#i didn't mind the dashboard change when it happened

[wildwoof]

I only just realized the blog icons are gone from the side of our posts.... wait tumblr why'd you do that???

[youraveragebtsstan]

Hello my friends. Yes, I'm back with yet ANOTHER ✨Wincest Concept✨...

Humor me: Dean left a series of voicemails for Sam knowing he would never hear him (or at least he wasn't supposed to.)

The first time he leaves a voicemail for Sam is when he's in a gas station bathroom, with his fist all bloody from punching the mirror. He didn't want to see his reflection- didn't want to see the face of the man that let Sam go to hell. The man that left him alone again...

The voicemail is short, brief and a bit coarse. Maybe even a few words along the lines of 'I miss you already', but oddly enough it helps. It's not until he gets back in the car does he realize Sam's phone is sitting on the dashboard. (It's not like he was going to get good reception in hell anyway). So Dean he tosses it in the glove box and forgets it.

The next time he leaves a voicemail it to tell Sam that he's been shacking up with Lisa for the last few weeks and though she said he was welcome he can't help but feel out of place. He vents to Sam as if he could hear him and says he wish he'd just pick up the phone.

Through out the year Sam is gone, Dean leaves numerous voicemails for Sam until it's full. Some are of Dean when he's sad- tears clogging his throat so much he's practically mumbling. Some are when he's happy, sharing a happy memory of funny joke with Sam when it crosses his mind. Others are when he's drunk, saying a few things he never thought he'd say out loud. But none of it mattered anyway because Sam's gone and he's never coming back- and god, damn it does he miss him.

But then one day Sam's in front of him, back from hell and better than ever- and Dean couldn't be more greatful. He tells Sam to ignore the messages and so his surprise Sam does. (In fact, SoullessSam couldn't care less about messages Dean left him and nor the phone he left them on. He has a new phone now, one that's better and rather he admits it or not, he doesn't find any significants for keeping it anyway.)

It isn't until Sam- the real Sam, gets his soul back and stumbled across the phone does it matter. There were a number of things that changed while Sam was gone and having his old phone back just makes things a little easier to digest. So he charges it up one night while Dean is sleeping and listens to them in bed. There were a few from Bobby, and old ones from Dean he hadn't found the need to check, but there were knew ones as well- and all from Dean no less.

Sam goes through a series of emotions that night. He cries while listening to Dean sob into the receiver, laughs when Dean cracks a shitty joke; and more importantly Sam's breath hitches when Dean admits to wanting things he's always imagined.

What happens the next morning when Dean wakes is a mystery. Perhaps Sam tells Dean everything, the two moving forward with a new chapter of their lives. Or maybe he keeps his mouth shut, too afraid to rock the boat any further than he already has... But at least Sam knows the truth.

So, how'd I do? Good, great, mediocre? Oh well, I just wanted to share.

[son1c]

onward and upward?

falling stars fic masterpost

The evening sky was awash with delicate ice cream clouds. The wind had curled them into fluffy orange cones, and as the night rolled in, they soon became sprinkled with stars. There were no flickies up this high; it was just the manta ray battleship sailing through the atmosphere with Sonic at its helm. Most of his excitement from their great escape had worn off by now, but he still wore a smile on his face as he lazily pushed the yoke forward, pressing the ship onward.

Periodically, the sensors in the cockpit would blink or ding. Sonic glanced at them every time they did, and made sure to review the various buttons and knobs around him as well, but everything was fine. He sat back in the pilot's chair with his feet kicked up on the dash.

Rouge had given him the coordinates to her casino about an hour ago, and Sonic, liking the sound of crashing at a place with good music and lots of fun, had entered them into the ship’s navigation system immediately. But they were still a ways off from Night Babylon.

Far below the ship, the desert sands surrounding Scrap Brain Base created a cocktail of color. It was no more interesting to look at a second time than it had been the first time. Sonic was just glad he didn't have to endure the nighttime chill as it blew across the dunes again. Inside the cockpit, it was warm, and the soft yellow glow of the overhead lights kept him alert even when the sun disappeared under the horizon.

Shadow was perched on a section of the ship’s dashboard that didn’t have any controls on it. He sat with his back to the window, leaning forward slightly with his elbows on his thighs. His brow was creased, and his mouth was turned down in a small frown. Every so often, he rubbed one of his inhibitor rings, his mind elsewhere.

His thoughts lingered on Scrap Brain Base. So much had happened while he was in stasis, and he hadn't been there for any of it. He was still reeling from Sonic's transformation into a Robian. Supposedly, that was fixed now, but the blue hedgehog still bore the scars from the Roboticizer. His body remained segmented by dark lines even though he was back to being flesh and fur. And his eyes…

Shadow looked away when Sonic turned his head from the window. The hedgehog's bright green gaze followed him out of the corner of his eye, however. And Shadow could still feel it on him even when Sonic didn't say anything.

The sound of wind rushing by the outside of the ship grated on Shadow's ears. The dark hedgehog gripped the edge of the dashboard. He suddenly felt claustrophobic inside of the cockpit, but he knew the relative openness of the rest of the cabin wouldn't alleviate the pressure on his chest.

So, Shadow stayed where he was. And he said, "I had a dream."

Sonic blinked. He tilted his head to the side and asked, "Yeah? What about?"

"It was about…" Shadow's grip on the dashboard tightened. "Your words from the forest. Something you said then stands out to me now. That comment about a golden figure… while trapped in stasis, I believe I saw the same one."

Sonic shifted in his chair. "For real? You recognize it at all?"

"It might've been you."

Despite his verbiage, Shadow spoke with certainty. Like he knew it was true without really knowing. He watched as Sonic's eyes widened, the weight of Shadow's words sinking in right away. But then Sonic's eyes closed and his mouth stretched into an amused grin.

"Nah," Sonic said. "Couldn't've been the same one. I mean, unless I was lookin' in the mirror… how could I have seen myself?" He dropped his legs to the floor and turned in his chair. He was facing Shadow fully now. "You saw me. I saw you. Not sure what the color change is about, but that's what I'm gettin' from this."

Shadow thought about the misty face he'd seen in his dreams. The grin it wore and the attitude it radiated, so strong even through the ether. When he looked at Sonic's face now, he got the same feeling.

"The Doctor said we fell from space," Shadow said.

"He also said we fought a giant lizard," Sonic said. Then, he shrugged. "I'll buy the first part. But that second one's kinda rocky. Our new pal's gonna need to back it up before I start believin' it."

Rouge. She was out in the cabin with Omega, presumably working her magic and keeping the bloodthirsty mech from blowing a hole in the side of the hull. She had her work cut out for her considering the zoo's worth of badniks that made up the rest of the ship's passengers, but since no alarms had gone off yet, Sonic assumed she was succeeding in her quest to keep Omega from reenacting the opening cutscene from Sonic Adventure 2.

Shadow was quiet for a moment. The weight on his chest persisted, a horrible reminder of all the things he couldn't change. “The you that I saw in my dream,” he began, “what if you can never return to that state again?”

Sonic looked at Shadow with those eyes. Those unnatural, glowing eyes that threatened to crush the dark hedgehog into pieces. And he said, “That’s the fun part. Stuff comes and goes. Not knowing what I’ve seen or what I’ve been for the last time is just part of the adventure!”

Shadow toyed with his earring. Despite his initial reluctance to wear it, he was glad he still had it, and that it hadn’t been lost back at Scrap Brain. “Your point of view is admirable,” Shadow said slowly. “But it’s on this that we differ.”

“I’m not sayin’ you gotta agree with me,” Sonic said with a wave of his hand. “That’s just the way I see it. When everything’s temporary, everything matters. So I gotta take it in while I can, that way I don’t have to worry about missin' it once it’s gone.”

Shadow’s hand fell from his earring. The star shaped jewelry twinkled when it caught the light, and Sonic smiled at it. At Shadow.

“Even so,” Shadow said, shuttering himself from Sonic’s smile with a scowl, “the Doctor will pay for what he took from you. If you won’t seek retribution, I'll do it in your stead. This, I promise you.”

Sonic reached out and patted Shadow’s shoulder. “You say that like you’ve got somethin’ to prove,” Sonic observed. “Well, I’m tellin’ you right now that what you’re trying to do, you’ve already done. There’s no promise in the world that could mean more than stickin’ with me when I didn’t have two legs to stand on.”

Shadow shook his head. “That was a favor repaid, nothing more.”

Sonic fiddled with his own earring. His gaze turned back toward the window, and the night sky beyond. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Shadow said stiffly. A tangled web of feelings churned in his gut. He chose to focus on the one that he was most familiar with: anger. "This goes beyond what was done to you. The Doctor crossed both of us, and now with that cheap copy…" Shadow's anger was joined by disgust as he remembered the expressionless face of the Shadow Android. "I won't allow such an insult."

Sonic tapped his thumb on the yoke. "I get the feeling he's a fan of fakes," Sonic said. "I mean, come on--you remember that fake we saw of me on the way in, right? Maybe it's just his M.O."

This didn't help calm Shadow. "He'd be wise to think twice before dedicating his time to tawdry mirrors. They'll all end up shattered in the end."

Suddenly, one of the sensors on the dashboard started to go off. Unlike the routine beeps from before, however, this time the screen was lit up bright yellow. Sonic and Shadow both leaned over it to see what it said and found that it warned of an anomaly on the lower deck.

Sonic rolled his eyes. "Man, Mr. Ivo sure skimped on the specs for this thing. That could mean anything!"

Shadow got down from the dashboard and began moving toward the door. He said, "Stay the course. I'll take care of it."

Sonic snorted. "Leavin' me on the bench, huh?" He thought back to how he'd left Shadow to secure the ship with Rouge and Omega while he went after Buggy on his own a few hours earlier. "Guess I deserve that," he conceded. "But take Omega with you, yeah? He could use the fresh air."

Shadow paused at the door to the cockpit and glanced back over his shoulder, but Sonic had already turned back toward the dashboard, his fingers trailing over the buttons curiously. So, Shadow pulled open the door and exited the cockpit, leaving Sonic to fly the ship alone.

What he didn't see was Buggy slipping through the crack in the door at the last second. The little robot could be quite opportunistic, that way.

Out in the main area of the ship, badniks crawled and skittered like bugs. A collection of caterkillers curled around the support beam in the middle of the cabin, while a pair of monkey robots tossed a crabmeat back and forth like a football. Four buzzy bombers seemed to be having a race around the meager airspace, circling the cabin as if they were Nascars on a track, with a group of rollers attempting to knock them down by throwing each other up at the ceiling to intercept them whenever they looped back around.

And then there was Omega, still in his corner. Rouge was with him, and so was his number one fan, the wasp robot from the basement. It was anyone's guess why he hadn't squashed the pesky thing yet, but it probably had something to do with Rouge regaling him with tales of her more violent plunders over the years. It was like Cocomelon for the war machine.

Shadow walked up to Omega and said, "You're with me. There's a problem on the lower deck."

"NOW IS NOT A GOOD TIME. THE BLOODSHED WAS JUST GETTING STARTED."

Rouge smiled coyly. "And there's more where that came from," she said. "After we do some snooping!"

Shadow raised an eyebrow at Rouge's use of the word 'we.' But ultimately, it didn't matter to him if she tagged along or not, so he didn't comment on it. Then, he turned away from her and headed toward the back of the cabin.

The hatch that led to the depths of the ship was by the tail of the manta ray. Shadow had to weave around the menagerie of lollygagging badniks in order to get to it.

Rouge and Omega followed closely behind. Omega kept his eyes glued to the floor as he walked so as not to see the badniks. If he didn't have to look at them, it was easier to pretend they weren't currently sharing the same space. Although, the buzzy bomber's trills as it said goodbye broke the illusion for a little bit.

Once the three of them were all standing around the hatch on the floor, Shadow knelt down and unlocked it. Then, he grabbed the handle, and heaved. The circular hatch was large--about twice as wide as Omega--and made of solid reinforced steel. But it was like a paperweight to Shadow, and he lifted it up easily. With one hand, he held the hatch over his head, his face now pointed downward so he could peer into the ship's maintenance shaft.

There was a ladder that led down one side, but it quickly disappeared into inky blackness. At the bottom of the shaft, there were no lights, so it was completely dark. A faint wind rose up from the passageway as well, and it rustled Shadow's quills.

The hedgehog turned to his two companions. However, before he was able to say anything to them, Omega jumped down into the shaft. His mechanical voice echoed up to Shadow and Rouge.

"IF THE PROBLEM HAS A FACE, I WILL TEAR IT OFF! YIPPEE!"

Rouge shook her head, but she did so with a smile. Then, she offered her hand to Shadow and said, "Let's skip the ladder, shall we?"

Shadow looked at her hand. A kind gesture.

He didn't take it.

"After you," he said, gesturing to the ominous darkness at the bottom of the shaft.

Rouge brought her hand back to her side. Casually, she said, "Ladies first, hmm? How very noble of you." Her face betrayed nothing of what she might've been feeling. And if she stretched her wings and dropped into the shaft a little too quickly, it was only because she wanted to get on with their "snooping," as she'd called it.

Shadow watched her disappear with a frown. But he didn't linger on it. And after taking a breath, he jumped after her and Omega, with the heavy hatch slamming shut above him.

[vaspider]

I'm not sure if you've had to deal with the discourse over whether mental health issues qualify as disabilities lately but I just realized i have a recent anecdote pertinent to the discussion.

I'm a truck mechanic. I work on the vehicles sometimes called big rigs, eighteen-wheelers, semis, and probably many other names. Vehicles designed to haul freight on highways. I think you and most of your followers get the idea.

Several years ago, ugly things happened to people i considered friends. I feel a level of responsibility for what happened but people I've told the story to insist it wasn't my fault. People who were there tell me the same thing. I still can't shake the feeling but my objective level of blame is irrelevant.

About a month and a half ago, something i won't be elaborating on very vividly reminded me of what happened. That reminder sent me on a spiral. I literally could not stop thinking about what happened. Literally nothing else was on my mind. I had to go into work for a swing shift (4pm-midnight) that day. I had to do an oil change on a truck. I forgot to reinstall the drain plug because i was distracted by thoughts on ugly things from my past, so when I tried to pour oil into the engine, the oil just spilled straight onto the ground. I didn't notice what I'd done until I'd wasted nine gallons of oil that way. I corrected my mistake, concluded the service, and started my next job, another oil change.

I still couldn't think about ANYTHING besides events I can't change and a burning desire to make things right. I did most of the oil change service then had the customer start the engine of his truck... Before i added any oil. The driver saw a "low oil pressure" warning on his dashboard and stopped the engine before it was too late but had he been less attentive, his engine would've been totaled, costing my company $50k USD or possibly even more. The only reasons i didn't lose my job are because my boss likes me and defended me to the corporate safety people, and because i have no other similar mistakes on record.

I've since learned that this is consistent with Real Event Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, a subset of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder wherein the afflicted is hyperfixated on correcting past mistakes. Obsession with one's quality as a person, with one's morality, is the defining symptom. I haven't been diagnosed yet but I recently started therapy; my therapist might be able to provide such a diagnosis and help me deal.

The reason I'm telling you this is because it provides you with another data point in that argument i mentioned at the beginning of this ask. Mental illness nearly destroyed a truck and interfered with time-sensitive logistics. It nearly cost both a driver and his company significant amounts of money and lost time. Mental illness nearly cost me my career. If mental illness can take an otherwise-competent mechanic and turn them into a confused and distracted mess incapable of the simplest job a mechanic can do, i think it qualifies as a disability as much as, say, cerebral palsy or Parkinson's, or any other disabling medical condition.

(I'm probably gonna get hate mail and mockery (not from you, from the peanut gallery) for telling you about this major fuck-up but whatever. Maybe this anecdote will change some minds that need changing.)

Yeah, sounds about right. 💗

[knickynoo]

Back to the Future: The Animated Series, s01ep11 "Gone Fishin'" Review and Commentary

Previous episodes linked HERE

In this episode: Marty, Jules, and Verne try to undo one of Doc's deep-seated childhood traumas, only to end up sending his life wildly off course.

I shall preface this by letting anyone reading know that Tumblr has been messing up my gifsets and pictures in my previous posts. Gifs and pics that should be side by side end up enlarged and stacked vertically when viewed on the dashboard through a desktop. I've been unable to figure out how to fix it and have no clue why it's doing this to me. It is a source of great frustration and makes me not want to do these reviews anymore. But I'm trudging along. Just wanted to let people know in case it looked wonky. It's not on purpose!

Alrighty, let's dive in.

Okay, so this episode has my favorite live-action opening segment in the series thus far. We begin with black-and-white footage of Doc, accompanied by him doing a voice-over where he explains that he was visiting the 1920s. As he's doing the voice-over, the Doc on screen is just waving at the camera the entire time, and it is delightful. He becomes increasingly frantic as the waving goes on.

Doc goes on to explain that he'd been in the 1920s to meet Thomas Edison and get him to autograph a very large lightbulb, which we then see as we return to the "present day." Doc immediately drops and shatters it as he's showing it to us.

Quickly moving on from the tragedy (he says he'll make a return trip to get extra bulbs autographed) Doc goes on to talk about the '20s—silent films in particular.

"I'm sure you've all heard of Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton," he says, "but only the real film historians among you recall Daredevil Brown. Talk about a Hollywood success story."

Hmm...well, that's an intriguing little piece of info, isn't it? Who is this Daredevil Brown?? Doc leads us into the cartoon to hear the full story. "It all began with a fishing trip," he tells us with a haunted expression.

We shall find out the reason for this expression shortly. Into the cartoon, we go!

While working in his lab, Doc is approached by Verne, who hands him a flyer for the upcoming "Father and Son Big Mouth Bass Off." It's apparently an annual Hill Valley event, and Verne really wants to go with his dad. Doc, however, reacts with immediate terror, crumples up the flyer, and quite literally begins convulsing as he tries to tell his son that he can't go. He then stumbles into the living room and collapses on the couch, still in an agitated state.

Jules decides to show Doc his new invention—a helmet that allows you to watch TV without disturbing others in the room with the images/sounds, and Doc figures trying it will be a good way to get his mind off of the terror he just experienced. Unfortunately, it's a rerun of The Andy Griffith Show, which, if you're familiar with it, has an opening sequence of the main character going fishing with his son. Doc rips off the device and runs straight into the wall.

I don't know about all of you, but I think Doc might have experienced some fishing-related trauma?? I mean. Just a guess.

Also, I would like to point out that throughout much of these opening scenes, Doc's eyes randomly turn blue, which is the second instance I've noticed of a character's eye color changing mid-scene (the first was in Swing Low, Sweet Chariot Race). And I'd really like to know why this was happening. Whoever was in charge of character eye color, you dropped the ball here. You probably didn't think anyone would be scrutinizing this series closely enough to notice 30+ years later, but you were wrong.

Getting back on track here, Jules and Verne sneak into their parents' bedroom that night with a plan to figure out what's going on with their father. Jules has invented a device consisting of an in-ear piece connected to a screen that allows someone to view the wearer's thoughts. Y'all, Jules is 10-years-old, and he's incomprehensibly brilliant. He just whipped up an invention to see a person's thoughts. This is something that can be put to horrible use if it falls into the wrong hands.

As they use the device, miniature versions of Jules and Verne appear on the screen and "travel" through Doc's brain. They pass a "brainstorm," a long pathway containing his "library of knowledge," and then come to a huge wall.

Whoever was in charge of spelling, you dropped the ball here, too. Admittance is spelled incorrectly.

I sincerely am curious as to how these mistakes slipped by and made it into the completed versions of the episodes. In a way, though, it kind of adds to the fun.

Jules gets a readout on the screen that says: "Memory block, Milwaukee, Wisconsin, August 5, 1926." With this information, the boys now know that something significant enough happened to their dad on this date that a gigantic wall was erected in his brain to block the whole thing out. The mini versions of Jules and Verne on the screen get out pickaxes and chip away at the block until they break through and can see the memory.

In a show so centered around time travel, I must remind myself to suspend my disbelief in these absolutely absurd and impossible moments.

Anyway, Jules and Verne access the hidden away memory and see their four-year-old father fishing. As he casts his line, he falls into the water, nearly drowns, and is terrorized by various sea creatures.

Nobody is around to run to his aid as he splashes around and calls for help. Jules and Verne feel it's their duty to travel back to that date and stop Doc from having this terrible, scarring experience.

As they sneak the DeLorean out of the garage, they're caught by Marty, who has decided it is of the utmost importance that he make a visit to Doc's house at 11:30 at night to get his hoverboard. Jules explains their plan, to which Marty replies, "Milwaukee? That must have been when Doc stayed with his oddball Uncle Oliver." And I must say that I like that Marty knows this little bit of Doc Brown trivia and that Doc has obviously told Marty at least this one story about his childhood.

Marty agrees to not tattle on the boys if they let him tag along? He tells them he wants to travel to a time when he'll be smarter than Doc. Off they go to 1926.

"How much can a little kid know?" Marty asks as they approach Little Doc, whom I will just refer to as Emmett from here on out. Everybody look at him, please.

As Marty immediately discovers, he is not smarter than this four-year-old version of his friend. After jokingly asking Emmett what he knows, Emmett replies, "Several languages, the Periodic Table, the constellations of the Northern Hemisphere, and the Encyclopedia from 'A' to 'Grrr.'" (He hasn't made his way through the FULL encyclopedia yet, evidently.)

While I know that this cartoon can hardly be considered canon to the world set up in the trilogy, I love that Emmett can speak multiple languages and wouldn't mind at all incorporating that into my general Doc Brown headcanons. I just wish he'd mentioned which ones he spoke. German is likely one, but I'm not sure about the others.

Emmett tells his new friends that he's waiting for his Uncle Oliver to take him fishing "like he promised" and then directs their gazes up to where Uncle Oliver is—wayyy up in the air—attempting to break the record for flagpole-sitting.

We quickly learn that Uncle Oliver is obsessed with trying to set records, perform wild acts, and become famous. Marty tries to persuade him to take his nephew fishing, but Uncle Oliver isn't that interested in Emmett—a trait that seems to be common amongst the Brown men. I am looking at you, Erhardt! >:(

Marty, Jules, and Verne opt to just take Emmett themselves, and Jules is able to get his future father to stand in a spot where he won't fall into the water. Instead, Marty falls in, lol.

While teaching him how to properly cast, Emmett ends up getting his line hooked to the underside of a small biplane and carried away.

The plane is part of a nearby stunt show, and Emmett gets taken along for the ride as it does loops and tricks in the air. Everyone watching from the stands is impressed by this young performer, and he quickly wins lots of adoring fans. When he's approached by a camera man who asks if he wants to be a star, Uncle Oliver's eyes turn into dollar signs, and he jumps at the chance to be Emmett's manager.

"All I wanted was to go fishing," Emmett points out. Too bad, buddy, you're about to be exploited by your uncle for fame and fortune. Uncle Oliver signs a contract with a famous producer who says he'll make Emmett a star. Marty and Verne are psyched by this development, but Jules (the only one with a brain) points out that they've seriously altered their father's life. The boys decide they have to monitor the situation closely.

From there, we go to Hollywood, where Emmett is quickly thrust into stardom. We see a clip of a silent film he's in, which includes a scene of him dangling from a very high clocktower by his suspenders, falling and bouncing around on a building's awnings, and landing in a fountain. He's dubbed "Daredevil Emmett" and quickly garners many fans.

Little Emmett's amazing feats capture the entire country, and he's soon got his own line of comics, a drink named after him, and multiple other products. He's on the radio, in the newspapers, and is being talked about all over.

Emmett is less than enthusiastic about the whole ordeal, but Uncle Oliver doesn't see any issue with it. He's loving living vicariously through his nephew and brushes off Marty's concern that all this daredevil stuff isn't good for Emmett. We then see the very lavish life that Emmett and Uncle Oliver are living.

...how long have Marty and the boys been in the '20s for all of this to be happening?? I mean, this all started with taking Emmett fishing, and now they're living in Hollywood; Emmett has become a movie star, has a line of products named after him, and has moved into a massive mansion with his uncle. Have they been in 1926 for months?

While Marty, Jules, and Verne are having fun in the pool, Emmett asks if he can swim with them, to which Uncle Oliver says no. He doesn't want to risk Emmett getting hurt, which would hurt his career. Emmett storms off angrily. Marty once again voices his concern for Emmett's well-being. This time, Oliver almost listens, but then he receives a phone call with an offer for Emmett to go over a waterfall while he's inside a barrel, and Oliver can't turn it down.

On the day of the stunt, Marty and the boys discover that the man behind the idea is D. W. Tannen. When Emmett expresses concern about the safety of everything, D. W. assures him he won't actually be going over the falls; a dummy will be in the barrel, and people will just think it's Emmett. Except, surprise! D. W. is lying, and he has no intention of switching a dummy into the barrel. He wants this to be real, and that means sending a four-year-old child over the edge of a waterfall. Nice guy.

Thankfully, Marty, Jules, and Verne, overhear D. W. talking, and Jules forms a plan to save his father. Marty's evidently a key part of the plan, and he and Jules have this exchange, which makes me laugh.

Jules's plan is to have Marty serve as a tightrope walker in the opening act—complete with gum stuck to the bottom of his shoes to keep him from slipping. While the crowd is distracted by Marty, Jules will stick a mini, spare flux capacitor to the barrel (which will have Verne in it, not Emmett) and transport the barrel someplace else.

Oliver, who is not in on the plan, actually gets a chance to redeem himself as he sees the barrel start to go toward the waterfall. Thinking his nephew is actually inside, he dives into the water to try to save him, finally coming to his senses about how money-hungry he'd become. Marty pulls Oliver out of the water, the barrel goes over the falls, and it's transported out of harm's way via the flux capacitor.. Back on the dock, Oliver and Emmett are reunited, and Oliver takes his nephew fishing.

With everything set back to normal, the boys return home, where they discover that Doc is now eager to join the father-and-son fishing tournament. The end!

Back in Real Doc's lab, he teaches us about gravity.

He also ends up dropping that bowling ball on his foot.

And that's the end of the episode. This one is a lot of fun, and I LOVED seeing the young version of Doc. He's adorable. I'm glad Uncle Oliver saw the error of his ways, but it took thinking his nephew was about to die going over a waterfall to change him. I wonder if Doc has any male family members who weren't terrible??

Anyway, good episode. Join me next time to watch Doc spiral into an existential crisis after thinking he's used up all his brainpower.

[winternimbus]

don't mind me, i'm musing about cohost at 2 AM in light of the news about it going readonly cohost shutting down at the end of the year blows, and while cohost had a host it's own issues--i have my own gripes with it and the community it harbored, especially w/ iirc how one of the ~4-5 staff members who was transfem faced a bout or two of baseless harrassment or someshit like that?

but most of my issues with cohost was with the site's DESIGN in regards to it feeling very clunky and unintuitive to navigate compared to other sites like tumblr, and the fact that imho cohost had the same level of unfriendliness towards OCD havers like me (going onto the dashboard or tag posts to see notifications is my huge pointer, i can't properly put into words but even in the ten years that i've been on tumblr, i've always HATED using the dashboard)

gripes w/ the site's layout, unintuitive design, and imho how it's deliberate focus away from engagement stuff aside--i respect cohost ALOT for how vocally open towards NSFW content that it was, especially with how hostile towards NSFW content alot of sites have been leaning towards as of recent past (unlimited hell on payment processors BTW), and that cohost was designed with LGBTQ+ friendliness in mind.

i know that i can drop my NSFW works on my tumblr, twitter, and bluesky, but those sites weren't designed with that form of content in mind. tumblr definitely was early on right up until 2018 where apple decided to be demons about it

i'm going to miss the site even if i didn't use it often, and when i did, it was a place for me to drop my creative works. the biggest thing i've ever had happen to me was meeting someone there who'd later introduce me to the S-23 discord server in early 2023 when i first got into signalis, and genuinely my life was changed for the better as a result. if it's any takeaways from cohost apart from it was the plan B for alot of transfem people, it was an objectively good site to be on in spite of it's issues and long-term unsustainability

[giantkillerjack]

Yo I don't know if anyone else is seriously bothered by this but those "good luck" posts where everyone goes wow this post really works you HAVE to reblog it or else you won't get the good thing that happens when you reblog it and therefore it's your fault if the good thing doesn't happen because you didn't reblog the post,

Yeah, those posts. They don't ummmmmmmmm

They don't work.

Like, listen, a little prayer of good luck to give yourself hope is one thing, but every single one of these posts has a comment that is like "this is literally magic I received life-altering amounts of money because of this post REBLOG THIS NOW." And assuming these accounts aren't just also the original poster emotionally manipulating people - And brushing over how foolish/cruel it feels to give false hope and additional tasks to those in poverty AND moving on from how absolutely shitty these posts are for people with compulsion-related disorders or difficulty discerning reality--

it feels to me that the more we make up magic that doesn't exist in this world, the harder it is to see how things really are, and the more it obscures from us the magic that actually does exist. Things like magnetism, electricity, human thought and connection, emotion, storytelling, machinery, fire. That's the sort of magic we have in this world. These magics are real and they can be manipulated in miraculous and terrible ways.

And maybe it's just the way my mind works, but if I am able to convince myself that a photo of a four-leaf clover has any amount of cosmic power over my life, then I am no longer looking clearly at my situation and what I need to do to change it. I am no longer able to truly see the magic that IS there.

I feel the same way about astrology honestly. I don't think it's bad to believe in as long as you're not ascribing it to unwilling people, but I personally do feel like if I believed the shapes the Romans saw in the stars made me who I am, then not only would I deny myself autonomy, but also I would miss out on the magic of the stars as huge lonely nuclear light giants indifferent to and ignorant of the lives of humans in terrifying and beautiful ways. I might even dismiss scientific discoveries that didn't fit my view. And I think I've seen enough of the damage that can do for one lifetime. (I am aware that I probably wouldn't have so many problems with astrology if I wasn't a furious ex-Catholic. But again, there's nothing wrong with faith as long as you're not slapping it onto other people.)

But, gods, I hate these fucking good luck posts.

I am not poor due to the stars or the lack of luck-money posts on my dashboard. I am poor because I live in oppressive power structures that I hope to see burn in my lifetime. I need as clear a view of this reality as possible.

If you want to spread positive magic, you have to spread love and information and images/stories of a beautiful shared future that other people are invited to be a part of.

I'm a big believer in Hope. I believe hope is a sacred thing. But I'm not a big fan of false hope.

So in conclusion, if you reblog this post and then tomorrow something very lucky and seemingly unrelated happens, it had nothing to do with this post.

The only Magic will be the magic of unfathomably huge amounts of data transferring all across the world instantaneously to reach you and show you words that came from someone else's heart and mind.

The only Magic will be however it makes you feel to know that if you need luck, at least one other person in this world wants good things to happen to you: I care that you are found. I care that you are loved. I care that you are safe. I care that you live long enough to find or be found by happiness and that you then live for a very long time after that. And I don't need to meet you to know that I'm right.

Know that I will spend the rest of my life working to build spaces where you would be welcome. And maybe you and I will never meet, but I happen to know there's a whole lot of people like me in this world. And I happen to know that as long as you are alive, there is a chance you will grow old in warmth and comfort, surrounded by friends. There is a chance that your old eyes will be crinkled at the sides with laugh lines. And that's magic. That's real magic.

[crackers4jenn]

But what if I write a s15, post-finale "Changing Channels"-esque fic where Dean didn't die, Cas is back from the empty, and Gabriel gets bored and meddles a little, popping Dean and Cas into various fic/romcom tropes??? (a snippet behind the cut)

+++

The blare of a horn startles Dean awake, echoing in his ears long after the initial honk.

Still kinda drowsy at first, Dean notices, through the windshield, which should’ve been his first red flag, a stretch of road ahead, and then some taillights.

Immediately he’s hurled into panic mode.

“Shit, shit—”

He swerves onto the shoulder and slams on the brakes, his heart thumping hard enough he can feel his pulse in his neck. A light sweat breaks out across his forehead over what seems, now, like a close call.

Blindly grappling for the gear shift, he winds up missing; instead, his hand hits the dashboard of what definitely isn’t the Impala.

Dean's brain stutters offline for a second.

When it turns back on, he manages to put the car in park while fumbling for the door handle—too high, it’s in the wrong spot—he finds it and stumbles out of the car, nearly face-planting into asphalt in his hurry.

It’s dark out, that’s the first thing he notices. He finds himself, somehow, in the middle of a suburban neighborhood, the tree-lined, HOA kind, every house with an American flag staked in the lawn and pumpkins adorning the front stoops.

Mind racing, he tries to recall the last thing he remembers.

Eileen was over. They were at the bunker. Her and him and Sam and Cas were in the Deancave, watching a movie.

There was no hunt, no way he could’ve been caught and strung up by some djinn. He hasn't pissed off any witches lately. They were at home freaking relaxing, so how is he here?

Maybe they fell asleep? Maybe he's dreaming?

He closes his eyes, tries to wake himself up. Jittery, he shakes out his hands. Nothing happens, and he's drawing the line at a Wizard of Oz heel tap, so he gives up.

With sinking dread, the kind that comes with a lifelong history of being the cosmic mattress to a douchebag higher power, Dean starts for the car again—then stops dead in his tracks and does a full-on double-take: there’s a giant neon 'Pizza World' sign welded onto the roof, because, holy shit, it’s a pizza delivery car, he’d been driving a pizza delivery car.

Needle careening toward the red end of his freak-out meter, he drops back into the driver’s seat in a throat-drying, adrenaline-releasing rush, only then realizing with a groan—the pants he was wearing the last he remembered? The three layers of shirts, including flannel? His go-to? Yeah, not part of whatever bizarro world he woke up in. Now he's got on a black polo shirt with the Pizza World logo, and (worse) a pair of jean shorts that're riding way too high up his thighs for his liking.

How the hell did he miss this before?

Oh, right, probably from the shock of BEING HURTLED INTO SOME WEIRD ASS MINDFUCK.

He gropes for his phone in his back pocket and finds it there easily, so at least one thing’s still the same, never mind that he’s got denim riding up his ass right now, but when he swipes the thing on, there’s an unfamiliar map pulled up, coordinates already plugged in.

He frowns and taps the home key. And then taps again when nothing happens. Zero to pissed, his taps turn into rage pounding but the map app stays frozen on the screen. When he tries to force a restart, the phone won't turn off, which is when Dean accepts, fine. He has to play along. Cool.

Awesome. Nothing weird or messed up about that.

He starts driving.

Turns out, he’s basically already wherever he needs to go. He gets to the end of the road, takes a left, and the destination he’s being led to like a horse following an ominously dangled carrot is a two-story house smack in the middle of a cul-de-sac.

He rolls up the driveway with his high beams pointed at the garage, cutting lines in the dark. Just like every other house he passed, this one’s still decked out for Halloween, fake cobwebs strung from the rafters and a couple of plastic skeletons at the porch.

Now that he’s here, thinking alright, I played your stupid game, he tries his phone again. Nada.

With a sigh and some bullshit bravado mustered mostly out of frustration, he turns the car off and starts to get out. He winds up pausing, one foot on the ground, the other still in the car, to hook his hands over the frame of the door, taking a moment to look around for anything shady, his hunter instincts on high alert.

The wind rustles some trees, which blows loose a few stray leaves that drift to the gutter. Up the street, a car drives past, freakishly quiet because it’s one of them super silent electric ones.

Right, then.

He crosses the driveway, walking up the pathway that leads to the front door. The curtains in all the windows are drawn open. He cranes his neck trying to peek inside without making it obvious to the neighborhood crime watch that’s what he’s doing, but all he sees is a couch and TV and living room.

Reaching the door, he hesitates once more. Forms a fist to knock. Then decides, maybe he oughta be the one springing his presence onto someone, not being sprung on. He grabs the knob.

The door yanks open and Dean almost falls off the porch from surprise.

“Dean,” Cas says on an exhale so full of relief, it helps Dean process that it’s Cas in front of him, who looks like he’s almost sagging from the weight of his own appreciation. “You’re here.”

Dean shrugs his bravado back into place now that there’s a familiar face to tether himself to. Still, his knees nearly buckle at the sight of him, and he wonders vaguely about Sam, but doesn’t let himself think too hard about whether or not he's here, if he’s okay. If he goes down that road, there’s no getting off it.

Gruffly, he goes, “Yeah, and where the hell's that, exactly? Got any idea?”

“I don’t know. I woke up a few minutes ago, here, in this house, but when I tried to call you—”

He holds his phone out for Dean to see. His contact information is pulled up and when Cas hits the 'call' button in demonstration, there’s only dead air on the line. His finger covers the screen for a moment before he swipes to show Dean the text messages he’d been attempting.

Dean pulls his phone out too. What do you know, the map has disappeared, but when he brings up his own texts, there’s zip from Cas.

“I got nothing,” he tells him, at a loss.

"I tried Sam too. It didn't work."

Suddenly remembering the car, his freaking uniform, Dean asks, “Did you… order… pizza?” and doesn’t know what kinda answer he’s even expecting here, but he’s trying to figure out what sorta rules they’re following.

Cas's eyes narrow in confusion and then grow big, seeing Dean clearly for the first time, and not in a recognizable way. His gaze falls to the logo embroidered on Dean’s chest. “No, but—”

All of a sudden, some kid comes whizzing into view behind Cas, which is startling enough on its own, but then he stops to shoot Dean with a nerf gun. He aims for the crotch and absolutely nails the shot. Dean curls inward with an airy oof of pain as the kid bolts back off with a victory whoop and some sociopathic gusto.

“The hell,” Dean manages to squeeze past his lips, high-pitched and shell-shocked.

“You’re a pizza man?”

Cas says it like something’s beginning to fall into place for him. Less of a startled realization and more of a dreaded observation.

Dean breathes, “Yeah,” with a wince, trying to unfurl.

“I'm a babysitter,” Cas says disbelievingly. Another kid shyly inches into view, her arms wrapped tightly around one of Cas's legs as she reveals half her face only. Jesus, what the hell. “Apparently,” Cas adds, reaching down to pat the kid on the head in a reassuring way.

Dean’s crap when it comes to guessing kids' ages, he’s only ever had Sam and then Ben to go by, but he’s gonna clock the clinger as four and the nut-buster between the six to eight range.

Doesn’t clear up anything in the slightest.

“The hell,” Dean says again.

++

The boy’s running around like he dripped sugar straight from the bag into his veins. He zips past Dean and Cas with his gun pointed at them at all times, the kind that unloads multiple foam bullets at once, but he disappears into the dining room slash kitchen without firing, finding his glee in the way Dean flinches.

“Freak,” Dean murmurs.

Cas stares at him flatly, unimpressed with Dean making instant enemies with a child. The girl’s still suctioned to his legs like a frog on the side of a terrarium, peering up at Dean like he’s the thing hiding in her closet at night.

Yeah, yeah.

“So, what, we hang around, then, wait for mom and dad to get back? Play Candyland?” Before waiting for an answer, he shakes off the sarcasm and hisses, "This don't feel wrong to you?"

"No, Dean, it feels incredibly normal," Cas rolls out just as mockingly, sharper and more biting. "I often wake up clung to by random children in other people's homes—”

A foam bullet sails past their heads. Dean's freaked out enough his frustration bubbles over.

“Dude, Deliverance Jr., dial it back,” he bites out in the direction of the hyperactive blur. Something in his tone makes the lip of the little girl quiver, and that’s the only warning they get before she breaks into an eardrum-bursting wail.

“Dean,” Cas sighs. For a second he’s torn between his own annoyance and the weariness of needing to offer comfort. Because it’s Cas, the latter wins out and he softens.

“What? Kid's freaking her out,” Dean defends, throwing his shoulders in the direction of the other rugrat.

“Really? Because I think that might be you—”

Perfectly timed, another nerf bullet whines past, just barely missing Cas.

Dean's eyebrows climb high atop his forehead to gloat: you were saying?

Unwilling to step off the high road now that he’s there, Cas instead redirects his attention to the girl. Her cries have lowered in volume, now at a range still in 'giving it two more minutes before the neighbors call CPS,' but at least Dean can hear himself think.

Dropping into a crouch, Cas puts a hand on the girl's shoulder. “Everything is going to be alright, you don’t need to be afraid.”

The brother sure as hell knows his cue, he'll give him that: they hear the springy release of the trigger just seconds before a bullet thwacks Cas—with eerie precision—right at his temple.

Dean tries not to preen, settling instead to rock back on his heels, lifting a finger gleefully. “You, uh, got a little something—”

The bullet gives up its suction and drops to the floor.

Cas closes his eyes and breathes out through his nose.

Abruptly, everything around Dean and Cas but Dean and Cas themselves freezes with a time-bending pop. The girl turns silent and motionless, her head thrown back. And not figuratively, not in some bullshit 'it's like time stood still' metaphorical way. Literally. Even the tear that had been falling down her cheek is now paused in place, glistening wetly.

Cas slowly climbs to his feet, glancing over at Dean. There’s almost a crackle in the air, bringing with it a sense of foreboding.

“Cas…” Dean murmurs in alarm, ready to grab him by the collar and dip out of there fast if they need to.

“WOW, seriously?” booms a voice from the other side of the room, right next to the boy who was caught mid-attack with his gun aimed at his sister. Gabriel waves a hand in front of the kid’s suspended face, then grins, pleased with his work. “Hello, boys.”

Dean and Cas have barely wrapped up their 'what the actual hell?’ facial exchange before Cas is storming forward, fists clenched. “Gabriel,” he fumes.

Gabriel disappears with a smirk, only to reappear behind them, now with the sofa serving as a makeshift barricade.

“Ah-ah,” he scolds Cas.

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Dean turns around and blurts. Cas reappears at his side, swaying close enough their elbows brush. “Like, dead-dead.”

Gabriel places a hand over his heart in mock-offense. “Was, yeah.” His gaze sharpens. “And then Castiel happened.”

That all-to-well known, first feeling of betrayal starts to bubble up and stab Dean in the gut, the one that means Dean was left out of some really important shit, but one look at Cas squashes it dead. Cas's brow is folded together, just as confused as Dean is.

Gabriel's sigh is loud and full of suffering. “My untimely demise, the Empty, eternal slumber, et cetera-et cetera,” Gabriel ticks off with a roll of his eyes to catch them up, put out by it. Dean feels Cas tense. Protectiveness tears through him and he falls another inch closer to him. “Ringing any bells? Sure, never-ending unconsciousness has its appeal, don’t get me wrong. But Cas here showed up and things got LOUD.”

Cas is turning over his own memories. He's still frowning. “Jack—”

“Picked the locks, raised a little hell. Broke you free. Yeah, and left the doors wide open. Long enough, anyway,” he says with a boastful shrug of the shoulder to imply his escape was easy. His tone changes again. He jerks a finger between Dean and Cas. “What're we callin' him, by the way? My big brother’s half-human Nephilim son turned… dad, I guess, in the package of a barely pubescent boy-toy?” He makes a clicking noise. “Doesn’t really roll off the tongue, and 'God' feels—” His head wobbles back and forth like he’s coming up short, like it’s Jack’s fault for that. "Been there, done that."

Full of threat, Cas steps forward. No wings are visible, not with Cas officially one of the mud-monkeys, but there’s almost a ripple in the air like they’re there anyway.

Gabe swallows his words with a placating grin. “Going with 'Jack,' then.”

With a calmness he doesn’t feel, Dean reaches up and grips Cas's sleeve. Not to stop him, purely for the purpose of anchoring him.

It makes Gabriel’s smile grow until it’s uncomfortable to be in front of.

“Finally,” he says, huffing it out. “Funny thing, when you showed up,” he tells Cas. “All them bittersweet-nothings keeping you company night after night after night? Over and over, the will-they-why-freaking-won't-they, the drama,” Gabe recalls like even now it still pains him. “Buddyroll, we all caught the show. Your's,” he tells Cas pointedly, and something about it makes Cas squirm. “It woke us up, and it played EVERYWHERE. I’m talking full theater release, in IMAX.”

Dean glances over, not following along. “Cas?”

Ignoring him, Cas bites out, “What’s your point? Why are we here?”

“Gettin’ there,” Gabriel says. Feeling brave enough to leave the protection the couch offers, he swivels around, admiring the aesthetics. His gaze bounces from the jumbo flat screen TV—he whistles, impressed—to the family photos on the wall—that gets an apathetic headshake, like Gabriel's calling 'pass' on the hotness of the mom, or hell, the dad—before finally landing on the crying kid, still frozen mid-tantrum. He shudders.

“Gabriel,” Cas warns, past the point of tolerance.

“You, baby bro, are hella impatient." When Cas's glower intensifies, Gabriel pulls up defensive hands. "Just an observation. You have the self-restraint of a hurricane over Florida soil. You tell this shmuck shaped like a Bass Pro Shop you love him—” Dean gets gestured at in disgust, "—yet here I am peeking in two months post-miracle resurrection, two months post-the Truman Show you didn’t sign up for, and instead of busting you in flagrante delicto,” he purrs pervishly, “you’re 'two dudes in a hot tub five feet apart cause you’re not gay'?”

The reference goes clear over their heads, but the implication doesn’t.

Cas moves out of Dean's hold, almost embarrassed, but Dean’s too busy processing everything to notice, his brain working stupidly fast to put it all together.

The pizza guy.

The babysitter.

The freaking short shorts.

When he meets Gabriel’s playful gaze, his own is full of fury.

“You thought, what,” Dean starts roughly, “you'd zap us into porno land and we'd just start going at it?”

“Ding, ding, ding,” Gabriel calls out, pressing his finger to the tip of his nose. “Street-smart’s got it one.”

Cas isn’t connecting the same dots.

Dean seethes through his clenched jaw, “Dude, you’re the babysitter,” and tries like hell to keep the flames from licking up the side of his face, willing away the telltale flush of embarrassment.

All of a sudden, Cas gets it. His eyes widen in understanding and almost automatically drop to Dean's pretty damn bare legs. Just as quickly he snaps his attention elsewhere, looking at the wall, the ceiling, the door where, come to think of it, yeah, Dean wouldn’t mind bailing right about now.

“Cute,” Gabriel teases.

“Whatever this is,” Cas says, menacing once more, “you need to stop.”

“I could,” Gabriel agrees. And then he grins. “Or—”

He snaps his fingers.

[cindylouwho-2]

Etsy Moving to Square Photos on Shop Home Pages

Screenshot of my shop home page in July; these photos will change to squares in "early August".

Although Etsy hasn't sent out warning emails or posted notifications on shop manager dashboards yet, the forum Announcements section let us know that Etsy would be changing the ratio of images on shop home pages in early August. (Yes, they are only giving us a few weeks notice. Perfectly reasonable, right? 🙄) The decision was based on the much-maligned tests run in June and July, where many shops saw their product photographs bizarrely zoomed and cropped, with no explanation from Etsy.

Turns out that those tests showed a higher conversion rate for squares, so that is where Etsy is headed. Problem is, we don't know if they are going to properly adjust the crops or not, which they did not do when testing. During that experiment, many of my square photos were zoomed then cropped off on one side, in part because Etsy hadn't removed my previous use of the cropping tool for rectangular shapes. The issues were just as bad or even worse for sellers who mostly used rectangular photos to match the shape of Etsy's gallery displays.

Many sellers are panicking, worrying that they will have to redo thousands of photos in just a few weeks time. Etsy states that "No immediate action is required, however, you may want to start taking and uploading images with this format in mind." Since search pages will still have rectangular product images, squares will not always work (unless set up to look decent in both shapes).

What should sellers do?

I suggest waiting to see what your items look like in this new format before making changes to older images. We don't know whether or not Etsy is going to fix the problems displayed during the experiments. Shooting new listings with both shapes in mind is definitely a good idea, but it is possible your older photographs will look good enough to avoid getting out your camera again.

My best guess is that they will not make the same weird cropping errors with already square photos like mine, as they are not currently doing that on Market pages, where square photos are the norm. See an example below, and compare to the screenshot of my shop home page rectangles above:

Note that my earrings show up fine as a square on the Market page. This listing photo was shown cropped off on each side during the shop home page square test. However, my original photo was taken to look okay as both a square and an Etsy gallery rectangle: a square shape with extra space above and below the earrings. The listing photo in the top right corner above was apparently taken to fill the rectangle shape on each side, so the earrings on the right and left are cut off in square view. This is a problem that many shops may face, depending on how Etsy formats the new home pages.

If you want to check how your current photos look as squares, use this trick to see them on a Market page. (You may need to narrow results by price to find your listing easily.) However, remember that we cannot be certain this is how Etsy will display pics on home pages come August. If we learn more about it, I will update this post.

UPDATE (August 2, 2023): Unfortunately, Etsy went live with the changes today and didn't fix any of the shop home coding, so my photos are weirdly cropped again, and I cannot fix them with Etsy's cropping tool. This shouldn't happen, as my photos are already square!

This is what Etsy has chosen to do with my square photos. Why not just, you know, display the squares I uploaded? Sigh...

If you are taking new photos and want them to work in both formats, you will need to leave space around the outer rim of the image, so you don't lose vital parts of your product when Etsy changes the photo shape. I've been using squares with empty space on the top and bottom of each shot, which is so far working fine on the Market page squares. This may not work for all types of products, however.

If you learn anything from Etsy about this, please post below, or send me an email, so we can share this info with other sellers.

[kaddyssammlung]

Dark Signs – Analysis

Video:

Same thing as text:

TW : SH

“Where I was raised, there was no streetlights”

You can either see this in a literal way or not. Either the village was so small or the house was just standing there with no other housed around it and there really were no street-lights or well...he grew up in metaphorical darkness.

I can relate to the latter one so this is how I have this connected.

“just pitch black and passing headlights”

This just underlines the first sentence. To me it really feels like there maybe was not much joy growing up and there were just a few instances where things seemed nicer.

“and where we met, there must have dark signs”

I'm someone who strongly believes in signs. I just use the word synchronicity for it. I take things like video suggestions on YouTube for example quite seriously. I often have strange questions that I seem to have no answer for and then something shows up, like a video, and I watch it and then I get pushed into a new direction.

Thanks to such synchronicities I found great online resources about childhood trauma for example. Stuff that did not cost much money or was free but that helped me a lot in my healing process.

“omens in your skies”

I like this because it brings another perspective to the table. Not just dark signs for him but for this other human or this other being (=Sleep), too.

Vessel does a lot of “perspective switches” likes these.

To me this has something to do with the so-called hermetic principles. “As above so below, as within so without”. This means that everything that we see in the outside world is just a reflection of our inside world or what going on in our body and in our mind.

“most days you reach for safety”

This makes me think about the “cracking bones” from Levitate and also kind of devastated. Who was in danger and why? Or is Vessel a safe space for someone? Did Sleep reach out for safety?

“remain calm, forget that you know me”

Seems like he really was sick and tired of someone reaching out to him.

This line makes think about my ex. He said this all the time but my BPD self always responded stuff like “don't say that! I love you sooooo much!”. This line brings back weird memories.

“and when we met I could see dark signs alarm bells in your eyes”

Now it gets interesting.

Whoever it was was also aware of them not being a good match of some sort?

“and I miss the man I was the moment we left off”

This reminds me of “how much did they break you?” from the way that you were. Seems like there was a version of him where he was more happy?

Now we reach one of those mis-heard-lyrics-situations.

“I won't break and bend to my basic need to be loved and close to somebody”

or

“I might break and bend to my basic need to be loved and close to somebody”

This is a problematic one because it changes the meaning.

When I think about the rest of the discography both versions make sense. I feel like maybe he did break and bend until he was so fractioned and bled out that there was nothing left to give and he put an end to it?

From my experience: I stayed in an abusive relationship much too long. So I can understand if something like this happened. I was not really aware of what was going on but I was also terrified of being alone.

“and I hate who I have become every time I wake up”

This one needs no explanation. But he does say every time I wake up which makes me think again about “meeting Sleep”.

“and if you saw the marks on my dashboard the new scars that I didn't ask for”

This is a weird one and also a highly debated one. I am aware of that.

I already talked about my car accidents and what I learned from them. Maybe he does mean a car accident because dashboard makes you think about cars but maybe he does mean his arms and did not want to say arms twice because he mentions them later.

“would you call asking for answers?”

I feel like that is a sad one. So, if someone saw the marks on his dashboard would they then call him? Does he have to take extreme measures to make someone call him?

My ex-girlfriend used to text me stuff like “if you don't call within the next then minutes I'm going to hurt myself”. It makes me think about stuff like that. Pressuring someone to do something they are not willing to.

I'm not an angel btw. I have done similar things.

“tear my arms off”

Well...do I have to say something about this?! Not really right. You know what I wrote his scars or maybe not. I see them and I have them, too but so do many of you. It's sad but the truth.

[shaunashipman]

fuck you fuck you fuck you

there, that's my feedback

bullshit to any staff that says they do listen to feedback, cause not a single person has said this new dashboard is good, even the one's who didn't mind it have had complaints that you haven't fixed before once again forcing it on all of us, just like with the shitty post editor

what the fuck were the crabs for, huh? I thought that was supposed to tell staff to listen to us, that they didn't need to make all these changes, that their userbase would financially support this website that we loved so long as it stayed the website that we love. they just took your money and said fuck you

I've left so much feedback about the problems tumblr has, and the few times they've followed up with me, they replied with answers that had nothing to do with my actual feedback, proving that they don't read what we send them, they just skim it for keywords and then give a rote response. He'll, even when I've contacted them about actual bugs, their response 99% of the time is to tell me that they can't replicate the issue, while also giving me fixes that again have nothing to do with the problem I've emailed about (despite me sending a video showing exactly what was happening).

So no, tumblr staff do not care. They do not listen. Any personal staff account that says they do is lying to our faces. Telling us to send feedback they ignore or to send an ask to wip who only has their ask box open for 12 hours and also conveniently closes their ask box early after a change has been rolled out they know we won't like.

So again, truly, fuck you

A new way to navigate Tumblr

If you use Tumblr on a web browser, you might have noticed us testing a brand new navigation on your dashboard in the last month. Now, after some extensive tweaks, we’ve begun rolling out this new dashboard navigation to everyone using a web browser. Welcome to the new world. It’s very like the old world, just in a different layout.

Why are we doing this? We want it to be as easy as possible for everyone to understand and explore what’s happening on Tumblr—newbies and seasoned travelers alike.

Labels over icons: When adding something new to Tumblr in the past, we’d simply add a new icon to our navigation with little further explanation. Turns out no one likes to press a button when they don’t know what it does. So now, where there’s space, the navigation includes text labels. Since adding these, we’ve noticed more of you venturing to previously unexplored corners of Tumblr. Intrepid!

What’s already been fixed? Thanks to feedback from folks during the testing phase, we’ve been able to make some improvements right out of the gate. Those include returning settings subpages (Account, Dashboard, etc.) to the right of the settings page instead of having them in an expandable item in the navigation on the left; fixing some issues with messaging windows on smaller screens; and streamlining the Account section to make it easier to get to your blogs.

What’s next? We’re looking into making a collapsible version of this navigation and improving the use of screen space for those of you with enormous screens. We’re also working on improving access to your account and sideblogs.

That’s all for now, folks. For questions and suggestions, contact Support using the “Feedback” category. Please select the “Report a bug or crash” category on the support form for technical issues. And keep an eye out for more updates here on @changes.

[coinflict]

YOU understand what i was going for with that post thank god i am so used to not being good at conveying my points. fully agree with the climate action points you made i used to be like "lmao what good will dying on track do" but i now feel like thats offensive to people who died to bring attention to massive issues like emily davison

Hahaha yeah you get it I'm also scared of my posts coming across the way I didn't intend them to espetially in these types of circles where people are prone to sending death threats over literal woobified racists 😭. But yeah no your post was pretty much spot on I was glad I saw it because I came across posts along the lines of "this sport used to be good but oh NOW they're all racists" which like... loud and wrong! That's what it's built on actually, common mistake!

And since you mentioned the climate thing I'm gonna expand on it a bit since it's a point that's very close to me. Whenever a climate protest happens I feel like I've warped into an alternate universe on the dashboard because you get people saying that exact thing. Which to an extent I understand, seeing people die from preventable causes is disturbing, espetially in this sport where it happens more than anywhere else, however it is as you said disrespesctful to people who bet their entire existence on causes they believe in. And climate change isn't something that just disappears if you look away, activists are willing to die because that's unfortunately the point we're at, it's a legitimate poltical strategy. I remember a few years ago when Mercedes HQ got vandalized, that was still too much for people "oh yadadada it's disrespesctful" well what the fuck is good enough then? And the grafitti got erased in the span of three days and everyone forgot about it like it's all truly mind boggling to me. Like the very same people who moan about the value of a human life are the exact same ones who said grafitti on Merc HQ won't do anything. Like they're so close and yet can't connect the few remaining dots that a death on track due to a protest WOULD shake up the general public and maybe could be a catalyst for something to finally happen. Like in general the activists' goal is for f1 to stop happening completely, not like. Better fuel and and and better flight plan and yadadadadada, but the people who woobify these men don't want to think about that. And those same men don't gaf! They're set, they'll be fine, it doesn't matter to them, it's gonna affect the rest of us. Like. Yes death is a Bad Thing obviously but when you drive people into a corner that is the strategy they're gonna resort to, which is precisely what is happening. Or it's gonna happen in like two months (the biggest protests are usually in Silverstone) and you're gonna see these exact same takes regurgitated over and over again about how climate change is bad and death is also bad and those are two takes that should coexist, meanwhile one party is throwing themselves in front of moving vehicles in desperation and the other party is driving said vehicles.

But yeah I agree with everything you said in your post and I hope this was readable I'm really not good at getting my point across anyway have a lovely day 🫶

[loosesodamarble]

Hello, Soda!! ♡ Sorry for the late reply... ( ◡_◡) I had seen your answer as soon as you posted it, but I didn't have the time to type a complete answer before!! </3

Honestly, I don't think I'd ever move on from tumblr, I really like been in here, specially when there's you to talk to!◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜I might disappear sometimes, but I'll always come back when I can (like now). ᡣ𐭩

I'm finally done with getting my drivers licence!! I can't wait for an opportunity to drive with my family!! (˃̵ᴗ˂̵)

I'm glad you're doing well, I hope things get even better for you, stay strong! ( ੭ ･ᴗ･ )੭ ᰔᩚ

Thank you for all of the well wishes!! ^_^ Stay safe and take care! <33

— ghost anon

Naaaah. It's perfectly okay to take your time to reply, Ghost Anon. Sometimes, we need time to get our thoughts in order and then also the time to write them down. (￣∇￣) The brain is like that sometimes.

I'm quite the same. I likely won't be moving form Tumblr to any other social media I like the energy here on Tumblr. The mutuals are wonderful~! And anons like you are so sweet~! (Also other realms of internet existence scare me...)

And oh you got your license! Hopefully your family thinks you're a good driver. And have fun getting from place to place on your own! Discover new restaurants or bookstores or any other place that catches your fancy. (I specifically use my driving privileges to reach far off movie theaters for special premieres/showings of media.)

(Lemme tangent for a moment for a funny[?] driving story. One morning, me, my sister, and two of our friends decided to hang out. My sister was in the middle of her breakfast so she brought along a plate [a sturdy and solid ceramic plate mind you] to finish her food. We picked up Friend #1. And while waiting for Friend #2 to get in the car, my sister finished her breakfast and put her plate in that space in front of the driver and passenger seat, and below the windshield. You know that place? Anyways, the plate is there. We picked up Friend #2 from an office building so we were in a parking area that led onto a main road and as I'm pulling he car forward and turning to get onto the road, somehow, the plate slides form its position in that space under the windshield. It falls down onto the car's dashboard. And the plate knocks the gear shift from Drive to Neutral. All without the plate breaking. Not even a scratch. Note that I need to press a button on the shift to sort of unlock it from a certain position in order to change gears. But the plate just slammed the gear shift hard enough to override that feature I guess?!?!?! And remember, I was in the middle of trying to turn into a road. The few seconds I spent hitting the gas with no movement from the car, all while worrying about traffic behind me... Nightmare. 0/10. I noticed that the car was in Neutral and changed gears just in time before any traffic jam could happen. But uuuuuggghhhhh! Not pleasant. I hope that neither you nor anyone else in the world has to experience something like that.)

I'm doing my best at the moment. I work. Write/try to write. Brainrot. Cry over fictional men. And generally live.

Wishing you the best, Ghost Anon. I hope you live fully and freely~!

[mysticsoldiersailorhylia]

I have been active on this site for ten years. There are some things on this post that I would like to see happen, and many things I would not like to see happen.

I agree that basic site and app performance, as discussed in Principle 6, needs improvement. I admit I have grown used to the app crashing or bugging out, but that doesn't mean it isn't an issue. And I can see how new users wouldn't put up with it.

Updating the search function, as discussed in Principle 2, is something users have been hoping for for a long time. I can't say much for how you plan to update it as you didn't give many details, but there are countless posts detailing exactly how we, the user base, would like the search function to work.

The rest of the changes outlined in Principle 2 leave me wary at best. The golden part of this website is that it doesn't function like other social media. It doesn't push content on us based on what an algorithm thinks we might like. I recognize that for new users coming from algorithmic social media, Tumblr would be confusing. But it is my sincere hope that instead of changing to look more like other social media, you implement a Tips or Tutorial function for new sign-ups that explains and shows new users how to curate their dash. Tips and Tutorials aren't alien to younger generations (we have seen them on other websites as well as in videogames), so new users will understand how to follow along. And an easy close or skip function will allow those that understand Tumblr to merely move past it.

If you force an algorithmic view, pushing suggested posts to the top of our feeds, you will alienate the loyal users that have been here for a decade.

When I first joined in 2012, I followed the suggestion from Tumblr to follow topics that interest me. This means that I occasionally get posts suggested for me based on my interest in that topic. These posts have never been intrusive and have always been the extreme minority of my dash. I do not mind seeing an occasional suggestion that is tagged with something I like (ie music, science, or animals). If I have ever wanted to see more of a topic, or find new posts, I have gone to the search function and discovered new things that way (to the best of my ability given the current functionality). I do not want an algorithm to do that work for me.

I do not want my dash to become half suggestions, half posts of people I follow. I have left other social media sites for catering that kind of experience.

Please leave the suggested content in a separate place. Those that wish to explore new things can click over to that dash, and those of us that want to curate our own experience can feel safe in knowing that our dashboard is filled with the content of those we follow, presented to us in chronological order.

I am uncertain of what exactly you wish to achieve with Principle 3. Once again, we are discussing changing the website for the ease of new users. Putting aside the fact that this would force existing users to learn a new system, causing confusion on our end, you are once again overlooking the option of educating the new users via Tips, Tutorials, or a great FAQ page.

I have seen many Tumblr veterans create Tips and Tutorial posts, and I have seen new users send Asks when they are confused about a feature. Once things are explained, they understand and have even gone on to praise the way our posts currently work.

Much of your language in this section is vague, so I am doing my best to infer what you mean, but it almost sounds as if you intend to make reblogs and replies into their own, separate posts instead of comments and additions on the original, singular post. I am envisioning the way that you can retweet on Twitter, creating a new tweet that quotes the original tweet. I fail to see how this would improve our ability to view conversations, so I hope that I am wrong in my interpretation of your words.

I truly do not understand what you mean by removing clutter by collapsing reblog threads.

As for removing duplicate reblogs: Please do not do this.

I enjoy seeing multiple people reblog the same thing. It's fun to see two strangers, for all intents and purposes, who only have me as a follower in common, enjoy the same thing. Especially when I also enjoy it. That's one of the charms of tumblr. And it is perfectly in tumblr's nature for one person to reblog the same post five times in a row. That is one of the ways we can express ourselves, and we do it because we want our followers to see it. If someone finds it annoying, they should scroll by or unfollow that person. Do not silence our voices by hiding our reblogs.

Regarding the lack of feedback discussed in Principle 4, I argue that it is less to do with users only seeing posts from those they follow on their dashboard and more to do with the lack of search feature functionality and lack of information for new users on how to spread content (reblogging versus liking). I want new creators to get their content out there. Content is what makes this site go round. Tumblr is the Fandom website and the great thing about fandom is that it keeps creating new things. There are new people that want to engage and create, and people that have been in the fandom for years that want more. And we go looking for it as best as we can, given the current functionality of the search feature.

Forcing content on us based on an algorithm is not something we want.

I sincerely hope that you look at all of the feedback you are receiving. New users are important in keeping a site going. But the current users are important too. And we are begging you to listen to us.

Tumblr has been the joke of social media sites for many years. But the fact of the matter is, when other sites became unusable due to hostile algorithms and greed, those users fled here. Because they see that Tumblr isn't an algorithm-based website. That's why they are coming to us. Your current users don't want many of these changes, and I hazard the incoming users don't either.

Don't ruin Tumblr.

Tumblr’s Core Product Strategy

Here at Tumblr, we’ve been working hard on reorganizing how we work in a bid to gain more users. A larger user base means a more sustainable company, and means we get to stick around and do this thing with you all a bit longer. What follows is the strategy we're using to accomplish the goal of user growth. The @labs group has published a bit already, but this is bigger. We’re publishing it publicly for the first time, in an effort to work more transparently with all of you in the Tumblr community. This strategy provides guidance amid limited resources, allowing our teams to focus on specific key areas to ensure Tumblr’s future.

The Diagnosis

In order for Tumblr to grow, we need to fix the core experience that makes Tumblr a useful place for users. The underlying problem is that Tumblr is not easy to use. Historically, we have expected users to curate their feeds and lean into curating their experience. But this expectation introduces friction to the user experience and only serves a small portion of our audience. 

Tumblr’s competitive advantage lies in its unique content and vibrant communities. As the forerunner of internet culture, Tumblr encompasses a wide range of interests, such as entertainment, art, gaming, fandom, fashion, and music. People come to Tumblr to immerse themselves in this culture, making it essential for us to ensure a seamless connection between people and content. 

To guarantee Tumblr’s continued success, we’ve got to prioritize fostering that seamless connection between people and content. This involves attracting and retaining new users and creators, nurturing their growth, and encouraging frequent engagement with the platform.

Our Guiding Principles

To enhance Tumblr’s usability, we must address these core guiding principles.

Expand the ways new users can discover and sign up for Tumblr.

Provide high-quality content with every app launch.

Facilitate easier user participation in conversations.

Retain and grow our creator base.

Create patterns that encourage users to keep returning to Tumblr.

Improve the platform’s performance, stability, and quality.

Below is a deep dive into each of these principles.

Principle 1: Expand the ways new users can discover and sign up for Tumblr.

Tumblr has a “top of the funnel” issue in converting non-users into engaged logged-in users. We also have not invested in industry standard SEO practices to ensure a robust top of the funnel. The referral traffic that we do get from external sources is dispersed across different pages with inconsistent user experiences, which results in a missed opportunity to convert these users into regular Tumblr users. For example, users from search engines often land on pages within the blog network and blog view—where there isn’t much of a reason to sign up. 

We need to experiment with logged-out tumblr.com to ensure we are capturing the highest potential conversion rate for visitors into sign-ups and log-ins. We might want to explore showing the potential future user the full breadth of content that Tumblr has to offer on our logged-out pages. We want people to be able to easily understand the potential behind Tumblr without having to navigate multiple tabs and pages to figure it out. Our current logged-out explore page does very little to help users understand “what is Tumblr.” which is a missed opportunity to get people excited about joining the site.

Actions & Next Steps

Improving Tumblr’s search engine optimization (SEO) practices to be in line with industry standards.

Experiment with logged out tumblr.com to achieve the highest conversion rate for sign-ups and log-ins, explore ways for visitors to “get” Tumblr and entice them to sign up.

Principle 2: Provide high-quality content with every app launch.

We need to ensure the highest quality user experience by presenting fresh and relevant content tailored to the user’s diverse interests during each session. If the user has a bad content experience, the fault lies with the product.

The default position should always be that the user does not know how to navigate the application. Additionally, we need to ensure that when people search for content related to their interests, it is easily accessible without any confusing limitations or unexpected roadblocks in their journey.

Being a 15-year-old brand is tough because the brand carries the baggage of a person’s preconceived impressions of Tumblr. On average, a user only sees 25 posts per session, so the first 25 posts have to convey the value of Tumblr: it is a vibrant community with lots of untapped potential. We never want to leave the user believing that Tumblr is a place that is stale and not relevant. 

Actions & Next Steps

Deliver great content each time the app is opened.

Make it easier for users to understand where the vibrant communities on Tumblr are. 

Improve our algorithmic ranking capabilities across all feeds. 

Principle 3: Facilitate easier user participation in conversations.

Part of Tumblr’s charm lies in its capacity to showcase the evolution of conversations and the clever remarks found within reblog chains and replies. Engaging in these discussions should be enjoyable and effortless.

Unfortunately, the current way that conversations work on Tumblr across replies and reblogs is confusing for new users. The limitations around engaging with individual reblogs, replies only applying to the original post, and the inability to easily follow threaded conversations make it difficult for users to join the conversation.

Actions & Next Steps

Address the confusion within replies and reblogs.

Improve the conversational posting features around replies and reblogs. 

Allow engagements on individual replies and reblogs.

Make it easier for users to follow the various conversation paths within a reblog thread. 

Remove clutter in the conversation by collapsing reblog threads. 

Explore the feasibility of removing duplicate reblogs within a user’s Following feed. 

Principle 4: Retain and grow our creator base.

Creators are essential to the Tumblr community. However, we haven’t always had a consistent and coordinated effort around retaining, nurturing, and growing our creator base.  

Being a new creator on Tumblr can be intimidating, with a high likelihood of leaving or disappointment upon sharing creations without receiving engagement or feedback. We need to ensure that we have the expected creator tools and foster the rewarding feedback loops that keep creators around and enable them to thrive.

The lack of feedback stems from the outdated decision to only show content from followed blogs on the main dashboard feed (“Following”), perpetuating a cycle where popular blogs continue to gain more visibility at the expense of helping new creators. To address this, we need to prioritize supporting and nurturing the growth of new creators on the platform.

It is also imperative that creators, like everyone on Tumblr, feel safe and in control of their experience. Whether it be an ask from the community or engagement on a post, being successful on Tumblr should never feel like a punishing experience.

Actions & Next Steps

Get creators’ new content in front of people who are interested in it. 

Improve the feedback loop for creators, incentivizing them to continue posting.

Build mechanisms to protect creators from being spammed by notifications when they go viral.

Expand ways to co-create content, such as by adding the capability to embed Tumblr links in posts.

Principle 5: Create patterns that encourage users to keep returning to Tumblr.

Push notifications and emails are essential tools to increase user engagement, improve user retention, and facilitate content discovery. Our strategy of reaching out to you, the user, should be well-coordinated across product, commercial, and marketing teams.

Our messaging strategy needs to be personalized and adapt to a user’s shifting interests. Our messages should keep users in the know on the latest activity in their community, as well as keeping Tumblr top of mind as the place to go for witty takes and remixes of the latest shows and real-life events.  

Most importantly, our messages should be thoughtful and should never come across as spammy.  

Actions & Next Steps

Conduct an audit of our messaging strategy.

Address the issue of notifications getting too noisy; throttle, collapse or mute notifications where necessary.  

Identify opportunities for personalization within our email messages. 

Test what the right daily push notification limit is. 

Send emails when a user has push notifications switched off.

Principle 6: Performance, stability and quality.

The stability and performance of our mobile apps have declined. There is a large backlog of production issues, with more bugs created than resolved over the last 300 days. If this continues, roughly one new unresolved production issue will be created every two days. Apps and backend systems that work well and don't crash are the foundation of a great Tumblr experience. Improving performance, stability, and quality will help us achieve sustainable operations for Tumblr.

Improve performance and stability: deliver crash-free, responsive, and fast-loading apps on Android, iOS, and web.

Improve quality: deliver the highest quality Tumblr experience to our users. 

Move faster: provide APIs and services to unblock core product initiatives and launch new features coming out of Labs.

Conclusion

Our mission has always been to empower the world’s creators. We are wholly committed to ensuring Tumblr evolves in a way that supports our current users while improving areas that attract new creators, artists, and users. You deserve a digital home that works for you. You deserve the best tools and features to connect with your communities on a platform that prioritizes the easy discoverability of high-quality content. This is an invigorating time for Tumblr, and we couldn’t be more excited about our current strategy.

[tb-gerschutz]

Chapter Two

Word Count: 4,216

Trigger Warning(s): language, pain & guilt, graphic depictions of violence, dr*gs

Summary: "Rocky" Crawford (aka "Agent Blackjack") and Agent Whiskey begin their mission by tracking shipments going straight to Balor Devlin.

**********

Four and a half hours can go by so fast, can it? That is, if you have the effort to make the trip seem so fun that no one wants it to end. Distracting the mind of the long-ass trip by having fun can make a world of difference.

And that certainly happened in Whiskey and I's case.

Through this four-hour trip, we did like any other normal pair of colleagues would do: talk about ourselves and reveal our deepest darkest secrets. Of course, I didn't spill all of my secrets, but it was enough to turn Whiskey and I's friendship into a bond stronger than Hercules on steroids. Sure, we may only be partners at this particular moment, but I had a strong gut feeling that that would change relatively soon. 

He doesn't know it yet (I hope), but I started to develop new feelings for Whiskey. New, romantic feelings. Throughout my short time of knowing him, I had already begun to think of him as a romantic partner. Could he be the one I spend the rest of my life with?

No! Snap out of it, Rocky! You have a mission to focus on. Don't be a hypocrite and break your own ground rules that you established!

As Whiskey continued to drive along the road ahead, I remained silent as I continued to try to make an effort in processing these new feelings for Whiskey. Was it love? Or was it some-

thing else? It was unlike me to remain quiet and shut-down since I was a pretty outspoken individual who had no speed bump between their brain and their mouth. I was the one who very rarely gave a damn about what I said and was also naturally tough-skinned when it came to others criticizing me; in fact, if they insulted me, I would probably sock 'em right in the mouth.

The point was, this new era of processing my feelings for Whiskey has definitely changed me as a person. Changed me as a whole...and will this era permanently change me, or will it change some parts of me that I never got in touch with?

"You okay there, sugar? You seem awfully quiet," Whiskey said, taking notice of my new behavior.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Everything's fine. It's just...I'm probably gonna get a lot of negativity back from this, but—I'm still trying to process my grief for my dead twin brother," I said. "I know, I know. You'll probably say, 'That happened a long time ago. You need to let it go', but the truth is, Whiskey, I can't! I can't let it go! He was my twin brother for Christ's sake. He was the one I had the strongest bond with since we grew up together and were each other's best friends. Now, he's in a coffin six feet under, while I'm up here on the surface, struggling to keep my head above water."

Caring enough about me and rightfully sensing an emotional outburst from me, Whiskey wisely pulled the car over to the side of the road. He put it in park and turned to me to listen actively, being very careful to not say anything that would upset me more than I already was. I continued on with my emotional rant as if I had no consequence in what I was saying,

"Now, God took him from me. That bastard! I hate him for taking away my precious, sweet twin brother who could do no wrong. I hate him for punishing me for being innocent. I did nothing wrong to deserve this, Whiskey! And I'll be damned if I let this guilt and heartbreak go away easily because this is something that'll stick to me for the rest of my life. So hell no! I'm not letting these feelings go. Because someone I treasured the most was taken from me, and now, I can't get it back!"

I pounded my fist on the dashboard in a fit of rage. "Damnit!"

Don't worry. I didn't break it. Apparently, Whiskey's ride is extremely durable.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," Whiskey finally said, chiming in. "He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"But I could've done something, Whiskey! I could've been there. I could've noticed him running past the coffee shop instead of being so absorbed in looking for a damn job in the Secret Service!"

"I know you feel guilty because it was your twin brother who died, but that's no reason to down yourself. It wasn't your fault. It was never your fault," Whiskey added on. "Don't you ever think that it was your fault that your twin brother died because it wasn't. You did nothing wrong. I want ya to know that. It was never your fault."

At that moment, I started to calm down, allowing my rage to disappear into a docile state. Now, I was reverting back to the Rocky that was present during my first meeting with Whiskey. Sure, I was still a no-nonsense, curse word-spewing, tough kid, but I, for the most part, kept to myself unless I was drawn in by an outside force. In this case, I kept to myself and tried not to get involved.

"You really think that none of my brother's tragedy was my fault?" I asked, as we kept traveling to Harlan.

"Of course it wasn't your fault, sugar. It was just an unfortunate matter of circumstance. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. You couldn't have predicted that. Don't put yourself down over something you couldn't control."

When we finally arrived near the shipping hub, Whiskey and I made sure that we parked far enough away that the soldiers wouldn't notice our appearance. I carefully grabbed the weapons and resources needed just in case we had to make a break for it, which seems entirely possible. Clad in a brown leather jacket, black leather pants, and knee-high brown boots, I helped Whiskey gather our resources and shut the doors to his ride quietly. One loud and sudden move, and our cover would be blown.

"You think this is a good idea?" Whiskey asked, hesitating over my plan just a bit. "Tracking drug shipments that are going directly to where Devlin is located?"

"I'm not sure, Whiskey. I'm only a rookie. But I'm confident that this will get us somewhere in this mission," I answered confidently.

Once we found the shipping hub, Whiskey and I crouched down on a nearby hill, being especially careful not to be noticed by enemy soldiers. Wanting to see what these enemies were up to, I reached into my bag and grabbed out my binoculars. As I looked through them, I laid flat on my stomach to remain as obscure from the eye as possible.

"Oo-ee, sugar! Look at that cake!" Whiskey exclaimed, becoming distracted.

I gave Whiskey a stern yet funny look. "Can you please comment about my ass after we're done with this?"

I continued to look through the binoculars, as Whiskey refocused his attention on what the enemy troop was doing ahead.

"What do those drugs look like?" he asked, still crouching down near me.

I carefully examined the scene through the lens of the binoculars. "It looks like there's four different ones they're shipping. Marijuana, heroin, cocaine, and methamphetamines."

"Damn!" Whiskey exclaimed. "They're good, smuggling that over state lines."

"Smuggling it over state lines is a lot easier than smuggling it over country borders. There's no customs involved at state lines," I explained. "Unfortunately, our government could care less if drugs are being shipped from state to state. They only care if drugs are shipped between countries. They're trying to focus on the cartels and their shipments into the United States in Mexico, but they haven't succeeded yet."

I gave Whiskey my binoculars. "Here. Keep scoping out the scene. I gotta adjust the scope on my sniper rifle."

"I thought it was already adjusted," Whiskey said.

"Can't afford to make any mistakes, can we?" I said, reminding Whiskey of the words he taught me.

Whiskey nodded and went back to scoping the scene, while I made sure that the scope on my rifle was extremely precise. "Make sure you let me know if another truck of shipments arrives."

"Why's that, sugar?" he asked.

"Because I wanna pop the tires," I answered, beaming with menace and confidence.

"Pop the tires? I do hope you have some reasoning behind that," Whiskey said.

"Think about it. If I pop all four tires, that slows down the flow of the shipments. That allows us to go in and put trackers on shipments with the possibility that we won't be noticed. I personally think it's fool-proof, but go ahead and think differently if you want."

"I think it's a good idea," Whiskey commented. "Just make sure you pop all four tires instead of one or two. They can change one or two tires in a matter of seconds."

"Oh, I'm sure they can. Trust me, Whiskey. I had this all planned out on the way here. Every small detail had already been worked out in my head."

As I was fiddling with the scope on my rifle, Whiskey started to tap me on my left calf. "Time to rock an' roll, sugar. They're pulling in," he said.

"Perfect! Now, don't bother me while I'm popping the tires. If you do, I'll miss, and our plan goes to shit."

I then concentrated on the first out of eight shots. Two shots for each of the four tires. It wasn't enough to completely stop the flow, but it was enough to slow it down enough that Whiskey and I could make a quiet entrance and put trackers on the drug shipments headed for Balor. 

Inhaling quietly yet sharply, I took the first two shots, popping the front right tire. Then came the second pair of shots on the front left. Next, two shots on the back left, then two on the back right. The series of shots made the soldiers go into a frenzy, scrambling to try and figure out where the shots came from. This gave Whiskey and I perfect timing to sneak into the base with our weapons and resources in tow.

"I'll get the pot and smack. You get the meth and coke," I said.

Whiskey nodded, and we were off soon after that. I took the left side of the base to scope out my set of shipments, while Whiskey scoped out the right side for his set. As the enemy soldiers worked to change the truck's tires, I managed to slip by them without being spotted, looking everywhere to try and find the drug shipments that were going directly to Balor himself.

Then began the tedious work in finding the shipments. I carefully combed through each gray crate to find the drugs that were being shipped to Balor directly while also looking to see if I was in the clear. I had to be careful. If any enemy soldier spotted me, then everything that I had strategically planned out for this very mission would go straight out the window. When I snuck into the shed, all of my surroundings became very unfamiliar. Navigating this shed filled with crates upon crates of drugs and awful medication was an absolute bitch, but I somehow managed to come upon a crate of marijuana that had "To the Boss" in big, bold letters.

Yay! Just my luck!

Making sure no enemy soldiers were around, I placed the tracker on that crate and immediately moved on to try and find a crate of heroin. Again, one that is going directly to Balor himself. Anxiety rose up in my throat, and my heart was beating out of my chest with every step I took. I was worried to high-heaven that at least one enemy soldier would spot and try to fight me, and when I get worried and panicked, well...

...let's just say I start to develop symptoms that could be signs of a panic attack.

Yes. You heard that right. I may have an undiagnosed panic attack disorder, but that's not the point!

After what seemed like forever, I finally found a shipment of heroin that was going directly to Balor. However, there was an enemy soldier who was close to it. Damn, that threw a wrench to my hopefully easy plans. Then, I got the best idea. Calmly and collectively, I strolled up carelessly toward the crate, and the soldier stopped me. Just like I had planned.

"Hey! You can't be messing with these crates!" the soldier yelled.

"Oh, cool your tits, cadet! I'm just making sure these are being shipped directly to the boss," I snapped back, matching the attitude level of the soldier.

"I already made sure these were going to the boss," he snapped.

"But the boss told me that if any one of y'all mess up, then you're the next one on the chopping block," I answered.

The soldier looked at me curiously with a confused look, but he ultimately went along with my great white set of lies. I thought I had him fooled for a second, since I could sense that he didn't have the strongest of minds. Unfortunately, my aggressive impulses got the best of me, and I snagged the soldier, putting him into a chokehold. I had the intention of knocking him out and putting him to sleep.

"Go to sleep, you little bitch. Go to sleep, motherfuck. Go to sleep, you sack of shit. Shut your eyes, you motherfuck," I sang in a cheerful, sing-songy tone.

I dropped the soldier's unconscious body as I tried to find the nearest exit. I needed to find Whiskey and make a quick getaway. Before I could even execute my idea of escaping, I heard a familiar voice through my earpiece.

"Blackjack, cover breach. Cover breach," Whiskey said in a panicked tone.

"Do you need backup?" I asked.

"Yeah. Get your ass out here. I'm 'bout to get overrun," Whiskey shouted.

I made a mad dash out to the shipping yard, where I found that Whiskey was right. He was indeed being overrun by a slew of enemy soldiers. One by one, Whiskey would be taking out the soldiers using his high-tech lasso, which is something I've never seen before. Seeing that he was handling everything just fine, I decided to make a quick dash to Whiskey's ride and commandeer it. It was now our getaway vehicle.

To my luck, Whiskey left the keys inside the vehicle, so all I had to do was hop in and start it up. As soon as the truck rolled over, I slammed my foot on the gas pedal and made it my mission to get to Whiskey's location as fast as possible. Whilst Whiskey was using all the weapons in his arsenal, I wildly swerved directly into the action, even taking out a few soldiers along the way.

Hey! Job failed successfully, I guess.

"Come on! Get in! They're already on our asses!" I shouted.

Whiskey hurried into the passenger seat of the truck, and as soon as he got in, I once again slammed my foot on the gas pedal and sped off from the shipping hub. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins at damn near light speed since this was my first time in a situation like this one. Causing trouble and chaos was so much fun! As Whiskey kept pestering me to go faster, I tried my best to keep focused on the road ahead, but it was hard considering that Whiskey was fighting off the soldiers chasing us using all the weapons he had.

"Don't touch my rifle!" I screamed as I kept driving wildly.

"I ain't gonna touch your rifle, sugar. I got bigger things to deal with, as you can tell," he screamed back.

"No, I can't! I'm too busy trying to drive our asses out of this mess we're in," I shrieked back.

Whiskey sighed as he kept trying to knock off soldiers one-by-one. "Just keep your eyes on the road and get us to the highway."

"The big interstate highway?" I asked.

"That'll work. Just get us off of these backroads and out of their sight, for the love of Christ!" he shouted.

I continued to operate Whiskey's truck wildly along the roads, breaking every traffic law known to man. Although I was nervous about breaking every law, I knew that I had to in order to keep myself and Whiskey safe from harm. The soldiers kept chasing after us relentlessly, and Whiskey was fending them off from the back of the truck.

Luckily, I successfully managed to quickly merge onto the four-lane highway, somehow keeping Whiskey standing in the bed of the truck. Yes, the soldiers were still on our asses, but this was just a small victory that would hopefully build up to an even bigger victory.

"Have you popped the tires yet?" I asked.

"What are you talking about?" Whiskey shouted as he continued to fend off the soldiers that were closing in on us.

"Have you thought about popping the tires on their trucks to slow them down?" I shouted.

"Sugar, I ain't got enough ammo to do that!" he shouted. "We need to make sure that they are stopped dead in their tracks!"

As I kept passing cars and trying to avoid the enemy gunfire, my mind raced once again to figure out how to stop the enemies for good. Popping the tires won't do us any good, so something else had to be destroyed in order to neutralize the enemy. What if we cut the fuel lines? No, no, no. To do that, you had to pop the hood and reach in deep to find it.

Too much work for so little time we have.

What if we actually blew up the trucks? No. To do that, you needed some sort of flammable material. I didn't exactly have that because I feared getting burnt alive accidentally. After much deliberation, I finally got an idea.

"Whiskey! I got a heavy anvil in my bag. Grab it and tie it to that lasso of yours!" I screamed.

"Why do you have an anvil?" Whiskey asked.

"Just in case we had to shatter windows or somethin'," I answered back. "Tie that anvil to your lasso, swing it around, and crack the window. It'll distract them and give us enough time to lay the explosive spikes down for them."

"Explosive spikes? What the hell, Rocky?"

"Hey! We'll talk about it later. Right now, we have to get rid of these pests on our asses!" I shouted. "Just do it!"

I kept my eyes focused on the road, narrowly missing cars who weren't going the same speed I was; granted, I was speeding down the highway at dangerous speeds. I don't how I managed to stay off the highway patrol's radar, but I somehow did. Whiskey tied the anvil to his lasso, swinging the lasso around so it could go far enough to the windshield of the enemy's trucks. Plus, the anvil needed to project enough force for the windshield to shatter. 

If it didn't shatter, then Whiskey and I were fucked. I had no other plan other than this one, so I prayed to God that this worked. When I heard the sound of glass shattering, my insides jumped for joy. My plan was working perfectly.

"Good! Now, in my bag, do you see a bag of large thumbtack-lookin' things?" I asked.

"Which pocket?" Whiskey asked.

"Very front, in the zipper."

Whiskey dug into my bag and found the explosive spikes. "Yes. I got them."

"Good! Now, don't touch the spike part of them. If those spikes are touched, then, well...I guess you'll find out sooner or later."

Whiskey threw the spikes down on the ground behind us, letting the enemy trucks run them over. Once they did, large explosions followed, ultimately destroying enemy trucks and badly injuring the soldiers. Even though I couldn't see it because I was driving away from it like the badass I am, I could tell that Whiskey's face explained his reaction to these spikes.

"Christ! That seemed awfully excessive," Whiskey said, hopping to the passenger seat.

"Gotta stop 'em dead in their tracks. Never said how to do that. I had free reign, man."

"I do have to say, genuinely, sugar. Your driving skills are so wild and amazing! How the hell did you learn how to drive like that?" he asked.

"Secret Service training did me a lot of good," I said. "There, you had to learn how to do all these tricks and handle successful vehicular pursuits. What happened back there was no different, except for the fact that it ended in epic fashion, baby!"

"It sure did, sugar."

We continued to drive down the highway, calming ourselves down from the chaos that happened the moments before. I was glad that our plan worked, and the enemy soldiers were stopped successfully. Whiskey and I did it! We managed to work as a team and defeat enemy troops like we wanted.

"Hey, sugar. Can I turn on the radio?" Whiskey asked.

I didn't expect him to ask, but then again, it was common courtesy that whoever was driving had the right to control the radio. I grew up on that rule and loved every second of it whenever Devin or myself were at the wheel.

"Sure. Go nuts," I said, allowing Whiskey to take control of the radio. "I don't give a shit."

Whiskey turned the knobs on the radio, allowing the absolutely gorgeous melodies to cut through the air smoothly like butter. I loved music more than anything; it was the one thing that could keep me calm in stressful situations.

But this song was arousing emotions of bittersweetness. It made me think of my dear twin brother who's probably watching over me from heaven. God rest his gentle soul.

"Whiskey, not this song," I sarcastically whined.

"It was on the radio, sugar," he responded. "Why the connection? It's only Elton John's Goodbye Yellow Brick Road."

I drew in a sharp yet silent breath before I nearly broke character. "This was my twin brother and I's favorite song."

"Oh," Whiskey quickly and quietly said, feeling as though he had offended me, even though he really didn't.

I continued on with the story behind the song. "Me and my twin brother loved this song very much. So much that he used it as his walk-up song for baseball. Every time he'd walk up to the plate or hit a home run, he'd point to me in the stands and make a heart shape with his hands, showing that he loved me."

"So the song connected you and your twin brother," Whiskey assumed.

"Just one of the ways we were connected," I said back. "There's plenty more."

There's just this feeling of driving down a long, endless highway that somehow gets to you, no matter how much your mind is on something else. That happened to me. My mind had been shifted to start thinking about Devin and his love for baseball. He loved baseball as much as he loved me, which was a lot considering we were twins. Driving down the stretching highway seemed to allow me to think about it a lot more. It gave me another opportunity to deal with and try to suppress my grief over Devin's death.

Turns out, I couldn't get over it. I don't think I ever could.

As I kept my hand on the gear shift, my mind continued to focus on the road. That didn't last long, however. I felt something—I didn't know what at that second—touch and grab onto my leg. It grazed up and down my leg, and I took it as a sign of comfort and support. When I looked down, I found that it was Whiskey's left hand contacting my right leg. I didn't consider it inappropriate, no. I took it as a sign of affectionate support since I considered Whiskey a very flirtatious individual.

"If only he'd see what I'm doing now," I said somberly, coming close to crying.

Whiskey glanced over at me with the most sincere eyes I had ever seen. "Trust me, sugar. He's proud of ya."

"You think so?"

"Definitely," he said in a deeper, more serious tone.

Whiskey and I had a laugh about all the stupid antics me and my twin brother got into when we were younger. Sure, it was stupid, but it wasn't the kind of stupid that gets us in serious trouble. From pulling pranks on our older brother Andrew every April Fool's to hitting the town for a day of fun every other Saturday, both Devin and I considered ourselves "perfectly weird" kids.

"Wow. Y'all were crazy," Whiskey finally remarked.

"We did some crazy shit," I laughed, "and I still do that same crazy shit."

We kept laughing about it and continued to spill more of our darkest secrets. And in that moment of truly connecting with Whiskey on a spiritual level, I finally found the strength to put my grief away for the moment. Who knows? Maybe Whiskey is the very person that will help me make this grief of mine something that I can live with for the rest of my life. 

[aspenmissing]

𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚂𝚊𝚒𝚍 (𝙿𝚝 𝟸)

Dean, Sam, and Y/N are sitting in the parked Impala. Dean is eating something in a foil wrapper, Y/N is drinking something hot, due to the small amount of steam coming from the cup, and Sam studies a small stack of papers. Dean throws the foil wrapper into the back, onto Y/N who pushes it off to the side.

"Ugh. You know, one day I'd love to just sit down and eat something I didn't have to microwave at a minimart"

"Do you even know how to use a microwave?" Y/N says, sarcastically.

"What I don't get is the motive. I mean, the doctor was squeaky clean, why would Andy waste him?"

"If it is Andy," Dean says.

"Dude, enough."

"What?"

"The doctor was mind-controlled in front of a bus. Andy just happens to have the power of mind control. You do the math."

"I just don't think the guy's got it in him, that's all."

"Oh, but he has it in him to steal your car and smash my face against the dashboard," Y/N mutters, taking another sip of her drink.

"Well, how the hell would you know? I mean, why are you bending over backwards defending him?"

"'Cause you're not right about this."

"About Andy?" Andy appears suddenly at Sam's open window, slamming his hands down and leaning in.

"Hey! You think I haven't seen you three? Why are you following me?" The last sentence reverberates strangely; Dean looks stunned, whereas Y/N looks pissed.

"Well, we're lawyers. See, a relative of yours has passed aw-"

"Tell the truth!" Andy's voice echoes.

"That's what he's-" Sam says but is cut off by Dean.

"We hunt demons."

"Dude!" Y/N says.

"What?" Andy asks.

"Dean."

"Demons and spirits. Things your worst nightmares wouldn't even touch. Sam here, he's my brother and Y/N, my sister."

"Dean, shut up!" Sam shouts.

"I'm trying. He's psychic. Kind of like you. Well, not really like you, but see, he thinks you're a murderer, and he's afraid that he's going to become one himself, 'cause you're all part of something that's terrible. And, I hope to hell that he's wrong, but I'm starting to get a little scared that he might be right."

"Okay, you know what?" Andy's voice suddenly changes to demonic. "Just leave me alone."

"Okay," Dean says.

"All right?" Andy walks away. Dean cringes, holding their head, as Sam gets out of the car, following Andy.

"What are you doing? Look, I, I said leave me alone," Andy's voice changes again. "All right? Get out of here, just start driving and never stop."

"Doesn't seem to work on me, Andy."

"What?"

"You can make people do things, can't you? You can tell them what to think." Dean and Y/N had gotten out of the car; Sam holds up a hand, warning them not to come closer.

"Look, tha-" Andy laughs. "That's crazy."

"It all started about a year ago, didn't it? After you turned twenty-two. Little stuff at first, and then you got better at controlling it."

"How do you know all this?"

"Because the same thing happened to me, Andy. My mom died in a fire, too. I have abilities too. You see, we're connected, you and me."

"You know what? Just, just, just, just get out of here." Once again Andy's voice changes, all right?!"

"Why did you tell the doctor to walk in front of a bus?"

"What?" Sam gets a vision- flash of fire, and a hand holding a gas pump. He cringes. The vision continues in pieces as he tries to focus on Andy.

"Why did you kill him?"

"I didn't." Sam cringes again as the vision hits with full force. Minutes later, Sam with hands on his head, starts to fall; Dean and Y/N runs over to catch him and lowers him gently to the asphalt.

"Sam? What is it?" Y/N asks.

"Look, I didn't do anything to him," Andy says, crouching down.

"A woman. A woman burned alive."

"What else'd you get?" Dean asks.

"A gas station, a woman is gonna kill herself."

"When?" Y/N asks.

"I don't know." Y/N helps Sam up. "But as long as we keep our eyes on this son of a bitch he can't hurt her."

"I didn't hurt anybody."

"Yeah, not yet." A fire engine roars past, sirens blaring. They turn to watch it. "Go," Sam says to Dean and Y/N. The two runs off to follow the sirens; Andy tries to step past Sam, who stops him with a hand on his chest. "No, not you. You're staying here with me."

==

At the gas station, the firemen are putting out the fire; Y/N calls Sam on her cell and puts it on speaker.

"Hey, it's us. She's dead. Burned up, just like you said."

"When?"

"Like minutes before we got here. I mean the smell hasn't even cleared. What's up with your visions, man? This wasn't even a head start," Dean says.

"I don't know, all right? I can't control them; I don't even know what the hell is going on."

"Listen, you were with Andy when this whole thing went down, so it, it can't be him, it's gotta be somebody else doing this."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"What else is new? Well, we'll dig around here, see what else I can find," Y/N says and hangs up.

==

Sam and Andy sit across from each other on an abandoned truck.

"So, you get these premonitions of people about to die?" Sam nods. "That's impossible," Sam laughs.

"A lot of people would say the same thing about what you do."

"But...death visions?"

"Yeah."

"Dude, that sucks. I mean, like, when I got my mind thing? It was like a gift, you know, it was, it was like I won the Lotto."

"But you still live in a van. I don't get it. I mean, you could...have anything you ever wanted."

"I mean, I, I got everything I need," Andy says.

"So, you're really not a killer, huh?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you!" Andy says, laughing.

"That's good. Means there's hope for both of us."

"Man, I'm sorry for, uh, hurting your sister."

"She'll get over it. She tends to not keep a grudge. Last time she did it was because Dean ate her pancakes." The two laugh.

"Is your sister, um, is she like us? You know, the mind thing."

"No? Why do you say?"

"It's just back when I took the car and Y/N, she, um, she wasn't affected by my power, but Dean was. Could she maybe be like us?" Sam looks down to think. Then Dean and Y/N pull up in the Impala, and Sam and Andy stand. The twins get out of the car.

"Victim's name was Holly Beckett, forty-one, single."

"Who is she?" Sam asks Andy.

"Never heard of her."

"Called Ash on the way over; he came up with a little something. Apparently, Holly Beckett gave birth when she was eighteen years old, back in 1983. Same day you were born, Andy," Y/N says.

"Andy, were you adopted?" Sam asks.

"Well, yeah."

"You were? And you neglected to mention that?"

"Never really came up. I mean, I, I never knew my birth parents, and, and like you said, my adopted mom died when I was a baby—do you, do you think this Holly woman could actually be my m-"

"I don't know. We tried to get a copy of the birth records, but they're hard copy only, sealed in the county office," Dean says.

"Well, screw that."

As Dean, Sam, and Y/N go through boxes of files, Andy walks an elderly security guard to the door.

"Probably shouldn't have left you kids in here."

"No, it'll all be fine. All right? Just go get a cup of coffee," as the guard leaves, he continues in a dramatic voice, "These aren't the 'droids you're looking for." Dean grins as he overhears.

"Awesome."

"I got it," Sam says.

"Yeah?" Dean asks.

"Yeah. Andy, it's true. Holly Becket was your birth mother," Dean and Y/N look to Andy.

"Huh. Does anyone have a Vicodin?"

"Dr. Jennings was her doctor, too, I mean, he oversaw the adoption. You have a solid connection to both of them."

"Yeah, but, I, I didn't kill them."

"We believe you," Y/N says.

"Yeah," Dean nods in agreement.

"But uh, who did?"

"I think I got a pretty good guess. Holly Becket gave birth to twins." Later Andy sits with both hands on his head, staring straight ahead in shock. Y/N is sat by him, rubbing his back. Dean is standing by a printer nearby; Sam is pacing with a folder from upstate.

"I have an evil twin."

"Holly put you and your brother up for adoption. And you went to the Gallagher family, obviously, and your brother went to the Weems family from upstate," Sam says, walking over to the two.

"And, how you doin'? Still with us?" Dean asks, and puts his hands down, and Y/N drops her hand onto her knee.

"Um. What was my brother's name?"

"Here. Um, Ansem Weems. And he's got a local address."

"He—he lives here?"

"Let's get a look at him. Got his picture coming off from the DMV right now," Dean pulls some papers out of the printer and looks at in surprise. Sam and Y/N look at, also surprised and shocked. "Hate to kick you while you're freaked. Take a look at that," Dean shows one of the pictures to Andy, who looks up in shock.

==

The coffee shop is nearly empty; Weber and Tracy are closing up.

"Hey, Trace?"

"Yeah?"

"You and Andy, you guys went together for a while, didn't you?"

"Yeah, Weber, why?" Tracy asks.

"I don't know, I was just wondering. I, I was wondering how you felt about him these days. I mean, I've seen you guys together, it seems like there's still something there. Just... were you guys ever, like, serious?"

"Um, no."

"Come on, Trace," Weber's voice suddenly changes to a demonic voice. "Tell the truth."

Time Skip

Dean drives the Impala down a dark road with Sam next to him and Andy in the back seat, Y/N next to him.

"All right, Andy. Tell us everything you know about this guy," Sam says.

"Well, I mean, not much. I... Weber shows up one day, eight months ago? Acting like he's my best friend in the world. Kinda weird, like, trying too hard, you know?" Sam starts cringing, rubbing his eyes.

"Must have known you guys were twins. Why did he change his name? Why not just tell you the truth?" Y/N asks.

"No idea."

"Aah!" Sam shouts.

"Sam?" Sam starts having another vision.

==

Tracy, wearing only satin lingerie, walks slowly to the side of a ravine. Crying, she climbs onto the ledge and looks around. She pauses, looking back, then leaps.

==

Sam yells in panic, struggling with the door.

"Sam? Sam! Sam!"

"Sammy!" Dean stops the car as Sam shoves the door open, leaning out. Dean and Y/N get out of the car, Dean comes around, and they both kneel beside him, Dean grabs his shoulders.

"Hey. Hey!"

"Sammy, what's wrong?" Y/N asks, concerned.

==

Weber drives onto the bridge and pulls to a stop; Tracy is in the passenger's seat. He runs a hand slowly up her thigh.

"I take my ladies here. They like it. Well, I mean, I like it, so... of course they do too," Tracy is crying.

"Please, I just wanna go home."

"Stop crying," Weber says in his demon voice. She stops crying. "Hey. I get it. I see what you see in Andy, I mean, he's a genius. Books he reads? He's gonna be a great man someday. But he is my family, not yours. You can't have him. You're not gonna have anything after tonight."

==

Near the bridge, the Impala pulls to a stop. Sam, Dean, and Y/N get out and circle around the trunk, which Dean opens.

"Dean, Y/N, you two should stay back," Sam says.

"No argument here. Had my head screwed with enough for one day." Sam pulls out two shotguns and Y/N pulls out a pair of binoculars; as he walks forward, he's stopped by Andy, who has gotten out of the car.

"I'm coming with you," Sam looks, and shakes his head.

"Andy, no."

"If it's Tracy out there... then I'm coming."

==

Crying again, Tracy is unbuttoning her dress as Weber watches.

"Okay. Slower. Tracy? I want you to listen to me very carefully, okay? When we're done here, I want you to head over to the edge of the dam. Okay?"

"Okay"

"And when you get there, you're gonna think you can fly" His voice changes "And you're just gonna step right off. You-you can fly, can't you?" Weber puts his hands on her face. Tracy is still sobbing.

"Yeah. I think so"

"You might get scared, but I want you to say that it's okay" Tracy is sobbing "Just tell yourself, everything is okay" The window behind Weber's head shatters, and Sam shoves a handgun in his face.

"Get out of the car! Now!"

"You really don't want to do this" Sam backhands him, hard. On the other side of the car, Andy opens the door and pulls Tracy out.

"Tracy! Come here, come here, come here. It's okay"

"Andy! I can't! I couldn't control myself" Sam opens Weber's door and pulls him out of the car. He pins him facedown over the pavement with the gun aimed at his head.

"Don't move. Don't move!" Sam says as Andy runs over to them and shoves a strip of duct tape over Weber's mouth. He rears back and kicks Weber twice, furious. Sam pushes him back.

"No! No, Andy, let me handle this, all right?"

"I'm gonna kill you!"

"Andy! Listen to me! Listen to me!" Weber stares at Tracy, who picks up a large stick and hits Sam on the back of the neck with it. He goes down, unconscious. Andy turns to her as Weber stands up.

"Tracy, stop! I said STOP IT!" She drops the stick and backs away, terrified. Andy turns back to Weber, who pulls the duct tape off his mouth "How did you do that?"

"Practice, bro. If you'd just practice, you would know. Sometimes you don't need to use your words. If you have to," Weber taps Andy's forehead "all you need is this. Sometimes the headache's worth it" Andy grabs Weber.

"You're a twisted son of a bitch!"

"Back off, Andy. Or Tracy's gonna do a little flying" Andy turns in horror to see Tracy standing in the ledge "Aren't you, Trace?" Weber turns to Andy "I'm stronger than you. I can do it"

"Okay, okay" Andy backs away, hands up "Okay. All right, just...just please don't hurt her"

"Don't be mad at me, okay? I know, it's, it's all wrong. I didn't mean for this to happen, it's just... Tracy? She's trying to come between us"

"You're insane" Andy says.

"She's garbage! Man, they all are! We can, we can push them, we can make them do whatever we want!"

"Are you really... are you really this stupid? Is it-?"

"Wha-"

"I mean, you, you learn you've got a twin..." Sam starts coming to ...you call him up, you go out for a drink, you don't start killing people!"

"I've wanted to tell you for so long, bro. But he didn't let me. He said I had to wait until the time was..."

"Who?" Andy asks.

"The man with the yellow eyes"

"What are you talking about?"

"He came to me. In my dream. He said I was special. He told me he's got big plans for me. Wait 'till you see what's in store, Andy, for both of us! See, he's the one who told me that ... I had a brother. A twin" Somewhere in the woods, within shooting distance, Y/N stalks to a hiding place with a sniper rifle, Dean next to her, watching with a pair of binoculars.

"Why did you kill our mother? Why? And why Dr. Jennings?"

"Because they split us up! They ruined our lives, Andy! We could have been together this whole time. Instead of alone. I couldn't, I couldn't let 'em do that, I couldn't let them get away with that. No" Y/N crouches in the shadows and lines up the shot. Weber turns, hearing something. He peers into the distance, into Dean and Y/N's hiding place.

"I see you. Bye-bye" Dean drops his binoculars and goes over to Y/N, shoving her on the ground and takes the rifle.

"Dean? What are yo-" She is cut off by Dean striking her face with the butt of the gun. She falls onto her back. She looks up at him "Dean, snap out of it. He's in your mind!!"

"I can't stop" He once again strikes her face with the gun. She struggles to stand. Dean puts a foot on her stomach, stopping her from getting up. Y/N watches in shock as Dean turns the rifle up and tucks the barrel under his chin.

"NO!" Tracy's head looks back as a gunshot goes off. Weber jerks back and falls; Andy has shot him in the back. Andy lowers the gun, shaking. Y/N sighs in relief as Dean drops the gun, he looks at her with guilt, seeing her bruised cheek.

==

Rescue and police crews have arrived on the scene. Andy is talking to three police officers, his stance confident. Sam is crouching by a wall, a paramedic tending to his shoulder. Another paramedic is tending to Y/N's face. Dean stands at their side.

"He shot himself. And you all saw it happen"

"Yeah. We did" Sam, Dean and Y/N are together, observing.

"Look at him. He's getting better at it" Andy passes an ambulance where Tracy is sitting, a blanket around her shoulders. He smiles at her but she avoids his eyes. Andy approaches Sam, Dean and Y/N.

"She won't even look at me"

"Yeah, she's pretty shaken up" Y/N says.

"No, it's, this is different. It's, uh, I never, I never used my mind thing on her before. Before last night. She's scared of me now"

"Hey, Andy, I hate to do this, but um, we have to get out of here. Here, I wrote down my cell. You don't have to be alone in this, all right? If anything comes up, just call me up"

"Wha- what am I supposed to do now?" Andy asks.

"You be good, Andy. Or we'll be back"

"Looks like I was right" Sam says as they walk away.

"About what?"

"Andy. He's a killer after all"

"No, he's a hero. He saved his girlfriend's life; he saved my life. And he saved Y/N from a horrific sight" Dean says as Theo looks down.

"Bottom line, last night, he wasted somebody"

"Yeah, but he's not a foaming-at-the-mouth psycho. He was just, he was pushed into that"

"Weber was pushed too, in his own way. Max Miller was pushed. Hell, I was pushed by Jessica's death"

"What's your point, Sam?" Y/N asks. The three-stop walking.

"Right circumstances, everyone's capable of murder. Everyone. You know, maybe that's what the demon's doing. Pushing us. Finding ways to break us"

"Sam, we don't know what the demon wants, okay? Quit worrying about it"

"You know, I heard you before, Dean, when Andy made you tell the truth. You're just as scared of this as I am"

"That was mind control! I mean, it's like, like, that's like being roofied, man, that doesn't count"

"What?"

"No. I'm, I'm calling do-over"

"What are you, seven?"

"Doesn't matter. Look, we've just gotta keep doing what we're doing, find that evil son of a bitch and kill it"

"Yeah, I guess" Sam says, doubtfully. Dean's cell rings. He picks up. Sam and Y/N gets into the car.

"Hello? Ellen. What's going on? Yeah, we'll be right there"

==

Sam, Dean and Y/N are sitting at the bar, Ellen behind it and Jo walking around the outside.

"Jo?" Ellen asks.

"Hmm?"

"Go pull up another case of beer"

"Mom..."

"Now. Please" As Jo leaves, Ellen leans on the bar in front of Sam and Dean.

"So, you uh, you want to tell me about this last hunt of yours?"

"No. Not really. No offense, it's just kind of a family thing" Y/N says, taking a sip of her beer.

"Not anymore" Ellen says dropping a stack of papers on the bar "I got this stuff from Ash. Andrew Gallagher's house burnt down on his six-month birthday, just like your house. You think it was the demon both times, don't you? You think it went after Gallagher's family?"

"Yeah, we thing so" Sam says.

"Sam..." Dean says.

"Why?"

"None of your business"

"You mind your tongue with me, boy This isn't just your war, this is war. Now, something big and bad's coming and it's coming fast, and their side holds all the cards. Now, at best all we got is us. Together. No secrets or half-truths here"

"There are people out there, like Andy Gallagher, like me. And um ... we all have some kind of ability"

"Ability?" Dean rolls his eyes, uncomfortable. Y/N sighs.

"Yeah. Psychic ability. Me, I have, um, I have visions. Premonitions. I don't know, it's, it's different for everybody. The demon said he had plans for people like us" Ellen looks between the three.

"What kind of plans?"

"We don't really know for sure"

"These people out there, these psychics-they dangerous?"

"No. Not all of them" Dean says.

"But some are. Some are very dangerous"

"Okay, how many of them are we looking at?"

"We've been able to track a clear pattern so far. They've all had house fires on the night of the kid's six-month birthday" Y/N says.

"That's not true"

"What?"

"Weber? Or Ansen Weems, or whatever his name is-I looked at his file, and there was no house fire. There's nothing out of the ordinary"

"Which breaks pattern. So, if there's any others like him, there'd be nothing in the system. No way to track 'em all down" Ellen says.

"And so, who knows how many of 'em are really out there?" Jo is standing behind.

"Jo honey?" Ellen asks.

"Yeah?"

"You'd better break out the whiskey instead" Sam and Dean looks to Y/N.

"Now. What's with you, you weren't at all effected. But you're not like me" Sam says. Y/N looks up.

"And your point?"

"Well, how? How were you not effected by Andy or Webber?" Dean asks. Y/N just shrugs.

"I don't know" Y/N says, but her eyes show different.

"Well, whatever it was I'm glad. Because if you were affected by him then I can't tell what he would have made you do" Dean says, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

"Don't be all sappy on me, Dean"

"I'm your twin brother, that's what I do" Dean says, pulling her into his side. Sam smiles at the two, but his eyes hold concern yet curiosity for his older sister.