#its the only way for the scene to make sense to me and I'd rather it mean something than nothing

[darilarostarg]

While I think I may have approached it in a much different way, I ultimately see/interpret the Daemon and Alyssa scene as a way of showing that, ever since her death, Daemon has been so completely deprived of nonsexual/unconditional love and affection for so long, that his subconscious is not capable of producing an depiction of any type of love (including matriarchal) of that without it including some form of sexual reciprocation.

Hence his horror when he realises he cannot even remember or accept the love from his mother, who he knows loved him unconditionally, without adding a sexual layer to it.

[fluffylino]

Slow Down Bugboy

you're watching the news when you hear someone outside your window. is it a burgler? is it a ghost? oh wait, its spiderman?!

-contains soft themes (some injuries)

heavily inspired by that one scene from the amazing spiderman.

jisung is so spider coded🕸❤️‍🩹

enjoy~

keyboard clacking while you glued your eyes to the laptop screen. trying to make sense of the words and phrases you needed to write for an english assignment.

for some reason, you just couldn't focus.

maybe it was because jisung hadn't texted you since afternoon. glancing up at the clock to see it was an hour past 10pm.

your eyes now plastered onto the tv screen. the news flashing vividly. headlines popping up one after the other.

<Spider Man was seen fighting the giant reptilian>

<Who is this SpiderMan?>

the news anchor only raised more questions. dwelling into the details of this commotion.

you had mixed opinions on this so called 'man', who shoots webs out of his wrists. you'd rather call him

'weird insect man who crawls up buildings'.

was he a hero? i mean, he seemed like one. do you think you'd ever want to come face to face with him?

maybe? spiderman seemed chill.

anyways jisung!

right. where the hell was he?!

<ji, are you alive?>

.

<message me rn>

.

<are you okay? just mssg me if you're okay>

.

<JISUNG. HAN JISUNG>

.

looking away from your phone. you gulped down the lump in your throat.

was he accidently caught in the whole 'lizard incident' at the school...?

you didn't want to lose your friend. your bestfriend.

<i love you man, please tell me you're fine...>

"spiderman please...im really begging you to protect him if he's hurt" praying under your breath. heart pumping slower than usual while you took deep breaths.

the smell of your mom cooking a late night snack downstairs travelled up to your room. on any other occasion you wouldve eaten like a hog. but right now, you couldn't.

knock knock

soft thud

body taking a screenshot in fright. someone's outside your window. with how dark it is at this time of the night and only the moonlight, you think its a burgler.

That is until you see the silhoette of a masked man. the suit he wears is webbed, with colours of dark blue and red.

knock.

this time he presses his palm flat onto the glass, body slumping.

you throw your laptop on the bed, running to slam your door shut before making your way to the window.

"s-spiderman?" you mumble under your breath.

gasping as the man falls right into your arms. legs still dangling out. a catch a whiff of perfume that instantly makes your brain shortcircuit.

raising an arm to help him get the mask off. the mop of hair gives away his identity.

"sung..."

"han jisung! what the fuck happened to you?!" you exclaim, heart dropping when he rests his head on your shoulder. limply trying to hold onto you.

"i'm...uh s-shit" he mutters, grunting as you hold him up.

he plops onto the couch with a pained groan. you stand there dumbly. too much was happening. 

A heavy scent of blood filling the air. quickly shutting the window before kneeling down by his side.

"are you okay? what happened ji...please tell me"

cupping his face. his eyes widening briefly. shakily bringing his hand up to hold your wrist.

"lizard man VS bugboy...i hurt him more than he h-hurt me..."

even in this state, he finds the time to joke. laughing weakly until he notices the pain in your eyes. not just from seeing him bleed but also from the fact that you weren't aware that he was THE spiderman.

"i'm sorry for coming uninvited...t-there was no where else i'd feel safe"

jisung whispers, nuzzling his cheek apologetically into the warmth of your palm. you can't control your body or your thoughts.

carefully pushing his damp hair away from his eyes. theres a small cut over the bridge of his nose. his bottom lip is busted harshly. he's sweating as you caress him.

clean up his wounds. yes.

right now, what mattered most was stopping the bleeding.

"where are you going..." his voice trails off. puppy like eyes locked onto every little movement.

"sit up....as much as you can"

a soaked towel and disinfectant in your hands. jisung does sit up quietly. its surprising.

"baby it r-really hurts...mh" the boy whispers, staring at you with slight fear.

'baby' was a nickname he often used. but right now, it made your heart do a summersalt. without asking, he begins to take the suit off.

revealing his battered torso. bruises and cuts from the 'battle' he was in.

silence fills the room, apart from the soft hisses leaving his mouth.

hands weakly grabbing at your wrists to pry your hands away from the slash across his abdomen.  stomach muscles rhythmically tightening in discomfort everytime you applied a layer of medicine.

without much thought, you inch closer. feeling his heavy breath right next to your ear. along with a choked out grunt.

lifting your head up slowly, only to meet his gaze.

"i'm sorry for s-showing up like...this"

jisung whispers, scooching closer. your noses nearly touching. lips grazing against eachothers. you hum. far too out of it, to even get mad at him.

knowing he was spiderman put you at peace. knowing that he was safe was all that mattered.

injuries or not, you would take care of him regardless.

"say its okay" he whines softly, pressing his lips innocently onto yours. its too gentle to even be considered a kiss. you can't stop the grin that grows on your face.

realising how much your acceptance of him, mattered to him. sucking in a sharp breath when you peck him with more feeling. the subtle tangy taste of blood flooding your senses. his lip was still sensitive.

butterflies erupting in your stomach when he gently cradles the base of your neck. pulling you in for a deeper kiss.

"easy there bugboy..."

you tease, not letting him have his way. revelling in the toothy grin he lets out. laughing against you.

"i'm not going anywhere"

you reassure, threading your fingers through his hair. moving into his embrace.

"i want chocolate." he blurts out in a hushed tone.

"what-"

pecking you once more. and another time until he doesn't pull away. kissing you slow and passionately. pouring all his emotions out.

maybe spiderman wasn't so bad afterall...

.

.

.

.

.

teehee

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 22 - I'd Go Black And Blue

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I always hate saying "this is my favorite chapter so far" in case y'all hate it, but there's one scene in particular there that's a top 5 Babylon scene for me personally. If you guys can guess it, I'll... idk you can chose a bonus chapter theme. Enjoy!!

Chapter Title from Make You Feel My Love by Bob Dylan

Word Count: 18.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You make another friend, and Dean makes another enemy. Usual Warnings.

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

Chapter 21 - Chapter 23

Read on A03!

Your head fucking hurts. A dull pain in the back of your skull, like you’d been hit with a club and knocked out. Everything is fuzzy, and there’s a high ringing in your ears, but you’re not tied up. 

The floor is cold under your body, and you can’t feel any wind. There’s no sense of danger, but there is something shuffling around near you. Nothing’s sliced or burned you, the only additional, foreign pain existing in the sting on the tip of your finger.

You need to open your eyes and figure out where you are. But every muscle feels like it’s been threaded with lead and iron, and your head fucking hurts, and you don’t even know how you got here.

All you can remember is a blur. 

The Blue, in the church.

An archangel. 

You’d called for Cas, and the Blue showed up instead. It had said you needed to get some sleep, but you don’t feel rested. Just a little fucking sick and dizzy, despite being frozen to the floor. 

And if he’d shown up after the Blue left, you wouldn’t have been there, which means you aren’t home, which means-

Dean.

Something like electricity jolts through your body. 

And when your eyes fly open—stinging from the sudden intrusion of light—you’re staring down the barrel of a fucking shotgun. 

“God- Fucking-“ You scramble back against the wall, and the shotgun only follows you. “What the-“

“Don’t scream.” A strangely accented voice comes from the other side, and you lean to the side just enough to see its owner.

It's a woman. Pale, a little on the shorter side, with long brown hair and narrowed eyes that are never leaving your face. She's holding the gun like it's a second limb, rather than a tool. Relaxed, keeping it trained against your brow with her shoulders relax. The same way Dean and Sam do. 

Like a hunter.

“Who-“

“Don’t speak.” The woman snaps, and you blink, but obey. 

The Silver is starting to wake up, bristling from threat of the gun, but you can get out of this exact scenario before with only your knife-

Fuck. 

Your jacket is gone. Which means your knife is gone. The knife Dean gave you is gone-

“My knife-“

“I said don’t speak.” Her voice is harsh, but the words are still oddly rounded. It’s really not your biggest concern.

You open your mouth—the Silver starting to build, because this woman made the smart choice not to tie you up, but she took your fucking knife—and she shakes her head, pressing the gun forward.

“I am going to lower the gun to hear you. If you move, I shoot you. Got it?”

You raise your brows, keeping your mouth closed, and the woman sighs.

“Just nod.”

You nod, and that seems to be enough. The gun lowers, and you and the women blink at each other. 

She’s teal. A dark, pretty teal that starts near her eyes and spreads like fire out. She’s definitely a hunter—only hunters wear that much plaid—and there’s no blood stains or visible scarring, so she’s either a very good one or an incredibly bad one. 

Your money is on the former, but it could go either way. The gun might look natural in her hands, but she also didn’t tie you up, and that’s a stupid move. She did take your knife—smarter move, you need to get back to Dean so you wouldn’t have pulled punches—but she’s still lowering the gun, which isn’t great survival instinct. She has no way of knowing that, if she makes one wrong move, the Silver will explode and rip that teal straight from her body.

But she said she’s lowering it to hear you. 

You don’t know what that means. 

“I’m sorry about the gun,” the woman shrugs, but still doesn’t put it away. “When I tried to tie your wrists, you seemed distressed. I think you were screaming.”

“You-“ Your eyes narrow, and the woman hasn’t looked away from you for a second. “You think I was screaming?”

“I’m deaf.”

Oh. That explains the accent. And you might have gotten that sooner if your head wasn’t on a loop of Dean, Dean, you said you’d get home to Dean

“You’re American.”

You blink at her, and nod slowly. “How’d you know?”

“You don’t seemed shocked by the shotgun.”

“Europe has shotguns.” You counter, and she shrugs.

“Not like this. This is for hunting.”

“You can hunt without a gun.”

The woman gives you a dry smile. “Not the things I hunt, no.”

“Monsters?”

She pauses. “You’re a hunter.”

“Yep.” You hum, and she frowns.

“You don’t look like you hunt.”

Huh. “Don’t I?”

“You weren’t armed.”

“I had a knife.” You sit up slightly, and the gun moves right back to your brow.

“I said don’t move-“

“I’m not moving.” You scan around the room—dark, a little damp, probably a basement, at least the Sky can’t see you—and glare back to the teal woman. “What the fuck did you do with my knife.”

“It’s back there.” She nods into the dark, and a light weight moves off your shoulders. Not gone. That one piece of Dean you always get to have, just back there. “So you are a hunter?”

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

Her head tilts slightly. “How do you hunt without a gun?”

“Talent.” You mutter, and the Spiderweb is straining and whining in your body. “Believe me, I’ve gotten the lecture.”

The woman lowers her gun again, frowning at you. “The lecture?”

“My-“ Dean. No proper word to call Dean that doesn’t make you sound insane. “Friend. He doesn’t like that I hunt without a gun. He’s really dramatic about it.”

“You have hunter friends?”

“Yeah. I, they’re actually waiting for me-“

“In America?”

“That’s where I left them, yeah.”

“How were you planning to return?” She’s watching you wearily, and she might think you’re lying.

For once, you’re not. 

But you also don’t know her.

So you have to be careful what you say.

“Flight.”

“Without a passport?”

You shrug. “I’d work it out. Am I here to be questioned about my travel plans, or can I go?”

The woman shakes her head. “Not until you answer my questions.”

“All I’ve been doing is answering your questions-“

“Not the ones I want to ask.” She scans over you carefully, a small frown on her face. “Would you like some water? Or food?”

It’s only when she says it that you feel it. A little faint, your throat dry, and the room suddenly spinning like now that it’s been reminded of the situation, it’s realizing you’ve been knocked out for-

Fuck. 

You don’t actually know how long you were out for. You can still only remember the Blue telling you to get some sleep, and then it’s all dreams. You might have been out for days, but you also still hadn’t been eating or drinking before, so it just might be catch up with you. 

Everything still hurts. Everything always hurts. And the Silver is waxing and waning in your body, starting to coil before settling comfortably back down. It’s making you feel a little sick.

You’d try to just pray to Cas—to appear into the room and take you home right now—but the Blue said you were still interfering. An archangel had told you to stop interfering. And you want to. You don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of you. But you promised. You’d told Dean you would go home, and then you didn’t. You’d been knocked out, and taken here. 

You still don’t know where here is. 

Or how long Dean’s been waiting for you. 

“I have some-“

“What happened?” You blurt, and the woman blinks at you. 

“That was one of my questions for you.”

Shit.

“Do you want food?” The woman repeats her offer, and you swallow, but nod. 

You’re starving. And you’d promised Jo you’d be okay, so you need to eat.

“If I walk away, are you going to run?”

You pause, then shake your head. If you need to get out, the Silver will explode, or you’ll try that prayer to Cas. Right now, you need a few answers yourself. 

And food. 

Your head is spinning, and food sounds really good.

The woman seems to decide you’re not lying, and she moves into the darkness for only a second before returning with a water bottle and sandwich. You’d be worried about poison, but if she wanted to kill you, she’d just fucking shoot you. 

And she looks almost amused, as you chug the water bottle in seconds, turning your attention to the sandwich and all but shoving it in your face seconds later.

“You’re hungry.” She says, and you shrug, quickly chewing and swallowing before you answer.

“I was knocked out.”

“Only for three days.”

Three days.

That’s not bad. You can explain three days, when you get out. You just have to get out.

“Where did you find me?” You wipe at few crumbs from your face as you speak, and the woman—you should probably ask her name—gives you an odd look. 

“I am not sure. It looked like a church.”

Something twists in your stomach. “Looked? Past tense?”

She nods. “It was covered in vines and flower and water. Pretty. Not a church anymore.”

Fuck. “Oops.”

The woman frowns. “Did you do it?”

You don’t answer right away. You don’t know her. You don’t know who she works with—you doubt Ketch, but you’re in no position to lack vigilance—what she wants from you, or why she took you at all-

“The earth was grown around you.” She links her fingers together in a wide gesture, her shotgun resting at her side. “I had to rip it up to get to you.”

You lean back, narrowing your eyes. Nobody would just rip up the earth to get to you.

Dean might.

No one else.

“Why?” You ask, rubbing over your wrists. “Were you looking for me?”

“No. Was nearby. Felt the earth shake, went looking for the source. Found you.” Her hand moves back to the shotgun. You don’t let your face shift at all. “What are you?”

There it was.

That’s why you’re here. 

“It’s complicated.”

She shakes her head. “Try.”

“I…” You take a long, slow breath. “That’s not a good idea.” 

“Why not? I know you are something.” The gun’s back in her lap, and the Silver starts to go taut again. Readying itself to snap. “I thought you were a witch, when you reacted to the iron. But you didn’t have any books or tools-“

“I didn’t?” You blurt before you can stop yourself, and it’s not helping your case, but you don’t care. “What did I have?”

“Nothing.”

“No- Fuck.” The Silver is building, and all you can do is dig your nails into your palm to keep it down. 

Everything. Gone. All your books and notes, fucking vanished, and what was it for. You left Dean, and now all you have to show for it is an ache in your chest and bags under your eyes.

And the Blue has told you not to go home. You’re betting he thought this would deter you, and you’d spend a lot of time scrambling to get everything back, or being so afraid of how you’re changing things that you’d crawl back to wherever you were made. 

But he’s made a severe misjudgment about you. 

First of all, you have most of that shit memorized. You’re not a fucking idiot, and you’re a good hunter. Everything you need to know lives in your head. The Blue took it, but now all that’s telling you is that, no matter what you do, Heaven isn’t going to be happy with you. That they won’t be happy until you’re safely chained and locked up in their care, whether you’re at Dean’s side or not.

And you’re sick. You’re exhausted and in pain and so fucking sick. You’ve always been sick, and you’ve always infected and interfered and destroyed. 

But you’d rather be sick at Dean’s side—where he can hold you in the dead of night and you drown in the Gold of him all the time—then something docile and chained up without him. He won’t be safe anyway. Between what he’s told you and what the Blue mentioned in passing, Heaven’s got plans for him outside of the seals that have nothing to do with you. And Dean’s sat with you through everything you allowed him to. All your sickness and crying and trying to claw your way out of your own skin, only holding you tight until you could breathe, and letting you go because you asked. And you’ll crawl to him and hold him in Hell, if that’s what it takes for you to return the favor. 

Second, you’re really fucking good at causing problems for people that try to control you. For people that hold you and try to pin you there, wanting you mounted high up on their wall.

John Winchester’s dead.

You don’t do checkups on your family, but they’re down one chosen, special, vile little girl forever.

Ketch has a slump in his back, and Anna’s gone.

It doesn’t never works out in their favor. 

Finally, you always end up back at Dean. You run from everything, but when you have nowhere left to go, you always end up back at Dean. No matter how sick you are, you always end up back at Dean.

And it may be the worst fucking curse of your life, how you’ll never be able to tell Dean you love him, because the Sky will hear, and it might take him away. Because Dean will hear, and he doesn’t deserve that.

But he’d said he needs you. He waited for you, even when he shouldn’t have. You promised you’d stop running and then left, and you said all the way down and stayed away until he called you, and you looked back.

You always look back for Dean. You love him. And you’d do anything for him.

But the Blue took you away from him. Knocked you out and sent you- 

He’d said he’d send you someone good. 

Your eyes narrow on the woman. “You working with the angels?”

She stares at you. “The angels? What angels?”

“Heaven angels. God angels.” You’re still only met with a blank expression. “They’re hunting for me, you might have seen a blue-“ She won’t know its color. “A blond one. At the church.”

The woman mostly looks shocked. You can’t tell if that’s a positive or not. “Angels are hunting for you? Are you crazy?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Depends on how loose you’re playing with the term crazy.”

“Fucking-“ The woman shakes her head. “What about that note? I don’t think angels leave notes.”

You frown. “What note?”

She nods, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small, blue sticky note for you to see. Move Me! is written in glitter.

“Yeah,” You mutter, rubbing your thumb over your palm. “That’s an angel.”

“And you think they’re hunting you-“

“They are. It’s a long story, but I- I have to go.”

“No,” the shotgun is back. You don’t have time for this. “I am still asking questions-“

“Like what?” You challenge, raising your chin and moving to your knees. If she shoots you, she fucking shoots you. At least you’ll see Jo again. Maybe you’ll find out if the Sky actually cares enough to haul you back out. 

And if it doesn’t, you’ve walked in and out of Hell for Dean before. Given how the Silver is starting to roll like a storm through your body, you don’t think it will be that big an issue, to claw up through the earth and return to Dean’s side. The earth might even part for you like the ocean, if you ask it right. If you scream that you have to get back to Dean, and that nothing is going to get in your way. 

This lady isn’t working with the angels.

You still need her to get out of the way.

“Listen.” You keep your words slow, taking a firm step forward and swallowing bile as the gun aims for your head. 

Bobby would kill you. 

He can get in line.

“I am going to leave. I have a few things to do, but then I’m going back to America, because my- My family needs me. And you can try to shoot me, but historically, trying to kill me has never worked out in anyone’s favor.” 

The woman’s eyes widen. “I- I will shoot you.”

“Do it.” You snap. “I-“

She doesn’t shoot you. She raises the blunt end of the gun and slams it into your chest, and sends you stumbling back as she shoots to her feet, cocking the gun and reaiming it for your foot. 

This would be a great time for the Silver to snap. To burst through the room and rip the teal from the woman’s body, so you can shove it back in fast before fucking running. But she’s not grabbing at your wrists, she’s not a demon or angel, and the only threats she’s making are to you, and apparently, the Silver is over that. 

So you have to do this the old-fashioned way. 

You dodge the gunfire, but only barely. Springing to the side and slamming into the woman’s body, right as she whacks your shoulder with the barrel of the gun. You regain your balance a little faster, and it lets you dart in the corners of the room, grabbing through the dark for-

A hand wraps around your shoulder, and you turn with a swinging fist that collides with the woman’s jaw. Blood spits in your face as her knee hits you in the gut, and you are not in good shape for a fight. The pain rushes through you and somehow causes a throbbing in your head, the sandwich letting itself up too easy, and you vomit all over her face.

She recoils, wiping herself with a disgusted expression, and there’s your window. 

The jacket had been folded fairly neat on a wooden crate, and it seems all the Blue left you was your knife and flask.

You can work with that.

The click of a safety comes from behind you, and you duck just in time. The rebound of the shotgun is working in your favor. The woman is occupied just long enough for you to roll under the barrel and-

She fucking kicks you again. A groan escapes you at the blunt pain, but you don’t give her the opportunity to reaim, sweeping her legs out from under her and knocking the shotgun out of her hands as she falls at your side. 

Neither of you can get the upper hand. Your knife gets knocked across the floor seconds after the woman’s gun, and you might be a better hand-to-hand fighter overall, but your whole body is also made of pain. When you punch her it’s weaker, and when she knees you in the gut a little more bile spits out.

You don’t have the energy to go for as long as she can.

But you fight dirty.

This woman doesn’t seem to have a problem with the ethical questions of hunting—she was about to shoot you—but she also doesn’t seem to be on board with moves like biting and ripping hair.

And when you employ said tactics, she scrambles back as if you might be carrying rabies. 

“What is wrong with you?!” Her voice is almost a screech, and you shrug, wiping your mouth with your palm.

“Lot of things. Jury’s still out on most of them.” You slump against the wall, wincing at the pain that shoots through your shoulder. “You up for a truce?”

She narrows her eyes. “Are you going to try and run again?”

“Probably.” You shrug. You’re too tired to lie. “Are you going to try and kill me again?”

She shrugs right back. “Maybe.”  

“I think that’s a stalemate then.”

“Yeah.” The woman groans, glancing down at the bite mark on her arm. “Do you need any ice?”

“I’m good. Sorry about, uh- That.”

“It’s fine.” She gives you a small smile. “You did say people who try to kill you end up regretting it.”

That pulls a short laugh for your chest, and it hurts—she must have gotten a blow there too, somewhere in the fight—but you can’t bring yourself to hate it. Means you’re still alive. And that you can laugh, because unless you count phone calls with Dean—which even in the better moments, were always lined with tears—you haven’t laughed since you left. 

You end up spitting up a little bit of blood. 

You really fucking miss the Silver not just choosing when it came out. It’s amazing that Dean, Sam, and Bobby just exist with these bruises and cuts all the time. Dean’s voice in your head is humming slow breaths, but it’s barely helping. When you get home, you’re going to steal a whole Walgreens first-aid aisle.

But you need to get home first.

You look up at the woman, examining her own injuries, and wave for her attention. “What’s your name?”

“Eileen.” She tilts her head at you. “You?”

You answer her, running a hand up and down your calf, and you’re both just watching each other now. Your knife and Eileen’s shotgun still in the dark corners of the room, neither of you moving to try and grab them.

“What does your family need you for?” She asks, and you sigh.

“My dad’s injured, my brother fucked up and I’m worried about him, and my-“ No proper word. “Best friend asked me to come back.”

Eileen hums. “Did you leave?”

“Yeah.” A lump is forming back in your throat, and when your eyes flick down, your fingertips are frosted with pastel blue. “I- I lost my sister.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Eileen pauses, before adding. “My parents died. It’s not fun.”

You huff a soft laugh. “No, it’s really fucking not. Were they hunters?”

“No. My mother knew about it, though. Is your-“ She stops herself, shaking her head. “You already said they were hunters. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You mumble. “Long day. How’d your mom know?”

“Her dad was part of a fancy group of them.” 

Your head shoots up. “Fancy group? Was he British?”

“American immigrant to Ireland.” She stares at you. “Why?”

“I- How long have you been hunting?”

“My whole life.”

You nod slowly, frowning at the air. If she’s been hunting that long, in Europe, she must have an idea. Have a rumor. Just a fucking lead you can chase, to get what you need. 

“How long have-“

“A while.” You lean forward, ignoring the aching protest through your whole body. “You heard of an asshole named Ketch?”

Her eyes narrow, her lips curling slightly into a sneer, and that’s a yes. “Arthur?”

You nod, and she scoffs.

“He’s a dick. Won’t work with me because I’m deaf, always whining about hunter pigs getting in the way.” 

You grin. He is a dick. “Is he part of the big fancy group?”

“Sort of.” Eileen’s words are cautious, but she’s still not making a move to restart the fight. “Different branch, I think. They don’t like me enough to tell me technical things.”

“What do they like you enough to tell you?”

“Not much.” She gives you an odd look, her words still slow. “Why?”

“He stole my book. And tried to kidnap me like, twenty times.”

“Ah.” Eileen smiles slightly. “How did it work out for him?”

You snort. “Bad.”

That gets a laugh from Eileen, and it’s a little spluttered like yours, but it’s nice. Full and real and a little loud, echoing around the basement for several moments, and your own smile grows. 

You haven’t talked to someone that’s not either trying to kill you—or the frustrating, insufferable, awesome love of your life over the phone—for so long.

It’s another thing that’s nice. And Eileen had just beat you up, but you both seem to be done with that. If you’re careful, you might even have an ally. She seems to hate Ketch. That alone is a hallmark of a good person. You just need to see if she’s committed to this not letting you leave thing.

“How are we feeling about the truce?” You ask carefully, and Eileen only shrugs.

“Are you going to tell me what you are?”

You pause. It’s not good to tell a lot of people. You’re not sure why, but the more people know about you in general, the worse things get. Openly sharing the fact that you’re a Magdalene, when that’s something even Heaven considers better as not known, seems unwise.

But you’re really tired. And you really want to go home. 

Getting home means getting the Book and—ideally—the Blade back. The Silver has always responded to the Blade, so maybe that can kickstart it, and get you back to being dangerous, but useful. And the Book is in Enochian, and full of weird shit. There will have to be something useful to the whole apocalypse situation. And if not, nobody had died when you’d had the Book and the Blade.

That alone can be a false comfort. 

You mostly just don’t want to be useless. Don’t want to return as just a sickness that Dean seems to be fine catching.

It’s better not to think about that. About how maybe you are infecting and hurting him, but he’s a fucking adorable idiot, so he just doesn’t care. You don’t know why he wouldn’t care.

He should care.

He shouldn’t be asking you to come home, because now you have no choice, and he really doesn’t understand exactly how much you love him. How willing you are to be sick if it’s what keeps him alive. 

It hadn’t kept Jo alive. But fighting it hadn’t kept Dean alive before.

You won’t fail a third time.

You won’t.

So you need the Book and the Blade.

Eileen might be able to help with that. And you may not be able to tell her what you are, but you can also tell half-truths. It’s better than lies. Better than full truths. 

The last person you told full truths was Jo. 

You feel fucking sick again. Bile rises in your throat, bitter on the back of your tongue and making you choke on the air. The Silver isn’t rising, but it is shifting, and you’ve started to claw the skin of your arms. 

Eileen says your name slowly, and you dig your nails in, forcing yourself to come back down. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” You mutter. “I- I’ll tell you what I am if,” you narrow your eyes. “You help me. To find what I’m looking for.”

Eileen only holds your gaze. “What are you looking for?”

“You know that book I mentioned?” You wait for her nod, then continue. “I want it back.”

“Your book?”

“Yeah. And my knife.”

Her gaze flicks to the floor. “Your-“

“Different knife.” You mutter. “This one’s a gift. The other one is… weird.”

“Huh.” Eileen raised her brows. “Weirder than you?”

You snort. “Same amount of weird, actually. You in?”

Eileen’s scanning over you, and if she says no, you’re going to be stuck in a loop of fighting and resting until she kills you, or your escape. And she has a lot of reasons to say no. You do sound insane, she found you with the earth growing around you and a sticky note from an—alleged—angel, and you’re not winning any awards for worth helping after fucking biting her-

“You are sure Ketch took your shit?”

You nod. “Him or Davis.”

Eileen blinks. “Mick?”

“Sure.”

“If it is Mick, I know where your stuff might be.” She gives you a weary look. “But you can’t be mad at me if it’s not there. And you have to tell me what you are.” 

It’s not a bad deal.

That doesn’t stop you from pushing it, just a bit.

“Why do you care what I am?”

It earns you a flat look. “I pulled you from the earth and you talk about angels.”

“I could just be crazy, you know.”

“Maybe.” She shrugs. “I’ll judge that when you tell me.”

She’s not backing down.

You won’t either.

“Alright, then.”

Eileen grins at you. “Alright.”

There’s a second where you’re both staring at each other, and then you’re moving at the same time. Eileen grabs her shotgun and kicks your knife across the floor, and you shrug on your jacket with a grimace at her vomit-stained clothing.

“Do you- We can stop so you can shower-“

She waves you off. “I’ve been covered in worse. I’ll change, shower later.”

You nod thoughtlessly, feeling through your pockets one last time to check that the Blue really did take your phone. You need to call someone, just to tell them you’re alive and still trying to get home. And after how your last prayer went, you’re not jumping to make another one soon. 

But your phone is gone. And when you ask Eileen to borrow hers, Bobby’s number goes straight to voicemail, and you’re a fucking idiot who never memorized anyone else’s. Not even Dean’s. 

You’ll apologize when you get home. For vanishing like that, giving him another reason to worry when he’s already got so many. You’ll fall in front of him and wrap your arms around his legs, giving him even more weight and apologizing for it every second, until he picks you up and moves you to the bed. Not to rest. 

You’ll rest when you know he understands. When he gets that—at the end of it—you’re always just his. That as long as you have hands that refuse to hurt him, you’ll drag yourself though mud and dirt to return to his side. To crawl into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck as you prove to him that you’ll never leave.

As you show him with a hand between your bodies, or your mouth kissing down his chest. Letting him guide you like he’d promised—or at least you’ve twisted his words into promising, just in your head where it can’t hurt anyone but you—and he understands-

“How old is your brother?”

You turn and blink at Eileen. The ride has been wholly silent save for the radio—she can’t hear you if she’s not looking at you—and you’d settled too quickly into fantasy.

“I thought we’d stop and eat.” She says, and the engine has indeed turned off.

You need to get it together. “I- That would be nice.” You mumble, rubbing your thumb over your palm. “I’m hungry.”

“I know. You threw up your lunch all over me.” She reaches into the back of her car, and pulls out a Tupperware. “BLT or PBJ?”

“PBJ,” You hum, grimacing to yourself as Eileen passes you the food. “I don’t like bacon.”

“You can take the bacon out.”

“I do.” You smile to yourself, a very wide, charming smile flashing over your vision. “I usually just sneak it onto my- De- My friend’s plate. He loves bacon.”

Eileen gives you a vague look, swallowing before she speaks. “The friend who wants you to come home?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you not tell him you hate bacon?”

You shrug. “Probably could, but he’d get really dramatic about it.” How do you not like bacon, Princess?! It’s- It’s bacon! “Plus he gets really excited when he has more bacon than he thought. It’s cute.”

“Cute?” She raises her brows. “Are you- Are there feelings?”

Fucking- 

You must have a big, blaring sign on your forehead that says I love Dean Winchester.

Sure, Jo knows because she knows you, and Sam knows because he basically is your brother, just as Bobby is your dad, but they all have spent time around you. Listened to you talk about Dean, seen you turn back for him and flush at his voice and name, clinging to him like the sorry little girl he still can’t figure out you are. The one that’s going to be tosses aside and forgotten, when he finds better-

Not the time for that. You’ll have plenty of time to try and mark Dean somewhere visible so everyone knows that no matter what they do, you’ll always love him, and that should terrify them.

Right now, you need to work out how Eileen figured out that you love him from basically fucking nothing.

And you’re not saying anything. It’s not helping your case. 

“I-“ You clear your throat. “It’s complicated.”

Eileen nods, and drops it just like that. “How about your brother?”

“My- What brother?”

Her eyes narrow. “You said you had a brother. Who fucked up.”

“Oh. Sam.” You shake your head, giving her an apologetic, close-lipped smile. “Sorry. Forgot I called him that.”

“Is he not your brother?”

“No- Ye- Sorta.”

Eileen tilts her head. “Family?”

“Yeah. He is. And he’s twenty-five.”

“Younger?”

You hum a conformation, taking a large bite of your sandwich, and Eileen’s remains neglected in her Tupperware. 

“Do you have a big family?” You give her an odd look, and she sighs. “I grew up without one. A family. I’m… curious.”

“Well I- I sort of grew up without a family too.” You frown into the air, the bread of the sandwich smushing between your fingers. “I- I had my dad. And my uncle. But I only met the rest of them when I was an adult.” You shrug, looking fully back to Eileen. “What happened to your family? Parents die when you were young?”

“I was an infant. Killed by a banshee. I’ve been hunting it since, but-“

“Have you tried throwing a funeral?” You cut her off before you can stop yourself, and she frowns. “Shit, sorry, just- Banshee hunts go really well if you’re throwing funerals. All the emotion, it’s like a- uh-“ You sigh. “I can’t think of anything. But they’re good.”

Eileen nods slowly, giving you a tentative, small smile. “It’s okay. I haven’t tried that, but I also don’t know how to throw a funeral.”

“You can use my body, if this goes south and you have to kill me.”

Her smile grows. “I will.”

You tell Eileen a little more about your family, while she eats. About how Bobby thinks you don’t know about how he uses shea butter lotion, but you shared a desktop before you bought—stole—a laptop, and you’ve seen his shopping history. She hears about Dean less than most people—you’re trying to make up for the slip, but based on her amused expression as you talk about how you think he genuinely believes his car has a soul, it’s not working—but Sam plenty, with all his books but no fucking clue how to work a self-checkout machine.

You know that because you’d been standing right next to him, staring at it for three straight minutes until Dean gotten back and explained how.

Explained to you how. He’d guided you up with a hand on your lower back, and scanned two items before letting you scan the rest. Sam had craned over your shoulder, and spent the rest of the drive back to the motel grumbling about favoritism. 

It had helped, though. When you’d chosen to sit with him and read instead of watching TV with Dean. 

And Eileen listens, nodding along so you know she understands. You get to hear much about the hunter who raised her—it sounds like with less vigilance than John, but more urgency to join hunting than Bobby—and she mentions that she likes muscles cars too, as well as big, long books, because they give her a reason to ignore people waving for her attention. 

When the ride starts again, there’s a little less wired air than before. You don’t feel better—you’re not sure you remember what better even could mean right now, when it’s not home—but Eileen’s not going to shoot you, and you’re not going to try and ditch her to do this alone. You could.

Right now—with pale blue stuck on your fingers and the Spiderweb howling for Dean so loud you have to ignore it, or you’ll go insane—you don’t want to.

The radio is low and soft, all the roading winding with the same scene of grass and trees and grass and trees, to the point that you’d think you were driving in circles if you didn’t know better. And the Sky isn’t flaring, over and over and over above you, but if you close your eyes you won’t be able to see it. And when you do—with the music and wind and hum of the engine—it’s bordering on peaceful, and if Eileen’s not going to kill you, there’s nothing to help you fight the sleep as it-

You’ve never been here before. 

It looks like a camp. A military camp. All the buildings are low, and they don’t look to be all that well put together. Wooden doors and low, rotting foundations, the pavement below your feet cracked and the grass overgrown. There’s a strong, golden haze cast over everything—lit from the sun, suspended right above the horizon and never moving—and people who mill about like ghosts. Their bodies tensed and eyes heavy. 

You don’t bother to try and talk to them.

You’re looking for Dean. 

This is the type of dream you would have about him. The type of dream you’ve always had, that has only grown sharper over the years. Where everything is golden, and your mind is making up any excuse for him to be near you. This scenario seems to be an apocalypse. 

If you believed in interpreting dreams, you’d think that your mind was trying to tell you something about how you feel like the world is ending because you’re not home.

The more likely case is that you’re simply stressed about the apocalypse.

And Dean. You can’t find him. You poke your head into buildings and down alleys, and there’s a very strange Cas that stares right through you, and a small, bearded man who’s eyes feel like they’re following you–even though you know better—but no-

There he is. 

The whole world feels like it’s glowing. He’s sprinting up towards you with a wild expression, and it’s not real, but that doesn’t stop the small sound from leaving your throat. 

He always looks so real. And when he crashes into you, his hands find you the same way Real Dean’s would. Grabbing your face between his hands and quickly scanning over you for injury, pressing you right up to his chest like there’s ever a chance you’d try to run away. 

And this is the part that makes you certain it’s a dream.

Dean kisses you like he’s about to die. Like you’re about to die. Like more than the universe will crumble if he doesn’t kiss you, and hook his arm around your waist to pull you just a little bit closer. And you can’t feel it—not really, when it’s all in your head—but you can still melt into him. Curl your fingers on his shirt and open your mouth for Dean to take more.

It would be nice if he could take all of you. Pick you up and throw you over his shoulder, then take you out of the dream into the real world. And you’d wake up with the Real Dean asleep at your side, his arm thrown over your waist in his sleep. 

You could pretend like you never left. You could pretend you’re allowed to take things from him, and climb over him, waking him up with soft kisses over his face and a smile when he blinks up at you. 

For now you’ll settle for this. For this Dean hauling you fully up into his arms with barely a grunt, and burying his face in the crook of your neck when you pull apart.

The whole world smells like a phantom of cinnamon. 

If you die, right here in your own mind, there would certainly be worse ways to go.

“You’re okay.” Dean mutters against your skin, a hand combing through your hair, and it sounds more like he’s trying to convince yourself. “Son of a bitch, Princess, I kept saying shit about you missing, and you are, and- Fuck-“

You lean back, just enough to see Dean’s eyes a little glossy. You don’t know how he deals with you crying all the time.

Just the sight is making you feel like your heart is being crushed into millions of pieces that you can’t figure out how to offer him, to patch up the pain. 

Instead you just wrapped your arms fully around his neck, drop your face onto his shoulder, and stay wherever he wants to move you. 

“I miss you.” He mutters. “Miss you so freakin’ much. Everything’s a mess, and Cas said he couldn’t find you, the angels are fucking douchebags, and I- I need you here, baby. Can’t do this if you’re not here.”

Baby. 

You know I love you, baby.

You swallow, turning your head to press a light kiss to his neck. You’ve always wanted to do that. 

He makes a small sound, and that’s going to haunt you louder than ‘baby’ is.

“I miss you too.” You whisper, and Dean sighs.

“You wouldn’t happened to know where you are, sweetheart?”

“Nope.” 

“Shit. Worth a shot. Stranger things.”

You hum, propping your chin up to scan around the ruined camp around you. “Do you know where we are?”

“Uh-“ He sighs, holding you a little tighter. “Just a nightmare, about the end."

"The-"

"End of the world. If Lucifer wins."

“Oh.” Your fingers are digging into his skin. It’s a good thing he can’t feel it. “That… fucking sucks.”

Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, it does. Whole thing really fucking sucks. Lose Sam and Bobby, Cas' fine, but human, and you- you're-“

He cuts himself off, and you lean back to scan over him with a frown. “De-“

You let out a soft yelp as you're crushed back against his body, his grip tight enough to suffocate you, like he's trying to mold himself to you until it's impossible to tear you away.

It's already impossible for someone to tear you away. Even when Dean's not with you, he's there. Removing him would be like trying to take your shadow. Just simply fucking impossible. 

"It's fine, now." Dean presses his face into the side of your head, his breathing is deep, as if he's trying to inhale you. "You're here."

You flush. It's fine. Dean's fine.

Right now, it's all fine, because you're here.

"I- I miss you, De. A lot."

"I know, Princess. I-"

"You don't." You shake your head, grabbing his face between your hands and running over every deep line and small scar. It's all still Golden. And in here, it's yours. "You- I miss you so much. I want to come home, and I miss you, and I- I said all the way down but I don't want to go there if it's not with you- and-"

Dean mutters your name, tracing his thumb down the bridge of your nose until you're leaning into his touch, your voice evening out once more.

"I wanna come home." Your voice is almost a childish whine, and Dean's lips twitch slightly.

"I do know, baby. I promise I- I'd give goddamn anything just to know where you are." He sighs, his thumb dropping down to trace over your lips, and you think you'd be happy melting into the depth of him and never bothering to climb back out.

"Dean- I-"

"I know." He mutters, pressing his thumb on your lower lip, and you can only sit in him and pray to absolutely nothing that this, somehow, could become real. Tangible. 

Permanent.

He’s kissing you again. Slower, carefully, as if you might shatter or dissipate if he’s not careful.

You really wish you could feel it. 

And then the Sky starts to split open, and it’s all gone.

Someone’s saying your name, and it’s not Dean. 

You’re still not home. Not in a bed, but in a seat, that’s made of leather and sticking your skin, just like the glass near your face. You’d be bothered by it, but there’s still too much of your mind trying to grab the idea of Dean kissing you, being happy you’re there, missing you half as much as you miss him, and you don’t want to move.

The voice is close to your ear now. Round and oddly accented- 

Eileen.

“We’re at the place.” She’s saying, and you appreciate that she’s not trying to jostle you awake. That could have ended poorly for everyone. “If you want to get home, you should probably get up.”

That’s the right thing to say. Your eyes shoot open, and you push yourself off where you’d slump on the door.

“You fell asleep fast.” Eileen offers as you rub your face, watching you with the same amusement from before. “Seemed like you could use it. But we’re here.”

“Where’s-“

“They have a big, important, secret library.” She nods out the window, and you follow the direction to see-

It’s not a castle. You’ve never seen a castle, but you’re pretty sure that’s too small to be a castle. But it’s got all the fancy architecture and surrounding gardens and a fucking iron fence to keep people out—that’s going to be annoying—and the scream of I think I’m more important than you are all over it.

“Secret.” You repeat, your tone dry, and Eileen shrugs.

“They think it is. It’s where they keep artifacts they gather on their travels.” 

“You mean steal, don’t you.” 

She nods, and you let out a heavy sigh, dropping your voice under your breath.

“Fucking- It’s not fun when it’s real.”

“Wha-“

“Movie I like that’s not great with morals. Don’t worry about it.” You reach into your jacket, shifting around the flask and pulling out your knife. “Is it warded?”

“Against what?”

“Uh…” You. “Witches?”

“I think so.” She says, watching you as you take a few, long breaths, trying to test where the Silver is in your body.

It’s not set to explode, but it’s also not entirely down. There’s a slight edge to it, that’s bumping up against the Spiderweb and making it ripple and throw light all over your body.

Something might be off with this. Something will go wrong, even if Eileen doesn’t intended it to.

You’ll get through it.

You have to. 

“Are you a witch?”

You sigh, and shake your head. “Sort of. I’m made of the things witches use.”

You won’t tell her the name. If you tell her the name, she might look into it more, and the Sky is beating above you. It won’t like that.

Half-truths. 

Only the pastel blue on your fingers—running with you wherever you go and never trying to do anything will help—will know full truths. Jo might be the only non-angel or demon who understands just what you could do, with the Silver. She’s the only one who knows you’re a virgin, too. Who knows just how much you love Dean.

She’s the only one who really knows you love Dean. You all but broke that last rule and told her. 

And she’s the only one who will ever know. 

Because she’s the only one who gets the whole truth, forever, all the time. 

But she made you promise you’d be okay. And okay means talking to people that aren’t the sky, demons and archangels come to taunt you, and Dean. 

So you tell Eileen the half-truth, and it doesn’t itch on your tongue. She doesn’t react too much, either. You think she knows it’s not everything, but just like about Dean, she doesn’t push it.

“Do you want help in there?”

You pause, the Silver rolling once more, and shake your head. “I’m good. Thanks, though.”

“No problem. I’ll try that funeral thing, too. Might work.”

“Will work.” You correct, spinning your knife in your hands. “Trust me.”

Eileen gives you another amused look. “Alright, crazy. Heist safe.”

“I will.” You offer her a smile in return, and it’s not full, but it’s not strained either. “If you’re ever in the states, call my dad. His number should be in your phone. Say you’re looking for Sam, then tell him you’re looking for me. He’ll pass it on.”

Bobby and Dean wouldn’t. They’d snap that they’ve never heard that name in their life, then hang up the phone. 

Sam will. 

Eileen nods, and neither of you are all that interested in long goodbyes. She seems like a practical person, and you’re really fucking sick of goodbyes all together. Given your luck and odd habit of meeting people then never being able to avoid them, you’ll see her again.

And now, you have a job to do. 

The Silver is starting to build. You hop the fence—biting on the inside of your cheek as blister form on your skin from the iron—and get into the library without a hitch, but the Silver still builds. Nothing is happening as you wander down the hallways, but the Silver just keeps building.

Maybe it’s because this is too easy. Because you’re just walking inside, and there’s nothing and no one stopping you. 

There should be someone stopping you. Ketch and his people don’t seem like the lax security types, and Davis was better, but he did seem to love his lore.

You’d think there’d a least be a guard, but there’s no one.

Not even a librarian. 

And the blur kicks in.

If you were smarter, you’d turn around and run. Damn it and pray to Cas now, them get the fuck out of here. The Silver is already winding too tight, and you might tear through more than the building when it snaps.

But you’ve come this far. And you’re not smarter.

It doesn’t help that you know they’re here. The Blade and the Book. They’re calling you forward, reminding you that they’re made for you. Made for the Magdalene to have, as a gift. Promised to you, just as you’re promised to Him. Take them, because they’re yours. 

The Silver is glowing. Starting to fall out of you without destruction—until you’re the wisdom of all the books on the shelves and the grief of the spaces between the Sun and the earth, and very, very far away, something perfect and Golden and your more than anything else—all while continuing to wind up inside of you. It feels a little like being a galaxy, consumed in the black hole but still everywhere. Still everything.

You still can’t figure out what’s wrong. There’s not a bloodstain on the floor or a dent on the wall, no alarms or cries for help making it through the blur.

Only the Book and the Blade, calling you forward.

And it’s in a glass case, when you stumble into the room. 

Just the Blade. 

They might be separated, and you’re not stupid enough to leave the Blade until you find the Book. You only pause to read the small placard they’ve added, noting that it’s a witch-blade that causes insanity, marked with Latin, Hebrew, Arabic, and Enochian. 

They know about Enochian. 

That’s going to have to be a problem for later.

Right now you’re scanning over the rest of the placard, lingering on how most of the Blade has been translated, save for one word, that they’ve reprinted on the metal.

Magdalene. 

They think it means either whore or bride, which is a fascinating dual stance to have. 

Not the time. 

You glance around, and rip a curtain down from the wall to wrap around your knuckles, and—before you can think twice—slam your knuckles into the glass.

Nothing slices your hand open. No one screams at you for destruction of property. 

Something is really fucking wrong, and you need to move.

But it happens in a flash. 

You grab the Blade—it still fits perfectly in your hand, it still belongs to you—and just like the first time, you’re lost.

It’s quicker this time. The moment where you’re everything from the hope of the soil, buried under the too fancy building to the blinding fury of the loneliest stars, wishing for something to orbit around them.

And then you crash back down, and you feel it. 

Shadows, creeping towards you before curling away. 

Fuck.

“Finally.” A voice sighs from behind you, and your grip on the Blade tightens. “I’ve been waiting forever. Almost thought I missed you, but nope.” It laughs, and your skin crawls. “That’s a fun little trick you’ve got there. Well, fun for me. For you I’d bet it’s a bit of a problem.”

You turn, and there he is.

The Red. Slammed and violent inside his vessel of some poor asshole that’s already gone.  

Grinning at you like you’re all he’s ever wanted to see. 

“I knew you’d come for that.” He nods to the Blade in your hand. “Even took care of the whole building for you. And don’t make that face.” He rolls his eyes, dismissing you with a hand. “There were like, only forty people in here. And most of them were boring, and mundane, and really? Kind of stupid. Seven of the men were rapists! So you’re welcome.”

You swallow, and still don’t speak. Just like with the Blue, the Silver is being frustratingly uncooperative. Growing up before shrinking down again, like it can’t decide if it should attack the Red.

The Red is vile, but it’s not here to hurt you. The Silver doesn’t seem to believe it’s here to hurt you. Which is fucking insane, because this is-

“Do I need to introduce myself? That song says I do. But you,” it frowns at you, tilting its head. “You should know. Do you know?”

You nod, dragging your voice from your chest. “Lucifer.”

“There we go!” He claps his hands together, his grin growing. “I’d offer you a prize, but y’know. For you, it would be pointless.”

You don’t know. Before you can ask, he’s moving on.

“Here’s the deal, doll. Can I call you doll?”

“N-“

“Well I’m going to. It’ll grow on you, trust me.”

“I-“

“Shh.” Lucifer hold a thousand fingers up to his lips, shaking his head. “You don’t get to tell me what to do yet. And I’ve had no one to talk to for so long. Listen, or I track down that new friend of yours and stab her just like the Angel stabbed that sweet girl that followed you like a fucking puppy. Got it?”

The Silver still doesn’t react. All you can do is nod, and swallow your vomit when Lucifer grins.

“Okay. Like I was trying to say, here’s the deal. You and me?” He gestures between your bodies, raising his brows. “We should be friends. And I know, being friends with Satan, spooky. But if you help me, I help you.”

You open your mouth, and he shakes his head.

“No, I know what you’re thinking. How could I help you. Well, doll.” His mouth pulls into a wide, horrible grin, and he has teeth. Sticking out of him and his wings like horns, tinted with red like he’d been eating himself.

It’s fucking disgusting. And he just keeps talking.

“All I’d ask for you to help me get little Sammy Winchester to say yes to me playing puppet with him, and that’s it.”

“I-“ You blink at him. “What?”

Lucifer sighs. “There’s a whole game being played here, doll, you don’t have to understand it. What’s important is that you know I will not hurt you. Michael’s a little pussy, if he wins he’s going to lock you up to keep you safe. All wrapped up and ready, a perfect, sweet present. But I’ll let you roam however you want! I’ll free you from all the stupid fucking plans! You can stay with me, just to fuck with him, or I- I’ll even make you a deal! That’s a classic, right? Deal with the Devil? That’s what killed Dean, too, it’s artful-“

The Silver flashes. Quick, spurred by the Spiderweb, whipping out until glass shatters, and Lucifer cuts himself off with an amused look.

“Alright. Touchy about Dean, got it. Hey,” he grins at you again. “Good thing that’s the deal, right? Heaven wins with Dean, he’s gone. And Mikey is way too much of Daddy’s boy to try and touch you. If I win,” he spreads his arms in a wide gesture, grin widening. “I’ll let you keep Dean around, as a pet! All you have to do is get Sam to say yes-“

“Sam won’t listen to me.” You whisper, because it’s all you can fucking think to say, but Lucifer just shakes his head. 

“Wrong. Oh, that’s- It’s actually kind of sad, how wrong you are-“

“I’m-“

“I’m sure Gabe told you, but Sammy adores you. You made him hold on so long.” Lucifer pouts at you, and the Silver rushes through you, right under the surface, making no effort to break out. “I mean, if Heaven hadn’t been such dicks, and you’d toughed it out, Sammy might have stopped drinking demon blood all together. You made him like Ruby less. Want to be around Dean more.” Lucifer laughs, and every time is worse than the last. “You know, out of everyone, you shook him the most. He didn’t want to disappoint you, maybe even more than his strong big brother. You chose to stick with them. You never treated him like less because of what he was, and he’s only ever seen the best things in you. How happy you make Dean, how you’ll talk to him about anything, how you always saw right through John’s lies and big man shit. If you said it was a good idea, he’d do it. Dean trained him well. You’re never wrong.”

But you’re always wrong. You so fucking wrong, all the time.

You’re not sure you’re breathing, and if you aren’t, you’re only being kept awake by the Silver. 

You need to go home.

“I-“

“No!” Lucifer cuts you off with a tsk. “Don’t answer now! Take some time and think about it, because you and me together? We could do great work. But if I were you, I’d make a choice fast. Before it’s too late for the Dean part of our deal to go through.”

“The-“ You’re choking on the Silver. It’s trying to burst out of your throat, or your fingers, or your back. You can’t even really tell. “What do you-“

“Nothing.” Lucifer shrugs, taking a step back, his expression on your unreadable. Tense. “But I can’t control all my demons. Just like Heaven couldn’t control all their angels, and Dean? He’s prime hunting meet right now-“

That’s it. 

That’s what the Silver explodes for.

And just before it does, you realize what the expression on Lucifer’s face is. 

Fear. 

Real, pure fear.

But then he’s gone, and the Silver doesn’t care. It just wants something to hurt. Something to change. 

And it’s not coming back down. Not fully. So you still can’t really think. Whatever you’ve turned the library into, whatever awful beauty you’ve created, you can’t really see it, either. It’s all just fucking Silver.

You have to run. 

Home.

To Dean.

——————

“I’m not goin’ crazy! There’s some weird fuckin’ shit happening here, Rufus!”

Dean frowned, Bobby’s voice echoing up the stairs of the house. The paint on the walls was different—a darker color, a little more chipped—and the carpet was brand-new. 

He remembered when Bobby got that new carpet. Dad had dropped them off, Sammy had liked how soft it was, and Dad had mocked Bobby for his new girly obsession with interior design. Bobby had waved it off then, and only scowled when Dean asked if he had a new girlfriend, because Dad said men only did stuff like that for their girlfriends.

Now, Dean could know he’d been an idiot. Dad probably never would’ve done stuff like that for a girlfriend, Sammy had been right—the carpet was soft—and Bobby had done it for Her. Because someone would have to be insane to not try to make everything as nice as possible, for Her.

Even in a dream, Dean couldn’t stop missing Her. And Dean would bet a lot this was a dream, because Bobby wasn’t in any position to buy a new carpet right now, out in the waking world. 

Son of a bitch, She was going to be pissed about that. 

“Bobby, you’re sayin’ the plate exploded-“

“Yeah, I am!” Bobby sounded like he was arguing with someone. It was probably Rufus. “I’m sayin’ I didn’t sleep, got pissed she didn’t do the dishes-“

“Got pissed-“

“Yelled, Rufus. I fuckin’ yelled, and I know that wasn’t right, so save it. Went to walk it off and get her somethin’ to apologize, but when I got back the dishes were broken.”

There was a loud sigh, and Dean started slowly down the hall. Whatever fight was happening, he kind of wanted to see it.

“Don’t gimme that face, asshole-“

“You’re bein’ paranoid, Bob. Maybe she just smashed the dishes-“

“No. You ain’t listenin’. She broke all of them. Even the ones in the cabinets she can’t reach. It was like they’d just burst on freakin’ the spot.”

Dean turned to the top of stairs, and froze.

There She was. 

It was a smaller version of Her, with hair in complex braids and little fingers, grabbing at the bannisters of the staircase. She was wearing a dress, and fuzzy socks, and Dean was pretty sure that if Dad had dropped them here all those years ago and She hadn’t hidden, he still would’ve crashed down into Her. Still would’ve worshipped the ground She walked on. He might have gone insane about it, trailing after Her like the shadow he was. Back when he couldn’t even properly shoot or fight yet, and she could probably still have made the tides bend to Her will. 

Then She turned and looked at him, and whatever fight Bobby and Rufus were having wasn’t important anymore.

It was all just Her.

It was always just Her.

She waved him over, and Dean obeyed without a thought. Scrambling down the steps until he was pressed right at Her side, crowding all Her space because in here, he was allowed to. He didn’t have to worry about failing Her or pushing Her away. He could just wrap his arms around Her and kiss all over her neck, before resting his chin on the top of Her head. He was punishing no one but himself, with how She giggled in his ear and held his arms against Her. 

And God, it was the best torture there could ever be. It made Dean feel like he was being ripped in half and fused back together all at once. Made him feel useful, when She leaned back into him with a hum, then like the lowest piece of shit in the mud when it hit him again that this wasn’t real, and he was making Her something she might not want to be. 

Sammy called it lucid dreaming. 

“What’s lucid mean,” he murmured Her name in her ear, She twisted to smile at him, and he might as well have been hit by a damn truck.

“In full control of your own actions or thoughts.” She said, still peering through the banister at what was probably the kitchen. “Like when you sign a will, you have to be lucid.”

Dean nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on Her in his arms. He was a little worried that if he let go of Her, and all the light in Her body, She’d turn into nothing, and Dean would wake up in the dark. Alone.

So he held on tight, and buried his face in the crook of Her neck. Even in his dreams he could smell that fucking fruit. It was becoming a little like an anesthetic.

“What happenin’ out there?”

She hummed, a hand moving up to comb through Dean’s hair as She spoke, and he held Her a little tighter. “This is when Bobby started to figure out I wasn’t just a little crazy. He’s going to fight with Rufus for ten more minutes, then I’m going to have an episode because I think he’s going to kick me out.”

Dean froze. “He doesn’t-“

“No. Never.” She sighed, leaning Her head against his. “He calms me down, makes me hot chocolate, and tells me that we’re going to figure it out. Tomorrow he’s going to take me to a Psychic friend of Rufus’, and I’m going to- Uh-“ She swallowed, Her grip on Dean tightening as Her voice dropped to a whisper. “She loses all her senses. Literally. I think she lives in a facility in Chicago now, because she can’t hear, or smell, or feel anything but pressure-“

“Hey.” Dean let his lips ghost over her neck, and she let out a soft, breathy sound that was going to make his hard rule of ‘no sex in dreams, because She was still his best friend, and he had to respect that’ real fucking difficult to follow. “I get it. Don’t hurt yourself.”

She laughed softy. “Don’t tell me what to do, Winchester.”

“Sorry, Princess.” He leaned back, pressing a kiss to Her cheek and trying not to feel too proud when She giggled. “Can’t boss me around all the time.”

“Try me-“

“I’d love to.” He smirked, carefully grabbing Her chin to tip it back. “You have no idea how much I’d love to boss you around for once, baby.”

Flush. Hitched breath. Parted lip.

He was the luckiest son of a bitch alive, just to even know Her. To have seen Her enough to have her memorized, even if it wasn’t in every way he wanted. Hair tangled, but still glossy. Eyes brighter than the fucking universe, skin smooth against Dean’s. 

But he paused. There was a cut on Her lower lip, and a few visible bruises on Her face, and while Her features had been growing gaunt in his head—a lot of tension in his body seemed to exist from the worry that she wasn’t eating or sleeping, lately—She’d looked like this.

“What’s-“

“Nothing.” He grunted. Just a dream. She wasn’t actually hurt. He was pretty sure She wasn’t actually hurt. And he wanted to think about Her, here. In this dream, where She wanted him. 

“Dean-“

“I just miss you, sweetheart. Never gonna stop missing you.” He brushed a little hair from Her face, and Her face split into a wide grin.

“You miss me?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Course I freakin’ miss you, you know that-“

“How much?”

“More than fuckin’ oxygen-“

“But you have oxygen right now-“

Dean moved his hand lightly to Her neck, keeping her gaze fixed on him, and She let out a soft squeak that was going to drive him insane. “Princess?”

“De?” She whispered, bright eyes doing that flutter thing that always made Dean’s cock twitch, and he groaned.

“I miss you more than anything, baby.” He lowered his mouth to ghost over Her’s, and this was pushing it right to the line. “You’re never gonna be able to understand how much I fuckin’ miss you, but I do. I’d rip out my heart, if it made you come back to me.”

She swallowed and nodded, almost fully melted into Dean’s body, and it didn’t matter what Heaven offered him to take Michael in. Nothing could ever be better than this. 

And then something shook the world, and it was all gone.

“Dean, wake up, dude-“

“Fuck off.” He rolled over, moving the pillow to block over his ears. He didn’t want to hear Sammy right now. He just wanted to pass out and go back to Her siren voice, haunting him just as it always had.

“C’mon, Chuck texted me-“

“Don’t care. Let the angels have him, Sammy, what’s the asshole ever done for us anyway.”

Sam sighed from somewhere off to the side. “He did help me escape Lilith. And I know you don’t mean that, Dean.”

“You don’t-“

“I miss her too,” Sam’s voice had dropped to being impossibly soft, and Dean’s gut started to twist. “And we’ll find her. But we have to keep going, Dean.”

No, they didn’t.

They needed to be looking for Her. She’d said she was going to pray to Cas, but Cas said it never came through. She was fucking missing, again, and when Dean tried to call Her it just went to fucking voicemail. He didn’t give a shit about Chuck and his life-or-death situation. 

He just wanted his fucking girl home, so he could snap at Her about being insane and then hold Her until everything in the world was finally okay again.

“Dean. We gotta go.”

Dean let out a long, slow groan, and forced himself up. The morning was so fucking bright. And not Her bright, guiding Dean down, down, down and making the pit feel like it was full. Painful bright, that made him squint and rub his eyes.

Sam was, annoyingly, right. 

With all the angels running around, if Chuck was in danger, that was going to be a problem.

But that didn’t stop Dean from scowling and stewing into, for the entirety of the ride. Wasn’t like he had anything else to do. 

The trail on Her was all but dead. When She hadn’t appeared with Cas, after the last phone call, Dean had called for him instead. Just to check.

Then, it had been just to check.

“Dean, you know I am busy looking for-“

“God, yeah, I know.” Dean had been white knuckling his guns as he cleaned them, scowling at the air, and Cas had paused.

“Something is troubling you.” He’d said Her name slowly, and Dean might have almost broken his jaw. “I have told you, Raphael was likely just trying to provoke you-“

“Well, it fuckin’ worked.” It had. After they’d summoned the feathered asshole, Raphael had hummed that She’d make a good motivator, when it came down to it. Dean had almost shot him, and only managed not to because of Cas physically stopping him. But that wasn’t the goddamn point. “Cas, she-“

“I am not going to betray her trust and-“

“No, it’s-“ Dean had run a hand over his face, shaking his head. “She said she’d call you, man. I asked her to come back, and she said she’d call you.”

Cas had blinked, a small frown of his face, and Dean had felt something to the right of his heart clench.

Cas hadn’t needed to confirm it with words. Dean had understood. 

She was missing. 

Fucking again. 

And Cas couldn’t find Her. It had been damn near a week, and they hadn’t heard one word. When Dean pushed him, Cas said he’d lost the scent—whatever the hell that meant—so how She couldn’t be tracked unless she wanted to be.

But She wasn’t avoiding them. She’d promised She’d come back home, that She wasn’t running. That She’d return to Dean, and everything could be okay again, so She wasn’t running. 

Dean was pretty sure She wasn’t running. He hadn’t done anything to drive Her away that he could think of. He’d been just as careful with Her as always, and She’d been calling him, and She’d- She’d fucking promised. Pinky promised. Dean owed Her a dance, and She wasn’t running from him anymore, and they’d said all the way down. She had to come back to him. That was how this was supposed to work. 

And if She was missing, it couldn’t be anything good. Lucifer was out and running around. Heaven clearly knew things about Her they weren’t sharing.

She was in danger. They needed to be looking for Her, not saving Chuck. He had a whole douchebag archangel to do that.

The only thing that kept Dean from turning the car around was Sammy. He needed a win, and saving Chuck would be one.

And Dean was a little worried Sammy was blaming himself. For Her being gone. 

“I don’t know, Sammy.” Dean had muttered a few days ago, frowning at his burger in the diner booth. “I just got a bad feeling. I can’t stop thinking about her-“

“Which is,” Sam had raised his brows. “Different than normal?”

“Shut up, bitch. I’m being serious. Last time she went MIA like this I found her with a fuckin’ stab wound on the Mexican border-“

“Dean, I- I know.” Sam had sighed, a strange shadow crossing over his face. “But you told her everything, didn’t you. Maybe she- I mean- If she knows-“

Dean had frowned. “Knows what?”

“Lucifer. And me. How- That she was right.” Sam had bowed his head, his voice dropping. “About Ruby.”

“She knew she was right about Ruby-“

“Yeah, but- I don’t know. Never mind.”

In the moment, Dean had spiraled. Moved around thoughts of maybe She didn’t want to come home. To deal with their shit, with the burden that just being near Dean brought. Why would She let Dean, of all fucking people, even stay in Her orbit when he’d failed Her, and Jo, and Sam. 

Because he had. He hadn’t fought harder to keep Her next to him, and now She was missing.

He hadn’t been faster with Jo. Pushed harder for how he didn’t like the plan, gotten away from the demons to trade himself in her place. Jo was gone gone. If Anna had taken Dean instead, the angels would just pull him right back up. They needed him. But Dean had failed, and how he’d lost Her and the closest thing he’d had to a sister. 

And Sammy. 

He’d failed Sammy.

He hadn’t saved him from Ruby’s clutches. Hadn’t gotten him to listen. The only victory Dean could claim was not letting the kid wander off on his own after the cage opened, and even that was failing. 

Because he’d missed what Sam meant, in the diner. How She might not come back, because of Sam.

It was an insane thought. She never ran because Sam pushed Her away. Sam had only ever been loyal to Her, keeping her secret and going with Her plans, and treating Her well, even when She and Dean were fighting. Just like She’d always treated Sammy well, when he and Dean were fighting. 

Dean was the common factor there. The one who fucked up, and lost Her.

And he lay awake at night about it. When he was afraid to close his eyes, because it didn’t matter if he had a nightmare or dream, the worst thing in the world would be not dreaming of Her. Not waking up with the smell of Her fruit still lingering in the air and his hand bruised from Her phantom touch. There was always a chance that this night would be the night She wasn’t there.

So he’d stare at the ceiling, and try and work out where he’d gone wrong. But he could never fucking find it. Whenever he thought of when She’d vanished before, Dean could pin a reason to it. Dean left first. Dad drove Her away. Dean drove Her away. Dad used Azazel to drive Her away. Dean’s death drove Her away. 

But Dad was dead, and couldn’t touch Her anymore.

And Dean had been so fucking careful with Her. Tried to hold Her right and be Her shadow, even when holding Her meant through the phone—choking on the lump in his throat when he listened to Her cry, but never hanging up—and being Her shadow meant waiting for Her to return. 

He’d gotten up in the dead of night, two days after the phone call. Shuffled into the kitchen just for water, and gotten a heart attack when Bobby grunted his name from the doorway.

“Son of a bitch-“

“Stop being a dramatic baby.” Bobby had rolled his eyes, glaring at Dean from his wheelchair. “It’s my house, ya idjit. I’m gonna be in it.”

“It’s 2 in the damn morning-“

“And we’re both up. So stick it.” Bobby had paused, giving Dean an odd look. “I’m guessin’ it ain’t thirst keeping you up.”

In a way, it was. 

Dean wasn’t stupid enough to say that, though.

He’d sighed, leaning against the counter, and taken the risk. He’d needed to talk about it with someone.  

Bobby might be the only person who really understood. 

“I miss her.” He’d muttered, his voice already going hoarse, staring at the water in his glass. “Shit, Bobby, I- I miss her so much. And I keep thinking about how she might be on the floor somewhere, and I won’t be able to get to her.”

Bobby had sighed, and rolled further into the kitchen. Until he was right in front of Dean. “I know. I do. And I- Fucking hell, I miss her too. House is always too big without her, and you two dumbasses aren’t half as funny as she is. But, he’d reached up, grabbing Dean’s forearm until he looked up from the glass. “Listen to me, Dean. Since she was fourteen, there have been months at a time where she don’t come home. Where I get a phone call a week and then she’s showin’ up covered in blood with another stolen car for me to scrap. But she always shows up. Always comes home.”

Dean had shaken his head. “But-“

“I know you wanna look for her. And if you think you can find ‘er, trust your gut and go. But wherever she is, don’t think she’s not tryin’ to get back.” Bobby’s voice had dropped, and in the dim light of the kitchen, Dean could’ve fucking sworn he saw something like pain all over Bobby’s face. “She’s a fighter more than a runner, when she’s pushed to it. And if she wants to come back, I don’t think God himself would do well standin’ in her way."

Dean could agree with that. 

And he tried to replay it, whenever he wanted to jump out of the car and rip up the world until he found Her.

She always came back. 

And She’d promised, so She would.

She had to. 

“There was an Earthquake in France.” Sam said, jerking Dean’s attention back from his thoughts. “9.5. Bobby thinks it’s another omen.”

Dean grunted, glaring out at the road. “Omen for what, this time? Just more freakin’ death?”

Sam shrugged. “Don’t know yet. There’s still damage assessment happening, and the press is saying that the earthquake might have been a result of something else.”

“Something like what? Lucifer?”

“Still don’t know, Dean-“

“Then why are we talking about it?”

Dean could feel Sam’s flat look. “Because we need to be paying attention to his stuff. And you brooding isn’t going to help anyone.”

“I’m not brooding-“

“Yeah, you are.” Sam said Her name, and Dean was going to strangle him. “She’d say it’s brooding.”

“Shut up.”

“Dean-“

“No. Shut up, and listen to the music.”

Sam sighed, and listened. Dean wouldn’t strangle him. He was trying to help, even if he was being a little fucking bitch about it.

But Dean was going to strangle someone. 

Chuck wasn’t in danger. He was using those stupid books to throw a costume party that exploited their lives, and not even the good parts. Fucking Becky—Chuck’s messenger girl, the one that was obsessed with Sammy—had tricked them into coming here, and now they were losing valuable time to look for Her-

“Dude, you gotta relax.” Sam muttered, scanning around the room of nerds, and Dean scowled.

“This is fuckin’ stupid, we should just go-“

“It’s not gonna help her, Dean-“

“You don’t know that-“

“Yes, I do.” Sam gave him a firm look. “If Cas finds her, he’ll call us, and if she ends up back at Bobby’s he’ll make sure she’s fine-“

“Who are you talking about?” Becky appeared between them, looking back and forth with wide eyes. “Is it Anna? Are you looking for Anna?”

Dean shouldn’t hit a girl. His fist still curled to punch this chick’s face in.

It was good Sam answered first. “It’s not Anna. Anna’s dead.”

Becky frowned. “No, she’s not-“

“How the hell do you even know about Anna?” Dean snapped, and Becky just shrugged.

“Chuck told me. And she’s not dead, she escaped Castiel and Uriel-“

“Then she turned around and sided with heaven again.” Sam muttered. “Anna might not be dead in Chuck’s version, but she’s dead in our lives."

“In your- Are things different than in the books?” Becky’s eyes widened, and Dean gave Sam a flat look.

“Nice going, dumbass.”

Sam sighed. “She’d probably find out anyway, Dean-“

“Well, she did, because you fuckin’ told her-“

“Wow.” Becky was looking between them, shaking her head. “You guys swear a lot more than in the books.”

Dean scowled. “There’s a lot more to swear about in real life, lady.”

“Like the mysterious she that you lost?” Becky was smiling again. Punching her was quickly becoming a very real option. “Is it Lisa? Bela? No, Bela’s dead too. Jo?” Dean felt his chest ache and twist, and he must have visibly tensed, because Becky’s smile widened. “Oh my gosh, it’s Jo, isn’t it! Did you go back to Jo, Dean-“

“Jo’s dead too.” Sam grunted. “Anna killed her.”

Dean got a very firm don’t shoot the crazy lady look. He rolled his eyes, and moved his hand off his gun. 

“But- Anna killed Jo? Then who killed Anna? Was it Dean?” Her voice dropped to a whisper as a few more idiots dressed in leather jackets and open button ups moved past them. Dean wasn’t allowed to shoot her. “Did Dean kill her in revenge- Murdering one lover in the name of another-“

“One lover?” Dean spat, and Sam let out a long sigh. “What the fuck are you talking about-“

“You and Jo had a thing.” Becky stood her ground, although her voice was suddenly a lot smaller. Good. “And- And Chuck said you slept with Anna-“

“With Anna-“

“Dean.” Sam grabbed his shoulder, shaking his head. “Not worth it. It’s- It’s probably better nobody knows.”

Dean scoffed. “That’s pretty fucking easy for you to say, Sammy-“

“It is.” Sam held his gaze, keeping his words steady, even though fucking Becky was still listening. “If she was in the books, her family could find them. Chuck might not have used last names, but- I don’t know, dude, they could connect the dots and track her down. She’s safer not being a part of this, Dean, and you know it.”

Sam was right. God fucking damnit, that was a good point. And if She had been in the books, all of Dean’s thought about Her would be available to the public. There would be people dressed up with glossy hair and jackets and knives, trying to imitate her bright eyes and siren voice, like a crude, faded knockoff of one of those fancy statues in museums. It was bad enough to look around the room and see all the reminders of the worst parts of Dean’s life—there were three yellow-eyes, and Dean wanted to march over and rip out their stupid contacts—so he didn’t need people fucking up the best part. 

He already had to put up with Becky.

He really wished he was allowed to shoot her.

“Is there… a secret person?” Becky pried in a hushed whisper as some guy with a clipboard rambled into the microphone. “Who’s not in the books? Who Dean’s sleeping with instead of Anna and Jo?”

“Yes.”

“Sam-“

The bitch just shrugged, smirking slightly as Becky turned to Dean. 

“You have a girlfriend?” 

Dean ignored her, and shot Sam a very firm I am going to murder you later look.

Sam didn’t seem as worried about it as he should be.

Becky still wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

And Chuck was taking Q&As. But as much as Sammy was right, a lot of the questions were pretty fucking simply answered by Her.

Everything was better with Her.

A guy dressed as Bobby asked why Sam didn’t explore witchcraft as an option to save Dean. Chuck shot Dean a nervous look, and mumbled that Sam had been too stressed to think of everything. 

Becky gasped, moving herself right into Dean’s view. “Did your secret girlfriend do the witchcraft? Did you not die in real life-“

“No, uh,” Sam swallowed, his voice dropping slightly. “He died.”

“Oh no.” Becky gave Sam a sympathetic look—not Dean, which was pretty fucking rude, cause Sammy hadn’t died—and placed a hand on his chest. “That must have been so hard for you, Sam.”

“Yeah, uh,” Sam coughed. “It was rough. Think it was worse on-“

“Sam.” Dean grunted, shooting him a firm glare, and Sam nodded.

“Right. Sorry.”

It continued all afternoon. Through the Q&A—someone asked if Dean would ever settle down with Lisa, and Sam had to shove Dean outside to walk it off—and their conversation with Chuck. Becky kept fucking pushing about it, and Chuck didn’t seem all that happy about the situation either.

“I- I didn’t include her for a reason, Becky.” Chuck gave Dean another nervous glance, and Dean just narrowed his eyes. “There’s a lot of complicated things going on, and I don’t fully understand them, so I wanted to just focus on making the books enjoyable-“

“And I’ve enjoyed them! But I want to know everything, Chuck, please.” Becky pouted again, and all Dean wasn’t sure how the expression could look mind-blowingly perfect on Her, and constipated on Becky. “Haven’t I earned it-“

“No.” Dean grunted, and Becky rolled her eyes. 

“You just want to keep your secret girlfriend all to yourself-“

“Girlfriend?” Chuck cut in, gaping slightly at Dean. “I- I didn’t know you guys were dating-“

“We’re- It’s complicated-“

“No, it’s not.” Sam rolled his eyes. “They’ve made out. Twice.” 

Dean scowled, and he should punch Sammy right in the jaw—what the fuck happened to better as a secret—but before he could, the words fell right out of his mouth. “Three times.”

“Three- When did the third time happen?”

“None of your fuckin’ business.”

“Why didn’t you tell me-“

“Because of this,” Dean gestured to the shocked faces of Chuck and Becky, and Sam sighed.

“Yeah, but- Alright. That’s fair.”

There was a second of silence, and Becky broke it with a cough. 

“Is she pretty?”

Sam snorted. “She’s way out of Dean’s league, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She was. Son of a bitch, She was out of everyone’s league. She was playing a wholly different game, and it was made of being the brightest thing in to every exist. Playing in Her league would probably mean killing God or something.

And She’d still been kissing Dean. 

Chuck gave Dean an odd look. “But she- likes him?”

Dean opened his mouth to snap something—he wasn’t sure what, but it would be made of didn’t matter, because Dean was the only one who got to be Her shadow and he’d rather jump headfirst into Hell than be anything else—but Sam laughed first.

“You have no idea-“

Dean stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m going for a walk.”

He wasn’t telling anyone in particular. And a walk meant going outside and pacing around the lawn, glaring at the dirt under his feet and breathing slowly until he wanted to kill someone less. 

Sam was such a fucking shit. Dean was going to put hot sauce in his underwear again, or shave half his head in his sleep, or throw him off a cliff. 

But it was less the snitching, that was fueling the fury in his body. 

It was the ache. Missing Her. Just fucking wishing She was here, because if She told Sammy to shut up, he’d listen. He never teased Her about anything. And if She was here, Sam wouldn’t try to stop Her from killing Becky. She’s spin Her knife in her hand and give Becky a firm glare when she got to close to Sammy, and the bitch would back the hell off, Dean could even put a hand on Her lower back and she might lean into him, smiling up at him as they traded whispered jokes about how fucking stupid this whole thing was. 

She wouldn’t put up with it. Any of it. At the end of the day She was Bobby’s daughter, so She didn’t put up with any of this fucking bullshit.

And maybe when Chuck asked if She liked Dean, he’d get to watch Her flush, and her breath hitch with parted lips, and he’d get to know. That She felt some of it. That She would still give Dean those pretty, fluttering eyes when he teased Her. That there was a chance—if he grabbed Her chin and smirked down at Her like he’d done in so many dreams—that She’d whisper his name, and Dean would get to kiss Her in front of everyone. And they could all know that Dean was Her shadow. That there was no one who would touch Her or protect Her like he could.

Fuck, he missed Her. 

And it didn’t matter how much he called for Her in his head—looking up at the sky like it might take his plea for her, and throw it across the universe—nobody was listening. 

Then something to the right of Dean’s heart pounded. Strained. Echoed around his rib cage in a way that way borderline painful, growing and growing and growing as it only got worse. All the world was Technicolor, and air was shifting into that sticky warmth that came before a storm, and Dean could fucking swear he could smell Her on the rushing wind, could see the sparkling glass in the pavement growing brighter and all the flowers on the edge of the forest start to bloom in seconds. 

Something was coming. Dean knew something was coming. And he should run back inside and tell Sammy, but his legs wouldn’t move. He didn’t want to move. Every single fiber of his being was keeping him rooted in place, like he was anchored there by that pain in his chest, and then-

He almost fell to his knees.

She was there. 

Here. 

In front of Dean, blinking at him with slightly glazed eyes and silver pupils, but here.

It wasn’t a trick, or a replica. Dean should probably be more vigilant of that, but he knew. Nothing else made the world look like this. Made every color brighter and every edge sharper. Nothing could ever duplicate the sheer beauty of Her, as if all the stars and waterfalls and gardens and storms and fireplaces had been shoved in one woman.

It was all Her. 

Dean whispered Her name, and she just stared at him. 

Not speaking to him. Not moving for him. But not moving away, either. Just looking at him as Her hair seemed to float around Her face, and when Dean took a slow step forward—the pain in his chest easing slightly as he moved to Her, and it was the only place he could ever think to go—She didn’t flinch. 

Her pupils were still sheer silver, and Dean felt a little like he was looking at something he shouldn’t be. It should be hurting his eyes, how bright She was.

But it was more like looking at a lighthouse, or the North Star. There was nothing to do but follow it.

Nowhere to go but home.

Dean reach out a hand to touch Her, to trace over Her face and She was real. Soft and warm under his fingers. Leaning into his touch. 

And the silver in Her eyes flared, when he tried to move away. Her hand darted up to hold Dean against Her, lip parting as she shook her head. 

“Princess, are you-“ 

She took an unsteady step forward, until She was pressed right into Dean’s chest. Fingers tracing over his face so gently as he just stared at Her, and looked perfect, but still a little gaunt, and there were bags under Her eyes, and she still wasn’t speaking-

Dean muttered Her name, catching her hand in his, and Her eyes fluttered as she looked up to him. .

“It’s okay.” He whispered, squeezing Her hand three times, over and over and she leaned a little further forward. “I’ve got you, but- Shit- Wait-“

The beauty of the world was only growing brighter, as Her eyes grew glossier. More and more silver.

Dean moved his hands to hold Her face—there were not visible injuries, but it was only a small comfort—and did the one thing he’d only ever done right.

Calmed Her down. Running his thumb over the bridge of Her nose and mutters low words about how he was here, and She was fine, holding Her until she came back down to him.

“You’re gonna be okay,” He muttered Her name, keeping his gaze fixed on Her’s, even as Her eyes fluttered closed. “I’m here. I’ve got you. All the way down, Princess. Come back down for me.” His voice was a rasp. He didn’t try to fight it. “Please come back down.”

She let out a shaky breath, and when She blinked Her eyes open, her pupils were blown out and glazed, but black. 

She was back. She could see him. And slightly swollen lips parted as She scanned over his face, Her voice barely a breath when she spoke. 

“Dean?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, offering a small smile. “It’s me. I’ve got you, Princess.”

“Are- Are you-“

“I’m okay.”

She made a sound like a whimper, and suddenly Her face was buried in into him, Her arms wrapping around his shoulders.

She was shaking as another choked sound was muffled against his chest. 

Dean felt like he was being split in half by lighting. Like he’d stepped into the middle of an electric storm, and everything was moving too fast and too slow all at once. She smelled like fruit and fit so well against him, and She wasn’t vanishing, but She was sobbing, and it was making Dean’s heart split and fracture.

But he just kept holding Her, combing his finger through Her shiny hair, right up until the sounds stopped, and Her breaths became even. 

She’d passed out.

Good.

He could just carry Her home. 

Dean hooked his arms under Her knees and hauled Her up his chest, glancing around the yard one last time to check that this really was just it. That he’d asked Her to come home and She had, without demons or angels on Her tail. 

And it would be so easy to miss it. To mistake the way the air seemed to be shimmering as a trick of the light, or decided that the way the flowers and moss seemed to be bursting out of the trees was just a natural phenomenon. Yet there was no mistaking how—growing out the walls on the inn, like an odd limb—there were branches hanging with iridescent apples that glowed. 

But it was all Her. 

No trap.

Just Her, fit perfectly into Dean’s arms, and knocked the hell out. 

Dean said Her name as he turned back to the inn. Just to make sure She really was down. She didn’t even shift or stir, and he sighed, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Her head. 

She moved further into him at that. But Her eyes barely even fluttered, and Her grip didn’t tighten. She just squirmed until Dean could feel how fucking warm She was—too warm, bordering on a fever with the way sweat was clinging to Her brow—and keep his cheek pressed to Her’s as he marched back inside.

“You’re gonna be alright, baby.” He muttered, turning to let his lips ghost over Her skin. “You’re home. It’s gonna be okay.”

She didn’t so much as hum.

And She was still so fucking warm. 

The smart thing to do would be put Her in the car, then go find Sammy and tell him what was going on. But every time Dean so much as shifted Her, She’d make that whimpering sound, and something to the right of his heart would ache. It would be easier to just show Sam. Easier to just keep holding Her, because she wanted him to, and Dean couldn’t deny Her anything if he tried. 

“Dean!” Sam called from behind him, somewhere in another freakin’ hallway. “Look, dude, I think there might be a case here, and I’m sorry for teasing you about-“

Dean turned, and Sam’s voice trailed off as he said Her name, his eyes growing almost comically wide.

“I- You-“ Sammy’s eyes were fixed on Her sleeping form in Dean’s arms, his voice almost a whisper. “How?”

“Don’t know.” Dean grunted, and Sam’s eyes shot back up to him.

“What do you mean, you don’t know-“

“I mean I was standing outside, thinking, and then she was fuckin’ there-“

“Thinking about what-“

“That’s not important-“

“It seems pretty important, Dean! People don’t just fucking teleport-“

“Shut up.” Dean hissed through his teeth, and Sam snapped his mouth shut as She twisted slightly in Dean’s arms, settling down after a few, long moments.

“Fuck.” Sam whispered, looking back to Her, sleeping peacefully once more. “That’s- Are we sure it’s not a trap-“

“Yes.” He grunted. “And if you wanna hear the truth, I don’t really give a fuck if it is.”

Sam let out a long breath, then nodded slowly. “I’ll stay and take care of this. Probably just a salt and burn, and with all the fake us’s around here, one of them has to end up being useful.”

“Thanks.” Dean started his walk back to the car, and Sam quickly fell into pace. “I can have Bobby send someone-“

“I think Bobby’s gonna be occupied, dude.”

Dean huffed a dry laugh, glancing back down, because even though he could feel Her, he still had to check She was real. “Yeah, I’d bet that too.”

“You gonna call him?”

“I’ll do it on the road.” Dean ducked through the door as Sam held it open, giving a short nod. “Text him if you need something, though, I-“

“I know. I-“ Sam took a deep breath, and Dean glanced at him with a frown. His face was turned down, his eyes still fixed on Her. A little like he was trying to will Her to wake up.

Dean understood the feeling.

His keys were in his jacket, and he couldn’t hold Her and get the car started. Passing Her into Sam’s arms felt a little like his heart was trying to move out of his chest to go with Her, but he’d survive. He’d managed this long not touching Her at all. Managed longer. And She didn’t fold into Sam the same way She had with Dean, but she didn’t wake up or fight it.

And Dean didn’t miss the way Sammy’s shoulders relaxed, when he realized She wasn’t going to try and push him away. 

“I’ll call you when I’m back,” Dean muttered, unlocking the Impala as Sam swayed Her slightly, like he was cradling a baby. 

She’d be pissed about that, if Dean told Her. She’d pout and scowl and mutter that She wasn’t a fucking baby.

Dean just found it kind of adorable. Like some weird, twisted image of a kid singing their parent a messy lullaby. 

“Okay.” Sammy nodded, still swaying Her as Dean opened the door. “If I’m done before then I’ll call around and see who’s nearby-“

“Sam!” Becky’s shrill voice echoed through the parking lot, and Dean really wished Sam had let him shoot her. “Oh my gosh, Chuck told me that you think there’s a real case, did you find- Who is that?”

Dean didn’t fucking appreciate the venom is Becky’s voice. The lady was lucky to even be in Her presence.

“It’s- Uh-“ Sam looked to Dean with almost a desperation, and Dean sighed, reaching out to take Her back.

She fit right back into him. 

The real struggle might be getting Her into the car. 

“Sam, you have to tell me if you’re with someone else-“

“I- Why?”

“Because it’s not fair-“

“To who?” Sammy was spluttering as Dean maneuvered Her onto the bench, Her grip impressively tight for a woman who was passed out.

“To me!” Becky whined, not seeming to give a fuck that Sammy wasn’t even touching Her anymore. “It’s stringing me along, Sam, and that’s not very nice-“

“Becky?” Awesome. Chuck here too, now, and Dean still couldn’t get Her in the damn car. 

“You gotta work with me, Princess.” He muttered, drawing back up to his full height. “I can’t drive you home in my lap-“

That wasn’t actually a shit idea. Dean had done more without being pulled over-

“Becky?” Chuck was still walking over. Dean was really leaning towards the lap plan. “Oh, shit, there you are. You know, I told you that so you wouldn’t run off- Are you guys leaving?”

“No, uh-“ Sam cleared his throat. “Just Dean. He’s got some other stuff to attend to-“

“Really?” Becky scoffed. “Listen, Dean, I know you’re too cool for all this stuff, but a lot of people worked really hard-“

“No, Becky, it’s not that-“

“Then what is it- Is it that slut-“

Dean had been ignoring most of the conversation. 

That got through. 

“Hey.” He whipped around, still holding Her tight against him, and narrowed his eyes at Becky. “You talk about her like that, I put a bullet in your fucking brain, you got that?”

Becky nodded, her face a little pale, and Dean let out a breath. 

“Good. Sammy, how illegal is driving with someone in your lap?”

Sam frowned. “Are we talking normal people illegal, or us illegal?”

“Us illegal.”

“Then I’d say like, 45%-“

Chuck cut Sam off with a breath of Her name, and they both froze to find him staring, mouth open, face a little pale. “Is- Is that her?”

“Yeah.” Dean grunted, his fingers curling slightly against Her body, and Becky frowned.

“Who’s-“

“Don’t worry about it, Becky.” Chuck said, his eyes still fixed on Her, and Becky let out a dramatic huff. 

Chuck seemed done talking, though. He just kept staring as Sam helped Dean move into the car—he figured out a strategy where he rolled Her to the side once he was sat down—and Becky tried to ask more questions that were wholly ignored. It was pretty easily chalked up to how She was the only person in Sam and Dean’s lives the prophet couldn’t read. 

It was still pretty fucking creepy. 

And Chuck was still staring in the rearview mirrors, as Dean pulled the Impala away. He seemed almost in a trace, shaking his head right before they drove out of view.

Dean had bigger worried though. 

He had to get Her home. 

She remained down, the first four hours of the drive. Dean allowed himself to press a carefully kiss to Her temple every few miles—to check Her temperature, and no other selfish reasons—and Her possible fever wasn’t growing, but it wasn’t going down, either. Likely not a side effect of doing whatever the hell that had been, but probably not a sickness, either. A sickness would mean She was vomiting, shivering, coughing slightly in Her sleep, doing something else besides burning like the freaking sun. 

But She wasn’t. She was just settled against Dean, breathing without a single hitch, even when Dean fucked up and hit a bump. 

She seemed fine, visibly. On the surface, where Dean would find cuts and bruises if someone had hurt Her. 

But maybe being in that borderline catatonic state had healed Her. And someone had been hurting Her, and when She woke up, she’d start screaming and crying and scrambling away from Dean’s touch. 

He could deal with the first two. When She screamed and cried, Dean just had to stay with Her, and sooth Her however he was allowed. But if She scrambled away, Dean didn’t know what he would do. If he had Her back, just for Her to not want him anymore. 

That was a lie. Dean knew exactly what he’d do.

He’d wait, and follow Her wherever She asked him to go. 

All the way down.

He called Bobby, around hour five. When She was staring to roll a little, readjusting Her face and wiggling closer into Dean’s side.

It took two tries. Dean should’ve used Her phone. The old fucker would’ve picked up right away.

“Dean, I’m in the middle of damn dinner, and Sam said it was just a salt and burn-“

“Bobby.” Dean muttered, glancing down at Her as he spoke. “She’s back.”

There was a long silence, and Bobby’s voice was hoarse as he said Her name. “You found her?”

“Kinda. More like she found me.” Dean let out a long breath, and She hummed slightly. “It’s- Has she ever gotten a fever? Using her thing?”

Bobby sighed through the speak. “Only for a few years, when she was real little. She used to make the floors form black mold after I cleaned ‘em, and one time the trees all started growin’ some weird glass-lookin’ fruit, then she’d get a fever. But it stopped when she started usin’ her… methods. She warm when you touch ‘er?”

“Yeah.”

“Then she’s fine. She gets cold when she’s sick. Sorta like touchin’ a dead body.”

“Alright.” Dean let out a long, slow breath, shaking that image from his head. “We’re heading back now, but Sammy stayed behind, he’s gonna work the case himself-“

“Dean-“

“Maybe send someone, just so he has extra hands-“

“Dean.” Bobby’s voice was firmer, and Dean swallowed. “Stop drivin’.”

“I-“ Dean must have misheard him. “What? I’m driving her home-“

“From Oregon, ya idjit. That’s a fuckin’ day.”

“I’ve driven longer-“

“I know, but she needs you.”

Dean swallowed. “Bobby, I-“

“Don’t play humble and stupid with me, Dean. You ain’t good at either. She needs you, and you’re already fuckin’ there. Movin’ Her around is only gonna distress her when she wakes up.”

“But-“

“No but. Trust me, I wish you could just teleport her right back to me, but ya can’t. And you ain’t been sleepin’ well, Dean. One more night without her home ain’t gonna kill me, but findin’ out your dumbass passed out at the wheel and drove off a bridge will. Rest.”

Dean opened his mouth to tell Bobby that—actually—teleporting did seem to be an option on the table, but the line clicked dead, the conversation forcibly over. 

The motel they pulled off to was nicer than Dean usually opted for. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure why. The credit cards were stolen anyway, but Dad had always insisted they sleep in the cheapest place available. 

And She used to steal all those fancy cars, before Dean bought Her the Firebird. 

Dean had a feeling She did it for the same reason She always gave about all Her skincare and makeup and hair shit. Made Her feel a little more normal.

This did feel a little more normal. They had air conditioning that didn’t rattle, and a door where Dean trusted the lock, and they were sleeping in a bed that didn’t have lumps in it.

Together. 

Dean had tried to move away. Just for his own peace of mind, he’d made an effort to pry himself away, and then She’d let out that whimper and he’d given up. She’d let him know if She didn’t want him there, when She woke up. Dean didn’t doubt that for a second. But for now She let him wrap around Her—their shoes resting near the door and their jackets folded together on a chair—and kept sleeping peacefully as Dean just watched Her. 

He couldn’t sleep. Bobby had been right, he needed to, but he couldn’t. He needed to keep watching Her, in case an angel swooped down and tried to take Her away. Dean needed to keep looking to make sure She was real, and this wasn’t just an impossibly cruel dream.

And he’d been here before. Holding Her through the night and just staring at Her like a creep. But he’d never allowed himself this close. Where his chest was all but pressed against Her’s, and Her breath fanned over his neck, and their legs were tangled together under the sheets.

Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever been this close to anyone. He’d cuddled, after sex, but this felt different. Softer. She was still trying to bury Herself into him. Dean was keeping his hands over Her shirt, but he’d allowed himself to rest his face against Her hair, and breathe in the fruit until his body fully relaxed. 

She was here. Holding him. Her fever slowly dropping and Her soft, humming noises becoming more frequent as she only burrowed in closer.

Bobby had said She needed him. 

If this was being needed felt like, Dean never wanted to be anything else again. 

And when She woke up, there wasn’t any panic. Her eyes just fluttered open and landed on Dean’s, neither of them making any move to pull away. 

They didn’t speak for a long moment. There didn’t seem to be a damn point to it. Her hand reached up between their bodies to trace over Dean’s face with an impossibly light touch, and Dean just let himself fall into Her eyes. Fixed on him. Looking so fucking tired, but still bright. Always bright. There were lights from passing cars dancing through the windows, but She was brighter. More beautiful. And a few tears were rolling down her face as She met Dean’s eyes once more, features a little puffy from sleep, but no less ethereal. 

And Sammy used to be obsessed with mythology, when he was a kid. And Dad had been sure to let him know what was danger and what was fantasy, but Dean had sat next to the kid and let him explain all the different gods until he fell asleep, and Dean moved him into the bed. 

There had been a lot of gods. The biggest thing Dean remembered thinking was that, for all of history, people had spent too much time worshipping things that didn’t fucking exist.

He knew he’d been right, now. 

Because in all of human history, nobody had ever seemed to work out what the closest thing to God actually looked like.

Her. 

It was—always had been—that fucking simple.  

It was just Her.

“Dean.” She whispered, and he gave Her a small grin.

“Hey, Princess. I-“ He had to keep it together. For Her. 

But that didn’t stop his voice from dropping to a rasp.

“I missed you.”

“I-“ Her lips tightened, wobbling slightly, and Her hand was lingering against his jaw.

Dean wished he had a good reason to turn it, and kiss Her palm. 

“I missed you too.”

He nodded slowly, holding his voice as he forced the words out. He had to ask. 

He had to know.

“Are you staying?”

Her breath hitched slightly. “Do you want me to stay?”

Dean nodded, because there was nothing else to do. “All the way down.” And before he could stop himself- “Please.”

“Okay.” Her voice was so soft. “All the way down.”

And that was it. They fought and screamed about this before, but it had ended the same way every time. 

They’d both stay.

All the way down. 

She cleared Her throat, scanning over his face. “Are you hungry?”

He’d never been hungrier. He’d never craved anything like he wanted to roll Her over right here, and claim his place fully as Her shadow. As he wanted to make Her feel good, take full care of Her, show Her how much he’d missed Her with his hands and tongue and- 

“Dean?” She whispered, and he sighed.

Not now. Not when the tears were still dry on Her face, and Dean was a little afraid She’d grow wings and fly away if he didn’t give Her enough of a reason to stay here in the mud, with him.

He’d show Her later. When things were easier, and She could pass out peacefully against him, after. 

“I could eat. Saw a gas station a mile or two back.” He offered Her a small grin. “You wanna drive, Princess?”

Her smile might have been bright enough to wipe the sun out of existence. 

Dean wouldn’t care if it did. 

At least She’d still be here, at his side. 

Right where they both belonged.

End Note: Becky I hope you know that you are now in danger. Eileen you've never done anything wrong in your life ever. Princess, you need like a nap and maybe some dick.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[avelera]

(Arcane Headcanon) Ever since S1 of Arcane, I thought we'd learn that Singed was the one who helped Viktor get into the Academy by passing along a personal recommendation on his behalf to Heimerdinger to help Viktor after he fled Singed's lab.

Since S2 is out now this falls firmly into the "headcanon" category rather than meta, but I'd like to think it's a plausible headcanon and perhaps explore what its implications could have been?

Viktor tells Jayce that no one ever believed in him when he came to Piltover but it is curious that he so coincidentally ran into the Head of the Council, Founder of the City, and Dean of the Academy Heimerdinger who not only took a liking to Viktor but eventually took him under his wing and elevated Viktor from impoverished student from the undercity to his personal assistant. Unless, of course, someone who was once close to Heimerdinger recommended Viktor to him as a bright young mind in need of a positive mentor (and I can easily see Heimerdinger being all the more eager to take Viktor under his wing after learning Singed once mentored him specifically too make sure the boy is free of any lingering influence from Singed's view of the world).

Basically, it strikes me as incredibly plausible that Singed realizedthat Viktor was far too soft-hearted for the distasteful work necessary to turn Rio into a cure for Oriana. But, Singed knew of someone else someone who was similarly softhearted who could mentor Viktor instead. And, at his core, I think Singed always had a soft spot for Viktor and did want to see him succeed. I could easily see him realizing Viktor doesn't fit in with him. While Viktor as a child believed that storming off would mean the end of his relationship with Singed, I actually do think Singed has enough altruism left to look out for Viktor anyway, and to relaize they were a poor fit, and to therefore send a covert letter of recommendation to Heimerdinger. Something along the lines of, "I'm sending you a student. Whatever our past disagreements, he is a gifted young mind who would be a credit to your institution."

That said, I think it would have to be something that happens without Viktor's knowledge in order to sync with his canonical in his belief that no one ever believed in him. And, given how he and Singed parted, it would make sense that Singed doesn't tell Viktor he did it AND for Heimerdinger to not bring the recommendation up either, to allow Viktor to believe Heimerdinger just "stumbled across him" ruminating in his steel oasis, perhaps knowing to look there because of Singed's direction and still being willing to listen to Singed's recommendation when it comes to a gifted young scientist, even if he would never work with Singed personally again.

And finally, if such a scene occurred (big "if" of course, but as I said, I think it's plausible) it's a bit of a shame that it wasn't shown on screen because it would have worked very well as yet another parallel between Mel and Viktor. That, like Mel, Viktor was also explicitly sent to Piltover because he'd get along better with those, "Soft-spined idealists," just like how Ambessa sent Mel away.

And, like Ambessa with Mel and (possibly) Singed with Viktor, there would be the tantalizing possibility that Singed also recognized the horror of what he was doing with Rio, and that through Viktor's eyes he could see it too, and so he needed to send Viktor away in part because he "weakened" Singed, distracted him from his singular drive to bring Oriana back and instead made him consider instead letting her go and seeing the child in need who was right in front of him (arguably the healthier choice for everyone involved and one Oriana would have likely approved of if she had a say). And this parallels too with Ambessa also not wanting to be distracted from her singular, self-destructive drive towards her goals and how Mel showed her another way that she wasn't ready to embrace, and never would be. This could have also leant some weight to Ambessa and Singed's eventual team-up.

But anyway, it's never made explicit so it sadly must remain in headcanon land, free to a good home if someone wants to use it in a fanfic, etc etc.

[playstation-dreamcast]

I love the way you write Wesker possessive. Its so perfect, it makes sense. If he's a God, why can't he have everything he wants? Why wouldn't everyone else be an object to him? And with his eyes set on someone so sweet, so precious.. He has every right to take what's his.

That being said, I'd love to see you write about, maybe post-4 pre-5 Wesker tracking down (gn) reader and capturing them, after having pined for them during his time in STARS or even Umbrella. I think you'd do it delightfully.

Of course, you have every right to decline! Tis simply a humble request :)

Thank you!! I'm glad you like my characterization for him, and I'm also glad you see my vision as to why I write him like that lol

That being said, I kinda combined these two requests and I really hope that's okay. Also- I'm sorry this has taken me so long to get to, I am Wesker's slowest writer lol

Now Loading...

Wesker's not at all shocked to see you in Spain, but he is incredibly pleased. He left you behind once, he won't do it again.

Part One Here

Tonight was the fourth worst night of your life. And yes, you kept a list. The third worst night was Thursday, October 1st, 1998. The day that all of your demons clawed out of their graves to haunt you once again. It was the day you met Leon, the pitiful little rookie he was at the time. Hungover and full of naivety, you were almost happy you had gone to the RPD to find survivors so you could help him through his first zombie apocalypse. 

It was almost funny when you told him it was your second. 

“You’re surprisingly calm for someone face to face with the living dead.” Fighting through hordes of undead and he still found it in him to judge you. You almost respected it.

Almost. “Eh, if you’ve seen one zombie you’ve seen them all.”

“There is no way you’ve seen an actual zombie before.”

You laughed, because he was right. That was fucking ridiculous. All of this was fucking ridiculous. “Actually, I have this ex-” you stopped as you saw the horrified look on his face, “I- uh, ya know what? Story for another day. I’ll tell you if we survive.”

The second worst night of your life was Wednesday, September 23, 1998. That was the night you realized that not only was God very much dead, but that you had been in bed with the man that killed said god. That was the night you realized that if hell truly existed, you were already in it. You were pretty sure that was the night you died. You could still hear his words in your head, haunting you like the phantoms in a graveyard, or a killer returning to the scene of the crime. 

“I think you’re a little confused Dear. I’ve always been with Umbrella. And S.T.A.R.S we’re always Umbrella’s- no, rather, my little piggies.”

No matter how hard you scrubbed or how hot the water was, you never could seem to wash his scent off your skin.

The absolute worst day of your life, bar none- and it wasn’t even close- was the day that you had the displeasure of meeting Albert Wesker for the first time. They had warned you the devil would be handsome, but you hadn’t imagined he’d capture your heart in quite the way he did. Your cold captain that only seemed to thaw for you. At the time, he gave you butterflies in your stomach. And he still did, only now the butterflies had razor blades for wings and they spit acid. So. That was fun. 

“Condor One, do you read me?” You asked into your radio, hoping against hope that the radio signal would be on your side for once.  

“Canary One, I read you. What is your current location?” Leon’s voice crackled over the radio to your genuine amazement.

“Good question Condor,” You grumbled as you tried to traverse the basement of the castle. A trap door of all things had separated you, and you really wished you could say it was shocking, but in this Scooby-Doo ass castle nothing was going to shock you- besides the radio working. “Have you secured Baby Eagle?”

“Baby Eagle is secure.” You smiled as you heard Ashley call out to you, demanding you don’t die. She was a sweet kid. “We’re making our way to the extraction point now.”

You nodded as if he could see you. “Copy that Condor, I’ll meet you guys there.”

“Are…you sure Canary? We can change course to find you.”

You rolled your eyes. Leon’s whole protective act was cute- but you were a grown ass adult. “Yes Condor, I’ll be fine.”

“With all due respect Canary,” You hated that phrase when it was used against you, “This place isn’t the easiest to navigate with help, let alone- alone.”

“I don’t appreciate that kind of negativity Condor. I’ll meet you at the extraction, Canary One out.” You ended the transmission before he could bother to continue to argue. You took stock of your situation. You were in some sort of…dungeon? Maybe? Who knows. You probably should have given more of a shit, but feeling anything other than apathy was…hard, these days.

Your codec beeped, making the same sound it did when Hunnigan dropped you a file. This was notable, because no fucking way Hunnigan was sending you anything when Salazar (or, more accurately probably one of his goons) had taken over the signal. You looked down, and sure enough- you had a file labeled “blueprint” waiting for you to open it.

Only it wasn’t sent by Hunnigan, or anyone from base. The sender line was just blank. Which, you didn’t even know was possible. Logically, you knew you probably shouldn’t open this file. In fact, it very well might cost you your job to open this file. It could be a virus, or worse. And there were incredibly confidential government secrets on there- including your entire mission.

So naturally you opened it. And sure as Sunday was to come, there was a blueprint of the entire castle in front of you now. It even had a helpful little “You Are Here! 🌟” star to help you orient yourself, a detail you appreciated but also really should have unsettled you more than it did. This dungeon was a labyrinth, but you identified a path that should have at least get you to the first floor.

It wasn’t easy, and you had to figure out more than a few tight spaces, not to mention the disgusting creatures that got in your way, but before you knew it you were stepping back into that large, foggy room that greeted you and Leon when you first encountered this wretched place. You waved to the Merchant before going to fix the knife you broke in a ganados skull.

“Oy, you got the smell of battle on you, Mate”  He said, waving his hand over his- notably cloth covered- face.

You rolled your eyes. “Gee, I wonder why.”

He shrugged, “We may never know. Now, what’ll it be, Stranger?”

You produced the bits of metal and handle you once called a knife onto his table. “I uh, need a repair on my knife. And a tune up on old red would be nice.” You said, putting your handgun on the table next to it. He looked down at the broken knife, then at you, then the knife, then you again, then the knife again. “You really don’t listen to us when we say “Knife needs care, could be the difference between life and death” do you, Stranger?”

You shrugged. “I drift in and out. Can you fix it?”

He looked it over, then nodded. “Aye, We can, but it’ll cost you extra.”

You assumed. “That’s fine.” You realized something. Leon wasn’t here.

“Hey- who's we?” You asked the question abruptly, but it had been heavy on your mind. Leon said it would be rude to ask. Leon wasn’t here.

You felt the Merchant raise an eyebrow as you. “What are you on about Mate?”

“You say “we” a lot. And Us, actually. Like “we can fix it” or “the years haven’t been kind to us” Is it like, the royal we, orr??”

The merchant gave a raspy laugh. “It’s me and the plaga I gots.”

You felt your eyes bug out of your head as you leaned further on the table. “Really?”

“Sure,” He shrugged, taking your weapons, “If it tickles your fancy. Believe what you like.” He said before turning around to start the repairs.

You rolled your eyes at the half answer, but honestly you had gotten farther than you expected, so you weren’t that mad at it. You waited for your weapons, bouncing your leg nervously. Something else was heavy on your mind. Something you didn’t realize was even a thought at first that now demanded your attention. “Hey, question-”

“You ask a lot of questions, Stranger.”

“It was my job at one point. Anyway, did you somehow send me the blueprints to the castle? On my codec?” You asked in almost a hushed tone, as if even acknowledging the file would have your tongue cut from your mouth.

The Merchant just shook his head. “Me? No, we don’t just give blueprints away for free around here, Stranger, this ain’t a charity.”

You bowed your head a bit before nodding. Yeah, that was the answer you should have expected.

“Maybe it was that blond fella that’s following ya around. Lost puppy, that one.” He said with a snort.

You just shook your head. “What, Leon? No, I don’t think he has the access to do that, let alone the blueprint itself.”

He shook his head back. “No, not him. The other one. The, rather, shady looking bloke.” He said with a chuckle, as if laughing at a joke only he got.

You felt your face scrunch with confusion. “What? What other blonde guy? There is no other blond guy. There’s Ashley, but I hardly doubt anyone’s mistaking her for a dude.”

“Oh, so ya don’t know then?” He shrugged, “Well- all in due time.” Before you could press him further, he was coming back to present you with your upgraded weapons. “Here ya go Stranger!” You were quiet for a beat. He continued. “Dazzled, are you? Our craftsmanship demands no less.” 

“Who’s the blond?” You asked, this time much firmer. 

He didn’t back down. “Come back anytime.” The conversation was over. You could press, but something deep inside you told you it was a very bad idea to get on the Merchant’s bad side. Something beyond just him being a valuable ally. 

“Thanks for the help,” you sighed before continuing your mission. The last place you remembered seeing Leon was that bug infested ballroom, so you figured that should be your first destination. Not because you expected to find Leon there, in fact you very much hoped he kept moving and you wouldn’t find him there. No, it was because it was a room you at least knew how to get to, and knew that all the traps were either disarmed or already triggered. It was pretty low effort.

You got the feeling you were being watched as you walked. That wasn’t unexpected considering how deep you were in enemy territory. You had felt like you were being watched since you first set foot in that god forsaken cabin. But it felt more intense now. The paranoia crawled up your spine like a spider, slowly making itself more and more apparent. You felt like an animal in a zoo.

Or like a fish in a barrel. You were relieved when you opened the heavy ballroom door and saw blond hair. You didn’t want to find Leon here originally, but you were relieved to not be alone anymore.

That relief was short-lived. “Well, hello Dearheart. I didn’t expect to see you here.” Wesker said as he turned around, speaking to you before he even saw you, a dark and victorious smirk on his face. Your throat filled with cotton, and suddenly you felt like a fool for not immediately knowing who the Merchant was referring to.

His smirk only grew. He took a step toward you, you took a step back. “Whatever could be wrong, my dear? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m pretty sure I did.” you muttered, just barely above a whisper. Chris had warned you about this. One of the first things he did when he returned from Antarctica with Claire was sit you down and tell you. Like it was an intervention, with Jill there and everything. He said he was pretty sure Wesker had been keeping tabs on all the remaining S.T.A.R.S members and that you had to remain vigilant.

You didn’t want to doubt Chris, but him telling you that Wesker had somehow managed to survive being impaled by that…thing was hard to believe. Especially when you felt him all but die in your arms. Maybe that’s why you were so shocked now. You could no longer live in denial.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “You’re supposed to be dead.” You finally said.

Wesker simply shrugged, as if he wasn’t- once again- defying the very laws of the universe by just standing there. “What can I say? Reports of my death were, greatly exaggerated.”

You felt your arm move before your brain could stop it. You weren’t even in your body anymore. You watched in third person as you shot at your former lover. And felt the air get sucked from your lungs as you watched him dodge the fucking bullet. You really needed to stop doubting Chris.

Wesker rushed you before you could even think to think, taking your wrist in a grip so tight it definitely bruised. “Now now Dear, where’s all this coming from?” He asked, unloading your gun and making sure to clear the chamber, all while it was still in your hand. “I thought you’d be happy to see me. You were so distraught over my death after all.”

You wrenched your arm back and pushed him away- and it wasn’t lost on you that he let you do that. “You should be fucking dead!” You hissed, venom dripping from your words. “For the love of my Fucking. Sanity. You should be dead! After everything you’ve done, the countless lives you’ve ruined- including my own- you couldn’t even have the fucking decency to stay in your Goddamn grave?!” You yelled, six years of rage ripping out of you like a tidal wave.

Wesker sat there and let you screech, utterly unaffected. “I don’t have a grave, actually. None of you ever buried me, not even symbolically.” He would get fucking pedantic on you right now. “You’re a freak of nature!” You snapped, “No better than any of those other monsters Umbrella created!”

He actually frowned at that. You seemed to have finally struck a raw nerve. “And here I was thinking we could have a civilized conversation. It’s quite disappointing, actually, I was hoping you’d be reasonable.”

“Go to hell!”

“Or that you’d at least not resort to throwing a tantrum.” He scoffed. 

You couldn’t believe this man. “Albert, I mourned you.” You said, your voice lower now, tears trembling behind it, “I watched you die, I cried every night and then I hated myself for crying because you didn’t deserve it! You fucking ruined me Albert! You literally invented new ways of betraying people and I was up sobbing because I missed you. Do you even know how long it fucking took me to finally redirect that anger from myself to you- the man it should have targeted from the beginning?! And you want me to be reasonable?! What does that even mean?!” You broke, tears finally slipping down your cheeks and a heavy breath cutting off your words. Right. This is why you stopped feeling things.

You didn’t have it in you to fight back when Wesker gently cupped your face, using his gloved thumb to wipe a tear away. “Feel better now? Got it all out of your system?”

You responded with a deep, jagged breath. 

And he took that as confirmation. “Good. Look Dear, it was nothing personal- truly. I did tell you to stay home.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He was firm with that one, “You’re upset because you feel abandoned and betrayed and you’re treating the entire incident as a personal attack instead of as the calculated experiment and business decision that it was. I truly would have rather you stayed home, the intent was never to hurt you specifically.”

You suspected that was the closest you were ever going to get to an apology out of this man. “How could you do this to us?” You asked in a raspy tone. You told yourself you were referring to the S.T.A.R.S team. And you knew you were lying.

“I was simply doing what had to be done.” He said, caressing your cheek with the back of his knuckles. There was a silence so thick you could cut it with a spoon. You knew you should have been trying harder to kill him, to fight back, to do…literally anything. But, you couldn’t bring yourself to do much more than stand there, wishing everything was different.

Wesker was the first to move, reaching into his breast pocket.

You pulled back. What the fuck are you doing?!

He gave you an unimpressed look. What kind of weapon do you honestly think I'm fitting in here? He pulled out the absolute last thing you could have expected. He couldn’t fit a weapon in his pocket, but he might as well have with that. Actually, it might have been worse than a weapon. 

“I’ve been meaning to return this to you for awhile now,” He said, holding up a ruby pendant hanging from a white gold chain. Your grandmother's necklace. “Thank you for lending it to me. It’s quite the good luck charm, it worked very well.”

You shook your head. “Why would you keep that?”

He smiled, but it wasn’t kind. “I knew I was going to return it to you, someday.” 

He closed the gap between the two of you, clasping the chain around your neck, the metaphorical noose around your throat. “There we go. It always did look better on you, Dear.”

You shook your head, unable to process everything that was happening. “I…I need to go find Leon-”

“Oh? Missing your boyfriend?” There was a tight edge to his voice that genuinely caught you off guard.

You looked at him befuddled. “Leon’s not my boyfriend?” You scoffed.

His eyebrow twitched. “Oh, is that so? You could have had me fooled.”

You shook your head, the absurdity of all of this hitting you like a steel chair. You considered pinching yourself to see if you were secretly asleep. “Albert, are you jealous right now?”

He scoffed. “Not at all. I hope you had fun with the government’s favorite toy.”

“Holy shit, you’re jealous.” You almost laughed. “That’s fucking ridiculous- let me remind you, you inadvertently got an entire city wiped off the map, Albert. You have no right to be jealous.”

“I fail to see how those two things are related.”

You brought your arms up just to drop them in exasperation. “Whatever claim you had to me, whatever attachment, whatever right you might have had to be jealous burned down with the Spencer mansion and only exists in the ashes of Racoon City. That’s how they’re related.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “I think you and I both know that’s not true. You’ve never stopped being mine, Doctor.”

You were truly taken aback. “I stopped being yours when that thing killed you.”

He shook his head. “No, you didn’t. If you had, you wouldn’t have spent so many nights lying awake and “missing me” as you so eloquently put it.”

Rage was bubbling inside you again. “You know, for as smart as you are you really don’t have a singular clue how to be a decent human, do you?”

“You’re not the first person to say that.” He said, checking his own codec, “That’s why I was able to rise above humanity.”

You shook your head. There was no getting through to him. “I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not.” He said, looking up as he put the device in his back pocket, “I’m afraid I can’t let that happen.”

You took a step back. “And why the hell can’t you?!”

“Because Darling,” He said, using your shocked state to take you by the wrist, “Things are starting to get messy at the clocktower, and I intend to get you somewhere safe before things escalate further. Don’t worry, We know exactly how to handle your little plaga.”

You suddenly couldn’t breathe. Surely you weren’t about to be kidnapped by your ex who returned from the dead, surely your life couldn’t get that absurd. “Why?” Was all you could bring yourself to ask.

“Because I don’t make the same mistake twice,” Albert said, quickly grabbing you by the waist before you could think to run. “I’m not leaving you behind this time.” 

[asgardian--angels]

Scene Breakdown: What Actually Happened Atop the Hexgates

Hi everyone, this has been bugging me literally since I watched the finale for the first time three months ago and I've been trying to put the pieces together ever since. I still have a lot of questions about the metaphysics of hextech and the alternate timelines (Mage Viktor you frustrate me!!), BUT, setting those aside for the time being, I wanted to break down that final climactic scene atop the hexgates so we can see what actually occurred. A lot happens very quickly, with multiple key elements interacting - Viktor (i.e., the hexcore), the anomaly, the z-drive, and the runestone. This is my best attempt to make sense of it, and I'd appreciate your own theories and feedback! It is rather long but has plenty of pictures.

So, the first very important element to examine is the anomaly - in particular, what Viktor's doing with it and why it acts the way it does in this scene. I still have a great deal of questions about that first point, that is, what role it's playing in the Glorious Evolution, because it's really not super clear. But, as it pertains to what we see in this scene, Viktor says the following -

"The sublime intersection of order and chaos."

Hextech is engineered order, wild runes/anomalies are organic chaos. Both are apparently needed to carry out the Evolution - while Viktor on his own with the hexcore can Evolve individuals, for some reason (help me out here) the anomaly allows him to extend his power and will. I won't say a whole lot on this as it's not super pertinent - but I still intensely question why in the ruined timeline, we see only some Evolved (likely only those who had mind-strings) while the rest of the population just got anomaly-blasted (I refrain from calling it hexcorized as many do, because it literally isn't - it's the corruption we see from the anomaly) and just, Pompeii'd in place. But I digress.

In the hexheart, Viktor frees the anomaly from its chamber, instead moving it to a containment field in his hexcorized staff.

The anomaly hypothetically can only exist in conjunction with the hexgates, or more broadly, concentrated runic activity that wears thin the wall between the material world and the arcane (thus the hexcore may fit this also). It would not persist outside of these conditions. Thus, Viktor keeps it stable in this hexcore force field, allowing him to safely transport it up the gravity chute of the hexgate.

I haven't seen it mentioned before but I don't think Viktor in his Evolved form can actually fly - he appears to rely on the gravity field generated by activating the hexgate gemstone mesh. This creates a concentrated beam that travels up the length of the chute, and we're going to assume here, atop the hexgates as well, in a very narrow field - where Viktor and the anomaly float but not where Jayce and the Evolved stand. This could be a result of him breaking through the dome or not.

He releases the anomaly, where it floats upwards into the sky along what we can presume is the same gravity field.

Key here is that it is still, somehow, tethered to Viktor. If it leaves the hexcore field, it would implode. It's not shown explicitly what this connection is, but it must be there. It is no longer connected to the hexgates - if it were, it would not implode at the end of this scene. It is solely tied to Viktor now.

One thing that remains unclear to me is whether Viktor intended to use the energy of the hexgates to power himself/the anomaly. The concentration of the energy into a vertical beam is stated by Jayce earlier in 2x03, but we never see this - either Viktor was stopped before it could get that far, or it's unrelated and has no bearing here.

The next element here is the z-drive (or inverse anomaly).

There's been plenty of theorizing and speculation about the z-drive, as it was created from inverting the acceleration rune, thus controlling time rather than space. (It is not abundantly clear to me how the anomaly made the jump from a 4-second time travel machine to a reality-hopper thanks to some mysterious tinkering from Heimerdinger... but let's ignore that here). But its role in this scene is actually less than it may seem.

The primary consequence of Ekko launching the unstable z-drive at Viktor is that blasts what I'm calling a time-hole in Viktor's armor (physical, emotional...). This allows Jayce to get through to him where he'd otherwise be impenetrable - yeah yeah, the cosmic yaoi, we've all seen it.

The z-drive does not destructively interact with any other element in this scene - not the anomaly, nor the rune. Just Viktor/the hexcore.

It actually breaks Viktor's staff into pieces, which is a neat detail though I'm not sure it has any impact on events.

It's easy to think that the two anomalies canceled each other out - but that is not what happens, as we'll see. While I don't have a perfect screencap for it, after watching this scene a few dozen times, I can tell you that the rotating cloud cover concealing the anomaly does not change during the z-drive explosion. Those bursts of corruption we see in the above shot are what the anomaly's been doing the whole time. The two anomalies do not affect each other.

The time stop we see during this explosion could either be a visual storytelling effect from the animators (i.e., everything we see actually happens in a split second but time works differently in the astral plane) or the explosion of the z-drive actually creates an isolated time bubble around the top of the hexgates. It is not clear which is true. I'm inclined to believe the former.

That brings us to the runestone, the most complicated element.

The runestone has been embedded in Jayce's body by Mage Viktor, complete with anomaly corruption webbing. Mage Viktor's ultimate plan here is still largely a mystery (and it keeps me up at night). But I maintain, purely speculative, that he did this for a dual purpose - the runestone is now linked in some way to that ruined timeline/with that timeline's anomaly; it glows whenever Jayce activated the alt-hammer, which was able to hurt Viktor (perhaps it was the only thing that could?).

But, relevant here, it appears to act as a pre-programmed set of runic instructions to be read, interpreted, and executed by the hexcore inside Viktor. It activates when placed into Viktor's spectral body, anomaly corruption traveling up his arm. This triggers hundreds of copies of the acceleration rune to burst outwards which frees the souls of the Evolved from their bodies.

These souls travel in the astral plane into a swirling mass that close in on the rune.

We never actually see the souls go into the rune, although we are shown beams of blue light being gathered into the rune on Jayce's wrist, which could potentially be the souls though it could also just be energy/a sign of the rune activation. It's highly unlikely the souls went anywhere else even though visually at times it looks like they're floating near the z-drive - it would make no sense for them to go into either anomaly as those are both about to explode, and it was the rune that beckoned them in the first place. They could just be 'freed' to disperse into the aether, but, ehh, that does not appear to be what's happening based on the visuals.

Most of the souls are sucked into the rune before the spell runs its course and interacts with Jayce and Viktor. The last remaining appear to go with them.

So here's where it all comes together, and everything happens very quickly.

We have the anomaly, in the sky, tethered to Viktor & the hexcore. The z-drive is mid-explosion. The rune is now running its course.

This is what happens in quick succession, in order:

The rune sucks in Jayce, Viktor, and the z-drive explosion.

It's hard to capture in a screencap, but yes, the rune takes the z-drive explosion with it.

2. The shockwave of the z-drive explosion, which had been in progress before it was sucked into the rune, throws everyone back. However, since the explosion is gone, Ekko and others are unharmed. The soulless drones are ragdolled around.

3. The anomaly, no longer connected to the hexcore, becomes immediately unstable and collapses, imploding, which sends a shockwave outwards from the top of the hexgates (both screencaps are of this moment).

Now, I am a wholehearted believer that Jayce and Viktor were teleported elsewhere, and there's plenty of speculation posts both here and on twitter that lay out evidence for why it's likely.

I'll just mention that besides the fact that the blue flicker at the end of the rune's disappearance perfectly matches that of the other example we see of it being used - by Mage Viktor saving young Jayce - it also glitches out:

What does this mean? Potential reality-hopping? Anomaly influence to say the least, perhaps caused by the z-drive explosion interacting with it. I personally don't see why Mage Viktor would embed a pre-set teleportation rune into Jayce's wrist to give to Viktor without the intention of, yknow, teleporting them, especially if freeing the souls was an intended part of his plan. But we may never know.

So there you have it. The play-by-play. The anomaly needs the hexcore and imploded when the connection broke. The z-drive did not cause the anomaly to implode, its only narrative purpose here was to give Jayce the precious moments to reach Viktor. The hexcore is hypothetically still part of Viktor, and we have no idea if getting his face blasted open would be fatal for Evolved Viktor's body were they to get spat out somewhere, nor whether the z-drive would also explode in their faces or just fizzle out in the arcane. Many questions remain, but I hope this clarifies at least the technical aspects of what actually went down atop the hexgates.

Thanks for reading, and please let me know your own theories!

[minnaeatsbread]

Since I've talked about Edwin's death scene and how much I like it, I thought oh yeah why not do one for charles. This is a post about me thinking too hard about things.

I actually had a little difficulty with this. Some of the best qualities of Edwin's death were how they used the medium of a show to present us with an older, bleak version of reality. Charles' death scene doesn't really have that. Why? Well, after Edwin's death, he was sent to hell, he didn't really "live" until he met Charles. This is why the scene doesn't seem as old - it is a beginning rather than an end.

Also, colour-coding. This is where we have to differentiate between two parts of the scene: the one before Edwin comes in (the lake, running from the lake...) and the one after (Edwin and Charles get to know each other). In the first part, they use cold colours like green, blue and black. This is not only to make it look unwelcoming and cold, and the colours are also reminiscient of the colours of hell. More specifically, Edwin's hell. And that makes sense: this is Charles' hell. He is alone, dying, afraid, betrayed. No one is caring for him.

This is where that damn lantern comes in. The light of the lantern is the first warm things we get to see. And what, gentle readers, does it illuminate first? Edwin. Of course it's Edwin, because that is the crucial difference between their deaths; Edwin died alone, but Charles doesn't have to. That is the very nature of their relationship in one lantern. I'm not even talking about the parallels with the scenes in hell. I would also like it noted that Edwin is wearing neutral colours in this scene. He is not the light, but he brings it. In opposition to that, Charles wears warm colours in hell, because he is Edwin's light (its a bit hard to see but i'm assuming that he didn't change his outfit before going to hell and i would argue that its red).

Since I went a little crazy about the music in Edwin's death scene, I'd just like to touch on it (featuring me doing mental gymnastics) The song is "Under the Milky Way" by The Church, which is already fun because that song was released in 1988 which means that Charles could have listened to it (or that it is possibly diegetic and actually playing in the background). Now, one particular line stood out to me especially "And it's something quite peculiar/Something shimmering and white/Leads you here, despite your destination" This is a bit of a stretch, but based on comic lore, Edwin's bones are on the attic at St Hilarions. Bones are famously shimmering and white. This could be what brought him there. And his destination? Well, I'm not sure coming back to your place of death/potential bone storage is super great at not alerting forces in the afterlife. Specifically hell.

In conclusion: Charles death is much more light-hearted and warm than Edwin's death. This is achieved through colour-coding with warm and cool colours representing different things, extensive lantern symbolism and a much calmer, less foreboding background music. I am slowly going insane but I always write straight A's when I have to interpret stuff.

[melded-galaxy]

sonic movie 3 stobotnik thoughts:

Watched the third installment earlier today and have a lot of thoughts

Likes:

Stone being confirmed as the protector in their relationship (His action scene in the chao garden restaurant and his plea 'i'm not there to protect you!') was amazing, you can definitely tell Stone had been traumatized after Robotnik got stranded in the mushroom world and then returned only to nearly fall to his death

'I already lost you once-!' 'Unsubscribed blocked and reported.' 'I can't lose you again...' Stone you deserve the world and so much better than Robotnik i'm sorry your hearts deadset on this dickhead <3

Robotnik's first name Ivo being dropped several times and pronounced eye-vo rather than ee-vo. always preferred the eye-vo pronounciation personally, feel like ee-vo is a bit too on the nose and doesn't sound as good.

Robotnik being open enough around Stone at the very start of the movie that he casually mentions that Stone is the only person he trusts and at the very end after he thought he found loving family only to be rejected and betrayed by Gerald admitting Stone was the only one to ever truly care about him my heart can't

More of the weird kinky BDSM shit my beloved - Eggman's reaction to seeing a shirtless tied up Stone 'Do that in your own time you sicken me' sent me as did the frigging shirt snatch and of course that glorious haircut scene

Stone getting to interact with characters that aren't Eggman. Him calling Tails adorable and that short moment where he hung out with Shadow was nice to see.

Again the haircut scene. Stone had zero excuses for straddling his bosses lap and nearly strangling him in a chokehold. Firestarter by Prodigy playing was just the cherry on top.

Stone getting cucked again by Robotnik's own grandpapa. First knuckles now sour gramps smh there's always a damn third wheel

Robotnik finally finding family and just CLINGING to them (quite literally the boot kissing scene was... something.) Ivo was so desperate for Gerald's love and approval, its such a great parallel to Stone's admiration for Robotnik. Honestly it makes sense that Robotnik immediately reacted so defensively when Stone warned him of Gerald and Shadows hidden plan, like Robotnik immediately reacted by attacking Stone back by accusing him of just being jealous because he felt his bond with gerald was being threatened. Robotnik even looked over at Gerald several times while he was chewing Stone out, clearly seeking his approval.

Eggman's announcement dedicated fully to Stone after three whole movies of Robotnik taking Stone for granted and Stone being ditched berated and sidelined. Finally after feeling the pain of Gerald's rejection (that 'You're no Maria' was ice cold) Ivo in his last moments alive makes sure Stone knows he reciprocates and pays tribute to Stone's love and loyalty to him, admitting that Stone was more than just a sycophant, a tool to be used and discarded, Stone was a 'syco-friend'. my HEART

That final 'I love the way you make 'em' the delivery was so heartfelt

Stone's tearful smile after saying goodbye to Robotnik. There's a sort of sad acceptance to it like finally hearing Robotnik admit that he does care about him too softens the blow of losing him and will help Stone to move on post movie. Maybe Stone after Robotnik's death with find someone that truly treats him right. A lot of people speculate that Stone will be the big bad of the next film but I don't know, I think in an interview by Lee he said that Stone just wanted to feel acknowledged by Robotnik and in the end Stone finally got that. I feel like its a good bookend for both Robotnik and Stone's characters arcs and i'd have mixed feelings if they were confirmed to appear in the next movie; while i'd love to see more of Robotnik and Stone's twisted dynamic in the next movie, I feel like it'd sort of undermine Robotnik's final moment of humanity at the end of movie 3. Then again someone has to have made and been controlling the metal sonics we saw in the post credit scene so who knows what the next movie will bring.

Dislikes:

Stone only getting like 6-7 minutes of screen time, I would have like a few more scenes with him interacting with Robotnik Gerald and other characters to flesh him out a bit more, maybe even learn more of his backstory. I felt like this was also a problem with Maria and Gerald; both needed a bit more time to flesh out their characters. It would have been cool to see more of Gerald and Maria before Maria's death for instance.

The movie steering away from the romantic subtext that was present in the second movie (the lattes with hearts, the romantic music playing in Stone's cafe and Stone photoshopping his boss into a maid outfit) in favour of a more platonic or atleast debatable dynamic between them - Stone being sad about not being Robotnik's 'best friend', Robotnik calling Stone his syco-friend and no outright explicit confirmation from either of them was kind of sad to see. Felt like there was potential to openly confirm stobotnik in a romantic if twisted relationship, especially given the two lived together for over a year in their crab mech and were clearly comfortable around eachother, but I guess maybe the producers were too nervous of backlash to do so so they went with a more dubious/platonic angle.

Robotnik immediately treating Stone worse once he connects with Gerald :( I suppose it makes sense; Ivo now has this shiny new family connection,from his selfish perspective why would he need boring old but reliable Stone but it still was sad to see Robotnik completely disregard everything Stone had done for him - staying by his side after leaving the government, doting on him and rescuing/caring for Robotnik after the latter fell from the giant mech in the second movie (not shown in the movie only storyboards but still presumably Stone was the one to rescue Robotnik). Personally i'd have preferred it if there was a bit more conflict from Robotnik's side, maybe have Gerald manipulate him into steadily distructing Stone more and more as the movie went on.

Stone not getting a scene where he snaps at Robotnik/shows a backbone. Yes he tried to to warn Robotnik of Gerald and Shadow's real plans for the world but again that was mostly for Robotnik's own wellbeing. Stone was terrified of losing him. It would have been nice to see after 3 movies of Stone being a doormat for Robotnik Stone finally erupt and stand up to Ivo.

Stone disappearing from the plot at the climax of the film AGAIN, a reoccuring theme in the trilogy lol, Stone disappears from the plot after Robotnik tells him to ready the prototype in the first movie and again in the second, though to a lesser extent, after he was knocked out in the mech. It would have been cool to see him do a little more, maybe aid Robotnik Tails and Knuckles in stopping Gerald in some way instead of merely being a bystander.

Similarly to the second movie I feel like Jimbotnik and now Gerald were a bit TOO zany at times. Like the scene at their first meeting when they both looked at the camera and broke the fourth wall made me groan and god... the Ivo vs Gerald fight was... bad and not even in a so bad its good way way more a killing the pacing and tension way. Like why why put the jim carrey selfspank scene right after Sonic and Shadow had a heart to heart on the moon. Why.

Robotnik's overuse of modern slang also made me wince a bit... didn't like it in the second movie don't like it anymore in the third. I found some of the quips funny like the trauma dumping line but most of the times I felt the jokes were pandering too much to kids and would age badly.

No scene where Wade once again awkwardly third wheels while Robotnik and Stone be weird together again :(

THE FLASHBACK SCENE BEING CUT :'( In the leaked storyboards Robotnik was going to a have a sort of 'feelings realization' moment where he presumably contemplates why he's bothering to save the Earth. A flashback was going to appear showing the scene where Stone gives Robotnik his latte after the latter returned in movie 2, Stone in his GUN disguise rescuing Robotnik after the latter was trapped under the rubble of his mech post movie 2 and a scene where a concerned looking Stone is handfeeding Robotnik soup complete with Robotnik looking depressed in a full body cast. The final storyboard picture showed a wide eyed and concerned Robotnik clearly realizing that Earth being destroyed would mean Stone was going to die as well. The flashback and Stone's life being on the line was what would have prompted Robotnik to try to save the planet. The flashback and feelings realization scene was cut for some reason from the final film :( Think I still have the leaked storyboard images somewhere on my blog but we were robbed.

Well this got longer than expected haha, hope its somewhat coherent.

[galacticlamps]

ok I have A Lot of thoughts about the staircase confession (well really about Edwin's whole character arc, but all roads lead to rome) but for now I just wanna say that, yes, I was bracing myself for something to go terribly wrong when I first watched it, and yes, part of me was initially worried its placement might be an uncharacteristically foolish choice made in the name of Drama or Pacing or Making a Compelling Episode of Television but at the expense of narrative sense--

But I wanna say that having taken all that into account, and watched it play out, and sat with it - and honestly become rather transfixed by it - I really think it's a beautifully crafted moment and truly the only way that arc could've arrived at such a satisfying conclusion.

And if I had to pinpoint why I not only buy it but also have come to really treasure it, I'd have to put it down to the fact that it genuinely is a confession, and nothing else.

That moment is an announcement of what Edwin has come to understand about himself, but because it takes the form of a character admitting romantic feelings for such a close friend, I think it can be very easy, when writing that kind of thing, to imbue it with other elements like a plea or a request or even the start of a new relationship that, intentionally or not, would change the shape of the moment and can quickly overshadow what a huge deal the telling is all on its own. But that's not the case here. Since it is only a confession, unaccompanied by anything else, and since we see afterward how it was enough, evidently, to fix the strangeness that had grown between him & Charles, we're forced to understand that it was never Edwin's feelings that were actually making things difficult for him - it was not being able to tell Charles about them. 'Terrified' as he's been of this, Edwin learns that his feelings don't need to either disappear completely or be totally reciprocated in order for him to be able to return to the peace, stability, and security of the relationship with which he defines his existence - and the scale of that relief a) tells us a hell of a lot about Edwin as a character and b) totally justifies the way his declaration just bursts out of him at what would otherwise be such a poorly chosen moment, in my opinion.

Whether or not they are or ever could be reciprocated, Edwin's feelings are definitively proven not to be the problem here - only his potential choice to bottle it up - his repression - is. And where that repression had once been mainly involuntary, a product of what he'd been through, now that he's got this new awareness of himself, if he still fails to admit what he's found either to himself or to the one person he's so unambiguously close with, then that repression will be by his own choice and actions.

And he won't do that. Among other things, he's coming into this scene having just (unknowingly) absolved the soul of his own school bully and accidental killer by pointing out a fact that is every bit as central to his self-discovery as anything about his sexuality or his attraction to Charles is: the idea that "If you punish yourself, everywhere becomes Hell"

So narratively speaking, of course it makes sense that Edwin literally cannot get out of Hell until he stops punishing himself - and right now, the thing that's torturing him is something he has control over. It's not who he is or what he feels, but what he chooses to do with those feelings that's hurting him, and he's even already made the conscious choice to tell Charles about them, he was just interrupted. But now that they're back together and he's literally in the middle of an attempt to escape Hell, there is absolutely no way he can so much as stop for breath without telling Charles the truth. Even the stopping for breath is so loaded - because they're ghosts, they don't need to breathe, but also they're in Hell, so the one thing they can feel is pain, however nonsensical. And Edwin certainly is in pain. But whether he knows what he's about to do or not when he says he 'just needs a tick,' a breather is absolutely not what's gonna give him enough relief to keep climbing - it's fixing that other hurt, though, that will.

Like everything else in that scene, there's a lot of layers to him promising Charles "You don't have to feel the same way, I just needed you to know" - but I don't think that means it isn't also true on a surface level. It's the act of telling Charles that matters so much more than whatever follows it, and while that might have gone unnoticed if anything else major had happened in the same conversation, now we're forced to acknowledge its staggering and singular importance for what it is. The moment is well-earned and properly built up to, but until we see it happen in all its wonderful simplicity, and we see the aftermath (or lack thereof, even), we couldn't properly anticipate how much of a weight off Edwin's shoulders merely getting to share the truth with Charles was going to be, why he couldn't wait for a better, safer opportunity before giving in to that desire, or how badly he needed to say it and nothing else - and I really, really love the weight that act of just being honest, seen, and known is given in their story/relationship.

[bonkbobl]

beautiful fool

ROOSE BOLTON X READER | PART 2

a/n: wait okay i didn't mean to fall down this rabbit hole but roose bolton can get it i dont really care. genuinely sometimes i forget that hes a bad... bad bad bad man. he has that flavor of bad thats just so alluring though i cant resist. i forget that the boltons often torture people for fucks and giggles but rewatching the scene where roose just fucks with jamies head for no reason other than thinking it might be funny made me think to what lengths would he go for something he actually wants. warning that its unedited and unplanned and this is more or less a train of thought fic.

summary: he had to have you. whatever it takes.

warning: REALLY explicit, major dubious consent, honestly headed toward straight noncon. very problematic trope of being forced to fuck but then enjoying it. forced marriage. id say dark roose but lowkey this is pretty in character for this bad bad bad man bad man. bad man.

Your heart raced out of your chest, fear even threatening to bubble and explode out of your throat. You almost got away. You nearly escaped. And here you were, tackled into the mud just by the river by men who wanted to hurt you. Hurt you and whatever was left of your family.

The men who whispered taunts in your ear as they tied your hands behind your back laughed. These were the same men who just two days ago invited the woman who you call mother and the man who was like a brother to you into their home to feast and murdered them.

You knew they'd send out a hunting party after you. But you thought swimming in the water might throw them off your scent. You weren't so lucky.

And as they dragged you back, the words of those men rang ominously through your head, "It's too bad the lord wants her untouched. I'd very much like to touch this one."

A lurking feeling told you that you'd probably have preferred to fall into the river and crack your head open on some jagged rock than find out what use the Lord of the Dreadfort had for you.

------------------

"What happens if I refuse," You asked, lifting your chin in defiance, as much defiance as you could manage with your arms tied behind your back.

Roose tilted his head at you almost like he was amused that you'd even think you have a say in the matter in the first place. "Then I'll put a bastard baby in you," he responded, his frankness and lack of shame sending cool shivers down your back. "And once the bastard is born I'll put another in you."

You couldn't help the frustrated tears that pooled in your eyes and you ripped your gaze away from him, fear bubbling in your chest and making you feel sick.

"Whore of Winterfell, or Lady Bolton. It's your decision, love."

Ever since that conversation you had pondered how likely it is you'd make it even a few miles before you were captured, either by Bolton hunters or the Ironborn. Either would be unpleasant. You wondered if you could find a way to just be done with it all and join your ward family in the seven heavens rather than fight. But you knew you could never bring yourself to. You were one of the living, through and through. You had to run.

And plan, you did, but no opportunity came. It was only a matter of time before you were put in a pretty white dress and brought under a Godswood to speak your vows to the man who betrayed your true king.

All you could think was why. Why cant he just let you go. You have no legitimate claim that could threaten him. You're not a stark. You're just a girl. You don't come from a large family. Not one of influence. There are no banners to raise. No substantial actions you could take against the new wardens of the north. You were more likely to die trying to run north than you were to be any kind of threat.

------------------

It wasn't like Roose to hold affections for any particular person. It was rare for him to even feel a vague sense of fondness towards anyone. A person is useful and competent. If they aren't then at best they are a nuisance that he could do without, at worst a threat to the Bolton name.

But you.

You were every bit as much a fool as the man who took you in as a ward, and that same mans son who grew up with you. You fretted over honor and doing the right thing when your enemies would not pay a second thought. You argued in favor of the late Queen Talisa's insistence on helping both Northern and Royal forces, allocating countless coppers toward medicating the enemy.

You aggravated Roose to no end when you first began to speak out. And yet he found that his eyes would always meet yours, rake downward against his will really. And though it only added to his aggravation, he brushed those feelings aside as the natural desires of a man.

He, in no way, found you difficult to gaze upon. It was infuriating, even more so that you seemed to understand the effect you had on men, flirting about with the son of Karstark and joking crudely with the men as if you weren't a lady to be respected.

And yet he found a stirring in him when you'd make an innuendo that was a little too risque.

He soon found it difficult to not think of you. Especially when you, the beautiful fool, revealed yourself to be of a sharper mind than even the King in moments.

"I love Talisa, truly, but think about it, Robb. You may be winning battles right now. But if you become too close to her, your closest advisors may falter. You risk losing the war."

"We have little food to sustain the rest of the camp, perhaps it'd do the Northern cause some good to do something about the overflowing kennels. As distasteful as it is to execute so many."

"Karstark will be avenged if you go through with this, please Robb. His forces make up a third of ours. Think. Think about it, I beg you."

Roose was irked by the fact that he agreed with you on more occasions than not, but he was impressed nevertheless. And it only kept you on his mind more. No, it wasn't love, Roose was sure of it, it erred more on the side of an intrigue that escalated to the point of near obsession. You were, after all, young, beautiful, thoughtful, and you held a level head. More strong than his first wife, less stiff and rigid than his second. More alluring and exciting than both.

The way Roose saw it, Robb Stark was becoming more dangerous to the interests of the North, growing increasingly reckless as the war went on. It was really his duty to usurp the so called King in the North, whod surely lead all the great Northern Houses to extinction if this masquerade continued on. You, however, would be a great loss if you were to drown alongside the wolf.

A great loss, indeed. Not to any higher purpose, you were not from any significant house. No, you just deserved to live. It baffled Roose to know he felt that way about any one person. But he reasoned it's simply because he wants you for himself. His pretty little wife — you'd fit that role so well.

He even remembered the way the old Lord Frey cackled when he stated his intentions with you.

"Marry any of my daughters and I will give you her weight in silver, My Lord. An offer of good faith and my grandson shall become Warden of the North."

"I'm honored by the offer, believe me. But I already have a prize that I've set my eyes on."

Frey's eyebrows arched in amusement.

"The Stark Ward," Bolton answered the unspoken question.

And the old man laughed, harder than a man his age should be able to, and sure enough his joy was cut short by a few uncouth coughs. "Pretty slut. I cannot say I blame you, Lord Bolton. I'm embarrassed I didn't think to take that pretty thing as my spoils before you did."

Roose offered a polite smile and hum, "I'll wed one of your children or perhaps grandchildren to whatever child I will have with my new wife."

Frey chuckled, nodding, "Hm, expect me to remember such a promise, my lord..." Then with a sardonic smirk, the lecherous old man spoke again, "Eh, I assume you aren't the type of man to like to share, are you, Lord Bolton."

And Roose's smile dropped into a hard glare. Frey laughed again, waving him off.

"A joke," he reassured, "Alright. After we kill the boy and his mum, you keep the whore. I cant wait to see how you deign to tame the bitch."

------------------

The very same halls you grew up in echoed terribly as your husband led you to the chambers you would share. The Lords chambers. You remember running to this very room to pester your Lord and Lady, sometimes Sansa or her older brother running alongside you.

Lord Bolton hardly spoke a word to you. All the better, for you could not bear to look at him. All those months of sitting across him as both of you counseled the proclaimed King in the North, and you thought you knew the man. You even admired him, vied for his approval. You thought him to be intelligent, more clear headed than the men that are easily driven by anger or lust and other vices of men. You'd smile to yourself on the occasions he'd agree with you or appear to approve of your advise.

To be honest, you thought Lord Bolton had no such love or affection toward you, especially in the very beginning when he wouldn't even stop to regard you, or he'd clearly speak over you, brush you aside, advise your king the opposite of the words you'd spoken. You thought he saw you as a mere child, playing at king and hand like you and Robb would as babes.

Now you think he really must have hated you. You wonder how long he hated Robb, and all the Starks, all their allies. But you, he must have hated you especially. Why he would feel the need to subject you to the greatest torture of living with him, being bred by him, carrying child after child, you wondered why why why. Why does he hold so much resentment toward a young girl. He must be a sad man.

You suddenly realized he was staring at you, watching your teary eyes, your clenched jaw, your shaky breath. You stared him in his cold eyes, defiant. Though you knew it was useless. You knew what would come next. He made it clear.

Whore of Winterfell, or Lady Bolton.

Was there any difference?

For Lady Bolton, the children you bear him would be heirs rather than bastards. For Lady Bolton, you'd have a title, your "honor" in tact. But everything that mattered would remain the same. Youd take him nightly. You could only hope for him to cease his visits once a babe has taken to your belly

"Lady Bolton," your husband commanded your attention.

You faced him, inches away from the bed. He towered over you and you did your best at a feeble attempt to not let him intimidate you. You were scared. You wanted to be strong but the thought of what was to come next was scaring you. There's no escape.

"Lord Bolton," you replied, nothing but spite in your tone.

He breathed a humorous scoff, shaking his head slightly, "Undress yourself," he said, barely above a whisper, challenging you by tilting his head to the side. His eyes were so cold, barely feeling. You'd not be surprised if he told you he wasn't human.

Swallowing, you began unlacing your dress, attempting to remain hard as steal. But a tear finally trickled down your face when his hand reached up to cup it.

Your fingers stalled to a halt when he leaned in to kiss the tear, an action that would be comforting from any other man but you knew he meant to mock you. This was meant to be humiliating. He doesn't care for you. He kisses your tears away to remind you he doesn't care. He might even like it. Stop crying.

But you couldn't. You squeaked out a small sob as his lips came down to meet yours, hungry and demanding. Your shaky breath let out a heavy sigh through your nose and the feeling of fear strangely extinguished from your chest for a moment. Instead, your chest rose and you met him in his kiss.

His lips were surprisingly soft, his tongue felt dirty in your mouth but you couldn't explain why you didn't want to bite it off and spit it out. Instead you felt helpless and you let his tongue roam your mouth with little to no fight. When he pulled away from you, a string of spit tried desperately to keep the two of you connected but smacked against your chin after a mere second.

Your breath was heavy, cheeks wet with tears, flushed and probably looking a mess. You didn't want to imagine it. The vague sense of disgust with yourself remained but it just felt slightly different. You didn't know how to place it. It stirred rather pleasantly in your lower tummy and you felt really tense down there.

"I will repeat this command. But for the future, I want it to be known that I don't enjoy repeating myself. Undress yourself."

You heard his words clearly and allowed him to kiss you again. Your fingers clumsily and hurriedly worked at your dress. You stripped yourself bare as he did as he liked, kissing, nipping at your lips. His hands explored the new inches of your body as they became more and more exposed to him.

They roamed over your back, and back in front to cup your soft tits, weighing them, toying with your nipple... roamed back down your back, squeezing your firm ass. You couldn't place the feeling, you couldn't place it. You didn't like the feeling. You wanted it to stop. And yet if he pulled away you felt as if you might lean back into his touch inexplicably. You'd hate it but you'd go back for more.

Whenever he groped you a little too hard, you'd whine without even realizing it and Roose's pleasure would grow. Once you were fully naked, you grew awkward, not knowing what to do with your hands so you backed toward the bed. But he followed.

The rough fabric of his clothes felt harsh against your soft skin. You had nothing to do but whimper again and when you turned your head away, he simply let you, instead taking the opportunity to finally look at you, his little wife. Beautiful, clever, stubborn little wife.

You ducked your head, crying, confused at the way you felt, confused as to why you weren't fighting him harder. And that spurred you to begin.

Roose realized you weren't fighting him the second he kissed you and he shared your confusion for a second until he felt your tongue caressing his in reciprocation. He's sure you hadn't even fully realized your own actions as you had rushed to comply with his orders.

He half expected you to be a shy blushing bride but this reminded him that you were a little of a tease with Robbs men, cracking nasty jokes that a lady should not have been aware of. You were no blushing bride. In fact, you were a bit of a slut. A tease.

And suddenly, it struck him that the behavior hadn't so much aggravated him in the way that he thought. In fact the memory of you flirting with those men who were now burried in the ground or thrown into the river, gave him this strong sense of accomplishment to have you here.

Roose began undoing his trousers, unsheathing himself to your horror and you pushed him away, escaping the only way you were permitted, crawling on the bed and trying to get over to the other side. Roose was too fast, grabbing your ankle and pulling you down.

You fell but you kicked him in the chest and he laughed, dropping your ankle, but only so he could grasp your hips firmly and pull you back along the edge of the bed.

"Down, girl," he commanded, as if you were a dog.

You cried, clawing at anywhere to escape to. But he was right behind you and as you looked around, you knew it was hopeless. Still the fight burned on in your chest. Then you heard a smack and a sharp pain in your buttock, jolting you under your husband.

Another one came because you refused to calm yourself, then his hand slipped between your thighs and he spanked you again as another feeble warning.

"My lady," He started, waiting for you to calm finally before chuckling. Then your torturer informed you of something, no doubt to break your spirits, "Are you aware, Lady Bolton, how wet your cunt is?"

His rough weathered fingers rubbed at your entrance, barely pushing in and sure enough the sound of your slick being rubbed and spread around, filled your ears. Your fists balled the sheets under it and your legs helplessly kicked up, though with no purpose. You couldn't get away. From him. From your shame. From your body's betrayal.

"Your womb is begging me to fill it. You feel it, don't you?" He taunted, "You're confused, aren't you. Stupid, confused, little wife."

His fingers slipped away and you fought to catch your breath, fists relaxing because he stopped. But then his fingers were replaced by something thicker and hotter and your struggle resumed. Your hips squirming but all it did was slicken his cockhead for an easier entrance.

"Let me clear your confusion, stupid little wife." Roose cooed to you, the tone of his voice unfitting of the cruel words. "You are exactly where you belong. Under your husband, serving your husband. The Warden of the North. There's no need to fight your fate or fight your pleasure as you are exactly where you belong."

Then he began pushing into you and your toes clenched, back arching inexplicably. The new angle that you provided made it easier. You knew it didn't make sense but it made perfect sense to Roose, who chuckled behind you, smacking your ass, this time not in displeasure but as a praise. Your body twitched at it, cunt squeezing and pulsing around him as if it were trying to suck it in.

Your moans grew more wanton as he pushed in torturously slow. And of course it hurt, stung, when he forced past your maidenhead but you couldn't even bring yourself to squirm away from that. You were rightfully his.

When his hips met yours, he just held himself buried inside you for a few seconds and you continued to contract and twitch around him, small squeaks of confusion escaping your throat against your will. You couldn't stop squirming. The sensation of something so big filling you stirred you uncontrollably.

A hand trailed down your thigh, nudging it upward and you followed the movement, allowing him to prop your leg up on the bed. Then he began thrusting and your face heated up when you heard just how wet you were. Each time his hips pressed flush against you, youd feel the cool sensation of your slick on his balls.

It was all so vivid. Even if you couldn't see what was going on behind you. You knew. And the most shameful noises forced past your throat as your husband fucked you deeply and slowly.

"Listen to yourself," Roose muttered, hands coming up to grab your shoulders.

It allowed him to hammer deeper and harder into you, the sharpness of his thrusts contrasting the slow strokes he started with. You cried out, shameful but you were horrified to find that you did not want him to stop. Not when he was... oh his cock was hitting something inside you. Deep inside you.

"Keep making those noises, darling wife. I cant tell if I enjoy your pleasure more or your tears."

You cried out, a small sob at the end of it. And despite your better judgement, you turned your head to look at your husband. Your naked body contrasted so much with his garments, which stayed mostly unmoved. Only his pants and breeches were pulled down to his mid thigh.

His expression hardened upon evaluating your features. There was nothing more beautiful, your lips parted in a pleasure that confused you. The tears had dried by now but your hair was a mess and your eyes swollen and pinkish. Not to mention the way you were splayed out beneath him. He landed a firm spank to your buttocks again, aiming to leave marks.

You whimpered, eyebrows coming together as your pussy clamped down around him. Roose grabbed your hip that was propped higher than the rest of your body due to your leg that was positioned on the bed. And he used that hip as leverage to pull your body into him.

The confusion within you turned to fear when an unfamiliar feeling began building within you. You cried out loudly and involuntarily clamped down even harder around him, pulsing uncontrollably as he jackhammered into you ruthlessly, intensifying when his hands abandoned your hips for your neck.

You couldn't help but feel as if you were reduced to a little object. He could grab you wherever and however he wanted and pull you against his cock and you had nowhere to run and yet you couldn't even deign to lift your legs and kick at him. You surrendered to the smallness that he made you feel, cries and distress replaced by whimpers and submission.

You came to find your body shaking and convulsing with a blinding kind of pleasure. Even your moans died into a breathy, shaky sigh, back arching as you sank further into the sheets beneath you. Your lord gave no sign of stopping, another self satisfied hum rumbling from his chest.

"Good, so good, darling. I knew you would come to enjoy your new position."

And with that you were filled again with shame, though not yet strong enough to overshadow the stubborn pleasure which muted any feelings that might incite discomfort. You especially could not feel displeased when your husband firmly snapped his hips into you, releasing a grunt. He continued to pump into you, slowly but firmly. sighing along with his thrusts. It was the only compromise in composure that he allowed you to see and you were only sure at this point that he was finished with you.

Surprisingly the spilling of his seed didn't feel like much but your cunt squeezed him, as if it was aware. And you felt satisfaction wash over you, as if your body was also aware.

To your shock and shame, your ass gyrated beneath him, rolling itself against him to fully milk him for all he had to offer you. And you hid your face, pausing once you realized.

After recovering from his release, Roose watched you closely, appreciating the way you still squirmed, restless. You moved your leg back down to the floor and pushed back, hips meeting his and your cunt convulsed again around him due to the overstimulation. He stood like a barrier, looming over you a he rested his hands on the edge of the bed where your hips were and your restless little cunt continued to twitch and pulse as you tried to compose yourself desperately.

You breathed deeply but it was hopeless. You could not walk away with your dignity, fully aware of how Lord Bolton stared upon his Lady Bolton, satisfied with how you gave into him so easily.

You shivered and your breath hitched when he landed a kiss to your shoulder blade. Then you sighed, settling down again for him. And a needy whimper confirmed your submission.

Roose loomed over you, giving you another small kiss on your temple.

"You did well, my lady."

The approval got to you. Your days on Robbs counsel trying your best to say anything intelligent that would make him accept you as an equal. It all led you to this moment. But you never did accomplish your goal of being viewed as an equal, at least it didn't feel that way in this moment. His softening cock still inside you, the only thing stopping his spend from trickling down your leg. Oh the shame of it all.

"I'm pleased to find that you enjoyed it as much as I did."

"No," You protested but in your voice you could tell you didn't even believe yourself.

Lord Bolton merely laughed. And you whimpered again, willing yourself to sink into the bed and disappear. Then your husband pulled back and spread your ass cheeks apart, giving you a lengthy thrust. Though he was not as hard as he was moments ago, the movement was enough to make you shiver.

"Then we should try again in a half mark of an hour. I shall train my lady wife to welcome me into her bed."

You bit the inside of your mouth to prevent another whimper but it was ripped from you when Lord Bolton spanked you again.

Oh yes, Roose Bolton would commit a thousand betrayals and massacre a hundred false Kings if it meant he'd end up with you, here, to warm his bed.

[dark-frosted-heart]

Your Favorite Body - Matias Asbrink

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this.

On a night in Achroite when snow fell like petals—

Emma: It's so interesting you'll be able to walk through the forest without any light even though it's night.

Matias: Yeah, it's a phenomenon called snowglow. It's when moonlight reflects off a bed of snow and scatters, making its surroundings brighter. After your eyes adjust to it, the snow will look like it has a faint glow and you'll be treated to a splendid, magical scene.

Emma: Hehe, I'm really looking forward to it! Thank you so much for arranging this!

Matias: You're a dear friend and I've been looking forward to seeing it with you.

A few days ago, we had talked about the "beauty of the forest at night", which led to me going out with Prince Matias.

It was still early, so we stopped at a cafe. As we were chatting, Prince Matias suddenly stared at me intently from across the table.

Matias: By the way, do you have clothes for the cold? The forest's cold at night. You'll need to wear more clothes than usual.

Emma: Yes, I have enough. I brought extra layers and also brought the gloves and scarf that you gave me.

Matias: Well that's a relief. Still, just to be safe, let's warm up here.

Prince Matias smiled and sipped his coffee.

I went to grab my cup too when—

Emma: Woah!

The metal cup was hotter than I expected and I pulled my hand back.

The cup ended up flying toward Prince Matias, its contents spilling out...

Emma: P-prince Matias! Are you okay?

Matias: Yeah, I'm fine. How about you?

Emma: I'm fine...I'm so sorry about that!

I rushed over to Prince Matias' side and wiped his coat and shirt with a linen cloth.

(This is bad, it's not coming off at all. And he's pretty wet...)

I didn't give up though, and grabbed his shirt. Snow shadow-colored eyes shifted from side to side.

Matias: ...

Emma: It's hot too. Did you get burned?

Matias: Like I said before, I'm fine. I only got a little wet, it's no problem. [to himself] I never imagined that a fantasy of mine from back when I was a student would come true.

Emma: Hm? I'm glad you didn't get hurt. I'm so sorry for the stain. Please let me give you a replacement next time.

Matias: There's no need. I'm pretty good at cleaning stains since it's something I had to do often while I was a student. However, it won't be good to go into the forest like this.

(That's true. He'll freeze right away with wet clothes)

Emma: Then let's cancel our outing today.

(It's unfortunate, but it's better than Prince Matias catching a cold)

Matias: No, I'd rather not. I know—

--

After leaving the cafe, Prince Matias took me to a nearby inn.

Matias: If I air them out in a warm room, they'll dry faster. We still have some time. Let's stay here for a while. This inn's a favorite of mine.

Matias sounded pretty cheerful and didn't blame me at all.

(He's so nice)

My chest warmed at the thought as I headed toward the back of the room.

Emma: I'll light the lamps.

Matias: No, hold on...I'll light this candle.

(This candle?)

Prince Matias picked up a candle from a shelf nearby and lit it with a sense of familiarity.

The room was immediately bathed in a warm light and the intricate decorations on the candle holders stood out.

Emma: ...Amazing.

Matias: Do you like it?

Emma: Yes, it's reeeally lovely! I was looking forward to seeing the snowglow, but this is a magical scene too...thank you for bringing me here.

Matias: Yeah. Even thought part of our original plan, I'm glad I got to see this with you.

His snow shadow-colored eyes narrowed slowly with his calm smile.

His soft smile was so captivating that I forgot how to breathe.

(I'm not sure why...but my heart's suddenly beating really fast)

While I was trying to calm my heart down, Prince Matias reached up to his shirt—

Emma: ...Prince Matias!

Matias: Hm, what's wrong?

(I was just about to faint from how charming his expression was, and now he's stripping!)

Flustered, I turned away, but that didn't calm me down.

Matias: Miss Emma, what's wrong?

Emma: ...You suddenly started taking your clothes off and it surprised me...

Matias: I have to take them off if I want them to dry.

Matias spoke calmly, oblivious to my internal panicking.

Matias: Like I said back at the cafe, my clothes would often get dirty while I was a student. When you put mischievous boys together, chaos happens...

(...I get it now. This is something Prince Matias is used to)

(And doing this is fine for him since we're friends, despite being of different genders)

I took deep breaths to calm my heart...

Matias: Miss Emma, are you okay?

He appeared from behind me and I jolted in surprise.

Emma: I-I-I-I'm fine! So...

(This is bad. If Prince Matias keeps getting closer while radiating all that charm, I'm going to...)

I backed away hastily and ended up stumbling back onto the bed.

Emma: Ah...

Matias: ...You're not fine at all. There's obviously something wrong with you.

Prince Matias got on the bed and sat beside me.

While I looked at his worried, snow shadow-colored eyes, a long hand instantly reached toward me.

A large palm touched my forehead and Prince Matias' furrowed his brows.

Matias: You do feel a bit hot. Shall I light more lamps?

Though I was thankful for his concern, I disagreed.

(...I'm definitely blushing. I can't let him see me like this)

Emma: Please don't...Um, just leave them as is...

The way I said those words was like I was imploring him and Prince Matias stared at me.

Matias [to himself]: It's like my fantasies with my consort have become a reality.

(I was dizzy and couldn't think straight)

(...I can't avoid this anymore. I'm already at my limit. I have to be honest with him...)

Making up my mind, I looked into his snow shadow-colored eyes and opened my mouth.

Emma: I'm embarrassed! ...You're just too alluring right now...

Matias: Alluring?

Emma: Yes...My heart was already racing from how sexy you are, and then when you started undressing, I couldn't look at you anymore...

Prince Matias looked stunned and dipped his head slightly with a serious look.

Matias: ...I-I see. I...wasn't being considerate. Sorry. I'm aware that you're not like my schoolmates, but...

Emma: No, I'm sorry I can't act normally.

Matias: Miss Emma, please don't apologize. It's my fault for being inconsiderate. Besides, you're far too—

Emma: Far too...?

Matias: ...Nevermind, it's nothing. In any case, the fault's mine. ...(<_<)

(I can't tell since it's dark, but is Prince Matias feeling a little embarrassed?)

Matias: I'm not sure why, but...when I'm with you, I experience these feelings that I don't with other women.

Emma: ...I might be the same. And not just today, but when I'm with you, I sometimes get these strange feelings... Ah, do you hate it when people think about you like this?

Matias: When you say strange feeling, do you mean a "distasteful" feeling?

Emma: N-no!

Matias: Then it's okay. I don't mind if you think of me like that. Rather...

Prince Matias cut himself off and smiled happily.

That smile was filled with so much more allure than I had ever experienced before.

(My heart's pounding too fast for me to think about anything else)

(And yet it's odd how comforting it is)

For the time being, in this candlelit dream-like room, I stared at Prince Matias and forgot about everything else.

I'm never sure if I should translate 色香 as charming, alluring, or sexy

[vicholas]

my initial interpretation of the rudy-toriel church scene combined with all the moments establishing asgore as chummy with carol was that carol was cheating on rudy with asgore. the more i think on it the more my reading was probably way off but part of me wishes it's real anyway because i love chaos and strife

I think you're ignoring a pretty important thing here and it's that Rudy is Asgore's best friend. I really don't think Asgore would have an affair with his best friend's wife, especially not when said best friend is hospitalized. It doesn't feel in-character.

You're ignoring another important factor here and it's that Asgore and Rudy have a fair amount of subtext between them. Remember the UT alarm clock?

I know this is UT and not DR but it still feels pretty significant to their relationship.

This doesn't really contradict your theory about Asgore and Carol but I'm going somewhere else. I'm going somewhere stupider: It'd be fucking funny if he's dating both. It probably won't happen and this is really more "something I think would be really funny if it happened" than "something I can say with confidence I think will happen in future chapters" but listen.

I'm gonna be insane for a second but I have wondered for a while if there's any chance the events + characters established in the Dark World could be in any way paralleling real things from the Light World. I don't mean it as in a 1:1 parallels where every character has their own clear equivalent, but rather as in broader parallels where sometimes a single character in the Dark World mirrors multiple things in the Light World.

We had Queen in chapter 2 acting as a controlling and misguided maternal figure towards Noelle which parallels her relationship with her mother; we had Tenna mirroring how Kris (and Asriel probably) was affected by the Dreemurr divorce, but he also embodies a sense of nostalgia for the days when Kris was younger that's shared by various characters in the Light World. We joke about the game being the divorce game but it IS interesting that how divorce is, implied or explicitly, very present in the relationships between the adults of both worlds. There's a marked theme of kids having to rely on themselves because they are surronded by unreliable/buffoonish adults: You have Susie who is heavily implied to suffer from parental neglect and you have Ralsei who has no parental figures; you have Lancer who has 3 parental figures and they all suck in their own way. All the kids end up having to take more responsibilities than its normal for someone their age. I'd argue you can make a good case about Kris and Susie having the weight of the world on their shoulders because of the prophecy parallels their loneliness in the Light World and how they only have each other to deal with their own problems with no outside support.

Anyway. None of this actually matters because this is not a serious post.

I'm here to be silly and say: I think it would be really funny if Rouxls fail polycule is a parallel/foreshadowing to Asgore dating both Rudy and Carol. They are surprisingly similar in a lot of ways. They are both pathetic dudes who are trying to get together with someone who has zero interest in them but who's co-parenting a child with them (Queen and Toriel), and in both cases they get together with an already established couple yet still don't give up on wooing Queen and Toriel. Toriel was a queen in Undertale, Toriel = Queen. Lancer is a prince, Asriel was a prince in Undertale. Mindblown. It's all connected. It most likely won't happen but I'm having fun here so who cares. Asgore is gonna fix the Holidays marriage through his sheer failness.

[vyladerz]

WE ARE SO BACK!!! Sorta. Not really but I don’t want to dismiss this season completely. Season 11 did restore my faith a bit (especially after season 10). I mean in just the first episode we finally get to have a discussion about the whole point of hunting. To save lives. It’s so refreshing to start this season from this point, I just wish we could have ended on the same note.

The highs this season have reached heights I haven't seen since season 5. My patience has been so worth it. Visually the ranking here looks bottom tier heavy but the fifth tier is only C tier and there are moments in those episodes that I can say I did enjoy. The second to last tier can be ranked on it's own cause the Mytharc episodes have me scratching my head. Anyway who's up to reading paragraphs (I'm going to use Chuck and God interchangeably in this post).

-Chuck is God or God is Chuck. You know what? What the hell, go for it. No but I actually fuck with this. It just makes sense, out of anyone it would be Chuck. Episode 20, "Don't Call Me Shurley" blew me away. I want to dissect this episode in its entirety so badly but I will only share a quarter of my thoughts here for now. I'm so happy Metatron wasn't killed off before this episode. A few seasons ago I would have rolled my eyes at the thought of him returning but his presence was so deserved here. His whole writing 101 lesson to Chuck was such a clever way to get some much needed introspection into God and his many complicated relationships. Of course Metatron would be the only one able to truly get God to see how much of a utter coward he is. Metatron's devotion to advocate for humanity despite all it's faults he himself has witnessed and has been apart of is so dear to me. Especially considering his previous distain for anything to do with humanity. I find it so interesting that although Metatron is a scribe who has read the ins and outs of every book ever written, it's not until he became human that he came to appreciate all of humanity. And he did not live a pretty life either, no he was in the dumpster digging for scraps in the beginning of this episode. He was finding his way to survive as a human, the same as Castiel before. Honestly Metatron is a one of a kind type of character in this show and I couldn't see anyone else be able to fill his shoes. Okay this turned into Metatron the novel rather than it being about Chuck like it was meant to be oh well. I will say it is a ballsy move to have God be this grounded but damn did they do it so right. Well, in this episode at least. Plus the addition of Light vs. Darkness within the Supernatural lore felt inevitable. I do think they fumbled with it towards the end but I don't think it should be counted as a total loss. I'd have to make a separate post to speak my thoughts on the Mytharc overall this season if anyone cares to read about it.

Anyway Chuck/God is bisexual so cheers.

-Baby and the amulet mentioned!!! A Baby centric episode has been long overdue and boy oh boy did it have me falling in love with this show all over again. I know I made a post before about my favorite Supernatural episode being "Changing Channels" and the others happening to be Gabriel episodes but I think I have to pass the crown to "Baby." I love it so much I get so giddy when I think about the many layers that all come together to make such a beautifully cohesive story. It has heart, drama, great fight scenes, creative camera shots, silly brother bonding, and still pushes the main narrative along. What more could I ask for?? (Balanced storytelling will always win me over). I never thought I'd see an episode like this after season 5. I'm so glad they proved me dead wrong. I didn't realize how much I missed Baby, she's truly her own character in this show. Speaking of missing prominent objects that symbolize familial love and the brotherhood between Sam and Dean...yes the amulet. I've had this sore spot in my heart ever since I witnessed Dean throw it out all the way back in season 5. Then it was mentioned in the episode "Fan Fiction" last season which just hurt me even more. Now here it is after so much heartache, it's back and with a fair explanation to where it's been. I've always half joked with my sibling that Sam picked it up after it was thrown away and I'm sticking to that interpretation even more so now since the show seems to support it. Now if Dean and Sam could mention it in conversation...then I'll be free.

-Casifer was fun lol. I mean Misha Collins you've done it again. I saw recently on Twitter that people were saying that his depiction of Lucifer was too over the top and that it was his acting choices that made this character nothing more than a joke. I’d have to disagree, yes his performance was very expressive and leaned into a comedic portrayal of the character but he was still entirely in character. Lucifer using comedy to be an overall unhinged menace has been a thing since season 7 (Back then he was only a hallucination so I let it slide with little thought). So Misha’s performance doesn’t come out of nowhere, this characterization, whether we agree with it or not, has already existed and is accurate. This is purely a writing issue and not one that falls on the actor. And man do I personally not care for the writing choices made this season when it comes to Lucifer. This season has pushed its limits to how far I’m willing to take his comedic aspects because I find it has overshadowed the parts that make him compelling and sinister. I don’t know why the writers neglected these sides of him in favor of being a comedic relief which just has me rolling my eyes. Yes I like Casifer, as a one off thing that was very entertaining to watch but I know that this is going to be the direction they continue in and that bugs me. Anyway, Misha’s performance helped make Lucifer way more palatable and likable to the audience. Which is important because this character we are meant to despise is on screen for basically the whole season. I also do think Casifer did go on for a bit too long, there's a reason Souless Sam and Demon Dean don't last for entire seasons. It gets draining to watch real fast. This trend of having nothing for Castiel to do for basically a whole season is still continuing and I'm so over it. How long has it been since a true Team Free Will moment? Not saying Cas can only do something when it involves the brothers but come on it's been a long dry spell without an episode focused on the main three.

-This next part is in relation to episode: "We Happy Few." The whole "God is a deadbeat dad" thing was used as an analogy to describe what is a very complex relationship between a God and an archangel but now here it's so literal. You've got to be kidding. Why are we dumbing down Lucifer to a stubborn whiny bratty child?? (Again to reiterate, I don’t blame Misha’s performance, he was working with the script they gave him). They somehow had these larger than life entities' lore be devolved into some shitty reality tv show. You will not make me believe the relationship between God and Lucifer can be resolved through a sit down conversation (To be fair, it doesn't get resolved but it's sorta baffling that I have to watch them even try). How am I supposed to take any of these characters who are supposed to be menacing and these grand imposing figures within this show when they pull things like this?? I know I previously sung praise for this creative decision however, the lack of nuance between these pivotal character interactions just ends up make everything so cartoonish. For example, I would have thought there was going to be some engaging conflict with Sam and Dean's perspectives regarding faith once God, excuse me, Chuck, was in the picture. However, there was no questioning whatsoever this time around. For some unknown reason they decided that the whole emotional core of Supernatural, that being faith, shouldn't be a part of the story at that crucial moment. There's a huge opportunity here for even just a simple conversation between the brothers and Chuck. I mean, Sam and Dean are in the same room as God and NOTHING comes of it?? Sam especially should have had a voice here. Ugh it hurts to see the brothers being so docile and blindly following them. What a waste of an opportunity and now that Chuck's gone I'm just going to have to turn to fan fiction to get what should have been canon.

-The ending. The ending wasn't totally hopeless. Sam letting go of Dean was emotional in a very subdued way. It wasn't over the top like it was trying to force tears or convince me this was totally the end. It wasn't for the audience but it was just for them. This proves Sam has grown so much even just from the last season. Which is so refreshing to see because I wanted to let go of season 10’s characterization. The setup for the Men of Letters and the resurrection of Mary had me intrigued. I mean I did get spoiled before, I saw a clip of Mary with the boys at one point so I can't lie and say I'm shocked. I'm sure if I wasn't already aware I'd be losing it a little. I'm ready for something new that has nothing to do with Lucifer or Gods. If things can go down a notch as far as grandeur storytelling is concerned for just a season or hey just a few episodes then I'll be good.

I wouldn't say this season is a step down from season 10. There have been glimpses of the show remembering what works and finding it's sweet spot throughout this season. Overall I liked this season and what it had setup for the most part. Now on to season 12 with hope that some good has stuck.

[ladynecropolis]

this is a post about charlie pace: this wasn't a story about redemption.

so I started thinking a lot about him recently cause of some discussion I've been having and i thought I'd make some of my more complex opinions about his character arc known.

to preface this, I have to say 1: I am biased in his favor because he's my favorite character in the show. i will not pretend anything I'm about to say here is objectively correct, he's my little man. and 2: this post contains spoilers for like, his entire storyline? reader discretion is advised.

charlie pace, of all the characters I've ever truly loved, might be the most chronically misunderstood character I have ever known. this is in part about people who dislike him, but I honestly see it more often with people who do like him. he's frequently treated like a totally innocent victim of circumstance, for one thing, a total sweetheart who gets treated unfairly by the people around him and winds up having to earn their respect in the end, through a heroic act of self-sacrifice. on the other hand, it's also very easy to take that concept and twist it into some sort of redemption, claiming that his martyrdom was the ending of his character's journey from darkness to light, or whatever. that this was somehow absolution, the only way he could be forgiven for the mistakes he's made his entire life.

and to me, this feels...wrong. it feels like a failure to fully grasp the weight of his final decision, reducing it to something as simple as a final moment of redemption, when his arc...isn't about redemption. it was never about redeeming himself; he wasn't a character who needed to be redeemed. and to claim that he was feels like a fundamental misinterpretation of one of the central themes of his entire character.

so let's backtrack a bit—I want to talk about his character in season one.

in season one, at first, he's largely shown to be...well, kind of an asshole. he's definitely meant to be one of the more unserious types in the group, and he's very quickly understood by other characters to be someone you just don't take seriously, what with all his talk, and he falls into this spot within the social dynamic that immediately marks him as a sort of...unspoken burden. he falls in with the people who aren't immediately useful and thus are there to be protected and not to protect. (this is part of his bond with claire, more on that later.) and there's definitely a sense that he'd rather not be there—he's someone who wants very badly to be taken seriously, and can't be. this is the beginning of the very clear bitterness and jealousy he displays throughout his entire time on the show.

he's also...incredibly self absorbed in a way that probably has one of the biggest impacts on his personal relationships. he has a tendency to take things as personal slights when they really aren't about him at all, and a lot of his motivations early on are primarily selfish. the thing I always, always source when talking about this is the scene early on where someone is drowning and charlie lies saying that he can't swim, when the truth is he just didn't want to get his heroin wet; the fact that he can, in fact, swim, is very important.

and that leads me to the third important thing about his character early on, which is, of course, the heroin abuse.

which at the time is an extremely important aspect of his character, the arc where he's pressured by locke into quitting juxtaposed with the story of why he started using to begin with, and it's meant to be such a massive triumph for his character that he's able to overcome this. but, like, the way this is treated narratively, it's more of a symbol than an actual part of the story on its own. ( @lost-inanotherlife makes an excellent point about this in her own post here.) but more on that later.

charlies character takes a fascinating turn later in season one during the ethan rom arc, and one that really solidified him as my favorite the first time I saw it. this is the arc where we are introduced the the concept of the Others, and it becomes a massive threat to claire in particular. yes, they do wound charlie personally, too (specifically, he gets hanged in a tree, which was insane), but this isn't about that, because that doesn't matter to him as much. let me explain.

in the episode homecoming, we see a very washed up charlie, a charlie who has been reduced to stealing from people for heroin money. and then we see him meet somebody who he genuinely wants to care for. this person is, however, somebody he is supposed to be stealing from. this ends disastrously, another failure by charlie to do the right thing, another glaring reminder for him that he can't take care of anyone. this is paralleled with his story with claire here, where he is haunted by his failure to protect her from ethan, and that failure, that guilt and subsequent anger as he pins it on ethan, is why ethan rom is killed.

it's honestly a very strong moment for me with his character, because of everything it tells us—how badly he wants to be able to care for someone, and how much it frightens him when he can't.

in season two, this concept comes together with the narrative device that is his prior heroin dependency.

largely, in the story, his heroin dependency is used as a symbol of several aspects in his life, a major one being the fact that he isn't taken seriously by anybody. he starts using because he feels uncared for/unloved by his brother, who, as it happens, also seems to care more for the heroin than he does for charlie. (even after his brother cleans up his act, charlie doesn't stop—which serves as a different symbol altogether. more on that later.) and when charlie starts having..even more problems in season 2, what does it come back to, of course, but the heroin.

it's important to note that he does not relapse. it's also important to note that every time he has a serious issue in this arc, everyone assumes that he has, and as a result he will not be listened to. which is obviously unfair. his already precarious social status is on a knife's edge, and he winds up destroying his relationship with claire, even before his breakdown.

now I get to talk about fire+water. my favorite! buckle in.

fire+water is a pretty dramatic culmination both of the idea of Not Being Listened To and of the desire to protect something. in this case, aaron. it very aggressively brings out charlies fear that he won't be able to save anything , ever—that his presence is worthless at best and makes things worse at worst. and he tries so hard to do the right thing. or at least what he's convinced it is. but his attempts at being a protector here just make him a threat. he isn't heard, because when it's charlie, it must be the bloody drugs, right?

he's convinced he has to save aaron, from...something. it's a very catholic episode—I mean, this is lost, right? but really, it's no coincidence that this happened when it did, and it's no coincidence that this carried the themes it did. the idea that the only way to save the baby is to baptize him—that idea, coming to charlie through those visions? the dream he has, where he, as a child, essentially is told by his parents that he's going to have to be the one to save their family. of course, he can't even save himself.

which is probably the most important part of it all—he can't save himself, and that means he cant save anything else, either, can he? the episode brings to light this troubling circular thing within him. he knows, from a very early point, that he's ruined his own chances of being saved, but he still wants to believe there's hope, so he tries to protect something else because maybe, maybe, if he can do that, there's hope for him, too.

the baptism thing is interesting. this particular interpretation was brought to my attention by the very lovely @bagelcult to whom I owe this and much more—the desire to absolve the baby of sin takes on a fascinating angle when you consider the idea that charlie views himself as being full of the stuff. sin, that is. it begs the question—is he trying to save the baby from himself? is his innate understanding that he is always crashing and burning the reason why? if he can save someone else from himself, is it possible he could save himself, too?

in the end, he fails, and is punished for it severely. because he's not a protector, of course. he will never have that respect.

he spends the rest of season two bitter and lonely, but this isn't about that. he'd probably have found a different reason to be bitter and lonely anyway. that's just how he rolls

but things get really interesting again with regards to his doomed status when desmond hume enters the scene—this one's another favorite of mine.

desmond exists in the narrative of charlie pace as a kind of memento mori. he's here as a both a victim and a symbol of the fate that will inevitably befall charlie, and he spends the entire season trying to save him, hereby proving that he can't be saved. it's all very sisyphean.

(heres a parallel for your consideration: what if desmond wants to save charlie to prove the narrative can be altered? what if he wants to save himself, too?)

much of this is a back and forth fight between knowing what must happen and wanting to stop it anyway. there's a lot I could say here about that, because I've thought so much about des and charlie that it's probably giving me brain damage, but that's for a later post. what it boils down to is blind desperation, and eventual acceptance. charlie reaches acceptance before desmond does.

because charlie has known within him for a very long time that he was doomed, even before all this. he was teetering in the balance of fate for such a long time now, and des exists as the last thread holding charlie back from oblivion. it creates an extremely unstable tether that they both know must be cut, but one of them is refusing to let go.

which is why it's very, very important to me that charlies death was a decision he made. instead of allowing desmond to take his place, he is resigned to what must happen now.

and a part of that is acceptance that he was doomed from the start, but a part of that is also, I think, still his need to save something. he'd sacrifice himself just for the possibility he might be able to protect the people dear to him, because all he ever wanted was to be able to do that. and it settles pretty much his biggest thing; no, he can't save himself, but that doesn't mean he can't save you.

so, you might be asking yourself now: hey, nicky, what the hell are you talking about?

what I'm saying here is that this isn't a matter of redemption. that's a lazy way to look at it, honestly. to say this is a matter of redemption implies that charlie is someone who needed to be redeemed, and he didn't. he wasn't (on a moral level) ever low enough to need to be raised higher. he mightve, to a point, believed himself to be as such, but that was never the point with him. for all his character development into the sort of person who would do this, it was something that was, to an extent, always with him. it's not a story about how someone like him must die to be forgiven. it's far more complex than that. it's moreso about proving that he can, despite how everything in his life was always pushing him toward a bitter end, ultimately do good for someone else, even though he was made to believe he couldn't. it's about looking your inevitable doom in the eye and saying you're gonna make this count. he's allowed to own his death in the end, and it's not about somehow repairing his moral worth. lost is a show about cycles, and he intended to break one, because he couldn't break his own.

as for the use of drug dependency as a symbol of that, well, again, there's a much better post about that linked in a previous paragraph. the optics of that suck. but it's moreso a product of the writers just overlooking it, i think. the idea that his drug dependency serves as a symbol of his downfall might be a sloppy writing choice. if you see it that way. but I kind of don't. I mostly saw the drug thing as being about his loneliness, which is a separate issue. I mean, he quits. like, in the story. maybe a part of that ties into the ultimate thing with him; there's a decision that has to be made, and that's the only way you can break the cycle.

or something.

I dunno, I think about him a lot. I've always been of the opinion that he was supposed to die in the crash, honestly.

I know this sounds like I'm giving the writers a lot of credit, so let me just say...no. lmao. I don't know if the writers intended any of this. with the sheer amount of shit they totally fumbled on this show, there's every likelihood that the majority of the things I just said were completely by accident. but, hey, art is what we make of it! you bring your own baggage to the fictional media and call it analysis.

I think that's all I had to say on that. thanks for taking a look. feel free to argue with me, that's what I log on for!

[theoddest1]

Okay so, ima type in what I typed to my friend here.

"Yeah Ima be so dead ass. ||Mel and Ekko carried the final for me, ESPECIALLY Ekko."

Yeah, they should have just kept [Viktor] being Ryze. That made more sense to me than whatever this is. And I am all for mlm rep, but yeah, this felt WAY too, Jayvikky. I liked it better that they were brothers to parallel Vander and Silco, who also found each other and became bros, but it seemed like they went with how popular JayVik was and stuck with it. And Jayce being strung with Viktor for wherever they went felt...kinda nonsensical. I'd rather that Viktor was thwarted and too far gone to then just suddenly have a change of heart and go with Jayce. I imagined that he would have a contingency where he, incase his body was destroyed, would then later rise again to try and enact "Glorious Evolution". It would go well with the themes of his beliefs anyway because every time he dies, he comes back stronger in a new body. I feel like that would better set the ongoing conflict and fit well with the game and why he looks the way he does currently.

I also don't like how quick he and Mel's reunion was considering how much he favored her along with his odd and sudden dislike for her decisions-- Seriously, where did that even come from!?"

[Thought it over further. Him calling her out on her actions isn't the issue. It's the timing and how this transpires that confuses me. He just came from a post-apocalyptic world where Mel, Viktor, and everything else came to mind. The lack of time for them to truly talk made the scene felt out of nowhere and not at all fleshed out. He goes on to place part of the blame on her when literally it wasn't. She DID manipulate but only politically. Everything else was on he and Viktor. Then, when he DOES confront Viktor, the vibes are different. Viktor hurt and caused a chain of events that led to several lives being taken to ensure survival and his "Glorious Evolution", why is this essentially overlooked? Maybe when I review this again, it will make more sense, but as of now, the way Jayce treats both Mel and Viktor is VERY questionable.]

"I would have been pretty happy if He at least gave her a hug, a kiss, something to make their relationship seem consistent with what we were shown. I know that he's been gone for a while and a lot more cold, but this was a very odd direction to go with. I am super happy about Cait and Mel fighting side by side and that Mel may be the main character for a new Noxus related show! [Which I knew they'd set up!] but this series, after seeing it in its entirety, DID suffer too much from the pacing issues. I assumed at the First Act that it was quick paced to go with how they've all been shifted into places they didn't see coming, but the pacing issues continued to bring down the quality. 3 seasons would have made way more sense and would go well with the 3 ACT formula they had used. I hope they learn from this and refrain from making similar mistakes.

[I responded to my friend who posted these images above] I knew they'd make a callback to this line eventually, and I am genuinely surprised people are not catching this obvious set up to Jinx living. Also, I am betting that Heimer did "die" but only that alternate version of himself. [Though obviously I could be wrong, though a life of various lifetimes where he helps each version of the main cast sounds very Heimerdinger of him, especially since he didn't wanna leave.]

The biggest letdown for me has to be Jayce and Viktor's story. It just...doesn't make sense with what we have been shown. Also, if Viktor KNOWS bad shit would happen when bringing Hextech to life and all, why TF would he give it to Jayce then???? Or if he STILL wanted magic to be tampered with shy doesn't he comvince himself in a way HE KNOWS would prevent what happens next, surely NOT EVERY timeline has it where you continue on the path of destruction! You see what I mean!?!? Leave the time crap to Ekko, man. This new inclusion makes no sense! And he does this in VARIOUS timeliness for some reason. Man, I wish it was just a random ass mage or Ryze, this added stuff kinda kills the finale for me🫠

I feel that making Viktor time travel ruins a huge aspect of the story, ngl, especially when Jayce argues that people can "craft their own path." The story also shouldn't have ended with what I could only assume both of them "dying" or traversing time instead. Also, the way Sky was treated and essentially replaced with Jayce feels....very very weeeeird."

[I believe that the ending just didn't land that well. I feel, now thinking over every character, Ekko, Mel, and Jinx carried this season HEAVY. These 3 were the most interesting parts of the season, honorable mention being Singed cause he be doing what he MUST. Also, what was the point of introducing Loris if all he was gonna end up being was a random guy who reminded Vi of Vander? I guess nothing is wrong with this, but when you're already stringing for time, these inclusions make no sense... I liked him, though, RIP Loris🤧. Oh, and Caut barely facing consequences is KINDA CRAZY but it goes with the themes of forgiveness/ acceptance. The Cycle would never end, after all, but yeah Vi and Cait made up WAY too fast and just shows that this needed another season. Let me know your thoughts!]

[dangermousie]

Yup, still thinking about Olive Tree.

I was thinking that at first glance, it may appear rather sudden to have Zan run off to psych ward after that one episode in the hospital and then for Ran, after finding him and marrying him, leave the elope note for their parents and disappear into parts unknown. I mean, yes, it's been only months since he came back and this is ONE big incident, not years and repeat incidents.

One may be tempted to go "but wait! isn't it hurried!" but it actually makes total sense. Not just from the practical aspect of the fact that even this drama, as amazing as it is in centering on trauma, would not make viewers sit through ten episodes of agony as its finishing arc (who could even bear to watch?)

But because it fits Zan's character (and Ran's.) If you think about it, Zan is an absolutist and someone who by choice of profession makes quick decisions and seeks quick solutions. Impatience in term of long time is a trait and so is, tragically a binary sort of "well or not" thinking.

That is what motivates him to go back for the third tour. Yes, he is driven by guilt and desire to help, but even more he is driven by desperation to be healed, to be a whole man for Ran. The thing is, unlike when he comes back at the end, his situation is not horrifying. He is ill and he has episodes and it's tough but he is healing - slowly, painfully, with set-backs but he is. (And if he didn't push his trauma past its limits like with the bomb test, he might do even better.) But he cannot wait and he is desperate because he doesn't deal well with uncertainty and long wait times. I mean, it's so clear that if he didn't go for that last tour of duty, he'd be so much better off - he'd either heal more or even if somehow he never got better than he was before he went, he'd still be miles better than he ended up being.

And I think it's that kind of absolutist, impatient thinking that drives him to the psych ward after the hospital disaster. He is not a man to wait and ruminate and hope. He is so decisive and so unhesitating and that was helpful in his work but is detrimental here. To him this means things are not working - but this time he doesn't have the strength to try to fix it, he just wants to take himself out of equation to protect Ran. (If you think about it, he was motivated to help - like that stranger who fished him out of a well as a child; only this time he's fallen back into that well only so deep nobody can fish him out.)

(Of course, it didn't help that the hospital scene WAS horrific - it was so public and it made strangers look down on her and just...oooof. When you think that he started the story as a man who would turn women's heads as he walked in, who all these coworkers and soldiers and children adored, the light of any crowd and now he's surrounded by faces that hold only pity, fear or disgust...oooof.)

And Ran - she just wants to do what makes him as comfortable as he can be. So of course she is fine with disappearing with him into the aether. I have to say, his shrink is genuinely awful. She was awful the first time (sure, you are cleared to go to the war zone to deal with your trauma WTF) and she's terrible here - there has to be a middle ground that's not "if you don't keep him drugged up to the gills he will kill either himself or someone else sooner or later." Send him to some place that is equipped to handle war trauma for one - she doesn't even specialize in this omg.

Anyway, enough from me for now but I am also amused that the makers apparently said they thought long and hard and decided to change the novel's tragic ending. I mean, I suppose it's not the tragedy of the novel but I can't say I'd call it a happy ending in any way.

PS I love this MV