a prick of pink on his cheeks, as though he’d suddenly come under a severe amount of stress.

He was getting a little uncomfortable.

“There’s a photo of…Jack, I think it is? Is that right?” He nodded, “He clearly won a game of beer pong or something because there’s a couple of blurry photos of him celebrating and if you look really closely you can see us in the background. It must have been towards the end of the night or something because I looked like I was falling everywhere.”

He nodded, humming interestedly, “What were we doing?”

You felt your mouth part, almost shocked at the sudden ease rolling off his shoulders. It was as though he’d prepared himself to deny, deny, deny this for his entire life, and purely because you were feeling like shit and like a shit, you shrugged, “Couldn’t really…make it out, I don’t know. I can’t remember what happened that night anyway, I drank way too much.”

He nodded once more, shrugging, “Yeah, I remember having to hold your hair back and almost dialling for an ambulance because I was pretty sure you had alcohol poisoning.”

You nodded, staging a faux look of confusion, “Did anything happen that night? You were really weird for a couple of days after.”

There was a pause – a brief one, maybe a quarter of a second, and he looked straight at you, jaw frozen mid-chew and for a moment you thought he’d picked up on something and you were found out. Then he blinked, and with the way he was acting: sitting up straighter, almost hesitating saying something, you thought maybe he was about to tell the truth.

“No.” He pulled a face, “Nothing happened that I can remember.”

***

It turned out the aversion to food was part of a larger issue, a result most likely of possibly contracting a bug from one of the kids – or maybe you were just horrendously unlucky, because you spent the rest of the night in the bathroom, and were so unwell the next morning you had to cancel helping out at Sid’s camp.

He’d sent a string of texts and a few unanswered phone calls, but you didn’t really have the energy to answer them – not when you were feeling so weird around him. You’d thought, prior to finding out about the photos and what had actually happened (bless Taylor’s oblivious nosiness when Nate had asked about you guys before – Sid had actually admitted to the whole graduation thing to the blonde, and that was Taylor’s knowledge of the entire thing), that you and Sid had maintained a pretty honest friendship, but apparently not? You wouldn’t have been so put off by the whole thing if he hadn’t pulled that same stunt later down the line, either.

There was definitely a pattern, and he definitely had a pattern and it seemed to just be deny, deny, deny at all cost.

And you weren’t entirely sure when this had happened, but you’d come to the realisation that you were sick of pretending like the two of you hadn’t been dancing that line for years. What you’d thought was seven years of denial was actually ten. This thing had been going on since you were kids, and each time something had happened you’d get weird around each other and when you tried to talk about it he’d make some excuse.

If it wasn’t a big deal why did it always have such a big impact on the two of you?

That entire thought process was what you’d been unable to escape from nearly all day. No amount of episodes of TV shows or films could distract your brain from that little spiel, it was like having a grating voice go on and on in your ear and you weren’t quite sure how to proceed, what to do to distract yourself.

Your kettle clicked off, and you sniffed, reaching out to grab the handle, the steam from the boiling water offering some kind of relief from the pressure in your sinuses.

You really were ill, but not nearly as ill as you’d made out to be to Sid. In truth you just needed a break, mostly from him, which felt horrendous to admit considering your ‘break’ from that man consisted of an entire NHL season, and your days spent in each other’s company were severely limited anyway.

But there was something in you that knew if you saw his face you wouldn’t be able to hold back saying or doing something.

Taylor knew what was really going on, and if you knew Taylor like you thought you did that probably meant Nate knew, but you know Nate well enough now to guess he wouldn’t go blabbing to Sid about something that’s not his business. The blonde likes his gossip, but he knows when to stay out of certain situations.

You liked Nate.

You inhaled, the hot water turning a bright-yellow from the teabag you’d placed in the mug (a lemon and ginger one you’d managed to snag from a local store a few days ago), and it was just as you’d threaded your fingers through the mug handle that there was a knock at your door.

You froze, brain a little slow to understand you should be moving to answer it, when a voice could be heard through the frosted glass panes.

The mug seemed to slam against the countertop of its own going, not loud enough for the intruder to hear it but loud enough to satisfy your irritation at who it was.

Think of the devil and he shall indeed appear.

He quieted down for a few seconds and you ducked from where you were standing, knowing if he made his way around to the back of the house where your kitchen window was he wouldn’t be able to see you crouched behind the counter.

And then your phone started ringing. It didn’t exactly take a genius to know who it was and the eye roll came almost automatically.

He could be so dramatic sometimes.

It must have taken barely ten seconds for him to stop ringing, and you held your breath, desperately trying to figure out if he’d moved away and given up; your knees and hips were seizing, you could feel them begin to lock from not having moved nearly all day, and you winced, hand reaching up to grip the countertop.

If you were lucky he wouldn’t be looking—

“I can see your hand and your tea.” His muffled voice deadpanned and you sighed defeated, pulling yourself up.

He was standing in your backyard, his phone in his hand and a rather disappointed look on his face as he stared straight at you through the window. 

You had to give him credit where it was due: the man could certainly kick up a fuss and coax you out of hiding.

Granted, you weren’t allocated a set amount of time to even begin to make it look like you were really holed up in bed. If you had, the TV downstairs would be off, as would the lights, and there wouldn’t be an easily visible makeshift blanket bed on the couch. All he’d really had to do was walk along your drive to peer through the front window, and then walk straight down the side of your house to the back gate.

You’d kept it unlocked for the last couple of days because you hadn’t been in much to accept parcels, and you’d never gotten round to locking it again.

Of course you’d come to regret that immediately.

The back door lock clicked open as you twisted the key, and you didn’t spare him a glance, instead making a beeline for the half-made tea. For one, you knew watching him walk through the door with his current sulk on was only going to encourage him to start talking about it, and you absolutely weren’t about to give him that satisfaction. You also really wanted that tea, it was probably the only thing standing between you getting better for the camp and the weird sickness you’d managed to contract.

Your immune system was shit.

He cleared his throat, and you lifted your eyes lazily in his direction, taking out the tea bag and leaving it to drain, “Hi.”

Your voice was scratchy and rough, and the reaction it elicited from the man in front of you: brows raised, mouth dropping open, sprung a rather odd thought to the forefront of your mind: “Did you not believe me when I said I was sick?” You managed, laughing awkwardly and inhaling the vapour from your mug, watching him closely.

He shrugged, pulling off his jacket and hanging it up on the hooks. There was a spare hook, one not used for your own stuff: a plethora of raincoats, boots, kitchen aprons…and Sid’s jacket. 

“I did believe you. Kind of.” He admitted, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning back against the kitchen counter, “I thought you were maybe avoiding me, though.”

You blinked, keeping your face neutral, actively trying not to scoff at him or narrow your eyes in his direction, “I am avoiding you; I’m not about to give whatever this is to you, am I?” You asked softly, cradling the mug of tea under your chin, feeling the irritation begin to swirl under your skin already.

You shifted uncomfortably, and Sid watched your eyes dart to a chair pressed up against the wall with longing. He knew there was something up, something not linked to being sick – he’d felt it in the car earlier and you were practically drenched in tension yesterday. It was difficult to ignore, and judging from the way you’d been seeking out Taylor recently he had a feeling it might have been something to do with him.

What, though, he had no idea.

“Well,” he inhaled, mouth flattening into a straight line. His chest seemed to ache suddenly when you nodded, an almost sarcastic grin on your lips, purposefully avoiding looking in his direction, and he’d known you long enough by now to know when you wanted him out of the house. Now it was no different, “Thank you, I appreciate the thought.”

An uncomfortable silence.

He wanted to scream.

“I best be going.” He hurried out, the words almost getting tangled in his mouth, and before he could cause himself more harm by looking at you and the action not being reciprocated, he turned his back and reached automatically for the coat he’d literally just hung up.

Sid had never been a cryer – he didn’t class himself as an emotional guy, which was why he was so shocked at the sudden burning of his eyes and the tightness in his throat. Fuck, he couldn’t cry here. One, because it’s embarrassing, and two: he had no clue why he was upset to this extent.

He’d managed to put his arms through his sleeves, just about to start zipping it up after a quick glance at the sky outside when you suddenly spoke, voice somehow even rougher than before.

“What reason would I be avoiding you for?”

Sid froze, swallowing nervously. It didn’t take a genius, even in that exact moment, to dissect the words you’d chosen to come to the conclusion that you’d picked them carefully. Not ‘what made you think I was avoiding you?’ which would certainly have been easier for him to answer, but he had a feeling you knew that. 

It was pretty obvious from the avoidance at lunch yesterday and the weird behaviour in the car the day before that, and then the cold shoulder and lack of interest in conversation now, that something was wrong. The signs were pretty subtle, though, he had to give you that.

He turned slowly, fingers detaching from his zipper. You were now sitting at the chair against the wall, knees tucked up to your chin, the hot mug of tea still clasped in your hands. Your eyes were a little red, probably due to exhaustion, and your hair had been twisted to sit across one shoulder, attention faced solely and rather intensely on him.

“Uhm–” he cleared his throat, blinking quickly to rid of the shining moisture in his eyes. He could feel his heart racing against his sternum, and he wondered briefly if you could hear it from across the room, “I don’t know.” He muttered sadly, eyes flicking to his shoes.

Camp had been great today, as it usually was, but he always found himself scanning the ice for your familiar face. 

You nodded, sighing with disappointment, and Sid felt himself deflate. His fingers tapped against his thigh seven, eight times before he inhaled, throwing the words out in the open before he lost the courage to do so.

“What’s going on with you?” He was about three seconds away from stamping his foot; he was so desperate to know the answer. It was childish and it was stupid, but it meant something to him when you shrugged, eyes suddenly misty.

He knew what you were going to say before you even said it, but he kept quiet anyway.

“Nothing.” You sounded as wrecked as he felt, a hint of sheer resignation in your voice. It was so uncharacteristic of you: to Sid it was as if you’d not only given up on whatever it was that was bothering you but you’d given up on hiding that something was ever wrong in the first place.

It was a victory, no matter how small.

“Come on.” He took a step closer, quite literally on the verge of begging, “Really? That’s all you’ve got?”

Silence.

“I know you. Better than anyone–”

The expression on your face changed immediately, and it felt as though you’d socked him in the chest. You didn’t believe him.

You didn’t believe him.

“I want to know you better than anyone else does.” He sighed, hands pressing against his temples before he dropped them back to his sides, not quite registering what his words meant. They’d flown out of his mouth before he even heard them in his brain, and even when he’d spoken them out loud it felt surreal. He wasn’t sure what was what with all the blood rushing in his ears.

It was because of that, trapped inside himself and his own mind that he failed to register the look on your face.

“Even still,” he continued, plopping himself down on the chair on the other side of the table from you, hands knitted together on the tabletop. He was leaning right across the table but you haven't moved an inch, “This…This, you being quiet, withdrawn, skipping a day of camp – I know you’re sick and everything, but that’s never stopped you before, not when it comes to hockey.” He paused, taking a breath, “What’s going on?”

You took a sip of tea, ignoring the scalding sensation against your tongue in favour of stalling. If you didn’t say anything now, then you probably never would. In fact, if he hadn’t said what he’d just said, clearly without thinking about the meaning of the damn words, you knew you wouldn’t even be considering telling him at all. But where there was doubt…

“Why did you never mention what happened at the graduation party?”

You heard him stop breathing. There was no reason to look at him to see it when you could practically hear the hitch in his chest and the lack of air. When you did look at him his cheeks had paled and his mouth was opening and shutting, shoulders stuck in a shrug as though you’d genuinely caught him off-guard.

You could ask him that question without it meaning anything – it could just as easily be read as ‘huh, funny that you never mentioned it before’ than as ‘you kind of denied me the truth of why we’re so weird because everything that’s ever happened between us since that night has been a direct result of whatever fucked-up miscommunication gig we’ve got going on here’.

“How did you find out?” He breathed, a deep crease between his brows. Now that he’d had time to recover, he looked more concerned – angry, even – than sheepish.

You shrugged, “Those photos I got for Taylor? We’re in the background of ‘em.”

He nodded slowly, mouth pressed in a straight line. This time it was him that couldn’t look at you, probably just to gather his thoughts. You could tell his mind was racing, eyes zipping back and forth against the grain of the table.

You could feel your heart banging in your chest, the speed of it almost stinging. The anticipation was debilitating, and it took everything in you not to spit out question after question, because he was taking ages to say something and it was driving you crazy. Your fingers were tapping against your mug, a sharp exhale blowing the vapour around.

It was maybe that that had him looking up, head tilted backwards slightly, a thumb teasing at his lip. It was probably the first time you’d seen him lost for words.

“You really don’t remember it?” He muttered, brown eyes wide and clear, shiny in the last rays of sun poking through the back windows.

You shook your head, “I told you I didn’t remember.”

“I thought you were…I thought that was your way of letting me down gently.” 

You huffed a disbelieving laugh, staring at him, half-expecting him to take those words back and say he was kidding, but he never did. He just continued to look at you, that damn crease between his brows, eyes glassy and playing with his bottom lip like he didn’t know what to do with himself. He was still wearing his coat.

He never spoke.

“Why would I reject you?”

His hand fell from his mouth, landing with a soft thud on the table as he smiled, in such a self-deprecating fashion that you couldn’t help recoiling from him.

“Why wouldn’t you? I was moving to Pittsburgh, you were going to LA. We would have barely seen each other, and you deserved better than that. You still do. I mean, you know how much of a mess we were that year anyway, right?” He rambled, brows knitted together and mouth hung open. His elbows were resting on the edge of the table, hands palms-up towards the ceiling. He’d asked it like it was a rhetorical question but he was looking at you so intently you had to swallow your mouthful of tea and start talking.

Your mind had been running away with you, spitting counter-arguments for nearly everything he said, but it seemed to keep wanting to come back to the fact that he so clearly just assumed you’d reject him. 

“Did it not occur to you that maybe we were such a mess because of what happened?”

“I thought you didn't remember?”

“I didn’t, but it didn’t take a genius to know you weren’t bothered about keeping in contact with me. I wrote you emails and I got one-word answers – maybe even a full sentence if I was lucky; I called but you either didn’t answer or you cut it short because you had to go to practice. You never called back. On my birthday, the first one away from my family, you never called. I didn’t get anything from you when I got a card from your parents without your name signed because they’d just assumed you’d have written one yourself. For about nine months, the most I heard or saw of you was through the TV.” You inhaled sharply, a sudden burning sensation behind your eyes. That first year was honestly pretty awful for you when it came to Sid. What you’d told him on his decking a few days ago had been true, every single word of it. You’d agonised over every single possible thing that could have happened to change it, and for some reason the realisation of why he’d done what he’d done hit you rather emotionally, “You did all of that because you didn’t believe me when I said I never remembered what happened, didn’t you?”

His hands fell to the table, his expression softening into one of sheer guilt, “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked, “I really…I didn’t know, I thought it was what you wanted.”

You huffed a bitter laugh, suddenly cold, and right as though it had been scripted, rain began to splatter against the window panes, the sky now an overcast, stormy grey, “When have I ever pretended I wanted something if I really wanted the opposite?”

He swallowed, his throat bobbing up and down, “Never.”

You nodded, satisfied with his answer, and took a rather angry sip of tea, ignoring the uncomfortable burn. There was still so much you wanted to know, so many questions you wanted answers to, but at that moment: looking through the window of the back door to see nothing but dark skies and heavy sheets of rain battering your house, there was only one thing that you could really think of.

“While we’re here,” you started, voice lowering almost as though you were anticipating hearing something you weren’t going to like, “Can we talk about your first Cup win?”

Your fingers were back to tapping anxiously against the porcelain of your mug, and the heavy silence broken only by the rustle of his rain jacket was enough of an answer to let you know how this was going to go.

He inhaled, and you risked a glance at him across the table. His eyes were open, but barely, and it looked as though this conversation, or the last few minutes at least, had exhausted him. He suddenly had bags under his eyes, and his eyelids were heavy. He wasn’t smiling but he nodded anyway, face pale and hands beginning to tremble slightly. 

Sid wasn’t one to ever really get emotional about anything. You’d only seen him cry a few times in person, but nearly every single one of those occasions was for something good: a Cup win, a house-warming party in the pantry after he’d moved into his new-build, saying goodbye to his parents at the airport. 

This was entirely different, though. It wouldn’t entirely shock you if he walked back out of your door with a few grey hairs.

“Do you want something to drink or eat?” You eyed his pale cheeks and trembling hands wearily.

He seemed to think about it for a few seconds, before inhaling and casting a quick glance at your cupboards, “Yeah, I’ll get it though, you’re sick.” And then, almost as if something else had occurred to him when he went to push himself up off the chair, he turned back briefly, “You’d tell me when you want me to leave, right?”

The barest of smiles appeared on your face, and you nodded, “Yeah.”

“Good.”

You watched him manoeuvre through your kitchen, flicking the kettle on and reaching to take a mug out from one of your cupboards, as well as taking a tea bag out of the little box you kept them in and shaking the dust out of it, the bag landing in the mug with a soft plop. He turned back when the kettle was still boiling, hands crossed over his chest and standing against the countertop right in front of you.

There was something on his mind, you could tell. There was a high probability that it was something relating to this Cup Incident, but there was something almost impatient about the way he kept shooting an angry glance at the kettle, as though it wasn’t boiling fast enough for his liking, that had you perhaps thinking there was something else playing on his mind.

“What?” You asked, swallowed anxiously.

His head snapped in your direction, eyes wide with alarm and his mouth opened and closed a few times, thoroughly confused, “I didn’t say anything.”

“I know, but you want to.”

He closed his mouth just as the kettle clicked, and there was a brief moment where he turned his back to pour the water into his cup, but before you could even say ‘hockey’ he’d spun on his heel to face you again, “I just…We’re gonna be okay after this, right? I don’t want you to not be in my life, I don’t want to not be in your life.” He sighed, “I don’t want this to break us.”

Us. 

Us.

It echoed in your mind, and despite agreeing with almost everything he said, all you could offer by way of reassurance was a sad shrug, “I don’t want that either.”

He nodded, before finishing off his tea and grabbing a protein bar from one of your drawers and sitting back down at the table, shedding his coat and laying it neatly over the back of the chair.

Neither of you said anything for a good minute. It might have been because Sid was munching on that protein bar, but you really wanted to put the matter off for as long as possible just in case what he said did become true. Prolonging a possible heartbreak – an entire era, person and a piece of your identity – from ever occurring, even if it was only hindered a few more minutes.

It seemed, though, he took the liberty of deciding exactly when to start talking.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “this is about the second kiss, isn’t it? My Cup day.” His tone was firm, but there was a hint of sombreness hidden somewhere.

“Yeah.” You whispered, looking down at your mug. Your knees were still tucked to your chin, and technically Sid was sitting to your left, you still choosing to sit on the chair sideways and face the window instead. You were spending an awful lot of time staring at him though.

You spun, feet hitting the floor and mug clinking on the surface of the table. 

“I’m gonna ask a few questions and I just want you to answer honestly, okay?” You asked, inhaling a deep breath and choosing to ignore the thundering heart rate.

He nodded, leaning forwards in his chair in anticipation.

“We were both pretty drunk, yeah?”

“Correct.”

“Nobody saw, correct?”

“Correct.” He was starting to smile.

“I leant in first,” you started, voice shakier than you’d intended, and despite moving so you could see him without giving yourself a neck cramp, you found it almost impossible to be able to look at him. You’d kept some of this hidden from yourself, locked away in a bottle somewhere in the floorboards of your mind – completely inaccessible, even to yourself. To bare them aloud for the very person who shared the secret was nothing short of absolutely terrifying, “but then I stopped, right?”

You couldn’t tell if he was hesitating or if he was struggling to remember the event that had been burned in your mind for so many years, yet you still couldn’t look at him. Not even when his fingers slowly inched into your line of sight, seeking to touch your own hand still wrapped around your mug.

You didn’t move. It might dissuade him from touching you – you hoped it would because you weren’t entirely sure if you’d be able to admit all of this to him if he did.

“Yeah.” His voice was low, and his fingers dropped on top of the table, tapping silently.

“Then you…made the move.” You struggled not to cringe at your wording of it, eyes screwing shut before peeking open again, just in time to hear him answer. You hadn’t asked it as a question, but he took the hint anyway.

“I did.” 

You paused, thinking. There weren’t many times you’d had to ask for unadulterated honesty when it came to Sid: most of the time he gave it to you anyway, but when it came to this kind of topic – you, it seemed, especially in the more romantic sense than simply lifelong friendship – he always kept his cards to his chest, never really revealed anything too damning.

But you’d asked for his honesty, and the least you could do was reciprocate that. It wouldn’t hurt to also milk it a little.

“I wanted to kiss you.” Want to kiss him, “Did you want to kiss me?” Your voice was higher than you’d like it to be, still a little hesitant and unsure. It somehow all felt unnatural, like scaling a foreign terrain for the first time. You couldn’t quite find your feed, where you could or couldn’t stand that would be safe and efficient.

You risked a quick glance at him. And oddly found you couldn’t quite look away. He still had that one hand almost outstretched towards you on the table, but his other was wrapped safely around his mug, still billowing vapour. His cheeks had flushed since he’d had something to eat, but it was his eyes that you couldn’t peel yourself away from.

He was looking at you, right at you, with something you’d never seen before. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but it was soft without being too gentle, firm without being angry or aggressive. The corners of his mouth were downturned in a sort of sad, melancholic smile, too, and you’d never seen him look at anything else like that – anyone else – apart from when he’d be getting ready to serve a big milestone on the ice.

You’d seen it when he’d put on a gameday suit for his 500th game, you’d seen it when he’d clocked the family in the box at his 1000th game. It was appreciation, gratitude. There was a third answer lurking in the back of your mind, but you refused to acknowledge it for the sake of not getting ahead of yourself.

One question at a time, one answer at a time, only look at the facts.

“Yeah.” The answer flew out of his mouth barely even half a second after you’d looked at him, and he broke into a cheeky grin, quickly ducking his head to his chest to calm himself.

He inhaled, eyes closing briefly before turning back to you with a straight face, and this time it was you breathing an amused laugh.

“Yeah, I wanted to kiss you.” He repeated, nodding for you to continue.

There was one question left. The reminder of it was enough to melt any previous traces of a smile off your face, and instead your mouth twisted at the corner, pulse humming in your head with dread.

“Why did you blow me off the next day when I said we needed to talk?”

His eyes focused on something behind you, and his mouth flattened in a line, self-deprecating and devoid of any true emotion, “I saw it going two ways: you were gonna reject me, or we were gonna do something about it. The way I saw it, I thought you’d already rejected me way back when – I know now that’s not the case – so I wasn’t really scared of that. The thought of it stung but…”

You frowned, “You were scared of me not rejecting you?”

He nodded, “I could never have asked you to sacrifice your entire life just to make me happy. You had a career, a house you’d just bought, friends, you were close to your family. I wasn’t gonna make you choose between all of that and – and just me, was I?”

Your face seemed to crumple sympathetically before you could even control anything. Everything he’d just admitted was nothing short of a testament to his character and who he was, no matter how…you wanted to say he was selfish for choosing for you, and a small part of you believed that, but he was also right. You had everything he’d just listed, and it would have been upsetting to move away if things progressed further and ‘got serious’, but it wasn’t like you would have been completely isolated, either.

He spends a good portion of his time in Pittsburgh, that’s true, but he spends his entire off-season at home in Cole Harbour. An entire four to five months, almost half a year.

You shook your head, hands unclasping from your mug to rest at your temples, “Okay…I kind of get where you’re coming from, but did it ever occur to you how much you had to sacrifice to get to where you are?” 

He blinked.

“You’ve earned the right to be selfish, especially when it comes to me. I mean, sure, I have a life here, I love it, but I never wanted to stay here. That was never my plan. I wanted to play hockey as a career, I wanted to travel and experience things, but that wasn’t what happened. I’m constantly missing a life I never even got to taste and I guess…I guess I’m kind of miserable because of it? I’m grateful for what I’ve got, but it won’t ever equate to what I wanted for myself. I love hockey, I love this camp, but I love seeing you just as much, I always have. It meant something to me.” You hesitated, “You mean something to me.”

You searched his face for a reaction, and it might have taken a few seconds for what you were saying to sink in, because his eyes suddenly went glassy and his jaw clenched. He couldn’t look at you for a while, and he kept sniffing.

You hoped more than anything he wasn’t actively catching your cold whilst you waited for him to say something.

And then: “I mean, for what it’s worth, you mean everything to me–”

“It’s not a competition.”

***

You were lost.

Or, at least, from Sid’s perspective you were: he was standing near the boards on the ice, keeping a close eye on the kids playing the shooting drill he’d set up for them, and he truly was watching them…he just couldn’t exactly help it when his eyes would wander curiously and scour the rest of the ice, practically desperate to drink you in. Wherever you were. He couldn’t see you, and it was getting to that point in the day where he wasn’t sure if that meant you’d left the ice to supervise the locker rooms and talk to parents or if he just wasn’t looking properly (again: he had to watch a bunch of kids with knives screwed to their feet).

See, it had been three days since you’d both sat in your kitchen and mulled things over, uprooting what you both thought to have happened when you were younger and twisting everything into a more truthful, honest version (he admittedly spent the rest of the day in bed; he was so emotionally drained he actually forgot to feed Sam until she started barking relentlessly at him) of events. 

Did he know where you stood with each other now? Not entirely, but he knew you were both thinking about it. That was a shock and a half to have uncovered on a Wednesday evening.

Did he know what he planned to do within the next few weeks? Kind of.

Had you actually seen or spoken to each other since that day? Not apart from group settings: you’d taken another day off to recover from that little bug you’d caught – of which Sid had managed to avoid catching – and the past two days including this one were full of nothing but red cheeks and a peculiar affinity to wrestle a smile off both your faces if you even so much as looked at each other. 

It was a pretty big switch-around from last week, but he welcomed it with…well, he’d honestly never been happier or more excited to be on the edge of starting something with you. He’d thought about it often before, mostly as a weapon to torture himself with when he was already upset over something, remind him of another failure – only that one had been personal and about his life, not anything to do with hockey. It always used to sting more.

He sighed, “Hey, Ryan, try gripping the stick a bit lower, you’ll get more control on your shot next time, ‘kay? Yeah, just like that! Poppy stop poking people in the face with the stick please, I know you find it funny when it gets stuck but it could poke someone’s eye out.” The culprit in question sadly dropped her stick to the ice, and Sid didn’t even have to be near her to know her bottom lip was sticking out in a pout “Thank you.”

It was as Evie pushed forward on her skates with a puck at her feet that something whacked Sid softly on the bum with enough power to send him trailing forwards slightly, but he didn’t take his eyes off the girl in front of him, who sent a powerful slap shot towards the goalie, and the puck couldn’t even be seen until a ding! echoed in the back of the net. Sid huffed a laugh, “Wow, Evie, that was incredible! Keep it up.”

She flashed him an awkward thumbs up, the gloves interfering with the action, and Sid mirrored it before finally turning his attention to a rather beloved blonde. Nate’s brows were halfway up his forehead, mouth contorted like he’d also just breathed a quiet ‘woah’ under his breath, and when he registered Sid was even looking at him, his face melted into one that had become rather synonymous with another person in his life. Nate always smirked when he was about to bring you up to Sid. There were a few occasions where he’d read the room and approached the topic with a bit more consideration, but it appeared this time was no different to usual.

“Kind of reminds me of a certain someone when they were that age, huh?” 

Sid clenched his jaw, trying not to give away just how true that statement really was, before muttering a quick, “You’re too young to have known what she was like at that age.”

Nate made a sound that came from the back of his throat, a short huff of laughter passing his lips, “Dude, you’re so easy to read.”

Sid shook his head, “Next!” Another kid skated forward, and both professionals watched as the goalie caught the puck safely in their glove before chucking it across the ice in their general direction.

“Hey, if you want to skate around for a bit, I can watch this drill.” Nate said, intercepting the puck and adding it to the small pile that had slowly been accumulating next to the boards.

Sid frowned, a crease forming between his brows, “Why?” He drawled, rather suspicious of the sudden generosity.

He had a feeling he knew what it was about, but he wasn’t going to speak ahead of himself and make matters worse – Nate already had enough teasing material when it came to his silent pining.

“It’s pretty obvious you’re distracted and it’s been killing me and Taylor watching you. She’s over there,” Nate lifted his stick, pointing to the opposite side of the rink, where Sid could only just now make out the back of your head. He had no idea what had caught your attention so much as to have your back facing the ice– “There’s a little kid on the other side of the glass with a mini-stick. She’s been pulling faces for the past five minutes, and I just thought I’d warn you before you…y’know–”

“Nate, what the eff?” Sid hissed, watching wearily for any kids overhearing. 

“I’m just kidding. Kind of.” He grinned, “Go say what you need to say and then come back.”

Sid rolled his eyes, but still patted Nate gently as he skated by, “Thanks.”

Nate just shook his head, waving him off, and Sid took that as his signal to skate away, ignoring the undoubtedly humorous glance Taylor was giving him. It was bad enough that they’d noticed what he was doing at all, let alone to have it pointed out right to his face. 

He pushed loose pucks out of the way, skating right around several different drills before crashing into the boards right next to you, his face pressed against the glass to see…three different dribbling toddlers staring up at you both. One had an armful of teddies, the other was wearing a Pens PJ set and the final one was holding a mini stick, the ball left forgotten behind them.

You didn’t even need to turn your head from where you’d leant it against the glass to know who it was that had rather abruptly pulled up beside you. Not only was the side of his face in your peripheral vision enough, but the faces of the parents sitting in the seats were enough to go by. Everyone seemed to sit straighter, smiles a little bit wider at the sight of their local boy interacting with a small herd of toddlers who obviously had no idea who he was.

Except…the kid with the mini stick dropped his fingers from his mouth, stick lazily pointing in Sid’s direction, and even through the glass you could make out the vague words of "Siddie Cosby!” and the excited smile on his face.

Sid waved, spinning the cap on his head the other way around so he could also press his forehead to the glass, and you laughed softly, breath fogging up the panes for a brief moment. The sound had him tilting his head slightly so he could look at you.

He wasn’t sure if he was smiling before he’d turned – he had to have been, though, surely? – but he felt himself smile, if not more than he had been. It was unconscious, like a reflex made worse because you were just so infectious to him.

“Hi.” You muttered lowly, catching him out of the corner of your eye. You didn’t turn your face away from those kids, still pulling funny faces no matter how demanding of your attention he was. You could look at him all you liked later, but for these kids, their moment was this moment.

At least, that’s what you tried to tell yourself. Really, you just felt a little too shy looking at him with all those people watching from the stands.

“Hi.” He grinned, also turning his attention back to the kids. The one with the hockey stick suddenly banged on the screen right in front of him, and even despite his quick reflexes, he couldn’t help jumping at the sudden noise in such close proximity.

The kid just giggled, and when Sid cast his eyes to the seats, heart racing in his chest, some of the parents were trying to hide their own laughs behind their hands. 

He almost forgot he had an audience.

His tongue darted out nervously to wet his bottom lip, and he felt you look at him rather than saw you do it, “Are you coming to my birthday party tonight?”

There was a brief silence between you both, and you struggled to hold in a laugh as Sid registered what it was that he’d just said. His eyes closed and he leant his forehead against the glass, sighing hard enough to fog it up.

“Yes.” You answered, tone full of amusement. 

His eyes opened and he twisted his head, still resting against the glass, “Can I pick you up at five?”

You blinked.

His party starts at seven.

It was probably the easiest yes of your entire life.

[wannabanauthor]

I want a slow burn BuckTommy fanfic.

And I mean slow burn.

I want them hanging out, grabbing a beer, going to the movies, and spending time with Eddie.

Then one day, Eddie asks Buck if he can drop something off to him at Tommy’s house. Buck knocks on the door when he gets there and is greeted by a shirtless Tommy.

Tommy says they’re sparring in Muay Thai, and Buck’s like “can I watch?” And then spends the entire time salivating over Tommy without knowing what he was feeling.

Buck convinces himself that he’s only admiring Tommy’s body because Buck is also a fitness enthusiast.

Then Eddie leaves, and Buck barely notices because he’s staring at Tommy.

Tommy is not an idiot. He knows when another guy is checking him out, but he thinks it’s better to let Buck figure it out on his own.

Buck has different plans though. He takes off his shirt and is like “teach me Muay Thai”.

Now Tommy is the one staring. Maybe he starts asking Buck about his tattoos and even touched one and asks if it hurt to get them, meanwhile Buck has to restrain a moan in his throat.

Tommy just raises an eyebrow and continues asking about the tattoos. Then they do some light Muay Thai training, and Buck takes a cold shower when he gets home.

He has a wet dream about Tommy that night, and he still doesn’t know what to do because he’s not into men, right? Everyone makes a strangled sound when a hot guy with a great body touches them, right? He also finds himself with an erection that refuses to go away. So he gets himself off, and near the end Tommy pops into his mind, and he comes harder than he ever has in his life.

A few days later, Buck’s leg starts acting up, so Eddie asks Tommy to check on Buck and see if he needs anything while Eddie has to work.

Tommy comes over with food and entertainment to take Buck’s mind off the pain. Buck is happy and grateful, and is also a spoiled princess and puts his legs on Tommy’s lap, and Tommy gives him a leg massage. To both legs. Maybe it turns into a full body massage to help Buck relax.

Buck is practically in love but doesn’t know how to deal with or even properly acknowledge his feelings.

Later on during a shift, Tommy and Buck get called to the same accident site. They work really well together, and the people they save tell Buck that his boyfriend is very good at his job, and he’s like “my what now?”

Tommy pretends not to hear anything, but he’s quickly losing control of patience and willpower. He wants to make a move so badly, but he doesn’t want to freak Buck out.

So one night, Buck is elbow deep in Tommy’s social media profile and comes across an old post of Tommy kissing another man and referring to him as boyfriend. When I say elbow deep, I mean he’s 3 years into Tommy’s post history.

Seeing Tommy with another guy makes Buck feel angry, but he refuses to acknowledge why. Until he sees Tommy and accidentally confronts him.

Like maybe they’re sitting on a couch, Tommy takes a swig of his favorite craft beer that Buck bought him, and Buck just blurts out “are you gay?”

Tommy doesn’t even choke in surprise. He just says yep nonchalantly.

And then…stay tuned for the next update. This might be a summary fic (my term for a fanfic that’s more an in depth summary rather than actual fleshed out fic).

I want to see how long I can go on without having them kiss. I want longing and yearning and sleepless nights. Wait, omg, what if there’s only one bed in their hotel room in Vegas. What if they get drunk and accidentally get married? They try to get it annulled, but Buck’s like “wait a minute, we get a tax break” and Tommy has to be like “I think that’s called fraud.”

There are so many ways I can drag this out.

[amuseoffyre]

Well, mythical creature. Anything to say for yourself? Fuuuuuuuuuck yooooooou.

Bear with me because this may get rambly, but I find it fascinating that Izzy chooses to pick a fight with the figurehead on the ship. Given the history of figureheads as both identifying markers on a vessel and talismans to keep their crews' safe, I got thinking about the fact that for Izzy, Blackbeard is a figurehead.

Literally and figuratively, Blackbeard's identity looms large. Ed said it himself: he doesn't even need to be on the ship. People recognise the flag and the vessel and that's enough.

When the crew 'kill' Ed, Izzy is the one to keep his body on the ship. Which means that Izzy is the one to cover his head, leaving only his body visible. Only then, after Ed turns out to be alive again, Izzy goes and hides with the figurehead and - significantly - picks a fight with it.

Did Ed ever tell Izzy "I'm the kraken" (ie. a mythical creature)? Who knows. But even if he didn't tell him, Izzy said way back in 1x04, "I was honoured to work for the legendary Blackbeard". Blackbeard who is a legend and a ghost and a mad demon pyrate. A mythical creature, if you will.

For Izzy, he really seems to be redirecting all the rage he didn't/couldn't direct at Ed towards the unicorn. The subtext in the first scene between him and Stede at the bow is... uh. Quite telling.

Stede: He's seen better days, hasn't he? Izzy: At least he's still got both legs. Stede: Yes! Oh, he can't hear you. He's got no head. You've got a head, though, which you should look after.

Given that "losing your head" was another euphemism for insanity and Ed said himself "they think I'm a bit crazy" and Izzy described him as "going mad", Izzy really does seem to be projecting everything on to the figurehead who lost its head.

And then, in a drunken rage, he hacks the legs off the unicorn, dragging them along and throwing them down in front of the crew, declaring "There! It's done! Maybe next time he'll think twice about doing his fucking job".

We know that this is a triggering sentence for him. We saw it in episode 1 when he tries to bring the crew to order, and the memory of hearing it from Blackbeard - knowing he's expendable and not as valued or trusted or safe as he believed himself to be - led to him having his breakdown in front of the crew.

For him to bring this back up again, this open wound that led to the meeting with Blackbeard that then led to the confrontation and the shooting that cost him his leg, all ties in together with the unicorn.

Initially, I didn't twig why he was doing it beyond grief and misery and being drunk off his tits, but then in episode 5, it clicked. Specifically because of this exchange:

Izzy: Flipping the tables on Blackbeard didn't quite numb the pain? Lucius: Maybe we try what he did to you next. Izzy: What who did to me? Lucius: Blackbeard. Because he... chopped off your leg.

Which is what Izzy was doing in episode 4: trying what Blackbeard did to him by hacking the legs of the unicorn. Only it didn't help... until it did when the crew took a piece of the damage he had done and made something new from it to support him. (Hello, I am rolling around in the symbolism 🥰)

What I also find especially compelling is that he recognises that Lucius is trying to process his trauma the same way as he did: by doing unto others what was done unto him. Only Lucius does it by pushing actual Blackbeard overboard while Izzy takes his frustrations out on a myffic wooden pony.

[mouwrites]

Hey love your content ❤️could u please write a Kyle x y/n so basically they have a crush on each other and y/n cousin is Stan and Stan knows that they both have a crush for each other and he sets them up like the Lloyd soty but with Kyle and Stan 🥺

I would love that 💕💕

Yep! I stuck with the arcade date idea for this one! :)

Word count: 1k

South Park - Stan Sets You Up With Kyle

“But I want donuts!” You whined.

“And I want french fries.”

You were arguing about what food to get now that school was over. You’d have to decide soon; you were almost to the exit, and the donut shop was down the street to the left, while the nearest french fry joint was down the street to the right.

Suddenly Stan spotted a tall head of red hair among the sea of students. Grabbing your wrist, he dragged you along to confront Kyle.

“Kyle!”

He turned around. His eyes went wide for half a second when he noticed you, and you saw his shoulders tense ever so subtly. You didn’t make note of it, though, as you were occupied with tensing your own shoulders. You made sure to stand behind Stan, keeping your gaze low to stay inconspicuous.

“I want fries and Y/n wants donuts. Tell them that fries are clearly the superior option.”

Kyle glanced at you. “Donuts are great. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You felt your heart skip a beat when you heard that. He agreed with you! A small victory, but a victory indeed.

Though your face was partially downturned, Kyle could see the subtle brightness flash in your eyes. His heart squeezed. He had made you happy by supporting your side! Internally he pumped his fist, though externally he remained still as a statue.

As you started to walk away, Stan gave Kyle a dirty look. “Kiss-ass,” he growled.

“Sore loser,” Kyle fired back. Much like you, he was doing a pretty good job of hiding his thoughts.

But Stan could see through you both. As your cousin, and as Kyle’s best friend, he knew you like the backs of his two hands. Frankly, it was just painful and awkward to watch you both pine after the other, completely oblivious and never making the slightest of moves.

Stan sighed as he bit into his glazed donut. If he couldn’t have the snack he wanted, he’d have to find another way to enjoy himself.

At first he thought of pranking you, but with a slow shake of his head he decided he didn’t want to be mean. Not too mean, at least.

Then it hit him. With a devious smirk, he fell into a long lapse of silence while you ranted about who-knows-what (though he thinks he heard you say “Kyle” once or twice). He wasn’t paying attention, though. His mind was quite in another place—he was plotting.

Your house came up first on the walk home. You split off to walk up your driveway, waving goodbye to your cousin.

“Y/n,” he called suddenly, prompting you to whip around right before you went inside.

“Arcade. Tomorrow.”

You grinned. “Already looking forward to it.”

The door closed. Stan immediately whipped out his phone and called Kyle.

The next day, you walked down to the arcade with Stan as the autumn sun began its early descent. It was hardly 5 PM and golden hour was upon you.

As you approached the arcade, your heart fell to your stomach. A tall lanky figure with curly red hair was waiting outside. Stan noticed the way both of your faces, flushed from the cold air, immediately went white.

“Hey, Kyle!”

“Stan,” Kyle greeted, sounding a little strained.

You leaned in to whisper in his ear: “You didn’t tell me you invited K—…anyone else.”

Ignoring you, Stan smacked the side of his head theatrically. “Oh, no,” he groaned. “I totally forgot I have history homework that’s due Monday. No way I can finish it tomorrow,” he shook his head remorsefully. “I gotta start tonight. You guys should have fun without me though.”

Before either of you could say anything, he had turned on his heels and jogged away. You both watched him go, silently fuming with both anger and embarrassment.

“Since when does Stan care about homework?” You heard Kyle grumble under his breath.

“I don’t think we even have history homework.”

You saw Kyle’s brow get lower. “I think you’re right.”

You both narrowed your eyes a little. He totally planned this. That little—

Someone stepped out of the arcade, and the warm gush of air that blew out enticed you both inside.

“Hey, look! New game!” You automatically pointed to a new machine, forgetting your humility in your excitement. You dashed over, quarter already in hand.

It was a two-player game; in a second you sensed Kyle’s presence beside you, though he wasn’t close enough to actually play.

You cocked your brow. “You gonna play or not?”

Kyle moved half an inch, then hesitated. In a moment, you realized why; the machine was rather small, so players were squished together. Your shoulders were pressed to each other, and the proximity was making you both blush. More than that, it was making you positively wretched at the game.

When you inevitably lost, the game asked if you wanted to play again. At the same time you both reached for the “end game” button, and you ended up with your hands stacked atop it.

You looked at each other, then just as quickly looked away and stepped back from the machine.

“I’m not usually that bad at games,” you said loudly, desperate to distract from the incident.

“Me neither. Let’s play something else.”

The next game you tried proved to be much better. You weren’t as close, so you weren’t distracted. You were able to get into a proper competitive mindset, which lasted for the next few hours while you bounced from game to game together, laughing and talking more comfortably with each round.

A buzz in Kyle’s pocket finally broke your gaming stupor.

“I’ve gotta go home,” Kyle said regretfully.

You checked the time. “Oh. Me too.”

You walked very slowly to the exit, prolonging your conversation for as long as possible. But eventually you were out on the street, and you had to part.

“See you at school on Monday,” you mumbled sadly. You hated to end the night like this.

“Yeah. Or you could give me your number.”

You told yourself the pink on his cheeks was from the cold. He told himself the same thing about the pinkness on your own cheeks.

The second you got home, you sent a “goodnight” text to Kyle. In a few seconds he responded:

Same to you. Tonight was fun :)

You sent a smiley face back. Then, miles apart, you both hugged your phones to your chests, gazing at the ceiling dumbly with massive grins on your faces.

Thank you for your request! And thanks for reading! Take care duckies <33

(divider by saradika)

[mysaldate]

Vil's agency and my worries for the upcoming event

Alright, time for another analysis, once again centered on Vil. Disclaimer to start with because people love to take what I said out of context: This post will have my worries about the upcoming Halloween event (Playfulland) which comes out in two days. It is entirely possible that I am wrong about what I'm going to say here but as I will hopefully explain in this post, there is a disturbing pattern regarding Vil and his agency as a character going on in the game which makes me worried this event will fall into the same routine. I am not claiming this event will absolutely 100% do what I outline here and I am not saying the event is bad before it even came out.

Side note before we delve into this, I already do not like this event visually, I find the style tacky and cheap and all over the place. However, I recognize some people enjoy it. This post is not about that, I will not be trying to make you dislike the event, and I expect the same respect back. Now, onto the analysis.

When seeing the previews and plot synopsis for the new event, something felt off to me, uncomfortably so. As some of you may already know, I am fairly sensitive to loss of agency in canon, especially for characters I relate to, because it reminds me of my own history of abuse. "Turning the characters into puppets" seems like a premise ripe with loss of agency and the wording of the synopsis as well as the promo video did little to elevate these concerns. Specifically when it came to Vil.

Now, I probably don't have to explain why the idea of Vil getting indulgent and forgetting about the real world and ending up a puppet of his desires goes against his entire character. Then again, the event isn't out yet so I can't tell for sure if that is what's going to happen. The synopsis seems to hint at it and given twst's past events, the ones to snap out of it will most likely be the SSRs or, at most, the story sr, which is Floyd. Then I began to think back on other events and cards Vil has and I came to a very disturbing realization: Vil gets punished for showing agency and rewarded for not having any. Allow me to elaborate.

In many of the stories Vil shows up in, we see a strange push to punish Vil for being active and taking charge of events or we see Vil being passive and reactive and getting rewarded for that. In the Sunset Savannah event, Vil doesn't want to go originally but is convinced and dragged along by Leona. He doesn't join the event because he wants to but because he's bribed to. During the event, he shows more agency and begins to be more active – which then results in him getting his ankle twisted. This isn't a one-off situation either. In Beans Day, Vil is very active and shows off his leadership skills as well as his amazing planning and prediction abilities. How does this pay off? Rook shows up out of nowhere and captures him, putting him out of the game. Once again, Vil had agency and then got punished for it. During Vargas Camp, Vil is once again on top of things. He is a leader, he is a wonderful outdoorsman, and he shows lots of agency. How does the game treat this? He is forced to forfeit his agency for weeks to Azul because we are meant to believe Vil and Trey – two of the most competent mages at NRC – would not be able to get by without Azul's help. Azul is the R in this event.

But it's not event SRs either. I have already talked about Vil's labcoat story previously but looking at it from the perspective of Vil's agency reveals something I didn't realize at first. By the time the game came out, Vil's foundation of the Film Research club was one of his biggest acts of agency we were directly confronted with. In Vil's labcoat story, he exercises further agency by going out of his way to prepare for an important shooting. How does the game treat this? He is gaslit and made to feel insecure by Rook to the point where he begins to skip meals. And how does he get out of this state? Does he do an introspection and realize Rook was just trying to manipulate and control him? Does he ask someone for a second opinion? No. He is approached by Trey who then convinces him to eat cake with him. Vil is not only punished for showing agency but also rewarded for giving his agency up and just doing what people tell him to.

Well, maybe that's just his SRs though. Surely in his SSRs where he is meant to be the main star, this isn't the case, right? Well... His dorm uniform story is about a magazine wanting an interview with him. Right off the bat, Vil is the reactive element here. Vil then puts together new schedules and begins to get his dorm in an even better shape – which gets him complaints and grumbles from everyone. He is punished for showing agency even though it is to the other students' benefit. Vil doesn't let up and exercises further agency by adjusting the meal and exercise plans to be personalized – and he gets Rook telling him that nobody cares anyway and he is just wasting his time. Yes, the dorm members quietly change their opinion of Vil but they never tell him. The only feedback Vil has is from Rook who is, once again, punishing him for having agency.

Vil's Scalding Sands SSR card doesn't have a story but that doesn't stop it from taking away any agency Vil might've had. Not only did he not actually visit Scalding Sands, he wasn't even the one to obtain the outfit. Rather, Trey brought it to him as a gift because Kalim's parents just gave it away. Mind you, this note was completely unnecessary. The only purpose it serves for Vil is making sure he doesn't have any agency at all after already taking away what could've been an interesting story.

And then we get to Halloween. The first Halloween event was a huge breath of fresh air for Vil. He is very active and shows tons of agency. Vil is part of the Halloween committee, he oversees costume themes and makeup, he is one of the key pieces of the plan to scare away the Magicamonsters, he shows more agency than he did in the rest of the stories altogether. What is the outcome of all this? Well, he is promptly kidnapped the following night, possessed by a ghost, and made to act shamefully in front of his friends. Wow. Complete mind-control and erasure of any hint of agency specifically for the reason of him having agency in the first event.

But I hear you, all of these are just events or cards, someone else might be writing them. There's no way this is how he's meant to be seen in the main story, right? Well... Not exactly. And to make one thing clear, I am not caught up on every single tweet Yana Toboso makes. I know people have been saying for months now that Vil is Yana's favorite character but I have yet to see any proof of the claim. It started around the time Vil's Scalding Sands SSR dropped and most of it back then read as jealousy. Whether or not that was the case, I cannot tell. If this is the treatment Vil gets as a favorite character, I just hope Yana never takes a liking to me (this is a joke).

The first time we really meet and interact with Vil in the main story in any sort of meaningful way and without him just being lumped up with the rest of the dorm leaders is in Book 2, and he is quickly ridiculed and mocked for showing agency in caring how he will look during the Magift tournament. And yes, I know the novel made tweaks to this set of scenes, the novel isn't canon to the game and it showed so on multiple occasions. So right off the bat, not a great start for Vil's agency as a character.

We barely see him after that up until Book 5. Now, I have a whole post about the meaning of Vil's overblot that you can read here but this time, I want to focus on something else about this chapter. This chapter is a masterclass on how to punish a character for showing agency. Vil is painted as unreasonable and over the top from the start, be it in providing legitimate criticism to the VDC tryouts or in getting upset at his agent for violating his boundaries and signing him up for roles he explicitly doesn't want to play. Both of these are treated by the story as flaws and issues when neither of them really is. Vil being strict with the other VDC group members is for their good as well as his own. And Vil setting up boundaries over which roles he is and isn't willing to take stems from his history of being typecasted and dehumanized for his casting (I go deeper into this in the other Vil analysis post). Both of these are healthy displays of agency, yet the main story frames them in a way that makes Vil seem unreasonable for doing these things.

Vil's agency brings him a temporary reward but that is immediately taken away when during the preliminary tryout performances, he is overtaken by an objectively mediocre performance. All his hard work, all his agency, is immediately thrown out the window for the sole purpose of making him feel miserable. Once again, he is punished for exercising his agency. What he does next and his overblot are exceptions to this as Vil used his agency to do something objectively bad and the resulting overblot is more of a natural consequence than a punishment (albeit I have my gripes with how the overblot was handled as well). The final nail in the coffin in book 5 came after the overblot when Vil, once more, exercised his agency to push through his pain and still perform. Not only was he punished for his efforts by losing the competition but he was then further berated for the overblot yet again (as well as being gaslit once again by Rook, this is nothing new).

I've heard some people say that Book 6 is good in this regard, that it gives characters agency and character development. I disagree with this claim. Vil, together with the other overblotees, is kidnapped and locked up, then used as test subjects. This is about as far removed from them having agency as can be, except perhaps the ghost possession plot earlier. There is some vague talk about having to sign a consent slip but 1) this is already ridiculous after having abducted them with the use of excessive force, and 2) we are never given any reason to believe signing was their choice and not something forced out of them. They are then experimented on and that's a whole mess that removes any and all agency from everyone present. The issue with Vil specifically is that in Vil's case, this has been a pattern for a while at this point. And then we get to the Shroud brothers overblotting... Saving the world because you would be one of the people dying if it ended is not agency and it is not character development. I know the chapter tried to give Vil and everyone else a "reason" to stop the overblot but that doesn't erase the fact that if they didn't, they would die. This isn't agency, this is having a sense of self-preservation. Even if some other version of them would get to live happily and get everything they ever wanted handed to them on a silver platter, it would not be them, and they would still be either dead or erased from existence altogether (this is a side note but how exactly would resetting the universe even work? Nothing else anywhere in the franchise suggests this is even an actual possibility. Even Malleus, one of the top five mages in the world could only lock away one island by using so much magic he overblotted. Book 6's plot breaks the worldbuilding in so many ways- but that's a tangent for another time).

The one and only moment of Vil having agency in book 6 comes when he jumps in to save Idia's life. And while Idia, who has been under the influence of Tartaros for way longer and spent so much more time in it, is perfectly fine, Vil gets "aged up" a hundred years. This is not only bad writing which makes no sense but also a tremendous punishment for Vil as someone who relies on his looks for several of his jobs as well as being someone who puts so much effort into his appearance. Of course, that is not even mentioning that the supposedly older version of him looks nothing at all like Vil, has a completely different body type and face structure, and is a nod to magical transformation and not aging. Vil showcased his agency and immediately got punished for it in the most horrendous way for the character. How does Vil get out of this situation? Does he utilize his vast knowledge of potions and magic to revert himself back? Does he figure out a way to curse himself to turn back to normal? Does he seek council with a powerful or knowledgable mage, perhaps a teacher? No. He cries at the beach and doesn't do anything and then Malleus comes around, snaps his fingers, and returns everything back. Vil is not only punished for showing agency, but he is once again actively rewarded for not having any.

So, why do I believe this event will involve loss of agency for at least some of the characters? Because Vil is involved and twst has made it a pattern to rid Vil of agency. Why am I worried about this event? Because every time Vil becomes active, he gets a slap in the face for his efforts and sometimes is even rewarded for just sitting there and looking pretty. This is not what I want from a character like Vil, or from any character really. At this point, Cinderella and Snow White from the original Disney movies had better agency than Vil because when they showed agency and took active hold of their parts in the story, they were adequately rewarded, not slapped in the face for it.

Now, I am sure this leaves you with some questions, so I will try to answer those I could come up with myself here. Why do I only mention Vil when other overblotees lost their agency in book 6 and had their agency treated as wrong in their books? Because none of them were quite like Vil. None of them got punished in a twist of bad writing for saving someone's life. And their negative agency was things that were actively harmful to others such as Riddle being an unreasonable tyrant kicking people out to sleep outside, Leona trying to murder people, Azul enslaving others, etc. Vil's negative agency throughout the chapter was setting boundaries for himself and expecting people to work for the money they hoped to win.

Why am I not talking about the other characters who got possessed? Because, for the most part, it was a once-and-done deal. Yes, some of them are now showing up in Playfulland (Cater, Jade, etc.) but these characters don't have a pattern of having their agency taken away or punished at nearly every opportunity.

Why do I harp on Rook so much? Because he's the textbook definition of a gaslighter, he constantly puts Vil down, he's often used as a tool to punish Vil's agency, he actively tries to isolate Vil from other people and make him doubt his own perception, and because he thinks it is his place and his place only to judge and punish Vil for whatever he deems incorrect. And just in case I need to stress this, which I shouldn't, I am an abuse victim. I went through literal decades of gaslighting paired with other types of mental and physical abuse. Rook's wording, actions, and general patterns of behavior, are all things that hit so close to what I experienced that he used to be a legitimate trigger for me, and still makes me incredibly uncomfortable. This is, of course, not to say you cannot like the character. But denying what he does and mocking abuse victims for speaking out about their experiences isn't the same as enjoying a problematic character. The way Rook is brings active harm both to Vil as a person and to his agency, which is to be expected of a character like this.

I would like to close this up by saying that I am aware these may be conscious choices to showcase how resilient Vil can be, how he never gives up in the face of adversity, and how he perseveres in spite of all these horrific things happening to him. But at some point, it gets tiring to see your comfort character get beaten down on every turn. It gets depressing to see him never succeeding and always getting hurt or abused for just being active and taking charge of his own life. There are ways to show resilience that don't involve punishing every time a character shows agency. There is also no reason to punish that but then reward loss of agency. When Vil gives up and stops trying, that should not be the moment things start going well. Malleus shouldn't have to swoop in and magically restore Vil's youth when Vil just passively accepted that he is just going to look like this now and, if the accident truly aged him and didn't just transform his body (which would make a lot more sense), possibly die within the next few weeks or months.

Ultimately, I do not like how twst treats Vil. I hope to see this improve but I wouldn't count on it. It's not so bad that I want to leave the game over it but it is a part of what worries me about the stories to come, especially with the new event and book 7 and what they probably have in store. For now, I will remain cautiously optimistic and hope it at the very least won't be as bad as book 6.

If you've read this far, thank you so much, I appreciate you, feel free to let me know your thoughts, preferably in a polite and civilized manner. I'm down to discuss many parts of this but there are also a few that I don't see myself budging on (such as gaslighter Rook). For the most part tho, I am always happy to talk to people about my analyses and takes on things pertaining to my fandoms. Thank you again for your attention and I'll see you next time something gives me this much of a brainrot.

[dusknoir-whump]

Obey Me Whump Concepts

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Do you want some prompts for writing dark and fucked up stories surrounding the Obey Me universe, wether it be with the brothers, Solomon and the angels, Barbatos and Diavolo, or MCs? Well here's the list of prompts for you to use! Make them short stories or long. Regardless they will be heartbreaking. No angst with Luke tho just due to my personal comfort.

Content Warnings....

Disordered eating (pica), physical assault, mania, emotional turmoil, hypersexuality, murder, damnation, religious themes, guilt, death, grief, agoraphobia, nightmares/night terrors

Minors do not interact with this blog or post

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Asmodeus is the avatar of lust, of course he would be lustful, it was who he was. Then he is confronted by a very worried MC about his hypersexuality, and his self perception shattered. Wasn't he supposed to like these things? He was the avatar of lust after all, there was nothing wrong with him. He didn't have a problem, there was nothing wrong with the only thing ever making him feel like he mattered was sex. Right?

Mammon ends up in hot water with the witches he's contracted to and ends up being used to take aspects of demons in a deeply sadistic manner. When he comes back home he's a bloodied sobbing mess.

Beelzebub's eating habits are beginning to get genuinely concerning and his brothers are worried for his health and safety. It wasn't that bad initially, just small bits of inedible materials, but now it's developed into full blown pica. He can't stop himself from eating things he shouldn't, he needs it even when it hurts him and he can't understand what's wrong.

Lucifer can do no wrong, he is perfect in every way he knows it. He knows it so well that he absolutely blows up and hurts everyone around him who he cares deeply for in a way that can't be easily fixed or forgiven. When he comes out of his manic episode he realizes what he has done in the midst of his delusions, all he can do is hope to not lose everyone he loves.

After the incident with MC, Belphegor starts to have horrific night terrors. Night after night he screams and cries out on his sleep, only later awakening in a cold sweat terrified and confused. His wonderful sleep, the only thing he truly loves in life is ruined, and it seems to be by his own hand.

Satan has always had an issue with picking fights in order to satiate his wrath. One of these days his was bound to start a fight he couldn't win. He staggered home bruised and bloodied, his pride and spirit crushed as he dragged his broken body inside of The House Of Lamentation.

Leviathan has had a long history of being someone who's anxious and a homebody, so it's no surprise when he skips dinner one night and eats alone in his room instead. But something is clearly wrong when the next day goes by without him leaving his room, then the next, and the next, and the next. He doesn't leave his room for anything at all. MC goes to check on him, and he's too scared to leave his room. His agoraphobia has grown to a horrific degree.

Simeon has been doing everything right, directly by the book. He followed what he was told to by the archangel Michael, so why were his wings torn off and born anew in ashen colors? What did he do to deserve the condemnation he now faces?

Solomon has tried everything in his power to convince MC to allow him to use magic to lengthen their life span. Years go by, decades, and then nearing a century and he's falling on his knees in front of another grave, wondering to whatever gods he long sense abandoned why he can't join those he had lost over the past centuries.

Barbatos has looked through so many timelines over the course of his life all in the name of protecting Diavolo. What he never let slip was how many times he had seen his dear friend's lifeless body from timelines he failed him, how often he found the slightest of errors sending his mind racing to the horrors he had bore witness to. He knew what Diavolo would look like dead, and he needed to make sure no one else did.

Diavolo can't feel anything but deep seeded guilt. Barbatos can't do anything, another version of him already did, this timeline will never have another MC. Belphegor killed MC, a human exchange student on Diavolo's watch, a human he was meant to protect. He now has to sentence a man who he knows well, and destroy the program he worked so hard to create. His own ideas and dreams of peace have left blood on his hands.

[ilynpilled]

ok since we are on liminal spaces and the riverlands and the whole idea of time, history, and transition etc. an overwhelming majority of jaime’s story takes place there, nearly all of it, which is very interesting considering how dynamic he is. he is on a huge internal journey, as well as him being in constant motion literally too. his character’s unraveling happens there. he gets symbolically killed by the arakh, the scythe blade, and chooses to continue living under the crescent moon. just like arya, the moon is relevant to him too, and it is undergoing an interesting cycle all throughout his arc. we jump into the literal and metaphorical pit with him in the riverlands. it is the idea of stagnancy (chained up in the dungeon for a whole book) vs evolution. death and rebirth. the moving river is something that is established in his very first paragraph as a pov character.

and harrenhal specifically is very much a trip into the past for him. he is dragged back there and forced to confront things that he had previously ran away from. he is forced to revisit the corpse of the boy.

the setting is used in such an interesting way. of course he makes the bath confession there, it is the only time he lets that resurface. he is “naked as his name day”, “half a corpse and half a god.” it is about washing off the dirt and “darkening the water” and being reborn. the riverlands is such a crucial symbolic location to his arc.

“I left something at Harrenhal.” is not just about brienne. it is about the boy that died. the boy that was not afraid to dream and to believed in heroism. when he goes back to harrenhal to save brienne he goes back for himself as well. it is about rejecting the moral nihilism that he escaped into. the motif is so good: “He sent me away. But now I am coming back.” and “He would be back in that dark wet place again” and “I want to go back.” then finally “… you were well away. Why come back?” and he gives such a layered answer.

but of course that is not the end. the world is still more complicated than that boy and his dreams of knighthood. the world only seemed simpler because he was 15. and then in feast the same journey is repeated, he goes back again, but this time with ilyn, who is more symbolic of the man jaime eventually became after the death of the boy, and all of the darkness of that. the lannister executioner: a sword for death. it is also about development and confrontation though. if storm was about symbolic rebirth, feast is about symbolic maturing: looking at the lack of a golden hand and facing the ugliness of the stump, the metaphorical empty space that was left. it is about the death of certain dreams and delusions, ones that are rooted in a false reality. it is a set up for cost. but that does not mean we stop. the river keeps moving. and it sets him up for a continuation of that journey, another confrontation and key transitional point. he is gonna have to visit another corpse soon. and with the woman that rekindled hope in him in the first place, someone whose own idealism and innocence is now also being challenged and withered. and it is about finding light and retaining your humanity despite that. there is a reason brienne’s light keeps burning in jaime’s dream, and he is not left in utter darkness when the ghosts rush in.

[hhimring]

I kept the secret but what is becoming of us?

The ongoing @russingon-week encouraged me to write a little bit of a stalled WIP about Maedhros in East Beleriand, a scene in which Maedhros dreams about Fingon.

Mods, I'm not sure whether you would regard this piece as sufficiently Russingon-centric for the event. (The series this is part of is definitely Maedhros/Fingon.) If not, thank you anyway for running the week and giving me the impetus to try and write the scene!

Maedhros, in the early days of Himring, has just been confronted with his inability to confess to the kinslaying at Alqualonde. His instinctive reaction was denial, especially because to confess would implicate Fingon and others and not only himself. He also feels he lost control of himself, during this scene. While he is reflecting on this, he falls asleep and dreams of Fingon.

They had not agreed to keep what had happened at Alqualonde a secret from the Sindar, not in so many words, thought Maedhros. If they had managed to reach such an agreement, somebody might perhaps have broken it already. But all the tensions between them seemed to have prevented them from even discussing it—even before Fingolfin and his followers had arrived, they had avoided the subject amongst themselves, and afterwards, it became virtually unmentionable. He had managed to have diplomatic discussions with Fingolfin on very fraught subjects, but there was just no way he could have raised how he had dragged his son into a Kinslaying, however unplanned.

He remembered the scene only too clearly, of course; the terrible memories that came after had not blurred the edges: the heady rush of relief and gratitude, the rising horror…

You are here? You are here! Oh no, you are here!

And Fingon’s face almost mirroring those emotions: flushed and open one moment, painfully withdrawing, shutting down the next.

It had been so dark there. It was tempting to delude oneself that this—and all the rest, too—was no more than a nightmare bred by darkness. But they all knew better.

Fingon and he had not managed to discuss it between them, then or later; the few oblique references they had exchanged could not amount to discussion and had led nowhere, really.

And, so, the conflict between the Noldor had kept the secret better than an agreement would have. It was impossible to speak about their own transgressions, without implicating and betraying others that had not consented to such a revelation. And they could not face another betrayal.

His own observations about the Sindar he encountered, compared to the Falmari, kept shifting: they were not as different, as he had supposed at first, merely by not being of Aman or under Treelight. He was able to see shared Telerin traits more clearly, as he got to know them better, but also became more aware of the impact of different cultures with a long history behind them—at least here in the North. In the South, there seemed to be more people who still remembered Olwe and the others from before.

But it was not only about what the Sindar might think or how they might react, although that was an important political consideration, of course. As recent events showed, it was about what the past, not dealt with, was doing to them themselves.

Maedhros, thinking about these things, drifted off into uneasy sleep. In his dream, as he sometimes did, he instinctively reached out to Fingon and, this night, it seemed as if Fingon was there, although his presence remained hazy and ill-defined, even in the dream.

‘I did not betray you, this time,’ said Maedhros to him. ‘I kept the secret. But what is becoming of us?’

Dream-Fingon had no answers for him. He seemed unable to speak at all, but neither did his presence withdraw or fade away, remaining with him until daybreak.

Maedhros awoke with none of his questions resolved, but nevertheless warmed and comforted by his dream—less ashamed and more hopeful.

[canayams-art]

yesyes i do think after lqq gets that shock out of his system first, he would want to confront mq about him and hear his side and an explanation. i don't believe lqq knowing that would put an irreparable dent into their relationship because at the end of the day, that suggestion never went through and mq never pursued to destroy yong'an after the war.

and OH MY GOD the way you put mq's side of the story here is soo true because i don't think he would focus too much on the one suggestion to end the war that never went through until it was brought up and threatened to ruin a relationship with someone he genuinely began to care for. because at the end, it was more of a desperate way to end the war that is being dragged on than any real malice towards yong'an. and i do think after both thinking about it himself and hearing what mq has to say on the matter, lqq would understand that as well.

the two of them healing together and learning to let go of the past pains regarding their kingdoms history 🥹 they make me so soft

this is tickling the very specific side of my brain as well and oh my god i genuinely hope i will have time to maybe turn this into a fic at some point because i absolutely ADOREE getting new rarepairs into my collection and this one is ticking almost all of the boxes at this point jsjsjsjdjdjd if i do end up writing something for them i will make sure to let you know dwdw

and mq getting the friendship he never believed he could have from xl in lqq is making me bawl, especially because there is less of an obvious power imbalance between them, since they would obviously start off as more or less of equals when they meet. which would make mq both more open with lqq in a way he never could be with xl

im curious tho, how do you think the rest of the heavens would see their relationship? because im sure there would be side comments about mq probably wanting to "serve another prince" and such thrown around :"))

Shaking your hands shaking your hands !!!

It really is making me think about the perspective immortality gives to a person when they’re able to be so far away from events of their own life because those events were maybe one or two (or more) lifetimes ago. Would a god be more forgiving than a man? It’s a fun space to play in.

AND YEAH SO MUCH POTENTIAL FOR AN EARNEST FRIENDSHIP ! Something mq lacks and lqq can so easily offer! I always think about the fact that lqq answers any private communication he receives regardless of the person’s status— he’s easy to talk to and I feel like he’s generally well liked among the other gods, even if they also think he’s naive. And maybe mq also thinks that way about him. Maybe that changes the more he gets to know lqq— similar to how he felt with xl. But like you said— less power imbalance!

I feel like the other gods would be confused to see mq making a genuine attempt at friendship with lqq— Tai Hua doesn’t seem like the type of person he would want to associate with. And he’s not even making snippy quips at him! His scoldings about how lqq is too lenient with his duties and too carefree don’t have the same cutting bite that the gods are used to seeing when mq engages with fx, for example, or even when he decides to lurk in the group communication arrays. I could see it raising eyebrows for sure.

And that’s not to say mq wouldn’t make remarks at lqq but I think lqq would probably brush them off unless they called into question his own moral standings. They feel like they would be able to tease and banter comfortably, even if mq is the main source of teasing and lqq is the main source of banter.

Anyway, circling back to the gods seeing this happen,,,, I do think the ones most likely to tease mq about finding another prince to serve would be the same gods Hua Cheng dueled and destroyed— mq seems pretty well-respected by most of the gods, even if he’s not liked by them. The gods he helped during xl’s first banishment seem like the types who would easily judge and comment. But once they’re gone I feel like maybe mq would feel a pressure come off of him. They got what they had coming in mq’s mind— they were vane fools for accepting hc’s terms. Their opinions of mq don’t affect him anymore.

On the other hand it feels like the aggressions would all be pointed at mq more than lqq cos lqq’s reaction— I assume— would be a straightforward confrontation that kicks up a stink among the gods. We’ve all seen how he acted in court when xl’s identity was revealed to him, and while this doesn’t feel as weighty as that situation, I don’t think lqq would stand to hear the way the gods talk about mq— whether he’s mad about mq’s war strategies or not. He WILL make it into something if he ever catches wind of the gossip. Mq wouldn’t roll over and take any of it either, but his way of fighting back isn’t as loud as lqq’s would be. Mq works behind the scenes while lqq takes to the stage lol

If you ever decide to write something for any of this please know you would have my life in the palm of your hands. I will never be the same. Lives will be changed !

[jotatetsuken]

Commitment Phobia

features: levi ackerman x gn!reader | WC: 3400

summary: due to many personal events, and events happening around you, you had started feeling wary of committing yourself to a relationship, until you met a certain someone.

warnings: dark content pretty much (so minors DNI), mention of abusive relationships, molestation attempts, divorce, death, trauma, injuries, self- indulgent AF, spoilers if you have not watched the anime or the OVA “No Regrets”

a/n: I’m backkkkk! Also, a belated happy birthday to humanity’s strongest soldier (it was on the 25th)!! yes yes i’m very late in posting but, i’m glad i’m getting this out fnfndndnd. i first saw him in a fanart reel, after which i learned that some of my friends were watching it. then, when i started watching, what got me attracted to him, was not his looks, not his battle skills, not the laurels he’s achieved, but the way he’s learned from his childhood and has become stronger in his mind. this chapter is based on a real-life experience i’m going through and writing about it keeping levi in mind really helped me. also i am crossposting this from quotev.

Tagging: @akaashi-todorki @bmthevick @sookisaurus @wakatshi @ofallthingswhythis @25-30-03 @romiyaro @whinestonecowgirl (taglist form)

It was just another day where you were undergoing training as a part of the Special Operations Squad of the Survey Corps under the leadership of Commander Erwin Smith and Squad Captain Levi Ackerman. All of you were preparing for the closing of Wall Rose with the secret weapon: Eren Yeager, in his Titan form. Unexpected, right? 

When you lived in Shiganshina inside the Wall Maria in the past, you had become friends with Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman, and Armin Arlert despite being 11 years older than them. You considered them to be your children and treasured them. Aside from being intelligent like Armin, brave like Eren, and skilled like Mikasa, you were also extroverted. It was clear that you did not hold back when it came to expressing your feelings. Your goal, like Armin’s, was to discover what life was like outside the walls. In your mind, this desire was a way to escape the harsh reality of your family situation. 

Having just started living in Shiganshina after moving from The Underground, your father started working in the coal trading business, your mother teaching history in one of the best schools in the Stohess District of Wall Sina, and your sister was a professional artist despite having undergone physical abuse from her previous marriage, the life you were living wasn’t a bed full of roses, but you liked to think it was because you could have it all, being the youngest child. 

There was one thing that kept bugging you, however. If you were to marry in the future, would your marriage last? In a world where your life could disappear in the blink of an eye, and you could lose people far sooner than you think, what’s to say that you’d be able to live a happy life with someone you loved?

Despite your parents’ disagreements, they eventually made up and became a stronger couple, but the experience still caused you to wince at confrontations in relationships. Also, because you lived in The Underground, you were subject to mockery from the elite, and different merchants frequently attempted to molest you, but you kicked them in their sensitive areas and ran, unaware they were looking for you, only to be killed the next day. Although you were compassionate with everyone, these thoughts clouded your head, making it difficult for you to fall in love. 

You didn’t have time to think of anything else though, because you witnessed Carla Yaeger being eaten alive by the Smiling Titan, as Hannes, one of the unit captains of the Garrison, dragged you along with Eren and Mikasa. It broke your heart to lose Carla, who you were close to because you were neighbors. But you ran back to the houses, leaving Hannes’ hand, to check on your family, who were in danger, except for your mother who was in Wall Sina, but she called to check in on all of you. You seemed to have lost your father, as you didn’t know where he was.

Your sister’s feet and hands were crushed by the crumbling walls, so you called Hannes, who introduced you to Rico Brzenska, one of the Garrison's team leaders, who led you to Grisha Yeager, Eren's father, who was a doctor. While he treated your sister’s wounds, he was unable to save her feet and certain fingers. In addition to bandaging them and giving her some medical supplies that would have normally been expensive for free, Grisha advised her to move to Wall Sina to be with her mother so she could recover more quickly. Despite your sister’s concern, you promised her that you would fight for your family’s safety, and that you would find your father's location, and you kissed your sister goodbye, telling her you would see her later.

Like Eren, you joined the Survey Corps to kill every one of the Titans, but you somehow had a hunch before that the Titans seemed humanlike so killing them mercilessly wouldn’t make sense, so you’d search around for the meaning behind the deaths of many. Having joined the Special Operations Squad of the 104th Survey Corps, you were amongst the quickest to learn, and you had the natural leadership skills, having later earned the trust of Erwin Smith, the Commander, and Levi Ackerman, the Squad Captain. 

You were also good at cooking, making sure that Sasha Blouse, one of your fellow cadets, got her first serving so that she wouldn't go hungry, and you were quick to control the commotion despite being one of the loudest. There was also something else that you made sure of. You told everyone to clean your quarters, telling them there’d be surprise inspections from the leadership team (usually just a lie to make sure the rooms were clean), failing which they’d receive punishment from the captain, and you’d have to keep an eye out for the troublemakers, Sasha, Connie Springer, and Jean Kirstein, to do their job well, even bribing Sasha with a delicious meal once she was done.

And the best part? You were hoping to catch Levi’s attention, not that you were doing all of this for him. It was your hope that he'd notice you at all, not only on a professional level, but also on a personal level, since you developed an infatuation for him when you saw him for the first time coming back from the 56th Expedition.

While everyone was looking at the Corps in awe and some with disgust when you first looked at Levi’s eyes, you saw pain, and your heart reached out to him. You saw him turn to you, noticing that you looked at him differently, with warmth in your eyes, and he left a small smile at you, indirectly thanking you for understanding him for what he was going through. 

Even though you were a cadet, you were close with Levi, Erwin, and Hange Zoë, one of the other Squad Leaders, having been able to tame your fellow soldiers and an innate desire to learn about the secrets like Erwin, to research stuff and be a crackhead like Hange, and mature and understanding like Levi. Like Levi, you had your fair share of a high number of solo kills. That was only because the need to kill the Titans drove you as they endangered your family and killed Carla and, later on, Grisha. You later learn that another Titan killed your father, but had sent multiple letters to your family in Wall Sina, leaving them with provisions and fortune enough to carry forward with their lives. 

The trust earned made Erwin promote you to a fellow Squad Captain along with Levi, who honestly was very delighted. He seemed to have an infatuation for you the moment he first saw you when he was coming back from the expedition, and even though you hung out with Hange a lot, researching the reason for the existence of the Titans, whenever she’d go overboard, you knew when to control her, reminding her to not put other soldiers’ lives at risk, causing Levi’s feelings to deepen over time. Although there was something that he could never understand about you. Why was it that, despite you being friendly with everyone, you looked like you had skeletons in your closet? Levi could trust you, so why couldn’t you trust him?

All those doubts were going to go away, when in the evening after the training session, you called Levi and told him to come to the rooftop of their headquarters for some tea. At nightfall, you were closing your eyes, praying to a God different from that of the Wallists, asking him to help you lay down the walls in your heart and open up to Levi, when you hear someone clearing their throat, revealing themselves to be Levi. He noticed that you’d prepared black tea for him, especially because he liked it. You also told him you liked your black tea with milk because that’s what you grew up drinking. That’s when you heard the most annoying response from Levi.

Levi snickers, clicking his tongue, “Tch. Black tea with milk. Why do you have to be so annoying with tea?” You respond, “Excuse me,” and playfully hit his arm. “It’s the one thing my parents loved to drink growing up. My father used to tell me stories of who he was before being sentenced to the Underground.” Levi, perplexed, inquired further, “What do you mean, who he was?” You responded, “My father’s not an Eldian by birth, but by marriage to my mother. He was not from Marley, either. He was somewhere from the Oriental.” Raising an eyebrow, he questioned, “Was he a part of the Azumabito clan?” You nervously chuckle, “Oh, no-no. But he lived nearby. That’s where he grew up drinking black tea with milk and now, I can’t drink it any other way.” You gave a soft smile, remembering the laughter that echoed in your house, only to now have been a distant memory. “Oh, boy,” Levi shook his head in disappointment. He saw you looking at the moon with sad eyes, and while with one hand, he was drinking tea, he put his other hand on yours. You left him a small smile, holding his hands after some time. 

A comfortable silence lingered between the two of you, which he broke by inquiring, “You miss them?” “Hmm?” Breaking out of your reverie, you turned to him, causing him to question, “Your family. Do you miss them?” Sighing, you respond, “Yes, Levi. I do. My mother and my sister are all I’ve got. I was closer to my father, though. His demise is still hurting me.” As Levi came a bit closer, he put his head on your lap, with his face turned to you, and said, “Well, I never had a father, per se. But I miss my mother. She may have done a lot of wrong things, but I’m grateful that she gave birth to me.” You then put the tea set to a side, subconsciously patting Levi’s head and then humming a tune that you grew up listening to.

“Are you, are you comin’ to the tree

Where I told you to run so we’d both be free?

Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be

If we met at midnight in the hanging tree..”

You were ruffling Levi’s hair and humming in the presence of a full moon. You didn’t know why you were feeling this way for him. What started as an infatuation developed into a sense of respect and, eventually, love for him. While you were jealous of Petra following him around, you knew that his eyes were on you alone. You constantly worried about his safety, especially whether he’d make it back to you or not after every expedition, and whenever he came back, he would give you a pat on his head with a soft smile telling you, “I told you I’ll be back.”

In the blink of an eye, Levi felt something damp on his cheeks, and when he turned around, he saw you crying and looking at the moon. “Oi, brat,” he said as he turned his head to look up at you while his head was still lying on your lap. “Did some dust fall into your eyes or something? Your eyes are watering.” You attempt to wipe the tears from the corner of your eye, when you snapped jokingly, “Shut up, Levi. Sometimes you can be dense, you know.” Scoffing, he responded, “Me? Dense? Huh, please. All I was trying to do was lighten the mood." Levi and you softly smile at each other, as the soft wind blowing against your faces felt so calming when it was just the two of you. The squad captain then broke the silence by speaking to you softly, “What’s up, brat? Please talk to me.” You continue to tear up while silently holding his hands and looking at the moon. “I’m scared, Levi.” With a confused glance, he inquired, “Of what?”

You sighed and then responded, “Losing people. Letting them enter my life, only to lose them again. I don’t think it’s an extroverted or introverted thing at all. It’s just, the feeling is scary. I’m ready to give up my life if it means saving my family, my close friends,” then looking at Levi, “or you. You mean a lot, you know?” Levi’s eyes widened. He didn’t think that you felt strongly for anyone, let alone him. “Levi, I-”

“Shh,” he places a finger on your lips, interrupting you. He then gets up, with his back facing the moon and him facing you, and after wiping the tears off your face, he holds your hands, sighing. “I fear letting people in as well, brat, only to lose them, too. When Kenny abandoned me, that’s when I thought I wasn’t good enough. For anyone. For my mother, for Kenny, Farlan, Isabel, Erwin, Hange, or-”

“Me?” you completed his sentence, looking into Levi’s eyes, as he was stunned by the fact that you remembered. “I remember you telling me about how Farlan and Isabel passed away. It must have been really heartbreaking.” For a moment, he looked down on the ground and shook his head in dejection. “You do not know how I felt, (Y/N). It seemed like a wave of anger consumed me when I saw them. They were all I had. They made me feel special. Now, Erwin does, and you do, but I fear losing you more than Erwin. Is it wrong for me to feel this way?” You then cup his cheeks with your hands and tell him, “crazy, yes. But wrong, I’m not sure. I fear letting you in, even though I’m so irrevocably in..”

“Love with me? So am I, with you, I mean.” Levi’s confession shocks you, this was not how you expected the conversation to go. “I mean it, brat. Yes, you’re loud, you can be obnoxious, you’re like Four Eyes,” he rolled his eyes, causing you to giggle a bit, and he softly smiles, “but I adore you more, for many reasons. You’re unafraid to call out on people’s actions, although you’re close to Eren, Mikasa, and Armin and you feel the need to protect them, yet you choose me over them if I’m saying something that makes sense. But…” You sensed that he was going to ask you something so you completed it for him, “But? If this is about me not talking about my past, it’s not that I don’t want to talk about it. I just find it futile to relive the hurt, the pain, the creepy touches…” As you shudder in fear reminiscing the painful memories, the calmness in his eyes turned to anger as he pressed your hand hard as if he was going to crush it. “Did those bastards at The Underground try to…”

“Take advantage of me?” You nodded, “Yes. But I’d kick them and run away, only to find them being killed the next day instead. I still don’t know who did so, but I wanna thank them, you know?” Levi threw a knowing smile, not just because he noticed you seemed freer than before, but that you were finally going to learn the truth. “You can thank me for sure. I didn’t know that you were the one these merchants were hurting, but when I learned of the news, I felt I should take justice in my hands, and so I stole from them before killing them.” You were shocked and didn’t know what to say. Appalled at the lengths Levi went to protect people, it scared you he may turn into a ruthless soldier devoid of any feelings if he killed those merchants. 

You got up off the ledge of the roof, walking back, carefully passing the tea set beside you, and Levi was walking towards you, then looking at the tea set, with a surprised gaze, as if he’s seen the set somewhere before. He then was told to sit down and you continued to talk to him while he was looking at the tea set. “Levi, I remember meeting your mum around the time my family was in The Underground not knowing you were her son. She was very kind to me, and always brought me food to eat despite her having gone hungry on a couple of occasions. She may have looked sickly, but she’d sworn to look after you in any way possible. It was sad that what job she ended up taking was one of the most painful jobs ever. She’d given me this tea set to hold on to and said to give it to her son when he ends up getting to know me. Was your mother’s name Kuchel by any chance?”

Tears streamed down his cheeks, realizing that his mother will always be with him no matter what. Levi then looks at you and nods his head in agreement. You then hold his hands and talk to him, “Oh poor Levi. I’m so sorry for all the pain you went through. Both of us have had different backgrounds, but the pain is pain. It hurts the same no matter what.” He agreed with you, heaving a sigh of relief knowing that there was someone out there who loved him despite him carrying all this baggage.  “You know something? I’m afraid of committing myself to someone. What if they just love me for how I look and not for who I am? What if they just love me for how I perform in the training and in the battle and nothing more? What if I’m not good enough for them?”

Levi again places a finger on your lips, giving you permission to wipe his tears off his cheeks. He then cups your cheeks with his hands, brings them forwards, and gently kisses you. You can tell that he’s been wanting to kiss you, wantonly for eons now, but he’s taking his time, enveloping your lips with his, expressing his sheer love and desire to be with you, regardless of what the circumstances may seem. After what seemed like an eternity, both of you pull back and press your foreheads against each other, where Levi confesses, “why don’t you get it? You’re good enough for me. You don’t have to reveal everything about your life to me right now, but when I’m with you, I feel like I’ve known you for ages. I want you. I don’t say it all, because I’m scared of my feelings, but with you, it feels easy. I want you, brat. I’m so in love with you, that I need you to be by my side when we’re fighting the Titans. I’ve always been a loner, but ever since I met you, I don’t ever want to be alone again.”

Those gray eyes conveyed a level of honesty you hadn't seen for quite some time. Your mind raced as you tried to recall the last time someone expressed their love to you. His words seemed like a balm to the aching wounds of your heart. “Levi,” you softly called out, as he held your right hand and his other hand cupped your left cheek. “I’m not perfect. I’m not done going back to my family yet. I’m not done avenging my father’s demise yet. I can’t do this alone. If you really do love me…”

“(Y/N),” he softly calls out to you, “nothing’s going to stop me from loving you the way you are. I understand there are walls around your heart and I have them too. But, we’re going to have to work together to overcome them. I… love you. I hope you know that. Now that I know that you love me too, I’m going to tell you and show you all the more. Okay?” Both of you then end up in a warm embrace, for somewhere longer than twenty seconds, which, according to science, was enough, to build trust between the people hugging. You may have not known what the future brought, but you were certain that it brought with you someone that you’d hold close with all your might and that you’d give your best to not let him out of your sight. That’s when you decided to let him in your heart by saying, “Okay, my love.”

© Shyna 2022

[coochiequeens]

Did Herseys do any research before asking Fae Johnstone to be in their IWD campaign? How could they have the comments about silencing women, the disrespect to the dead at a memorial to the victims of the École Polytechnique massacre, he attacked the Declaration on Women’s Sex Based Rights, he supports drag queens story hour andsending men to women’s prisons

Hershey’s is facing backlash following the release of their International Women’s Day campaign, one which features a trans-identified male with a history of making disparaging comments about women. Many social media users are now calling for consumers to boycott the company. 

Trans activist Fae Johnstone is being featured in the SHE campaign by Hershey’s for International Women’s Day, which is due to take place on March 8. Johnstone excitedly announced his participation in the advertisement through Twitter on Wednesday.

Women on Twitter did not react positively to the news of Johnstone’s participation, with some calling it “female erasure.” Many began tagging the company and expressing their disappointment in the campaign, launching a hashtag “#HersheyHatesWomen” and threatening to boycott Hershey products.

“Hi @Hersheys WHY do you let a MAN who hates women and wants to silence us, represent WOMEN on International Women’s Day,” one user wrote, including a screenshot of a tweet from Johnstone calling for “TERFs” to be silenced. TERF is an acronym which stands for “trans exclusionary radical feminist,” but is often applied to any person, especially a female, who expresses critiques of gender ideology.

“He is not a woman and should not be featured in an International Women’s Day ad. There are many inspiring women who would have been a great choice to represent women but they chose a MAN. What a vile way to teach girls and women about male privilege. #BoycottHersheys,” another Twitter user said.

This is not the first time Johnstone, who identifies as “trans feminine and non-binary,” has been selected to take a platform representing women. 

In December of 2022, Johnstone was invited to give the keynote address at Durham College in Ontario, Canada for their National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence Against Women ceremony. The event was a memorial tribute held on the anniversary of the École Polytechnique massacre. During the horrific act of mass femicide, 14 women, 13 students and one university staff member, were killed by a lone gunman who claimed he was retaliating against feminism.

“You’re women, you’re going to be engineers. You’re all a bunch of feminists. I hate feminists,” the shooter said after telling all of the males to exit a classroom. He opened fire on the remaining women in a horrific act that has now been recognized as terrorism by the Canadian government. 

After his keynote speech at the event, Johnstone was confronted by an attendee who questioned the University’s decision to platform him at the memorial ceremony.

Jennifer Anne, a woman’s rights campaigner, recorded her interaction with Johnstone, and uploaded the audio to Twitter. 

“I am wondering why, on this day, we would have a man dressed in women’s garb to talk to us about sex-based violence and keeping women safe? How can women stay safe in this environment?”

Johnstone casually dismissed the question.

Despite identifying himself as a “feminist,” Johnstone has previously attacked various feminist groups for failing to include men in their activism or for using sex-based language. 

In November of 2021, Johnstone made disparaging remarks towards the Canadian Femicide Observatory, a research and information centre which aims to prevent femicide and violence against women, for using “TERF rhetoric” on Twitter due to their overt focus on female victims of sex-based crime.

Johnstone also attacked the Declaration on Women’s Sex Based Rights, which advocates for women and girls on the basis of needing single-sex spaces and protection from violence, and has called for those who hold views critical of gender ideology to be “so vilified” that they are unable to publicly express their opinions on the debate.

Most recently, Johnstone advocated for the placement of a male rapist in a woman’s prison. Responding to fellow trans activist Peter Tatchell on Twitter, Johnstone compared segregating a transgender double rapist from the female general population to segregating lesbian inmates.

As well as attacking feminist organizations and those advocating for female only spaces, Johnstone is a proponent of “drag queen story hour” (DQSH). 

In one article he published last month, he called the opposition to DQSH a rise in “anti-queer hate” and called for protection bubbles around “queer spaces,” similar to the protection zone around abortion clinics.

Johnstone has worked extensively with different departments in the Canadian Government, including Health Canada. One Twitter user attended a sex-education workshop led by Johnstone and expressed concerns over some of the subject matter being discussed.

In a short statement regarding the controversy, Johnstone said: “It was, and continues to be, an immense honor to be included in Hershey’s Canada’s campaign, as a young trans woman and feminist advocate.”

Johnstone also tweeted that the backlash he has received shows “just how far we still have to go in the fight for feminist liberation and trans rights.”

Despite the negative feedback regarding the campaign from social media users, Hershey’s has doubled down on their decision to include Johnstone in the women’s empowerment campaign. 

Posting to Instagram, Hershey’s Canada said: “We value togetherness and recognize the strength created by diversity. Over the past three years, our Women’s History Month programming has been an inclusive celebration of women and their impact. We appreciate the countless people and meaningful partnerships behind these efforts.”

The comments made in response to their statement have been overwhelmingly negative, with women using the hashtags #STOPERASINGWOMEN and #BoycottHersheys in their replies.

This is not the first time social media users have called for a company to be boycotted for having men represent women. 

Feminine hygiene brands Tampax and Always have both faced scrutiny from consumers for using trans-identified males to sell their products. Earlier this year, women on social media called for a Tampax boycott after Jeffery Marsh, a 45 year old man who identifies as non-binary, spoke about being paid to promote tampons and other feminine hygiene products for the brand. 

Always, another feminine hygiene company, faced widespread backlash last year after transgender TikToker Dylan Mulvaney claimed to have received a sponsorship deal from them. Mulvaney would prompt yet another wave of anger from women after he was invited on an Ulta Beauty podcast to discuss girlhood and motherhood in October of 2022, resulting in #BoycottUlta trending on Twitter.

By Shay Woulahan Shay is a writer and social media content creator for Reduxx. She is a proud lesbian activist and feminist who lives in Northern Ireland with her partner and their four-legged, fluffy friends.

[minti-tales]

FFXIV Write, Day 15: Portentous

Hey gang, there be Shadowbringers spoilers ahead.

CW: Mental health, Mental corruption, Body corruption, Death.

Please take care of yourselves.

There would be no denying it now - Emet-Selch had won. The drama he had so carefully orchestrated from the shadows was, in his mind, perfection. The arrival of Azem on The First, his on stage appearances with them (changed so dramatically as they were in recent days), the confrontation with the last Lightwarden atop Mount Gulg, the defeat of the courageous Crystal Exarch right when those “Scions” thought themselves victorious. Not even Hythlodaeus could have approved such a perfect idea. The beauty in Azem’s defeat was undeniable! And now, all he had to do was sit back, relax, and watch the so-called “Warrior of Darkness'' tear themselves apart.

This total corruption of the Self, the True Beginning  of the End, would be one last performance, to be enjoyed at Emet’s leisure by the Inn at Journey’s Head, at the tip of the Amh Araeng desert. His fellow artist requested time alone to come to terms with their failure - another self-imposed exile, if Emet understood this incarnation’s history correctly. Knowledge of a creator’s upbringing, as you know, is one way to gain valuable insight into the things they bring into the world. 

Ah, and would you look there, just up by the derrick once used to bring oil from deep within the bowels of this imperfect world. “Our hero approaches the dais, defeated and alone. Observe their hunched shoulders, their simple robes, greatsword dragging at their feet. I can practically see the light ready to spill out from their throat. Time is running out for you, old friend. It won’t be long now. The transformation, as I understand it, is swift. How unfortunate - I could watch you suffer forever.” There was some small part of Emet that yearned to be by Azem’s side in this moment so they could more fully understand their part in the Rejoining, but no, the portentousness would be ruined. Better to wait and watch.

He always thought rabbit ears were a bit much, for an incarnation.

---

(Minti) Are we close? I can’t see anymore. I can feel…sand. It’s hot.

(The Artist) A little more walking, and we’ll be there. We made plans back at the Crystarium, remember? We were ready for this. I even remember the words Shtola taught us, in the event you don’t. If all works out, we’ll be sent back to the Lifestream, and someone on The Source will fetch us - hopefully. 

This place is going to look very different once our friends bomb it into the next Era, that’s certain. We have to make sure that no Wardens or sin eaters come out of what’s left of us. Now, up the ladder. Yes, that’s it.

Minti, fallen Warrior of Light and Darkness, clung to the side of the derrick’s wooden railing. After her battle with Innocence, the last Lightwarden, it was very hard to move, or look around, or really use what was left of her senses. What wasn’t a burning white light was her body telling her, again and again, that it was failing. We are in pain and we don’t understand why. Make it stop. She could feel the bones in her back trying to move themselves, to shift into something more befitting a creature of Light. Just like Tesleen, all that time ago. Poor thing couldn’t stop the tide of Light anymore than Minti.

The voices in her Choir were fading, too, along with Ardbert. Fray - the Knightly Mother - and The Artist were the only two left, aside from a new voice calling themself The Oracle. That one was growing in strength, getting louder and more insistent on taking its place foremost in Minti’s mind. Not too much longer now.

(Knightly Mother) Your heart is failing, and damn it all, I can’t make it right. I know you want to sleep, but I want you to stay awake long enough to feel something. 

(Minti) Feel what?

(Knightly Mother) Put out your hand.

Minti’s outstretched hand was met with another’s, as cold as the winds coming in from the Western Highlands.

(Minti) How…?

(Knightly Mother) One last gift, from someone who cared deeply for you, since the day they rescued you and brought you in from the cold. I am with you until the End. Would you like to hear a story?

The Oracle’s song was so loud now. Minti could feel little else - it took everything she had to focus on the Mother.

A bedtime story would be a good thing to listen to, in these last moments before Light consumed all.

(Knightly Mother) Once upon a time, as many stories begin, there once lived a rava viera, a rabbit person, in the faraway land of Eorzea…

[banthacakes]

Please understand that I want everyone to love Hera Lindsay Bird as much as I love Hera Lindsay Bird. To that end, please find transcribed below a poem that makes me laugh out loud every time I read it:

Monica (you can read more poems by Hera Lindsay Bird, and also Hera Lindsay Bird's incredible advice column, at the Spinoff) (what do we call people who get into NZ because of the locked tomb? not me obviously, as an Australian it's not possible for me to 'get into' NZ, but like - kiwiboos? anyway -)

Monica

Monica

Monica

Monica

Monica Geller off popular sitcom F.R.I.E.N.D.S

Is one of the worst characters in the history of television

She makes me want to wash my hands with hand sanitizer

She makes me want to stand in an abandoned Ukrainian parking lot

And scream her name at a bunch of dead crows

Nobody liked her, except for Chandler

He married her, and that brings me to my second point

What kind of a name for a show was F.R.I.E.N.D.S

When two of them were related

And the rest of them just fucked for ten seasons?

Maybe their fucking was secondary to their friendship

Or they all had enough emotional equilibrium

To be able to maintain a constant state of mutual-respect

Despite the fucking

Or conspicuous nonfucking

That was occurring in their lives

But I have to say

It just doesn’t seem emotionally realistic

Especially considering that

They were not the most self-aware of people

And to be able to maintain a friendship

Through the various complications of heterosexual monogamy

Is enormously difficult

Especially when you take into consideration

What cunts they all were

I fell in love with a friend once

And we liked to congratulate each other what good friends we were

And how it was great that we could be such good friends, and still fuck

Until we stopped fucking

And then we weren’t such good friends anymore

I had a dream the other night

About this friend, and how we were walking

Through sunlight, many years ago

Dragged up from the vaults, like

Old military propaganda

You know the kind; young women leaving a factory

Arm in arm, while their fiancées

Are being handsomely shot to death in Prague

And even though this friend doesn’t love me anymore

And I don’t love them

At least, not in a romantic sense

The memory of what it had been like not to want

To strap concrete blocks to my head

And drown myself in a public fountain rather than spend another day

With them not talking to me

Came back, and I remembered the world

For a moment, as it had been

When we had just met, and love seemed possible

And neither of us resented the other one

And it made me sad

Not just because things ended badly

But more broadly

Because my sadness had less to do with the emotional specifics of that situation

And more to do with the transitory nature of romantic love

Which is becoming relevant to me once again

Because I just met someone new

And this dream reminded me

That, although I believe that there are ways that love can endure

It’s just that statistically, or

Based on personal experience

It’s unlikely that things are going to go well for long

There is such a narrow window

For happiness in this life

And if the past is anything to go by

Everything is about to go slowly but inevitably wrong

In a non-confrontational, but ultimately disappointing way

Monica

Monica

Monica

Monica

Monica Geller from popular sitcom F.R.I.E.N.D.S

Was the favourite character of the Uber driver

Who drove me home the other day

And is the main reason for this poem

Because I remember thinking Monica???

Maybe he doesn’t remember who she is

Because when I asked him specifically

Which character he liked best off F.R.I.E.N.D.S

He said ‘the woman’

And when I listed their names for him

Phoebe, Rachel and Monica

He said Monica

But he said it with a kind of question mark at the end

Like……. Monica?

Which led me to believe

Either, he was ashamed of liking her

Or he didn’t know who he was talking about

And had got her confused with one of the other

Less objectively terrible characters.

I think the driver meant to say Phoebe

Because Phoebe is everyone’s favourite

She once stabbed a police officer

She once gave birth to her brother’s triplets

She doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks about her

Monica gives a shit what everyone thinks about her

Monica’s parents didn’t treat her very well

And that’s probably where a lot of her underlying insecurities come from

That have since manifested themselves in controlling

And manipulative behaviour

It’s not that I think Monica is unredeemable

I can recognize that her personality has been shaped

By a desire to succeed

And that even when she did succeed, it was never enough

Particularly for her mother, who made her feel like her dreams were stupid

And a waste of time

And that kind of constant belittlement can do fucked up things to a person

So maybe, getting really upset when people don’t use coasters

Is an understandable, or at least comparatively sane response

To the psychic baggage

Of your parents never having believed in you

Often I look at the world

And I am dumbfounded that anyone can function at all

Given the kind of violence that

So many people have inherited from the past

But that’s still no excuse to throw

A dinner plate at your friends, during a quiet game of Pictionary

And even if that was an isolated incident

And she was able to move on from it

It still doesn’t make me want to watch her on TV

I am falling in love and I don’t know what to do about it

Throw me in a haunted wheelbarrow and set me on fire

And don’t even get me started on Ross

[saiacross]

Bonds Unveiled

Supernatural FanFic: 9,984: Words: Series: Reader-Insert

Chapter 8: Funny Days, Horrid Nights

This Work is part of an overarching story that can be read as a one-shot with little overlapping information from other chapters.

⬅ Chapter 7 Father 💜 Chapter 9 Hallucinations➡ Master List _______________________ Castiel and Y/N have a small heart-to-heart when the guys ask him to keep an eye on her. While Sam and Dean continue to argue about Dean's neglect of Y/N. Later. While Y/N finds herself plagued by nightmares while Dean finds himself at the mercy of a rather amusing cursed object. ________________________ Main Story: Y/N is no ordinary Huntress and when she runs into the Winchesters her life takes a turn. As time unfolds, they get to know each other, rely on one another, and demonstrate they care for one another in their own ways. Y/N's life begins to unravel into her history, present, and what lies ahead. She faces resurfacing fears she believed she'd escaped long ago, aided by the Winchester brothers. Their journey together is one of confronting old horrors and finding newfound strength.

In the bunker, the atmosphere is filled with a mix of determination and exhaustion. Sam and Dean sit at the large table in the library, surrounded by piles of books, journals, and papers. Their eyes are fixed on the pages as they delve deep into their research, searching for any information that could provide answers to their ongoing cases.

Y/N occasionally joins Sam and Dean to offer her assistance. However, there is a sense of preoccupation in her demeanor, as if her mind is elsewhere despite her physical presence.

Today the bunker's library is filled with the sound of hushed voices filling the air as Sam, Dean, and Castiel engage in a deep conversation. They lean over a table covered in books, maps, and notes, their expressions reflecting a mixture of concentration and concern.

As they exchange ideas and theories, Y/N walks past the library entrance, catching Dean’s attention. Her footsteps were slightly heavy as if weighed down by something. She carries a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, its weight evident in her movements.

“Hey Y/N, where ya heading?” Dean would ask with a questionable look as he eyes her bag.

Sam and Castiel turn their attention to the library entrance where Y/N paused and turns to face them, exhaustion evident in her eyes.

“It’s Monday. I have my kickboxing class on Mondays.” Y/N was reminded the guys.

Dean and Sam exchange a quick look, their concern evident in their expressions. Sam stands from his seat and walks over to Y/N, his voice filled with genuine worry.

“Y/N, have you been getting any sleep since we got back?”

There's a brief moment of silence as Y/N hesitates, her gaze dropping to the floor. She then lets out a heavy sigh, her fatigue evident.

“Honestly, not much. Every time I close my eyes, it’s nothing but nightmares.”

“Nightmares? About what?” Dean asked, now standing next to Sam.

“About everything that happened... my mom, those demons, being dragged off by the chain..” Y/N paused for a moment before slightly looking up at Dean. “You dying.. It's like I can't escape it, even in my sleep.”

Dean visibly stiffens after hearing the last nightmare.

“Maybe you should skip your kickboxing class today, Y/N. It might be good to take a break and…” Before Sam can finish his sentence, Y/N shakes her head.

“No, Sam. I want to go to class. It's my way of trying to clear my mind, to find some normalcy. That's why I started going in the first place, remember? I will be fine.”

Sam nods, understanding.

Y/N offers a faint smile, appreciating Sam's support. She waves goodbye to everyone and heads out of the bunker, her gym bag slung over her shoulder.

Dean's frustration boils over as Y/N leaves on her own, and he turns to Sam, his voice filled with anger.

“Are we just gonna let her walk out of here on her own again?” Dean was following Sam back to the table while speaking.

“Dean, she's just going to the community center in town, not on a dangerous hunt.” Sam looks at Dean, a hint of confusion in his expression, trying to reason with his brother.

“Well, I still don’t like it. And those nightmares?”

“Alright, fine Dean.” Sam sighs, realizing the depth of Dean's worry, and reluctantly concedes. Sam looks to Castiel and Dean’s eyes follow; silently conveying their request for him to watch over Y/N. Castiel nods his head in agreement.

“I will keep an eye on her.” The sounds of fluttering wings fill the room as Castiel leaves.

“Happy now?” Sam looks at Dean, seeking validation.

Dean looks to Sam, sensing smugness from his younger brother.

“No.” Dean would say just out of spite while mocking Sam. Sam shoots a look at Dean, a look that tells him he is being childish.

 “I'm not being childish, Sam. I just think we need to be more cautious.”

Sam, catching onto Dean's attempt at diversion, hits back with a pointed question.

“So, have you talked things out with her yet?”

The room falls silent as Dean chooses not to answer. Sam's jovial tone quickly turns serious as he presses for a response.

“Dean, are you serious? You can't just avoid this conversation.”

Dean continues to evade the question, further frustrating Sam. Sam's frustration boils over, and he raises his voice in exasperation.

“You're being stubborn and difficult, Dean! You need to address this!” Sam, frustration evident in his voice, confronts Dean about his inconsistent behavior towards Y/N. He insists that Dean must stop bouncing back and forth. It's a pattern that needs to end.

“Dean, you have to stop this back-and-forth. One minute you're worried about her, and the next you're avoiding her. It's not fair to Y/N, and it's not fair to us either.”

“Sam you need to stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. This is something I have to figure out on my own so stop meddling” Dean, feeling defensive, raises his voice in response.

But Sam is not easily deterred and speaks with a hint of doubt in his voice.

“Will you really figure it out, Dean? Or will you just keep bottling it up until the next time you explode on her? It's not healthy for any of us.”

An angry silence envelops the room as the brothers lock eyes, their conflicting emotions and unresolved issues laid bare between them. The tension is palpable, both of them unwilling to back down as they stare each other down, waiting for someone to make the next move.

Y/N walks along the nearby path, the gentle breeze caressing her slightly damp skin and tousling her hair. The sun is beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow over the surroundings. She can hear the distant chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves as she strolls.

Finding a bench along her path, Y/N decides to take a moment to catch her breath and rest her tired muscles. She sits down, feeling the coolness of the wooden bench against the back of her legs. With a contented sigh, she stretches her arms upwards, feeling the satisfying stretch in her shoulders and back.

Y/N leans forward, stretching her legs out in front of her, flexing her toes, and releasing the tension in her calves. She closes her eyes, relishing the tranquility of the moment and the feeling of her body unwinding.

“You know, Castiel, I'm surprised you've stuck around for so long this time. Usually, you’ve taken off by now.” Y/N speaks aloud as she watches the grass sway in the breeze.

“You knew I was watching?” Castiel asked after appearing on the bench next to her.

“Of course, I did.” Y/N paused for a moment as she thought. “I’m not sure how or why but I can always scene when you are around and it's hard to ignore an angel's presence. Plus, I had a feeling Dean and Sam asked you to keep an eye on me.”

Castiel nodded listening to her explanation. “Yes, they did. They were worried about you, Y/N. They wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“I'm not upset about it, Cass. In fact, lately, it's been nice knowing that someone else is looking out for me. It's comforting.” Y/N would admit as she rocked sideways and playfully bumped into his arm. “Thank you.”

“They care about you deeply, Y/N. You are a part of their family, and they will always do whatever they can to protect you.” Castiel.

“Castiel, you're a part of this family too, you know. You've been around a lot longer than I have.” Y/N reassures him.

Castiel looks to Y/N with concern about her words but sees the tiredness of her body first. “Y/N, I can help you heal. If you would like.”

“Thank you, Cass, but it's alright. I'll be fine. I don't want you to waste your energy on this. It will pass in time.” Y/N kindly declines.

There is a quiet moment between them as Castiel continues to watch Y/N, something that she has become used to.

“Why don't you talk to Sam and Dean about what's troubling you? They would want to help.” Castiel would offer.

“Trust me, Cass, I see the way Dean looks at me these days. I don't want to add any more fuel to that fire.” Y/N chuckled at the thought.

“I don't understand. What do you mean? Is there a problem between you and Dean?” Castiel is once again confused, feeling as though he has missed something.

“It's nothing to worry about, Cass. Hey, we should head back before Sam starts to worry.” Y/N places her hand on his knee as she hoists herself up from her seat.

As they stand from the bench Castiel looks at her with lingering concern. Despite Y/N's attempt to brush off the subject, Castiel can sense that there's something deeper bothering her, something she's chosen not to share.

“Y/N, if you need someone… else, to talk to, I'm here as well.” Castiel would offer.

“Thank you.” Y/N would smile as she led the way back to the bunker.

Y/N and Castiel entered the Bunker to find Sam and Dean bustling about, gathering their bags and gear. Y/N observed their movements with curiosity, sensing a sense of urgency in the air.

“Hey guys, what's going on?” Y/N would ask as she watched the guys.

“We got a hit. Pack up, we're moving out in 10.” Dean spouted as he walked past Y/N, clearly focused on the task at hand.

Sam shaking his head approached Y/N much more calmly.

“We think we might have found a case in Vermont.”

“Vermont? That's quite a journey.” Y/N was surprised.

Sam nodded his head. “If you're not up for it, Y/N, you can stay here. It's up to you.”

“No, I want to go. I'll get ready.” Y/N's response surprised Sam, but he could see the determination in her eyes. He knew she was eager to prove herself.

“Alright then.” He gave her a smile.

Dean, Sam, and Y/N embarked on their long journey to Springfield, Vermont in the familiar comfort of the Impala. The sound of the engine hummed in the background as they traversed the miles ahead. Y/N, seated in the back, scooted forward in her seat and leaned her arms across the back of the front seat.

“So, what's the case we're heading to?” Y/N would ask as she laid her chin on her folded hands.

Sam, hearing Y/N’s voice, looks back at Y/N momentarily.

“Oh. So get this. We're heading to the Hartness House Inn in Springfield, Vermont. It used to be the estate of Mr. James Hartness back in 1904. He was the owner of a local machine factory and later became Governor of Vermont. The house has been recently renovated into a small inn.”

“And apparently, there have been reports of strange occurrences happening to the people who stay there, even after they leave. Classic haunted inn stuff.” Dean nodded as he spoke, confident in his assessment.

“Haunted inn, huh? Sounds intriguing. Any specific incidents?"

“Yeah, there have been reports of guests experiencing unexplained phenomena, like strange noises, objects moving on their own, and even sightings of apparitions. Normal Ghost stuff right? But it's like the haunting lingers even after they've left the place.” Sam nods.

“If this is just a regular salt and burn case, then the guests shouldn't be experiencing these paranormal phenomena once they leave the inn. It doesn't make sense, especially if multiple people are affected at once..” Y/N pointed out with confusion.

Y/N's logical observation caught the attention of both Sam and Dean, causing them to pause and consider her point.

“She’s right. It's not typical for haunting experiences to persist beyond the haunted location. There must be something more to it.” Sam would admit.

“Alright, then we'll have to dig deeper and investigate once we arrive at the inn. There's more going on here than meets the eye.” Dean would sigh seeing that this wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.

A moment of contemplative silence filled the car as they absorbed the implications of the case. Y/N broke the silence with a question that drew a shared look of amusement from Sam and Dean.

“So, are we planning to book rooms at the haunted inn we're investigating?

Dean and Sam exchanged glances, their expressions clearly indicating their skepticism.

“No!” The two brothers said in unison.

“We've had our fair share of haunted accommodations. We're not looking to add more to the list.” Dean smirked.

“We'll find another place nearby to stay. Let the guests deal with the ghostly shenanigans while we get to the bottom of it.” Sam chuckled.

Y/N joined in the laughter, understanding their reasoning. The Winchester brothers had learned the hard way that a good night's sleep was hard to come by in haunted locations.

The Impala sliced through the darkness of the night, its headlights cutting through the thick veil of black. Inside the car, Dean focused on the road ahead while Sam dozed off in the passenger seat, his head leaning against the window. In the back seat, Y/N lay sprawled out on her back, passed out as well.

As the radio played softly in the background, the tranquility of the night was shattered by sudden restlessness in Y/N's sleep. Her body twitched and jerked, a sign of a nightmare intruding upon her subconscious. With a gasp, her eyes flew open, wide with fear, and her hand shot out, grasping onto the front seat for stability.

Struggling to catch her breath, Y/N's senses gradually returned, and she realized that she had just woken up from a terrifying dream. She slowly released her grip on the seat, her trembling hand falling back to her side.

“oh fuck.” Y/N would whisper to herself as she ran her fingers through her hair and over her face, trying to collect herself.

Dean, sensing the disturbance in the back seat, glanced over his shoulder, concerned. He recognized the signs of a nightmare as he gave her a moment to compose herself.

"Hey, you alright back there?" Dean asked in a soft tone, not wanting to wake Sam.

“Yeah, just... um, yeah I’m fine..” Y/N's voice carried a hint of fatigue as she assured Dean,. But deep down, she knew that her statement was more for his sake than her own. Sitting up from her previously laid-back position, she stretched her stiff muscles, feeling the weight of sleeplessness settle upon her.

“How about I drive and you can get some sleep?” Y/N would offer Dean.

"Thanks, but I don't think I want you falling asleep at the wheel."Concern crept into Dean's response, his attempt at politeness mingling with a playful remark.

“Alright. But not like I will be getting any more sleep tonight though.” Y/N sank back into her seat, her initial offer rebuffed, and she couldn't hide the disappointment in her voice.

Dean glanced at Y/N through the rearview mirror, a mix of understanding and empathy shining in his eyes. He knew all too well the lingering effects that nightmares could have on a person's ability to rest. However, he chose to remain silent, allowing the weight of their unspoken conversation to hang in the air.

The Impala came to a halt in front of the eerie Hartness House Inn. Dean cut the engine, and one by one, Sam, Y/N, and himself stepped out of the car. Their eyes scanned the area, taking in the surroundings as they approached the front porch. Sam reached out for the door knob though with a creak the door swung open before he would reach it; revealing a mild-aged man named Mr. Johnson standing on the other side. His face lit up with excitement at the sight of the group.

“Oh hell! Are you a guest looking for a room?” Mr. Johnson would ask. “Or maybe two rooms?” He would look at Y/N with a smile.

Caught off guard by Mr. Johnson's enthusiasm, Sam and Dean stumbled over their words, struggling to convey that they had no intention of staying at the inn. Y/N, rolling her eyes at their awkwardness, stepped forward and took charge of the situation.

“Hello, my friends and I heard about the creepy stuff going on here at the Inn and well that is just kind of our thing. We were hoping you would mind if we looked around? Maybe get a tour?”

Mr. Johnson's face beamed with excitement as he gladly agreed to let the group explore and even offered to give them a personal tour. Dean and Sam exchanged surprised glances, hardly believing that what Y/N said actually worked.

As Mr. Johnson welcomed them inside, leading the way through the inn's corridors, Dean, Sam, and Y/N followed closely behind, their curiosity piqued. Mr. Johnson couldn't contain his enthusiasm, eager to share the ghost stories and eerie tales that had surrounded the inn.

It was obvious that Mr. Johnson knew nothing of the real world of supernatural beings but they played along, engaging Mr. Johnson in conversation and asking about the recent troubles experienced by the inn's patrons. Mr. Johnson caught up in his own fascination, readily shared the strange occurrences and paranormal phenomena that had plagued the guests.

Y/N, Dean, and Sam listened intently, absorbing every detail, while subtly assessing the situation for any signs of genuine supernatural activity. They asked questions, drawing Mr. Johnson further into the stories and gradually uncovering more information that could possibly help them. Mr. Johnson confessed that although he found the mysterious happenings fascinating, they were beginning to take a toll on his business

.The tour continued, with Mr. Johnson leading the group to different areas of the inn, sharing anecdotes and legends associated with each spot. As they walked, Sam, Dean, and Y/N remained vigilant, keenly observing their surroundings for any signs of the paranormal.

The group stood at the end of the tour, expressing their gratitude to Mr. Johnson for his hospitality and the intriguing stories he had shared.

“Oh Mr. Johnson, how late is your door open? I think we might want to come back tonight and see if we can catch a ghost sighting.” Y/N asked with a smile, excitement played in her voice.

Mr. Johnson chuckled warmly, clearly delighted by the group's enthusiasm. He assured them that his doors were always open to travelers seeking unique experiences, and he welcomed their interest in exploring the inn after dark. However, he cautioned them to be mindful of the ongoing renovations in the south wing, warning them about weak floors that required caution.

Appreciating Mr. Johnson's kindness and helpfulness, the group thanked him once again for the information and hospitality. They exchanged farewells, with Mr. Johnson expressing his excitement at the prospect of their return.

The group returned to the familiar comfort of the Impala, settling into their respective seats. Sam and Dean both turned their attention to Y/N, curiosity evident in their expressions. Sam broke the silence, asking Y/N how she knew that their plan would work. Y/N leaned back against the seat, a small smile playing on her lips as she shared her observation.

"Well," she began, "I noticed a pentagram tattoo on Mr. Johnson's forearm. It wasn't drawn correctly, so I figured he was either a genuine practitioner with just really bad ink or a novice. Either way would have worked out for us.”

Dean, impressed by Y/N's astuteness, turned back to face the front of the car.

"Nice catch." he commended, his voice filled with admiration. He started the engine, ready to hit the road once again. Y/N closed her eyes as she laid her head back on the seat. Sam turned his attention to the front as well.

"Alright, let's find some food, and we can go over what we know," he suggested, his tone reflecting the hunger shared by the entire group.

Sam, Dean, and Y/N found themselves seated in a cozy diner, the aroma of freshly cooked food filling the air. The table before them showcased their individual preferences in cuisine. Dean's plate was piled high with a mountain of indulgence, a true feast for the eyes. Sam, on the other hand, had opted for a healthier choice—a salad and his trusty laptop open in front of him. Y/N enjoyed a classic burger and a side of golden fries.

As Sam delved into the details of their investigation, he glanced at Dean, whose mouth was currently occupied with a massive bite of food. Dean's eyes met Sam and Y/N’s questioning gaze, and with a practiced swallow, he asked, "What?"

Sam couldn't help but shake his head, bemused by Dean's insatiable appetite and his ability to consume such quantities without a trace of guilt. Returning his attention to his laptop, Sam resumed his explanation of the strange occurrences and the history of the building they were investigating. Y/N listened attentively, occasionally taking a bite of her burger and glancing at Dean with a mixture of curiosity and slight disgust, mirroring the expressions shared by many who witnessed Dean's voracious appetite.

“So, according to the research I found, the original owner, Mr. Hartness, was an inventor. He built a complex system of underground tunnels beneath the house for his work. It included a library, workshop, study, lounge, and even a bathroom.”Sam became more impressed the more he read.

“Alright, so we're dealing with an inventor ghost. How is this different from your usual ghost haunting?” Dean asked with his mouth still half full.

“Well, people are still experiencing strange things even after they leave the Inn. It's not confined to the property. So it CAN’T be a ghost.” Y/N would remind Dean.

“Maybe that's just this ghost's "thing." We've seen some pretty bizarre stuff.” Dean was pretty evident in his ghost theory.

“ Alright, guys, I think we need more information before we proceed. So Dean, Y/N, head to the Inn tonight and check the place out. I'm going to stay in town and do some more digging.”

Dean stops chewing and looks at Sam with a mix of annoyance and resignation, he knows what he just did.

Sam just smirks back at his brother, confirming Dean’s internal thoughts.

Y/N sighs wondering why she ended up in the middle of this.

The evening had settled in, casting a dim light over the surroundings as Dean and Y/N stood outside the Inn. Y/N remarked, "Well, this isn't the creepiest house we've ever explored at night."

Dean glanced at her, his face serious. "Yeah, but we still need to be careful. We don't know what we're dealing with yet."

With that, Dean retrieved his trusty flashlight from his pocket and stepped forward, Y/N following closely behind. They entered the grand foyer of the Inn, their footsteps echoing in the silence. As they looked around, they noticed the absence of any staff at the reception desk.

Y/N commented, "Maybe they don't keep 24-hour staff."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Could be. Let's continue exploring and see if anything seems out of the ordinary."

Together, they ventured further into the building, their eyes scanning every corner, searching for any signs of unusual activity.

Dean and Y/N cautiously made their way down the dimly lit hallway, their footsteps echoing against the walls. As they rounded a corner, their eyes fell upon a doorway shrouded with caution tape. Dean, ever fearless, ducked under the tape and entered the room, his flashlight casting a beam of light across the area.

Y/N followed closely behind, her voice filled with caution. "This must be the south wing that Mr. Johnson mentioned. He did warn us about the unfinished floors."

Just as Y/N finished her sentence, a loud creak reverberated through the air, originating from beneath their feet. Both Dean and Y/N froze their senses on high alert. Before they could react, the floor beneath Dean gave way, causing him to plummet downwards.

With a gasp of shock, Y/N immediately knelt down at the edge of the hole, her heart pounding in her chest. She called out Dean's name, her voice filled with concern and urgency, hoping for a response.

"Dean! Are you okay?!" she yelled, her voice echoing through the emptiness.

Amidst the darkness, Dean coughed and groaned, his voice reaching Y/N's ears. "Yeah, I'm okay... more or less."

Y/N quickly shone her flashlight into the gaping hole, desperately trying to gauge the depth of Dean's fall. She called out to him, her voice filled with concern. "Dean, can you climb back up?"

Dean, having managed to regain his footing, looked up towards the opening and assessed the situation. He realized that the height was too great for him to climb back up. With a hint of frustration in his voice, he yelled back, "No chance, Y/N. It's not happening."

Dean shifted his focus to his immediate surroundings, his flashlight illuminating the underground workshop that he had unexpectedly found himself in. He raised his voice, addressing Y/N above, "I think I fell into the underground workshop Sam mentioned. There must be a way back up."

Y/N nodded in understanding, her voice filled with determination. "There has to be a door or something. This place is too big to wander aimlessly. I'll try to find a staff member or call Mr. Johnson for help."

Dean gave her a nod of agreement, his eyes scanning the workshop's contents illuminated by his flashlight. "Alright, hurry back. I'll keep looking around down here."

As Y/N hurried off in search of assistance, Dean continued his exploration, intrigued by the various tools and machinery that surrounded him in the underground workshop. He knew that finding a way back to safety was their top priority, but he couldn't help but be captivated by the eerie ambiance of the hidden space he now found himself in.

Dean's heart raced as he heard a sound echoing through the darkness of the underground workshop. He quickly spun on his heels, his flashlight cutting through the shadows as he instinctively drew his pistol. With each step forward, his eyes scanned the area for any sign of movement.

"Show yourself!" Dean's voice echoed through the vast workshop, his grip tightening on the handle of his gun. He strained to catch any sound, his heightened focus leading him toward the source.

Dean's heart raced as he heard a sound echoing through the darkness of the underground workshop. He quickly spun on his heels, his flashlight cutting through the shadows as he instinctively drew his pistol. With each step forward, Dean's senses heightened, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of movement.

"Show yourself!" Dean's voice echoed through the vast workshop, his grip tightening on the handle of his gun. He strained to catch any sound, his heightened focus leading him toward the source.

As he ventured further, Dean's ears picked up the sound again, drawing his attention to a nearby workbench. He directed his flashlight beam towards it, revealing a small, eerie toy clown resting on the surface. A shiver ran down Dean's spine, his distaste evident on his face.

Shining his light further up the wall behind the toy clown, Dean discovered a line of them, their eerie smiles and haunting eyes staring back at him. Dean's lips curved into a wry smile, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and unease. "Well, isn't this a freaky fun house?"

The sound of a door opening behind him made Dean whirl around, his grip on the flashlight tightening. Light flooded the room as the door swung open, revealing Y/N standing at the top of a set of stairs. Relief washed over Dean's face as he recognized her voice calling out to him.

“Finally," Dean exclaimed, a mixture of frustration and relief in his tone. He made his way towards the illuminated steps, eager to leave the eerie underground workshop behind.

As Dean and Y/N made their way towards the exit of the inn, Y/N couldn't help but inquire about Dean's findings in the underground workshop.

"So, did you find anything interesting down there?" Y/N asked, her curiosity evident in her voice.

Dean let out a small chuckle as he replied, "Just a bunch of toys. Looks like the guy was really into making them."

Y/N let out a sigh of disappointment. "Guess we didn't find anything useful then," she remarked, her tone filled with frustration.

Dean nodded in agreement, his brows furrowed. "Yeah, seems like there might not be anything here after all," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of doubt.

As they walked down the steps of the front porch, their conversation was abruptly interrupted when Dean suddenly lost his footing, his feet kicking out from under him. Y/N's eyes widened in alarm as she quickly reached out to grab his arm and help him.

"Dean, are you alright?" Y/N asked, concern lacing her voice.

Angrily, Dean yelled in response, "No, I'm not alright! What the hell just happened?"

Y/N and Dean looked down and noticed a banana peel lying on the steps. Their eyes met in a moment of confusion and realization. It was a classic, comical slip on a banana peel.

Without saying a word, Y/N assisted Dean in getting back on his feet, their expressions a mix of annoyance and amusement. They exchanged a knowing glance before continuing their way back to their motel room.

As they walked, Y/N couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, at least we found something unexpected," she remarked, her voice laced with amusement.

"Yeah, who knew the place would have its own sense of humor?" he quipped, the frustration from his fall filled his voice.

As Dean and Y/N arrived back at the motel where they were staying, they found their rooms conveniently located next to each other. Dean approached his door, but before he could enter, he noticed that Y/N had headed towards her own room. He turned to face her, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"You're not gonna come in?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N shook her head tiredly and replied, "Nah, I'm just gonna try and get some sleep. I'm exhausted. You guys can catch me up in the morning."

Dean shrugged nonchalantly, understanding her need for rest. "Alright," he said, giving her a small nod.

They each entered their respective rooms, closing the doors behind them.

Dean and Sam sleep peacefully in their shared motel room, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm light across the room. The sound of their steady breathing fills the air, creating a sense of calm in the dimly lit space.

Dean lies sprawled across his bed, one arm tucked beneath his pillow, while Sam sleeps on his side. The room is quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional distant sound of passing cars.

Suddenly, the stillness is broken by a terrifying scream, causing both brothers to stir. Dean's eyes flutter open, his hunter instincts immediately kicking in. He glances over at Sam, who meets his eyes.

“Y/N!” Sam whispers in a panic,

“Move!” Dean yelled urgently.

The sound of pounding footsteps fills the air as Dean and Sam race for their door and toward Y/N's room. Adrenaline courses through their veins, their hunter instincts on high alert. They reach Y/N's door and kick it open, guns raised and ready to face whatever threat might be inside.

The room is dimly lit, and their eyes quickly scan every corner for any sign of danger. Y/N is sitting up in bed, her body trembling, sweat glistening on her forehead, and her hands gripping the sheets of her bed. Y/N’s eyes are wide with fear, staring at an unseen horror standing before her.

“Y/N! Are you alright?” Sam rushes to Y/N's side, kneeling down next to her bed. His voice is filled with urgency and compassion.

Dean quickly scans the room, his eyes searching for any signs of danger. But all he sees is Y/N, visibly shaken, her eyes wide with fear. Dean lowers his weapon, his concern evident on his face as he wakes his brother to try to calm Y/N.

“Y/N, hey it's okay! You’re alright.” Sam cups Y/N’s cheek to make her look at him.

“I…. I saw.. It was…” Y/N couldn’t find her words as her mind raced to catch up with everything else going on around it.

“Easy, Y/N. Take deep breaths.” Dean closed the door to the room after making sure no one was around.

“Y/N, hey just look at me. It was just a dream. You're in the motel room.” Sam’s voice was calm as he tried to soothe her. Y/N’s breathing slowly returns to normal as her eyes finally begin to focus on Sam and she is able to collect herself.  

“I’m.. I’m sorry.” Her eyes drifted to the bed between her and Sam. “It um.. I just..”

“We know, another nightmare.” Dean would finish your thought for you as he sat on the edge of your bed, leaning forward so his forearms rested on his knees, he ran a hand through his hair. “You scared the hell out of us. Why didn't you tell us these were the kind of nightmares you were having?” Dean was frustrated.

Y/N’s gaze fixed on her trembling hands. She struggled to find the right words to explain herself.

“Why didn’t you tell us they were this bad?” Sam reworded his brother’s question more delicately.

“They didn’t start off like this, they have been getting worse,” Y/N admitted, fear still in her voice.

Sam's expression softened with empathy as he took her hand in his to comfort her. Dean's concern deepened as he glanced over to Y/N from where he sat.

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, the weight of Y/N's nightmares shared among the trio.

Sam, Dean, and Y/N sat in their usual booth at the diner the next morning, a mixture of fatigue and determination evident on their faces. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as they gathered to discuss their findings. Sam and Dean had plates of breakfast in front of them, while Y/N opted for a simple cup of black coffee.

"So, you guys really didn't find anything at the Inn last night?"

Dean, chewing on a bite of his pancakes, shook his head. "Nope, it was a dead end. Just a bunch of creepy toys in the workshop. No signs of any ghost activity or otherwise."

Y/N, leaning on her elbow with her head in her hand, exhaustion filled her eyes. "Maybe we should talk to the townspeople.”

Dean, reaching for the salt shaker, casually sprinkled some onto his hash browns before giving them a mix. However, as he took a bite, his expression shifted from nonchalant to pure horror. He immediately spat out the food into his napkin, his face contorting in disgust.

Sam and Y/N exchanged concerned glances as Dean frantically wiped his tongue with his napkin, trying to rid himself of the overpowering taste.

"Are you okay, Dean? What's wrong?" Sam would ask a little amused.

Dean, still recovering from the unexpected assault on his taste buds, managed to compose himself. Dean picked up the container that he grabbed and showed that it was clearly marked salt.

“It’s sugar.” Dean would admit with frustration.

Sam couldn't help but suppress a chuckle at the discovery, finding amusement in his brother's reaction.

"Real funny. Just wait until I find out who did this. They're gonna pay. You don’t mess with a man’s food!" Dean scowled.

Dean, frustrated with the mishap of the salt and sugar, threw his napkin onto the table and declared they were done, urging the others to leave the diner. He tossed some money onto the table to cover the bill, ready to make a swift exit. However, fate had other plans.

As Dean turned to leave, a sudden collision occurred between him and a waitress carrying a tray. The clash caused the pie that the waitress had been holding on the tray to fly through the air, landing directly on Dean's face, and leaving him completely covered in whipped cream. The room fell into a momentary silence as everyone processed what had just happened.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" The waitress gasped in horror at the unintentional dessert mishap, while Y/N watched in shock, her hand instinctively covering her mouth. Sam found himself torn between bursting into laughter and trying to compose himself.

Dean, still standing there with whipped cream dripping down his face, seemed surprisingly unperturbed. He calmly licked his lips, savoring the sweetness of the cream.

"Not gonna lie, it's actually pretty tasty.”

The unexpected humor of the situation caused Sam to finally burst into laughter, unable to contain himself any longer. Y/N couldn't help but crack a smile, amused by the absurdity of the moment. The waitress, embarrassed by the accident, quickly tried to apologize and clean up the mess.

Sam, Dean, and Y/N returned to their motel room, ready to regroup and continue their discussion about the case. Dean headed straight for the bathroom to clean up, while Sam settled at the table with his laptop. Y/N, feeling a bit exhausted, decided to lie down on Sam's bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"You know, maybe we're looking at this the wrong way. Maybe it's not a ghost haunting the inn. What if Mr. Johnson is a witch, hexing people?"

Y/N let out a groan, shaking her head. "I don't know, Sam. I didn't smell anything in the house or on the man that was like that. And trust me, I've had my fair share of witches, those ingredients have a potent smell to them."

Dean's voice boomed from the bathroom, still eager to contribute to the ongoing conversation in the other room.

"Hey, what about those fairy things? They put up quite the fight last time!"

Y/N turned to Sam with a raised eyebrow, clearly intrigued and a little skeptical about the mention of fairies. Sam chuckled and proceeded to recount the story of the last encounter they had with a mischievous and formidable fairy creature.

Before Sam could finish his explanation, a sudden exclamation echoed from the bathroom, startling both Sam and Y/N.

"Son of a bitch!"

Sam's head snapped toward the bathroom door, concern etching his features, while Y/N swiftly sat up on the bed, her eyes focused on the bathroom doorway.

Sam called out to Dean, his voice filled with curiosity.

"You good in there, Dean?"

Dean emerged from the bathroom, his clean clothes now drenched and water dripping from his face onto his fresh shirt. Y/N and Sam looked at him, their expressions a mix of confusion and curiosity.

Dean grabbed a towel, frustratedly wiping his face and drying off.

"Damn sink faucet just sprayed me with water!”

Sam and Y/N exchanged glances, Sam suppressing his grin as he tried to maintain a serious demeanor. Dean grumbled under his breath.

Y/N narrowed her eyes, looking intently at Dean.

“What exactly happened to you in that basement?” She asked him.

“What do you mean?”Dean looked up at her with a hint of confusion, not fully grasping her point.

"We went to the Inn together, but you're the only one experiencing this string of bad luck. The banana peel, the salt and sugar mix-up, the pie to the face, and now the faucet spraying you. It's like something is targeting you specifically." Y/N laid out the evidence, connecting the dots of Dean's unfortunate events.

Sam's brow furrowed as he listened to Y/N's observation, trying to make sense of the situation as well. Dean took a moment to gather his thoughts and began to explain his exploration of the basement.

"Well, when I fell through the floor, I ended up in the basement. I was trying to find a way out, but all I found were a bunch of clown toys."

Sam's eyes widened, his mind connecting the dots with Y/N's earlier mention of events.

"Wait, did you say 'clown' toys?" Sam couldn't help but smile and chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. “Dean, think about it. The banana peel, the pie to the face, switching things around and spraying you in the face with water, those are all classic clown pranks.”

Dean looked at Sam with a mix of doubt and irritation. "So, you think I'm being messed with by some invisible clown?”

There was a moment of silence in the room as the group contemplated the possibility of an invisible clown haunting the Inn. Sam broke the silence, proposing an alternative explanation.

"Or maybe it's a cursed object. Those clown toys you found in the basement could be it. The original owner had obviously had a fascination with them and even had an underground workshop for them. Perhaps the renovations disturbed something, activating a curse or a protective mechanism that's affecting people who go there."

“So the owner created a way to protect his beloved work even after his passing?" Y/N questioned trying to make sense of it.

"Great, so I'm cursed by a clown now.” Dean huffed and shook his head in disbelief.

“So how do we take care of a cursed item?” Y/N asked.

“Well, cursed items need to be sealed in a box with runs that hold the black magic inside. I actually think we have one in the trunk.” Sam would explain.

"Alright then, let's get this done.” Y/N stood up from the edge of the bed, a determined look in her eyes.

With purposeful strides, Y/N made her way toward the door, ready to retrieve the box from the trunk. However, she soon realized that neither Sam nor Dean were following her. She turned around, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"Guys, what's the holdup?”

Sam hesitated, his eyes shifting between Y/N and Dean. He finally spoke up, a tinge of worry in his voice.

"Y/N, the thing is... Dean is the one who's cursed, so it might be safer if he stays behind to keep an eye on things." Dean nodded, adding to Sam's explanation.

"Yeah, alright. And what’s up with you?" Y/N would look to Sam.

Y/N's gaze shifted between Sam and Dean as she awaited an explanation. Sam seemed slightly uncomfortable, struggling to find the right words. Y/N raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued.

“Well, um, the thing is... I have this…”

“Sammy’s scared of clowns.” Dean blurted out.

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, her lips parted slightly; her expression a mix of amusement and disbelief.

"You're scared of clowns? Seriously, Sam?"

 "Well, not all clowns, you know. It's just... a long story." Sam tried to cover his embarrassment.

Y/N's sigh was audible as she glanced at Dean and Sam, who tried to maintain their poker faces.

 "So, the mighty Winchesters are going to send a girl to put a toy clown into a box because it's just too much for them?"

"Hey, it's not like that, Y/N. We're just trying to be strategic here." Dean’s voice was filled with hurt.

"Yeah, we're just... uh... covering all angles." Sam backed him up.

"Alright, boys. Whatever you say. I'm heading back to the Inn to take care of this. Wish me luck. “ Y/N chuckled, shaking her head.

Dean and Sam tried to hide their sheepish grins as Y/N headed out of the motel room to pick up the box with the runes from the trunk.

"You got this, Y/N. We'll be right here if you need anything." Dean would holler after her.

Dean and Sam watched her go, and once the door closed behind her, they exchanged glances.

“She’s got this,” Dean said, as though he was trying to make himself feel better about the situation.

“Yeah, for sure.” Sam would nod as he turned back to his computer trying to hide his guilt.

The boys settled back into the room, waiting for Y/N's return. Time passed slowly, and they tried to keep busy, but the tension in the room was palpable. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they heard the door open, and Y/N walked in, carrying the box.

“She's been gone for quite a while now. What's taking her so long?" Dean had glanced up at the clock.

"Don't know. Try calling her?" Sam would suggest.

“Nah, she probably wouldn’t answer for me anyway. You try calling her.” Dean tossed the responsibility back to Sam.

"I thought about it, but she might be in the middle of dealing with that cursed toy. It could be a bad idea to interrupt her." Sam nonchalantly spoke.

“You don’t think that damn clown is giving her a hard time, do ya?" Dean’s voice had suddenly changed to slightly worried as he looked at Sam.

Sam and Dean exchange glances, realizing what kind of issues they have had before with cursed objects. and in unison, they say:

“Shit!” They both say in unison as they quickly grab their coats, Sam closing his laptop, and Dean grabbing the keys. Just as they are about to head out the door, Y/N walks in, carrying the sealed box.

"Hey, what's going on? Where you guys headed?" Y/N asked confused as she looked between the two. Sam and Dean paused, both exhaling a deep breath as they tried to calm themselves.

“Well you know, Sammy here was worried about you. You were gone for a while, and thought maybe that cursed clown was giving you a hard time." Dean would explain as he motioned to Sam as his name came from his mouth.

"I appreciate the concern, but I took care of it. The little devil is sealed away now." Y/N patted the box as she spoke.

“Great, that’s really great.” These were the only words Sam could come up with as he turned to put his coat down and take his seat once again.

“So um I guess we just wait now. See if that did the trick and my luck turns around.” Dean suggests.

"I'll just leave this here then.” Y/N sat the box down on the table that Sam had been sitting at.

Sam eyes the box with a mix of uncertainty and discomfort but doesn’t say anything.

“Well let’s just hope it doesn’t burst out and cover the room in whipped cream or something.” Dean would half-heartily laugh at his own joke. Sam on the other had looked at his brother, his eyes asking Dean why he would say that. Dean tried to suppress his grin as he cleared his throat and apologized.

They all settle back into their usual spots for the evening, trying to act normal while secretly keeping an eye on the box. Y/N takes a seat on the bed, and Sam returns to his laptop, pretending to be engrossed in research; but he can't help but steal glances at the box. Dean tries to relax on the other bed.

The day progresses into the evening as the sun sets. The motel room is dimly lit, and the golden hues of the setting sun filter through the curtains, casting a warm glow in the room. Sam is seated at the small table, typing away on his laptop, while Dean is sprawled out on one of the beds, already fast asleep, snoring softly. Y/N is sitting on the other bed, engrossed in a book.

Sam, closing his laptop for the night, stretches before he turns to face the room and clears his throat, drawing Y/N's attention away from her book.

 "Hey, Y/N, shouldn't you be heading to bed? It's getting late."

"Oh, right, sorry. I guess you want your bed back." Y/N nods and slides off the bed, setting the book down on the table.

"Alright then. Night, Sam."

"Goodnight, Y/N. Sleep well."

Y/N smiles gratefully as she closes the room door. Sam watches her go and then looks over at Dean, who is still fast asleep. He shakes his head with a small smile and grabs the book Y/N was reading as he takes her spot on his bed.

Y/N stands outside Dean and Sam's motel room, her hand resting on the doorknob of her own room just next door. She stares at the wooden door, contemplating her options. After a few moments of indecision, Y/N decides to forgo the comfort of her room and opt for a walk instead. The evening sky is adorned with stars, painting a serene canvas above her. The cool breeze brushes against her cheeks, offering a soothing respite from the day's events.

As she rounds a corner, Y/N finds herself at a small park, the swings swaying gently in the breeze. She takes a seat on one of the swings, allowing herself a moment of solitude. The rhythmic creaking of the swing and the distant sounds of the town create a comforting ambiance. Under the vast night sky, Y/N finally finds a semblance of peace. She knows that tomorrow will bring new challenges, but for now, she can find solace in the simplicity of the moment.

The next morning, the bright sunlight spills into the motel room as Dean opens the door, his eyes squinting for a moment to adjust. He then turns to Y/N's door and knocks. After a moment of waiting, he knocks again, calling out for her to wake up.

“Y/N, wake up!” There's no response, and Dean's annoyance starts to grow.

Just as he's about to knock louder, he hears Y/N's voice greeting him from behind.“Good morning."

Dean turns around, puzzled, to see Y/N standing there with a tray of coffee in her hands. She walks past him and into the motel room, announcing that she brought coffee.

Sam, who is already in the room, thanks her and takes a cup. Dean follows her back into the room as he eyes Y/N curiously, still puzzled by her appearance.

"I thought I would head out and get us some coffee." Y/N smiled.

“Are those the same clothes you were wearing yesterday?” Dean asked as he motioned with his hand at her clothes. Dean exchanges a glance with Sam, both of them clearly concerned.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Sam would ask after he finished his sip of coffee.

"I dosed a bit here and there, don't worry about it." Y/N shrugged.

"Y/N, you need rest. Lack of sleep can affect your health and judgment. We can't have you falling apart on us." Sam was concerned.

"Yeah, listen to Sam. You can't be running yourself down like this” Dean's voice had a hint of judgment to it.

As Y/N listens to the guys tell her what she already knows becomes increasingly frustrated until she finally slams her hands on the table.

“"I know, okay!? But right now……. sleep just isn't always possible.” Y/N was almost yelling yet her tone was pleading.

Silence fills the room for a moment as Y/N takes a deep breath to reset herself. Sam and Dean watched her shoulders rise and fall as she did so.

“Sorry.” Y/N pitches the bridge of her nose as she turns around to face the brothers. “So, Dean anything happened since we boxed the clown?” Y/N desperately wanted to change the subject.

"Well, after the water faucet tried to drown me, nothing," Dean confirmed.

"It seems like we're in the clear now. We just need to get that cursed clown back to the bunker." Sam would motion to the box with his hands.

“So, I guess we're packing up and hitting the road?" Y/N asked the guys.

"Looks that way." Dean seemed reluctant to answer but couldn’t think of a reason to stay.

 "Alright then, I'll go pack up my stuff and check us out. I'll meet you guys at the car." Y/N leaves the room and starts packing up all her belongings, placing her bags by the Impala before heading into the motel office.

At the motel office, Y/N approaches the front desk, where a middle-aged woman is sitting.

"Hi, I'd like to check out, please." Y/N politely greeted the clerk as she handed her all their keys.

"Sure, hun. How was your stay?" The motel clerk smiled.

 "It was... interesting. Thank you." Y/N was forcing a smile to match the clerks. As the motel clerk processes the checkout and hands Y/N a receipt.

 "Have a safe trip, dear."

"Thank you." Y/N turned to leave.

Y/N turned away from the clerk's counter, her mind filled with thoughts of packing up and getting the cursed clown back to the bunker. But as she turned, her eyes widened, and all color drained from her face. Before her, standing in front of the door, were three horrifying figures.

Her father, with yellow eyes and an evil grin stretching from ear to ear, loomed over her. To his left stood her beautiful mother, her head missing and blood running down her front, the head held in her hands. And to the right of her father stood Dean, his throat slit open, with other cuts and bruises marring his body.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest, her breaths coming in rapid bursts. She knew these figures couldn't be real; they were a product of her sleep deprivation affecting her mind.

Y/N tried to steady herself, reminding herself that these were just hallucinations, but the images were too vivid, too terrifying to ignore. She whispered the words under her breath, "You aren't real. You're not real."

Sam and Dean stood by the Impala, their bags beside them as they prepared to leave the motel. Dean glanced up towards the motel office building, expecting to see Y/N returning, but instead, he noticed something strange. Y/N was standing inside the office, her body eerily still, and her gaze fixed on something outside the window. Dean furrowed his brow, a sense of concern washing over him.

"What the Hell?” Dean muttered aloud. Sam heard his brother and looked in the same direction.

"I don't know, man, but something doesn't seem right." Sam was watching Y/N closely.

They both watched as Y/N continued to stare, seemingly unaware of their presence. She appeared distant, as if lost in her thoughts or trapped in a trance. Even from a distance, Dean could sense that something was off, and he couldn't help but feel a growing sense of unease.

“I don’t like this,” Dean said as he closed the trunk and started walking to the office building. Sam was following right on his heels.

As Y/N stood there, transfixed by the haunting hallucinations of her father, mother, and Dean, she felt a strange and surreal sensation enveloping her. She could vaguely perceive movement outside the windows, but it was all a blur.

Just as the oppressive presence of the hallucinations threatened to overwhelm her, the door to the office building swung open with a creak, letting in a gust of fresh air. Dean and Sam stepped inside, causing the door to push through the mirage-like images, dissipating them into thin air. The sudden clarity was disorienting, and Y/N blinked repeatedly as she turned her gaze downward, trying to adjust her focus to reality once more.

Dean and Sam stood before her, their concerned faces now tangible and solid. Y/N took a deep breath.

"What the hell is going on with you, Y/N?" Dean is agitated and his voice is loud.

"Dean, take it easy." Sam kind of whispers as he looks around the room.

"I'm sorry, I guess I zoned out there for a moment.." Y/N’s words were shaky as she rubbed her temple.

"Cut the bull crap, Y/N. I'm tired of you dancing around the issue here." Dean cut Y/N off if she had more to say.

"Dean, calm down. Maybe we should talk outside." Sam was still whispering as he tried to mediate the situation.

Dean glares at Sam but eventually relents, realizing that they might be attracting unwanted attention from the motel staff. He nods and gestures for Y/N to follow them outside. Sam gives an apologetic wave to the concerned motel staff as they step out into the fresh air.

Y/N walks briskly towards the Impala, her emotions swirling inside her, unsure of how to deal with the overwhelming situation. Dean quickly catches up to her, calling out her name in frustration.

 "Hey, Y/N! We weren't finished talking!"

Y/N stops by the Impala, her hand on the door handle, but she finds it locked. Dean and Sam reach her just as she turns to face them.

"Y/N, we can't keep avoiding this. It's time to hash it out, right here and now." Dean’s frustration was clear.

 "Guys, let's take a moment here. Dean, I get that you're concerned, but pushing Y/N like this won't help." Sam was still trying to ref the tension between Dean and Y/N.

"I just want her to talk to us, Sam. She can’t keep ignoring this."

Y/N turned to face them, her eyes brimming with tears, yet unable to meet their gazes. She tightly bit down on her lower lip, fighting to maintain control over her emotions.

Exhaling sharply, Y/N found the courage to speak her truth.

"I'm hallucinating." Her voice trembled as she confessed. Her words hung heavy in the air, carrying the weight of her distress. She continued, her voice barely above a whisper, "In the office building, standing right in front of me, was my dead mother without her head, that evil man laughing, and you, Dean, dead."

The gravity of her words hit Sam and Dean like a ton of bricks. They exchanged a glance of concern, at a loss for what to say or do. Y/N's pain was palpable, and they felt utterly helpless in the face of her torment. Y/N's attempt to keep her composure was evident in the way she swallowed hard, trying to push back her tears and maintain some semblance of strength. Yet, the raw vulnerability in her eyes spoke volumes about the fear and anguish she was experiencing.

Dean took a step closer, his voice still irritated but trying to be helpful, "Y/N, look we'll figure this out, okay?" He wanted to offer reassurance, but he knew that words alone might not be enough to soothe her troubled mind. Sam, standing beside his brother, nodded in agreement, his expression filled with compassion.

"Can we please just get in the car and go?" Y/N mustered a quiet tone.

“Yeah.” Dean nodded, understanding the pleading in her voice. He reached behind her to lock the driver's front door and then unlocked the back door. He opened the back driver door, gesturing for Y/N to climb in. Sam walked around the car and climbed into the passenger seat at the same time.

Y/N stepped into the car, finding some semblance of comfort in its familiar interior. Dean closed the door behind her, sealing them off from the outside world. He got into the driver's seat and started the engine, the low rumble of the Impala filling the air. The car began to move, and they left the motel behind, the sound of the engine temporarily drowning out their troubled thoughts.

The road stretched out before them, and they traveled in silence. Each of them lost in their own thoughts, trying to process the events of the day. The weight of Y/N's hallucinations lingered in the car, but they all knew that now was not the time for further discussions.

Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightened, and he focused on the road ahead, his jaw clenching with determination. Sam glanced at Y/N through the rearview mirror, concern etched on his face. He knew that they needed to find a way to help her, but he also knew that pushing her now would only make things worse.

The Impala continued to carry them forward, away from the motel and towards an uncertain future. The scenery blurred by as they drove, each mile bringing them closer to their next destination.

End Chapter

[whateverthedragonswant]

I'm also not sure why people are disappointed with the resolution Buck had with his parents and the beginning of something with Chim and his dad. Like...? Not only is it not a bad thing for those two characters to have agency and make the choice themselves if they want to continue a relationship with their respective parents or not, but also having a knock down drag out fight is not always the solution, especially when as a writer you're developing the character emotionally to a much better, healthier place in their journey/storyline. Do Buck or Chim have to forgive their parents? No. Is it their choice if they choose to give them another chance? Yes. They have the power in that scenario and that's what's most important.

And if you look at how things end with the Buckleys and Buck vs how things end with Mr. Han and Chim...Mr. Han and Chim do not share a hug, there is no forgiveness, not everything Mr. Han did was forgotten. Chim made a choice to prioritize his daughter first after seeing Jee playing with Mr. Han. Did his stepmom's words possibly make an impact? Yes. But that more likely has to do with what just happened with Buck, his real family. He almost lost him. Not to mention, he literally just heated up all of the food neighbors had been leaving for them the whole time Buck was in the hospital. Him asking his dad to stay for a few extra days is not him saying "I forgive you for everything, Dad. We're all good." It's saying "Jee is most important to me. She loves her grandfather. Let's give this a shot."

That's why he says what he says to Mr. Han about grandfathers having a way of doing that in regards to Jee. That's why this scene below:

That's also why Chim and Buck were so heavily linked this episode despite this being about Buck and him hanging by a thread. It's also why Buck goes to Chim first in the coma dream, instead of Hen or Eddie or Bobby (before he found out what happened to them). This is also why Doug and Maddie are living in Maddie and Chim's new house in the dream, and why they have the family dinner there despite Daniel being alive.

That's why Chim's ending scene with his dad is so different compared to this one:

And we also saw the difference between the two sets of parents in the last episode:

There is a reason they had the lights go out and Maddie and Jee appear where Maddie makes it clear that she was scared by the yelling. That was a conscious choice the show made.

Just like this was:

Not only are Buck and Chim on top of the vehicles doing the same action while having this conversation (two different vehicles because they're in two different places regarding their parents) but also the line he says to Hen about her tossing a baseball back and forth with Eddie. Hen: "Why are you worried about a lack of drama?" Chim: "Because it's unnatural, Hen. Like the two of you down there tossing that ball." Not only should this be a hint to the viewers about what we see at the end of 6x11, but it makes perfect sense that Eddie and Hen are the ones not on the vehicles. They made their peace with their parents, Mr. Diaz and Toni respectively, last season. Now, Hen has Denny contacting his bio dad under her nose (hence the baseball) and Eddie dealing with something else for this back half of the season that we're not sure of what it is yet.

911 has repeatedly utilized every single storytelling device in every episode. It's literally just putting the pieces like this together. Which should tell you that at the end of 6x11, regardless of whether or not the Hans show up for the rest of the season, that not everything is kosher with the Hans and Chim. Hen had to have a tough conversation with Toni. Eddie had to have a tough conversation with his dad. Buck has been in therapy with his parents at some points in recent history and this came after a tough conversation with both of them. Same for Maddie. In every single scenario, a confrontation was had because that's what leads to a breakthrough for those relationships. Chim has not had that with Mr. Han yet. His dialogue with Albert and the fight between the Buckleys and the Hans don't count. Because it's not being said to Mr. Han directly, and in the fight, it was about both Buck and Chim. Philip even took a swipe at Mr. Han that appeared to be more in defense of Buck, Buck's decision, and his own job at fatherhood thus far. So Chim has not had his moment yet.

Which means that Chim has not completely forgiven his father nor is he being manipulated by Albert or Mrs. Han into doing so. He made a choice to give Mr. Han a shot for Jee's sake. Chim's real parents are Kevin's parents. We know that. We also know that Mr. Han wasn't begging Chim to come back to Korea with him like Mrs. Han stated. If so, Chim would have remembered that (he was old enough to at that point) and so would the Lees. Not to mention, Mr. Han pulled this crap even before Chim's mom died. So there is no excuse and the 911 writers know that. Instead, they empowered Chim to make the decision he did, on what he felt comfortable doing at the time. That doesn't mean all is forgiven or that Mr. Han gets a pass.