#however i have seen some very interesting things.........

[astrotruther]

Astro Observations

power & deception

🎲 Having multiple squares to Neptune with someone in a synastry chart—be VERY careful. These people may not have your best interest at heart. Or your perception of them could be skewed in some way. Nonetheless, there could be hidden things that could hurt you or the relationship.

🎲 North/ South Node square Sun natives are constantly torn between who they are and who they think they should be, leading to a lifetime of identity struggles. In low-vibrational energy, they deceive by creating a false persona—shapeshifting to fit in or exaggerating their achievements to feel worthy. Can end up living a lie just to avoid facing reality. E.g. Tila Tequila. She also has her Sun at 0°. I've discussed the 0° here & here.

🎲 Mars square Jupiter in a man’s chart—he rarely spends money on anything that doesn’t serve his interests. The type of man who buys drinks for the girl he wants to get with, only talks to her, and acts as if her friend is invisible. This aspect is also common in guys who think women only want them for their money.

🎲 For North/ South Node square Neptune natives, reality is slippery, and they struggle to find clarity in their life path. When low-vibe, they deceive through delusions, gaslighting, and playing the martyr. May lie compulsively (even to themselves), rewrite history to fit their narrative, or pretend to be more lost/ helpless than they really are to gain sympathy.

🎲 8th and 12th House synastry can be tricky in non-romantic relationships. Mars in 12th House - Mars could be secretly plotting your downfall; Pluto/ Jupiter in 8th could benefit from the 8th House person's losses. Of course, it depends on the morals of the other person, but the energy/ opportunity is definitely present here.

🎲 Pluto square Mercury natives are sharp-witted and adaptable. They may shift their personality depending on what gains them the most influence. There might be a huge gap between how they present themselves to the world and who they truly are. E.g. Bobbi Althoff saying, 'being myself doesn't get views, I had to go where the money was'.

🎲 Everyone talks about how Capricorns are obsessed with climbing the success ladder, but Sagittarius (Suns/ Stelliums) are by far the most cutthroat when it comes to business. They often work in silence & in the shadows until they've built an empire. If they're good people with a strong moral compass, this is a great placement. However, I've seen a dark side of this in public figures. These people know how to sway public opinion. They're good at covering their tracks. E.g. Jay-Z, Nicki Minaj (both Sag. stelliums). Taylor Swift releasing new versions of her albums coinciding with other popular female artists' release days (Sabrina Carpenter, Chappell Roan, and Billie Eilish, to name a few). Min Hee-jin, ex-CEO of ADOR, falls under the most unhinged spectrum of Sagittarius: a creep & a bully.

• These people often exhibit a 'shoot first, ask later' mentality, especially in conflict or business. Nicki Minaj’s social media meltdowns are a glaring example of this. The Taylor-Scooter situation is a prime example. It was purely business, and Taylor’s own father had significant control over her label. He could’ve stopped the deal, but instead, she took the opportunity to paint herself as a victim and turned it into one of her most commercially successful eras. I'd bought her narrative too and only looked into it after Candace Owens talked about it in one of her Lively vs. Baldoni episodes.

🎲 Nessus (7066) square Jupiter has a complicated, sometimes toxic outlook on abundance. They might pride themselves too much on living a simplistic/ minimal life. They might feel guilty for desiring luxury. Contacts with Saturn may indicate that it was internalized since childhood, likely because of the father. Positive aspects, particularly trine, would be helpful in healing and creating a more balanced approach to material things.

🎲 Destinn (6583) square Saturn is so draining. You have this idea that you're destined for big things, but it seemingly takes a very long time to manifest. It's a tiring journey of setbacks, blockages, and important lessons. Hang in there!

[acosmicbee]

School Troubles

(This takes place in the same world as Rehabiliation and gives a deeper look into the world building. It is edited and reposted from my Wattpad because I got into a car accident yesterday and didn't have time to write anything new. Me, my family and the other person involved are all okay but my family's car is totaled and undriveable)

You were supposed to be a hero. At least, that supposed to be the end goal of your schooling at this academy. The problem being, while you had powers, you weren't interested in the slightest.

Your parents ran a small flower shop, doing a few catering things here and there. They were completely normal and powerless, your typical civilians. Then, one day, you'd barely touched a few seeds and suddenly had full-grown plants.

It didn't take long for the government to find out. They'd gotten very dedicated to snatching up any kid with powers and then sorting them into either a government sponsored hero school or 'alternate' school. From what you've heard, these alternate schools were government sponsored villain factories so they could make sure their hero schools were always needed. However, you'd ended up in one of these hero schools.

During your six months here, you'd broken several school records, including but not limited to 'quickest escape attempt', 'most uncooperative to government propaganda about becoming a hero' and 'farthest runner before being shot with a tranquilizer bullet'.

In other words you were driving the principal, though you called him the warden because this was 100% a jail in your opinion, absolutely insane. He was a younger hero, maybe late 20s. He had fire powers and had retired from hero work allegedly due to some issue with his villain nemesis.

You had, once again, found yourself in his office. He was staring at you with a carefully controlled expression but you could feel the anger and annoyance radiating off of him in waves.

"This is the third time this month." He said sternly, sitting across from you. "You can't keep trying to stage a coop. You're just going to get more hours of detention." 'Detention' wasn't even normal and instead consisted of listening to government propaganda podcasts and stuff for a couple of hours.

"Then can I go home? I'm not becoming any sort of hero, period. I'm supposed to be helping my parents with their flower shop, as I've always done." You were just as stubborn, meeting his cool look with a glare.

"Look Y/N," he'd long since dropped using your last name with how often you ended up in his office. "I wasn't happy either when I was first enrolled here-."

"I wasn't enrolled. I was kidnapped off the street." You corrected. "And I haven't seen my parents since."

"Anyways, I'm trying to tell you that I get it. You're having a hard time adjusting to life here. Despite your powers, you feel you don't belong."

"Because I don't. I'm not becoming some stupid hero." You said. You crossed your arms, fully ready to get another detention if he said something to set you off.

"Look, do you want me to try and see if Ridgeside will take you? Because that's your only other option here. Either you stay here and become a hero or we label you as 'rebellious' and ship you off to become a villain." The warden snapped.

"I don't want to become anything! I want to go home!" You yelled. "Why can't you understand that?!"

"I do understand, but 'home' isn't an option. Y/N I've laid your choices out. Hero or villain. Pick your poison or whatever, but make a choice. I don't want to keep seeing you in my office every day, but I will continue meeting with you like this if I have to." He threatened. "Two hours of detention after dinner tonight. I'll be supervising it, seeing as most teachers here are done with your attitude."

You just groaned, grabbing your things as you were dismissed. As you made your way down from his office, you could see some of the other students outside, training or playing around with their powers. You were the only person here who didn't want to become a hero. The few people you'd talked to about wanting to leave just missed home or wanted to see their families. All of them had said, though, that they'd come back here once they were done.

You were supposed to have some roommates like everyone else did. Other perspective heroes to help raise a sense of camaraderie, but you had a room all to yourself. You'd gotten moved to an empty room after you used one of your roommates powers to help you escape during your first week. Now you didn't talk to people outside of school hours and meal times. Any free period was spent alone, brainstorming ways to escape.

And you swore it, you would escape this place and find your way home, no matter what it took. Besides becoming a hero or villain, that is.

⋅˚₊‧ 🔥🌊 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You were in the hallways again. Your teachers were mostly used to you misbehaving and refusing to participate, so you spent a lot of time sitting in the hallways. It wasn't so bad, it definitely gave you time to focus on escape plans and what you would do when you finally made it home to your parents.

Today, however, you sat there, watching as some random guy hoisted himself through one of the hallways windows. You watched as he landed on the ground, dusting himself off before freezing when he noticed you. The two of you just blinked at each other.

You just shrugged, going back to your escape planning. So what if some dude just scaled the side of a building and came through a 4th floor window? That's not your problem. After thinking for a second, you added scaling the building to a possible way of escape.

"Why are you in the hallway?" You glanced up at the random man, who was now standing over you. He was clearly older than the principal by a bit. Maybe he was some government official or a visiting hero. But that still didn't explain climbing in through the window... Eh, you honestly didn't care enough to ask.

"Because I hate it here and refuse to participate." You answered, returning to your notebook. The strange man didn't take the hint and leave, instead continuing to stare at you. Finally you grew tired of his staring and asked him, "why are you in the hallway?"

"Oh! I'm here to surprise Dean! It's been so long since I saw him." The man said. "Do you know where his office is?"

"Dean?" You asked. This place didn't have a dean, just assistant principals.

"Ah! I suppose because you're a student you would know him as the principal or headmaster." Your face immediately scrunched up in disgust.

"Oh... him... His office is one floor up. Take that staircase, and it'll be the third door on your left." You said, indicating the nearby staircase. You'd been there enough times to know how to get there in your sleep.

"Thank you. What's your name hallway child?" He asked.

"Y/N."

"I'll make sure Dean rewards you for being so helpful! Later!" With that, the strange man bounded up the staircase, full of energy. You just shrugged. People were weird.

⋅⋅˚₊‧ 🔥🌊 ‧₊˚ ⋅

"Y/N!" You were just laying in your dorm room during your free period. You hadn't even done anything this time, so it made no sense as to why the warden was pounding at your door like you'd tried to escape again.

With a groan, you opened the door, already done with the conversation before it began. "Yes?"

"You let him in! Not only that, you told him where to find me!" He fumed. Literally, he was beginning to smoke. You just waved your hand in an attempt to keep the smoke out of your room.

"Who? I don't even know what you're talking about. I didn't even do anything today." You complained. He groaned, taking a few deep breaths as he slowly stopped producing smoke.

"Did anyone strange come up to you today asking about me?" He asked. His tone was the one grown ups used when they were pretending that you weren't in trouble when you definitely were.

"I mean, yeah. But he knew you by name, so I assumed you were friends or something. Wait, do you even have friends?" You asked. You certainly don't get why anyone would want to be his friend, but whatever.

"Of course I have friends!" He sounded offended. "But that man isn't one of them!"

"Okay. So you're getting mad at a student for not knowing who your friends are?" You asked, not following.

"No! The reason I'm mad is because you allowed a villain to roam the halls of a school without reporting it!"

"He was a villain? Am I supposed to just know who's a villain by looking at them?" You asked. The warden just groaned.

"Look. Do you know how he got into the building?"

"Yeah. He climbed in through the window. On the 4th floor." You said. "Can I go back to resting now? This is supposed to be a free period."

"No. You're coming to my office so we can have a little chat about proper protocol when you see someone climbing through a window!"

"But my free period!" You whined as you were all but dragged to his office.

⋅˚₊‧ 🔥🌊 ‧₊˚ ⋅

It was a Saturday, which meant a free day for you. It was pouring outside and the sound of rain on your window was marginally soothing. Normally you would spend your weekends planning out every way of escaping you could imagine, but not today. Today you just lay in your room, trying your hardest to focus on the book in front of you. It had been in your bag when you'd been snatched off the street and was the only thing you'd been allowed to keep.

Your parents had gotten it for you, and it was the only thing you had of them here. You weren't even allowed to send them letters. The book had been one of your favorites back home, but now you struggled to get through a few pages. It felt wrong to be reading when you didn't even know how your parents were doing, or if they knew you were okay.

You were attempting to gather enough willpower to just read the first chapter to give yourself something to do when you jumped at the sound of a knock on the window. Turning, you saw the strange man you now knew as a villain, was back. Only this time he'd found your room and also had managed to scale the building when it was slick with rain. Despite knowing you'd get chewed out for it later, you opened your window.

"I'm supposed to report it if I see you again. Apparently you're a villain." You informed him. Your face scrunched up as he expertly came through the window before you realized he was completely dry and wasn't dripping water.

"I wondered if you recognized me but I assumed you didn't. Guess I was right." He said, looking around your room. "Dean must've lectured you for hours. Geez kid, your room is so empty. No roomie?"

"I'm too much of a flight risk apparently. They think I'm gonna corrupt some wanna-be hero because I don't want to be here." You said. The strange man perked up.

"You don't wanna be here? Do you wanna be a villain?! I promise, being a villain is a lot more fun." He said, looking ready to give you the whole spiel on it.

"I'm not becoming a villain, but i'm not becoming a hero either. I just want to go home to my parents." You groaned. Only to flop down on your bed in defeat when the door to your room suddenly slammed open. "Great. Now he's here too."

"Xavier." The warden growled. He was smoking again but the villain, Xavier you guessed, didn't seem phased.

"Dean. Lovely weather we're having. Maybe you should take a walk outside before you burst into flames." " Xavier was completely relaxed as he took a seat in your desk chair. "I wonder if Y/N is going to end up like you in the future. You certainly acted the same way you punish them for when you were their age."

Instantly the mood shifted, the headmaster grew tense as he grit his teeth, glancing at you for a second. You sat up on your bed, suddenly way more interested in the conversation. The warden had what.

"I learned my lesson. Hopefully they'll learn theirs soon." He said, a few small flames bursting to life at his fingertips before he forcefully began to calm himself down. "You have no right to bring that up. Especially not after all you did."

"I was just trying to do what was best for you. I still think it would've been a better path than the one you've ended up on, but you'll understand in time." Xavier glanced at you before smirking. "Sooner rather than later, if I'm right."

"You don't know me, Xavier. Not anymore." He said, finally calming down enough that the smoke stopped.

"Um... can you have your little," you gestured between them, "whatever this is, not in my room?"

"Y/N. Please be quiet or I will make you sit in my office and retest your comprehension on the proper protocols when villains enter the school. Again." Dean said.

Xavier just smiled as he stood, brushing invisible dust off his pants. "Fine. I can see where I'm not wanted. I'll just see myself out okay?"

He smiled at you as he made his way over to the still open door of your room. "And Dean? I know you're trying to deny it, but you can't forever. Sooner or later, you'll need my help and my door is always open for you."

"Why didn't you report it when you saw him?" Dean asked, back to his default headmaster mode.

"How did you even know he was in my room?" You countered.

"There are walls with guards surrounding this school if you'll remember. Since his last breach I've had them on high alert." He groaned. "I'm not in the mood to supervise another one of your detentions so we're going to pretend this never happened. Behave Y/N."

With that he stalked out of your room, shutting the door and leaving you alone once again. You glanced at your book for a second before immediately ignoring it for a more enticing train of thought. Just what was the relationship between those two? And why were you getting drawn into whatever was going on?

⋅˚₊‧ 🔥🌊 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You were getting impatient. It had been months, but Dean and Xavier were still keeping an eye on you. Xavier would climb through windows or just stroll into your dorm like he owned the place. Dean would constantly call you to his office to 'check in' and seemed to have a Xavier detector, often finding the two of you a couple of minutes after Xavier would sneak onto school grounds.

Either way, you were no closer to an escape than you had been when you'd first arrived. At least, that was until a school trip was announced. Apparently it was around the time when the rest of the heroes-in-training in your age group would find out who their nemesis was supposed to be. For some reason, you were included in this trip.

Of course, Dean had threatened you with everything from detention to private lessons during your free time to shipping you off to become a villain yourself. It wasn't going to stop you. Not when you were so close to your goal. This time, you would see your parents again. 

Eventually the bus had to stop so you all could use the restroom and get some snacks. You were supposed to stick with your assigned buddy but when he drifted off towards his friends you took the opportunity. You stood by the door, waiting for the right moment. The second you heard someone start bickering and the teacher's attention was turned to them you ran. You could see the train station from the rest stop and jumped the turnstile, darting onto the train you needed at the last second. You just managed to make out a pissed off Dean, staring right into your eyes, by the ticket counter as the train pulled out of the station.

You had done it. You were going to see your parents again. You knew, deep inside, that you'd just be taken back to the school at some point, but it didn't matter. For now, you were going home.

⋅˚₊‧ 🔥🌊 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Something was wrong. You could tell the second you got off the train and saw smoke rising from somewhere in the neighborhood. You could feel it in your stomach, that something was fundamentally wrong. You ran.

It wasn't until you found yourself outside your family's flower shop did you confirm it. The building was on fire, you could see the pretty displays you'd once helped to set up turning to ash. When you couldn't find your parents out on the street you ran into the building.

It was hot, hotter than you'd ever imagined. You crawled into the back where your apartment was, avoiding the areas with fire. Smoke billowed over your head and you could barely see. Your eyes were burning and you felt like you had no air, but you still pushed on. 

"Mom! Dad!" You tried screaming, only to inhale smoke. You began coughing but didn't let that stop you.

"Y/N?!" You could faintly hear your father's voice. He was close. You were so close.

"Dad! Mom!" You called again. "Where are you?!"

"Y/N!" There! Your parents were across the living room, on the floor. They both looked unharmed. Upon seeing you they both began making their way over. You held out a hand to pull them towards you... and that was when the ceiling gave out. You couldn't even scream as you watched the roof crush them underneath. Couldn't hear anything over the sound of crackling fire, blood rushing through your ears and your own screaming.

You struggled, ignoring how your hands instantly blistered as you tried lifting the burning hot pieces of roof. They couldn't be... no! After all you'd gone through to get back here, they had to be okay!

"Mom! Dad!" You were sobbing now, your hands were burnt and you could barely breathe. As you became more and more lightheaded, you resigned yourself to dying there, along with your parents. You wouldn't stop fighting to save them.

You were hysterical, and fought viciously when someone pulled you away, forcing an oxygen mask over your face. All your mind could focus on was the collapsed roof and your parents. You scratched and squirmed, trying desperately to break their grip on you. By the time you registered the pinch at the base of your neck you'd already been injected with a high grade tranquilizer and the whole world faded to black.

⋅˚₊‧ 🔥🌊 ‧₊˚ ⋅

"That was mean of you." Xavier's voice echoed through the bedroom. You were laying in the bed, hooked up to an oxygen machine, IV drip and more machines used to monitor your health. Your bandaged hands rested on top of the comforter. You had yet to wake up in the hours since Dean had pulled you out of the burning flower shop.

"I didn't start the fire." He said back. He sat in the chair next to your bed, watching over you. "I didn't want this to happen."

"But you knew what would happen. You knew what happens to those that escape, don't you Dean? What happens to their families?" Xavier probed.

"That's enough! If you think I wanted what happened to Calista and Rome to anyone else you're more insane than I took you for." He hissed. "This isn't the time for this. Y/N is... they're..."

"So you finally understand." Xavier smirked. "You understand what I did to you all those years ago. Why I tried so hard to lock you up. They remind me of you. Both of you are too stubborn for your own good."

Xavier stepped closer, his smile growing when Dean didn't push him away. Instead one of his hands made their way to Dean's head, playing with his hair. "They don't have anyone anymore, Dean. No parents, no home to go back to. They're all alone. Don't you remember how it felt to be all alone?"

"I... I need to help them. I need to save them." Dean murmured, slowly accepting his own dark feelings as Xavier egged him on. "They need me..."

"They didn't want to become a hero, right? You need to keep them safe where they can't be hurt in hero work. You need to make sure they never leave you. I'm sure you remember what happened when you left me. Do you really want to have to do that to them? To make sure they can never be a hero in the public eye again?" Xavier asked. He knew Dean was already going to do it. He just needed to add a little more fuel to the fire to make sure you would be extra safe.

"They always wanted to go home... so I will make them a home here. That way they will never leave me again. They can never be hurt again." Dean decided.

That was the moment your fate was sealed. No matter how much you cried when you finally woke up. No matter how much you screamed when the bandages on your hands needed to be changed. No matter how much you disassociated when the news was finally broken to you that from the amount of third degree burns you received you'd never regain the full range of motion in your hands. No matter what happened, Dean and Xavier were right there beside you, making sure you wouldn't injure yourself more than you already had. You would never be free again.

[vesna-v-irkutske]

What do you think Artyom and Nikita (mostly Nikita) would think of their "fans" ?

Oh, Artyom likes having "fans". Knowing that someone is interested in him, and someone sees him as something more, tries to understand him, shows him sympathy, must stroke his ego. Although Daphne said somewhere that he was still kind of shocked by it, that he didn't understand it. Two things can be true at once.

May 22, 2023. "Vlada, hi. Got the letter on May 5th. • To be honest, it's an interesting admission — the interest in Nikita's and my philosophy... O_O I'm being completely serious: this is the first time I've seen something like this. I'm very flattered. =)"

June 26, 2023. "The reaction to the sudden popularity was calm. Although I was wildly freaking surprised. But at the same time, remained calm =D"

Although I bet he'd have cringed at some stuff and tried his best to ignore it and focus on something else.

January 6, 2024. "How I feel about trolls on the internet. I don't give a hoot about the internet and everyone who lives in it =) I hardly ever go there, so I don't come into contact with trolls."

As for Nikita, it's hard to say. Back then, he wanted attention and recognition. I'm sure both of them had fun playing Among Us in real life. Law enforcement officials said that they kind of liked talking about their crimes, that someone listened to them, paid attention to everything they said. They got what they wanted: attention and being treated seriously. They posed a real threat, they felt powerful, they were capable of changing lives.

Later, I think, the shame and realization woke up. Half a year after their arrest, Nikita said that he no longer needed all this, and that he felt ashamed. In November 2012, he said, "I feel sick/bad when I think about what I have done."

In June or early July 2012, Nikita gave an interview to a newspaper: — Why is Anoufriev supported on social media, but you don't have any fans? Is he more ideological? — I don't really care about this idea at all.

What I'm trying to say is that Nikita only talked to his mom and gave interviews to a couple of newspapers and journalists because they asked him, not because he was particularly eager for it. In short, he wasn't looking for contact. Just like his whole life before that. So I think he didn't even know about his "fans", or he wasn't very interested. Who knows exactly why there's not a single letter from Nikita from prison. He had no one to write to but his family. And I'm not really sure if someone else knew his address to write to him. Besides, he was a very closed-off, anxious and depressed person, I doubt that he wanted to communicate with strangers. Who knows what they might have written to him? All kinds of threats and insults? He knew it himself.

I think he'd have distanced himself from it all and disappeared into the shadows. At the same time, I'm not denying the possibility that he would be interested if he found out about the "fans". Just a sizeable maybe. But I think that he, just like Artyom, would be extremely surprised, confused and wouldn't understand this. Maybe he wouldn't necessarily have thought anything about their "fans". Maybe he'd have thought it was weird. Perhaps he'd constantly wonder why people were interested in him, if there was any catch in it, if they were actully laughing at him? Maybe he wouldn't really care.

But he'd totally be weirded the fuck out because of some of you, especially if it had to do with his looks and something romantic/sexual in general.

Of course, he knew about TCC, but he suddenly found himself on the receiving end of that interest. And I think he'd have been very distant with his "fans". He was never a talker, and even less with a bunch of different people. Maybe, by some miracle, he'd have managed to make a couple of friends (hopefully better than those he had before, just someone nice and compassionate instead of someone interested in very dark stuff; however, Nikita was very deeply convinced that he was nothing good, and that he didn't deserve anything good; besides, all these positive and pacifistic things were alien to his mentally ill, disappointed in the world, people and himself brain; there's comfort in suffering and misery, if it's something you've been used to since an early age, because it's familiar, and getting better requires a desire to change, effort and energy, which depressed people have very little of). Anyway, who knows how it'd have affected him. Don't encourage mentally ill person's bad tendencies.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hi, I'm very sorry if this was also in a lesson. I have a problem with writing my first Black character. In this worldbuilding, the living world is governed by both the living and the dead. Spirits are intangible, can't be seen or heard, but they can touch your soul and prevent you from doing stupid shit. Many people without their own knowledge are followed around by spirits who love them, either that was someone in your family or because a woman from the 1600s had decided she really likes your personality and elected to be extra protection for you. However, the fact that they can't be heard also means that they can't deal with certain problems that still matter, like say, passing on unspoken words to loved ones that they can't in life, or warning people about future harm that could come from them from staying in certain situations. To fix this problem, they elect a living "guardian" that is touched by immortality and turns their vessel, their body, into a biological species that changes to represent what they feel and experience. They turn into shape-shifters. In the time that the story takes place, There is two Guardians, the one I'm having problems with is college-age Black queer who has the ability to be a chameleon and several spider-qualities such as regrowing lost limbs from shedding skin and making a version of rainbow silk. This is a human kid that turned into another species, so how racist would it be to call them inhuman? They are not themselves the only main character of color, the other one with similar abilities is considered to be very human and considers themselves to be despite the changes, still considers themselves to be exactly the same as before they changed and other people treat them the same way. Moxie (The chameleon) comes from a family of sinti who are incredibly used to not having their voices heard and being considered to be disrespectful when they try to advocate for their rights. "If you're not being called a problem yet, you're not screaming for your right to live loud enough". They have normalized in their family that some people aren't going to like you because you make them have to reconsider either they themselves follow their defintion of "good person" for how they treat others, and stopping means those issues aren't addressed so it's better to be a problem then to keep the problem going. In this family, things that people consider to unpleasant are found endearing. Moxie is childhood-nickname, from their mother Hysteria (seemingly changes to pissed on a dime) and their grandmother old lady agitation (for being generally annoying as fuck to deal with when they want their way). The character in my head in naturally occurring dialogue has been calling themselves 'a monster" by species classification because they consider "monster" to be a strange species people can't explain. The other guardian finds that shit weird as fuck because the emotions and things you experience are the same as a human. Nobody else calls them that in the story but themselves and news outlets who found a sighting of them crab walking up the side of a building exorcist style. (which is realistically scary as fuck in a world where that shit ain't normal) How bad is this?

1. If they started off as a human, then they're not "inhuman". They just have the power to access these spider-chameleon powers; they're shape shifters. Just call them shape-shifters. Like we wouldn't necessarily call Peter Parker "inhuman", we would call his spider powers "inhuman". Unless you're saying they're like a mutant, X-Men type deal, in which case you could still use shape shifter as a general term or the name of their species itself. They're a humanoid spider-chameleon.

2. Interesting! At first I was a bit iffy on the Black women being "Hysteria" and "Agitation" given the history of these emotions being used against us. But I guess if they're found endearing within this family unit, then the narrative will be good to them....? Definitely watch where you're toeing with that one. Are they actually hysterical and constantly agitated, or is that how people treat them for daring to speak up?

3. Once again, I ask that people not approach these as "are these bad" so much as "your story will show if you've written a stereotype". You can tell me anything you want, but it will either be done well or done poorly! You have to constantly be thinking about it as you write. I would go back to my lessons on coding as well as stereotypes in general, and keep those in mind as you go when it comes to your character's "monster" inner monologue. Are they trying to overcome that? Is it not that deep to them? Do they like being a monster? How do they speak to themselves? Do you and the narrative believe that negativity or positivity?

I also want you to consider, what process did you go through with your nonblack guardian, where they had no trouble? Did you ask similar questions?

[anomaliex]

Okay Fantasy High webtoon. I fuck w/ you. (I've read the three free eps so far so this is only about those.)

It made me laugh a few times and I generally found it pleasant, and even if there's some design choices I don't super agree with the art IS very charming. I also enjoyed the composition a lot it's just nice to look at. I can't super tell if I'd be as into this if I was a new fan coming in or of I'm just excited because I love Fantasy High (gonna have my girlfriend tell me /hj) but I personally really liked it :)

Minor lore differences I noticed is that Penny went missing quite recently? When originally she'd been missing for the longest iirc? Also Torek was already AT Agueford with the skater dwarves rather than being a middle schooler at this point. Ultimately neither of these should affect the plot much just noticed that.

Speaking of plot, I like that we follow Riz!! He's really fun and being focused on the character focused on the mystery is probably the most useful for a comic (though I'm assuming we'll eventually also follow the other Bad Kids more like with the Fabian and Adaine cutaways and I'm also looking forward to that). I was initially a little put off by the fact we skip everyone but Riz's introductions, but it would have been awkward in comic form to give everyone a turn like in actual play, and I think they handled it nicely and the characterisation in their respective first scenes is still clear and good. So far we haven't seen much of Adaine but I assume we're gonna get more about her (and Fig, and Kristen — though Kristen's whole deal is already pretty clear with just one scene, lmao) in later chapters.

My one gripe that I think is worth mentioning here so far is that I kind of hoped Penny and Sam would look closer to their The Seven designs! But I also understand that those are more complex than their original ones, and they shouldn't look like main characters or whatever. Just personally kinda awe-ed at it.

Other super minor changes include Kristen and Gorgug instant bestism?? Hello? Give me more. Also Gorgug and Fabian's fight was slightly more elaborate I think? Which was cool! (Reminds me that I'm curios to see how combat is portrayed, seems fun.) Though I will mourn the loss of "hey you seem pretty non-violent-" "I got into a rage."

A less minor change is that Gorgug made the tin flower himself? I think his mum just gave it to him originally. I'm gonna assume he doesn't start out multiclassing that'd be kinda insane (though I also find it interesting that in this format you don't technically have to tell us what level they are. And I'm curious to see how faithful to dnd mechanics this is gonna be. Personally I think it'd be fun to be very meta or not meta at all, but weird in-betweens tend to be awkward.), but it's cool he already tinkers. Maybe he becomes an artificer sooner in this? Or this is just setting up his eventual genius in building that cell tower or something similar? Idk. It's just nice to see him do the thing his parents also do. I also enjoy how Riz got detention in this version because it's delightfully cringe and gave me second hand embarrassment however I do find it interesting that this doesn't set up Ostentatia? Are we gonna meet her later or are we not gonna know her when she gets plot relevant? I could also see her and Fig having an interaction instead but idk, we'll see.

In general I'm curious as to how the plot is going to progress, because I think comic form makes it both easier to set up and follow and harder to make entertaining. Also there's a lot of dice motifs in the promotional art, do rolls ever get portrayed or is that for the aesthetic? If you read ahead already don't tell me I wanna find out myself lol.

So yeah my overall opinion is that I like it so far. Pleasantly surprised! It was really awesome to see all my favourite little guys repeatedly drawn, especially Ragh. If you know me you know I got so excited over Ragh aha. He's going through it right now but soon,,,soon he'll be perfect.

Anyway. Here's my favourite panels that I just HAD to screenshot and send to my friends on discord (or well some. Tumblr mobile has a ten image limit. I sent them about half the damn webtoon.)

Special shoutout to this one. How dare you do this to me. So sick and twisted.

ALSO WAS ZAYN ALWAYS SO. LIKE THIS??? WHO IS THIS TWINK. WHY IS HE STRUTTING. WHAT IS THAT BACK BEND INSTEAD OF TURNING AROUND LIKE A NORMAL PERSON. WHY IS HE WEARING LOW JEANS AND A BODYSUIT IN SCHOOL. CAN YOU HAVE SLUTTY HIP CUT OUTS IN SCHOOL I CANT?? (Obsessed w/ him)

I wrote this between four and five am after starting the webtoon at like. Three thirty. Any spelling mistakes are because I'm tired and not because I can't read Ragh style, I prommy. (Ragh is just dyslexic. Randomly placed headcanon, or whatever.)

[aylacavebear]

An Arranged Marriage

Your parents told you when you were twelve. You’d seen lots of Disney and kid movies up until this point, so you thought you had a good idea of what being married to someone meant and how it was supposed to go. On top of that, you were taught how to be a hunter and use your unique set of abilities. 

The way they had explained why you, it had to do with Bastet and her desire to bridge the world of hunters and monsters. Not all monsters were evil or killed people. Some hunters saw this and acted accordingly, letting those monsters live. However, it was less than a handful, and Bastet was hoping for a better way to bridge the gap.

Paring: Dean x OCF Reader/You

Word Count: 12,828

Warning: Angst-LOTS, longing, Fluff, Dean being an ass, Car accident, Dean almost dies, Reader being utterly selfless, Sam being a sweetheart.

A/N: Found an interesting writing prompt - An Arranged Marriage, so, I ran with it. Sorry for the length, it literally kept going. I might write the other version that played out in my head and post it too.

----------------------------------------- For a while, you daydreamed about some handsome prince and a fairy tale life. You’d write out things in your personal journal, dreams of a child. When you’d watch movies with a romantic couple, you daydreamed it was Dean, even though you had no idea what he looked like or what kind of personality he had. You were a kid and so very naive. 

After graduating high school, you began going on hunts alone, having honed your abilities over the years. There was a freedom in it, without the politics of niceties during interactions. With other people, it was like a dance of words, testing to see what was okay to talk about and what not to talk about so you didn’t set someone off. Monsters were easy to deal with. Monsters were either good or bad. They didn’t have that gray area like humans did.

It was six months after your eighteenth birthday that you were supposed to meet this Dean Winchester, your soon-to-be husband. You couldn’t help but be excited and had spent nearly an hour in your room attempting to figure out what to wear. Clothes were strewn everywhere, several pieces laid out over different surfaces. You finally went with a pair of jeans and a comfy shirt and pulled a red flannel over that, leaving it unbuttoned. As the time neared, you felt butterflies in your stomach and anticipation coursing through you. It was the phone call ten minutes before the time that made you frown. Then, your mother was apologizing to you, saying something had come up on their end. You brushed this one aside. They were hunters too. It was a viable reason, this time.

When it happened two more times, your fairy tale world shattered. This one, you heard him in the background of the call as you sat near your mother on the couch. “I’m not marrying a monster!” Those had been his yelled words laced with anger, venom, and disdain.

Even being eighteen and technically an adult, you still had that child-like wonder, hope, and optimism. You dreamed of the kind of love they wrote about in stories. You had run to your room before the call had even ended, the tears already falling, then slammed your door. Monster, he’d called you. Technically, you were. You weren’t human, so you fell into that category. As you sat on your bed, trying to wipe away the tears as they fell, you thought back to the movies you watched growing up. The monster was always killed. The monster didn’t get a happy ending. The monster wasn’t loved. 

With that realization, you began packing a bag, your hunting bag. It was at that moment that you started constructing walls around yourself. You knew you couldn’t get out of this marriage and that at twenty-five, it would happen by Bastet’s hand if it hadn’t been done before. 

Seven years. I have seven years to postpone this.

You kept yourself busy with hunts, being home less and less. The next meeting that had been set up, you sat on your bed, dressed in what you called your hunting clothes, far too lost in thought. So far, the Winchesters hadn’t canceled. Your bag sat packed behind you. The sound of an engine pulled your attention from your thoughts as your heart hammered. Then your expression hardened. Fuck this asshole. With the anger welling up again, you grabbed your bag, slinging the strap over your shoulder, and slipped out of your bedroom window. Cats really do always land on their feet.

Moving quickly, you went for the nearest tree, extended your claws, and climbed it till you were hidden by the foliage. With quick thinking, you pulled out your phone and put it on silent, then slipped it back into your pocket. 

Part of you wanted to see your future husband, the curious, hopeful part. So, you had lingered in that tree, but you never did get a clear view of him before the four Winchesters had reached the front door. Only a minute later, your phone started vibrating in your pocket. You knew your parents were pissed, but you didn’t care. You wanted to hurt Dean like he had hurt you.

Yelling had begun coming from your house as you slipped from the tree and walked away, head held high and feeling justified, at least a little. Why? You’d heard Dean yelling and could hear the anger in his tone, as a smirk had found the corners of your lips.

When your parents informed you of a meeting, you would slip out of the house without their knowledge. You had even managed to elude going home for nearly a year once, which your parents weren’t happy about. Were you being childish? Probably, but to you, you saw no point in meeting a man who saw you as only a monster. I’ll deal with meeting him on my wedding day, you’d tell yourself.

Near your twenty-third birthday, you found a note stuffed into your hunting bag, pulling your lips into a frown. It was in Egyptian hieroglyphics, a language you had been required to learn in case Bastet ever interacted with you. Plopping back down on your bed, you instantly felt bad for your behavior as you read her note. She was asking you to let go of your anger. A Goddess was asking nicely. Bastet was one of the good ones, even if you had never gotten to meet her. Your parents had told you what she’d promised your family: good health and long lives if they had agreed to this marriage of their only daughter, and that had been before you’d even been conceived. 

With a heavy heart, you tucked the note into your private journal, one you hadn’t written in in years, nor had you wanted to. Sometimes, you would go back and read things from when you were younger, then scoff at your childish dreams. 

Your parents had already gotten the dress for the wedding. It was a simple yet elegant traditional Egyptian wedding dress. You just hadn’t wanted to wear all those colorful things, so they compromised with a decorative veil to match the dress. It would hide your face completely, but you would be able to see through it.

That was when your phone vibrated with a text from your mother. Your parents and apparently Dean’s parents had been talking, a lot. They had agreed upon a date for the wedding, whether the two of you met or not. It was in three days' time. Plus, apparently, they’d gotten help from an angel if either of you attempted to get out of this and not show up. This angel would ‘retrieve’ you.

This sucks. 

The first two days went by in a blur with all the preparations. Most of them had been done over the last year by both families. The four parents had taken things into their own hands since neither the bride nor the groom wanted to be any help. 

The day of, you were in a daze, mostly just going through the motions until you were in that room at the church, staring at yourself in the full-body mirror. You looked beautiful. The dress was elegant but traditional. Your hair had been done so that it was partially up but the other half down and partially curled, so it had a wavy look to it. One of your mother’s friends had done your makeup, simple and only enough to bring out your natural features.

But, as you looked in that mirror, his words from that phone call with your parents began ringing in your mind: I’m not marrying a monster. Your expression fell even more before you just sat down in the chair near the vanity. The door opening didn’t even pull your attention.

“It’s time, sweetie,” your father announced softly, doing his best to hide his worry.

Letting your gaze fall to the mirror, you carefully pulled the veil over your face, then took a slow, deep breath. You’d put on that front, just like you did when you were hunting and had to talk to people. You stood with confidence, holding your head high as you joined your father. As the music began, you followed his lead. The church was silent until you entered. Murmurs whispered among those gathered of your beauty. You didn’t care. Looks faded with time. They weren’t what made someone who they were. 

He was standing up at the altar with a man near him. You figured it was his brother, as both men were fairly tall. Dean looked rigid as he stood there, his hands clasped in front of him, his expression completely unreadable.

Of course, he’d be wearing his hunter’s mask. I don’t know why I hoped for anything else. It was in that moment that you realized you were still hoping, like your child-self all those years ago, that he had changed his thoughts. That perhaps, he wouldn’t look at you like a monster. When you reached the altar, you turned toward your father. He reached out with slightly trembling hands as he gently lifted your veil. You could see the dampness near the corners of his eyes, which softened that hard exterior of your expression. 

Just as you gave him a small, reassuring smile, he handed you off to Dean, and for the first time, you looked upon the man who was to be your husband. He looked strong, not just physically, though. He had to be physically strong, he was a hunter. To you, he seemed to have a different type of strength, and it made you a little curious about him.

As the pastor spoke, you continued looking at him, studying him. His green eyes that swam with emotions behind his mask, just as yours did. The way freckles danced across his chiseled face like stars. The occasional twitch of his clenched jaw. When he repeated the words of the pastor, his voice was deep, a little gravely, but also like there were things weighing on him that he was fighting against. Then, he was slipping the ring on your finger. It was then your turn to repeat the words as the pastor spoke them, and you did so, your head still held high.

After you slipped the ring on his finger, the pastor added a line you were not prepared for. “As you hold the ability of his life in your hands,” he paused as the best man pulled a gun from a holster on his hip. You hadn’t even noticed it before. “He shall hold the ability of your life in his.” Dean took the gun and holstered it on his hip as your hunter’s mask wavered for a brief moment. The Colt. The one weapon that could truly kill you. Your eyes only looked at it for a split second, but the movement of your eyes was not lost on Dean.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

He leaned down, then pressed his lips to yours for as briefly as he could to finish the ceremony, and the entire church erupted in cheers. You realized all these people knew each other. They’d spent time talking, due to this very moment, trying to bring the families and friends closer together. You were the one who only knew those on your side, and there weren’t many there. Dean had far more family and friends than you did.

You felt him take your hand as he walked you out of the church, both of you putting on that mask for everyone there, and for each other. He opened the door of the limo parked outside and even held your hand to help you as you got inside. You, of course, gave him that thankful smile, even if it was mostly forced. 

Once he was inside with the door closed, the driver began driving as the silence stretched and the tension built. You’d never spoken directly to Dean, and now, he was your husband. You hadn’t allowed yourself to truly think about the reality of your life. Even now, you couldn’t bring yourself to do so.

The reception was loud, at least for you. You managed, though, mingling with people like you were enjoying yourself. Just get through this. It was your mantra as you pretended to smile at people, including your family. There were speeches made, but you didn’t really pay attention to them. You didn’t want to hear words from people who weren’t in your shoes. None of them truly knew what you were going through.

I’m not marrying a monster. His words kept echoing in your head as the evening progressed. Dean was only near you when he had to be, and he barely said anything to you unless it was required. You noticed how his smile was forced when it came time for the stupid dance, but you gave him a fake smile as well.

It was like the entire event had been nothing more than a dance around each other, avoidance being the lead. You had caught him drinking several shots of whiskey, but then again, you had done the same when you thought no one was looking. By the end of the evening, all you wanted to do was get out of the get-up and into something comfortable. The limo ride to your and Dean’s new home was silent, a gift from Bastet to show her gratitude. You took note of how Dean kept space between the two of you. So much so that he wasn’t even touching any part of your dress, and there was seat space available for another person to fill. 

To keep up the act, you noticed how he went around to your side of the limo after it had pulled up to the house, opened your door, and held out his hand for you. You took it, playing along, and walked with him toward the front porch. However, the moment the limo was out of sight, he let go of your hand and walked ahead of you.

Again, your heart clenched with an ache you wished would just go away. Stupid hope and childish dreams. His strides had lengthened, so he had entered the house first. With a sigh, you went inside and closed the door, locking it out of habit. Dean was already moving toward the bedroom, pulling off his tie.

You followed, but only so you could change. He was near the bed, removing articles of his tux, so you slipped into the walk-in closet to find something comfortable as your mind began filling with questions.

Finally locating some sleep shorts and a slightly baggy Led Zepplin shirt that belonged to you, you began slipping out of the dress, which had felt like a burden more than anything else over the last several hours. Your focus was on your task, not on Dean. So, you missed how he watched you from the corner of his eye as he changed, just out of your view unless you turned to actually look at him. Before you had put on your comfortable pajamas, you hung the dress in the back of the closet, not wanting to be able to see it when you had to go in there. Then, you slipped into your comfortable clothes and went into the master bathroom.

There, you meticulously removed the little bit of makeup and took your hair down, brushing it out even if the waviness had stayed and would until you showered. When you came out of the bathroom, Dean was nowhere to be seen, but his tux had been thrown to one corner of the room, and the Colt was gone as well. 

You heard his footsteps near the kitchen, but you sat down on the edge of the bed as it all sank in. He was your husband. You were his wife. Would he expect you to be a proper wife? Did he want anything to do with you? Would he insist on consummating the marriage even though he seemed to hate you?  Those and more plagued your mind as you laid back and stared at the ceiling for a few moments.

Now what? It was the one question that wouldn’t go away. With a mild grumble, you sat up and headed down to the foot of the stairs, glancing toward the living room. Not seeing him there, you knew he was in the kitchen, drinking. As you entered the kitchen, he stared at you with a mask of indifference from the kitchen table.

You weren’t in the mood to deal with anything, including whatever might come out of his mouth. So, you grabbed another bottle of whiskey and, without even looking over at him, went into the living room, giving him the space of the kitchen. That first drink burned on the way down, but it was a welcome feeling after the day you’d had. 

Curling up on the far side of the couch, clutching the neck of the bottle almost like a lifeline, you tried not to think. Your thoughts were already swimming with questions, and to top it off, you felt his eyes on you. The tension in the house was thick, stifling, pushing down on your body like an invisible weight. Briefly, you wondered if he felt it too, but refused to open your mouth to say a word.

In your mind, he was the one who viewed you as a monster. The logical answer had been just to stay away from him, the best you could in your shared home. I’ll sleep in one of the guest rooms—another logical answer. Plus, you knew he had the Colt on him. At least in the guest room, you wouldn’t have to worry about him shooting you in your sleep.

The longer he sat there silently watching you and sipping his whiskey, the more uncomfortable you felt. Typically, you were the predator when you were on hunts. Right now, you felt like the prey, and it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You almost felt like a cornered cat and began noting all the quick escape routes of the house.

The legs of the chair scraping across the kitchen floor made you jump, but you still didn’t look over at him. You didn’t have to. With your hearing, you could tell exactly where he was in relation to you, even with him being barefoot. It wasn’t long before you heard the door of the master bedroom close and a click afterward.

He locked me out. The thought was more depressing than you wanted to admit, as your expression fell further and your shoulders slumped. You bit back tears of childhood dreams as you cleaned up his glass and the two bottles of whiskey, almost hating your entire existence. Then, you quietly retired to the guest room on the bottom floor, giving him as much space as possible. Out of fear, you locked the door but stood there, just staring at it.

With a defeated sigh, you unlocked it. Dean was a hunter. If he really wanted in that room, he could easily just pick the lock. So, what was the point of locking it? You went to bed with a heavier heart than you were willing to admit, even to yourself, with how things were going. 

As morning approached, bringing the first glimpses of light to the day, you slipped out of bed and quietly made your way to the kitchen. You were typically an early riser, enjoying this time of morning when the world wasn’t quite awake yet. First, you got coffee brewing, then you started on breakfast.

You weren’t a bitch, and something in you wanted to prove not only that but also that you weren’t like the monsters the two of you hunted. You didn’t know much about Dean, only what you had heard from those at the reception when they spoke of him. For a few moments, you stared at what was available in the fridge, then sighed. There wasn’t much, just basic things.

I’ll need to go shopping later.

Instead of making breakfast, you pulled out the pie and then set it aside while you grabbed the eggs and bacon. At least there was also a loaf of bread. The pie went into the oven while you sipped coffee and made breakfast, humming quietly to yourself in an attempt to calm your nerves.

You didn’t hear him wake up, dress, or descend the stairs in his boots, far too caught up in the tasks you were doing. Nearly a minute later, the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, like you were being watched. You turned slowly and nearly jumped when you saw him leaning on the doorframe of the kitchen, arms crossed, mask up, watching you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, as the sizzle of bacon was the only sound in the room. “There’s coffee,” you offered, but your voice was quiet, nervous, and almost shy.

He didn’t move, nor did he answer you. He just watched you with that expressionless gaze. Feeling completely out of your element, you turned from him and went back to cooking, finishing up breakfast. There was no calming your nerves as your hands trembled slightly while you set the table with two plates of food. As the timer dinged on the oven, you carefully pulled out the pie and set it on the top of the stove to cool. But all he did was watch you.

When you sat down to eat, he pushed off the doorframe and grabbed his jacket, then he left, nearly slamming the door behind him and making you jump at the sound. Your entire body fell in defeat. You had tried, but he had walked away without a word.

You saved what you could, which was just the bacon, having barely touched your own plate that morning. Dean had stayed gone nearly the whole day. You had eaten the pie on and off all day while on your laptop, looking for a case, literally, any case, so you could escape your new reality. 

He came back after sundown but went straight to the master bedroom and locked the door behind him, as your eyes followed his movements from the kitchen table. My life sucks. With a defeated sigh, you took your laptop to your room and quietly closed the door.

That was how the entire next week went. He was gone all day and then would lock himself in his room overnight. You had tried cooking for him when you made yourself breakfast, but he never ate anything, nor did he ever have any of the coffee you made. There were even two dinners you had managed to finish just as he had walked back in the door, but he had gone straight to the bedroom like all the other nights. It was getting disheartening. Couldn’t he see that you were trying?

You had moved some of your clothes from the master bedroom to the guest room you had chosen downstairs. That way, you wouldn’t need to go into that space at all. Your toiletries, which were very minimal, were now in the downstairs bathroom, including your towel and washcloth for showering. You had begun feeling like a guest in his home.

Another week passed before you finally managed to find a case. It was a long shot and might be nothing, but it was something, and you desperately needed something else to do. The morning you were planning to head out, you were in the kitchen, already dressed with your bag set on the kitchen table, packed. You were sipping a cup of coffee while eating a couple slices of bacon when he descended the stairs, but stopped dead in his tracks seeing your bag. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he growled, moving toward the table.

You looked up, blinking blankly at him, not understanding his reaction. He hadn’t spoken to you since the wedding, and now this? “A case,” you replied, dumbfounded.

“What case?” he growled again as he crossed his arms.

So, you told him about the possible ghost two towns over and the details you had gathered online as well as from the phone calls you had made. The line of his jaw ticked as he stood there, just staring at you with that same mask. “No. You’re staying here. I’ll deal with it,” he stated firmly before grabbing his jacket and leaving, again.

For a few moments, all you could do was sit there as you attempted to process what had just happened. He’d told you no. By the time it hit you, he was already pulling out of the drive, and all you could do was watch from the front door.

Anger hit you first, feeling like you were being treated like some child, as you went back inside and slammed the front door. Then, you grabbed your bag and threw it in your room, well, the guest room that had become yours, and plopped down on the edge of the bed.

Why doesn’t he want me hunting? Why won’t he speak to me unless it’s to tell me what I am and am not allowed to do? Why does he seem to hate me?

When a tear slipped down your cheek, your shoulders fell in defeat. He sees me as a monster. Why would any hunter want a monster near people? It was all you could come up with, even though you had never done anything toward him in a threatening way. You wanted to pull out your phone and text your mom, but decided against it. How could she help you? Seriously, how could your mom help you with this mess that was your life? What advice could she give? Just keep trying and hope he came around? With a depressed scoff, you tossed your phone onto the bed beside you. 

The sound of the doorbell pulled your attention and your curiosity. Who would be coming here? You wondered as you made your way to the front door. Surprise crossed your features as you pulled the door open when you saw Dean’s younger brother there.

“Umm… he left a little bit ago,” you admitted, quieter than you had wanted to be.

Sam furrowed his brow at the news. “Left where?” he asked, now confused.

“I had found a case and was going to go, but he left to take care of it instead,” you replied, moving a little so he could come in if he wanted to.

A frown found his lips as he looked down at you, but he did step inside, so you closed the door behind him. “There’s coffee, if you’d like,” you offered, leading him to the kitchen and getting him a cup.

“Thanks,” he replied with a friendly smile, taking the cup after you filled it. “Uh, how are things, between the two of you?” 

Sam took in your demure demeanor as you sat down at the kitchen table, the defeat in your shoulders. It was a far cry from the confident mask you’d worn during your wedding and reception. With you now being his sister-in-law, he figured he’d given you and Dean enough alone time and wanted to get to know you.

At first, you didn’t answer Sam. What could you say? You no longer had the energy to keep up your hunter's mask in your own home, which didn’t even feel like one. “Probably better than it could have gone,” you murmured, staring more at the coffee in your cup than anywhere else.

Again, he furrowed his brows as he sat across from you. Far too many questions slowly formulated in his mind. “Could you share a little more detail?” he asked inquisitively.

Your lips were curved down, along with your gaze, not even sure where to begin. “I don’t know what to say, honestly. He leaves in the morning and locks himself in his room when he comes back after dark,” you admitted quietly. “Today is the first day he’s spoken to me since the wedding, and he told me I couldn’t go on a hunt I found, like I was a child or something.”

Now Sam was utterly confused, more at his brother than you. He knew how his brother felt about the whole situation, but he hadn’t thought he’d act like this. 

Over the next few hours, he asked you questions, and you freely answered him. It was the first real conversation you had had with anyone in a long while. Being able to tell someone what you were struggling with felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Plus, Sam seemed genuinely interested. He even stayed late enough to have dinner with you.

For Sam, he had been curious about you, the Touched destined to marry his brother. From the moment he’d found out, he did all the research he could to learn about you specifically. However, the topic of Touched spanned every pantheon available. When he got older and began hunting with his brother, the two had come across a couple different Touched who’d gone bad. One of which attempted to light Sam on fire before Dean had shot it.

But today, sitting for hours and just talking to you, he began seeing you as more human than monster. You had feelings, likes and dislikes, favorite things, and a yearning to fit in, just like any other human. What he couldn’t figure out was why his brother was being the way he was. To top it off, you were an amazing cook, for also being a hunter.

Sam bid you goodnight somewhere after six, and when you closed the door, you were smiling a little. There was a lightness to you now where heaviness had once been. As you did the dishes, you hummed to yourself again, like you had that first morning when you had cooked. It allowed you to relax further, at least until your mind did what it always did and began wandering.

The longer it wandered, the more your smile fell, and your humming eventually ceased. Why did Sam seem to care more than your husband did? It was circling your thoughts and bringing back the weight that you thought was gone. You didn’t even bother waiting up till Dean got back before you retired to your room, one of the guest rooms, and closed the door, your heart heavy once again. What was the point in waiting up? He hasn’t wanted to see me anyway.

—---------------------------

When Dean’s phone vibrated on the seat next to him, he sighed before picking it up. Great, now what does he want? “What?” Dean grumbled, looking out the windshield at a bar, just watching people as they went in and out.

“How are things with Y/N?” Sam asked casually as he drove back to his place. 

Dean clenched his jaw. It was a reflexive habit at the sound of your name. “Fine.” 

The one-word answer had Sam rolling his eyes. He could hear how his brother was trying to end the conversation before it ever got started. “Then how come you aren’t at home?” Sam mused knowingly, calling his brother out deliberately.

Dean straightened up in his seat, gripping the steering wheel to keep his anger under control. “What does it matter to you where I am? Besides, how the hell do you know I’m not home?” 

Sam chuckled at that, almost grateful he wasn’t having this conversation in person. “It doesn’t, not to me. She’s your wife. I had stopped by cause I wanted to visit with you, but she said you had gone out on a case,” he explained casually like it was a normal thing. “She’s nice, even made dinner for me.”

Again, he clenched his jaw, his grip tightening so much on the steering wheel that his knuckles went white. “You could have called,” he barely got out through gritted teeth.

“I’ll call next time,” Sam began, but his tone got serious. “She’s nice, Dean. Maybe if you took some time to get to know her, you’d see that. She’s not the monster you’ve made her in your head.”

He really didn’t know how to respond to that. You were a monster by the sheer definition of not human. He was a hunter. He was supposed to kill things like you. He had killed things like you. It was why he stayed away from you, why he never ate anything you cooked or drank anything you made, and why he locked himself in that room with the Colt while he only half slept at night.

“She’s not human, Sam,” Dean tried to argue, as that had been all he’d been able to hold onto.

But Sam cut him off before he could continue. “She’s more human than you realize.”

The softness in Sam’s voice hit Dean like a Mack truck. He’d only spent the day with you. Then, Dean’s hard shell came back up. “She probably just enchanted you or something,” he grumbled under his breath, trying not to think about you at all.

“Dean, I swear to God,” Sam growled, taking him by surprise. “She doesn’t have those sorts of abilities. If you picked up a damn book, you’d know that.” His tone was harsh, but at the moment, Dean needed a wake-up call. Before Dean could argue, Sam continued. “Stop being an ass and talk to your wife!” Then, Sam hung up the phone.

Dean slumped back in his seat. He didn’t want to go back to that house, not with you there, but he started the Impala’s engine anyway. Sam’s words echoed in his head as he began the drive back from the ghost hunt. The whole drive, he replayed things in his head that he had tried desperately not to think about, but his thoughts always ended up back there, to that day.

When you stepped out of the room, your father by your side, he stopped breathing for a moment, even though he couldn’t see your face. Your steps were confident, as was how you stood. His eyes followed every step as the rest of the room slowly faded into the background. Then, your father lifted your veil, and he swore he’d died and gone to heaven, and you were the angel waiting to greet him. It took every ounce of resolve he had not to let it show, figuring you cast some sort of spell on him. The way you looked at him, holding the same mask he was, but the emotions behind it had his heart pounding.  He had tried to pay attention to the pastor as he spoke, taking in the delicate details of your face and those eyes. God, your eyes held something that begged for him to get lost in. Then, you spoke. There was no other sound in that room but your voice, and he wanted to hear it for the rest of his days. But it was that last thing the pastor said that snapped him back to reality, to the fact that you weren’t human, when the Colt was placed in his hands. He shoved everything down, just like he always did before, he barely let his lips touch yours to end the ceremony.

Dean glanced down at his phone and then back at the road, pushing thoughts away that he didn’t want to have. He couldn’t think like that, not in his mind. The consistent thought was that you weren’t human, and that was the only thing that kept him from getting close to you. What the hell had happened that Sam saw you as more human? Did you know witchcraft? 

He scoffed as he drove. Probably. It was the other thing he had clung to, even if he had never found a single shred of evidence to prove it. He had chalked it up to you just being that smart to hide it.

Every time he looked at you, you took his breath away. He saw the emotions you were dealing with, but he had refused to believe it was nothing more than some act just to get close to him. Monsters don’t have feelings. They’re monsters. That was always his reasoning. But now, his brother’s words began circling with his carefully constructed view of you, and it was starting to piss him off.

He wasn’t paying attention, not like he should have, and he barely had enough time to look up at the bright headlights before metal twisted, sound disappeared, and everything went black.

—-----------------------

It was near ten when your phone went off again before you finally sat up and answered it. “What?” you grumbled out, having no clue who would be calling so late.

“Dean’s been in an accident,” Sam told you, and you heard the waver in his voice.

In an instant, you were out of bed, your phone pressed to your ear as you began moving. “Where?”

“They can’t get him out of the car. We’re a mile down the road,” he sighed, and you finally heard the sounds in the background.

“I’m on my way,” you told him; all traces of sleep were gone.

Shoes on, wallet and phone in hand with your keys, and you were out the door. You didn’t even care what the speed limit was. The flashing lights made it clear where it had happened, just before the turn into the small neighborhood where the two of you had been given that home. Carefully, you maneuvered your car through the crowd to a place off the side of the road as Sam ran over to you.

“They had to get the jaws of life. He’s gonna be pissed when he wakes up,” Sam tried to make light of the horrible reality you were almost terrified to look at.

The short walk over, you could barely breathe. You didn’t love him, but you didn’t want anything bad to happen to him either, and this was bad. His beautiful Impala was nearly totaled, having been hit almost head-on by a semi. Sam explained that the driver had fallen asleep behind the wheel and veered into Dean’s lane before he could make the turn.

Words failed you when you saw his battered body still behind the wheel, his head to the side, unconscious. There was glass everywhere, and you noticed a few tiny shards sticking out of his face, along with blood from at least one head wound. You took several tentative steps closer, still trying to stay out of the way of the crew trying to get him out of the car with the jaws of life.

You could hear his heartbeat. He was still alive, but it was fading. Without waiting, you went to the other side, past everyone, and managed to slip into the car. You couldn’t wait and didn’t care who saw at this point. You weren’t going to let him die, not like this. He was a hunter, he deserved better, even if he hated you.

Several of the rescue team were yelling at you, but all you did was glare at them while Sam tried to explain that you were his wife. Discretely, you found a shard of glass and cut your hand, then found the open wounds you could while they pried the door open. You rubbed your blood into his wounds, knowing it was literally the only thing that would save his life with his fading heartbeat.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered as they pulled him from the car and onto a stretcher. You weren’t sure why you were apologizing to him, but somehow, it felt like it was your fault. If you had been the one to have taken this case, this never would have happened to him. Perhaps it was a form of guilt.

“Y/N!” Sam yelled, finally getting your attention. “Come on, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

All you could do was nod, far too many thoughts and emotions coursing through you to think straight. The drive was quiet, but your thoughts weren’t. “It’s my fault,” you whispered, your gaze on the night beyond the window.

“It’s not your-” Sam tried to reassure you, but you cut him off.

“If I had taken that case, left before he had woken up…” you trailed off, your voice small again as your guilt ate at you.

Sam sighed quietly, setting his hand on your shoulder and giving you a comforting squeeze. It was the first real physical contact you had had since the wedding, and it almost hurt. You let Sam deal with the people at the hospital while you looked around. It was nearly silent there at this hour, only a few nurses and staff moving about. “He’s in room 206, but he’s stable,” you heard the nurse say, and you finally felt like you could relax.

The hospital felt eerie this time of night as Sam led you down several different hallways before pushing open the door of Dean’s room. When your eyes found him, your hand covered your mouth. He looked bad off, but you knew it could have been far worse. At least he’d heal now, and he wouldn’t die from the trauma his body had suffered.

Sam tried to guide you to Dean’s bed, but you refused to move as another horrible thought entered your mind. “Y/N, you okay?” Sam asked, puzzled at the shift in your demeanor.

“He’ll hate me even more now,” you told Sam quietly as defeat took hold. “I healed him, with my blood, so he didn’t die back there.” Your voice was nothing more than a whisper as the realization hit Sam like a ton of bricks. “His heartbeat, it was so faint and getting worse. I couldn’t…” you sniffled as tears pricked at your eyes before a few slipped down your cheeks.

Perhaps it was the first time Sam truly saw you. Even after spending the day with you and learning more about you, it hadn’t prepared him for this. Before he could truly process the fact that he had almost lost his brother and that you, a monster, had saved his life, Mary and John were pushing past both of you into Dean’s room.

“Bastet promised,” John growled under his breath as he reached his son’s bed.

“He’s not dead. She kept her word,” Mary told him, but there was a cold edge to her tone that had you fleeing from the room before anyone noticed your disappearance.

You ran, it was all you could do. Your mind piecing things together on its own, the way it always had. Bastet must have promised that the Winchesters would live a decently long life if they agreed to bind their firstborn to you. That was what your mind came up with, and you weren’t far from the truth. 

By the time you got back to your car, it was sometime after midnight, but you drove yourself home. Home. The thought was depressing. Your movements were mechanical, mindless as you drove, parked, went inside, and crawled into bed. 

He’ll only ever see me as a monster. It was the last thought as you drifted off to a fitful sleep.

—---------------------

Dean woke up the following morning, his entire body sore. It took him several moments to even remember what the hell had happened, let alone figure out where the hell he was. It wasn’t bright, but he could tell the lighting was fluorescent bulbs. Then, there was the beeping of monitors to his left. 

A hospital? 

Then it hit him. The accident. He strained, pained groans coming out as he forced himself to sit up, when Sam was immediately at his side, helping him. “What the hell are you doing here?” Dean was more confused than angry, no matter how gruff his voice was.

He chuckled a little as he took a seat next to the bed. “I’ve been here all night. Someone had to watch over you. I sent Mom and Dad home and told them to get some sleep. How are you feeling?” 

“Like I got hit by a truck,” Dean groaned, his muscles aching, but not nearly as much as he figured they should. The truck had hit him dead on. He should be dead, and he knew it.

This time, Sam laughed a little. “Technically, you did get hit by a truck.” He noticed how Dean’s eyes scanned the room. “She’s at home, if you’re looking for Y/N.”

Dean’s walls instantly went right back up. “I wasn’t,” he snapped sharply in that gruff way when he was hiding the truth. “So, how come Cas only partially healed me?” he asked, changing the topic.

For a long few moments, Sam didn’t answer him, not entirely sure what to tell his brother, let alone how he was going to take it. “Dean, Cas didn’t heal you at all,” he began cautiously, and instantly regretted it when Dean looked at him, pissed. 

Before Dean could growl something else, a doctor came into the room with a chart in his hands, reading parts of it. “You’re making a rapid recovery, Mr. Winchester. We’ll have your discharge papers shortly,” he stated before looking up at the brothers. “Given the reports from the scene, you’re lucky to be alive. Looks like you’ve got a guardian angel looking over you.” And with that, he was gone again.

Dean was in a state of shock, even if it wasn’t apparent outwardly. Had Bastet stepped in to keep her word? It was the only thing he could figure as he stared at the open door of his room. 

“Y/N saved you,” Sam told him quietly, a frown finding his features from his worry of how Dean would react.

Instead of Dean going off or reacting how Sam figured he would, he just became completely confused. “How? She’s not an angel.” 

For a few moments, Sam just looked at him, far too many questions now rattling around in his head. “What do you know about her abilities?” he asked, almost cautiously, as that seemed the most logical place to start.

Dean’s expression went to an instant deadpan mixed with his bitch face. “She’s like a cat, and she heals,” he answered, not amused.

Sam chuckled, he couldn’t help it. “She doesn’t heal. Her blood does,” he clarified, waiting for Dean to put the pieces together on his own.

Slowly, the realization came into Dean’s features. “You mean I have monster blood in me now?” he asked as his tone went from confused to almost angry.

Sam frowned as a sigh slipped out. “She saved your life. The least you could do is be grateful.” He was about to tell him how you had just gone to save him without even caring about being seen doing it, but a nurse walked in with all his paperwork, so he could finally leave. “Want me to drive you home?” he asked as Dean signed the paperwork.

“Where’s my car?” was all Dean asked in that tone that meant he didn’t want to talk about anything that involved you or what you had done.

The drive to Bobby’s was silent. Sam had done the courtesy of texting you so you knew what was going on with Dean. He just wasn’t sure how to reach his brother or get him to see reason. Now, he was hoping Bobby might help. Bobby always had a way of saying things to Dean to where he had no choice but to think about it, even better than either of their parents could.

“Don’t bother picking me up later. I’ll stay at Bobby’s till I’m done fixing Baby,” Dean stated firmly before walking away from Sam’s car. His mind was racing like it always did when it came to you, and now, his carefully constructed image of you was changing, and he really didn’t like it.

—--------------------

Nightmares of Dean hunting you with the Colt had flooded your mind, waking you in a cold sweat sometime after dawn. Your chest was heaving, your hand over your heart as your eyes slowly adjusted to the room. Images flashed behind your eyes, the hatred in those green orbs, the sound of the gunshot.

A chill ran down your spine before you forced yourself to get up, the house feeling too small and too large simultaneously. He hates me. It was the thought that wouldn’t go away, your shaky legs taking you to the kitchen.

Trembling hands made coffee, and after pouring yourself a cup, the warmth of it offered nothing to your frayed senses. You’d read the message from Sam, even thanked him, but you were slowly retreating back into yourself. It was safe there, the walls high, but you could only hide there when Dean was gone.

For a long while, you just sat there at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around the mug as the heat slowly drained into your skin. Even in marriage, you were alone. No one wants me. Another thought set on repeat, circling around with the others.

The day was long, as you distracted your mind with anything and everything you could find. Sadly, it only partially worked and then completely failed with the knock on the front door, pulling you from the laundry pile on the couch. There was a frown on your lips when you pulled the door open, seeing Sam there.

“Come in,” you sighed, stepping back and closing it behind him.

You took your seat on the couch, going back to your task as Sam sat in the recliner. “He’s not coming back, is he?” you asked quietly.

Sam watched you, like he had when he came over last time, his heart breaking for you. “Not til he fixes his car. He asked me to pick some of his stuff up.” The compassion in his tone hurt more than comforted, but you tried not to show it.

“His stuff is in the master bedroom,” you murmured, letting your fingers move along the piece of fabric in your hands as you carefully folded it, then added it to the stack on the coffee table.

“Y/N, I can-” he began, but you cut him off with just a look.

“Sam, I appreciate that you’re nice to me. You’re not the one who had to marry me. Don’t. Please,” you told him, but your voice shook just enough for the resolve to solidify in his chest.

“I’ll stop in and check on you,” he offered before going to Dean’s room, leaving you to your task.

It was what he said on his way out that gave you pause. “Maybe you’ll bake for me. You’re an artist in the kitchen.” Then, he was gone, leaving you with a puzzled expression, staring at the front door he had closed behind him.

Why couldn’t Bastet have chosen him? 

With a sigh, you went back to trying to figure out your life, questions, and emotions twisting into things you didn’t want to face. Nothing could take your mind from them. When the house was clean, you tried to distract yourself by looking for another case. Those typically helped, and this time, Dean wouldn’t be there to take this from you.

—----------------------

Sam split up his time between work, school, getting on his brother’s nerves and visiting you. You had baked for him. Although, you wanted to question his tastes, as they were exactly like Dean's, at least from what you’d learned from Sam. 

He’d hang out with you for a bit, take the tasty treats you’d made, then go visit his brother. Dean would do his best to just focus on Baby, but those damn baked goods he kept bringing around would instantly distract him. 

Bobby would watch from the house as Sam played keep away for a while before sharing them with his brother. He knew what Sam was up to. Hell, he’d tried to get through Dean’s thick skull, Sam having shared quite a bit with him. 

Neither could figure out what Dean was hung up on, and it wasn’t like Dean was talking to either of them. 

It was the day Sam showed up with an apple pie, freshly baked, now three weeks after the accident. “You don’t even like pie. What are you up to?” Dean asked, only glancing at him before sliding back under Baby.

“What? I’m not allowed to bring my brother his favorite pie now?” he mused, standing next to Baby’s hood.

“You’re up to something,” Dean grumbled, his voice muffled as he tightened another bolt. But the alluring scent of apples and cinnamon had wafted under the car, cutting through the smell of oil and metal. “Jerk.”

Sam chuckled as Dean straightened up, wiping his hands off on a rag. And, without warning, he snatched the pie from his brother’s hands, but Sam had a plan in mind. He leaned against the side of Baby, arms crossed, just watching as Dean dug in, moaning in delight as the flavors melted in his mouth.

“Where’d you get this? I need to know so I can pick up another one,” he mumbled, mouth full of pie.

“Your house,” Sam answered plainly, and Dean froze, his eyes wide as he stared at the pie. “Same as all the other ones I’ve been bringing.”

Dean’s hand clenched around the box, but he swallowed the bite in his mouth, his mind racing. Then, his entire body slumped in complete defeat. Sam tilted his head, just a smidge, watching as Dean closed his eyes, head dropping.

“Dean?” he asked, concern etched in his features.

“I don’t know what to do, Sam,” he began, voice barely above a whisper. Everything he’d been fighting was about to tumble from his lips. “She’s a monster, but she’s so… human.”

With a sigh, he set the pie down on the hood, grabbed his beer, and leaned against the driver’s side, taking a long swig. “Maybe start with that?” Sam suggested, gesturing to the pie. “She’s sweet.”

Dean couldn’t help the amused smirk that tugged at his lips from Sam’s pun, shaking his head slightly. “And I’ve been nothing but bitter toward her.” “So, pick up some dinner. She likes burgers the same way you do,” Sam shrugged, trying to nudge his brother gently, knowing just how quickly he could clam right back up.

“Will you tell me about her?” Dean asked, his voice still quiet, a far-off look in his eyes as he stared across Bobby’s yard. 

So, for the next two hours, while they leaned against Baby, sipping beers, Sam talked about you, sharing what he’d learned since he had started visiting you. Dean listened with unwavering attention, making mental notes. Sam noticed the range of emotions as they went across Dean’s face or in his eyes, even the tiny clench of his jaw when Sam spoke of the night of the accident.

“She thinks you hate her,” Sam finally mumbled before finishing his beer.

Dean sighed, unable to blame you for that assessment. It wasn’t like he had treated you in any other way. Hell, he had wanted to keep hating you, but he couldn’t. “That’s the problem. I don’t hate her,” he admitted, glancing over at the now half-eaten pie. “I fell in love with her on our wedding day.”

Sam nearly choked on a breath, never expecting those words to leave his lips. Before he could utter a word, Dean’s gaze was back on him, “I have to fix this.”

And in an instant, he was gone, pie in hand, and inside Bobby’s. Sam let out an amused chuckle, shaking his head. 

—---------------------

In that three-week time frame, you’d only found one case, and it had only taken three days to take care of it—a single werewolf. You had enjoyed the days when Sam would stop by, even getting texts the night before so you could figure out what to make the following day when he’d come over. His company began filling a void inside you, but the moment he was gone, you always felt worse than before he’d come by.

Today had been the same, only you’d made apple pie. The other sat on the table as you nibbled on it throughout the day. It’d been more conversation, laughter, and silly or weird stories. You glanced up, watching the setting sun through the far kitchen window. The wedding had been a month and a half ago, but it felt like so much longer, while also feeling as though it had never happened at all.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the car pull up or the front door unlock, open, and then close. You were sipping a glass of whiskey, taking small bites of the pie. Spending most of the day doing nothing important, you were still in your pajamas, a pair of soft shorts, and an old AC/DC shirt from when you were a teenager. And your hair? Not even brushed that day. Depression does that sort of thing.

Dean paused in the doorway, still not sure what to say. So, he just walked over to the counter, setting everything down. That was when you noticed him, but it was due to his scent as it moved through the kitchen, tugging at your senses. This was the closest he’d gotten to you since the day of his accident.

He pulled two plates out of the cabinet and began pulling the food out of the bags. You noticed the pie Sam had taken that morning, sitting on the counter, mostly eaten now. Your brow furrowed, and for a brief moment, your lips parted before you quickly shut them and looked away from him.

The only sound in the room was from him unwrapping the burgers and then dumping the fries on the plates. He took a shaky breath, picked up both plates, and turned, finally looking at you. It wasn’t just that you looked like you just rolled out of bed. It was the bags under your eyes, the slump of your shoulders, the distant look in your gaze that got to him.

God, I’ve been an ass.

He cleared his throat as he set a plate down in front of you, then slipped into the seat across from you with his. The guilt churned in his stomach when he finally met your gaze. “Sam said you liked burgers too,” he finally offered, trying to keep his nervousness from slipping out.

You didn’t know what to think; far too many things racing through your mind. Had Sam only come over to get information about you to feed to Dean? Why was Dean even talking to you, let alone initiating a meal with you? Dean saw the confusion in your eyes, a reluctant sigh slipping past his lips as his gaze dropped to his plate. Where the hell do I even start? Everything he’d felt toward you since he’d found out about having to marry a monster, crumbled in his mind. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know I’ve been an ass toward you.”

Your eyes went wide for a moment, before letting your own gaze fall away from him. “Why do you hate me?” the words slipping out before you could stop them. Even though you had already come up with your own reasons, you wanted to hear it from him.

He swallowed hard, his throat going dry, but he couldn’t meet your gaze. “I don’t,” his voice barely above a whisper. “I used to. Eat. We can talk after.” It wasn’t just to make sure you ate something decent, it was to bide him some time to find the right words.

Dean had lots of things go through his head since he’d walked away from Sam earlier. Half of it sounded great, in his head. The other half? None of it sounded right. Then there was how whenever he was around you, he couldn’t think straight.

You watched as he focused on his food, taking a bite of his burger, not looking at you. Lots ran through your head, all questions you didn’t have answers for. With a quiet sigh, you focused on your own burger, even though you really weren’t hungry.

You didn’t love him, not like regular people who married for love. You’d avoided him up until your wedding day due to those words you’d heard him say when you were eighteen. Although, you couldn’t hate him either. Not since you had set your eyes on him on your wedding day.

Trying to figure out in your head what had changed, why he’d gone from hating you to not hating you was impossible in the silence. You wanted to open your mouth, ask him what felt like a million questions. What had Sam said to him? Why doesn’t he hate me anymore? What changed?

With a quiet sigh, you nibbled on another french fry, mostly picking at your food. Dean noticed but didn’t say anything. You were picking at your food, only having eaten half the burger and barely any fries. The tension in the room sat heavy on his shoulders, the distance between you further than just the physical table where you sat. He’d always pictured you a specific way, like a monster. It had twisted in his head over the years, even after he’d seen pictures of you in your home, the few times he’d been there.

The pictures of you in a Disney dress, you were eight, trying to mimic one of your favorite characters at the time. You, high up in a tree, a proud smile on your face because you’d learned how to use your claws. Then there was the last one, you in your graduation gown, diploma in hand. 

Nothing around your home portrayed you in the way his mind had. He’d pictured you with the claws, blood dripping off them, an almost sadistic gleam in your eyes as you stood over a freshly killed monster. Then, in his head, you’d turn and look at him, making his blood run cold.

Dean shook his head, then looked up at you. Your head was dipped slightly, your eyes half-lidded, gaze on your plate. You looked so small, like you were trying to curl in on yourself, away from him. Or like you were waiting for him to lash out, like he had the day he took that hunt from you. I’m the monster. Not her.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, popping the last fry into his mouth. The silence was deafening, but he pushed past it, the clinking of his plate, the scuff of his boots, the movement of his chair, each one making you flinch, ever so slightly.

You didn’t look up. Since your wedding day, anytime you’d met his gaze, he always walked away or looked at you with disdain and hatred. But you heard everything. Every little sound he made as he moved.

Dean opened the fridge, glancing at the beer, then changed his mind. He needed something stronger. Instead, he reached into a cabinet, pulled out a glass for himself, and then grabbed the bottle of whiskey. With the items in hand, he turned, pausing for a beat, still having no clue what to say. He’d never been good with words.

A heavy sigh left his lips before he finally sat back down, taking note of how you still hadn’t looked back up at him. Carefully, he poured each of you a hefty amount, then slid your glass across the table to you, near the top of your plate.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his gaze still on you before he took a long swallow from his glass.

Gingerly, your eyes found the glass, then him. He saw all the emotions that swam in the depths, emotions that had clearly been eating at you for a while. You wanted to reach for the glass. Wanted to down it in one go. But his words, his apology, had surprised you too profoundly to move.

For a long moment, the silence stretched, neither of you knowing what to say. A small, sad smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I never got a chance to thank you, for saving my life.” The sincerity in his words nearly broke the walls you’d been trying so desperately to keep up.

You finally picked up your glass, downing it in two long swallows. The burn as it slid down your throat, reminding you this was real, that you weren’t dreaming. Dean raised a brow. He’d never seen you drink before, not like that, but he was impressed at your ability to handle your whiskey.

The emotions that coiled into a thump in your throat were far harder to swallow than the whiskey. So, you poured yourself another. “I couldn’t let you die,” you whispered, gaze on the amber liquid as it swirled in the glass in your hands.

It wasn’t what he’d thought you’d say, at least not in the way you said it. Like it had nothing to do with Bastet’s promise. “Why did you?” Dean asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

You swallowed hard, still unsure how to explain it to him, just as you hadn’t been able to explain it to Sam when he asked. Another sip of whiskey, your mind racing, trying to find an answer he’d understand. “I just couldn’t, even though I knew you hated me,” you mumbled. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

Dean watched you, wishing you’d look at him, but he knew he had no right to even ask that of you. “I’m glad you did,” he murmured, pushing past his own self-deprication. “It gives me a chance to fix this.”

With that, you did look up, more puzzled than emotional. Why? “I still don’t understand. Why don’t you hate me anymore?” The words came out quiet, nervous, but also curious. It was something you still couldn’t understand, couldn’t figure out. He’d treated you like he had truly and completely hated you. “You said you didn’t want to marry a monster.”

Your words hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs. Words he’d spoken so long ago. Words you’d never been able to forget. Words he now regretted. He downed his drink, pouring himself another, contemplating how to explain.

His gaze lingered on the amber liquid. “I was young,” he began quietly. “Honestly, I was scared. I knew not all mon-” he quickly cut himself off, sighing heavily and looking back up at you. “I didn’t know anything about you. I’m sorry.”

You couldn’t stop the tear that slipped down your cheek, quickly looking away from him and wiping it away. Something in his chest tightened. He always saw you as strong, resilient, hard. But right now? You looked vulnerable, human.

Dean moved on instinct, his hand reaching across the table before quickly pulling it back, feeling he had no right to touch you. “Can we start over?” His quiet, hesitant request broke every wall you had. All you could manage was a slight nod as the tears fell. Dean’s jaw clenched, an internal battle raging at seeing you like this. With a shake of his head, he chose not to think. Instead, he stood, the chair scraping across the floor, before he pulled you up and into his arms.

It startled you, but you didn’t pull away. You buried your face against his chest, hands fisted in his shirt. Your body shook with sobs, unable to put any of it into words, and he didn’t force you to. The warmth of his body seeped into you, and the comfort of his arms around you didn’t feel empty.  

Dean just held you. Words were never his strong suit unless he was pushing people away, and he refused to do that to you again. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, unable to express it any other way.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that before your body finally stopped trembling, before the tears finally began to subside, before you could manage to utter a word. 

“I just wanted someone to want me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the words nearly broke him as guilt churned in his stomach. He tightened his arms around you, the breath taken from his lungs, his vision blurring from tears he wouldn’t let fall. Apologizing again wouldn’t help. He knew that. So he just held you, hoping you could feel what he couldn’t say.

When he did finally pull back, it was only enough so he could look down at you. You looked so human. A small, tender smile tugged at his lips as his hand cupped your cheek, wiping away another tear. Slowly, he tilted your head up, meeting his gaze.

You saw it in his eyes, emotions he couldn’t name, things he didn’t know how to say. It brought a matching smile to your lips. He saw you. Not the monster. Not the hunter. Just you. The you that you had hidden from the world. The you that Sam had gotten to know. 

“What do you say to a few drinks and some conversation?” he asked softly, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek.

“That’d be nice,” you murmured, unable to push the hope back into the dark corner where you typically kept it. Not with the way he was looking at you now. 

That night, everything changed. The two of you settled onto the couch, both sitting so that you were facing each other. The drinks flowed. But the conversation flowed easier than either of you had expected. Dean found himself captivated with your laughter. You found yourself lost in his eyes. The green shifting slightly depending on his emotions.

The two of you talked long into the night, neither caring about the hours as they passed. In the early morning, only two hours before sunrise, he debated a question that had been circling his mind for the last hour. You tilted your head, just a bit, reminding him of a curious cat. Dean chuckled in amusement, perhaps even adoration, as he held your gaze. “Will you share our bed tonight?” he asked, his voice laced with nervousness. He wasn’t asking anything more than to have you close, and he wouldn’t blame you if you turned him down.

You nibbled your bottom lip, only partially from nerves. Hope. Anticipation. “I’d like that.” Our bed. Those words had sent your heart racing. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, noting the flush of your cheeks. She’s cute when she blushes. “Come on. We can clean up later.” Dean stood, holding his hand out for you to take. Your breath hitched, but you took it, letting him help you stand. His hand found purchase on your lower back, keeping you by his side as he led you to the master bedroom. The room he’d locked you out of for the last almost two months.

You were surprised to see how tidy he’d kept it. There were no dirty clothes on the floor. The bed was made neatly. It looked like he had even kept the bathroom clean—nothing like how you had expected to find the space.

“Did you want to change into something else first?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, slipping off his shoes.

Glancing down at yourself, you furrowed your brow, then looked back up at him, puzzled. “But, I’m in pajamas.” Sleep shorts and a slightly baggy shirt.

The confusion in your tone had him smiling again. God, she’s fucking adorable. “Just wanted to ask,” he chuckled, setting his shoes to the side of the bed before slipping off his shirt.

You quickly turned away, warmth finding your cheeks, figuring you would wait till he had slid under the covers before you even turned back around. One topic the two of you hadn’t covered, anything intimate.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Never seen a guy without a shirt before?” he teased playfully, but that only made you blush deeper.

Seeing it on TV in shows or movies was different. There had been guys in public without shirts on, yeah. But this? This just felt different. “Not like this,” you mumbled, still refusing to turn around.

Dean had stood, already halfway through removing his jeans, when your words stopped him. For a long few moments, he stood there, frozen as his mind worked in overdrive, piecing it all together. Fuck. I’m an idiot. He let out a sigh through his nose and finally slipped out of his jeans, leaving him in just his boxers.

“I can sleep in sweats and a shirt, if you’d be more comfortable,” he offered, taking a tentative step toward you.

You shook your head, not wanting him to be uncomfortable on your account. “It’s okay. I’ll wait till you get under the covers,” you quickly mumbled, now fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

He wanted so badly to hold you, help you relax, but thought better of it. “Alright.” Dean turned off all but the lamp on one of the nightstands, then slipped under the covers, still mostly sitting up. You still didn’t turn around, moving to the other side of the bed. He watched in curiosity as you managed to get into bed without ever looking at him. He exhaled through his nose, flipped off the lamp, and got comfortable on his side, watching you in the dark. Questions danced through his mind, and before he knew it, one slipped out. “You’ve never been with anyone, have you?” he asked quietly.

You curled a little in on yourself, almost ashamed of it, and your reasoning behind it. “No,” you admitted in a nearly inaudible whisper.

He let the silence stretch, chewing on his next question. “Can I hold you?”

Your heart rate spiked as your breathing shallowed. Stupid nerves. 

As if he could sense it, he reached out, resting his hand tenderly on your shoulder. “I promise. I just want to hold you. Nothing more.” The sincerity in his voice almost brought another wave of tears. Briefly, you wondered if you’d ever be able to explain to him the things you kept buried, and how he was slowly healing parts of you that had been wounded for years. He felt the shaky breath that left your lips slowly, then your body inching back, toward him. Dean slid his hand down your arm, finding purchase at your hip, coaxing you closer. 

At first, you weren’t sure what to feel, other than the physical sensations. The warmth of his body against yours, his hand resting loosely on your hip, his warm breath in your hair. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move his hand, didn’t cage you in. He just held you.

Slowly, the tension eased from your muscles, your breathing evening out, your heart steadying. He felt it, smiling a little. A small win.

It was when you started purring that he froze. Not out of fear, out of surprise. Then you were moving away from him before he could process it.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologized, almost out of his reach now.

“No. Wait,” he blurted out, his fingers tightening on your hip before he let go completely and sighed. “Please don’t run,” he whispered. “It just surprised me. That’s all.”

Your hand fisted in the sheet momentarily before you let out a shaky breath, managing to relax. Your heart was pounding again, but his plea gripped at your chest. “I’ve never purred around anyone before,” you confessed quietly, slowly moving back against him, getting comfortable.

Dean’s hand soothed down your arm, something about it was far more comforting than you realized. Again, the tension eased from your muscles, your breathing evening out. It wasn’t long before the soft vibrations rippled gently through his muscles as you began purring again. This time, he didn’t freeze. He closed his eyes, letting himself feel it. A soft hum left his lips as he pulled you just a little closer. “It’s nice. Relaxing. Get some sleep, sweetheart,” he murmured against your hair, wondering why the hell he’d let his fears cloud his mind for so long.

You let out an almost contented breath, letting your eyes drift shut. Perhaps things could be different now. Perhaps… he does want me. It was the last thought that wandered through your conscious mind before sleep claimed you, finally relaxing after almost two months of emotional turmoil.

Tomorrow? Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow would hold a new future. One you had only dreamt about as a child. One you had written about as a young teenager in your journal. Life with Dean would be imperfectly perfect, in a way you never thought possible.

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[kc-idol]

I’ve always thought that Garroth and Katelyn would make a great duo (mostly referring to mystreet because in MCD season 3 they’re lowkey frenemies but I’ll talk about that later). They were relatively close in high school. When Katelyn broke up with Jeffery, Garroth was there to comfort her and gave a cupcake. He even did a silly voice as Katelyn said, which is basically the voice he has now. Then he took her to prom. At prom, it’s revealed she broke up with Jeffery, not the other way around. She said he was too nice and Jeffery apologized and Garroth still defended her with “stop being nice to her!!” Like LOL? Simple things like that made me like their dynamic a lot.

Also quick note, I feel like there was some romantic undertones for them in PDH season 1. I personally like them together platonically. However, when Aaron and Garroth go to pick up Aphmau and Katelyn for the prom, they end up blushing seeing them in their prom dresses. For Garroth, you could say that he was also admiring Aphmau cuz he had a crush on her but it’s evident that he thought Katelyn was pretty. I also find it interesting how him and Jeffery are kind of similar. Not only do they have the same voice actor, but Jeffery is like Garroth if he was more mature and thoughtful in my opinion.

Then they had that whole friendly rivalry in PDH season 2. However, during one of the episodes, Teony asks Katelyn if her and Garroth are still fighting, and she says yes, and that he’s been acting weird “ever since he got his new girlfriend” (aka Ivy). I don’t know if this was ever expanded upon later in the series but I would say it definitely affected their friendship. I know from PDH season 1 that Katelyn wasn’t the fondest of Ivy because of her behavior (I think it’s cuz she acted kind of obsessive and desperate about Garroth I’m not too sure). And Ivy got jealous of Aphmau being around Garroth, so I think a possibility was that Ivy didn’t want Garroth hanging around other girls while they were dating. And maybe she knew about him taking Katelyn to prom the year prior so she saw her as a threat (this also goes back to Garroth admiring Katelyn etc etc). Again, just a theory. I wished that part was explained more.

EDIT: omg so actually I just remembered Garroth was faking having a girlfriend until Ivy suggested he just date her instead, so he could have been acting weird prior to Ivy dating him cuz he was still faking so idk. Maybe Katelyn thought he was acting suspicious. I had originally put Ivy because the Katelyn and Teony moment happens either the episode after Ivy and him start dating or the same episode, sorry yall

In FCU, they reconnect though. What I find interesting is that in their first interaction, it’s mentioned they haven’t seen each other in awhile. Now this could mean different things. Awhile could refer to summer break because at this point they’re sophomores in college. It could also refer to a year. What I mean is that maybe they drifted apart near the end of high school (still friends just not as close) and didn’t interact much freshman year of college. I think this option better explains why Garroth never met Luka (Katelyn’s then girlfriend) before. I don’t know how long they’ve been dating for but it had to be atleast maybe a year or so since they were at Aphmau’s high school graduation and Aphmau is already very familiar with Luka.

After that, they interact, but I feel like it’s not in the same way it was in high school. Of course they’re still in the same friend group but their relationship is less personal. The mystreet friend group has sub friend groups and duos. For example, Katelyn, Kawaii-Chan, and Aphmau are a sub friend group. Dante, Laurance, Garroth, and Travis are a sub friend group. Aaron and Lucinda are a duo like how Travis and Dante are too. Same goes for Garroth and Laurance, and Katelyn and Kawaii-Chan. I could go on and on but you get the picture. So basically what I’m saying here is they’re still friends but have built closer connections to different people over the years.

You could kind of say their friendship happened due to close proximity or have mutual friends. Like in high school, you make friends in the same classes as you or hang around the same people and then when you graduate, y’all might drift apart because you’re far apart or wanting to meet new people. I think that’s exactly what happened to them and the effects still linger in their modern day dynamic. I haven’t rewatched the seasons recently cuz frankly they’re long as hell but from memory they just interact less.

In season 6, however, they bond over fighting the demon warlock and having both been brainwashed. I find this part really interesting because it felt like they obviously have shared traits (this is present in MCD too). They’re both strong (I think it’s mentioned they’re the most physically strong ones in the group due to the forever potions correct me if I’m wrong). Like this setup duo was not a coincidence. Also their parents (Garte and Elizabeth) worked together with those potions (idk the full lore ngl lol). So there’s this like underlying/subconscious bond between them.

I hope in season 7, we see them build back up their relationship with each other. I like them a lot. I feel like they both have issues with anger as well with Katelyn have strong emotions while Garroth has issues with jealousy (he admits it himself in season 3). Both of them have reacted to situations with violence (Katelyn has many instances, for Garroth I’m referring to him in FCU punching a guy into a tree because he was harassing aphmau). Katelyn actually defends him when her, Luka, and Aphmau are discussing it. Luka says that he used too much force but Katelyn says “some people need a good hit to get the message.” So in a way they think in similar ways. In FCU, Luka repeatedly scolds or rather discourages Katelyn’s anger and preference for violence. For Garroth, that person is Aphmau. He tries to teach her self defense but Aphmau says “I don’t think violence is the answer.”

I feel like we had gotten more interactions with them, they would encourage or bring out each other’s anger. I don’t think it would be intentionally but it would still happen.

This is how I see it going based on moments in mystreet. In Mystreet Season 2 (from what I’ve watched I didn’t finish it so take it with a grain of salt), Garroth is typically a bystander to Katelyn’s anger. In one scene, she confronts Travis about not telling her about the Nicole and Dante and Garroth doesn’t say anything until Travis says he didn’t have Katelyn in mind. He was like “Travis you’ve done messed up” in a joking manner.

I feel like Katelyn would also be a bystander to Garroth’s anger or antics really. Like she would get annoyed and express it but not to a point where it would discourage it.

I will admit thought, and I hope I’m making sense, that these reactions are probably because those emotions are not directed at each other. Because Katelyn was mad at Travis, it really didn’t involve Garroth. And since Garroth’s emotions (including jealousy) were typically towards Aphmau and Aaron in season 1, Katelyn wasn’t really involved just an observer. I think this could also connect back to them drifting apart as friends. They don’t have enough interactions for them to harbor these feelings toward each other, thus making themselves bystanders in each other’s personal drama.

This is really long but I also just thought of how they don’t harbor these feelings of anger or rivalry to each other anymore because the last time it happened (referring back to high school) they had some kind of falling out. In some parts of season 3 (or the side stories after it I think?) like that neighborhood watch episode where they have to save Katelyn cuz KC and Damian are making out downstairs, her and Garroth are talking, and Katelyn asks him why he’s wearing a cop uniform. She says it in this soft joking manner that I thought was really cute and I feel like it shows her thinking Garroth is silly. Garroth then like calls them hags 😭 and Aphmau throws something at him and Katelyn was like nice shot! It’s all in good fun so you can kind of see that previous relationship popping up every now and again. If yall know more moments like that between them show me pls! I do remember them like chilling on a couch together in season two episode one, they drive me crazy.

And lastly, another quick note, in MCD season 3, they end up fighting because Garroth’s distrust of Liochant because he’s from Tula. I remember a post mentioning that Garroth and Katelyn were too much alike and they needed someone kinda laidback for a duo to work. Like how MCD season one it was Aphmau, Garroth, and Laurance. They worked well together and season 2 was Katelyn instead of Garroth. But because it’s Garroth and Katelyn now, they’re too similar and clash with one another. It’s interesting how their MCD counterparts differ from their mystreet parts but in a way still have similarities, like both have a kind of rivalry at one point. (Obviously MCD being more intense)

I think there’s so much more I wanna say. Maybe in another post. This isn’t proofread either so sorry for mistakes. I headcanon them as really good friends. I also actually kind of headcanon Katelyn as having BPD and Garroth with Bipolar Disorder. I think it fits as they have similarities and BPD and Bipolar can be misdiagnosed with one another due to similar symptoms and behaviors (I would have to research more obviously but this is a really good post about Katelyn have BPD: https://www.tumblr.com/my-coven-is-claudia/705550091046518784/katelyn-has-bpd-analysis)

Ok, that’s it for now! There’s probably moments with them I missed cuz I didn’t fully watch season 2 (it didn’t have Laurance so I didn’t care at the time…) so tell me any if you know some pls!

[lapis-is-blue]

It's time to make people mad at me. Again. Do not try and fight with me in my comments, I don't care. This is my opinion, if you don't share it that's cool, I just don't feel the need to hear it, love ya.

I hate Caitlyn Kiramman. Now before I start. I understand her character. I understand why people like her. But she pissed me off. I will never be able to like a rich, spoiled, classist cop who gassed people and became a dictator.

Now, if you like her, cool. I don't care. I liked her a decent amount in season one. But season two ruined her for me. I don't care her mom died. Gassing people, criminal or not, isn't okay. Locking people up for dying their hair, a shade of blue that matches the criminal you hate. Crazy. She never once apologies, nothing.

Now, my favorite thing her stans do is talk about how when she gassed people, she was 'only gassing the bad guys' now two things about that nonsense. First and I fear most obvious. Gas does not stay in one place, especially when you are using deadly gas outside. The grey is like 90% of why Viktor is dyeing, have we forgotten that? Now, my second point with that statement. Not all the criminals in the under city are adults. The chembarrons are like known for having children doing their crimes for them. That is literally what Isha is.

And on the topic of Isha. Did we forget Caitlyn was like supper okay with shooting her? I keep hearing people talk about Caitlyn's perfect aim and how that means that she wouldn't have shot Isha. But no matter the perfect aim, people move. Like five minutes prior to that, Caitlyn missed and shot off Jinx's finger. It's shown her aim in near perfect, not perfect. In the heat of the moment, such as two grown women and a nine year old fist fighting, shots get missed, bullets explode, and the wrong people get hit. Which in this case would have been Isha, a child, or Vi, Caitlyn's lover.

I am well aware that grief and manipulation have ya doing some WILD things sometimes, and I think it's very important to show that in media. However, dictatorship isn't the best way to show that and have people still mess with your character. But I can also admit it could be a very interesting plot point if you're trying to show that grief makes people doing things, and sometimes those things are unforgiveable, but I digress.

Now, for one of the biggest reasons, my opinion on Caitlyn was cemented as negative. Her fans. Her fans are some of the most tone deaf, immature people I've ever seen on the internet. And I was in the Voltron fandom in its peak. If y'all want people to like your ship/show/character, maybe don't be actually insane. I love Sevika down, and I controversially love Maddie, I am not acting like they've never done wrong. You can love a character and admit they did wrong and be okay with people not liking them. Except for Mel, she's perfect. Don't play with me.

Now, once again. If you like her cool. She is a very interesting character. And before someone comments, I am the CEO of loving complex and over hated female characters, I quite literally love Maddie Nolen that's my bitch. But I will also admit when I don't like a character. And for what reasons. Once again, I liked Caitlyn in season one, even as she was a rich, privileged classist cop. But then they had to add on her implementing martial law and being a dictator who was willing to shoot a little girl who was like 9 and locking up zaunites for standing with the only person giving them hope because she hated that person. For a valid reason I do admit.

To my Caitlyn lovers, I get it. Please don't hurt me. These are my opinions. I'm on here for fun.

[dykedvonte]

The Color of Captain Curly

The color white and Curly are very interesting as we can talk about how white is very bland, neutral and devoid of a lot of connotations in regards to how it is typically used. The function of white is often as a background that makes a lot of more vibrant colors stand out, in and of itself very nothing and easy to stain or impose upon. However, in discussing the function of white as a color or pigment, its subjective use, Curly’s personality and purpose within the crew becomes a lot more critical as does its distinctiveness.

I want to first start off talking about the color white alone. The color white itself is a combination of all the colors on the spectrum, a far cry from the common misconception that white is actually devoid of anything. It is not visible on the color spectrum as it truly is an optical illusion in some way, just like the color pink (but this post isn't about Daisuke). We can make a lot of inferences about something that is not necessarily its own. I think this is a key factor of the function of white as being something that encompasses than is left out, white is simple but faceted. As a color in application it helps tint and lessen tones in a way. This is considered changing the hue of the color creating the ability to make other colors less garish and more cohesive. It is commonly referred to changing the brightness of the color but that is factually incorrect. The brightness does not change but the hue as mentioned before, our perception of it changes but it remains concrete, its own.

When this effect is added to white the color itself with some other color, it can be seen as white being altered by the more vibrant color, however now knowing that white is encompassing rather than devoid, we should rather discuss it as this color brings out what is already there. When white is present, it means all colors of light are being reflected equally, very important for the context of the story.

Keeping in line with all of this and Curly, I want to bring in the board game and how the pieces are being played on a white backdrop. The pieces cannot move on the board without it, it is the path, the guide and what makes those pieces stand out. Even the home bases are not colored with the pieces' own shades but white. White is the most important aspect of the board game and is the constant, win or lose, the path will not change, will not move and shapes the way of play more than anything else. Trying to skirt around it is nearly impossible if you are playing fair. Metaphorically with the pieces being the crew and Curly being the board game path, we know he does not play the game, not actively. We know from flavor text that he is at least present even if not involved just like how the path does not fully affect the way of play but guides, monitors the way the others would strategize and play. It, like Curly, is not something you think of but need to make the whole thing work.

Curly is white (no shit sherlock). The color that is so encompassing that it can feel as though something is being left out. The identity in the crew that tints the others into lighter, more cohesive hues we can see fall apart when they try too hard to impose their colors onto him. In his absence we see the struggle to have their colors be the most present but the issue is they simply cannot exist as they are without white. Subtracting white alters colors completely but it takes much more to completely wash out white by adding something new. There is a consistency we see with Curly in his reactions and way of being both in stressful and mundane environments.

When he is stressed he is typically panicked but forced, very intense rather than completely sputtering as we see his biggest reaction is frustration: He is only gentle with Anya after he is no longer concerned with her or the crews wellbeing with the absence of the gun, he swears, not directly at her, and is focused solely on finding it (not cool dude). Likewise when he goes to stop the crash, he reacts similarly with that calm neutral panic before having a brief moment of lashing out at Jimmy. Here we see him tinted by the others but still wholly encompassed by his own reactions. This is just a small interaction, a minor example really, but is good for understanding the connection of white, Curly and how the color is used to paint his reaction as a character.

Curly is the sum of a lot of the crews parts. You can see a lot of the crew in Curly, not because he absorbs the light of those around him to color him as something distant but because it is already existent and you can see the coat of paint the role of captain covers him in, washed away through his reactions, affects and thoughts. More importantly you can see exactly how he painted the crews personalities in both his presence pre-crash and his absence post crash.

[cringe--is--dead]

I'm so glad someone else brought attention to this! Firstly, I think you're referencing the Still Face Experiment by Tronick. As far as psychological experiments have gone, I will say this one isn't as bad as others are, especially because there was a point afterwards to ensure the babies in the experiment were comforted by their parents to work on reversing the affects there. (as far as I remember, at least, I'm working on my master's in counseling so my brain's sometimes fried)

Anyways! So to me, this experiment did a lot to help show that neglect is, in fact, a form of abuse that ends with psychological and emotional issues in the person/child.

A big thing I think they do well (intentional or not) is showing how Maomao is in her relationships. She loves and cares for the people in her life, but she shows it in what we end up seeing as a "Maomao way". I think, however, she has an avoidant attachment style. Many adults who have this style tend to come from neglect, emotional or mental abuse. There's also two subtypes of this; dismissive and fearful. I don't see Maomao falling into the fearful category, so let's look at dismissive.

Signs in adults tend to be higher levels of self-sufficiency, and independence. They also tend to be far more mature faster because they have had to rely on themselves. Vulnerability isn't easy to come by, in any type of relationship. There's a lot of need for space and alone time.

Now I think a lot of that can be seen in Maomao, but not overly so. Why? Because people can have more than one type of attachment style, and because she also had Loumen, I believe she also has some level of secure attachment style in her.

That looks like: feeling comfortable trusting those one's close with (we see several strong friendships she has and maintains, even if she appears semi-closed off in them, with her internal monologue she trusts these people, cares for them, and enjoys being around them), strong emotional regulation (she slips a few times throughout the show (I'm guilty of s1ep4 when she slaps the one lady in waiting in the crystal pavilion) but overall she has a great level of control over her emotions), feeling comfortable with their independence as well as in their relationships.

Overall Maomao is a very well written character, and I could go in further detail psychologically picking her apart (I've done it with other characters lol) and the way she is as we see her is a mixture of her struggling with her biological parents, with her sisters from the verdigris house, and her adopted father, Loumen.

Not sure if any of my word vomit made sense, but if it did and you've never looked into the things I mentioned before, I say do so! It's also rather interesting, and considering I've dedicated my entire college career to psychology, I'm not biased at all!

Still Face Experiment Video

Interesting Reddit thread for SFE

Attachment Style Test

Man, sometimes i wish i hadn't taken Psychology in high-school-

TW//mentions of unethical psychological experiment involving babies-

So, we learn something new about MaoMao's childhood.

And that is, by the time she was a toddler, she was left alone till the cortizans where done with work. And that could take, a while...

Because of this our MaoMao learned from a young age crying wouldn't do her any good. Thus causing her to have trouble telling if people are interested in her, in almost any context.

And there is like, a psychological reason for this outside of 'character with a sad backstory'

So there was this 'Forbidden Experiment' performed on young children, babies to be exact, a long time ago, where the caretakers where only allowed to tend to their physical needs, and not the emotional.

It was a psychological study of sorts for emotional deprivation

I won't get into the heavy details, it's honestly a disturbing case all things considered.

But the reason why I bring it up is that those babies shut down. They stopped crying to have any of their needs met. And nearly half passed away simply from emotional neglect. Those who survived were left with lasting truama that still impacted them for as long as they lived.

And honestly?

I can't help but feel MaoMao is feeling those same effects the kids that survived did.

Obviously, her situation wasn't as bad,

But it left lasting scars on her psychologically.

And we see it in the way she handles affection from those who do care about her.

She responds to it, gives affection herself when prompted, or has a reason(like getting rare medicine ingredients), but when it comes to getting it herself, MaoMao is apathetic.

She is not ungrateful but keeps a respectful distance.

This is also probably what caused MaoMao to be as independent as she is now. Or at least contribute to it.

-

All in all, I love the show and its commentary. It doesn't truly sugarcoat things and doesn't blatantly spell stuff out for the viewer or reader. It's trusting us to be smart, make connections and figure the mysteries out ourselves, and determine how these bits of information influence the characters and their choices.

God, why did I take psychology-

[cute-little-fly]

For me Hell has like lower standards for some things, and it can be used to explain why sometimes they are more absurd or exaggerated in how they act, like how imps can fall from high with no scratches and all of those things… But at the end the core of what the characters are and the situations they are in between them is meant to be relatable to us, and doesn’t have to do all with it.

One example I sometimes put is that imps are culturally accustomed to violence. In our world two sisters fighting until they bleed or need bandages wouldn’t be well seen. But we can relate to it, because we know that for them that’s a normal way of bonding, and we can relate that with sisterhood. Even if the way they bond is different, at its core is the same.

I feel that a lot of situations some viewers view badly is in part because of this. They think of those situations as if they were in the middle of them and that is not a good way to relate to it. You have to consider these people live in a world with lower standards of behavior for a lot of things. So their issues and acts are either a response to it oooor, surface more directly and bluntly because the environment they are doesn’t require them to hide them. They don’t need to act “proper” in a lot of situations. Also, this doesn’t mean we are going to use this argument to excuse bad behaviour or actions that affect negatively other characters. Because that is why, in part, Hell is a society where his members have a lot of issues…one example of this: the way Loona and Blitzø treat Moxxie clearly affects him, but since it is in Hell he doesn’t try to stop them that much, because that kind of behaviour is more socially normalized because it’s Hell.

Other interesting thing is that the way Moxxie is educated and intelectual and that not very appreciated by his in laws. But they see more his shortcomings in terms of physical strength, and care more about that because is how their culture is. But is still a valuable ability he has, and Blitzø depends on him for the business because he is good at reading and to do the paperwork.

However, I still prefer not to use that argument to debate about characters and their situations, only when it’s like the specific thing causing the issue discussed. Also, we don’t know a lot of stuff about Hell and its rules (just for stuff that is part of the plot like the Grimoire or some of the social class stuff or sinner stuff from HH). So maybe this is also the reason why that argument doesn’t work to debate, because every person interprets slightly differently what: “it’s in hell” means or should entail.

On the one hand I DO think the "they're in hell" argument holds value, because at the end of the day it takes place in hell for a reason, but even if this show took place on earth with humans, even then I'd still be making basically the same defense arguments.

[greenevergreens]

Great question!! I'm glad you asked.

Also after this point everytime I say you, or your cat, I am not talking about you specifically Avery. I'm instead saying you and your cat as my way of talking to the audiance as a whole.

Cats can go outside and it not only not be harmful to their health but actually be very healthy and enriching for them IF and only if, they're supervised, and or in an enclosed space.

People will builld little catios for their cats that have pet grade mesh lining so they can get some fresh air, see all the sights and smell all the smells without risking eating something they shouldn't or killing off the native birds.

I've also seen people get their cats little harnesses (it needs to be a harness don't walk your cat on their collar, it's NOT SAFE) and take them on walks, this is also great becase it's giving them exersize, and lets them exlpore the space around them in a safe way.

There's also people who will install cat proof fence toppers (it's like a roller that keeps them from getting over), and will allow their cat to play outside supervised. Now personally this I'd say is very much a case by case basis, some cats are VERY fast and talented at escaping open spaces, and as such would be at high risk of finding a way out. However if you have an elderly cat or a cat that can't easily jump or can't jump very high a fenced in backyard could be a very easy and benifitial way to get your cat some outside time in a safe way.

While allowing a pet outside will always have risks to it such as getting fleas, possibility of getting parasites, and (even with the most caution taken) a possible run in with a dangerous animal, if done correctly, the benifits can outweight the harm. Especially if your cat is prone to depression or anxiety being inside all the time.

There are also other ways to enrich your cat if those (catio, walking your cat, supervised outside time) aren't possibilities. Such as cat running wheels, finding things to bring in from outside that might have interesting smells on it. And plenty of toys that mimic their natural prey.

This is to say that the biggest risks to your cat if left to free roam outside, are stuff like cars when they try to cross the road (which if you live in any urban setting is garenteed considering cats can travel suprising distances from home, a half of a mile or more each day). Other free roam or feral cats that may be sick and therefore could get your cat sick, not to mention the risk of infection or mortal wound from a cat fight.

Then there's also dogs, even if free roaming dogs isn't common in your area, dogs still get out and get lost and then will likely become another animal that could easily kill or injure your cat. Not to mention how cats don't understand the idea of a fenced in yard, meaning any fence they cross or jump, or crawl under could be the yard of a very aggressive or high prey drive dog.

Even if your cat is able to get away from another animal trying to attack it, that doesn't mean it's safe. If a dog latches onto the right part of your cat's back, the cat can become paralized, and a paralized animal is easy prey, and it's harder for the cat to get home if it's back legs don't work.

Then there's all the things your cat could eat, if you can't watch your cat they could get into all types of food and trash that's harmful to them. They could get their head stuck in a bag, or can that then leaves them at risk of suffocation, dehydration or starvation, as they're unable to eat or drink. Or find their way home due to how htey can't see. An animal that can't see an attack coming, and can't see it's attacker is more likely to be killed and eaten by another animal.

Then there's the aspect no one likes talking about, but it still needs to be discussed, not everyone is nice, and there are plenty of people who either are apathetic to an animals suffering or worse, activelly enjoy causing harm to animals.

An animal free roaming has no one to protect it from, the 13yr old with the pellet gun, the grouchy neighbor that owns some traps and a gun, the neighbor that puts out poison to deal with rats, rats that can then be eaten by your cat, and die as a result, or the troubled person who takes their anger out on animals.

What I'm trying to say is, that it's not so much a case of outdoors bad and indoors good, but while yes keeping your cats inside will protect them and keep them far safer than they'd be if they were free roaming ouside, the outdoors isn't all bad, it can also enrich your cats life and provide plenty of exersize if you know how to do so safely.

This isn't to say that there isn't anything inside that could cause harm to or even kill a pet, it's more that you have far more control on your living space, and your actions in said livinv space, to keep it safe for your pet/s, than you do on the outside world.

You have no control if people litter, or if they leave plastic bags that once contained food stuffs on the ground or if someone in your neighbor hood just LOVES Lilies and plants them all over their garden. (If you aren't aware lilies are INCREDIBLY toxic to cats, and even if just some pollen gets on their fur and they lick that off during normal grooming, that can kill them).

Sorry for the wall of text, but I have A LOT to say on this topic, I've grown up practically always having a pet cat. And as such care deeply about their health and wellbeing.

Two of the most frustrating types of people when it comes to pet care are people who either:

A- Think that pets have no will of their own and therefore anything and every single thing, a person does to an animal is somehow abusive. Because, in their mind, there's no possible way this animal could indicate it isn't like that or make the thing stop. ~ Example, people who think that putting a costume on a cat is inherently abusive. While completely ignoring all the cat's body language that indicates that AT WORST it's MILDLY annoyed or confused. ~ Example 2: People who think having a service dog is abusive, ignoring how any good handler will immediately retire their service dog to a regular pet the second the dog gives indication it's not enjoying the work.

And

B- People who think that the will of an animal should never be ignored or stopped because the animal must know better. So if your cat wants to go outside, you should just let it. It doesn't matter that literally shortens its lifespan by like four times. He wants to go outside there for you should let it. ~ Example: People who let their cat free roam outside, because it “makes them happy” completely ignoring how they're slicing their cat's lifespan to a FOURTH of what it should be. And that they're condemning their cat to a painful, slow, and lonely death. ~ Example 2: People who refuse to train their dog out of harmful or dangerous behaviors because “they're just friendly!” or “they just want to say hi”. And then act all surprised and indigent that their untrained dog attacked someone, or got attacked because you never put the care into properly socializing them, because “they're so sweet!” or whatever other bullshit you tell yourself to justify being lazy.