#how do you fuck up the characters this bad

[bluegiragi]

I really don’t care if I’m considered an annoying luddite forever, I will genuinely always hate AI and I’ll think less of you if you use it. ChatGPT, Generative AI, those AI chatbots - all of these things do nothing but rot your brain and make you pathetic in my eyes. In 2025? You’re completely reliant on a product owned by tech billionaires to think for you, write for you, inspire you, in 2025????

“Oh but I only use ___ for ideas/spellcheck/inspiration!!” I kinda don’t care? oh, you’re “only” outsourcing a major part of the creative process that would’ve made your craft unique to you. Writing and creating art has been one of the most intrinsically human activities since the dawn of time, as natural and central to our existence as the creation of the goddamn wheel, and sheer laziness and a culture of instant gratification and entitlement is making swathes of people feel not only justified in outsourcing it but ahead of the curve!!

And genuinely, what is the point of talking to an AI chatbot, since people looove to use my art for it and endlessly make excuses for it. RP exists. Fucking daydreaming exists. You want your favourite blorbo to sext you, there’s literally thousands of xreader fic out there. And if it isn’t, write it yourself! What does a computer’s best approximation of a fictional character do that a human author couldn’t do a thousand times better. Be at your beck and call, probably, but what kind of creative fulfilment is that? What scratch is that itching? What is it but an entirely cyclical ourobouros feeding into your own validation?

I mean, for Christ sakes there are people using ChatGPT as therapists now, lauding it for how it’s better than any human therapist out there because it “empathises”, and no one ever likes to bring up how ChatGPT very notably isn’t an accurate source of information, and often just one that lives for your approval. Bad habits? Eh, what are you talking about, ChatGPT told me it’s fine, because it’s entire existence is to keep you using it longer and facing any hard truths or encountering any real life hard times when it comes to your mental health journey would stop that!

I just don’t get it. Every single one of these people who use these shitty AIs have a favourite book or movie or song, and they are doing nothing by feeding into this hype but ensuring human originality and sincere passion will never be rewarded again. How cute! You turned that photo of you and your boyfriend into ghibli style. I bet Hayao Miyazaki, famously anti-war and pro-environmentalist who instills in all his movies a lifelong dedication to the idea that humanity’s strongest ally is always itself, is so happy that your request and millions of others probably dried up a small ocean’s worth of water, and is only stamping out opportunities for artists everywhere, who could’ve all grown up to be another Miyazaki. Thanks, guys. Great job all round.

[ms-katonic-of-tamriel]

Is it in character for people is always the question to ask.

Someone who's previously been written to be very articulate and self-aware should not suddenly lose all communication skills because now they're in a romantic relationship (unless partner is being a manipulative arsehole hem hem - make sure the READER finds that out!). Whereas someone who's always been a force of chaos will not suddenly develop a brain unless hit with Consequences. Teenagers, kids and young people in general mostly won't have high levels of emotional maturity (unless they've had good role models growing up who taught them things like this), but you expect better from the over 25s unless you've previously flagged that adult as Unreliable/Fucked Up/Awful.

Tension is also important - build that up in whatever direction and you won't have a problem. Maybe it's a tense situation that's spiralling towards Disaster! Having the adults get together and save the situation through Generally Being Responsible and Averting the Crisis will be very satisfying, but the reader needs to believe Disaster was a real possibility. If you aren't able to do that, you're going to need to find another avenue of tension for your story.

Writing the actual disaster playing out because no one was mature enough to avert it can also be satisfying, but it needs to be a believable disaster. It needs to be believable that no one had the skills to sort this. It needs to be a believable set of consequences playing out. Your idiots need to be believable idiots, and if there's a bad actor or two intervening, they need to be well written too. You want them to fuck up on a grand scale? Establish this trait by having them fuck up in the same way on a smaller scale first. Or even have them display the same traits in an adaptive manner. They're prone to losing their temper? Have them lose their temper at small but understandable things first. They're paranoid and untrusting? Show them being knifed in the back by someone they trusted as an explanation for how they got that way. They're too trusting? Establish that by having them behave in a trusting way and being rewarded for it. What traits do you need them to have for the fuck up to work, and establish the traits in your characters. When disaster plays out, and they keep right on acting in the ways you've already established, and it all falls apart? Your readers will love that shit because they all saw this coming, or at least they'll absolutely get why it happened.

honestly sometimes stories where characters have self awareness and solve their problems maturely can be really refreshing sometimes. and sometimes it feels like therapyspeak slop. intense stories where no one is capable of understanding themselves and act out in incorrect ways can be very fun. and sometimes it feels like contrived bullshit. whatever makes "a good story" is harder to make happen than just using the right kind of characters using the right words

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

me thinking way too much about who goes to this event and how they interact with mrs. leech

I like how the event characters for Eternity Float are literally so… random 😭 For all other hometown events, there is a more rhyme or reason as to why those particular characters are visiting and why certain other characters aren’t. For example:

Scalding Sands’ Al'ab Nariya / A Firelit Sky: Over the Sands - Kalim invites Yuu, Grim, and the members of the Light Music Club, Lilia (wants to see how the Sands have changed) and Cater (eager to go for the pics). Kalim also encourages Lilia and Cater to bring others. Jamil was already heading home with Kalim to begin with, as his attendant. Lilia got sick the night before and could no longer come. His plus one, Malleus, was ended up showing up by himself, eager to broaden his horizons. Cater brought Trey, who was interested in seeing the unique confections and ingredients of the Sands.

Harveston's Kelkkarotu / Harveston Sledathon - Epel invites his friends Yuu and Grim, who loves to eat apples, to his hometown (famous for its apples) for a sledding race, even if neither of them participate. He doesn’t want to invite Vil or Rook in case he slips back into his accent at home. Epel challenges Sebek’s athleticism to get him to agree to come along for the best chances to win. Jade expresses an interest in Mt. Moln, where the Sledathon takes place. Finally, Idia wants to visit because Harveston is the setting for a sports anime he is really into, Sled Over Heels.

Sunset Savanna’s Tamashina-Mina / Cloudcalling on the Savanna - Leona initially invites Vil, Jack, and Lilia to compete in the Catch the Tail/Bead Brawl tournament. He wants NRC students on a team so they can win and he can avoid giving the Sunset Warrior lessons. These three are selected because Leona thinks they are the most physically suited for cinching the win. Other contenders, like Malleus and Rook, are people Leona says he does NOT want to ask for help. Grim wants to go too, but Leona refuses until Lilia says he won’t come if Yuu and Grim don’t.

The Queendom of Roses’ White Rabbit Fest / White Rabbit Fest - Yuu, Epel, Ortho, and Grim were already about to eat lunch together when Deuce joins them. He mentions going home for a festival and decides to invite these first years to go with him. Ortho is excited to go because this is the kind of thing “real boys” do. Epel has relatives in the area and has always wanted to go during White Rabbit Fest. Silver initially asks Deuce to pick up a clock for him to help him stay awake, but Deuce said Silver should come and pick up a clock for himself. Deuce intended on inviting Ace too, but he had basketball practice and couldn’t make it.

Shaftlands’ Tapis Rouge / Vil’s Red Carpet Cadets - Many characters, including Rook, Epel, Ruggie, Deuce, Floyd, Cater, Jade, and Lilia, want to go along with Vil to Maquillaville, each for their own reasons. Rook is a lover of the arts and wants to experience the film festival, Floyd/Deuce/Epel just wants to see someplace new, Ace wants to check out the fashion, Cater wants to take lots of pics, Azul wants to observe the famous brands with flagship stores there, Jade wants to check out the old mines nearby, Lilia and Jamil want the VIP experience. Vil originally wanted to take his Film Research Club members, but they are busy shooting this weekend due to bad weather during their original planned shooting date. Vil demands that everyone demonstrate why they alone should go; Azul conspires with Jamil and Ace to ensure that they are picked via a random draw/lottery. Azul suggests the idea, Jamil agrees with him (it would be shady if Octavinelle students like the twins agreed with Azul), and Ace uses his quick fingers to rig the draw; Vil knew of their trickery but let it slide since the technically did play up their strengths. Ace claims Yuu and Grim happened to get lucky and got picked at random.

Then you have Coral Sea’s Eternity Float… where Floyd just fucks off because he doesn’t feel like it anymore and Azul refuses to attend because of not wanting to see Georgina Leech 💀 So Jade literally goes all around NRC campus pulling whatever poor unfortunate soul he happens to come across for the event to fill in for Floyd, who was supposed to go. Azul even suggests to Jade that he drop by Ramshackle to collect Yuu and Grim just because we’d be the most likely to have tons of free time on their hands on such short notice. Like we’re told to be ready to leave with Jade in an HOUR’S time 💦 and of course Grim is easily convinced to go after the promise of partying and good food…

Chshdbwjehwiwn Jade lies to everyone by telling them they are each the “only one” he can depend on in his time of need… He even used a slightly different method to convince each person to come along:

Riddle refused at first because he was busy. But Jade “practically begged [him] to come”, whining that the wedding would be ruined without enough guests in attendance. AND JADE DID THIS IN FRONT OF RIDDLE WHILE HE WAS STUDYING???? So Riddle reluctantly agreed. When he tries to back out, Jade pressures him to stay by lamenting that the Heartslabyul dorm leader would not keep his word that he would attend.

Jade invited Malleus, who was eager to accept the invitation because attending ceremonies and weddings is considered noble in Briar Valley. Jade claimed that Malleus’s presence would “elevate the prestige” of this particular wedding, as Malleus is fae royalty. Malleus worries that he would be violating invitation etiquette since he was not personally invited by the bride and groom, but Jade manages to convince him by pointing out that if he declined now, rumors would spread, meaning Malleus might not be invited to future wedding functions. Wanting to avoid being misunderstood, Malleus relents. (Jade casually inviting Malleus to an event, while not canon to the main story, does make me call into question just how true the sentiment of “everyone is so scared of him/he’s so hard to approach that they forget him or never invite him to functions” holds 😅 because this is another contradictory moment and character to add to the ever-growing pile.)

Rook was told there would be a fun wedding that was short on guests. Jade described the bride and groom as “lonely and pitiful”, and in desperate need of additional company. If the Eternity Float is not lively, then the newlyweds will be very sad. Of all the characters, Rook probably needed the least convincing.

Jade outright admits he walked all over campus and talked to EVERYONE he came across. So literally anyone else (except those in Octavinelle) could have reasonably joined this event. Rook and Malleus I can see as having no plans (since they seem to just wander around and do their own thing) and being easy to convince, but then we also have busy-as-a-bee and stubborn Riddle represented in the ranks too. I honestly thought Riddle would be explained by Jade saying he intentionally reached out to his Class 2-E classmate or something. I really wonder why Rook and Riddle got represented again in a wedding event (even with the same rarities; Riddle is even more egregious because this is also his second beachy SR despite his personality being strict) instead of someone new.

What I will say is that even though it feels like Riddle, Malleus, and Rook’s shoes could have been filled by anyone (since Jade’s method of recruitment wasn’t particularly unique??), they did have interesting interactions with Georgina.

To begin with, Jade introduces us to his mother as his “close friends”. This description causes Riddle to look slightly put off, whereas Malleus is interested/amused and Rook happily agrees and says that he and Jade are besties 💀

When Rook introduces himself to Georgina, she says Rook is very “courteous”. She later goes on to describe Rook’s air as being “glamorous yet adventurous” like the Seagull for which Floyd has nicknamed him (although Rook’s outfit features black-tailed gulls, not seagulls). It’s interesting that Georgina automatically sees Rook’s good points. He typically comes off as overly friendly or too touchy, at least at NRC. Is she the type of person that’s good at reading others…?

Georgina recognizes Malleus as the heir to Briar Valley and says it is a great honor to meet him. This is interesting because in a precious event, A Firelit Sky, no one seemed to recognize Malleus thanks to his headscarf. Jamil’s younger sister Najma also did not seem to recognize him, even when Malleus was introduced by name. Georgina, as an adult woman, is more familiar with politics than the average tween. I wonder if there’s more to it than just that though? She seems to understand that Malleus is the type that won’t attack unless provoked (like the Sea Slug). If the theory about the Leeches being an organized crime family turns out to be true, then they would have a vested interest in how politics go and being in the good graces of a crown prince.

The most interesting interactions have to be between Georgina and Riddle though. She recognizes Riddle as Jade’s classmate and mentions that her son talks about him often. Riddle is shocked and demands to know what Jade has been saying about him. Jade responds with “nothing but the honest truth.” Georgina asks if Riddle dislikes goldfish, and he laments over his Floyd-given nickname, as it derives from the fact that he is small and red, but insists her that he still likes his outfit. She apologizes for her other son’s rudeness but then also reassures Riddle that goldfish have more qualities than just being small and red. Georgina says that goldfish raised in captivity are small, but those released into the wild flourish and have the potential to grow to be quite large. Riddle becomes excited at hearing about this potential for growth, but Jade just laughs. I assume it’s because those two are thinking about what Georgina said in terms of height, but allow me, if you will, to overanalyze for a moment.

I wonder if… Riddle’s reactions here are, in part, informed by his own experiences with his mother?? He seemed surprised that Jade told his mother about him, which could be attributed to Riddle just generally being suspicious of Jade or wondering what kinds of shady info Jade spilled. But could it not also be shock due to Georgina’s lack of anger or upset? Because thinking about it, the ONE time Riddle made friends and his mom learned about it, she blew up and forbade him from playing with Chenya and Trey again. Now Riddle is learning that… kids can tell their parents about their friends and those parents DON’T get mad about it or ban their kids from contacting their friends. In fact, Georgina even asks the NRC students to “Please continue taking care of/looking after my son for me.” She’s actually encouraging interaction, and I wonder if Riddle is genuinely having difficult processing this given his limited worldview and how he only has his own mother to go off of for what to expect of others.

I think it’s also really sweet that Georgina says sorry to Riddle on behalf of Floyd and reassures Riddle in a roundabout way that he may not be small forever. I do get the sense that she derives some enjoyment from Riddle’s embarrassment (since she does have that sus smile in this scene), but I also feel like she’s truly being motherly here as well. After all, why else would she be concerned that Riddle may dislike goldfish after she just picked out an outfit for him inspired by that motif?

There’s something more to what Georgina says to Riddle. She specifically makes note of goldfish in captivity being small, but goldfish set free being larger. Might this be a metaphor for how Riddle currently feels trapped, confined by his mother’s iron fist and feeling as though he cannot grow? And how he can only flourish once he has gained independence from her??? 👀

(bchsvwkskss Not related to Georgina’s interactions with The Boys but 💦 I love how she takes Grim seriously when he calls himself -sama/great and says his title is “impressive” 😭 AND HOW SHE CALLS HER OWN SON “JADE-SAN”.)

... Anyway, writing up this post made me realize that Ruggie and Floyd are the only characters in the main cast to have NEVER visited another place in a hometown event 💀 (If you count appearances in which the characters travel to a new place but do not technically get an event outfit, Kalim has gone to Silk City, Jack has gone to Sunrise City.)

Characters who have been to 1 hometown:

Riddle (Ultramarine City)

Trey (Silk City)

Cater (Silk City)

Ace (Maquillaville)

Deuce (Clock Town)

Leona (Sunrise City)

Jack (technically Sunrise City even if he did not get an outfit)

Azul (Maquillaville)

Rook (Ultramarine City)

Idia (Harveston)

Ortho (Clock Town)

Lilia (Sunrise City)

Silver (Clock Town)

Sebek (Harveston)

Characters who have been to 2 hometowns:

Jade (Harveston, Ultramarine City)

Kalim (technically Silk City even if he did not get an outfit, and Sunrise City)

Jamil (Silk City, Maquillaville)

Vil (Sunrise City, Maquillaville)

Epel (Harveston, Clock Town)

Malleus (Silk City, Ultramarine City)

[jelloapocalypse]

Everyone discusses the highs and lows of internet fame, but what's the most mid aspects of being well known online--whether it be something that's a real mixed bag, or something you thought would be impactful but really wasn't?

The first thing that comes to mind is the weird, invisible impact your opinion can have on a fandom or niche community if you have any kind of platform.

Sometimes it's fun and harmless. For instance I doubt there's a lot of people out there with in-depth thoughts about Tauroneo from FE: Path of Radiance and Radiant Dawn, but now that we did a playthrough where he turns into a crazed battle god I think a lot of people familiar with the game from our playthrough will associate him with that personality now. Justy in Pokemon is kind of the same way. Sorry to the one or two Justy fanblogs out there that predate our playthrough.

It's kind of like how you still see fanart of Odile wearing red Jordans in the In Stars and Time fandom. That's Savvy. Savvy just... did that. And I still see the aftershocks of that bit in the wild.

On the other hand, it can have pretty negative impacts.

I remember a million years ago I made a video about Gravity Falls that criticized Mabel's character in the penultimate episode. She kind of walks back a lesson she already learned in the series and I do still think it's genuinely one of the weakest episodes in the show. It's pretty memorable too since it's right at the end.

Unfortunately, by poking fun at that in a vague way, it ended up sparking a pretty big "Mabel is problematic" backlash from people who mostly just hate female cartoon characters and wanted an excuse to do more of that. It's been almost a decade and I still sometimes see people go "Remember when everyone hated on Mabel for no fucking reason? The fucking 12 year old imaginary girl?" and I see posts like that and tug on my collar like "Yeeeee... uh oh. That was me. My bad."

One of the worst things that can happen online is people agreeing with you for the wrong reasons and you're like "NO. NO, I'M NOT WITH HIM. I'M NOT WITH HIM."

[bambiihee]

stalker!soobin X stalker!reader pfft, it's such a dark comedy dynamic, like

"are you scared I kidnapped you?"

"jokes on you, I've been awake this entire time and let you, I'm into this shit"

you get me so bad cos i love dark concepts when both characters are equally fucked up and evil. like it’s not fun unless she’s just as fucked up as he is 🙏 ESPECIALLY when it's comedy??? this was just for me specifically

♡ tw. ( 18+ mdni! ) stalker!soobin, stalker!reader, possessive and obsessive behavior, mentions of violence and murder, mentions of blackmail, panty stealing and sniffing, nonconsensual photographs, masturbation (f. and m. rec)

stalker!soobin who’s obsessed with his childhood friend, a family friend's daughter who he's been in love with before he knew what the word even meant. they grew up together, attached at the hip, your fiery personality protecting shy, quiet soobin from bullies even though he's always been over a head taller than you. you protected him, and in turn he protected you-- by scaring away any boy who ever showed any interest in you. a darker side of him you never saw coming out when he told them he'd break their legs if they ever came up to you again... a promise, not a threat. all those years, you thought that you were simply unattractive, something soobin vehemently denied over and over because, at least to him, you were the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. your senior year of high school, when you cried to him that no one in your class invited you to prom, soobin was quick to comfort you and tell you that he'll take you-- and he had to hide his sick, twisted smile in your hair as you danced, because he had blackmailed and broken the fingers of at least ten other boys to get in that spot.

but after you graduated, you had been accepted into your dream school, hundreds of miles away. soobin tried to be happy for you, he really did! but you were leaving him. how was he supposed to protect you if you weren't by his side? what if you went away and met a boy, one who wasn't him, and forgot all about him back at home? he just couldn't accept it.

soobin secretly applying to the same university without your knowledge, and watching you from afar... carefully snapping photos of you from across the dining hall or across the campus yard, talking with your friends, reading your books, bending down to grab something that you had dropped (and giving soobin an eyeful of your panties from underneath your skirt, something for him to blow his load all over later in the night)

he thinks he's doing a good job of hiding, but in actuality you've known he's been following you this entire time, since you first spotted him trying his best to hide in the back of one of your classes (one he hadn't known you were also taking, oops). you go about your days as if you don't feel his eyes and his camera on you at all times, because as sick and twisted as it is, you enjoy it. you enjoy him following you around, doing a terrible acting job of it just being a coincidence that he's taking classes at the same university whenever you inevitably bump into him. You enjoy it when you invite him over to your dorm and your used panties mysteriously go missing in his wake. you enjoy it because it's such a comfort to you to know that he's just as unhealthily obsessed with you as you are with him.

[arottenlust]

Does that mean NO writers should make Toji use AAVE? Or is it only certain ones?

(this is long but read the whole thing if u gaf)

say what u mean bc races aren’t bad words

do I think that only black writers should write Toji w aave and that white/non black writers should never write Toji w aave ever again? no.

Do I think that my points are moot if a black or otherwise poc person is the one doing the writing? also no*, and my thoughts on that are explained at the end of this rant but first:

let me reiterate my point.

Toji being the only character who is written with such an excessive use of aave can be an issue bc, since that simply isn’t how he speaks, the motivations of such a choice come into question.

what exactly about his personality as a 30smth Japanese hitman inspired the use of aave?

when i look at his character and notice he is the only one who fits into harmful stereotypes (‘broke’, ‘homeless’, absent father, etc) that surround the black (and some other poc) community, i begin to wonder if that’s why he’s the only one written w aave. So I shared how I felt in hopes that writers would think about why they make the choices they do.

My aim was for writers (who realize they write him that way because of subconscious bias) to change and work on their prejudices if that’s something they care to do.

If you do not fit that description, if ur motivations are not fueled by these biases, if you do not care to change, if you write Toji that way simply because you’re attached to that fanon version of him, if you write him that way bc that is how you speak and you want to project that onto him, etc etc etc then this is not for you

do I think that fanon version is fueled, if only slightly, by racist biases? yea. but not completely. Either way do what you want. I am not asking every writer to post and clarify their intentions, I am asking them, if they give a fuck, to ask themselves about their own motivations

one other thing *

being poc does not make u immune to perpetuating your own harmful stereotypes or being prejudiced against your own people. if a poc writer writes any character a certain way bc they themselves carry these subconscious biases, that is something they should work on. no it’s not their fault. Growing up in a society that can imprint these thoughts into your brain is out of your control. the only thing you can do is learn and grow from it, if u care to do so.

that is all

thanks for the ask babes!

Not that it should change anything abt the rant as a whole, but I’d like to add that I am hispanic! Latine if u will. so the last part of this rant comes from a place of true understanding :P

[doodler16]

viv just made a tweet that said, "hey guys, just a reminder. stolas is still alive! and if that upsets you, good, lol? just be normal." and GOD she pisses me off so bad.

1) why can't she just shut the hell up when someone makes fan content that doesnt effect her or her shows success/popularity what so ever? is she just genuinely that insecure knowing that people are starting to REALLY not like stolas, (because in every episode he appears in, it becomes more and more obvious that he's a creators pet), that she has to say something that's passive aggressive and completely unneeded? to put this in perspective - imagine if someone like goose or tracy made a comment like this?

2) this is EXACTLY what i mean when i say that the fandom is great at making dark fiction unlike other fandoms that treat it as call-out post worthy, but only if that dark fiction gets your dick hard.

angel being raped by val? awesome! angel being hypnotized into being raped by vox? even better! merchandise of val and his rape buddy for valentine's day? epic!

ozzie being called out for fully being prepared into letting his best friends lover die? let's throw a like to a fan and treat it as gospel to make another fan feel like shit, for wanting to explore the messy unbalanced dynamics of royals/citizens and mlm angst, who's main couple that took over the shows premise, is nothing BUT messy unbalanced dynamics of royals/citizens and mlm angst! (it's because fizzozzie has to be a perfect ship in comparison to stoliz that makes the most merch money because they're a "wholesome ship" and we can't have any critical thinking from our own fanbase challenge that, despite the having glaring flaws of codependency in both episodes they're focused on. worth mentioning here, but someone made a post here that said, "these shows aren't about standing up to the royals, it's about submitting to the right one," and that describes those two bird bitches to a t.

stella icon spotted? uh oh, im the creator of her and made her an unlikeable abusive bitch to make a guy who coerced the man character of one of my shows into sex every month, look better in comparison! which is rape btw! better say something mean to them on main, because they're not as popular and can't do anything if they're harassed by my standom!

charalastor fan? fuck you. fan of my fat villians? fuck you, no sexy pinups, i hate money if it's not coming from a place that validates only what i like. i won't even make merchandise of angel dust, the guy who's been the most popular and well known character for nearly a decade now! im getting bored of that toy, i need a new mean fictional slut to play with - the one that brings me the most negative attention is just a bonus!

3) "just be normal." viv, you hired someone with a rape fetish to storyboard scenes for the character who's entire conflict is that he's being raped, and someone who ships rick and morty romantically, to do visdev work on oops. rules for thee, but not for me!

i can't wait until everyone looks back at the way she acted 10 years from now, and sees how the way vivziepop has publicly acted has aged just about as well as spoiled milk in the california sun. but i still NEED hbomber guy to make a tommy talerico styled video on her, the only thing that could challenger her power is a universally beloved straight white funny internet man.

Vivziepop expanded said thoughts regarding her bluesky tweets (whether it makes her look better or worse is up to you guys):

Then there’s her liking Dani Draws (and other users) tweet as the icing on the cake.

[moon-creates]

Touchstarved Updated Demo Review

(Spoilers, obviously. You have been warned!)

I love the new Demo!

Obviously, after a whole year of knowing the old version and loving the characters in it, any changes will take a bit to get used to.

Now that I have given myself 24 hours to digest it properly, I can fully say the new version feels less like a demo and more like a great Introduction to a intriguing story. It almost felt like a "Chapter 1" of a multi-chapter story but I will reserve that title for the real chapter one (once we have chosen which route to follow).

Right off the bat we see that The Hound is no more, replaced by the new backstory "The Exile". But fret not, dear reader! Nobody is forcing you to take your blorbos out the back of your local seven-eleven and shoot them in the back of their heads. Your Hound blorbos shall continue to live on. It seems pretty easy to adapt the Hound MC's to the Exile. And if that is too much of a task, there is an ancient tradition of fan fiction, to scratch the itch that canon cannot scratch for you!

(My personal Opinion: Writing a Main Character that everyone will be happy with is already impossible. Every OC will have a trait (or multiple) that canon just cannot accommodate without alienating other readers. I understand the upset over the change, but I don't think that means its a bad change. I do hope to see more fanart and fanfiction from people, to highlight what exactly makes your MC special.)

Lets move on to the Pacing of the Demo. I really liked that they cut the old demo into two parts, making our MC experience the Intro over the span of two days instead of one. It does give us a pause to breathe and consider our options.

What are our options? Lets talk about the Love Interests!

KURAS

Mr. "So rude to ask about the surgery I performed on you". His introduction isn't much different to Version 1, though I enjoyed the evening route with him! I mean, he bought us food! (Honey Pistacio cookie YUM!) The new background is fucking beautiful and it fit the more calming, quiet vibes that Kuras has. (I cannot wait to see the monstrosities this man has committed.) I wished we actually got to touch his hand with the red option but maybe that would've been too much of a spoiler? It did gave me major Jesus vibes (and, weirdly, I don't mean that in a negative sense). It makes me wonder if he actually could cure us.

LEANDER

Leander got the most changes compared to his V1 counterpart. While he is still the Leander we mock and fear love, he has gotten so much better at manipulating us. All of his new expressions also show why he is so good at what he does - He seems so earnest. I had a hard time distrusting him at some points, even though I knew he wasn't to be trusted. He is so suspicious and I love that the MC can voice their suspicion and be so professionally and elegantly manipulated back into a place of trust and comfort. (Also I would've absolutely ridden that fucker on that bed. RSS why did you clitblock me so much-)

I like that the Adderstones (rip Bloodhounds) seem more like an organized network now rather than a street-fighter gang. Leander being more busy and access to him being restricted also adds to show just how important he is in Lowtown. He always seemed like a threat but now the danger has been dialed up a significant amount and I am SO here for it.

VERE

That blush was very cute! Personally I find Vere to be the hardest to decipher. His personality and what he actually wants from us is harder for me to place with him than with the others. He is playing with us, sure, but I wonder if he himself knows what he wants with us. Maybe I should take Ais word for it and pay more attention to his ears than what he is actually saying. I might understand him better then. But either way, he is a very intriguing character and I hope we get to see him fight in the full game! I also like that the Dev's are fully leaning into him expressing thing with his tail and ears. It's weirdly endearing for such a bloodhungry menace like him.

AIS

I just love this man. I love that the red-eyed woman got a name and much more personality now. She feels like a full character. I am fucking DEVASTATED that we didn't get a Princess sprite and I refuse to believe that she is not important enough for the story to get a sprite of her own. RSS, CHOP CHOP! His was the first 'route' in the demo I played and I just know it will be the first full route that I will play once the full game is released. Not much to say about him because he was already perfect to begin with and I thank RSS daily that we get to bite him [insert praying hands emoji].

MHIN

The changes fit them so well. Talking to themselves is such a fitting thing to do for someone who has no-one to truly talk to. You get more of a sense of their social awkwardness around others. Not in a shy sense but in a sense of struggling to connect with people. I love that we got to hear their inner thoughts about how the soulless body functions, wondering if they could see out of all the eyes and so forth. This time they told us they grew up in Eridia! So I am very curious to see what their story is and how our path with them might look like. Every time they glare at us I just wanna smooch them.

I feel like the Demo fulfilled its purpose fully. It introduced each Love Interest to us, showed us a peak of who they are and what might be in store for us down the line, without telling us too much. We get a feeling for our Setting (Eridia) and I hope MC gets to settle in more over the course of the story. We have great lines, beautiful art, expressive characters and Intriguing stories to follow. The amazing new music tied it all together perfectly.

So in conclusion: Good Update. Almost perfect! However, where is my girl princess, tho?

[ayrtonswnna]

⠀⠀WHOSE NIGHTMARE? max verstappen smut

⠀⠀⠀⠀(not updated) masterlist⠀⠀⠀⠀drop a request!

wc: 3,1K. MDNI — enemies to lovers, except they're on the same team and she's been trying to find her way into his bed for long enough. it's more than she expected.

max verstappen x lienne giffoni (female!rb driver)

warnings: FILTHY SMUT, unprotected sex (that's fiction!!! be safe irl yall!!!!) p in v, slight fingering, almost crossing the consent line but it doesn't (slightly), no aftercare at all, rough!max, mean!max and all of that, spanking, kinda brat!character but she doesn't live up to that title — she's a bitch anyways, an introduction to the sinful part because i like the thrill, oscar piastri as a special guest — NOT in bed. if i missed something, let me know.

"What do I have to lose?"

Lienne stares down the car ahead — identical to hers, just a few meters in front. The gap is closing. The angle to the kerb? Perfect. The radio call came unexpected.

A perfect P1 in only her fourth Formula 1 race. By overtaking her own teammate.

"Your damn mind, Lienne. We're on Plan A."

Plan A and Plan B are wrapped around that P1 car. Her engineer knows her instincts — and knows she’ll ignore rules if it means a win. So, the reminder comes quick.

They all knew what they were signing up for when they brought her in — straight from Formula 2, fiery temper, allergic to losing.

And then they paired her with Max Verstappen. What could go wrong?

Well, it seems like there's something wrong by his following radio message;

"Has she lost her mind? What is she doing?"

The pit wall’s a mess of confused engineers and frantic glances. They all know how this ends. A bomb, just waiting.

"We're working on it, Max. Keep the pace up."

"Lienne, secure the podium and spare the car. P1 and P2 for the team. Bring it home."

The third-place car’s way behind. There’s a lap and a half left. All Lienne has on her mind is victory.

"Copy, Lienne?"

"Yeah, copy. P1 and P2. Congratulate Max on his second place for me, please."

After that, nothing anyone says matters. Not Hannah. Not Horner. The girl in the RB20 is going full throttle — and she's about to race her own teammate.

When Red Bull signed her, everyone understood: she wouldn’t play nice. She wasn't here to bow or obey. She was here to win. But, yeah, Max didn’t expect her to take it from him.

"What the fuck?! What in the actual fuck is she doing? Mate, what the fuck?"

"Calm down, Max. We're working on it."

Truth is, the team knows just as little as he does. Lienne’s gone rogue. Max can’t catch her now.

She’s not racing for the team anymore — she’s racing him. And he’s losing.

Two laps of chaos. The engineers go quiet. She's done. Probably fired. That’s all the paddock can talk about.

When the race ends, there’s no celebration. Not from her because at least she knows there's no mood for that. She follows the steps, does what’s required. Nothing more.

The cool-down room is hell.

"You're lucky if you ever race again," Max growls, sitting far away, face red and tight with fury.

She smiles. Smiles. Like it’s all a game. Like it’s not eating him alive.

"This sport was too easy for you," she shrugs. "I'm what you needed to improve."

She says it looking him dead in the eye. Like she didn’t just ignore every team order. Like she didn’t blow up the race plan.

How can someone so small be so reckless?

"I need you out of my way. That’s what I need." Max forgets everyone’s watching. "You fucked up. Bad."

"Did I?" Her lashes flutter. The P1 cap on her head is tilted like a crown. "Or did you finally lose the throne, Max Verstappen? Someone finally put you on your knees. Thank God! It was getting boring."

She even bites her lip.

God, he wants to shut her up.

"Shut the fuck up."

Nothing else. The screen replays her final overtake. The third driver — McLaren — walks in. Max says nothing. His mind races.

Lienne keeps smiling, chatting with Oscar like she didn’t just cause a storm. Sweat clings to her skin, stray curls stuck to her neck. She's a tease in every way.

And Max hates her for it.

"What a race," Oscar offers, trying to cut the tension. "Did you guys plan this?"

"No… All freestyle," Lienne grins, leaning back. "That’s how you do it, you see? Just one lesson: you see Max, you overtake Max. Then you win over Max."

She’s taunting him. On purpose. She always does this.

Max doesn’t even feel guilty for what he’s thinking.

Lienne needs someone to fuck the attitude out of her.

"Just that easy," the Australian laughs nervously. "Weird as hell though. What was the actual plan?"

"The plan was what we had until lap 47. Everything else was unprofessionalism," Max explains coldly. "Lienne went rogue."

"Max! Don’t be so hard on yourself!" she chimes in, voice syrupy with sarcasm. "Losing to me isn’t unprofessional. It’s just life! Everyone loses sometimes."

Just then, someone enters to bring them to the podium. Lienne is the first out, last into the champagne spray. Oscar tries to ease the mood — but he won’t be in Red Bull’s driver's room later.

"You think this is a joke? That you do whatever the fuck you want, and laugh it off later?"

Lienne turns, halfway out of her fireproofs, expression innocent. Almost too innocent.

"I think I’m hilarious." She shrugs again. That damn shrug. "I’m not doing whatever I want, Max. I’m doing what pisses you off. And now you’re mad. That’s on you."

He steps closer. Her lack of reaction just stokes the fire. She’s still peeling off the rest of her gear, casual like she’s in her own bedroom.

"You broke team rules."

"I broke your rules. Big difference." Her lips move slowly, deliberately. Hair wild, eyes locked on his.

"The rules are mine because I win. You can’t compete with me, Lienne. It’s all fun until you’re out of your seat."

"You talk too much." She sighs, still calm. "You need a catchphrase or something. Bit more punch."

She’s standing there in just her sports bra beneath the fireproofs, still holding the fabric. She always walks around like this — why does it feel different now?

"And you need to lose that attitude. But do I go around saying it all the time? No, I don’t."

Her eyes flicker to his lips. Back up again. A smirk. "Yeah, bet. Not much of a man now, huh? Guess you're only Mad Max when there's no competition."

If she’d said this years ago, maybe it would’ve gotten in his head. But Max matured. Now he only thinks one thing.

He’s going to fuck the attitude out of her.

"What do you want, Lienne? What’s the point of this scene? You want something, just say it."

Oh, he’s right. She wants something she won’t ask for.

This isn’t new. They’ve shared drinks before. Caught each other looking. The tension’s always been there. It was getting only easier to ignite it.

"I want you to go fuck yourself." She’s leaning into it now. "I’m not one to ask."

"Yeah. I know."

It’s like a fuse. Electric. He watches her, sweaty, flushed, half undressed, and—

She turns. Big mistake.

Two steps. His hand wraps around her wrist, turns her around, pins her between him and the wall.

No more words.

Then it’s her back hitting the wall of her driver’s room, and Max’s body pinning her there like a slammed door.

The kiss isn’t soft. It’s all teeth and tongue and months of restrained tension breaking open like a snapped DRS flap. Their mouths crash together, hot and furious, her hands grabbing at his half-unzipped race suit, tugging until the sleeves tied at his waist fall loose.

Max doesn’t pause — not even a second — before his fingers find the zipper of her own suit and drag it down with single-minded intent. Fireproofs cling to her hips, damp with sweat, her chest heaving against him as his mouth trails hot down her neck.

"You really have to fuck your way into my dick, huh?" he growls, hand sliding down over her belly. "You could’ve just asked."

"I got some good points out of that," she throws back, smug as hell, lips brushing his jaw.

The laugh that slips out of him is low, dark, humorless. Her voice is too loud — and they both know it. The walls are thin, the paddock is just beyond the door, and they’re both still suited like they just stepped off the track.

Max grips her face, palm firm across her jaw, and shoves her back against the wall again.

“Keep your voice down,” he snaps. “You want the entire grid to hear how wet you are for me?”

She opens her mouth to talk back — always does — but he cuts her off with another kiss, brutal and fast. One hand tugs her fireproofs and suit down her thighs, the other keeps her face right where he wants it.

And she moans. Loud.

Max pulls back, furious, breath ragged. “I said quiet.”

Then comes the slap.

Not hard — but sharp. A sting across her cheek that silences her instantly, eyes wide, lips parted. Max stares her down, jaw tight.

“That help you listen?” he asks, voice rough like gravel.

She nods, lips already swelling, eyes flickering from his to the door, as if remembering just where they are. But she still can’t keep her mouth shut — not when he drags his fingers between her legs and finds her already slick.

"Fuck, Max—" it's half on purpose, like she's just not even trying to hold back.

She's trying to push. And she gets it, just as it worked on track.

Another slap. This time lighter, but it makes her shiver.

“Don’t make me gag you with your own fireproofs,” he mutters, free hand dragging up her thigh. “You want something in your mouth? Ask.”

He grins. Hands wrapping around her waist, pushing closer as she gasps.

Right on cue, his mouth moves to hers again —sloppier, slower. His tongue claiming the dominance he couldn’t keep on track.

She’s still barely out of her suit when he spins her around again, this time not for a kiss but to shove her front-first against the wall. Her breath hitches — not out of fear, but pure thrill — cheek pressed to the cool surface, arms pinned above her head by one of his hands.

“Still feeling cocky, little miss champion?” he growls low into her ear, his free hand already dragging her sports bra up over her chest.

Her voice is a purr. “Still feeling threatened, old man?”

Wrong answer.

The sharp smack lands on her ass now — loud, rough, enough to make her jolt. Her laugh is breathy, but she doesn’t apologize. Not even close.

Max’s fingers dig into her hips, dragging her against him until she feels how hard he is through his jeans. “I warned you. I told you to shut the fuck up.”

“And I told you I’m not one to ask.”

Another smack, harder. This time she gasps — not just from the sting but because his hand doesn’t leave. It palms her ass, then dips down between her thighs, two fingers rubbing over the fabric of her underwear like he’s mocking how wet she is already.

“For someone who talks so much, your pussy’s saying the opposite.” His voice is a rasp. Dark. Dangerous. “You like pushing me, huh? You like seeing how far you can go until I ruin you.”

She turns her head slightly, lips curled in a dare. “Do your worst.”

That’s all it takes.

In seconds, her underwear is down around her thighs and he’s sinking to his knees behind her, tongue already dragging through her folds like he’s starved. No warning, no buildup. Just wet, messy licks that make her knees buckle and her bratty confidence start to shake.

“Oh—fuck, Max—”

It's in the way her hips shift against him, chasing the friction. Max makes a sound low in his throat, mutters something in Dutch, and then he’s got her leg hiked up, her suit crumpled at her ankles, and his own fireproofs tugged just low enough.

No teasing. No time. They barely got to foreplay.

He pushes into her like he owns her — and maybe he does, in this moment. Her nails scrape across the thin fabric clinging to his back, her mouth open in a gasp he doesn’t let her release. His hand covers her mouth, thumb dragging across her cheek where the sting of his slap still lingers.

“You’re gonna take it all, quiet like a good girl,” he grits out, thrusts hard enough that her back hits the wall again with a dull thud.

She’s shaking already, muffled sounds lost beneath his palm, eyes rolled back.

“This what you wanted?” he hisses, hips snapping into her. “You think you can play games on track and walk away like I won’t ever get my payback?”

She nods — frantic, still — like she was using her words to say "yes, I think I can play whatever I want to and walk away like you won't ever get payback" and that only makes him go harder. Every stroke rougher, more desperate. The heat between them, the sweat, the scent of rubber and engine oil still clinging to their suits — it’s filthy and fast and perfect.

It's when she clenches; he knew he wasn't going to let it end so quickly. She feels the emptiness as he steps back, hands holding her waist and giving it no time as he turns her around.

He doesn’t even wait for her legs to steady. Just scoops her up like she weighs nothing and drops her onto the narrow couch shoved against the wall of her driver’s room. She barely has time to catch her breath before he’s pushing her down on her knees, fireproofs and suit still tangled around her thighs, cheek pressed into the cushion.

"Ass up," Max orders, voice hoarse, not even trying to hide how wrecked he is.

And she gives it to him — fast, eager, already moaning again as he grabs her hips and drags her back against him. No slow build this time. Just a brutal thrust that knocks the air out of her lungs, followed by another and another until she’s choking on the force of it, clawing at the armrest like it’ll save her.

“Max—” she tries, barely a whimper, “I—I can’t—”

He slaps her ass, hard. “Yes, you fucking can.”

Her whole body jolts. Then another slap. Then he’s driving into her with such relentless rhythm that the couch legs start to squeak against the floor.

“You wanna talk about lap times now?” he pants, one hand sliding up her spine to grab her hair and yank her head back. “Still think you’re faster?”

She’s babbling. Words that aren’t words, her mind wrecked, legs trembling, cheeks stained with spit and tears. And she’s still trying to fuck back into him — helpless, addicted, gone.

“Too much,” she sobs, voice muffled in the cushions.

Max doesn’t stop. Not even close.

“That’s the fucking point.”

He presses her down fully, body blanketing hers, cock still buried deep. His mouth finds her ear, hot breath and sweat and growled Dutch curling over her skin.

“I’m gonna keep going until your voice breaks,” he swears, “and then maybe I’ll let you cum again.”

Her hands scrabble at the cushions, searching for something to hold onto. But there’s nothing — no mercy, no control, no stopping.

Only Max. And everything he’s willing to take.

“You wanna play queen of the grid? Fine.” He's all the way in; then all the way out. Then in again. Strong, relentless. “But right now you’re just a cock-drunk brat who needs to be put in her place.”

And then he’s inside her — all at once, no mercy, no gentleness. She cries out, legs fighting not to give up as he starts to fuck into her like he’s trying to fuck the memory of the race out of both of them.

She claws at the couch, trying to meet his pace but he’s faster. Rougher. Unforgiving. Her moans get louder, messier — every thrust knocking the air out of her lungs until all she can do is whimper and beg.

“Too much?” he taunts, even as he pounds into her harder, grounding his hands into her hips. “Thought you could handle anything, Lienne. Thought you were tough.”

“Fuck—Max, I—”

Her orgasm hits hard, tearing through her like lightning — but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow, fingers deep down her skin as he holds her in place. His hand finds her throat, pressing lightly as he fucks her through it, her body already shaking under him.

“One,” he mutters. “That’s one. I’m not done.”

She tries to protest, but it’s all breath and no sound. She doesn't want to, in fact. That's what Lienne was looking for ever since the first pet-peeve.

“Come on,” he hisses, thrusts brutal now. “You wanted to be better than me? Take it. Take every fucking inch.”

Another orgasm builds too fast — she’s too sensitive, too overwhelmed — but it hits anyway, making her sob and convulse, tears falling freely now.

She comes hard, a trembling mess pinned under him, her voice caught in the back of her throat as she tries to cry out but only manages a broken gasp. Max's hand is still over her mouth, smothering every sound she makes, letting her fall apart in silence. Her thighs shake violently, knees barely holding her weight on the couch as he fucks her through the last wave, giving her no pause, no break. Just relentless.

"Shhh," he hisses against her neck, breath rough and hot. "Don't wake the whole paddock just because you can’t take it."

Lienne sobs into his palm, guttural and muffled, her entire body twitching beneath him. She's ruined — properly wrecked. But even now, even collapsed, she tries to arch back into him, chasing something more she doesn’t even have words for.

He grinds in, deep and slow, once, twice, enough to hear her whimper again, and then pulls out without warning. She slumps forward, arms buckling, face pressed into the couch cushion as she pants through the comedown.

Max stands behind her, calmly pulling his race suit back up like nothing happened, smoothing the fireproofs over his chest, fixing the waistband like he's not leaving her there dripping and ruined.

He leans over, close enough to brush his mouth near her ear.

"Maybe now you’ll put some respect on my name."

She turns her head slightly, mascara smudged, lips raw and swollen, breath still shaky — and she laughs.

A weak, wrecked, absolutely shameless laugh.

"In your dreams, Verstappen."

Max grins, dark and crooked.

"Yeah. Thought so."

And then he’s gone. No towel. No aftercare. No parting words. Just the soft sound of the door closing behind him, leaving her to fix herself, knees weak and thighs shaking, wrecked and unbothered — because she’ll never give him that satisfaction.

⠀⠀ʚïɞ ayrtonswnna, 2025.

[lilliezzzzz-fics]

Mario Karting

including: alex albon, yuki tsunoda, dino beganovic, lance stroll + isack hadjar author's note: blame my mario kart addiction for this <3 also finally writing for dino, which is great because i love him, but also means i have a chance to include swedish in my writing! hooray! reader is gn, no use of y/n <3 warnings: mentions of food (yuki). minor swedish dialogue (dino), i think that's it? just fluffy ! word count: 1.3k (200-ish each)

★ Alex Albon

he always—and i mean always plays yoshi

if anyone else tries to take him from him, he gives them the dirtiest glare

whenever he and you play against each other, somehow one of your pets always end up in the way

either sitting in his lap or yours, or maybe even sitting in front of the screen somehow

then, when he makes his kart he does speed > acceleration > grip > handling > weight

his favourite cup to play with you is the lightning cup

he gets to first and then gets red shelled like twice in a row and falls down the pack to like 7th

gets so, so stressed but he hides it well, just lets out a heavy sigh when the race is over

he's very competitive too―he probably uses all his items on you whenever you're in front of him

lets out such a laugh when you get mad at him

it's the funniest thing ever according to him

although, if you get above him he gets very happy because you seem very proud of yourself

probably complementing you with a smile on his face

but when you threaten to steal his seat at williams he takes it all back

“Mate, that's just not fair, now is it?” Alex exclaims, his hands gripping the controller.

“What happened?”

“I just got fucking red shelled twice!” He groans, “I swear, like, they're targeting me or something.”

You laugh at him, softly bumping his shoulder with yours, “maybe you're just bad.”

“Take that back!”

★ Yuki Tsunoda

i think he'd play like tanooki mario or baby mario

his karts always priorities speed over all else, less weight too―he probably doesn't have too much acceleration on them though

he loves the shell cup, he is actually godlike at moo moo meadows

and he is so incredibly competitive, like he starts kicking you whenever you get too close to his character―ending up in a semi-brawl against each other

he's surprisingly strategic too, like purposely falling back a little to get the bullet, then getting to the front with mushrooms and just dominating

takes it super seriously. it's his life on the line, actually

oh and he makes sure to have snacks for you two ready 

dried fruits, chocolate, chips―pretty much anything that you want, he has on the table

even homemade snacks if any of you are craving them

though he denies that he made it for you, for his pride, he insists

he actually screeches whenever he gets hit by a projectile, blabbering curses to whoever threw them

even at you

but in the end it's all just in good fun, he never actually gets mad nor do you

except when he throws a blue shell when you're in front, of course

then it's over for him

“Haha!” Yuki grins as he flies to the front with his items.

“How did you get that?!” You pout, eyes still locked on the screen, watching as he passes by you with a golden mushroom.

“Strategy, obviously. You're just not Mario Karting on my level.”

★ Dino Beganovic

he mains koopa troopa for no reason other than “he’s funny”

and his favourite cup is the egg cup, he just really likes dragon driftway

talking about drifting

he is actually incredible when it comes to drifting and doing tricks

he never misses a singular one, and you have zero clue how he does it

it’s like magic or something

but he also gets terrible luck when it comes to items, and he’s not particularly good with them either

the number of times he's either a) thrown a bomb and proceeded to drive into it, and b) thrown a green shell that just ends up hitting him couldn’t even be counted on two hands

not only that, but he fumbles or gets shelled so much

it’s kind of pitiful, like you feel so bad when you see his number just fall from 1 to 3, to 4, and even 6

and he doesn’t rage much, but when he does he rages in swedish

he does refrain from doing so majority of the time, but it is fun to witness

either way, when you do start to feel bad when he falls down the pack, it usually doesn’t stay that way long

somehow he always manages to climb back into top 3

it gets irritating sometimes, however, that never lasts because he just looks so pretty when he’s proud of himself

give him a little victory smooch for me, please <3

“Men asså! Din jävla—ugh, gud…” Dino groans as yet another shell flies into him, “Jag svär om det kommer en till-”

There’s a brief pause, and you can’t help but snicker at Dino’s dramaticism.

“Calm down, it’s not like it’s the end of the world.”

“But it is!”

*translation 1: "oh my! you fucking—ugh, god..."

*translation 2: "i swear if there's another one-"

★ Lance Stroll

he’d main rosalina, maybe? or maybe lakitu or shy guy—any one of them

his favourite cup by far is the flower cup, mainly because first off, it’s not too intense

and secondly, he just thinks it's cute

whenever you play, it’s usually very casual—you mostly play on either 100cc or 150cc if you’re feeling a little competitive

the two of you just laze on his couch with your limbs entangled, eyes trained on the screen and just having fun

it’s genuinely very sweet 

he never really rages at mario kart either, he doesn’t take it serious enough

although whenever he wins or gets top 3, he does get happy (even though it is almost every race that he does)

just this silly cute grin plastered on his face

especially when you’re also winning with him!

just smiling softly while saying, “did you see that drift?”

and you just smile back

he’s so cute!!! how could you not?

The two of you are sitting on Lance’s couch, in his living room, your head resting on his shoulder, your eyes glued to the screen as you drive around the Mario Kart racetrack. 

There’s only you, him, the TV, and the game's sound. It’s comforting, warm, and Lance’s heartbeat is a steady rhythm beating by your ear.

“Ooo! Did’ya see that?” he murmurs against your scalp, his voice is soft—barely audible as he presses a soft kiss against your head, “that drift was insane.”

“I’m sure it was.”

★ Isack Hadjar

he’s a toad main, and i feel like further elaboration is unnecessary

playing mario kart is basically him driving f1, it’s life or death for him, and he will play as competitively as possible

in a boyfriend™ way, of course

the two of you play on 150 or 200cc at all times, always fully locked in

his favourite cup is also the triforce cup because he thinks it is hilarious when you either fall off the map or something

(he gets mad when he does, though)

when you get too close, just like yuki, he will kick you 

it’s all fun and games, though! he only does it when he knows you don’t mind

oh whenever he sees you in front and he just happens to have a projectile—he throws it immediately

just to see that grumpy expression 

he genuinely just says something like, “tough luck, babe” and laughs

karma is a bitch, though, and like ten seconds after you see him fly past your screen but backwards because he got hit by lightning and then red shelled

he also swears in his mother tongue, like yelling because this game is broken! 

afterwards, the two of you make up with a soft exchange of kisses and watch youtube, muttering truce? truce.

A wave of pride washes over you as you see the number in the corner turn into a one as you overtake Princess Peach for first place. You let out a triumphant yes! and the exact moment you do, you hear a mischievous laugh from Isack.

You feel doom approaching as you hear how a shell approaches. 

“You are fucking with me, Isack! Seriously?”

“Blame the game, not the player.” He laughs.

©lilliezzzzz-fics: please don't copy or distribute my work on any platform

[youdontknowe]

Heyyy this is both my therapy and the reason I need therapy so let’s see how much it hurts or helps this week LMAO

* Ehehe standing in the corner like 🧍

* Not the firebird (tbf it has no headlights)

* 😧 he’d be willing to leave BABY? Now that’s a dean in love

* Dean no you cannot play the I was dead card after using I’m on a timer card

* Lol sleepy girly is not waking up yet

* Awh her brain finally processing that he’s back

* lol Bobby always has someone to chew out on their dumb shit

* lol every time skip from sam is just ‘did you get bigger?’

* Ooooo enochian? That is awesome (cue cas and her sharing secret notes to shit talk)

* lol poor sam will never get to know his hair looks good

* I like the detail In translation doesn’t always quite work even if it’s psychological

* Ehehe if I remember correctly she was also compared to a cat (don’t quote me my memory isn’t grand)

* Uhoh I forgot about the whole Sam’s got a problem because of ruby

* I always like how you explain bobbys soul cus it fits his character so well!! Cus of course he’d be something solid cus he’s about the only solid thing for his kids (the boys ain’t johns kids in anything by name in my mind)

* Ooooo Mayhaps they’re like that because chuck has like them as like the most detailed characters? I dunno I could be talking crap

* Pfff dean catching sass off castiel

* Bros doing a lot of bending rules for an angel

* Lmao he doesn’t care she can’t be smited doesn’t even question it he just relaxed like ‘oh thank god(chuck?) that I don’t have to worry about that too’

* By far the most frustrating (in a good way) part of your slow burns is nones allowed to say I love you before like at minimum half way through the fic

* It’s on sight with ruby. She’s catching hands and a magic woodchopper

* Girls trip!! (They’re going to kill something but that’s what really makes a girls trip right?)

* Yesss dragon hoarding gold analogy 10/10

* Lmao at least she’s aware and not ruining Jo’s breakfast with the icky details

* Jo is now getting official little sister shit card for princess

* Lmao “I can see souls, Jo.” I read that in the most deadpan way

* In giggling so hard Jo is just throwing any and all teasing comments about dean whenever she can

* Woohoo Jo your so smart! Really taking after her mentor

* Dean saying please is literally just the magic word to get her to agree to something

* The fact it’s widely known deans obsessed is so funny and yes I agree with Jo I would marry a man who drove from the falls to Texas for me cus I googled it and that’s a minimum 15 hour drive 💀 (America is scary big wtf)

* Damn bro was fast as fuck to get there! He was totally like literally just entering the area and called to get where she was lmao

* Bobby having a topic he will rant for ages about is so dad canon

* Hehehe sleepover ritual is so cute but the image of dean in a face mask - PRICELESS

* Sam being fed up of Dean part 2329473

* I think my favourite little scenes are Dean quietly threatening people whenever princess is asleep on or next to him

* Yk it’s cool to think of like an alternate reality where she IS maybe a bit evil and wants something really big bad to go down and how unstoppable both her and Dean could be, just because he’d do anything for her and it’d be even worse if she guaranteed Sam and people he cares about safe during it

* Sad nightmares :(

* Bro has NO issues getting on his knees for her at any time and I’m living for it. Give me more men on their knees for their girls

* YES more dress content cus she’s rocking silk

* It’s never good when someone gets a bad feeling oh no I’m nervous

* Oh bloody hell it’s a disaster

* OH I like that we’re getting deans pov on what she looks like using her powers

* And back to the shitshow this hunt has become

* I love deans pov in all this it really secures the, chaos- omg she’s so pretty i would die for her- oh shit more chaos

* What’s happening oh no

* I’m panicking people I’m panicking

* OMG IS IT HAPPENING

* ITS HAPPENING AHHHHHH THEY SMOOCHIN

* Shit that was a tasty make out scene

* Lmao that must have been the single most victorious and awkward few minutes for Jo

* Magdalene is a cool asf name

* Ooooooo I love the history lessons and lore drops so much it’s amazing

* Yeah cas bad bad timing but tbf this is probably the best for Dean cus he’s got less things to worry about her hating him for

* Do we get more smoochin action next week? Pretty please

* End note: Dean really needs one of those shiny shock blankets they give out from ambulances n stuff. Hes really just gonna be sitting for weeks trying to wrap his head around the fact she’s seen all that in hell and STILL sticks to him. I love them so much

* It took a a little longer to read this week but I really enjoyed it 💙 im so excited we get to maybe see more physical affection from here cuz it’s finally happeningggg

Chapter 18 - You Can Start to Make It Better

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Return of the swaggy Monster of the Week cases.

Chapter Title from Hey Jude by The Beatles

Word Count: 17.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You go home, and try to get back into a rhythm. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 17 - Chapter 19

Read on A03!

You have rules.

If you’re going to love Dean, you have to have rules.

To keep yourself sane, and to keep Dean safe.

To ensure that your priority can be making sure Dean stays alive. You can never, ever fail him again, because now that you have him, it will take a biblical tragedy to make you lose him again.

So you have rules.

The first rule comes before the drive home. You stay the night in Texas, but neither of you really sleep. For Dean, it’s so the stiches can set, and for you, it’s so you can feel Dean’s arms around you and hear his heartbeat near your ear, his hand splayed gently over your stomach to monitor the stitches. Then, before the dawn has even fully broken the sky, you go.

Together.

Dean asked you not to run, so now you means you and Dean, together.

He goes to pick you up some non-bloodstained clothing—you’d slept in his shirt, and you’d both silently agreed not to talk about it—as you get the coffee, and when you start to change he takes a tall, rigid stance facing the door. It’s almost adorable, how he’s fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket and glowering at the walls. Like he’s somehow trying to preserve your modesty.

“We’re taking my car.” Dean mutters, and you freeze with one leg in the sweatpants.

“Dean, I’m not just leaving the Firebird.“

“Yeah, you are.”

“You gave me that car-“

“I’ll send Sammy back for it.” He snaps. “He’ll bus down and drive it back up, and you’ll stay with me.”

You roll your eyes, standing up straight as you finish with the sweats. “You never let Sam drive Baby, why is my car different-“

“Because.” Dean grunts, shooting you a glare as you shuffle over to his side. “I am not letting you drive back to Sioux Falls by yourself after you just got fucking shot, Princess. We’re leaving the Firebird.”

“You can be really dramatic, Deano, you know that?”

His lips twitch slightly. “It’s not dramatic to make sure you don’t bleed out somewhere in Oklahoma, Princess.”

“See, you sound dramatic-“

“And you’re not driving yourself home. Give it up.”

You pout up at him, putting on your best, innocent, sweet expression. “But my car, De. Please-“

“I don’t give a shit about your car.” He grumbles, and that breaks you in a second.

You could see the clench of his jaw and fists, hear the resolve in his voice, and this wasn’t a fight you were going to win. If Dean is valuing you over the car, you’d lost before the conversation even started.

It wasn’t like you really cared either way. If it were up to you, you’d climb onto Dean’s body and never be peeled away from him again.

“What about your car?” You hum, just to selfishly press a little further, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“If that’s what it’s gonna take to get your ass back home, we’ll take the freakin’ Firebird instead. But,” he narrows his eyes at you. “I’m driving, and you’re resting, and that’s it.”

You stare at him, and it creeps right up to the edge of your tongue. You love him. So much. Desperately and eternally, because he cares. More than anyone. All the time. You’ve seen him almost shoot people for looking at the Impala wrong, he’s willing to leave it in fucking Texas for you, and you can see how serious he is in his Gold—solid and burning in his body—and you love him-

“Dean, you don’t need to-“

“I do.” He grumbles, starting to herd you out the door. “I’ll carry you home on fucking foot, if I have to. You’re more important-“

“Than a car?!” 

Dean shoots you a glare, you offer him a soft, teasing smile, and he sighs. “And you’ve got the nerve to call me dramatic.”

“Bold words from the man who just said he’d carry me home on foot.” You hum, and Dean finally grins.

Wide and pretty and unrestrained, staring at you in the breaching light of the morning that’s somehow less golden than he is, and here. Alive.

Not yours, but with you. 

And you love him. 

“I missed you, Princess.” He mutters, and it’s a good thing you’re already half-pressed into his side. Otherwise, you would’ve fallen over.

“I missed you too,” you whisper, and Dean’s grin is beautiful, and there’s the first rule.

This can’t be about you. He’s too pretty and magnetic and Golden, and you love him, but if you’re going to keep loving him it can’t be about you.

“We can take Baby.” You mumble. “I- That was nice, though.”

“No problem.” Dean rubs the back of his neck, and you could swear there was a slight redness to his cheeks before he looked away. “I, uh- Yeah. C’mon.”

Dean half carries you to the car, because he’s an amazing idiot who really seems to think that if he takes his hand off your body for a second, you’ll vanish into thin air.

You understand the sentiment. It’s the same reason that, when you stop for gas after a few hours and he tells you to stay in the car, you shake your head and start to open the door.

“What are you-“

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, I told you to stay-“

“You’re not the boss of me.” You mutter, twisting to glare at him when his arm crosses your chest, pinning you to the seat. “I want a shitty gas station donut, Winchester. Let me go.”

He doesn’t move. “I’ll get you one, sweetheart, just stay-“

“Listen to me.” You snap, leaning forward with a scowl. “If you don’t let me out, I am going to break out, stab you, and sit on you while I eat my donut.”

Dean’s eyes widen slightly, and a small smirk creeps onto his face. “Bossy, Princess.”

“Dean Winchester-“

“Chill out,” he drawls your name, his arm moving back and leaving an almost whining depression where he’d been touching you before. “I’m not looking to get stabbed today, you can get your own freakin’ donut.”

You smile at him in triumph, Dean snorts and shakes his head, and you really don’t give a fuck about the donut. You care about Dean, guiding you inside with a hand on your lower back, muttering low jokes in your ear as you wait in the shockingly long line, and grinning at you like there’s nobody else in the world.

Dean plays his music too loud in the car on the drive back, trying to get you to sing along and pouting whenever you refuse.

“You know, this isn’t very nice,” he grumbles after the fifth attempt. “I just came back from the dead, Princess, the least you could do is sing for me.”

You shoot him glare, the Silver whining in your body at the reminder. “The I was dead card isn’t going to work on me, Deano. I don’t think it’s funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” He shrugs. “C’mon. I think I’m making it work.”

“You’re not.” You mutter, wrapping your arms around your stomach, and Dean drops it like that.

You don’t know if he gets it. The toll his death took on you. And you’re going to do everything in your power to ensure he never knows—that’s just another burden you don’t want him to carry—but there are things you can’t keep him from seeing. 

How you get quiet whenever he mentions it, because the numb feeling of nothing, Dean’s gone so there’s nothing, washes back over your body. The fact that you know you don’t look healthy, because even with the Silver humming once more in your body, you still have bruises from malnutrition and rashes on your wrists from where Ketch tied you up. There’s a gaunt quality to your skin that wasn’t there when he last saw you, and you might not be trying to force the Silver down anymore, but the habit of picking your skin raw is too deeply ingrained to go away.

You have gotten better at the healing, over the past four months. But the weakness from being held captive hasn’t faded away, and it means that you’re too tired to do most anything but rest, and talk to Dean.

You can always talk to Dean. 

He’s keeping his voice softer than usual. Almost gentle, as your eyelids start to droop, and his word fade in and out of your head.

“I’m gonna pull over.” He mutters after another few hours. “Check your stitches.”

You hum, and don’t bother to do anything but wait for Dean to park the car and move so he’s kneeling on the grass before you, then let him maneuver your body, so your stomach is under the flashlight in his mouth.

All your effort goes into trying not to moan, when his fingers brush over your skin. Warm and broad and calloused, so careful when they touch you, like you’re something that could possibly be broken.

You don’t care if the Sky sees this. If it hates it, or doesn’t care because Dean’s keeping you safe and alive. 

You’re for Dean. Nothing and no one else. He’s the one who sits you up carefully and presses a kiss to your brow, before making you drink water and settling you upright once more. Dean is the only person in the universe who, when he scoots back into the driver’s seat and slings his arm around your shoulders, you’d ever even consider leaning into.

Sleep comes easy and peaceful, on Dean’s shoulder, the music humming softly in the background and the Silver flowing softly through the world as Dean drives you home.

It’s twilight, when he wakes you up. Everything is cast in deep shades of blue, and the shadows have grown a little longer in the night, but there’s no pain or fear in your body at all.

It’s all still technicolor. 

Dean’s still here.

And you’re curled right into his side, and you can hear his heartbeat, and everything is okay.

“You wanna go right to bed?” He mutters in your ear, and you blink up at him as sleep lingers over your brain.

“Huh?”

Dean huffs a soft laugh, looking at you with an odd gentleness you don’t understand, but are going to cling to for the rest of your life.

“De, I-“ You cut yourself off with a yawn, burrowing yourself a little further into his side because he’s warm and alive and you’re too tired to stop yourself. “What’s happening?”

“We’re back at Bobby’s, Princess.” Dean watches you carefully, his voice still so strongly low and soft. “And Sammy told me they’d wait up, if you wanted, but if you wanna go to bed, we can sleep in your room, or the room I’ve been using. If you, uh, if you want me in the bed, obviously. We can separate and I can take the couch if you want my room-“

You shake your head, moving your hand to press over Dean’s mouth. 

He blinks at you, and you only stare at him through a slight daze.

“Slow down, Deano, you’re talking so fast.” Your voice sounds whiny to your own ears, but Dean doesn’t really look like he cares, and you’re so tired. “‘M tired, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Dean grabs your hand and slowly lowers it down, his eyes dancing with a soft light. “You’re tired, sweetheart?”

You nod, dropping your head to his shoulder, and he lets out a low chuckle that rolls through your body. 

“Alright, you’re doing bed then.”

You frown against his body. “What’s doing bed mean.”

“Means you’re acting like you’re freakin’ drunk, ba- Princess.” Dean starts to shift you around until you might be in his lap—the world is all blurry color and Dean, so you can’t really tell—and sighs in your ear. “So Sam and Bobby will just have to wait till morning.”

“Sam and Bobby. Where are-” Your words die as you lean back, and Dean’s face is right there. A breath from yours, and pretty, and there’s so much life in his eyes—all beautiful and so focused on you—that you almost burst into tears.

“Wait, shit-“ Dean grabs your face with one hand, the other keeping you steady by your waist, and that’s enough. Your eyes start to sting, and a weak noise leaves your chest as the Silver pours out into the world.

You’re the easy wind outside the car, the gentle comfort of the Impala—warm and filled with love from Dean’s care—and the soft hope of a lightbulb outside, covered in moths and flickering but still holding out to draw something else into its light. 

You’re not Dean, but you’re curled right against him, and when your eyes flick down to your hands they’re covered in gold, and Dean-

“Fuck, Princess, don’t cry- It’s- I didn’t mean to- Oof-“

You tackle your body fully into his, somehow finding force without movement, and Dean’s arms wrap tight around you in half a second as you sob.

“You died.” Your hands fist against his shirt, and there’s too much dizzy, sleepy fog over your brain for you to do anything else but sob and hold onto Dean. “You- you were gone, and you died, and I couldn’t- I tried but I couldn’t- And you- You were in Hell, and I didn’t-“

You cut yourself off with another strangled sound, and Dean’s hand starts to stroke through your hair.

“I know. But I’m good now.” he mutters in your ear, and it’s soothing. Like a lullaby that’s a little more. A promise. “I know, Princess I do, but you’re okay. We’re gonna get you to bed, sweetheart, you’re real tired and it’s- It’s okay.”

Dean pries you off his chest as you continue to sniffle, his thumb presses to the bridge of your nose, and it’s like a spell. 

The Silver eases back into your body, and you’re out. 

When you wake up, sunlight is filtering through the room. Your room.

You’re back in your own room.

It hasn’t really changed. Bobby seems to have cleaned up all your notes from the floor, and the sheets are fresh and changed, but everything else is as you left it, save for a slight coat of dust.

And Dean.

The last time you’d slept in this room, Dean had been at your side, but he’s not here now.

The only thing that keeps the Silver from bursting out of your body and ripping through the world to find him is the Gold. Bright and strong and covering your whole room, imprinted on the mattress and all across your clothing, a soft lining of it on the door knob and over the carpet. 

Dean is alive. The Spiderweb is soft and iridescent in your body, so he’s still alive, and he’d been here because only Dean is Golden like that.

It wasn’t just a cruel nightmare or trick of your mind, that he’d come to get you, and-

Oh, fuck.

You’re not tired now, but god, you had been when you got home, and you’d fallen apart from nothing at all. Fragile and uncontrolled and sobbing into Dean’s arms when he was the one who fucking died.

And he’d held you, but you’d been far too close. If he hadn’t somehow eased you to sleep, you probably mumbled that you loved him, in your exhaustion. And he had so many other things to worry about, all far more important than you. Dean shouldn’t be responsible for soothing you whenever you lose your fucking mind-

But he had. Because he was amazing, and Dean, and has always had you  when you lost your fucking mind.

You love him.

Second rule.

You can’t overindulge yourself.

If Dean volunteers to care for you, you’ll take it because you’ll never have enough will to not. But you can never ask for more, when he already gives so much. If you ask for more and he gives it, that won’t be love. It will be selfishness, and greed, and the monster in you hoarding him like the gold he is because you love him, and nothing should ever touch him again. 

Instead you’ll be his beast. Snarling and marching in front of him and taking whatever scraps he throws to you. If Dean asks to keep sleeping in your bed, there’s no world where you say no. If he wants to carry you around and stitches up your wounds and hug you in his lap, you’ll keep pressing your face to his shoulder and drowning yourself in his Gold until he either shoves you away, or you start to infect him and you have to put yourself down.

Castiel said you’d already infected him. That you’d embedded yourself in him.

He’d seemed fine. There were all those new parts of the Gold, and the way that the rivers of Silver were glowing and secured through his body, but if that was what Castiel had been talking about, Dean didn’t seem to be fighting it or rejecting it from his soul. 

That could be part of the no overindulging. What you’d planted in Dean seems to have grown roots, and there was no taking that back, but it ends there. With the only exception of saving his life, the Silver will never touch him again. Especially with how little control over it you still have.

When you see Castiel again, you’ll have to ask him what he knows about souls. He’s the first other not-person you’ve met who ca see them. 

As your brain starts to fully kick back into its normal gear—devoid of weeks without sleep and months of being plagued by Dean’s voice on the wind—it hits you that you really need to talk to Castiel again. He’s a fucking angel. Angels are real, and one had saved Dean, and all the Hell dreams were real too, which has to mean something, but you don’t know what, and Castiel hadn’t seemed to know what either, but he was an angel, so he has to know something-

One thing at a time. 

Too much is happening, and you’ll get through it—you always do—but you still had to go one thing at a time.

And you’re home.

You shuffle out of the bedroom on silent feet, and you can hear them before you can see them.

“I still don’t know why I have to go to Texas.” Sam’s voice mutters from the kitchen. “You’re the one who made her leave her car there-“

“She’d been bleeding out, Sammy, I wasn’t gonna just let her fucking drive-“

“But-“

“Sam.” Bobby’s voice grunts, and you can hear the exhaustion in it. You can’t really tell if the gnawing feeling in your gut is guilt of relief. “I’m with Dean on this one.”

“Thank you, Bobby-“

“Not cause you made the right call, ya’ idjit.” Bobby snaps, and you can very easily picture Dean’s dejected puppy look. “If you’d used your fuckin’ brain, you wouldn’t have taken off the moment Cas found her, and one of us coulda driven it back behind you.”

“But, uh, I still did the right thing with the stitches and driving-“

“Stop fishin’ for compliments. You’re lucky I don’t shoot you for only callin’ us two hours before you got back.”

“I was busy,” Dean mutters, Sam snorts, and you finally turn into the kitchen. 

Dean sees you first, but Bobby’s close behind, and once they’re both staring at you, Sam follows their gaze with wide eyes.

“Hi.” You mumble, keeping one hand on the doorframe to steady yourself. “I- uh- sorry.”

It’s all you can think of to say.

And it turns out it’s all you need, because the words hang in the air for a fraction of a second before Bobby’s marching across the room and you’re pulled into a long firm hug.

You hug him back without a thought, and his grip tightens. You can almost feel all of Bobby’s anger and stress and relief pressing into your body, and you’ve been a really shitty daughter but he’s still hugging you, and there’s no urge to let go.

It’s the same way he’d hug you when you were a kid. When you’d make the house go haywire, then curl into a corner and cry for hours. The hug that meant, even though you’d made a huge mess for him to clean up, Bobby was just glad you hadn’t killed yourself in the process. 

And you hadn’t.

But when Bobby speaks, his voice is still gruff.

“Don’t ever fuckin’ do that to me again, kiddo.” He mutters, low enough for only you to hear, and he knows you don’t need to hear the rest of the lecture. About how you damn near killed him, and he doesn’t need to lose you and Dean, so next time you should just come home. You can feel it all in his hug, and that’s enough.

“I won’t.” You whisper, squeezing him a little tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know.” Bobby pulls back, scanning over you with a tight frown. “You gonna tell us what had you off the face of the damn earth and needin’ stitches?”

You nod, rubbing your wrists as you speak. “I will later.” You lean around Bobby to see Sam still gaping at you from his chair. “Hi, Sam.”

Sam pushes out of his chair without another word, and Bobby barely side-steps him before you’re in another death-gripping hug, Sam almost crushing you into his body.

“Did you get bigger?” You mutter into his chest, and Sam snorts.

“I’ve had a weird seven months.” 

“Ah.” You lean back, and Sam stares down at you, but doesn’t let go. “Same.”

He swallows, and something flashes over his face that you don’t understand. “I, um- I’m sorry I didn’t look for you. Dean was gone, and I knew you’d take it worse than anyone, and you were kind of all I had left of him, so I really should’ve tried harder-“

“Sam.” You offer him a soft smile. “It’s okay. I didn’t make myself an easy person to find.”

He nods, taking a slow step back, and Dean clears his throat.

“Can I have a hug too, Princess?”

You give him a flat look. “I’ve hugged you three times already.”

“Yeah, but I also drove you home, I think that’s earning me another one-“

“I’m not running a hug-based economy, Winchester, they’re fucking free-“

Dean almost crashes into you, and you hadn’t realized how different Dean hugging you really was until you felt them all back-to-back. 

Sam and Bobby had been firm, and almost strangling, but they hadn’t been trying to move you into their body. They hadn’t rested their chin on the top of your head, or moved your face to press into their necks, and you hadn’t tilted your head to try and hear their heartbeats. 

Sam and Bobby had stepped back, after the socially allotted amount of time.

Even after Sam lets out a very loud cough, Dean still squeezes you one last time, and keeps his hand between your shoulder blades as he moves away.

That wasn’t overindulging. Dean had hugged you, and you’d only responded to the pace he’d set. You’d sunken a little further down, down, down into Dean because he’d given you to chance, and you’d curled your fingers at the nape of his neck because the situation called for it.

Still, you have to set another two rules.

Third, you can’t let it show on your face, where Sam and Bobby and anyone else who knows where to look can see. When Dean keeps talking—and he’s right next you, and you love him, and he’s so pretty—you can’t just stare at him with a stupid smile and soft, adoring eyes. It has to be business as usual, no matter what, where you love Dean and it’s kept locked in the Spiderweb.

Fourth, you can’t let it affect work. At all. You have to fucking pay attention as they fill you in on the seals, heaven and Lilith, some guy named Chuck wrote those books, and a girl named Anna who’s now a missing angel.

“Oh, wait, get this.” Sam leans forward, his eyes wide on yours. “Where’s the Blade and your book, there’s-“

You cut Sam off with a long sigh. “I lost them.” 

“You- How?”

“Hunters.” You mutter, twisting the skin on your finger, and Dean’s eyes narrow.

“You got a clue where they are, Princess?”

“Yes.”

Dean opens his mouth to push it, but Sam cuts him off before he gets the chance.

“Well, alright, Dean says you can write in the language too-“

You frown. “What language?”

“Cas and Uriel called it Enochian.” Dean mutters, running his hand over his face. “Angel language.”

“Angel what?”

“You heard him, kiddo.” Bobby shrugs at you, and you must still be clouded with sleep, because there’s no fucking way-

“I speak angel?”

“Yeah, but,” Sam sighs, frowning at the air. “We don’t know why, so if you’ve got something-“

You shake your head. “I’m not an angel, Sam, if that’s where you’re-“

“It’s not. Anna was a secret angel, and that was worked out in a month.” Sam sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s gotten really long, but—and he’ll never get to hear this—it suits him. “It’s just better than nothing, right? Did you find anything new on, you know…”

You huff a soft laugh as Sam trails off. “Yeah, I know. And sort of. It’s- I was sort of visiting a bunch of witches-“

Dean pushed off the counter with wide eyes. “You were what-“

“Calm down, Deano.” You give him a firm look, and he scowls, but shuts his mouth. “None of them hurt me. They all treated me like I was some sort of royalty. It was really fucking weird.”

Dean frowns, opening his mouth to say something that’s likely going to be adorable and unhelpful, but Bobby beats him to the punch.

“They give you anythin’ to go off of? If they were treatin’ you like that, they had to know somethin’-“

You shake your head with a long sigh. “They didn’t have a fucking clue either. One older one, like really old, said the name for what I was is lost, but-“ Your eyes widen. “Fuck.”

“What-“

You shake your head, and Sam cuts himself off as you stare ahead into nothing and rub your wrists, letting your brain turn over the chance. It’s lining up, and it’s less than a gamble and more of a risk, but there’s no fucking way it’s that easy-

Dean says your name in a low, careful voice. “What are you thinking?”

“You remember how I thought the soulweapons were solemn oath weapons? And you told me that solemn oath means soul?” You run your thumb against your palm, and Dean nods. “I thought that was just, you know, whoever wrote it being weird or something. But if it really is a different language-“

“It is.” Sam mumbles, and you sigh. 

“Okay, but that means I’ve been translating in my head for some fucking reason, and what if I’ve been mistranslating other words like that?”

Sam frowns. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve been makin’ them literal.” Bobby grunts, giving you a small smile and nod, and you stand a little taller. “You thinkin’ of another word you need worked out?”

“Yeah.” You swallow. “Are you guys still kind of fighting with Castiel, or is he going to take a, uh, prayer?”

“He’ll take it if we say we’ve got something interesting. He’s nosy.” Dean starts to guide you to the table. “He’s kinda like a cat. Comes and goes. You’ll like him.”

You give Dean a sweet smile, biting down the words that you already met him, and he did seem a little like a cat. It’s not a lie. It’s an omission.

And that’s bad within itself, but at least until you see Castiel again—and he gets real fucking specific about what the angels have been waiting for means—you’ll have to keep omitting. 

Even if Dean pulls out a chair and helps you into your seat, and the Silver twists because there’s still some muss in his hair from sleep, and he’s still touching you, and you love him.

“I can walk myself, you know.” You raise your brows at him, and he shrugs, dropping in the seat between you and Sam.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Princess.”

“We both know you won’t-“

“Sammy, can we have some paper?” Sam passes Dean a sheet from his notebook, and it’s slid in front of you with a pen.

You blink at Dean, and he sighs, grabbing the pen and moving it into your hands.

“Write down what you want Cas to look at.” He mutters, tapping the paper. “So when we call him, we’ve got something to show him.”

“Oh.” You whisper, glancing down to the paper. “Right. Smart.”

You could swear Dean sits a little taller, his face breaking out in an even wider grin, and the rest of breakfast slides by fast. You do some loose, more pointless catchup about the past months—Sam found some new books he can show you, Bobby’s being a butthead and won’t tell you if he’s been dating, and Dean won’t stop reminding Sam that he needs to get moving to Texas soon—and for long, beautiful seconds, it’s hard to remember that you were gone at all.

But there’s evidence. Proof only you can see that you’ve change. That you’ve all changed.

Dean’s soul is still Golden, even if parts of it are to clearly new and molten from being mended, and Bobby’s soul is still green—although a little more worn, which is going to keep eating at your stomach—but Sam is…

Different. 

There’s more red, even when you give him a quick glance. It’s like blood seeping over his softer tissue and bone, and there’s certainly far less blue to his purple than before. It looks a little like an infection. It’s raw and malignant the same way the Darkness was, and the Silver doesn’t like it. It’s still setting off and keening to spread out over you in an almost chemical reaction. To burst and bubble and flow until all the red is gone, because it’s wrong.

You can’t really think of a good way to mention that to Sam. You’ve never told someone that their soul looks infected before. 

A problem for a later.

Because right now, as you finish up with the word—it takes longer than you’d like, but you’ve never tried to write in Enochian, and it takes an odd amount of effort to separate it in your brain—and you take the time to look at their souls fully, you see it.

Bobby’s soul is firm and pact, like the soil of the ground. Unwavering and firm, but not cold like stone. 

But Sam and Dean aren’t anything you’ve ever seen.

You’d noticed it, when Dean found you, but you’d been tired and chalked it up to exhaustion. Yet you’ve slept, and you’re looking with the intent of seeing, and they’re not anything.

Or they’re everything.

You can’t really tell.

But whatever they’re made of, it’s the same. It’s all light and shadow, shifting and turning like a star inside of them, and almost pure looking. Like it’s raw, but still made from something old. 

You can’t stare. If you stare, they’ll ask questions that you don’t have an answer for. Whatever it is, they’ve been made of it their whole lives, so it’s not another change.

And the changes all fit themselves—except for Sam’s, you’re a little worried about him—but they also still fit each other. You can see that too. How Sam’s soul is running with wisps of Bobby’s green, deeper coatings of gold that look a little like stitches over the redness, and a thin layer of silver that’s flowing through and off of him without leaving any scratches. The marks of silver are on Bobby as well, although a little brighter and further into the muscle of his soul, and then Dean-

Embedded.

You’re embedded in Dean. The rivers of silver as refracting with rainbow and have been almost buried in the Gold, and that’s what Castiel meant.

You don’t get to ask him about it when he arrives.

The introduction is quick. Dean says your name, Castiel—Cas is quicker, and suits him a little better—gives you a short nod, and you both stare at each other for a long second as Dean keeps talking. 

“We just need you to take a look at it.” He taps the paper, and Cas’ eyes flick away from yours, down to the paper.

“That is it?”

You nod, glancing down to the words. Word. When you’ve focused on writing it in Enochian, it’s obviously one word, no matter how it keeps shifting off the paper into four. “I, uh, I might have been giving it a literal translation, because nobody ever actually taught me what I was writing. I didn’t even know I was writing in a different language.”

“Enochian is… very old and complex.” Cas mutters, moving to frown down at the paper. “I do recognize this word, but I’m afraid I don’t know what it means.”

Dean frowns. “How can you not know what it means, it’s your freakin’ magic language-“

“Do you know every word in the English dictionary, Dean?” Cas gives him a bored, pointed look, and you have to cover your mouth to hide your giggle.

“No.” He grumbles, shooting you a glare. “And you’re supposed to be on my side, Princess.“

“I am.” You shrug. “But that was funny.”

Dean rolls his eyes, and Cas keeps staring down at the paper.

"There are some things I will have to check before I give you an answer." Cas turns to look at you, his words slow and cautious. "But I warn you, what I find may not be what you wish to hear."

"As long as it's something." You mutter, leaning back in your chair. "I really don't give a fuck what."

It's a few more minutes where Cas lingers in the kitchen, talking about some new seal Lilith is trying to break, and telling you that—wherever he has to look for the direct translation of your word—it may take him a few weeks to do it undetected.

"Won't the angels want us to figure it out?" Sam asks, frowning down at your paper. "I mean, you told Dean that not even you guys really know-"

"None of my siblings within my rank know." Cas corrects, shaking his head. "It is not information that has been deemed necessary. Our only orders are to keep out of it.”

"Then what's got you suddenly all in on helping her?" Dean raises his brows, and Cas shrugs.

"I am... curious. My brothers and sisters are dying, and if this is what I think it may be-“ Cas sighs. “I am willing to bend things. For this alone. And as long as we are careful, and the seal is dealt with-"

"Your big bosses won't be all pissed.” Dean finishes, running a hand over his face. "I dunno, Cas, that douchebag at Chuck's didn't seem too flexible about things."

"Aw." You give Dean a soft, teasing smile before Cas has to respond. "You're worried about him getting in trouble."

Dean scowls. "Yeah, because they'll freakin' smite him or something, Princess. Then maybe try to get you too-"

"They cannot smite her.” Cas shrugs. “They’ve been very clear about that. It would not be effective.” 

You swallow, but Dean relaxes. That opens up a million more questions, but Dean lets out a slow breath and presses his knee further into yours, and you almost say it again. 

And you know that there has to be a last rule. 

It’s most important of all. 

You can never say it aloud. 

It won’t bring Dean anything but more danger. More grief. Everything is only growing more and more complicated, and telling Dean you love him will only be cruel to you both. Telling someone else will force them to keep your secret, and that’s selfish. 

It will have to live in your head. Where only you can hear. Not even the mirror can know, because the Sky might be listening, and you never want it to touch Dean. 

You love him. 

You’re going to have to find a way to tell yourself that in more silence, because it’s not helpful to repeat. You’re aware. It’s a given. You love Dean.

And you don’t know how you convince him to go without you for the seal case. It’s a lot of promises of phone calls and check-ins, plus the fact that Ruby’s going to be there, and Sam is—rightfully—under the impression that you’ll kill the moment you see her.

“She left me at the gas station. She’s the reason I didn’t get to Dean on time.” You hiss to Sam—Dean, Cas, and Bobby wrapping up in the kitchen—and he sighs.

“She got kicked out of her vessel by Lilith.” He mutters your name, and you scoff. 

You don’t believe him. 

More accurately, you don’t believe what Ruby’s told him. 

But it’s still the right call to sit out the seal case. The angels are still hunting you. Cas is likely risking a fair amount by looking into the Enochian, and it’s better not to draw attention while things are still so fragile. You lie low at Bobby’s for a few days while Sam gets the Firebird, and you keep to your rules. Dean sleeps in your bed, but you only hold him when he holds you first. He hovers at your side like your stitches may rip open if you breathe wrong, and you keep your glances at him measured and controlled, your flush under complete control.

When Jo calls you with a case—bunch of deaths at an opera house, sounding like a lich—you agree to it in a second.

It doesn’t matter how the Silver howls at the idea of leaving Dean’s side. It can’t affect work, and you miss Jo, so even as Dean glowers at you when you hang up, you’re going to go on that hunt.

“I can’t just sit here, De.” You mutter before he can even open his mouth. “Cas said it could take a week, and if the angels are looking for me I shouldn’t be doing the seals-“

“You safer here.” He cuts you off with a grunt. “There are wards, and Bobby can watch you-“

“I don’t need watching. And you don’t get to fucking bench me-“

“I’m not- Son of a bitch.” Dean lets out a long breath, leaning forward and holding your gaze. “Just come with us. I really don’t give a shit if you kill Ruby, I’m all for it, but you just got back-“

“Dean.” You sigh, keeping your tone soft. “I’m not leaving. You and Sam will work the seal, and I’ll be with Jo the whole time.”

“But-“

“She asked me to help. I’m going to. And,” you give him a pointed look. “You can’t stop me. You can either go with Sam, or come on this case with me, but you’re not keeping me here.”

“Bossy.” Dean mutters, and you’ve won.

You want to lean forward and kiss him—at least on the cheek as a thanks—but that would be overindulging. 

Sam’s back by that night, and when the morning comes, you split up once more.

“Call me if it goes south.” Dean mutters your name as you stand in front of the Impala, Sam already in the passenger’s seat.

“It won’t. I know what I’m doing, Winchester-“

“Yeah, I know, just-“ He sighs. “You heading out to New York?”

“Boston.” You correct. “Citizen’s Opera House. We’ll be fine, and you guys can join us if you finish first.”

Dean gives a tight nod and, right before he turns to climb into the Impala, he whips around and pulls you right back into a crushing hug.

You hug him back without a thought, and it’s not breaking a rule. He hugged you. 

“Come with us.” He mutters in your ear. “Fuck the angels and Ruby, it’s safer together-“

“Not for this, De.” You force yourself to peel back, giving him a soft, sad smile. “And I’ll be with Jo. She’ll have a gun.”

Dean’s mouth twitches slightly. You’ll take it.

He presses a kiss to your brow before he takes off, and you really are a monster. A dragon. Taking every bit of Gold Dean gives you and only craving more. You can’t let it show on your face, but he’s driving away, and you want him to turn around. 

He looks back. You see him glancing in the rearview mirror, and it’s all you can do to keep the Silver in your body as he vanishes down the road.

He’ll be fine. Sam won’t let him get hurt, won’t let him be taken away from you, even if Ruby’s there. And you did miss Jo—grinning at you from the motel sidewalk as you pull into the parking lot—but this might have been a mistake.

Because more than anyone, you want to tell Jo. 

The biggest point of the case—at least to you—is to mimic some normalcy. Sam and Dean are trying to stop Lilith from something to do with flowers blooming at night, and if you can’t be with them, you can’t just do nothing. And lich are easy—up until the very end—so most of the case can just be you and Jo talking, like nothing in the world is wrong at all.

“It’s like a scavenger hunt.” You tell her over breakfast, flipping through the evidence she’s already found. “It’ll have a bunch of artifacts it’s tethered its lifeforce to, and once we burn all of those, we find the lich and burn it.”

Jo frowns. “Will it be easy to tell? If it’s a magic corpse?”

“It can illusion itself.” You shrug. “But it’ll just be an illusion, so-“ You pause, glancing down at Jo’s eggs. “I’ll tell you later.”

She grimaces. “It’s gonna be real freakin’ gross, isn’t it.”

“I think it’ll be better if I don’t answer that.”

“Great.” Jo sighs, poking at her plate with her fork. “Ya know, I didn’t think Dean was gonna just let you go off alone.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say nothin’-“

“Yeah, but I know where you’re going with it.”

“What?” Jo gives you a mockingly innocent smile. “That you two should save us all and start suckin’ face- Shit!”

You laugh as she barely manages to doge one of your apple slices, aim right at her head. 

“Fuckin’- I just did my hair-“

“Well I warned you.” You stick out your tongue, a wide grin still splitting your face. “I told you to shut up, and you didn’t.”

“You just don’t want to hear the truth-“

“Because it’s not the truth.”

“God, you’re fuckin’ stupid for the smartest person I know.”

You scowl. “Hey-“

Jo cuts you off with raised brows. “How many times Dean called you, since you guys split up?”

You flush, and do the smart and mature thing.

Ignore her.

But it still scratches at your tongue. You want to tell Jo. To lean forward and whisper that you love Dean, like it’s not something complicated. Like you’re just two girls in your twenties, eating greasy diner food and gossiping about crushes and other pointless, normal things.

You’re not, though. The very next thing you do is grab your knife and a set of matches, then get in the car to go kill a magic corpse. 

The first day really is just a scavenger hunt.

“This place is freakin’ fancy,” Jo mutters in your ear, adjusting the black cap on her head, and you hum in agreement.

“Just act like you belong.” You whisper, scanning over the lobby. “We’re new staff. I’m in hair and makeup, you do sound.”

“I don’t know how to do sound-“

“You don’t have to know.” You shrug. “We just need as much backstage access as we can get.”

“Right. Smart.”

You shoot her a grin. “I know.”

Jo scoffs. “Shut up. How are we gonna know what’s one of those life-objects?”

“The normal effort is a lot of cutting your hand and seeing if the object eats your blood-“

“Eats your blood-“

“But.” You raise your brows, and Jo sighs. 

“You’ve got something else, don’t you.”

“Nope.” You give her a wide grin. “You’ve got me. And the life force is just a faded and split form of their souls. So…”

You spread your arms, and Jo just stares at you. “So what?”

“I can see souls, Jo.”

“Oh, shit, that’s right.” She gives you a grimacing smile. “I kinda forgot. Lot been happenin’ this year.”

“Yeah. That’s fair.” You let out a long sigh, rubbing your palm as you scan around the lobby. “Ready?”

Jo nods, and for such a fancy place, it’s shockingly easy to lie your way into a fake job. 

“I didn’t know we had new people.” The small, pretty girl—sitting at the front desk with a bow in her hair—smiles between you and Jo, and you’ve never seen someone’s teeth be so white. “They never tell me anything, though, so don’t worry about it.”

“They didn’t tell us much either,” you give her an innocent nervous smile, glancing back to Jo over your shoulder. “Do you know where we’re supposed to go?”

The girl waves her hand. “Just walk into the stage. If someone yells at you, tell them to actually tell Lacy things instead of just expecting her to deal.” She pauses. “I’m Lacy, by the way.”

“I guessed that.” You glance to the doors. “Just walk inside?”

“Yeah, um, wait-“ Lacy slides two badges across the desk. “Take these, and uh, be careful. We’ve been having a lot of accidents.”

You blink like you have no clue what she’s talking about, passing Jo one of the badges. “Accidents?”

“There’s been a lot of crew deaths, right?” Jo jumps in with a perfect, fake-worried expression. “Is it gonna be affectin’ the jobs?”

She’s gotten really good at this.

You’re proud.

Lacy shakes her head. “No, bosses say it’s business as usual. Just really bad luck.”

Bad luck doesn’t usually end up making corpses look like they’ve been dead five years. 

Lacy doesn’t need to worry about that.

“Jesus fuckin’ Mary.” Jo’s eyes widen as you step into the house, the stage large and shining ahead of you, rows of red velvet seats around you. “Can we actually just work here? For real?”

You snort. “After we kill the undead wizard, sure.” 

“Right.” She gives you a teasing look. “You think Dean would wanna work mechanics, so you can stay together-“

“I’m going to push you off the balcony.” You say in a flat tone, marching up towards the stage, and Jo laughs before running after you.

“That’s fuckin’ rude!”

“I’m not listening!” You call over your shoulder, not bothering to hide your smile, and push yourself up onto the stage. “There’s nothing in here, by the way.”

“What’d you-“

“No souls.” 

“Oh. Yeah.” Jo climbs up to your side, frowning around the house. “You know, I can play a mean triangle. Maybe they’d take me. Or- Dean told me you can sing, we can run away with the circus-“

“This is the literal opposite of a circus.” You mutter, turning to scan over the stage. “And Dean’s never heard me sing.”

You’re walking before Jo can push it further, because every single mention of Dean is going to make you want to tell her, and you can’t let this distract you from the job.

Lich cases really are easy, when you know what you’re doing. The first thing you find is a delicate, old hand mirror in a dressing room—crawling and twisting with faded gray tendrils—and Jo throws it against the wall before you can stop her.

“That do it?”

You poke one of the shards with your foot, and let out a long sigh. “Yeah. Somehow it did.”

“Awesome.” Jo grins at you, turning around the room with her gun in hand. “Now we fight?”

“There are going to be like, two or three more you know.”

“Three?” Jo gapes at you, and you snort. 

“Yep. Nothing else in here, though.” You start back towards the door, poking your head out the hall to check for other staff. “Jo?”

She sighs from behind you. “No more smashin’?”

You give her an apologetic look. “It’s kind of loud. And we can’t draw attention, or people will split us up.”

“But it’s fun, and it works-“

“You sound like Dean.”

“From you, I’m takin’ that as a compliment.”

You flush again, but you walked into that one.

You’re walking into most of these. The day passes quickly, and you manage to destroy another two artifacts—a comb and a fountain pen—before the building closes. There are no deaths when you leave for the night, but you really wish a stakeout was a plausible option, because most of the night is filled with Jo teasing about Dean.

Most of the whole next day is filled with teasing about Dean. You find a fancy gun with lifeforce, and Jo says you should give it to Dean. It doesn’t help that you would, if it didn’t need to be destroyed to kill the lich. It’s the exact type of gun Dean would like.

It wears off around the afternoon, though. Every single sweep of a room, you find another artifact, and it’s starting to drive you and Jo up the wall.

“You said three,” she grumbles as you drag another mirror into what you’ve deemed the destruction room. “This is more than three.”

You shrug, stepping back so Jo can smash, because she was right. It does work. “Yeah, well, this asshole must be strong.”

“How are we even gonna know when we’re done?”

“I’ll be able to see it, because all its lifeforce will be back inside its body.”

“So I don’t have to do the gross thing?”

You shake your head. “Once the objects are destroyed, you can’t do the gross thing.”

She frowns at you. “Which was?”

“Touching it.” You sigh, wiping your hands on your pants. “You’ll be able to. You know. Feel the deadness, right now.”

Jo wrinkles her nose. “But after?”

“It’ll make you the deadness.”

“Oh.” Jo blinks. “Fun.”

You hum, and move on to the next sweep. 

It doesn’t take all the artifacts being destroyed to work out who the lich is, though. Jo works it out herself by day three.

“Who even wears a monocle anymore.” You mutter, chucking this one at the wall yourself, and Jo tilts her head.

“I’ve seen an old guy doin’ it. The one who waves his hands, while the orchestra’s rehearsin’.”

You frown. “The conductor?”

“Yeah, him.” She pauses, staring into the air for a long second before speaking with slow, careful words. “That was his dressin’ room. And I ain’t seen that monocle on his face before. You don’t think-“

“If you think.” You shrug. “I’m on board. Be careful of the conductor.”

Jo grins, and you’re really proud of her. She’s got this whole case under control, to the point that she barely even needs you at all. She figures out that—as you keep looking everywhere, finding less and less with each sweep—it’s likely that there’s an instrument you won’t be able to get until the orchestras rehearsing again, and that you’ll have to be ready to fight the moment it goes down.

The lich hasn’t been killing since you showed up, though. It’s probably worked out that you’re not just new staff. Figuring out that it’s the conductor puts you back on even ground.

Jo figuring out that it’s the conductor.

You hadn’t even looked at the name on the dressing room, because Dean had texted you, and you’d gotten distracted.

You let yourself off the hook for that one, though. It wasn’t your love for Dean messing with your focus. It was the fact that he’d been blowing up your phone with how he was gonna fucking shoot Ruby in the face.

“I think you should.” You tell him over the phone that night, and he laughs through the speaker.

“I’m this freakin’ close, Princess. I’m serious. She’s a fucking bitch-“

“Do you want me to tell you not to?” You grin into the night air, leaning against the outside of the diner. “Because that would be lying, De, and lying is a sin-“

He snorts. “You were just telling me about how you spent the whole day committing property damage-“

“Which is a crime. Not a sin.”

“So you’re a criminal?”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Nah, I wanna hear you admit it-“

“You’re gonna be waiting a long fucking time, Winchester.”

“Alright. I got patience.” You can hear his smile over the phone, and your fingers are still painted in his Gold. It’s going to drive you insane. “Oh, and text me the address of the motel you’re staying at. Me and Sammy are wrapping this up.”

You sigh, ignoring how the Silver start to riot at the very idea of Dean, here, holding you all day and through the night, and why did you suggest splitting up in the first place, you haven’t slept well all week, and all you do is dream of him anyway-

“Dean, you don’t have to-“

“I know. But I’m gonna. And if you don’t text me, I’ll make Sammy do his computer magic to track you down.”

You sigh. You know he’s not lying, and that makes all of this harder. “You’re being dramatic again.”

Dean pauses, muttering something you can’t make out, but raising his voice before you can ask what. “C’mon. Do it for Jo, least she’ll be happy to see me-“”

“I’ll be happy to see you, De.” You cut him off with a frown at the air. “But the seal was all the way in Kentucky-“

“And I love driving.”

“I know, but-“

“Please,” Dean mutters, and that’s it.

He wants to. It’s not indulging if he wants to.

“Sam and Dean are coming to help.” You tell Jo as you slide back into the booth, and her grin is shit-eating.

“Aw, he wants to see you,” she hums when you hang up, and you flip her off without a word.

It’s not effective. 

“You guys are so cute, runnin’ around after each other, and callin’ every night-“

“I got shot.” You mutter, tracing your fingers over your stomach. You haven’t tried to fully heal it with the Silver. At this point, it would be pointless anyway. “He calls to make sure I’m not dead.”

“Cause he loves-“

“Jo.” You shoot her a glare over the table, and she scoffs.

“Why don’t you think he loves you?”

“I don’t want to talk about this-“

“I do! He at least wants you!” She sighs, leaning forward and holding your gaze. “You’re supposed to be smart, you know. Whenever people ask me about you, they ask you know the smart girl that-“

Jo cuts herself off with a sudden, strange expression, and you narrow your eyes. “That what.”

“I don’t remember.” She mumbles lamely.

“Joanna-“

“You don’t wanna hear it.”

“Well now I have to-“

“That Dean Winchester’s obsessed with!” She blurts, giving you an apologetic expression, and the whole world stops for a second. 

Obsessed with. And you’re embedded in him. And he’d apologized, on his knees, and put you to bed and let you crawl all over him and had never wanted you to leave-

“You were kinda all he talked about, before you got back.” Jo sighs. “I’m kinda shocked you ain’t together, after all that. I mean, everyone’s seen it, and if they ain’t seen it, they’ve heard about how you damn near died tryin’ to save him, and how he’s always smilin’ more when you’re at the roadhouse with him.”

“Jo.” You whisper, and the Spiderweb feels like it’s crashing down, down, down all while building and pulsing with light. “Please don’t. I- Everything is so complicated, and I-“

You can’t say it aloud.

And Jo only gives you a soft smile, reaching across the table and holding your hand. She’s such a pretty, soft blue, when you look over at her. Smooth and gentle like water, but still running and turning faster than any other soul you’ve ever seen. 

“I know.” She mutters, and you feel a little like a child. “I just need you to know, cause, God, I ain’t gonna be able to handle another year of y’all starin’ at each other like lost puppies. You’re happier together, and he drove to freakin’ Texas for you, then begged you to come home.”

You sigh. “I shouldn’t have told you about that-“

“But ya did. And if a guy did that for me, I’d marry him.”

“I-“

“I’m not sayin’ you marry him now. I’m just saying thinkin’ he don’t at least want you is insane. But,” she leans back, shrugging and giving you a small smile. “We can talk about somethin’ else now. How’d you get shot, anyway?”

You pause, giving Jo a careful look. She’s really just moved on that fast, her brows raised as she takes a bite of her burger, and you let out a long sigh. “You can’t tell Dean.”

“Ooo, it’s a secret-“

“It’s not a secret, I just don’t want him to-“

“Worry?”

You flush, glaring down at your plate. “Shut up.”

“I’m teasin’.” Jo says your name, giving you a firm look. “When have I ever told one of your secrets?”

That’s a fair point. She hasn’t. And the Spiderweb is still raw in your body as the world grows more and more vibrant, so maybe your judgement is clouded, but maybe it’s just Jo. And you sort of trust her more than anyone in the world. 

And you tell her everything. Studying witchcraft, and trying to look for ways to bring back Dean. How ever has been Silver since he died but it’s all still so painful and hard to control, and Ketch and Davis chasing you then holding you captive. The books—you need to ask them how that panned out, actually—and Enochian and the months on the road.

You leave out the Spiderweb and the Sky and Cas’ visit, for the same reason you won’t tell Dean you love him. That’s not their problems. You won’t make things more complicated than they already are.

But you do mention seeing Dean in Hell, mostly because you have to tell someone.

“Like- In Hell?”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “And I, uh- I don’t think it was a dream thing. It was really realistic, and I saw-“

“You still don’t want him to know about this, right?”

You frown at her. “Yeah, wh-“

“Cause I can see Dean right now.”

Jo nods over your shoulder, you twist in your booth, and she right.

Dean’s standing at the door, his hands in his pockets as he scans over the diner, and when his eyes land on yours, a wide, bright grin splits his whole face.

You love him.

You’re going to fucking kill him. 

“We’ll finish later,” Jo whispers, and you give her a small nod right as Dean stops at your table. 

He’s so fucking pretty, grinning at you as he drops into at your side without a word, forcing you to scoot back so he doesn’t end up half on your lap, and looping his arm around the back of the booth like this is the most casual thing in the world. 

“What are two girls like you doing in a place like this, huh?”

“Dean.” You keep your voice firm, forcing yourself to ignore how he’s pressed his thigh right to yours without a thought. “You’re supposed to be in Kentucky.”

“Sammy’s got it. Rather be here anyway.” He shrugs like as if it’s nothing, already eyeing your fries because he’s a perfect idiot. “You ladies doin’ like a girls night or something?”

“We’re huntin’.” Jo says, crossing her arms and raising her chin, and you slide your plate over to Dean without a word.

He winks at you before he takes one.

You’re going to explode.

“I heard, kid. You know, extra hands never hurt-“

You snort. “Dean. What do you want.”

“Why do I have to want something.” His eyes flick right to yours, and he’s Golden, and you swallow. “Can’t I just be here-“

“What about Kentucky?” Jo pipes in, and Dean sighs.

“I already said Sam’s got it. What are we hunting?”

“We’re not hunting anything-“

“Lich.” 

You shoot Jo a glare, and she just shrugs. 

“We get to smash things,” she tells Dean, and he raises his brows.

“I can smash things, Princess.”

“Yeah, I know you can, De. Jo, if it’s just the instrument-“

“Then the lich is going to reveal itself.” She gives you a pointed look. “And the more people we have for that, the better.”

“Awesome.” Dean takes another fry, settling somehow further into the booth. Into you. “I’ll tell Sammy to call Bobby when he’s done, and we can gank this lich thingy.”

“Cool. But,” Jo shoots you a grin, and you’re going to kill her. “It’s funny you mentioned it, Dean, but we do have a girl’s night. You agree not to be a big whinin’ bitch about it, you can stay in our motel room.”

Dean pauses, glances over to you in a silent question, and death isn’t a firm enough fate for Jo. You’re going to leave her in a room with Bobby after you ask him about historical figures he thinks were secretly hunters or monsters.

You shouldn’t have trained her so well. It’s coming back to bite you in the fucking ass.

There’s nothing you can do but give Dean a small smile and nod—because he’s asking permission, but you split open the world if it meant not having to go another night without him on the other side of the bed—and mouth I hate you at Jo across the table. 

She only laughs, and you’re not going to kill her.

The rest of the night is going to kill you first.

Because you can’t stop seeing it, now that Jo has said something. Dean doesn’t ever just press into people like this, or offer anyone else fries with raised brows. And he fucking pouts when you say no, then grins when you roll your eyes and snatch the fry from his hand. Whenever Jo’s talking he’s listening, but you can’t stop staring at him from the corner of your eyes, and he glances over at you so often. And he helps you out of the booth, and pays the bill—you’ve never seen him volunteer to pay a bill, not unless he was trying to make a dramatic point—and walks you to your car like you don’t have a fucking knife in your jacket.

The jacket that’s always been yours, but he held onto when he didn’t even know if he’d see you again. And the knife he gave you, because he was worried about you.

His hand stays on your lower back with every step.

This isn’t good. 

Not when you can really never say it aloud.

Dean trails you back to the motel in the Impala, and while Jo had been exaggerating about girl’s night, you do have… rituals. 

There aren’t a lot of other girl hunters. And you love the men you’ve surrounded yourself with, but the one most secure in his masculinity is Rufus, and it’s still not pseudo-sleepover-secure. 

Because that’s a better description for this. Neither you nor Jo got real, stupid, fun sleepovers growing up, so it’s become a habit whenever you have a hunt together. A stupid game, or more stupid series of truth or dare—Dean is a banned truth topic for you, and get the most people to leave the bar is a banned dare topic for Jo after the fire incident—with snacks and a movie and-

“I am not doing a fuckin’ face mask.” Dean snaps at you, and you raise your brows as Jo snickers.

“You said you wouldn’t be a little bitch, Winchester.”

“I said whining bitch-“

“You’re still being a bitch.”

Dean scowls, eyeing the plastic in your hand like it’s a bomb set to go off. “What’s it even going to help with, my skin is fine-“

“Yeah, but it’s not-“ You glance down, having already forgotten which mask you chose. “Poreless.”

“I- I fuckin’ need my pores-“

“It’ll make you pretty, Dean.” Jo calls from her bed, and he flips her off. 

You sigh. “Not helpful, Jo.”

“Sorry, mom.”

Dean snorts, and you whack his arm.

“Whose side are you on, Winchester?”

He shrugs. “Whichever side gets me out of that mask, Princess.” 

“What if I say please?”

“Uh,” Dean sighs. “Maybe.”

“What if I say please,” you pout at him slightly, making your smile impossibly sweet. “And I promise not to stab you when you try to check my stitches later?”

“I wasn’t gonna-“ Dean cuts himself off at your pointed look, running a hand over his face. “Fine. But I get to actually check them, too.”

“Deal.” You lock your pinky with his quickly, shoving the mask into his hands before he can take it back. “Go wash your face.”

Dean doesn’t move. He only stares at you, and Spiderweb might as well be made of the Sun in your body, and your pinkies are still locked. His skin is rough, and warm, and feels right against yours, and he can’t look at you like that, or you’ll-

Jo coughs, and you pull yourself back together. 

“C’mon.” You fold your fingers fully through Dean’s and pull him after you into the motel bathroom. 

You sit on the sink for a better, and it’s a good excuse to touch him, as you smooth out the lines of the mask on his face. Taking more time than you need, with more careful fingers than necessary, because you just want to touch him a little longer. 

“Be honest.” He mutters as you move around his eyes, continuing after you hum an agreement. “I look stupid.”

“That’s not a question, De-“

“So I do look stupid-“

“You look very handsome.” You let your fingers trail down to his cheeks. “Stoic. Debonair and heroesque-“

“Alright, alright. I get it.”

“Everyone looks stupid in a face mask.” You mumble, pressing the sheet onto his brow. “You’re still working it pretty well.”

Dean gives you an odd look. “You’ll look good.”

It’s a good thing you didn’t bother with the full overhead light. Dean doesn’t need to see how your flush is spreading down your neck. “Thanks.”

He just shrugs, and the silence stretches on without tension as you try to focus on the mask, you’re touching him because of the mask, not to trace his sharp jawline and slightly crooked nose-

“Dad would kill me if he saw me now.” Dean chuckles suddenly, and your hands still on his face. 

“Because you’re with me?”

Dean shakes his head. “One of the reasons, yeah. Mostly cause I let Sammy talk me into ditching him for a girl.”

You frown at him. “Sam told you to go?”

“Apparently I was driving him insane.” Dean mutters. “He said he had it, and I should, uh, just freaking go to her.”

“Her?”

“You.”

You swallow, and he’s so close. You’re brushing over his lips as you keep holding his face, and the liquid of his mask is sticky, but you don’t really care. 

“Is my face supposed to be tingling?” He mutters, and pulls a soft giggle from your throat.

“Yep. That means it’s working.”

Dean frowns, but lets you keep touching him. And he does look handsome with the mask. It’s insane, and unfair, and even when you finish up, he doesn’t move away.

Neither of you are trying to move away.

And things are always complicated. They’ve always been complicated, but when he’s gotten the chance, Dean’s always stayed, and you can’t tell him that, but you have to tell him something-

“I’m really glad you’re alive.” You whisper, and he beams at you.

Full and happy and so fucking Dean—handsome and Golden and not yours, but still making the Spiderweb catch light and throw it around your body until you’re a little dizzy—and nothing about this is easy, but it still feels it. Dean is here, so pain is somehow foreign. 

You’re suddenly a little afraid of what you’d do to keep him safe, and away from the Sky, out of the angel’s reach.

“Yeah. I- I’m glad you’re alive, too.” He blinks, frowning into the air. “I mean- I’m glad we’re both alive. Uh, together.”

You smile at him, and in the low light of the bathroom, it’s a little like he has a halo.

You still don’t know what his soul is made of. You don’t really care. 

It’s still Dean all the same.

“All the way down.” You take a careful step back, but you’re cruel to yourself, so you let your hand fall back into his. 

It’s his gravity.

You’re never going to be able to pull away.

And if you could, you’d never able to bring yourself to try.

Because he grins, and says it back with a squeeze of your hand. 

“All the way down.”

And you know. It doesn’t matter what Cas comes back saying you are, or what heaven or hell wants from you. You know what you are. 

Dean’s.

You’ll be damnation or salvation or a whore or a monster for him. You’ll be wrathful god if that’s what it comes to. But you’ll be his.

All the way down.

——————

She’d fallen asleep on Dean’s chest. 

At some point during the movie She started to lean into him, and Dean could never be strong enough to push Her away. When Her eyes had started to flutter shut and Her face had angled in his body, he’d pulled her a little closer. When she’d let out a small, soft sigh, he’d been certain that the world could crumble and collapse around them, but he would just stay right fucking here.

Jo had been giving Dean smug, pointed looks when Her arms had wrapped around his stomach. And when he’d carefully moved his hand to brush a little hair from Her face, he’d kept his words to Jo low.

He didn’t want to wake Her up. Not when She was sleeping this well.

“Don’t say a freakin’ word.”

Jo had let out a soft laugh, her gaze never moving from the chick flick on the TV. “I ain’t said nothin’.”

“If you tell Bobby, he’ll-“

“Like Bobby don’t already know.” Jo had scoffed. “He’s old, not blind and stupid.”

Dean had swallowed—Bobby couldn’t know, nobody really knew—but kept going. “Fine, but if you tell Sam about anything tonight-“

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep all the girly stuff you did to myself.” 

“Okay-“

“But I am gonna tell him about this.” 

Jo had waved a loose hand to Her and Dean—their bodies now fully curled together, Her breathing even and steady, one of Dean’s hand stroking carefully through Her hair—and Dean’s jaw had clenched.

The only thing that has kept him from yelling at Jo was Her. She’d stirred slightly as he tensed, and he couldn’t disturb Her. 

And, selfishly, he couldn’t ruin this for himself.

This was the part of being Her shadow that he’d always wanted, but never dared to ask for. The part that was softer, and bloodless, and gave Her even more. Where he got to hold Her and touch her like no one else, and She was safe as long as Dean was at her side. The part that could maybe lead to his hands on bare, soft skin, to Dean being allowed to kiss a little more than Her brow when he could get away with it. 

He didn’t know how to earn that. Hell, he hadn’t even earned this. He could never fucking earn it. She’d told him that She was what they hunted, but that was fucking insane because nobody in their right mind could want to hurt Her. It would take more than a monster to grab something rare and beautiful and destroy it, rather than orbit around it and follow it all the way to the edge of the earth, then down. Dean was the one who’d barely become better than a demon, but the very last fucking thing separating him from the black-eyed sons of bitches was that he still had things to defend. 

No matter how Sammy was driving him insane with the Ruby bullshit, Dean still defended him because that was what he did. Sam was still a kid, and he was smart as shit but he could never handle all the blood and guts the same way Dean was crafted for them. It was the same way She fit so well into Dean, but She could never been made for the mud and darkness. Dean was Her shadow to keep as much of that from Her hands as he could. 

She’d chosen to be here, with Dean. To come home and forgive him for things She shouldn’t ever have to know about, and the angels could forget all their fucking plans, because if She told Dean she wanted Lilith to open the seals and to let the world burn, he’d let it fall apart without a single fucking question.

And She wouldn’t do that. She was made of too many good things, and full of too much light to want the world to be ash. It wouldn’t be any place for Her, so Dean wouldn’t let it happen. 

This was the place for Her.

At Dean’s side, where he could watch over Her and silently crave more until She decided he’d earned it. Because it would never matter what Dean had done until She said it was too far, then the last piece of him that Alistair hadn’t carved into would become the very ash he was trying to save Her from.

“You call her Princess, don’t you.” Alistair sneered, and Dean didn’t respond, only staring at the different weapons before him. “Answer me, boy.”

He hadn’t. It was one of the last lines Dean had for himself. He’d rip himself and a million other souls apart, but he’d never let Alistair touch on the fucking idea of Her or Sammy. It was his last apology to them. The last way he had to protect them, when—if they saw him now—he’d beg them to drive Ruby’s knife right into his ribs to save themselves.

His silence always ended with a little extra torment. Dean could live—or die—with that. It was what he deserved.

“I’ve warned ya.” Alistair hissed Her name in his ear after. “She’d got a special spot on my rack, when I drag her down here. I might not be supposed to hurt her, but I ain’t ever cared ‘bout the rules before. Nothing gonna fuckin’ stop me anyway.”

Dean had tensed, and Alistair had laughed in his ear.

“You think you’re gonna save her? That she’d want you to save her? Be your Princess’s shining white knight and sweep her away into the sunset? Here’s a new lesson for you, Dean. Nothin’ can save her, and if I’m bein’ honest, she might be better off down here, with me. I’m not man of god, and maybe,” Alistair’s breath had been hot over Dean’s face as he’d been yanked up by his hair. “That’s exactly what she fuckin’ needs. Maybe she’ll beg me to hurt her. I’ve heard what a little masochist that one is.”

Dean jolted awake in a cold sweat, the sound of Alistair’s laughter still echoing around his skull. It was just another nightmare. She was still right at his side. His hand was touching the bare skin of Her arm, and when he dared to draw small circles with his thumb, She hummed and let out a soft sound Dean would like to hear for the rest of his life. 

Cas needed to hurry up on that translation. The sooner they had better idea of what She was, the sooner Dean could handle those certain nightmares better. 

They’d never go away.

But at least he’d be able to wake up, look at Her, and know nothing would touch Her. That Lilith couldn’t grab Her and use her against them, and the angels might not want Her around, but they could never hurt Her, and She was—as long as he used all the sharper and bloodied parts of himself right—safe at Dean’s side. 

Or across the room from him, or in his car, or holding his hand and pulling him into the fanciest fucking building he’d ever seen. Wherever he could see Her, and orbit around Her. 

Maybe crash down to his knees before Her, because that had worked real well in his favor last time, and there was really no other proper response to Her when she looked like that.

She really was a fucking Princess. This dress was worse than the one last year. Silk, falling over Her body like it was made for Her—most of the world was—and showing Dean too much for him to properly, but still not enough to satiate him, because was a greedy son of a bitch.

He didn’t have a goddamn clue where She’d gotten such fancy outfits on such a short notice, but he knew his tie wasn’t strangling at his throat because She’d carefully adjusted it before they left the motel. Standing only a long breath away, every bit of Her blinding and beautiful as she chewed at Her lower lip, going over the plan one last time.

“There might be multiple instruments.” She’d said, glancing over her shoulder to Jo, who was working on balancing  in her heels. “Once I find what they are, we have to move fast. Smash them, burn them, whatever you need to do. Then the conductor will be in raw form, and if I can see him, I’ll give you the all clear to burn him. Dean, we have to take separate cars-“

Dean had scowled. “No-“

“We’re about to burn a man alive at a public event.” She’d said with a flat voice. “Once we finish, we have to book it. And I am not making Sam take the bus again. Finally,” Her fingers had stilled on Dean’s chest, Her voice dropping to a soft, firm tone. “Don’t let it touch you. It’ll turn you into a puppet corpse.”

Jo had gaped at Her. “A what-“

“Puppet corpse.” She’d sighed. “It’ll kill you then use your body like a puppet.”

“Oh. Gross.”

Dean had cleared his throat. “Can we go back to the car thing-“

“No.” She’d turned on Her heels, tangled Her hand in Dean’s, and pulled him out the door.

And Alistair hadn’t been wrong that Dean wasn’t a white knight, but he was still Her’s. She was brilliant, and as long as it wasn’t putting Her in direct danger, Dean would do whatever the hell She asked. If She needed an army, he’d been a million fucking soldiers. If She needed a guard, he’d turn into a shield.

If She needed him to stand off to the side of a stage while a lady sang in loud, high sounds and She frowned the orchestra, he’d do that. 

He was even allowed to keep his hand on Her lower back. 

“De.” She whispered, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket, and he glanced down to see Her attention fully fixed on the area below them. “It’s the harp.”

Dean followed Her gaze to the instrument. “You sure?”

She nodded, and Jo’s voice crackled in their ears. “Is there only one?”

“Yeah.” She whispered, scanning slowly over the area once more. “But- Shit, there are so many people here, Dean we’ve gotta-“

Dean nodded. “Jo, you’re in the sound booth thing, right?”

“Uh huh. I think I’m actually gettin’ the hang of this, too.” Jo hummed Her name. “Turns out I can do sound. You want me to steal more earpieces before we go?”

A small smile tugged at Her lips, and She gave Dean an amused look as she spoke. “We’ve already stolen three, and we’re about to totally ruin their performance. I think that’s enough.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jo paused. “Were you tryin’ to talk to me, Dean?”

She giggled, eyes dancing with amusement, and Dean couldn’t really be that annoyed if this was making Her so happy. “Yeah, I’m thinking you can cut all the sound to the audience, we can run out, get it done in the confusion, then get out.”

“That’s good,” She muttered with a nod, and Dean stood a little taller. “Maybe- Jo, can you just amplify the speakers? If you get them loud enough it’ll start a feedback loop, and we’ll get a good-“

“Cover?” Jo finished Her sentence, and Dean could hear the grin in the girl’s voice. “On it. You want a countdown?”

“One second.” She turned to Dean with a firm, determined look. “Go for the harp. I’ll take care of the conductor.”

There was no fucking way Dean was letting Her do the more dangerous thing. That was supposed to be what he was here for-

“And before you argue, if it’s not the conductor, I’ll be able to see who it is. You won’t.”

Son of a bitch, that was a good point. And She had that shining, fluttering look in Her eyes as Dean just glared at Her, the one where she knew She’d already won. “Princess-“

“Please, De.” 

God fucking damnit. “Fine.”

She gave him a wide, sweet smile, and raised Her hand to her ear. “Ready, Jo. Turn it up.”

“Alright.” Jo hummed, and Dean’s fingers started to curl onto the bare skin of Her back. “Three.”

Dean didn’t like this. Something was tight in his gut, and She’d hunted these things before and been just fine alone—with Dean or Jo there to help Her—but this felt wrong-

“Two-“

He muttered Her name, and She gave him a smile, and it was only making him feel sick because something was off about this-

“Go.”

A loud, screeching noise echoed through the theatre, people started shouting as it pierced into their skulls, and Dean had to force himself not to grab Her and hold her to his chest until it all just passed. 

None of this would pass unless he did his job.

Smash the harp. All Dean had to do was smash the fucking harp. Break it into pieces so She could burn this lich asshole.

Dean could break something. He really was good at breaking things, and breaking something for Her might be the easiest job he’d ever had.

He ran into the pit, shoving his way through the orchestra and ignoring people shouts of protest. His ears felt like they were going to fucking bleed, but he’d felt worse, so Dean pushed through it. 

The harp was heavier than Dean had thought it would be, when he reached it.

It still broke easy.

Dean threw his whole body against it, the instrument fell to the floor, and when the first piece of wood snapped off, all hell broke loose. 

People were screaming and running around—that had been a given, the rich idiots probably thought they were under attack—but over all of it, Dean could hear Her, shouting his name.

He turned right in time to see the conductor running right towards him, hands outstretched, and fuck-

Dean dodged as She screamed, and started to fumble in his pockets for his lighter, where was his fucking lighter, he was tripping over abandoned trumpets and seats as the conductor continued to swing at him, and where the fuck was his lighter-

There was another scream of his name, and Dean looked up to see the conductor only fucking inches away, and that couldn’t be good, but right before slightly shriveled hands closed around Dean’s face, the man stumbled back and screeched.

Loud, and echoing through the theater, his whole body writhing, seeming to flicker and wither and-

“Son of a bitch.” Dean muttered as the lich’s illusion fully faded, his body a sticky, browned and boned corpse. “You’re one ugly asshole.”

The lich only screeched again, and as it fell to its knees, Dean looked up to find Her standing on the edge of the stage.

Dean had only seen Her use her thing once, when Lilith had attacked them. And that had only been a primal, feral scream ripping through Her body as Lilith released him with a cruel laugh.

This was different. 

There was no proper way to describe it, but She didn’t look like a human. Or a monster. Or a demon, or angel, or witch.

She looked like Her, turned up to a goddamn million. Everything closer to Her body was more colorful. Her hair was impossibly shinier, and Her skin seemed to be glowing, and Her eyes were fucking bright. 

Her pupils weren’t black anymore. They were silver. 

Dean had never seen anything more terrifyingly beautiful in his life. And when the lich turned to slime at their feet—sinking back into the floor and vanishing like there had never been anything at all—whatever had been amplifying Her seemed to collect back into Her body, her eyes focused right on Dean’s.

He almost fell to his knees again. This was the siren or goddess he’d been silently worshipping since he met Her. This was the royal, ethereal woman he wanted to serve for the rest of with worthless life. And it was just Her, but it was all of Her, and Dean wanted fucking all of Her-

He didn’t see it until it was too late. 

The woman behind Her. 

Not a woman. The illusion of a small young woman—white-teethed with a bow in her hair—vanished the moment the lich grabbed Her around the wrist.

There were two. 

There were fucking two, and Dean wasn’t goddamn fast enough.

The only reason he could hear his roar over the blood in his ears was because it echoed around the theater. And She wasn’t even fucking fighting the thing, She’d gone slack and pale, and Dean was sprinting over the abandoned instruments to get to Her, yanking his gun from his jacket and aiming it right at the ugly bitch’s fucking face.

The shots didn’t kill it, but the lich released Her and stumbled back, falling right on the floor as Jo sprinted out from the backstage.

Jo’s lighter dropped, and the lich died with a scream.

But the fire didn’t slow or die. It only spread across the stage, and Dean was going to have to add arson to his rap sheet again, but he really didn’t fucking care.

All that mattered was Her, pallid and backed into the wall, rubbing at her wrists like she’d been branded.

Dean wasn’t sure if the whole corpse puppet thing was contagious.

That was another thing he really didn’t fucking care about.

“Hey,” Dean muttered Her name as he grabbed her face between his hands, forcing Her slightly glazed eyes onto his. “You’re gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay-“

“It touched me.” She cut him off with a whisper, and Dean’s grip tightened. “Dean, it touched me-“

“I know.” He grunted. “I know, Princess, but it’s- we’ll fix it.”

She shook Her head, still scratching at Her wrists and Dean did the only thing he could think of. He stroked his thumb down the bridge of Her nose until her breathing was relaxed, and she’d slumped forward into his arms.

“Dean?” Jo called from behind them. “I- uh, we should go before the building burns down.”

Dean nodded an acknowledgment, but She wouldn’t be able to run. She was too pale, shaking in his arms and starting to draw blood with Her nails- 

He knocked Her hand away, She made a whining noise, and this was not allowed to be it. He was not fucking losing Her like this, he’d call another fucking demon deal or trap a million fucking angels until they performed a miracle, or-

Cas. He needed to call Cas. 

But first, he had to get Her out before the building killed all three of them. 

Dean pressed a quick kiss to Her brow, and hauled Her up bridal-style into his arms, and the moment Jo was at his side he was moving. Out the back into the cold air of an alley, down the streets until they were at the Impala and the Firebird. 

“Here’s the plan.” He grunted, raising up to face a pale-faced Jo on the sidewalk. “You’re taking her car. Drive for forty minutes west, then stop at the first motel you see. Call Sam on the drive, tell him what happened.”

Jo nodded, catching Her keys with shaking hands. “What about- Dean, I’m- We thought there was one-“

“Jo.” He snapped. “Just fucking go.”

“Is she gonna be okay-“

“Yes. Go.”

Dean’s short, firm words got Jo to move, but he didn’t have a fucking clue if She was going to be okay. She wasn’t turning into a corpse, but She was still colorless and silent, and Dean was praying to Cas the whole fucking ride but they didn’t have a goddamn timeline on this, it might already be over-

It couldn’t be over. Dean had only just gotten Her back, and he’d meant it.

He wasn’t losing Her.

She’d know how to fix this. She knew everything, and She was a genius, so if Dean could get Her to speak, he’d do whatever she said needed to be done to fix this.

Jo met them right where she was supposed to, and Dean gave short orders for her to just keep fucking praying to Cas until he showed up. 

“C’mon.” He muttered Her name, moving her to the edge of the bed and kneeling down, keeping his thumb running down her nose and scanning over Her slack face. “I need you to talk to me, I don’t have a fucking clue how to do this, Princess, I- I fucking need you, c’mon-“

Something was wrapping around Dean’s lungs. He wouldn’t fucking lose Her. Not like this. It was all his head could loop around because fuck, this would kill Jo, and he’d never be able to look at Bobby again, and he would’ve gotten Her back for barely a week just to prove Alistair right.

She was better anywhere without Dean. He’d do anything for Her, but anything wasn’t enough, and She’d survived all those months without him, but the moment he’d gotten back he’d killed Her, he’d fucking broken the one that had always seemed permanent, and he was a vile piece of shit from lower than the mud, and Dad should’ve killed him. Instead of threatening and hurting Her, Dad should’ve pressed a barrel to Dean’s head and shot him. It would’ve saved everyone a whole lot of grief if Dad had gotten some fucking clarity and killed Dean instead, or just let him die in that goddamn hospital-

“Dean.” She whispered, blinding eyes finally focusing on his. “You need to go.”

He stared at Her. “What.”

“Before it hits. I- I can’t feel it, but once it kicks in-“

“You’re going to be fine.” He snapped. This wasn’t a conversation he was going to have, because it wouldn’t matter when She was fine, and they were driving back to Bobby’s like nothing had happened at all. “Cas is coming, and I’ll grab whatever we need to slow this down-“

“There’s no slowing it down.” She gave him a small smile, and Dean’s heart might be trying to claw its way out of his throat. “It’ll be better to burn me. So nothing finds my body.”

“Shut up.” He grunted, his hands tightening on Her thighs. She wasn’t moving away, and maybe if he held tight enough, that would keep Her together. “We’ll fix this, there’s always a way to fix this-“

“Not here, De. I- I’m-“ She started to rub Her wrists, letting out a slow breath. “I could do it myself, but I can’t even feel it, I’d have to feel it to know what to fix-“

“Then maybe you’re fine-“

“I don’t want to risk it.” She mumbled. “Please go.”

“No.”

“Dean-“

“I’m staying right fucking here.” He hissed, rising up on his knees to look Her in the eyes. “And that’s it. You try to kick me out and I’ll come right back in, Princess, I did not spend so goddamn long waiting for you only to lose you-“

“You can’t lose me.” She whispered. “You’ve never been able to lose me. I-“ 

She swallowed, Her eyes starting to go glossy, and Dean wouldn’t let the sting in his own take over. There was nothing to mourn about, because She was going to be fine-

“I’m here.” She pressed Her hand to his chest, and he wasn’t breathing. “All the way down.”

Dean stared at Her. 

He didn’t have enough words for Her beauty. He never had. He’d never been good at words, or saying the right thing, or knowing when to stop or how to keep something. And he’d let the world use him and beat him however it wanted—crawl right back onto Alistair’s rack or pick up only torture instrument until he was a demon—if he got to break that last pattern. Dean could replace words with actions, replace saying the right thing with doing the right thing, and replace knowing when to stop with going until his soul gave out. 

He couldn’t replace Her. Keeping Her was the only option, if She’d have him.

But losing Her to something other than Her own will was simply not on the goddamn table.

Dean had prayed before. Since the angels had showed up, he’d been praying to Cas a lot. 

But he’d never prayed to God. 

And it was all he could do now. This wouldn’t be it. Nothing holy or good owed Dean any favors, but the fucking universe owed Her. It couldn’t let Her go, because She was too good for all of it, and Dean needed Her.

She was the universe. She was bigger and brighter than God, and wherever the hell that asshole was—if he was even real at all—he better be fucking listening because Dean needed Her, and maybe She was God and he just needed to pray and worship Her instead.

The thought moved through Dean’s whole body. He needed to tend to Her. That was what he could see. What he could know. What he’d always known. 

He rose slowly, never breaking Her gaze. Giving Her time to move away as he inched closer, cupping one hand on Her face and bracing the other on the mattress, stopping where if he spoke, Dean’s lips would brush Her’s.

There was no mistaking what he was daring to attempt. No way for Her to miss it, and be caught off guard. A long, strained moment where Dean gave Her the chance to shove him away and curse his name back to Hell, and at least then he’d know. That he’d always be in Her orbit, but to Her, Dean was just another thing, trying to sit in Her light. 

But She wasn’t moving. Her eyes were wide on his, yet She wasn’t looking away. Her fingers were curled on his shirt, and Her breath was heavy from her nostrils.

He licked his lips because he couldn’t fucking help himself, and She flushed, Her breath hitching, and Her mouth falling slightly open.

There it was.

Dean crashed down, and kissed Her.

And he’d never been good with words.

But this didn’t need any.

It was all movement and feeling. Her lips fit even better against Dean’s than he’d ever been able to imagine, and every single bit of desperation he threw into Her, she threw right fucking back. Dean bit at Her lower lip and She moaned, right down his fucking throat as She opened further for him, but when Dean got to press his tongue into Her mouth and have more, She pulled it between Her teeth and swallowed Dean’s groan with the best sound he’d ever fucking heard escaping from her throat. 

She tasted like coffee and sugar and that fucking fruit, Dean could taste the fruit and he was going to get addicted, but there were worse fucking vices to have. At least this one had Her wrapping an arm around his neck and tugging at his shirt to get him closer, She wanted Dean closer and he’d have to be fucking insane to deny Her.

When he pushed deeper, moving Her down to lie flat on Her back and never fucking breaking the kiss, She let him. She let Dean have fucking all of it. He got to overtake Her quickly, and She was responding to all his silents pleas for more and shivering under his touch when he grabbed Her waist and trailed his fingers down, down, down, to the bare skin of Her thighs-

“Dean.” She gasped against him, arching slightly off the mattress, and if God didn’t take his prayer, Dean would put all his torture skills to some good fucking use until the son of a bitch promised to never let anything hurt Her again. 

Until then he’d keep Her caged safely between the mattress and his body, devouring every single sound he was learning so fast to pull from Her body with only his mouth. They were all somehow better than last, and Dean had never felt this fucking high from just a kiss-

A foreign noise breached through Dean’s skull, and he sat up in half a second, pulling Her with him and burying Her tight into his chest. Anything that wasn’t Her or Dean was a fucking threat and-

It was Jo. When Dean twisted around with a deadly glower it was just Jo, and maybe he’d gotten a little too intense about that. 

But She was still in danger. The lich had still touched Her.

“Dean." She shoved at his chest, Her words muffled in his body, and he loosened his grip until She could twist against him.

But She stayed against him. Small victories.

“How, uh-“ She swallowed, and Dean glanced down to see Her rubbing at her wrists. “How long have you been there?”

“Few minutes.” Jo mumbled, staring at the floor, and Dean realized the girl’s whole face was red. “I’m sorry, I just- I didn’t stop it cause I was happy for you, but then I realized it was just gonna keep goin’, and, uh, sorry-“

“Jo.” Dean muttered. “What-“

“Cas is here.” Jo gave Dean a nervous look. “I prayed to him.” 

Dean sat a little taller. She would be fine. “Tell him to get his angel-ass in here and fix her-“

“There is nothing to fix.” Cas was very suddenly in the room, and Jo squeaked in surprise.

“Fuckin’ Christ-“

“My apologies.” Cas said with a small, grimacing frown. “You told me to wait until I was summoned, and Dean did just say to get my ass in here. My ass can’t be here without the rest of me, so-“

“Cas.” Dean gave him a flat look. “Focus. What’d you mean there’s nothing to fix-“

Cas said Her name slowly. “She is in perfect health.”

She frowned. “But the lich-“

“You are not in danger of any lich infection.” Cas shrugged. “It is not possible for your kind to succumb to any sort of preternatural disease, curse, or weapon. At most you will have felt a little sick, but it will have already passed.”

“My-“ She cut Herself off, setting up tall and straight, and Dean caught it. 

What Cas had implied. .

“My kind?” She whispered, Her eyes wide. “Did you- You figured out what I am?”

Cas sighed, and nodded. “I cannot offer a full explanation- The word you gave me is ancient. Uncommon. I would not call it taboo, but it is mostly lost with purpose.”

Dean frowned. “You mean on purpose?”

“No, Dean. With purpose. It has been deemed better for mortals to know as little as possible. Even we are not fully able to comprehend it.”

“Cas.” She muttered, rubbing Her thumb over her palm. “Please just say it.”

Cas let out a long breath. “You are the Magdalene.” He said Her name, watching her carefully as he continued. “They are the oldest and rarest breed of witch, although witch is a… crude term. You are made of the magic witches learn to harness.”

She swallowed, Her voice impossibly soft. “I- I’m a Magdalene.”

“No. You are the Magdalene.”

“Cas.” Dean grunted. “What the hell are you talking about.”

Cas sighed, still not moving from his place beside a wide-eyed Jo. “There is nothing in heaven’s record or knowledge about where Magdalene’s come from. They simply… are. Impossibly rare, and powerful. Dangerous. There is maybe one born every five hundred years, with the rare exception of two existing at once around the end of what your historians call the Common Era.” Cas said Her name again, and Dean was a little worried She wasn’t breathing. “You are the most powerful one recorded.”

“Oh.” She mumbled. “Cool. I- Doesn’t that probably mean whatever, um, Magdalene comes after me will be more powerful?”

Cas shook his head. “Heaven has monitored Magdalene’s since Lilith-“

Dean went rigid. “Lilith? What the hell does that bitch have to do with-“

“She’s a Magdalene, isn’t she.” Her words were still soft, Her attention still trained on Cas. “She said she was like me. That I was her descendent.”

Cas gave Her a grimacing, apologetic nod. “It is a biological trait, yes. There are complexities to it I do not think you’ll care to understand, but before Lilith was a demon, she was the first Magdalene. She had daughters, and they had daughters, and-“

“It led to me.” She muttered, and Cas nodded.

“The birth of a Magdalene has always heralded danger. Change. Lilith brought on demons, Avva, a goat-keeper in Sumar, brought on writing and calendars, and a consort in ancient China name Fu Hau introduced witchcraft to non-natural born-“

Dean sighed. “Man, we’re not here for a history lesson-“

“I am getting to my point, Dean.” Cas’ voice remained flat, his attention returning to Her. “The most powerful Magdalene’s before you were Cleopatra VII Thea Philopato, who brought about the Roman Empire, and Mary-“

“Magdalene.” She finished, Her eyes widening. “Is it- If it’s that old, how can it be named after her?”

“It isn’t.” Cas shrugged. “Magdala was the home of Lilith, as a human. It is simply what you would call coincidence.”

“Cas.” Dean grunted. “The point.”

Cas sighed. “Mary brought on the invention of the human religion, Christianity, which has been… impactful. Both her soul, and that of Cleopatra’s, had a sliver of the Magdalene power.”

Jo frowned, her voice small as she jumped in. “A sliver? How much is in a sliver?”

“My best estimate would be 2.159%.” Cas said. “Although I do not think Dean would want a math lesson on top of my history.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and She let out a soft laugh, even as Her nails started to dig into Dean’s skin.

Better than it being Her own.

“Cas?” She said carefully, and they were already looking at each other like there was a silent conversation Dean and Jo weren’t allowed to be a part of. 

Cas said Her name, bowing his head slightly, and She swallowed.

“How much of my soul is… Magdalene.”

“Half.” Cas muttered, giving Her an apologetic look, and She was going to draw blood. “And from what I have found, that should not be possible.”

“Oh.” She was almost fully curling into Dean’s body. He chanced one arm snaking around Her side, and She held it there.

Small, horrible victories. 

“It is likely why you were able to walk into Hell.” Cas said, looking only at Her, and Dean froze.

“What’d you mean, walk into Hell.” He hissed, looking between Her and Cas. “You’ve never been to Hell, Princess, and nobody just walks in-“

“I- I know, De, just-“ She shot Cas a glare. “You have horrible timing.”

Cas frowned. “I will- is that something to improve?”

“Yes. We’ll talk about it later.” She sighed, giving Dean a careful, soft expression that made something in him balk.

She couldn’t have walked into Hell. Something would’ve grabbed Her, Alistair would’ve known and seen Her and hurt Her, and Dean felt like a million fucking bricks were being pressed down onto his chest. 

“I sort of,” She took a deep, long breath, and whatever it was, Dean kind of didn’t want to hear it. “Could see you, sometimes. In Hell.”

“See me.” He grunted, and She nodded. “When.”

“Every night.” She whispered. “I was- I saw Cas saving you. That’s how he knows.”

She wasn’t lying. 

And there wasn’t a place low enough for Dean in the universe. She’d seen everything. And he’d be able to just beat himself and ignore the bruises if it hands only been his torture, but She’d seen parts of what he’d done. The souls he’d ripped and broken, and there had to be something worse than Hell, for things like Dean. 

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled, and She wasn’t pulling away. 

Dean didn’t know why She wasn’t pulling away. This was the reason. More than an out, a neon sign begging Her to take the exit door, yet She was still here.

He’d never understand Her. She wasn’t caving under any of this, just looking back to Cas and staying pressed to Dean, and She knew, She’s known, how has She known and not fucking left-

“What now?” She asked, and Dean had to focus.

It wasn’t about him, now. If he was going to keep doing the shadow thing right, it was about Her.

“You will need to be careful.” Cas said slowly. “There is more, that I was not able to access, and once it is known that you have reunited with the Winchester’s, precautions may be taken.”

“What-“

“I am not able to say, but mostly because I do not know. I have already lingered too long. Jo. Dean,” Cas gave them both nods, then said Her name with the same movement. “We will talk later.”

She blinked, something flashing over Her face that Dean didn’t understand, and Cas vanished. 

None of them spoke. There was nothing to say. Too much had changed from the morning, and it was all so fucking complicated, and God, Dean really fucking hated that word.

But She was still in Dean’s arms. A hand over his on Her stomach, that fucking fruit smell invading his sense as She leaned slightly further into his body. Into Dean.

So as long as he could manage, Dean wasn’t going to let Her go.

End Note: The emotional whiplash Dean just went through... someone get him like a blanket or something. (Also 300k words to kiss. They're insane)

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

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[stevn-rgers]

Just finished S1 of The Wheel of Time

First of all.. this is the plot of this fucking show so far:

Moiraine: *saves the town, rands dad, the whole group multiple times, Mat, literally everyone multiple times (getting injured & almost dying) - goes to her death to stand w Rand against the dark one, stays patient with them despite the continuous disrespect and causing problems*

Them: (mostly Nynaeve and Rand) : “shE CANT BE TRUSTED, SHE IS EVIL, DONT LISTEN TO HER, WE CAN HANDLE ALL OF THIS OURSELVES! EVERYTHING IS HER FAULT”

Anyway, on with my thoughts, some of it will prolly be controversial lol

I really expected to grow to like Nynaeve but fuck if she isn’t pissing me off every other episode if not every single one, like bro shut up and listen

Moiraine & Lan stay my favorites & I am obsessed with the relationship between Aes Sedai and their Warder(s)!! I wish there was more focus on it, it’s the most interesting plot point to me

On that, I LOVE watching fight scenes with the Aes Sedai & their warder(s)! The way they move in sync around each other, for example the town fight in ep1 w Lan & Moiraine + the battle in the woods when Alanna and her warders are fighting! As she went to do a huge explosion they both took slight cover just in time - knowing her moves as she did them

Egwene is prob my favorite of the group of 5, she actually listens to reason & doesn’t just jump to conclusions/throw a tantrum. And her little backstory about the fever when she was a kid? Amazing, it gives such a look into her strength

^ like I said I like her a lot but ARE YOU KIDDING? She didn’t kill child psycho when she had a chance??

Wolves are one of my fave animals so I’m loving this situation w Perrin

THOM???!!!! I loved him??

I called the dragon literally from the beginning but I like that I was right, it fits well and I like the way they came out with it.

I hate Liandrin with a passion, like I wanted someone to just throw a single punch. And ik she gets worse.

Also Mat needs to stop being such a problem like listen my guy, find some chill. Also do I ship him and Rand? Yes tf I do, fight me

So I find the dynamic of Moiraine & Lan with the Lan/Nynaeve interesting. Like as her wander she is more to him than any other relationship — but he’s falling in love with Nynaeve. So I wonder about that, I’m sure that later in the show he’ll have to choose at some point between helping/saving one of them. And with how much Nynaeve dislikes and is rude to Moiraine rn….

Loial is PRECIOUS TO ME. Love and adore him, I screamed when he was stabbed fuck this noise

I need Nynaeve to stop pissing me tf off please and thank you. I want to like her, esp if she’s gonna be with my mans. So she needs to fucking stop her bullshit. Stop making poor Moiraine’s life a million times more difficult than it already is while you’re at it. Like she wants so bad to be the wisest and the most powerful.. her pride is so dangerous.

I feel like every other episode Rand is pissing me off so bad but then I like him but then I want to knock him tf off. I’m hoping he will also stop being so damn frustrating in s2

The way Moiraine thought she’d die so she shut Lan out so he couldn’t follow her to his death - and she sent him to his fam & essentially pushed him toward Nynaeve bc she feels he deserves better and more than a life of protecting her.. I’m not okay

So pissed off with that ending ya’ll, esp when Moiraine losing her connection/powers

“To be a woman is to be always alone, and never alone.” CHILLS. Every single time

If I dislike a character you like, don’t come at me, I’m on ep1 of s2 right now, I’m sure my opinions will change many times as I continue.

[chaifootsteps]

I like how when people criticize the tone-deaf Valentino merch, or Valentino’s downright bizarre characterization as some sort of cross between a goofy Saturday morning cartoon villain and a straight-up RAPIST, it’s suddenly very important to Viv that we all remember that Valentino is just a fictional character.

But when a FAN makes a beautifully done animation delving into the much darker themes of the series and depicts Stolas dying by suicide, Viv rushes to tell people “Don’t worry!! Stolas is alive and safe!!!! And if you wish he wasn’t you’re GROSS!!”

Girl, Stolas is not real. He is also a fictional character he does not exist. What the fuck are you talking about?????

Like look, no one is saying you have to like the fan animation or approve of it or anything, but why are you acting like people need to be reassured that Stolas is fine???? These are all fictional characters!!

Also, I genuinely think she doesn’t understand that people aren’t criticizing Valentino, we know Valentino is not real. We’re criticizing her writing decisions.

In the same vein, I’ve seen some Stans saying “I CANT BELIEVE THE ANTIS ARE HAPPY TO SEE STOLAS HURT HIMSELF”, missing the point that most of the people praising the animation aren’t just excited by the violence, but are praising the depiction of Stolas as an actual villain and a character with substance beyond “uwu sad gay boi”

(I’m sure there are people who are happy to see him hurt himself but at the same time like…I’ve seen WAY more fans, many of them Stolitz fans, complimenting the animation and gushing about the angst and doing deep dive analyses on it. Y’know. Like other fandoms get to do. Too bad Viv’s spoken up now and is going to ruin her own fan’s fun and creativity because they were playing in a way she didn’t like. Again.)

Literally Viv when her fandom's enjoying themselves, doing deep dives, and behaving like a normal fandom:

[arottenlust]

thinking abt the time someone wrote a smau and had inumaki use the n word as "brainrot memes" and when ppl brought it up, they apologized but they defense was that was how their friend group joked together (they were non-black)... racism and anti-blackness especially is so widespread in the anime community its tiring bc it goes from overt racism to unconscious racism and if you call out the unconscious racism, you get attacked

i rly think ppl ESPECIALLY in the anime community need to do some self reflection and shit abt why they characterize characters in certain ways ykwim like just adding onto your posts

!!!!!!

First of all that’s fucking insane what the hell 😭

and the whole characterization of inumaki as this uber brain rotted gen z character with his overt use of memes and brain rot humor is.. a little annoying like where did that come from but anyways

Yea racism, anti black sentiment, and just a general white supremacist ideology is smth that is unfortunately laced into the very fabric of our society. it’s no one’s fault that it is that way, but it’s important to fight back against it, and to try to learn and improve and grow as a person when you notice your thoughts veering a certain way

And this is not being that one friend who’s too woke like please can we just use our brains for 2 seconds

These issues affect even the most ‘innocent’ and seemingly random things

And of course it’s gonna affect the way ppl write.

Idk why that is such a contentious opinion. Why is it so wrong to ask people to self reflect and use some critical thinking for once in their lives and ask themselves WHY they make the choices they do.

And if u don’t give a fuck DONT TELL ME. I DONT NEED TO KNOW THAT U DONT CARE LIKE IVE SAID MULTIPLE TIMES THIS IS LITERALLY ONLY FOR THOSE WHO GAF LIKE FUCKKKKAAAUGHHH

I’m also kinda getting tired of having to coddle people and be like ‘nooo ur not a bad person it okie!! not ur fault just think ab it pleek 🥺🥺🥺’ like FUCK just use ur brain plz and realize im not fucking attacking anyone I just want ppl to think for themselves just this one time PLEASE GOD WHY

[serra-says]

Fabian's journey in the Forest of the Nightmare King was by far the worst, in my opinion — and the only one that wasn't really 'character building' so much as plain old traumatisation. this is something I wanted to bring up a few times but haven't quite figured out how to articulate without spiraling into a 2k analysis. let's go.

the entire scene feels silly. we get Chungledown Bim, who's got a funny name and a funny tagline and is treated by the entire group as a joke. he swings through the trees with a to-go coffee — that's not the description of a fearsome foe. we get the sexy rat, whose creation was a joke to lure in Edgar (Zayn's familiar) and who kept being brought back for bits. it's 'funny' because Fabian hates it, and everyone laughs about the image of Fabian being scared of it.

despite obviously the rat's main 'thing' being its looks, that's not what Fabian was running from — it's the intentions, both the rat's and Bim's. the only way to break through the Forest of the Nightmare King is to give in to your greatest fear, and the way Fabian does it is by laying down on the ground and giving Chungledown Bim permission to "just shit and fuck and do whatever the fuck you want," telling the sexy rat to "fuck me or do whatever weird fuckin' shit'."

that's messed up. the other kids had to acknowledge their fears or consider their futures. Baron was a manifestation of Riz's fear to be different, of his desire to 'fit in' and be loved in the way society says you should be. Gorgug struggles with preconceptions that he's dumb and too big and that, as a barbarian, he is only capable of destruction. Fig faces down her lies and her struggle with sincerity and self-expression, Adaine faces her traumatic childhood and future as the Elven Oracle, and Kristen was absent for obvious reasons but even then later self-revived and converted a god.

Fabian grew up not having choices — his destiny was already laid out for him. he will tread in his father's footsteps. this entire adventure, for him, was the catalyst to the discovery that there was choice. that he is able to say no, to have opinions and express those and make decisions for himself. to become a dancer instead of a fighter. it's the discovery of consent.

it makes sense that his greatest fear would then be losing that. having felt the ability to make his own decisions and being forced, by the Forest, to give that up— to be pressured into giving consent when it's the last thing he wants to.

in the Nightmare King's Forest, there's acknowledgement, there's recognition, there's overcoming — all themes in the other Bad Kids' journeys that make sense. Gorgug learns confidence ("Anyways, my point is eventually I will solve problems that maybe smarter people can solve in a shorter amount of time."). Adaine admits to 'Nightmare Adaine' that even though she grew up feeling unlovable, she feels hope that she might be, now. Adaine learns hope.

Fig, instead of worrying over the fear that she isn't enough, says "I hope that [Ayda] finds something that I didn't know was there." it's the learning of trusting in yourself. Riz gives into his fear of missing clues, of not being useful, and instead takes care of himself. Riz learns self-care.

that's quite a difference from the journey Fabian's been on. after watching his entire worldview and perception of himself shatter on Leviathan and cautiously rediscovering faith in himself in Kei Lumennura, Fabian learnt autonomy. his Nightmare King Forest journey wasn't one of introspection, or insight. Fabian learnt autonomy, briefly, and went into the Forest only to get reinforced that it never mattered. consent under duress isn't consent.

to make it back home, to survive the forest and be of use to his friends — he needed to give up his autonomy and give Chungledown Bim and the sexy rat permission to do whatever they want with him. Fabian fears subjection and powerlessness, and the way the Forest goes about showing that is by forcing him to accept submitting to physical violation. Fabian discovers learned helplessness.

he doesn't want to talk about it, once the kids leave the Forest. Cassandra brings it up and the Bad Kids poke fun of Fabian seeing "just a rat". Fig conjures it. Fabian tries to stab it, tells them to stop. Fig puts it on his shoulders instead.

it's another reinforcement that, whatever choice Fabian makes, it doesn't matter. he asks Cassandra not to tell the others what he saw, and she says it anyway. one of his greatest fears was the sexy rat, and his friends laugh about it. he tells them to stop, to leave it, and instead they conjure it and make him face the very thing he narrowly escaped.

it's another day, another case of Fabian expressing distress, of acknowledging and letting his friends know that he's scared, and his friends make it into a joke and force him to confront it regardless. the Bad Kids go home, at the end of the day, having learnt things. having increased their stats.

Fabian increased his Wisdom. it's the stat for perception of the world around him, the stat for clarity of mind and inherent knowledge. Fabian's increases, because he's learnt something in the forest. unlike his friends, it was not something positive.

Fabian goes home, and resolves not to tell his friends about anything again — it's become apparent, and reinforced, and cemented again and again and again that they will not offer support. any vulnerability he shows, they poke sticks in. any fears, they laugh at. and his hard-won autonomy, his ability to make decisions and choices and a name for himself — that's useless, since there will always be something to push and push and push and put pressure onto him until he chooses the initial outcome, anyway.

consent and coercion and autonomy and compulsion and choice all lead to the same outcome — a lack of control over his desired outcome in a scenario. he is subject to the expectations others have. the only way out is to submit. it's a valuable lesson.

it's one he shouldn't have learned.

[thosearentcrimes]

Read Too Like the Lightning, part of the Terra Ignota series, by Ada Palmer. I generally try to be a lot nicer about books written by living authors, on the off chance that they read what I'm saying. For example, I tried not to be very mean about the Baru Cormorant series, which I thought was pretty bad but had some strong points I could highlight, but I was perfectly willing to go in on Madame Bovary. All I can say is, I tried. You see, Too Like the Lightning is straight up terrible, and it is basically impossible to find anything nice to say about it at all.

Too Like the Lightning is an unbelievably stupid book. Now, I don't require total scientific fidelity from my science fiction, not unless the author signals I should. But I do think authors should be at least broadly aware of what laws they are breaking to get what they want, and Palmer very clearly isn't. Basically everyone has the predictive/prescient powers of Dune characters through mathematical oracles, despite this being provably impossible. Everyone travels in cheap supersonic private jets that probably also have VTOL capability, which are powered by Fucking Magic presumably, the author sure as hell doesn't seem to care. This wouldn't be as annoying if the book didn't spend so much time musing on the deep sociological effects of the FM-powered aircars, while entirely forgetting that evidently both Fucking Magic and oracles apparently exist and should probably affect society in some way also. There's also more minor points. At one point, the first of the aircars is analogized to the Nina and Pinta and Apollo XI, all of which were notable exploration vessels, not technical breakthroughs. The appropriate comparisons would be to something like the Kitty Hawk Flyer or Stephenson's Rocket or some of the Trevithick machines. Sure, it's a minor error, but for a novel this pretentious, all errors are serious. There is no appreciable narrative reason for this error either. If the book were edited, perhaps someone would have noticed.

The ideological and historiographical (more on this later) background is also just kind of dumb. The book is trying to make some tedious liberal points and also say that we need to have very serious discussions about like sexism and racism or whatever. What the content of these discussions is supposed to be is extremely unclear, and as far as I can tell simply the existence of them will basically fix things on its own because discussion is magic and leads to Truth and such, except, of course, when the narrative needs for it not to. Also destroying a book is kind of like killing a person, and other trite garbage. Anyway, where the book actually ends up is in my opinion quite far from the apparent intent, but unfortunately not in a very interesting way. Suffice to say, if I wanted to read kinda racist gender-normative rapey fiction with clockwork twists scattered around, where all the characters are secretly serial killers (notably Mycroft and the Saneer-Weeksbooths) because that makes them edgier or something I guess, I suspect I could still do a whole lot better than Too Like the Lightning, for example by reading self-insert Wattpad romance novels about pop stars, or werewolf erotica, or self-insert Wattpad erotica about werewolf pop stars. The incest is boring as hell and cowardly, too. It's a book that's trying to shock you, but the author doesn't know how to actually do that because, again, just not very good at writing at all. It doesn't help that the pacing is so horrible that none of the shocking twists actually land, especially since absolutely nothing keeps actually happening. Sure, Too Like the Lightning is the way it is for a reason, but so is the werewolf erotica, and helping other people jack off is a far more noble pursuit than jacking yourself off.

If the book is so stupid, why do a lot of fairly intelligent people seem to like it so much? Well, a lot of those people are Rationalists it seems (or close enough to it), and Rationalists have insanely bad taste in fiction for some reason. Actually Rationalists have insanely bad taste generally speaking but it's especially marked in fiction. And it's obvious why Rationalists would like the book, it treats intelligence as a comic book superpower the way they do, there's group homes and libertarianism and all sorts of other stuff they like. But there's a more fundamental feature that I think a certain kind of nerd loves about Too Like the Lightning. It's the omnipresent didactic tone, just like with Baru Cormorant, though here it's somehow even more obtrusive. Some people evidently like it when the author has a character read an encyclopedia entry for a paragraph or two for no particular reason, or pointedly make and then exhaustively explain a reference. I suspect it's because if they knew the reference, they feel like very clever students who read ahead, and if they didn't know the reference they feel like they are learning. I think it might be a form of high school nostalgia, the nerd version of student athletes unable to move on. Which is normal I suppose, I still think about doing amateur theater after all, but it does seem kind of embarrassing. To me, at least, the didactic tone always feels insulting regardless of if I knew the reference or not.

This insistence on transforming most of the characters into condescending lecture or encyclopedia entry delivery mechanisms understandably has serious consequences for the readability of the novel itself. It is impossible to believe that any of the supposed 10 billion people in the Hives that we barely ever see any actual traces of are actually persons in the eyes of the author or the narrative. Nor are most of the several dozen very important characters we do meet, to be fair. There is a single character, Eureka, who reaches the dizzying heights of "is an actual character" and she barely shows up. Thisbe is the only other one under consideration, but, eh, nah. Everyone else is functionally just a rhetorical device, because outside of the exposition most of the novel is poorly stylized as philosophical dialogue in Enlightenment style.

According to the Author's Note, Palmer sincerely wants to be participating in the Great Conversation. Now, this is a lost cause from the start. You cannot engage in a conversation by just parroting the words of others, and if you don't have any ideas of your own (and it is quite reasonable not to, there are so many people and so few ideas to be had), then a bare minimum would be the ability to rephrase or synthesize them. Now, maybe Palmer can do this, in lectures to students. Or maybe not, I have known instructors like that too (especially in history, lately). All I know is that Too Like the Lightning is no thoughts, all cliches. But if there were original ideas, the framing device would interfere anyway. You fundamentally cannot participate in a conversation while maintaining plausible deniability for everything by hiding behind your fictional characters, as Palmer does with Mycroft. Whenever I object to, well, more or less any feature of the novel, its fans can always say that actually I just haven't been paying enough attention to the unreliability of the narrator. This objection tends to be either false or irrelevant, but it's a pain in the ass to prove, and the only reason it is possible in the first place is that the author is actively refusing to stake out a position to be held to.

For what it's worth, I don't think it's out of cowardice. Palmer seems to have noticed that the tradition of the conte philosophique and the genres that take off of it includes a lot of different styles and narrative devices, and has ultimately decided to use most of them, invariably quite poorly. I've read conte philosophique, and it does not read like conte philosophique, sorry, the writing is all so painfully 21st century. Ironically, the one major device for philosophical stories I can think of that was not used, the travelogue, is the one I think is clearly most appropriate to the sort of worldbuilding-based speculative fiction Palmer is engaging in here, both from a practical and a historical perspective. The eclectic stylistic muddle makes the novel much longer without giving it any additional depth, the styles do not complement each other, and also the author very obviously does not have the skill required to pull any of it off. Authors, unless exceptionally competent, should pick at most one gimmick per work. Might not have helped here, but it's good practice either way.

One of the techniques that gets talked about with regards to the book is the unreliable narrator, probably because the device is referenced in the book right at the start. In fact, contrary to what people insist, it is not really present in the sense I would understand it, of a narrator styled as deliberately deceiving the audience in order to promote his own agenda. Since the narrator of Too Like the Lightning, like basically every other character in the novel, evidently only actually has an agenda or motive as an informed attribute, there is no way for the reader to reason their way to the implied meta-narrative of what "actually happened", because I'm pretty sure that meta-narrative doesn't actually exist. As far as I can tell, the only actual function of the extremely tedious and obtrusive in-universe narrator is to justify telling the exposition in a particular twist-preserving order, which, again, is not what the unreliable narrator is.

The novel really does consist almost exclusively of dry narration and loredumps. Nothing ever happens in this miserable 460 page slog. I really mean this, nothing actually happens and nobody really does anything except flit around irrelevantly at supersonic speeds. A bunch of characters talk to each other, or talk at each other, or read the encyclopedia at each other. But it turns out none of that actually matters, because enough of the characters are basically omniscient (except for all the stuff they can't know otherwise the story falls apart, even though there's no conceivable way they wouldn't know) that there is no appreciable difference between characters talking at each other and thinking at each other, which they also spend way too much time doing. None of the dialogue serves to develop the characters, because, as discussed earlier, there aren't any. None of the dialogue serves to establish the plot or stakes, because the plot gets retconned every other chapter with yet another tedious twist so there's no real point in following the intrigue, which I'm pretty sure consists mostly of plot holes by the end anyway. Worst of all, a consistent pattern in these retcons is that it becomes clearer and clearer that an alarming number of the conversations in this book are actually functionally just a guy talking to himself.

It kind of makes sense that the novel is more or less entirely people talking to each other (well that and poorly done metatextual horseshit) because it turns out the novel endirses a fundamental theory of historical change consisting entirely of people talking to each other, specifically, a variation on Great Man Theory that says change happens because the most important members of the very real and existing natural aristocracy get into a room together in order to figure out what's going to happen next by finding the smartest bestest boy from among them all and all just doing what he says, and then maybe some other stuff that doesn't matter happens after who cares, all of the actual persons have made their decisions. History of ideas people are basically all wacky, but this seems extreme even for them, so I sure hope Palmer isn't actually teaching anything like this. In addition to being based on a variant of it, Too Like the Lightning references and then explains its own reference to Great Man Theory, and naturally has its own Great Man in the narrative itself, the guy talking to himself from the last paragraph, and boy is he unbearable.

The guy in question, Y.U.D.D. MASON, is genuinely in the running for the most insufferable character ever written. I wouldn't mind him being written like a particularly annoying teenager with delusions of grandeur who has evidently somehow read both far too much and far too little philosophy so much if the novel did not take every single opportunity to make it absolutely unquestionable that this horrid little git is in fact an unparalleled superhuman intellect omniscient oracle capable of outright mind control through speech alone. And no, that's not a unreliable narrator thing. My understanding is that somehow this gets much worse over the course of the rest of the books, which I will not read because frankly 460 pages was an unreasonable test of my patience and commitment to reviewing everything I read and finishing everything I review. Apparently at the end he starts a civil war and becomes God-Emperor of Humanity or whatever, who even cares.

Look, a persistent obsession with Mars, nonsensical car-based revolutionizing of transportation, references to De Sade, excessive confidence in mathematical oracles, these are not the preoccupations of a serious thinker, these are the preoccupations of Elon Musk. Musk really is a convenient example of the sort of Great Man that actually exists by contrast to the ones you get in fiction and in Carlyle. Richest man on the planet, widely acknowledged power behind the throne of the most powerful state out there, owner of what was once (you know, before he bought it) regarded as the online public square, AI magnate, rocketman, surely here we have the Great Man of our time? Except, wait, we know him. We know him from his irrepressible habit of Posting, his now decades of pathetic self-promotion, his desperate need to turn himself into a living meme to get the attention he never got from his father, and which he in turn will not give to his two dozen kids. He is a massive loser whose aesthetic interests consist of the most accessible symbols of coolness and futurism that he can find, up to and including the glyph 'X' and memes that got old over a decade ago. What does it say about Too Like the Lightning that half of its aesthetic language is not only shared with this fucking loser, but is even projected out to the 26th century? Nothing good, that's for sure.

It is my opinion that novels should be edited. Unfortunately publishers do not seem to agree. Editing could never have made this book good, but it might at least have informed the publishers of the scale of mistake they were in the course of making. This novel was a lost cause the moment it was accepted for publication, which happened by a mechanism I am still quite unable to explain. The Author's Note does contain a very helpful list of the extraordinarily many collaborators allegedly responsible, of whom I would pick out for particular discredit the editorial decision-makers and the peers who apparently encouraged the creation of the work. That this book was written was a mistake, that it was published was a travesty, that it got sequels is an absurdity. The existence of Too Like the Lightning is an enormous embarrassment to the entire genre of Science Fiction, whose reputation was frankly already quite bad for very good reasons. Anyway, I'm never going to read Worm that's for damn sure.

This novel made me afraid to write my own intended stories, for fear that they will end up like this. Ordinarily, this is where I mention what kinds of person might enjoy the novel, recommend it to someone even if I did not like it myself. Frankly, I think I have provided enough information for people to figure out whether or not they would like it, but I have to confess that I do not think anyone should read this book, including the ones who would enjoy it. It's not for moral reasons or anything, I just think the book is that bad.