#oh and i love talking about religious trauma

[nicolovespancakes]

Sometimes I think we don't talk enough about some of the guilt Jeremiah may hold over religion, and then I remember;

A lot of people don't know that Saint Ignatius of Loyola, or "St. Ignatius" as so called, is a Spanish catholic priest.

And why is that important? Let's take a moment to remember what the school Jeremiah went to after he left the circus is called,

That's the boarding school Jeremiah canonically attended after running from the circus. For multiple years.

So it is to be inferred that it's a Catholic Boarding School.

And when we first learn anything about Jeremiah, or Xander at the time, it's been, I think 6 years? Since he graduated from said school.

So he's had time to, process.

And Cameron Monaghan himself states he feels a sort of passion towards other men (like Bruce), that is definitely called more than platonic on a basic premise.

The catholic church itself opposes same-sex marriage and sodomy and is active in political campaigns against it.

It just makes me think of all the mental turmoil he must've had to go through. Catholic guilt, religious guilt in of itself, is horrible.

And religions like catholicism love to stamp out any form of individuality at the best of times. With how Jeremiah dresses? He probably had a rough upcoming.

And don't get me started on Post-Spray Jer and all the thoughts of catholicism at that point. Or the church he built for himself in season 5, where he oddly made his recruits dress more like Missionaries or Alter Boys.

If you add twinleska into it it's a whole other ball game too.

Or his family at all, really.

God, I think about it a lot.

[brynn-lear]

I never got too deep into enstars but there are days where I miss Mama 😔

[bullagit]

i think a not-insignificant amount of the heartbreak crowley’s feeling in the end is  because he’s finally truly understanding that what’s happening with aziraphale (as he perceives it) isn’t something that he can save him from.

[tenok]

While it's a great analysis, especially the part about Aziraphale being desperate for respect, recognition and validation from people he consider his authorities — which is somehow get painted as his moral failure in fandom and not an inherent human quality, — I want to disagree (or more like... look from other perspective?) on couple things.

First: I always took "bad guys" as face value and I don't get what's fandom problem with it. Yes, the wording might be better, but it's a shorthand for all party lines from both sides packed into two words and it works for this rushed conversation. The point with "bad guys" and "good guys" is that it's arbitrary sides, and Aziraphale and Crowley points it again and again, aren't they? It's not a morality question at this point: they just sides, sure, but they have *goals*. Heavens is the "good guys" that works toward ultimate good (in theory! We and Aziraphale know that it's not the case). So, if you correct this system toward the goal it supposed to achieve, it should start make "good". Now, hell is the "bad guys". Correcting it toward it goal, making it effective leads to making more "badness" (look at Crowley: he's bad at being that kind of demon that kills and tortures, but his innovations actually *effective* at making more people miserable and making bad decisions — it's brushed in series but was more pointed in book). So, yes, "of course you said no, you're the bad guys" there = "your goals as to 'not make people miserable' contradicts hells main goal, while making things good are technically heavens goal and we can work on it there, as you always wished" (yes, heavens actually don't give a shit about humanity, but Aziraphale plans to correct this! How far he will get with it is another goal) (arguably, Crowley also doesn't want to make humans lives better, he's perfectly fine with how they are — it's Aziraphale that loves to meddle, but it looks like he thinks that they align there, making leap from "don't want to kill innocent kids" to "actually wants to go out of my way to change things to the better"). Now, I *do* think that if Crowley told him that he plans to go into hell and become the new prince to make things *less bad*, make it *harder* to hell to gather souls, make it *easier* for people who get into hell because things are unfair and they stole some bread to eat, Aziraphale probably *would've* decided that it's very noble of him (and than he would put him in box and secure this box in a safe, because hell no you're not going lol he's overcompensating when it's the matters of Crowley safety), but it's probably not something he ever considered — which is part of him thinking in black and white, sure, but also like. He has no reason to think about how Crowley can reconstruct hell (again, I want to stress it: Crowley don't think about changing things, and all Aziraphale knows about hell Is from him and heavens propaganda, it's not his fault if he's left with impression that you can't make hell's better!) daydreamed for years about what he would've do as Supreme Archangel, so I think we can go easy on him there.

But what I absolutely don't see is him *wanting* angel Crowley back in any way aside from protection it'll give them and justice it'll bring to Crowley (in Aziraphale's mind), him wanting to change him in any way. Look. He was always accepting of Crowley from their first meeting as a demon, and he never shows any concerns towards him that's not based on fears that based on real possibilities (are you tempting me? Can someone there overhear that we were called friends? Are you lying? Etc). From immediately accepting his new looks and names, to always stating "you're a demon and I hang out with you", not "you're a demon and I hang out with you despite of this". More than that, he's ready to accept version of Crowley that much worse than he are, actually (notice how when he asks "are this your doing?" in Bastille or with nazis, he's not outraged, he's not disgusted, he's mildly irrated at worst! He's not pushing him away based on this! If Crowley will ask him to lend him a shovel he'll probably came ready to help to hide a body, he's that ride or die. Now, I think it's as important to the acceptance as "I know you, you'll never do X". Aziraphale ahowes again and again that there's no unforgivable with him, he will be ready to forgive and forget). And look at how he talks about Crowley to other angels — he can't imagine himself saying something about how bad he is even to beings that haven't heard any honest word from him for millennia, it's just not something he has in his mind. He uses an argument "you were an angel once" twice in this series, both time when people's lives were on stakes, and I can discuss it separately since it's already too long but it was it, just an argument he used with several others to try and persuade Crowley (and Aziraphale, being not really great with social skills, usually uses arguments that will work on him, so). I won't even touch the walls and car and color of Crowley eyes. It's not Starmaker eyes, we all already gushed about it, whatever. (And he wasn't made *uncomfortable* by Starmaker, aren't he? He immediately get *afraid* for him, which is integral part of this relationship. So I don't think he ever dreamed that making Crowley an angel again would make him any different, make him "proper" angel that would be easier to love. Notice how his offer is not going with "and you should promise to be on your best behavior", it's actually partnered with "now I'll be the one in power, so I will protect you from mistreatment").

Honestly I love fics where Aziraphale struggles with shame, but I can't see it as "I ashamed to be attracted to demon so I want to change him into angel" even way back, and definitely not at "six thousand years later" point (and I think it's important to remember that flashbacks are exactly this: flashbacks. Like, you can't hold against Aziraphale beliefs he already changed). I would've compare it to his love of food (sorry Crowley but you definitely a snack). See, Aziraphale ashamed of not being proper angel, but he's not showed to be ashamed of his love of food or to think that food is really a disgusting thing that sullied him. It's complicated feeling, but to love a demon and being ashamed of not being proper angel is not necessary means you ashamed of your attraction, or you ashamed of him being specifically demon, it's more like "I'm ashamed that I'm not ashamed" (forgive me for parallels, but: I'm a person with low empathy, I'm not ashamed of it, I for sure don't want to change it, I'm actually really glad that word tragedies are not affecting me in the same way it can affect my more empathetic friends, but sometimes I get ashamed *because* I like how I am and I don't want to change it, since I know that from many people's perspective it means I'm bad and also lazy. I think Aziraphale really showed it in his "I'm soft" and I think it corresponds well with how he feels about Crowley. Call it more the shame of wanting good things for himself, not the shame of wanting something bad; it goes nicely with Crowley tempting him into doing nice things for himself, aren't it? Ok, now I'm not sure I make sense whatsoever).

Now, sure, maybe he felt some joy about making things easier in his mind if Crowley would become an angel — sure, there'll be much less shades of gray than in relationships with demon. It's possible! But in the whole I'll argue that it's just a headcanon, and that in canon we have no indication of Aziraphale being ashamed of Crowley/attraction to Crowley or at least it being his motivation, partially or wholly, to make Crowley an angel (I can see him being ashamed *now*, because he made an offer and was rejected and now Crowley thinks that he's stupid for accepting and Metatron thinks he's stupid for offering and everyone around him thinks he's *not capable* — and look, aren't it funny how fandom latched on Crowley being the one in need of praise and reassurance, while it's Aziraphale the one that always gets belittled in canon and can't stand up for himself? Fascinating)

Anyway, I agree on some bits and I think that Aziraphale's beautiful brain is full on contradictions and denial, which is what that makes him interesting and unpredictable and what made Crowley fall in love with him in the first place. And I'll be a minority there, but I don't want him to change this, like, just give him information and let him build his best decisions on it I'm sure whatever happens would be FUN. But the part about shame is just not something I see in canon, and while maybe for the second there Crowley thought AHA SO YOU WANT ME TO CHANGE, I can't believe that he, having all proofs on his hands from the six thousand years of knowing Aziraphale and being his friend, can really think "ohhhh he never loved me like thiiis he would prefer an aaangel". Like. No? Like, I do think that they will (or actually that any competent adults on their place would've) resolve it with easy "hey, when you said X, it sounded like Y and I was really sad for a moment" (and let's not forget Crowley picking on Aziraphale being incapable and stupid, which is something he needs to apologize too and probably keep it in mind for their next fight, since it's something he tends to do when he's frustrated and angry/scared, as we saw in season 1). I think the things they need to discuss for more healthy relationship is much more boring, like what things we can do as unit, what we can do separately, how to communicate it clearly and how to not get defensive/attacking when we enter a disagreement. I also think that it's not really great for TV plot, so on screen we will get tearful confessions and a kiss, but whatever, I have my fanfiction for it.

I can go on, since there's a lot in original post to discuss about, but I already spend half-hour on this and I really need get back to work lol. Thanks for interesting points, and as usual, the most important part is that Aziraphale's really, truly good, even when he's being a bastard 😀

if you take "I can make a difference" at face value you simply must also consider "you're the bad guys.” like they are both vital aspects of aziraphale's decision. the problem is not just aziraphale's attempt to lead a corrupt system, it is also his continued belief in the superiority of heaven and angels over hell and demons. that's why crowley was so hurt. it's not just a miscommunication, or a disagreement on the practicalities of changing hearts and minds in heaven--it is a fundamental misunderstanding of morality and of crowley as a person. if crowley had asked aziraphale to come to hell to help fix it and protect the earth, he would not have gone. he says so. it’s not just about safety, or reform. it is about being Good.

and all of this happens because aziraphale is not just motivated by fear and love: he is also motivated by shame. he is insecure in his identity as an angel and a Good Guy, and both his alienation from heaven and his relationship with crowley have always aggravated this insecurity. it’s why shax’s mockery hit him so hard, and why he’s so susceptible to manipulation from the metatron. he desperately wants to be taken seriously and treated with respect and to have power and be an uncomplicated Good Guy, and that is just as much of a motivating factor in his decision as his desire to protect humanity and crowley.

and re: “appoint you to be an angel”: I know people want to insist that aziraphale has never wanted to change anything about crowley, but I’m sorry, I just don’t think that’s true. over and over in season 2 aziraphale demonstrates a desire to sand the rough edges off people and things for the sake of the Greater Good, without consideration for the free will or complex emotions of others. obviously this tendency culminates in the ball, where he exerts control over all of the humans to make everything perfect for maggie and nina, and in doing so, infringes on their autonomy and nina’s (crowley’s narrative mirror!) capacity to feel her own anger and sadness. and he has never liked that crowley is a demon. in his mind, the problem has always been that crowley was put in the wrong category, not that the entire system of dividing people and angels into Good and Bad is ridiculous. that’s the exact lesson he needs to learn.

and yes, his intentions are good, absolutely. I don’t think aziraphale ever acts out of malice, and I do think he genuinely wants the best for the people around him, particularly crowley. after all, if crowley is accepted as an angel again, as aziraphale has always secretly considered him to be, their relationship can (in his mind) finally stop being so fraught with danger and conflict. (the other side of that, of course, is that aziraphale can also stop being so ashamed for loving someone who is supposed to be Bad, and everything in his life will make sense again, the way it hasn’t since he met that star maker who got so upset about god’s plan.)

but that’s not who crowley is, and it never has been. even before he fell, crowley’s recklessness and relentless questions made aziraphale uncomfortable. their relationship has never been safe or easy, and in wanting to make it so, aziraphale is demonstrating a desire to change the parts of crowley that led to his fall, whether he intends to or not.

I’m rambling, but the point is: the insistence on reframing this moment as a purely selfless, calculated, self-sacrificing decision by aziraphale to protect crowley and the world ignores the uglier parts of the things he said in order to make their eventual reconciliation less complicated, and it’s really frustrating to me. crowley is in fact right to be upset by what he said, and it’s not just a misunderstanding that can be fixed with aziraphale saying “I was only trying to protect you!” and another kiss. it’s a culmination of all of the double think aziraphale has been doing in order to preserve his vision of heaven as The Source Of Truth And Light And Good since before the beginning of time, and it’s time for him to finally unpack it.

(and because every post on the final fifteen needs a disclaimer: aziraphale is trying his best and has an incredible amount of love in his heart and wants so badly to do good and ALSO the things he says, does, and believes can be incredibly hurtful and destructive. all of these things can be true.)

[inhonoredglory]

Aziraphale’s Choice, the Job Connection, and Michael Sheen’s Morality

Update: Michael Sheen liked this post on Twitter, so I'm fairly certain there is a lot of validity to it.

I’ve had time to process Aziraphale’s choice at the end of Season 2. And I think only blaming the religious trauma misses something important in Aziraphale’s character. I think what happened was also Aziraphale’s own conscious choice––as a growth from his trauma, in fact. Hear me out.

Since November 2022 I’ve been haunted by something Michael Sheen said at the MCM London Comic Con. At the Q&A, someone asked him about which fantasy creature he enjoyed playing most and Michael (bless him, truly) veered on a tangent about angels and goodness and how, specifically,

We as a society tend to sort of undervalue goodness. It’s sort of seen as sort of somehow weak and a bit nimby and “oh it’s nice.” And I think to be good takes enormous reserves of courage and stamina. I mean, you have to look the dark in the face to be truly good and to be truly of the light…. The idea that goodness is somehow lesser and less interesting and not as kind of muscular and as passionate and as fierce as evil somehow and darkness, I think is nonsense. The idea of being able to portray an angel, a being of love. I love seeing the things people have put online about angels being ferocious creatures, and I love that. I think that’s a really good representation of what goodness can be, what it should be, I suppose.

I was looking forward to BAMF!Aziraphale all season long, and I think that’s what we got in the end. Remember Neil said that the Job minisode was important for Aziraphale’s story. Remember how Aziraphale sat on that rock and reconciled to himself that he MUST go to Hell, because he lied and thwarted the will of God. He believed that––truly, honestly, with the faith of a child, but the bravery of a soldier.

Aziraphale, a being of love with more goodness than all of Heaven combined, believed he needed to walk through the Gates of Hell because it was the Right Thing to do. (Like Job, he didn’t understand his sin but believed he needed to sacrifice his happiness to do the Right Thing.)

That’s why we saw Aziraphale as a soldier this season: the bookshop battle, the halo. But yes, the ending as well.

Because Aziraphale never wanted to go to Heaven, and he never wanted to go there without Crowley.

But it was Crowley who taught him that he could, even SHOULD, act when his moral heart told him something was wrong. While Crowley was willing to run away and let the world burn, it was Aziraphale (in that bandstand at the end of the world) who stood his ground and said No. We can make a difference. We can save everyone.

And Aziraphale knew he could not give up the ace up his sleeve (his position as an angel) to talk to God and make them see the truth in his heart.

I was messed up by Ineffable Bureaucracy (Boxfly) getting their happy ending when our Ineffable Husbands didn’t, but I see now that them running away served to prove something to Aziraphale. (And I am fully convinced that Gabriel and Beelzebub saw the example of the Ineffables at the Not-pocalypse and took inspiration from them for choosing to ditch their respective sides)

But my point is that Aziraphale saw them, and in some ways, they looked like him and Crowley. And he saw how Gabriel, the biggest bully in Heaven, was also like him in a way (a being capable of love) and also just a child when he wasn’t influenced by the poison of Heaven. Muriel, too, wasn’t a bad person. The Metatron also seemed to have grown more flexible with his morality (from Aziraphale's perspective). Like Earth, Heaven was shades of (light?) gray.

Aziraphale is too good an angel not to believe in hope. Or forgiveness (something he’s very good at it).

Aziraphale has been scarred by Heaven all his life. But with the cracks in Heaven’s armor (cracks he and Crowley helped create), Aziraphale is seeing something else. A chance to change them. They did terrible things to him, but he is better than them, and because of Crowley, he feels ready to face them.

(Will it work? Can Heaven change, institutionally? Probably not, but I can't blame Aziraphale for trying.)

At the cafe, the Metatron said something big was coming in the Great Plan. Aziraphale knows how trapped he had felt when he didn’t have God’s ear the first time something huge happened in the Big Plan. He can’t take a chance again to risk the world by not having a foot in the door of Heaven. That’s why we saw individual human deaths (or the threat of death) so much more this season: Elspeth, Wee Morag, Job’s children, the 1940s magician. Aziraphale almost killed a child when he couldn’t get through to God, and he’s not going through that again.

“We could make a difference.” We could save everyone.

Remember what Michael Sheen said about courage and doing good––and having to “look the dark in the face to be truly good.” That’s what happened when Aziraphale was willing to go to Hell for his actions. That’s what happened when he decided he had to go to Heaven, where he had been abused and belittled and made to feel small. He decided to willingly go into the Lion’s Den, to face his abusers and his anxiety, to make them better so that they would not try to destroy the world again.

Him, just one angel. He needed Crowley to be there with him, to help him be brave, to ask the questions that Heaven needed to hear, to tell them God was wrong. Crowley is the inspiration that drives Aziraphale’s change, Crowley is the engine that fuels Aziraphale’s courage.

But then Crowley tells him that going to Heaven is stupid. That they don’t need Heaven. And he’s right. Aziraphale knows he’s right.

Aziraphale doesn’t need Heaven; Heaven needs him. They just don’t know how much they need him, or how much humanity needs him there, too. (If everyone who ran for office was corrupt, how can the system change?)

Terry Pratchett (in the Discworld book, Small Gods) is scathing of God, organized religion, and the corrupt people religion empowers, but he is sympathetic to the individual who has real, pure faith and a good heart. In fact, the everyman protagonist of Small Gods is a better person than the god he serves, and in the end, he ends up changing the church to be better, more open-minded, and more humanist than god could ever do alone.

Aziraphale is willing to go to the darkest places to do the Right Thing, and Heaven is no exception. When Crowley says that Heaven is toxic, that’s exactly why Aziraphale knows he needs to go there. “You’re exactly is different from my exactly.”

____

In the aftermath of Trump's election in the US, Brexit happened in 2018. Michael Sheen felt compelled to figure out what was going on in his country after this shock. But he was living in Los Angeles with Sarah Silverman at the time, and she also wanted to become more politically active in the US.

Sheen: “I felt a responsibility to do something, but it [meant] coming back [to Britain] – which was difficult for us, because we were very important to each other. But we both acknowledge that each of us had to do what we needed to do.” In the end, they split up and Michael moved back to the UK.

Sometimes doing the Right Thing means sacrificing your own happiness. Sometimes it means going to Hell. Sometimes it means going to Heaven. Sometimes it means losing a relationship.

And that’s why what happened in the end was so difficult for Aziraphale. Because he loves Crowley desperately. He wants to be together. He wanted that kiss for thousands of years. He knows that taking command of Heaven means they would never again have to bow to the demands of a God they couldn’t understand, or run from a Hell who still came after them. They could change the rules of the game.

And he’s still going to do that. But it hurts him that he has to do that alone.

[devourable]

† church boy

[ sfw | tw : religion (not named but heavily implied), sacrilege, potential religious trauma? as well as general yandere content but it’s v tame ]

male yandere x gender neutral reader! only pronoun used for reader is ‘you’. i havent written like this in a very long time so i apologize if this is bad ;_;

abraham lived a simple life for the majority of his 21 years on this planet. he was born and raised in a religious household, the only son of a wealthy pastor, surrounded by typical bible-thumping folk who taught him that *** was above everything, above him, above the things he loved, and putting anything (or anyone) above his faith would surely result in his damnation. and his whole life, he believed that.

that was… until you entered his life.

it happened at a fundraiser he was volunteering at. it was any other day for the boy, handing out advertisements and chatting with everyone that came and went. an average, mundane event for him where he’d talk about the same things he did every day, smile, wave, everything that was expected of him.

after the last person in his line had left, he looked down to begin organizing his things so he could join the rest of the party. when he was shadowed by someone stepping in front of him again, he expected to see a familiar face — maybe someone that might’ve forgotten something? but when he looked up…

abraham’s breath caught in his throat. he swore the earth had stopped spinning the second your eyes locked.

whether if you were there because you shared the same religion, was dragged there by a friend/family member, or simply because there was free food, he had no clue - but it didn't matter. your looks, the way you moved, the sound of your voice — why was it all so... enchanting?

he couldn’t help the slight stutter in his words as he hastily offered you a pamphlet, quickly introducing himself and inquiring about you. what was your name? were you new to the church? why haven’t you met before?

the soft laugh you emitted as you spoke and the feeling of your skin grazing his felt like fire. and your name... oh, the poor boy didn’t even realize it, but he couldn’t help it — within moments of knowing you, he had grown totally enamored!

abraham found himself hovering by your side for the rest of the event. he was awkward, you’d quickly realize, but it was in that sort of sweet, inexperienced way. he was desperate to know you, to get closer to you, hoping that maybe if he could understand you, he’d figure out how to quell these intense feelings that had built within him — but to you and everyone else, he was simply making sure a new face wasn’t alone during the event. he was just being a good little pastor’s boy! that’s what he told himself too, over and over again.

he was being good by making you laugh. he was being good by giving you his number. and it was good that he grew elated by the idea of getting to see you again after this. he was a good person, so what if he was neglecting his duties to be around you? he did what he was supposed to all the time, surely he could be forgiven just this once.

right?

his obsession with you didn’t take long to blossom after that first meeting. you started to infiltrate every part of his life in one way or another. his prayers became tangled up with thoughts of you. rather than reading the bible, he’d reread the texts between the two of you while he waited for you to respond to them. when he went to church, he found himself scanning the pews in hopes of spotting you among the congregation rather than finding a seat right away. when service began, he couldn’t focus on the preaching taking place because he was too busy thinking of ways to see you again.

despite the utter adoration abraham had grown to feel for you.. at some point, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t help but wonder — was he becoming sinful? was he growing gluttonous for your attention? he couldn’t have been, he had been so devout his entire life! it was fine for him to miss a few services to see you as long as he made up for it later…

he couldn’t tell if you were an angel, as heaven-sent as he felt you to be, or if you were the embodiment of temptation, pulling him away from his faith and beckoning him to sin. were you both? could you be both? with the progression of his obsession with you, his conflicted feelings about his relationship with his faith grew alongside it.

maybe you just weren’t any good for him.

but your name and god seemed to always come up at the same time…

so maybe, it was a sign that he had someone new to worship.

[elmaxlys]

i love everyone that took the time to vote on this. smoochies.

[fallstaticexit]

The Art of Being Seen - a Nancy Landgraab story

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔒𝔫𝔢 - 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔱𝔥

Prev / Next

AN / Transcript under the cut

AN: Nancy's story will consist of 3 parts: Part One- Youth | Part Two - Uni | Part Three - Wife Three pivotal moments in Nancy’s life that shaped the Nancy we know today.

As mentioned in the prologue, this story may contain mature and possibly even uncomfy themes and all posts will have their corresponding trigger warners in the post as well as the tags. Trigger Warnings are: Homophobia / Religious Trauma / Death via Car Accident/ Drugs / Alcohol / Infidelity / Sex & Nudity

Also, I have experienced CAS burnout lately, so I aged down most of the townies to teens lol. I figured this version of Cassandra Goth can be the AU version since I’ve already wrote Bella and Morti Goth into my Briar legacy, which this story is apart of that universe.

Transcript:

Cassie: This is Blair Hall, the senior girls’ dorm, and if you ask me, it’s the best one. We have our own private library. Down there is the rec room; we’re not allowed to have the boys over unless it’s with a chaperone.

Cassie: We’re also the closest to the church, which is great for when we have group sessions before service. You won’t have to rush and scarf down breakfast, plus you can sleep in a little!

Nancy: [sarcastically] Gee, how’d I get so lucky?

Cassie: Sister Agnes always says, It’s not luck—it’s a blessing! Vacancies are hard to come by. My old roomie withdrew; she had a really hard time fitting in with the other girls. They can be... kind of intense.

Dina: Oh, look. Another pretty blonde rich girl. Like those aren’t a dime a dozen here.

Nina: [scoffs] Here we go...

Dina: I am not joking. I better not catch her ass around Don. The last hoochie he was tonguing down was also a skinny, flat-chested, blonde bimbo.

Vanessa: You need to put his weenie in a cage instead of fighting every girl that breathes the same air as him.

Dina: Well, he wouldn’t be tempted if these floozies would stay away from my man!

Vanessa: I guess dyeing your hair blonde isn’t working for you, huh?

Dina: Oh, shut it, VV. You’re just jealous he isn’t into redheads.

Nina: Hmm, I thought he was into redheads though.

Dina: Ugh, as if!

Cassie: You can pretty much decorate your space however you want. Just nothing that’s on the prohibited list. There’s a room check every night before curfew, and-

Nancy: What do you know about that redhead on the balcony?

Cassie: Dina?

Nancy: No, she said her name was Vanessa. I ran into her this morning but she didn’t mention her last name.

Cassie: Oh, yeah! VV. Vanessa Villareal. She’s- eh, one of the mean girls. I try to stay out their way. Probably best you do the same.

Nancy: [softly to herself] Villareal. So, she’s old money, too.

Cassie: Her family built the school. Guess that’s why she feels like she can do whatever she wants- eh, don’t tell anyone I said that!

Cassie: But, erm, you’re welcome to hang out with me and my friends during rec and lunch and stuff. I know how tough it can, being the new girl and all.

Nancy: Yeah? ...thanks- Cassie, was it?

Cassie: You’ll totally like my friends. They’re the coolest people on Earth.

Cassie: Definitely better than some people. You can tell who goes here because of their faith and who was forced here because of their lack of it.

Cassie: Hey guys! This is Nancy, she’s my new roomie.

Bob: No way, they filled Angela’s spot already? Money talks. I’m Bob, or Bobby, and this cool, tall drink of water is Geoffrey. Welcome to Paradise.

Bob: [whispers] Geoffrey! Say something to the pretty girl!

Geoffrey: [voice cracks] W-we’ve um, met already.

Geoffrey: Our dad’s are friends. I just haven’t seen her since we were 10 years old. She looks so... different.

Bob: Oh, I seeee. First love? Your ears are beet red, my man.

Bob: Take a seat, newbie! Are you into D&D, perchance?

Nancy: I have no idea what that is.

Bob: Oh, ho ho! You’re in for a treat, m’lady. I’ll catch you up from the beginning of our campaign.

Vanessa: You look so bored. Want to get out of here, new girl?

Vanessa: Don’t worry, I’ll return you back to your nerds in one piece.

Cassie: [grumbles] Um, hello, we’re sitting right here?

Nancy: Go where, exactly? This place is in the middle of nowhere.

Vanessa: Guess you’ll have to come and find out.

Nancy VO: [I learned then, that I would follow her anywhere]

Dina: There she goes, taking in another stray.

Nancy VO: [All she had to do was take my hand]

[doctorbitchcrxft]

A Very Supernatural Christmas | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: discussions of childhood trauma lol, discussions of religious trauma lololol, canon violence, canon gore, talking about Dean's deal sad face

Word Count: 7223

A/N: One of my favorite episodes of all time ever. I am so excited to share this with you guys. Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of the support. I love y’all!

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In the middle of nowhere in Michigan, you and Dean posed as FBI agents investigating a holly jolly potential case. 

“Um, my daughter and I were in our beds,” the woman before you shakily explained.

“Mike was downstairs decorating the tree. I heard a thump on the roof, and then, I heard Mike scream. And now I’m talking to the FBI.”

“And you didn't see any of it?” Dean questioned. 

She shook her head tearfully. “No, he was… he was just gone.”

“The doors were locked? There was no forced entry?” you asked. 

“That’s right,” she replied. 

“Does anybody else have a key?” you suggested. 

“My parents.”

“Where do they live?”

“Florida.”

Sam then walked out of the house. “ Thanks for letting me have a look around, Mrs. Walsh. I think we, uh, got just about everything we need. We’re all set.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Dean told her. 

The three of you started down the steps. 

“Agents?” Mrs. Walsh called.

You turned to face her. 

“The police said my husband might have been kidnapped.”

“Could be,” Dean shrugged. 

“Then… why haven’t the kidnappers called? O-Or demanded a ransom? It’s three days till Christmas. What am I supposed to tell our daughter?” she began to cry.

“We’re very sorry,” you said empathetically. You watched the distressed woman turn to go back inside, and the heavy Christmas wreath on the door clunked against the door when she shut it. 

“Find anything?” Dean asked Sam as the three of you walked away from the house. 

Sam sighed. “Stocking, mistletoe… this.” He took something out of his pocket and dropped it into Dean’s hand. 

You inspected it. “A tooth?” you asked upon seeing the bloody bone. 

“Where was this?” Dean looked up at Sam and away from the tooth. 

“In the chimney,” Sam replied. 

“Chimney? No way a man fits up a chimney. It’s too narrow,” Dean grimaced. 

“At least, not in one piece,” you winced. 

“Alright, so, if dad went up the chimney—”

“We need to find out what dragged him up there,” Sam finished. 

***

Christmas had never been a completely happy time for you. Growing up Catholic, there was always a hint of, perhaps, fear that came with the holiday. The idea that Christ was supposed to come again, and his second coming would mean the end of the world was unsettling to you, even as an incredibly pious child. 

Working jobs around the holidays always managed to recreate that unsettled feeling for you. Something so gruesome like the case you were dealing with now around such a happy holiday always made you nostalgic for a childhood you never had: an innocent one. 

Around your motel room, Sam was pinning pictures of demons up while you researched on your laptop. The door opened, and Dean came inside. 

“So, was I right? Is it the serial-killing chimney sweep?” Dean smirked, carrying a brown paper bag.

Sam mirrored Dean’s expression. “Yep. It's, uh, it’s actually Dick Van Dyke.”

Dean looked confused, but you snickered. 

“Who?” Dean asked. 

“Dude,” you said, “Mary Poppins?”

“Who’s that?” 

“Oh, god, you’re hopeless,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“Well, it turns out that Walsh is the second guy in town grabbed out of his house this month,” Dean explained. 

“The other guy get dragged up the chimney, too?” Sam asked. 

“Don’t know. Witnesses said they heard a thump on the roof,” Dean shrugged. “So, what the hell do you think we're dealing with?”

“Actually, I have an idea,” Sam replied. “Uh, it's gonna sound crazy.”

“What could you possibly say that sounds crazy to me?” Dean deadpanned. 

“How ‘bout evil Santa,” you smirked.

Dean considered a moment before nodding. “Yeah, that’s crazy.”

“Yeah… I mean, I’m just saying that there’s some version of the anti-Claus in every culture,” Sam said while he showed Dean drawings of the creature. “You got Belsnickel, Krampus, Black Peter. Whatever you want to call it, there’s all sorts of lore.”

“Saying what?” Dean looked incredulous. 

“Saying, back in the day, Santa’s brother went rogue and now he shows up around Christmas time, but instead of bringing presents, he punishes the wicked.”

“By hauling their ass up chimneys?” Dean snorted. “So, this is your theory, huh? Santa’s shady brother?”

Sam shrugged. “Well, ah, I’m just saying, that’s what the lore says.”

“Santa doesn’t have a brother. There is no Santa.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re the one who told me that in the first place, remember,” Sam sassed at his brother. 

Dean looked down, seeming to feel a little guilty. 

Finally, Sam sighed. “Yeah, you know what, I could be wrong. I gotta be wrong.”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”

You and Sam were confused. 

“I did a little digging. Turns out both victims visited the same place before they got snatched,” Dean explained. 

“Where?” Sam asked.��

***

The place Dean was referring to was a cutesy little craft fair called “Santa’s Village.” Children played and people bustled around wearing Christmas costumes. 

“It does kind of lend credence to the theory, don’t it?” Dean remarked, looking around himself. 

“Yeah, but anti-Claus? Couldn’t be,” Sam replied. 

“It’s a Christmas miracle. Hey, speaking of, we should have one this year,” Dean suggested casually. 

You remained quiet, feeling almost sorrowful at his statement given he’d discussed bringing this up to Sam with you.  

“Have one what?”

“A Christmas.”

Sam scoffed. “No, thanks.”

“Aw, c’mon, Sam,” you said, swallowing your emotions. 

“Yeah, we’ll get a tree, a little Boston market, just like when we were little,” Dean continued. 

“Dean, those weren’t exactly Hallmark memories for me, you know,” Sam reminded his brother. 

“What are you talking about? We had some great Christmases.”

“Whose childhood are you talking about?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Sam.”

“No! Just… no.”

You and Dean were both surprised by Sam’s petulance. “Alright, Grinch,” Dean snarked. He walked ahead, and you remained by his side. 

“What’s Sam talking about?” you asked quietly. 

“Ah, I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I mean, Dad was out all the time, and Sammy and I fought… a lot… as kids, but I didn’t think it’d scar him.” 

You turned back to Sam who still seemed lost in thought. 

“Hey, Scrooge,” you called, which seemed to shake the younger brother out of his own head, “you comin’?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m with you.” He caught back up to you and Dean. 

“What are we looking for, again?” Dean asked him. 

“Um…” Sam trailed off, “lore says that the anti-Claus will walk with a limp and smell like sweets.”

“Great. So we’re looking for a pimp Santa,” Dean said dryly. “Why the sweets?” 

“Think about it, Dee,” you replied. “If you smell like candy, the kids will come closer. Which is wrong on just… so many levels.”

Sam chuckled. 

“How does this thing know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice?” Dean questioned. 

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Dean turned toward a man dressed as Santa taking pictures with a child whose mother stood close by. “Maybe we do,” he noted.

***

Later that night, you and the Winchesters were just about to confront and kill who you thought was your Krampus. Fortunately for the Santa actor from earlier in the day, you realized the man was just a lonely old creep. 

After an uncomfortable rendition of “Silent Night” that Dean led you and Sam in singing in an attempt to explain why you were in the creepy Santa’s house, you slumped down in the backseat of the Impala.

“Well, back to square one, I guess,” you sighed. “Also, Dean, couldn’t you have picked a song you actually knew the words to?”

“Hey, I did know the words,” he replied, beginning to drive off. 

“Yeah, all two of ‘em,” Sam chimed in. 

You giggled. “Hey, Sam?” you asked. 

“Hm?”

“Why do you hate Christmas so much?”

The younger brother sighed. “(Y/N)...”

Dean took the opportunity to jump into the conversation. “I mean, I admit it. Y’know, we had a few bumpy holidays when we were kids.”

“ ‘Bumpy’?” Sam scoffed. 

“That was then. We’ll do it right this year,” Dean tried. 

“Look, Dean. If you and (Y/N) want to have Christmas, knock yourselves out. Just don’t involve me.” Sam shifted in his seat to face the dark night that had fallen outside of the car. 

Dean grumbled, “Oh, yeah, that’d be great. Me and (Y/N) making cranberry molds.”

You knew Dean wasn’t actually opposed to just enjoying Christmas with you, but he wanted to involve his brother.

***

“Wanna smoke?” you asked Dean. 

Sam was still wide awake in his bed, and you and Dean had some things to talk about without the younger Winchester present. 

He nodded and followed you out of the room. 

Despite the lack of snow on the ground, you were bundled in one of Dean’s hoodies to protect you from the slight chill in the air.

“I think you’re turnin’ me into a fiend,” Dean commented as you lit your joint. 

“Well, I’d rather you smoke a plant than drown yourself in booze,” you replied, a slight tremble in your voice from the cold. 

“I meant to tell you earlier,” Dean began, taking the joint from you and looking at the ground, “you’ve got a real beautiful voice.”

You laughed softly and hopped up on the trunk of the Impala. “You’re only sayin’ that ‘cause you and Sam are terrible.”

“I’m serious,” he said, blowing the smoke at you playfully. 

You scrunched up your nose and shut your eyes to avoid the puff. When you reopened them, you found Dean staring at you with that confusing expression again. After all this time, you still couldn’t place what that look meant. 

“What?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips. 

He shook his head, still admiring you and smirking. “Nothin’.”

“So, do you want me to talk to Sam? About Christmas?” Dean’s intense stare was making you nervous, and you needed to break it up with the conversation you initially wanted to have with him. 

“Nah,” Dean shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll come around.”

You opened your arms to him and gestured for him to come lean against you. He turned his back to the Impala, and you wrapped your arms around him. You kissed his shoulder before placing your chin on top of it. The two of you just sat like that in silence in the cold, enjoying each other’s company while getting lost in thought. 

“What was your Christmas like? As a kid, I mean?” Dean asked, breaking the silence. 

You picked your chin up off his shoulder and stuck your hands in your pockets. “Oh, gosh,” you sighed. “It was always a little less ‘candy canes and Rudolph’ and a little more ‘fear and condemnation’.”

Dean jumped up on the trunk next to you and turned, clearly a little surprised by your answer. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged. “Christmas always kinda felt like a threat to me. Y’know, ‘Jesus is gonna come again’ and all that.”

“That’s… weirdly dirty,” Dean commented. 

You gently nudged his shoulder with yours. “Perv. Meaning Jesus is gonna come back to life and, like… destroy the planet. My mom always said Christmas was a reminder that this is not our true home.”

“This, as in, earth?” he asked, genuine intrigue in his eyes. 

You nodded. “And we’re all gonna end up being judged. And if you don’t believe or follow the commandments, you’re sentenced to Hell.”

“Jesus,” Dean grimaced. “That’s a little dark to be telling a kid.”

“Tell me about it,” you smirked. “But… if that’s the truth, at least we know I’ll be seeing you again.” You turned to him, smiling a little lopsidedly.

He tried to return your smile, but his heart wasn’t in it. “I’m scared, (Y/N).” 

You nodded. “I know. Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head. 

You took a moment to let his mind recover from his anxieties. “What were your Christmases like growing up? You said they were good, but you never told me why they were good.”

“Uh, let’s see,” Dean began, reflecting on something in his memory. “There was this one time when Dad was supposed to make it back from a hunting trip. He’d promised Sammy he’d be home for Christmas. But, uh, Dad never showed.”

You looked at him sadly. 

Dean’s eyes remained focused on his hands in his lap. “I was maybe twelve. Sammy was eight. And on Christmas Eve, while he was asleep, I went out and found this really nice house.”

“You did not!” you scolded playfully, knowing exactly where he was going with this. 

“I did,” Dean chuckled. “Only, I didn’t know they were chick presents. Sam was pissed when he got a Barbie instead of the green army men he’d been asking for.”

“You did the best you could,” you reminded him.

Dean shrugged. “And, uh, since he never made it back, Sam gave me the present he was planning on giving to Dad.” He thumbed the amulet around his neck and showed it to you. 

“That’s so sweet,” you smiled, a tinge of nostalgic sadness behind your smile. “My little brother and I always gave each other what we could. Normally, it was just stupid little things from the gas stations around or something.” You smiled, remembering your brother fondly. “When he was seven, Steven gave me a little bracelet. He stole it out of a girl’s backpack pocket when she was waiting for her parents to finish booking a room in the motel lobby. He was a great pickpocket; you guys would’ve gotten along great.”

Dean chuckled. 

“But anyway, uh, it was a little friendship bracelet. I was so upset when I grew out of it,” you said. “Biggest regret of my life is burning it with his body.”

Dean nodded somberly. “Why’d you do it?”

You shrugged. “I kept telling myself, ‘He doesn’t live in the stuff. Keeping his stuff doesn’t keep him alive.’ And I’d grown out of it, so I figured, I’d never have any use for it again. But, uh, I was an angry teenager. I was so angry at him for so long after he killed himself. I definitely threw the bracelet in the fire in a moment of anger.”

Dean just stared at you, and once again, you couldn’t read his expression. 

“You keep giving me that look,” you said, staring deeply into his beautiful eyes. 

“What look?” he asked. Dean clearly knew what you were talking about, as his face hadn’t really changed from the look in question; there was simply a slight tease behind his eyes on top of it. 

“That look,” you said, giggling. “It frustrates me so much ‘cause it’s, like, the only facial expression on the planet I can’t read.” “Then, I’m definitely not telling you what it means now,” Dean taunted, still smirking. 

You rolled your eyes and hopped off the car. Dean grabbed your arm and spun you back around to face him, putting you back on the trunk and standing between your legs. He kissed you deeply, hands eagerly trying to pull you closer despite there being no more room between the two of you. 

“Dean,” you said between kisses. “Dean—”

“What?” Dean pulled back just long enough to ask you and then returned to kissing you. 

“We have to go to bed now, c’mon,” you replied. 

“Aw, c’mon, not yet,” Dean groaned, trailing his lips down your neck. 

You sighed shakily at the feeling of his soft lips against the sensitive skin, and your eyes closed in content. “C’mon,” you whined. “I’m freezing.”

“Fine,” he groaned. 

***

The next day, another poor soul had gone missing. According to the son of the man who was abducted, Santa had dragged his father up the chimney. As you left the house, Sam noticed a wreath on the hearth he’d felt noteworthy enough to ask the grieving wife about. 

“Wreaths, huh?” Dean taunted, sauntering away from the woman’s house. “Sure you didn’t want to ask her about her shoes? I saw some nice handbags in the foyer.”

“We’ve seen that wreath before, Dean,” Sam said, ignoring his brother’s flippance.

“Where?” you and Dean asked in unison. 

“The Walshes’. Yesterday.”

Dean eyed Sam curiously. “I know. I was just testing you.”

You rolled your eyes, ducking down into the Impala. 

***

“I’m an idiot,” you groaned, dropping your head back.

Sam sat up from behind his laptop. “What, why?”

Dean turned to you from his spot on your shared bed as well. 

“That smell,” you said. “Guys, we’re not dealing with Krampus.” You laughed at your own stupidity. “I should’ve known it from the wreath on the door at the Walshes’ house!”

“(Y/N), would you cut to the chase?” Dean asked dryly. 

“It’s meadowsweet,” you revealed. 

Dean whistled mockingly. “Wow! Amazing. What the hell is meadowsweet?”

“It’s pretty rare, and it’s probably the most powerful plant in pagan lore,” Sam replied. 

“Pagan lore?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Meadowsweet’s for human sacrifice. It’s kinda like chum for the gods. The gods are drawn to it, and they’d stop by and snack on the nearest human.”

“Why would somebody be using that for Christmas wreaths?” Dean wondered. 

“Almost every Christmas tradition is pagan, Dee,” you replied. 

“Okay, Ms. Catholic, I thought it was Jesus’s birthday,” Dean snarked, a smile playing on his lips.

“No, uh, I had to unlearn that when I left the Church. Jesus’s birthday was probably in the fall. Yule was the winter solstice festival the church stole and renamed ‘Christmas.’ ‘Cause, y’know, eurocentrism. Hooray,” you explained. 

Sam added, “The Yule log, the tree, even Santa’s red suit; that’s all remnants of pagan worship.”

“How do you know that? What are you two freaks gonna tell me next? Easter bunny’s Jewish?” Dean remarked. 

Both of you rolled your eyes. 

“So, you really think we’re gonna be dealing with a pagan god?” The older brother quirked a brow. 

“Yeah, probably Hold Nickar, god of the winter solstice,” Sam noted, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Dean huffed, “And all these Martha Stewart wannabes, buying these fancy wreaths…” 

“Yeah, it’s pretty much like putting a neon sign on your front door saying ‘Come kill us’.”

Dean deadpanned, “Great.”

“Wait, Hold Nickar makes sense, though,” you chimed in, something dawning on you. “Guess what he gives you in return?”

“Lap dances, hopefully,” Dean smirked. 

You gave him a look. “Mild weather.”

Dean looked out of the window. “Like no snow in the middle of December in the middle of Michigan.”

“For instance,” shrugged Sam. 

“Do we know how to kill it yet?” Dean asked. 

“Have you met me? That’s all I’ve been looking for the past hour.”

“While you work on that—” Sam turned to his brother, “we got to figure out where they’re selling those wreaths.”

“You think they’re selling them on purpose?” Dean questioned, sitting up on his bed.

“Feeding the victims to this thing?”

Sam sighed. “Let’s find out.”

“You keep workin’ your pagan-god-killin’ angle, (Y/N),” Dean told you, moving over to you. “Sam and I ’ll be back soon.” He gave you a quick kiss on your forehead, and your cheeks heated at the brief contact.

***

“How ‘re you supposed to kill a god, (Y/N)?” Bobby droned through the phone.

“I don’t know, dude, that’s what I’m asking you,” you sighed. “I mean, I’ve been pouring through this shit online for hours. I’m ready to pull my fucking hair out.”

“Lemme make a few calls, kid, and I’ll see what I can do,” Bobby said. 

“Thanks, Bobby. You’re the best.” You sat back in your chair and clicked your phone off. 

Almost as if on cue, Dean burst through the door with Sam trailing behind him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the older one drawled. “Got somethin’ for me?”

“I wish. Just sent Bobby lookin’,” you replied. “Got anything for me?”

“Actually, yeah,” Dean said. “That store we went to? Turns out, lady named Madge Carrigan gave ‘em to the store for free. How much do you think a meadowsweet wreath would cost?” 

“A couple hundred dollars, at least,” Sam answered while you clacked away at your computer looking for Madge Carrigan’s home address. 

“Sounds pretty suspicious,” you said absentmindedly. 

“Remember that wreath Dad brought home that one year?” Dean laughed while he took his jacket off.

“You mean, the one he stole from, like, a liquor store?” Sam responded, an unimpressed expression crossing his features. 

“Yeah, it was a bunch of empty beer cans. That thing was great. I bet if I looked around hard enough, I could probably find one just like it.” He sat on the bed closest to you and went to lean over and look at your computer. 

Despite the fact that you were still on the phone, Sam asked Dean, “Alright, dude… What’s going on with you?”

You stopped typing, and both you and Dean sat up to face Sam. 

“I mean, since when are you Bing Crosby all of a sudden?” continued the brunet. “Why do you want Christmas so bad?”

“Why are you so against it?” Dean challenged. “I mean, were your childhood memories that traumatic?”

Sam’s voice became heavy with emotion. “No, that has nothing to do with it. I-I mean, I-I just… I don’t get it. You haven’t talked about Christmas in years.”

“Well, yeah.” Dean’s voice had less of an edge. “This is my last year.”

Sam huffed out a quick breath. “I know. That’s why I can’t.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, I can’t just sit around, drinking eggnog, pretending everything’s okay, when I know next Christmas, you’ll be dead.” The near-casualness Sam spoke about Dean’s almost-five-month-out deadline with made your breath catch in your throat. “I just can’t,” Sam finished, voice almost too quiet for you to hear. 

The three of you went silent. To distract yourself from the heaviness in the room, you went back to typing on your laptop to find Madge Carrigan’s address and any information on her that suggested she really was your bad guy. 

You could feel Dean staring at you, though, and you knew he needed you at that moment. So you shut your laptop and got into bed with him. He laid against your chest, and you kept your arms around him tightly. Soon, you drifted off to a dreamless sleep. 

***

The next day, you and Dean headed to the Carrigan’s home. Sam stayed behind to research and see if you had missed anything in your search the night before. The house you arrived at was decorated with cutesy Christmas decorations and screamed the 1950s “American dream.”

“This is where Mrs. Wreath lives, huh?” Dean remarked, looking around. “Can’t you just feel the evil pagan vibe?” He rapped his knuckles against the door. 

A blonde, middle-aged woman in a sweater opened it. “Yes?” she answered sweetly. 

“Please tell me you’re the Madge Carrigan who makes the meadowsweet wreaths,” Dean said. 

“Why, yes I am,” she smiled widely. 

“Ha! Bingo.” Dean turned to you with a grin. 

“We just moved into the neighborhood,” you lied, gesturing between yourself and Dean, “and we were mingling with the Sylars the other day. They had one of your beautiful wreaths on their fireplace. He and I were immediately in love with it.”

“You were? Well, isn't that meadowsweet just the finest-smelling thing you ever smelled?” Mrs. Carrigan’s smile had not lessened since she opened the front door; it was creeping you out. 

“It is; it sure is,” you replied. “But the problem is that all your wreaths had sold out before we got the chance to buy one.”

“Oh, fudge!” she pouted. 

“You wouldn’t have another one that we could buy from you, would you?” Dean questioned.

“Oh, no, I’m afraid those were the only ones I had for this season.”

“Aww…” you whined, deflating. 

“Tell me something, why did you decide to make them out of meadowsweet?” your partner asked. 

A man who you assumed was Mr. Carrigan came down the staircase behind the woman as she answered, “Why, the smell, of course! I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything finer.”

‘She… already said that,’ you thought, but you kept the smile plastered on your face.

“What's going on, honey?” Mr. Carrigan asked his wife. You noticed his outfit of choice was a cardigan and slacks, and he held an old-fashioned pipe. The two reminded you very much of “Leave it to Beaver.”

“Well, just this nice couple asking about my wreaths, dear.”

“Oh, the wreaths are fine,” Mr. Carrigan affirmed. “Fine wreaths. Oh, care for some peanut brittle?” He held out a tin, and Dean took a piece. 

You gave him a harsh glare, preventing him from raising the brittle to his lips. Politely, you bid the couple goodbye and kept Dean from snacking while he started to drive.

As soon as you got out of the line of the Carrigans’ sights, you took the peanut brittle and chucked it out of the window. 

“What was that for? I’m hungry,” Dean whined. 

“Evil pagans, Dean,” you reminded him. “I don’t want you to get magical food poisoning.” You kissed his cheek and sat back in your chair.

He considered for a moment but finally seemed to admit defeat when he hung his head, a small smile and a blush rising to his cheeks. 

***

That night, you and the Winchesters headed back to the Carrigan’s home. “ ‘O Come All Ye Faithful” played from somewhere down the street, and the soft glow of Christmas lights on strings shining through the dark night almost made you feel like a child again; falling asleep in the back of your family’s station wagon while your mother hummed along to the Christmas tunes on the radio. 

An evergreen stake was hidden in your jacket’s inside pocket; Bobby was becoming your favorite person with his seemingly endless amounts of contacts and information. Sam had informed you and his brother that the last place the Carrigans had lived, three people disappeared, too. 

You followed Dean into the living room of the dark home after he picked the lock. He turned around and whispered, “See? Plastic.” He gestured to the couch and other furniture  still covered in sheets of it.

You headed down the hallway where ornaments and snow globes rested on shelves on the wall. You made your way into the kitchen where Sam and Dean were looking at a lock on the basement door. Dean picked it, and you followed him down the stairs. You did your best to avoid making the stairs creak as you did so. 

You shined your flashlight around and realized the basement was less of a storage room and more of Hannibal Lector’s playroom; a bowl of blood and bone sat at the end of a bloodstained wooden table just big enough to fit a human on that had shackles outfitted to each of its corners. You backed up along the wall, only to bump into something that moved. You yelped in surprise and wheeled around to see a leather bag wriggling around, as if a person was inside it. 

Suddenly, you felt a hand on the back of your shirt, lifting you up, and you screamed. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean yelled. 

You wriggled and kicked with all your might, but Mr. Carrigan was too strong. He turned you around and held you to the wall by your throat, and you clawed at his hand to get away from him. However, slowly losing air, you were unsure whether the best strategy was to fight or to conserve your oxygen. 

“Gosh, I wish you kids hadn’t come down here,” Madge smiled sweetly.

***

Slowly, your mind began to awaken. Your limbs and head felt heavy, and the light seeping in through your closed eyes felt painful. You blinked a few times, soon able to fully open your eyes and look around. 

You jerked a little in your seat but soon realized your hands were bound to the chair. You turned your head to the left to see Dean tied up shoulders slumped, and on the right, Sam. You supposed the two boys were tied back to back and your chair was tied sort of in between the two. However, you couldn’t see anything going on behind you. 

“Dean? You okay?” you asked frantically when you heard him groan. 

“Yeah, I think so,” he grumbled. 

“How ‘bout you, Sam?” 

Sam just hummed in response. “So, I guess we’re dealing with Mr. and Mrs. God. Nice to know.”

“Yeah,” Dean murmured, breathing deeply. 

You heard approaching footsteps coming from behind you. 

“Ooh, and here we thought you two lazybones were gonna sleep straight through all the fun stuff,” you heard Madge giggle. 

“Miss all this? Nah, we’re partiers,” Dean snarked. 

You heard Mr. Carrigan take a puff from his pipe. “Isn’t he a kick in the pants, honey? You’re hunters, is what you are.”

“And you’re pagan gods. So, why don't we just call it even, and go our separate ways?” the older brother suggested. 

“What, so you can bring more hunters and kill us?” Madge laughed, voice still sugary sweet. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you went snacking on humans, now, huh?” Sam shot back.

“Oh now, don’t get all wet,” Mr. Carrigan scolded gently. 

“Oh, why, we used to take over a hundred tributes a year and that’s a fact.” You turned to the left to see Madge put a napkin on Dean’s lap. “Now what do we take?” She did the same to you. “What, two? Three?” And then did the same to Sam.

“Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew here make six.” Mr. Carrigan took another drag from his pipe. Funnily enough, you hadn’t seen him light the thing once yet. 

“Now, that’s not so bad, is it?” Madge crooned. 

“Well, you say it like that,” Dean sassed, “I guess you guys are the Cunninghams.”

“You, mister, better show us a little respect,” Madge instructed, and you could see her leaning down to try and intimidate Dean.

“Or what?” you remarked, trying to crane your neck around to look at the Carrigans. “You gonna eat us?”

“Not so fast,” Mr. Carrigan responded. “There’s rituals to be followed first.”

You turned to Madge, who looked excited. “Oh, we’re just sticklers for ritual.”

“And you know what kicks off the whole shebang?” Mr. Carrigan taunted, walking around in front of you.

“Let me guess.” The glare you delivered was challenging. “Meadowsweet.”

Mr. Carrigan nodded. 

“Oh shucks,” you mockingly pouted, “you’re all out of wreaths. I guess we’ll just have to cancel the sacrifice, huh?”

“Oh, don’t be such a gloomy Gus.” You could hear Madge rustling around as she spoke. Suddenly, a wreath was put around your neck. You attempted to bite Mrs. Carrigan’s fingers to no avail, and she just tapped your nose in response. “There. Oh, don’t they just look darling?

Mr. Carrigan smacked his lips. “Good enough to eat. Alrighty-roo. Step number two.” You heard the sound of a knife being released from its sheath. 

Sam started mumbling, “No, no—” to which you and Dean cried his name. 

“D-Don’t!” Sam wailed. 

“Leave him alone, you son of a bitch!” Dean shouted. 

You struggled even harder against your binds.

“Hear how they talk to us?” Mr. Carrigan tsked. “To gods? Listen, pal, back in the day, we were worshiped by millions.”

Mr. Carrigan walked around to you holding the bowl, and you started to panic just a little. 

“Times have changed!” Dean growled. 

“Tell me about it. All of a sudden, this Jesus character is the hot new thing in town. All of a sudden, our– our altars are being burned down, and we’re being hunted down like common monsters.” Mr. Carrigan walked back behind what you assumed was the kitchen counter.

“But did we say a peep? Oh ho ho, no, no, no, we did not. Two millennia,” Madge continued for her husband. “We kept a low profile; we got jobs, a mortgage. Wh- What was that word, dear?”

“We assimilated.”

“Yeah, we assimilated. Why, we play bridge on Tuesday and Fridays.” The woman walked over to you holding the bowl with Sam’s blood in it. “We’re just like everybody else.”

“You’re not blending in as smooth as you think, lady,” Dean snarked. Madge ignored your partner’s comment. “This might pinch a bit, dear.” With that, she sliced into your arm deeply. 

“F-Fuck!” you screamed. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean yelled. “Get your hands off her!”

“Oh, my goodness me! Somebody owes a nickel to the swear jar. Oh, do you know what I say when I feel like swearing?” Madge waved the knife around in your face as you panted in pain. “ ‘Fudge’.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” you sassed. 

“Oh, god, you son of a bitch!” Dean howled, and you assumed Madge had cut him up, too. 

“Get away from him!” you yelled, creating brush burns on your arms from how hard you were pulling on your binds.

“You kids have no idea how lucky you are,” Mr. Carrigan said. “There was a time when kids came from miles around, just to be sitting where you are.” He came to a stop in front of you holding a pair of pliers.

“What do you think you’re doing with those?” you asked, chest heaving in panic. 

All he did was smile in response. 

“You fudging touch her again, and I’ll fudging kill you!” Dean growled. 

“Very good!” Madge praised just before you heard your love groan in pain again. 

You had no time to focus on Dean because Mr. Carrigan grabbed your hand. 

“No, no, don’t!” Sam begged from beside you. 

“Get off me!” you cried, and your cry soon turned into a scream as the god painfully pulled your index fingernail off. 

“Oh, we got a winner!” Mr. Carrigan exclaimed happily. He disappeared from your line of sight again, and you dropped your head back on your chair. Your finger and arm were throbbing, and you couldn’t help but cry. 

“I swear to god, (Y/N), I’ll fucking kill them,” you heard Dean mutter through the white hot pain roaring in your ears.

“What else, dear?” Madge cooed. 

“Well, let’s see. Uh, fingernails, blood. Oh! Sweet Peter on a popsicle stick,” the man laughed. “I forgot the tooth.”

“Oh, dear!”

“Merry Christmas, guys,” Dean said, out of breath. 

You turned your head to see Madge and Mr. Carrigan advancing on Dean. The man held the pliers up and grabbed Dean’s chin harshly. “Open wide… and say, ‘Aah’.”

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. 

“Somebody gonna get that?” Dean asked around the tool in his mouth. “You should get that.”

“Come on,” Mr. Carrigan finally said. 

You knew you had to act fast, and you started working the knife out of your sleeve as soon as the doors shut behind the Carrigans. Silently, all three of you got out of your binds. You hid with Dean behind one of the kitchen doors. 

“Now, where were we?” you heard Madge say. 

You pulled a drawer out to hold the door closed and trapped the Carrigans in the kitchen. Almost immediately, the couple was attempting to open them. 

You made your way over to Sam at the other end of the kitchen and leaned on the door beside him.

“What do we do now? The evergreen stakes are in the basement!” Dean whispered. 

“Well, we need more evergreen, Dean!” Sam replied. 

You looked over at the tree in the corner of the living room. “Guys. Bingo.”

Dean smirked excitedly. “Sam, help me get this.” He had his brother assist him in moving the large cabinet next to the door in front of it.

While the boys worked, you pushed the Christmas tree over and broke three large branches off it. You tossed one to both boys who caught them with ease. 

Gripping your stake tightly, you waited with bated breath as the house went silent. Suddenly, Mr. Carrigan tackled Dean to the ground. Madge grabbed your shoulder before you could help Dean and wheeled you around. “You little thing,” she chastised. “I loved that tree.”

You raised your stake, but she hit you hard and threw you back onto the plastic-covered couch. The woman stalked toward you, and you whacked her to the ground with the branches of your stake. You scrambled to your feet before she could recover and stabbed her through the chest with your stake.

“Madge!” Mr. Carrigan screamed just before Sam stabbed him with his own makeshift stake.

You moved to stand beside the two boys, chest heaving from the effort. “Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals,” you breathed out at the dead bodies at your feet. The two boys huffed out labored laughs before Dean slung his arm around your shoulder and began leading you out of the house. 

***

“How’d you keep Dean from finding this stuff?” Sam asked.

You pulled a few plastic bags out from under the bed you shared with the older Winchester. “He doesn’t look under here unless it’s for his shoes. I’ve been making sure they’re next to mine by the door every night,” you explained with a smile. You handed one of the bags to Sam. “It’s not much, but I found a crappy dollar store down the road. I was hoping you’d change your mind.”

Sam looked down sheepishly. “You do get why I was… hesitant, though, right?”

You stood up and nodded. “Absolutely, I do.”

He gave you a lopsided smile. 

“C’mon,” you said. “Oh! I almost forgot!”

“What?”

You stooped to pull out the little plastic Christmas tree from under Sam’s bed and held it up with a wide grin.

***

Dean returned almost an hour later holding a six pack. “What’s all this?” he asked, almost in a sort of daze as he looked around the decorated room.

You continued to busy yourself with making eggnog while the brothers talked.

“What do you think it is? It’s– it’s Christmas,” Sam replied.

You walked over to Sam with a cup of your concoction.

“What made you change your mind?” Dean asked him.

“Oh, thanks,” Sam told you without answering his brother.

“Lemme know if it needs more of a kick,” you said. 

Sam took a swig and coughed. “Nope, all good.”

“Yeah?” you grinned.

Sam nodded and smiled. 

Dean came up behind you and slipped an arm around your waist, his hand landing just above your ass. He smirked down at you and took the other cup of eggnog from your left hand. He gulped almost half of it down, unfazed by the strong whiskey taste. 

“Well, uh, have a seat. Let’s do… Christmas stuff, or whatever,” Sam awkwardly said. 

You sat beside Dean on the couch next to the small Christmas tree decorated with car air fresheners. Sam pulled up a chair across from you. 

“All right, first things first,” Dean nodded, and you handed him the two packages he’d wrapped shoddily in brown paper bags. “Merry Christmas, Sam.” Dean handed him one of the two bags.

Sam smiled widely. “Where’d you get these?”

“Someplace special,” Dean smirked. At Sam’s deadpan expression, Dean continued, “The gas mart down the street. Open them up.”

“Well, great minds think alike, Dean.” Sam brought out two packages wrapped in newspaper. He gave the first to Dean. 

“Really?” Dean asked, eyes shining with surprise. 

You left Dean’s arms momentarily to reach under the couch and brought out two packages daintily wrapped in brown paper. You handed one to each of the boys, and they handed their gifts to you. “You didn’t have to get me anything, guys,” you said. 

“Yeah, we did. Shuddup,” Dean remarked, smirking. 

You relaxed back against him while Sam opened his gift from Dean. “Skin mags!” he laughed. “And shaving cream.”

“You like?” Dean questioned.

Sam smiled and nodded. He then opened the gift from you. “Oh, no way!” He held up the Staind cassette tapes you’d gotten for him to add to Dean’s collection for long drives; especially for when Dean was gone. 

You grinned widely as he admired the tapes. “Okay, Dee, your turn,” you told him. 

He chuckled and unwrapped Sam’s gift to him. “Look at this! Fuel for me and fuel for my baby.” He held up a candy bar and a bottle of oil, and you laughed. “These are awesome,” the older brother said. “Thanks, Sammy.” 

“Okay, now mine,” you beamed. 

“Oh, holy shit,” Dean breathed out while he opened the Bowie knife you’d gotten engraved for him. On the hilt of the blade were his initials, and the handle was engraved to look just like the side of his prized Taurus pistol. “Jesus, (Y/N), this is—” he couldn’t seem to find the words, instead opting to place a long kiss on the side of your forehead. 

At last, you opened yours. Sam gave you the second book in a series you’d been reading on Greek myths, for which you were eternally grateful, but Dean’s gift truly floored you.

“Where’d you get this?” you asked, fingering the small beaded bracelet Dean had given you. 

“Off some kid in the lobby,” he smirked.

Tears filled your eyes at how close of attention he paid to you and your stories. 

“There’s something else in there, too.” 

You looked up to Dean with complete admiration before rummaging around in the bag once more. You pulled out a ripped piece of paper from the notepad at a motel you’d recently stayed at with the words, “Redeem on Dean’s expiration date.” You looked up to him in confusion.

“It’s, uh, for this,” Dean revealed, thumbing the amulet around his neck. “I want you to have it.” 

You threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He returned your fierce embrace, pulling you impossibly closer across his lap. 

“Merry Christmas, Deano,” you whispered into his shoulder.

Dean pulled away from you and kissed your forehead. He then held his eggnog up to cheers you and Sam. “Merry Christmas, guys.”

The three of you sat in silence sipping your drinks before Sam broke the quiet. 

He looked quite sad as he began, “Hey, Dean, y—” but Sam cut himself off, sighing and shaking his head. “Do you feel like watching the game?” he finally asked.

Dean grinned in relief. “Absolutely.”

You clicked on the television before settling into Dean’s side. He lazily thumbed your hip and sighed in content. Sam turned his chair to face the television.

***

Later that night, long after Dean and Sam had gone to bed, you were still wide awake. Snow had begun softly falling outside the motel room window, and the moonlight reflected off the white blanket over the Impala beautifully. Wrapped in a blanket, you made your way over to your duffel bag. You hadn’t taken the bracelet that Dean gave you off, and you were still holding the piece of paper to “redeem” when Dean was gone. 

You took your wallet out and slipped the piece of paper into the see-through pocket where your ID sat, and there it would stay until this was all over. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[sydneys-sinner]

Hcs on Sysdney? How many alters do you think they have? What would they be like outside of pure and corrupt Sydney?

just from observing in game text, sydney appears to be a three person system at the moment: pure sydney, corrupt sydney, and a secret third sydney that seems even worse* than corrupt syd.

this phenomenon happens with a pure syd:

but in this next screenshot (courtesy of visualnovellover), corrupt sydney experiences the same thing:

so, to me, it feels like this possible third alter is the more violent type, which doesn't align with how corrupt syd usually acts. there's a scene you can get in the cafeteria if you sit with a corrupt syd, a student will come by and attempt to break their glasses. If PC bought them their current pair, they will fight the student. Immediately after, they say something along the line of "I don't like it when I get like that."

(Here's a screenshot of the full event via sydney's events wiki page)

They don't like it when they get violent, even if it's to protect themself or someone else, so the possibility of Sydney enjoying hurting someone, especially someone they love, is extremely low. Ergo, i think that behavior would likely be better suited for a third alter.

sysdney headcanons yippee

-based on personal experience, sydney would definitely believe they were being possessed and try to pray it away. sydney sobbing to jordan about how they think something's wrong with them and/or god is punishing them, with jordan trying to calm them down with that tune they like.

-sydney is not diagnosed but sirris knows there's something off about them, like sometimes theyre completely out of character for themself.

-sydney doesnt remember their trauma, but i believe it has something to do with sydneys other parent depending on how young they were when whatever happened... happened. the asylum definitely traumatized them too, but it's not the initial trauma that caused their consciousness to fracture.

-pure sydney: host, ANP. caretaker potential - corrupt sydney: sexual protector TBH. perhaps another EP-aligned role - third sydney: ???. not a persecutor, their anger is directed more outwards.

-sydney dissociates a lot while they're praying, that's why they pray for so long

sydney is so fucking traumatized oh my god. there's whatever happened with their other parent, idk if a lot of people have played through the asylum content but definitely some sexual trauma along with the medical trauma. maybe sprinkle some religious trauma in there too?

thats all i can think of at the moment but if anyone wants to add anything or send asks i will always always always be down to talk about sys!sydney they are my beloved

[spadesolace]

analyze my heart

thomasian! chaewon x lasallian! reader

one thing chaewon developed while taking her undergrad course, she unintentionally psychoanalyzes the people around her, especially her girlfriend

word count: 1.4k

spade speaks: advance valentine’s day 🩵

chaewon isn’t one to make her feelings known that easily. partially that was the reason why she took psychology as her major, to better understand her mind and what she feels- only to end up psychoanalyzing everyone around her.

it started with her parents - her dad specifically. the small mood swings that always resulted in a screaming match only for chaewon to run back to her room and cry about it. every conversation would start with them having a lovely chat and one small mistake from her would lead to her father asking her credibility.

“oh- why aren’t you confident when we talk about these things?”

“dad, i just-“

something simply caused their relationship to be rocky. no longer was her father the same caring man that she looked up to when growing up...

but their fights slowly decreased, once she found a way to slowly manipulate her father that would benefit the two of them. one that would result in a peaceful evening with little to none fighting and for her mother to finally relax.

her mother was next - her own insecurities being the target in every conversation. one of which is how religious her mother is. the idea of her daughter liking women brought such a drift in their relationship that it was chaewon’s goal to find out how it all started. all it took was a few glasses of wine and the right questions just for her mother to spill everything to her. to which everything made sense - her own grandparents were the stereotypical traditional family.

chaewon understood that psychoanalyzing her parents let alone sometimes her friends are crossing the line but then - you.

for her, you were the biggest mystery she has encountered. for someone that goes at the university that is known as the reddest of flags, you were the same as your university. a walking green flag.

your first date within españa made her realize how guarded you were. little to no details but the basics being shared yet you had chaewon swooning over you within the course of three hours. a complete mystery that she wishes to unveil.

it continued on - as you slowly opened up to chaewon a part of her wishes to learn more how deep your thoughts go. there were little icks she had gotten but that was merely due to the status quo. all she did was analyze you, yet you ended up analyzing her feelings.

“y/n… gusto kita (i like you).”

“i like you too, chaewon.”

even when things were made official between you two, chaewon still tried her best to unravel the mystery that is you. to find an answer as to what makes you - you.

on the other hand, you were making sure that kim chaewon wouldn’t break your heart. the stereotype that thomasians are ghosters left a bitter taste in your mouth, and hearing your friends warn you while dating chaewon. your guard was up and even if you’ve shared sentiments and traumas to her, it wasn’t one that would make her break you that easily.

you’ve heard stories of psychology majors being the reddest of flags but you never believed in them until you experienced it yourself.

sure, her university isn’t the best considering the amount of dramas and conspiracies you’ve heard from your friends but you never once thought of it as something that could affect your relationship with chaewon.

you’re well aware that chaewon tends to bottle her feelings up, not until she explodes like a soda bottle shaken and explodes as you open it. here she was, in your apartment ignoring you as she sighs every other minute. chaewon and amongst all other students from her university despise the admins at how inhumane their workloads are or how students are treated like robots but here you are.

“chae, take a break for a bit? you haven’t eaten anything yet.”

chaewon choose to ignore you as she read through her assignment again and again, switching from one file to another but you only grow more concerned as she continues to ignore your presence.

“chae… come on, just eat something.”

ignored yet again, you would have let it slide if it weren’t so later in the evening that you caught her up at 2AM still doing her assignments and readings. you’re used to her ignoring you when she has a bunch of schoolworks to finish but you’re still concerned for your girlfriend.

“chae…”

“Y/N. STOP! can’t you see me studying here? ihave to finish this by tonight and I can’t focus if you keep on-“

a part of you blocks out the rest of what chaewon had to say. the last thing you wanted to hear from her is screaming at you and blaming you. you watch her spit venom at you, taking it all in and realizing this was the girl you’ve been dating for two years. she broke again and you could only see how fierce and annoyed she is at you.

you made sure she won’t break your heart - yet here you are standing still as she packs her stuff. feeling your heart break as you do nothing and let her walk out of your place like many nights before.

this wasn’t the first time it’s happened.

this wasn’t the first time kim chaewon walked out on you.

this wasn’t the first time you heard a knock at your door at 3AM with a drunk chaewon waiting for you to open the door.

this wasn’t the first time you kissed her back while she’s intoxicated in your arms.

it’s a cycle. she breaks then leaves for a couple of days, you ignore her and she comes crawling back to you asking for forgiveness.

you’ve long analyzed her heart and her desire to keep you around despite how toxic it has become - despite knowing she wishes to learn more about you to use it against you.

everytime it happens, chaewon can’t hate you. she’s aware that half of the time it’s her that’s the problem. you’ve been so understanding and just wanting to take care of her yet here she is fucking it up once again by screaming at you as you let her do it.

you aren’t a people pleaser.

“do you not care about people’s opinions?” chaewon could only watch you shake your head as you finish writing your paper and ignoring every message and plead your classmates send your way for help.

“let them talk, it’s not my job to remind them of their responsibilities.” there was no sign of caring for what your friend’s have to say as you leave them in the dark as you close your laptop and silence your phone. ending the day with chaewon in your arms as you lay in her bed.

your family is so supportive.

she hasn’t seen any parent that is so supportive of their child who went for their passion, even if it were a small thing on a paper once you graduate. still, it baffles her knowing that you wanted to venture out and although there were some restrictions that made your parents say no to your crazy desires. they were still supportive as you tell them your project for your minor program with a huge smile on your face as they listened intently and asked questions. she feels out of place whenever your parents would ask her questions about her life, is this what having a normal conversation with relatives feels like?

and you never mentioned anything that left you questioning everything in life as you hit a dark point in your life.

you’re a mystery to kim chaewon because how could you be so perfectly fine with her screaming at you at the top of her lungs and leaving you for days until she’s back at your place wearing your clothes.

you have her wrapped around your finger as she circles around looking for a way to be above you. one thing chaewon never accounted for is that you’re too self aware.

chaewon can’t find your issues, what makes you imperfect but you know well enough what those are to hide it from anyone but yourself. not a day goes by where you mentally beat yourself for things you have no desire of telling anyone and sure, chaewon loves to psychoanalyze you as you keep this facade.

at the end of the day, you have her heart, knowing what she wants in a relationship and simply taking it as it is. even if there is something chaewon could use against you - you’ve analyzed her before she could even realize it.

[ssparksflyy]

Hiii I hope you are having a great day!! I was wondering if you could make another percy jackson x daughter of Hecate reader? If you don’t/ can’t do it that’s fine I just though i would ask.

ask and thou shall receive ༉‧₊˚.

percy jackson dating hcs ! *ੈ✩‧₊˚

pairing: percy jackson x latina!daughter of hecate!reader warning(s): swearin an: dw i got ur 2nd request that u wanted reader to be latina :)) i just added in some little things that tie in ♡♡ srry if these are short btw </3

in the dead of night, your eyes so greennnnnnnn

you and percy tend to stay up later than most of camp

your always up and out after curfew

you js function better at night okay

me asf

the day is reserved for lake dates and the night is reserved for sky watching dates ♡♡

youre literally attached by the hip if you couldnt tell

as they say in waitress, i love you means your never ever getting rid of me ♡

you usually watch from the roof of cabin 3, just cuddled up and sharing a blanket

but once percy suggested you watch from the docks

and you were like oh!

not actually but you looked really hesitant

he was like whats wrong??

so you told him about la llorona !! #coquette

it was so preppy

but now youre both scared to go to the lake at night

even though yk shes not real

and youve literally been through tartarus

and back

and you face unimaginable horrors every day

and percy's literally the son of the sea god

mexican folklore is scary ok yall

idc if it didnt scare you as a kid / you like horror

I DONT

IM TRAUMATIZED

MY GRANDMA PUT ON LA LEYENDA DE LA LLORONA WHEN I WAS FIVE AND I HAVENT KNOWN A DAY OF PEACE SINCE

sorry for trauma dumping yall

kinda silly how some story about a lady who drowned her kids is enough to make 2 of camp half blood's strongest soldiers shake in their boots

so u stick to rooftops ♡

you and hazel are bestiessss

shes a honorary member of cabin 20 of course

you exchange tips and tricks, hazel telling you about the things she saw hecate do and the things she said to her

and you tell her about the things youve picked up over the years :))

percy cant help but smile whenever he sees you two together

he sees hazel as a sister

(yall remember in son when he was ready to fight somebody for her or something like that i dont remember exactly what he said but i do know he was ready to fight)

and ur his fav girl ever ♡

his heart just feels warmed

same way he feels when he sees you playing with estelle

you show her a bit of ur powers and she flips outtttt

she asks sally to be a witch for halloween because "i want to be just like (y/n)!!!"

dont know about yall but if i went home and my family found out i was involved with ~brujeria~ i would not be accepted at home (please read as if youre white and cant say shit in spanish)

thats just the mad religious side talking dont worry yall

but sally and paul would literally let you in with open arms

the jackson's apartment is your second home

percy has a drawer reserved for your clothes in his room ♡♡

he loves it when you sleepover, at home or at camp

he absolutely adores kissing your hands

he doesnt care about the dangers you can produce from them, he'll kiss em allllll he wants

you could be cuddled up together, ur reading to him and he just grabs one of your hands and begins to leave a trail of kisses up your arm, shoulder, neck, cheek, and eventually leaving one on your temple

it just gets you like 😵‍💫

he loves his badass girlfriend, okay?

literally your #1 fan

would beat up anybody who talks shit !!!

tea is your holy ground ♡

because you cant drink coffee

cause ya know, adhd, youll just end up knocking out

though you do drink it when you cant fall asleep at night

its me, hi

and hot chocolate is strickly an only-in-december drink, because then it wont hit in december, since you had it earlier in the year

(my mom does that with gorditas and tamales broooo its painful)

so ya drink tea!

i dont drink tea, so im not even gonna try to tell you what his favorite is

he likes whatever you like

but you try a bunch of different teas and stuff together :)

youd probably adopt a black cat together when youre older

youre never gonna beat your neighbor's witch allegations

(probably because theyre true but youll obviously never say that)

i feel like percy would be more of a dog person but lets be real, he likes horses.

fuckin horse girl smh

but that does not mean he wouldnt love and care for the cat

he'd so let you stop to pet any stray cat you see on the street

takes pictures of the cat anytime you do ♡

you cook together !!

you teach percy a bunch of different recipes and stuff :)

has a 'kiss the cook' apron 100%

and what can ya say, you gotta kiss the cook

man you guys manage to stay silly throughout the horrors, we love

[sophieinwonderland]

Reminder That System Medicalism is a Religion: Exhibit A, @theinfernalcollective

This is pretty typical sysmed rhetoric.

And in typical sysmed fashion, has no sources to back it up whatsoever! As always, sysmeds rely on an argument by assertion. Facts just aren't on their side.

Never have been, never will be.

So they give a couple sources.

First is the DSM which doesn't say trauma is needed in all cases of DID, only that it's associated with trauma. It makes no such claim for OSDD-1 being associated with trauma at all. And on top of that, doesn't even mention the word system. Which is pretty big since most endogenic systems don't have a dissociative disorder and don't claim to.

Basically, it's a nothing source that doesn't back up what they claim it does.

As for Dr Candy Fox...

There's no evidence she actually said this.

And she has yet to respond to the message I sent her website. (Because yes, I did send her a message on her site to see if she actually agreed with this.)

But based on the context, it seems pretty obvious she would have been talking about dissociative identity disorder, not "being a system."

Now, before going any further into this conversation, let's take a step back and remember The Infernal Collective asking the anon to name a single psychiatrist, obviously expecting they wouldn't be able to.

How did THAT go?

Oh right, it's how it always goes when you meet a sysmeds' goalposts!

Did you expect anything different?

"This psychiatrist saying you can be plural without trauma doesn't count because he's talking about transgender people."

"And also the screenshots of his peer-reviewed book that was published by the American Psychiatric Association are posted on a site I don't like."

So when linked to an email from a dissociative expert, someone with 40 years of experience treating dissociative identity disorder, they again retreat to just... not liking the website the image is posted on?

And again, their source for Dr. Candy Fox was just something they allegedly heard in person during evaluationMeanwhile this is an actual email, with one of the foremost DID experts in the world!

Also, for the love of the gods, Transgender Mental Health does NOT say "transgender make plurality." Actually read the thing!!!

But hey, now that I'm done with that particular conversation and got what I need to make my point, I'll confess! All these anons were me!

Reminder, again, their source was "my doctor said it, trust me bro!"

And while I only named a couple doctors over the course of that conversation, I could have dropped so many more!

The fact is, it's not hard to look at a link and read the screenshots therein. Here, I'll even post the pics!

And in case you're thinking that they just trust Dr. Candy Fox's opinion so much and hold her in such high regard...

Nope.

But then...

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU BASING YOUR BELIEFS ON?

Because it's not psychiatry. You can't cite a single doctor anywhere who has said you can't be a system without trauma!

System Medicalism is a Religion!

Sysmeds, like transmeds, do not base their bigotry in science or rationality. They do not follow the opinions of experts.

It's a religion to them! The Church of the Holy Trauma believes that Trauma and only Trauma has the might to bestow plurality upon the few chosen. And their faith is so unshakable because they've been told this by random uneducated nobodies on the internet, and it just feels true.

And because their FAITH in this idea is so strong, no amount of studies will change their mind. No amount of doctors coming forward to support endogenic systems. No amount of literal brain scans will convince them endogenic systems are real. As the saying goes, you can't reason someone outs of a position they didn't reason themselves into in the first place.

In the end, sysmeds continue to be an anti-science hate group with a religious devotion to their ideology of hate.

And this whole disaster is just another example of that.

[nalyra-dreaming]

I honestly can’t wait for Louis to finally connect the dots between many of Lestat’s behaviors and his past.

The fact the reason why Lestat was so mad at Paul and his religious rant is that he lost faith after God didn’t save him from the week long rape at Magnus’ hands. The reason behind his “set himself on fire” comment being that his mother ignored him like Louis did. The way his comments about being alone and leaving him struck Lestat so badly because everyone he loved abandoned him, everything he cared for hurt him, and everything he didn’t want followed and suffocated him. The reason why he was so awful to Claudia about Bruce being his own SA trauma. The threats made by Marius if he were ever to talk about the other vampires being the reason he kept them in the dark for all those years. And so many others.

I just wonder how Louis might react when learning all these information. Will he want to talk about it with Lestat? Will he be mad that he didn’t voice all that sooner? Will he feel bad for all the times he and Claudia inadvertently triggered his trauma? Would all those scenes be shown at all? Oh I have so many questions.

I hope they will be, just talked about this in another ask, but I HOPE that Louis will be there for some of those "documentary" scenes.

And I think he will react in ALL of these ways. He will experience all kinds of emotions when the pieces click into place at least, when he will ... understand.

A lot of understanding for Lestat's actions in s1&2 can only come from knowledge of his past. It is hinted at, but Louis' view of Lestat is a skewed one, an incomplete one.

It is no surprise that they reunite in the books when Louis understands.

And I think that might be the same in the show.

[neysaadept]

Prometheus Chapter 10

Emily Prentiss x Female CIA Reader

Chapter 10 - Ladies' Night

Side note- I love how the gif is five shots 🥳

Tags: Limited use of y/n but established last name. Swearing, mentions of the pandemic and human and sex trafficking. Canon typical violence. Sexual innuendos. Drinking. Smoking. Slow Burn. Murder. Depictions of Flaying. Implied Rape. Mentions of Date Rape Drugs. Strangulation. Restraints. Mental Institutions. PTSD. Childhood trauma. Psychological Trauma. Implied references to child abuse. Mentions of Arson. Religious Discussion. Mentions of Religious Extremism. Mentions of Suicide Bombings. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 2.9k (Shorter chapter but I think has a lot of meat to it)

AO3

Chapter 9

“So how long we waiting for Emily to show up?” asks Tara. “She said she’s coming, right?”

Penelope nods. “Yes! She did. Ugh, she better not be working late. She promised!”

JJ has her phone out to text her. “I’m sure she’s running late and not being an ass staying at work. If she is, I’ll personally kill her this time.”

All three of them had arrived at the Fireside Lounge roughly the same time and pushed two high top tables together with five chairs surrounding them. They had waited on ordering drinks until they were all together but after twenty minutes and Prentiss being a no show, the ladies were getting restless.

“Ah! She says she’ll be here in fifteen. Apologizes for running late and will explain why when she gets here,” JJ announces, pleased. “Won’t have to kill her.”

“JJ …” Penelope whines. “I know you’re joking, but our Emily makes such jokes almost realities so, please don’t?”

“Yes, yes. Sorry. I only say it out of love though.”

“Which I can’t really blame her,” says Tara with a grin. “We do love our Prentiss.”

“Fine, yes. Hooray! We love, Emily. Speaking of Emily,” Penelope starts looking right at JJ, “and to change the subject…” She brings her arms atop the table and her body is thrumming with gossip, “… did you totally see her eying our cutie today?”

“Eying?” Tara chuckles. “You mean ogling. But it got her off our backs for going MIA on her. I don’t think Whitlock even noticed.”

“Yeah, have to agree there. She didn’t notice a thing,” confirms JJ.

“I’m surprised you were even paying attention, Jareau. Especially with all that trash talk you were doing,” taunts Tara.

“Oh please. I’m like a bloodhound when Emily shows even the slightest interest in anyone. Which has been a long fucking time. Even before the pandemic.”

“And her last serious relationship was with that girl Goodman before she got transferred to the Dallas office. Girl wanted to U-Haul Prentiss something fierce,” Tara says with a cackle.

Melanie Goodman was an FBI special agent the team met during a local case. Her and Prentiss hit it off, but Goodman wanted a lot more very quickly. In typical fashion, Prentiss dragged her feet on what she wanted, and when Goodman got a promotion to head up the Dallas office, she wanted Emily to come along. Thus, concluding that relationship. But truthfully, the two of them were doomed from the start. Emily wasn’t ready to open her heart and just wanted a physical relationship, then maybe see how things were going. And as she was bad at communicating her needs, the relationship crashed and burned the night before Goodman’s flight out to Dallas with a huge argument.

“Well, she is looking to get some,” says JJ offhandedly that makes Penelope smack her arm. “Ow! Hey!”

“Spill!”

“It was nothing. Really!” JJ defends herself when Garcia stares her down. “Just an off the cuff comment about not getting laid. One of the few people at the office not getting any.”

“Interesting …” Garcia looks to Tara. “Anything you can add to this?”

Tara looks confused. “Like what?”

“You and Rebecca had dinner with Whitlock. Know any, I dunno, preferences?” Garcia presses.

“Preferences for what?” But then Tara realizes what Garcia was fishing for and holds up a finger. “Oh no. We are not playing matchmaker with these two.”

“So, she does like women?!” squeals Penelope.

“No, no, no, no! I did not say that,” Tara states firmly but then starts bobbing her head in thought. “Though probably, yeah.”

“What do you mean?” asks Penelope with a shrill.

“Because she’s queer considering the story they told me.”

JJ looks with interest, raising her brows. “Which was… ?”

With the two of them looking pathetically expectantly, Tara gave in. And Whitlock didn’t mind Rebecca telling the story of how the two of them met, so there’s no reason to not believe that it would have circulated already within the BAU family.

“Alright, it’s about how the two of them met. Her and Rebecca.” Tara starts to explain, and JJ and Penelope lean in closer, absorbed by the story. “They were set up on a potential date. Bunch of girls at the DOJ wanted to hang out and used that as pretense. What they were really trying to do was set up my girl and Whitlock.”

“Aaaaaaand?!” Penelope’s desire for gossip was making her impatient which made JJ snigger.

“Calm down, Pen! Give me a chance to explain the whole story!” scolds Tara. “Now, both of them didn’t know Rebecca’s friend Mandy, who’s also friends with Whitlock, was trying to get them together for awhile and the mastermind behind it all. They all show up at a bar and of course everyone is making sure there’s a chair open by Rebecca for our girl to take. Both of them play stupid as to what was really going on. But at one point, they go get some more drinks at the bar and basically end up apologizing for Mandy at the same time and laugh it off. They said they realized they’ll probably end up being good friends at that point.”

“That’s kind of adorable,” JJ says with gleam in her eyes. “No wonder they’ve kept in touch for so long.”

“Exactly. But that’s not even the best part.”

Penelope claps. “And here we go.”

“So, the next day they’re at work together, they’re pretending they hit it off and are dating.” JJ and Penelope start laughing. “They do this for a whole week just to mess with this Mandy. I guess this girl would not take no for an answer. Kept meddling getting them together for a while, or whatever. So, they give her what she wanted. Put on a whole show for her when Whitlock visited Rebecca at work. Our girl even sent her flowers! Can you believe that?”

“I already loved her and now, I love her more,” Penelope declares firmly.

JJ has to agree. “She goes all in on things, huh?”

Tara nods, “Whitlock confirmed that at dinner. She loves getting into mischief with the right people. They were wondering how far they could take it, but Mandy finally figured out she was being fucked with. She was so embarrassed and never talked to them again.”

“How’d she find out?” asks JJ.

“By overhearing us without our knowledge,” you said, sneakily coming in with Prentiss. “Poor work on my part considering I’m CIA. Utterly embarrassing.”

“AAAHHH! YOU’RE HERE!” Penelope shrieks with pure joy and jumps off her stool to squeeze you tightly. “You said you couldn’t come, but you’re here!”

You half cough and half laugh, looking to Prentiss who has to sidestep away from you since Penelope’s forceful hug almost knocked you into her. “Yeah, well …”

But you didn’t have to come up with anything to say as she did it for you. “New boss asked old boss for some leeway. I basically pulled the we used to work together card.” She offers. “And Korogoth didn’t mind at all.”

You smile with gratitude at the partial truth given by her, humbled that Prentiss was doing that for you in front of her longtime friends and coworkers. That wave of affection for the section chief came over you once more and you had to look away from her. You weren’t sure what to say but JJ saves you.

“Now I feel bad for taking your fifty, Whitlock.”

Penelope finally relinquishes her hug and wraps an arm around yours, leading you to the chair by hers. Prentiss takes a seat between you and Tara. “Well, I can always take it back …” you offer candidly but JJ just laughs.

“I’m not feeling that bad. Ah!” She threatens a finger towards you. “Don’t sit yet. Come with me to get drinks. There’s five of us now and I need help.”

“Happy to.” You slide free from between Penelope and Prentiss and walk off with JJ to get the first round.

That left Penelope and Tara staring down Emily who looks befuddled at the scrutiny. “What?”

“Lotta effort getting Whitlock here. Not that we’re minding her company,” starts Tara which only made Emily lean forward with scrutinizing eyes as to where this was going.

“Really wanted her here for girls’ night, huh?” Penelope says with a knowing look.

“Well, yeah. Of course I did.” She sits up straighter on the chair, tapping the table idly. “She’s supposed to be on vacation and ends up helping us. Last thing she needs is working double duty.”

Penelope and Tara share a look that Emily notices. “Okay, what?”

Tara decides to get her to explain further. “Is that all? Just being a concerned boss?”

“What else could it possibly be?” she asks, hoping this isn’t going where she fears it is. She didn’t forget how Penelope was looking at her yesterday during the spar.

“Uh, the cutie over there by the bar, of course!” Penelope accuses.

Damn it!

“There’s a lot of people by the bar,” she deflects.

“To clarify, the CIA operative that you found so hot yesterday, it made you forget you were mad at the entire unit and then … joined in on the betting,” Tara reminds with a haughty smile.

Emily inwardly sighs once again regretting she works with a bunch of profilers. It wouldn’t matter if she tried to deny what happened earlier. She couldn’t lie to herself about the budding attraction she had for you, especially after your conversation together on the drive here.

“How long were you a spy?” The ride had been quiet, but this question was weighing on your mind.

“You don’t know?” she says with surprise, coming to stop at a redlight.

You look at her cheekily. “I know a lot of things, but not everything. Besides, I rather hear it from you.”

She chuckles. “Fair enough. Close to nine years.”

You nod. “Long time.”

“Not as long as you,” she counters.

“True.” You didn’t even hide your vocation anymore. Prentiss had a way of disarming you and Brian gave her a bit of clearance. “How do you know Brian?”

“Pardon?”

You look at her suspiciously. “You heard me just fine, Prentiss. He doesn’t just let anyone know about me. Even with section chief cred. He trusts you.” You catch Prentiss’ gaze when she looks to you expectantly and you simply ask, “Why?”

She is forced to look away as the light turns green and starts driving again. “Our paths crossed when I worked Interpol. We collaborated on a case.”

You repeatedly nod at that while bringing your attention forward. As you are aware the ending of the Doyle case meant Prentiss being transferred to the FBI that this was a case prior to that three-year stint. “That was a while ago.”

“Yes, it was.” She says it with melancholic introspection. She shifts gears, taking a chance. “What were you up to back then?”

“Define back then. I like specifics.”

“2002.”

“Investigating suicide bombings in Israel.”

Prentiss winces, knowing it was a bad year for those bombings. “That was a really rough year.”

That year and the next were bloody. It took combined efforts of the US Department of Defense, Interpol and the Isreal government to determine Iran, Iraq and Libya were involved in those terror attacks.* You worked with the bomb units identifying materials and tracing it back to the source. Following that, you found the money trail, which led to names that were given to the respective governments involved in the investigations.

You understand the logical themes behind religion and its ability to bring individuals in. They provide community, a sense of purpose and belonging, and a truth to why you are on this planet. People that have little control in their life are easily swayed to something that has strict rules and a way of life to explain all of its uncertainties. But then you have these charismatic leaders that swoop in and promise you eternal glory by blowing yourself up and murdering others. They only cared about power and control.

You weren’t religious before your recruitment, and you certainly saw no need to be after witnessing the horrors of the world.

Prentiss looked at you quickly, wondering why you suddenly went quiet. She felt her comment was open ended and shouldn’t have tripped you up. “You okay there, Whitlock?”

You look at her and brazenly ask a personal question. “You religious?”

“Ah …” She fumbles at the complicated question. “I was raised Catholic.”

“That doesn’t tell me if you’re religious,” you point out immediately.

“Are you?”

The deflection was an unspoken admission of a tricky relationship with faith. “I believe there’s evil in the world and it’s up to people like us to stop it. Seen too much to think otherwise.”

Caused too much of it to be absolved by any fucking deity anyway … you thought regretfully.

Prentiss makes a long face as she tries to interpret that response. She didn’t want to discount your reasoning for feeling this way because there is truth to your words. “I can understand that.”

You cross your arms defensively as you allow the same vulnerability to come out like it did back at the apartment. “And … helps calm the demons inside. Helping the helpless, ya know?”

Which Prentiss did. She admitted as much on the jet and now agreed with a darkened tone. “I do.”

The ease in which she talks with you and the spoken and unspoken cues that you truly understood her without detailed explanations were astounding to her. She had deep connections with members of the BAU as close friends who were found family, JJ especially so, but not once did a romantic relationship blossom into something close to that level of transparency. Admittedly, there was that potential with you.

“I’m her boss.” She hears how lame that is as do the others.

“She’s a consultant and reports to Korogoth at the end of the day,” counters Tara. “Try again.”

“We don’t know if she’s into women.”

“Good chance she is,” says Penelope and Emily’s eyes widen in question to which she is happy to provide. “How Whitlock and Wilson met. Next!”

“Whoa, back it up.” This was genuine interest and not an attempt to sidestep around the conversation. “What do you mean that’s how they met?”

“Oh, I know what this is about,” you say while playing waitress and handing out the sunset shots with JJ. She insisted on fun fruity shots, not something boring.  “This about me and Rebecca.”

“That was pretty funny.” JJ playfully scrunches her nose. “Especially when you sent her flowers.”

“Sent flowers to who?” asks a confused Emily.

Penelope and Tara answer together. “Rebecca.”

“Wait.” Emily pushes against the table so she can angle herself to look at you as you sit down beside her. “You and Rebecca dated?’

Everyone at the table begins laughing, leaving Emily put out. “Guys! Can someone please tell me what’s so funny?”

“Sorry, Emily,” you say, trying to calm your laughs, but then end up laughing harder seeing how dour the section chief’s expression is. It was cute how Emily hated being the last to understand something.

“Guys …” Emily says, gritting her teeth.

“Okay, okay!” Tara manages to control herself first. “The two of them didn’t date. But, they were set up.”

“In a bullshit way.” You sit back in a huff as you explain further. “We didn’t even know it was supposed to be a date. Just some hanging out with friends. But this girl …” You snap your fingers trying to jog your memory. “What the fuck was her name …?”

“Mandy,” supplies Penelope quite quickly, proving she still deserves being the queen of gossip recollection.

“Oh my god, yes! That’s her name. Mandy!” You chuckle. “Yeah, so she did this after I told her I wasn’t interested in dating anyone, but not listening, went behind my back. Rebecca wasn’t thrilled either, so we played pretend girlfriends.”

Emily holds her head and starts to laugh. “And knowing you …”

“I was all in. Ah …” you grin, playing with the shot glass. “Rebecca being so cool with it is why I knew we’d be good friends.”

With you wistfully looking down, Penelope looks right at Emily and mouths a silent, ‘Gay!’ which makes her blush and JJ fights a laugh seeing that exchange.

“Well, I think I can speak for all of us here, and not just because me and Rebecca are together, that we’re all happy that friendship happened. Because if not, you wouldn’t be here,” Tara says with sincerity, and then shrugs mischievously. “But I guess Emily’s got something to do with that too.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s safe. Are we drinking or not? Because you profilers talk too damn much.”

There was a chorus of oohs around the table at the dig, but Penelope slaps it with purpose. “She’s right. This is girls’ night out and we haven’t had one drink! Time to fix that. Ladies!”

The five of you take your shot glasses and follow Penelope’s lead by lifting them up for a toast. “To Whitlock finally having a proper night out with us.”

“Cheers!” everyone says, including you, before clinking your glasses together and knocking back the first round of drinks.

RE: Amateur Fire Start Up

KarmaKat: Gasoline. Lots. Won’t be suspicious when getting it.

               Replying to KarmaKat and w@mpum@:

               FlamePit23: Don’t listen to him. More isn’t better. Gas is good but need proper accelerants placed in key locations. That is what gives you the desired effect you’re looking for.

                              Replying to FlamePit23, KarmaKat and w@mpum@:

                                             User45125: As always, you got solid recommendations. Good to see you back.

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[berk-brain-rot]

So Berk posted a video of some poems that never made it into Lazarus Rises and I wanted to talk about my favorite one.

It's this, it's this one.

If you're just here to read the poem, fair, it's amazing and stands on it's own, honestly click the link and read the rest of them, because they're all so good!

If you're here as a fellow-feral-unhinged-raccoon and want to read my honestly unneeded analysis, it's below the cut.

Oh my god. Are you kidding me?? This was a poem that didn't pass the cut??? And it's this good?????? (Once again I feel justified in telling literally every person who spends five minutes in conversation with me about how good of a poet Berk is)

Honestly though, this is one of my favorites of the poems in that video, because it's so short, it's so simply written, and this says so much that I feel like I could write an entire essay on each of the lines themselves and their meanings (I honestly might anyways but I'm not gonna subject you guys to those rambles)

"Life loves Death"

In the same way you can't help but love an impossible task you just want to give up but that at this point is the only company you truly remember and the only thing you know how to work towards.

"Life loves Death"

In the same way we can't help but try and find meaning in beauty in the thing that truly only takes from us, because if there isn't meaning and beauty in our pain, then why the fuck do we have it?

"Life loves Death"

As something we can't take seriously. As something we truly don't understand the risks of until it's too late. As something that for some of us, we rush forward to with joy and open arms because we think it'll feel like the warm embrace of the sun but instead all we are met with is the cold cold ocean.

"Life loves Death"

As a burden, a burden that some claim is a gift. A burden enforced upon us poor poor sinners by a god in punishment. Am I talking about Apollo or Jesus? Both, neither of them, I don't believe in either, but I mean no one believed Cassandra either.

"Life loves Death"

As a needed tool, as a part of every flower we decide to put in a vase, as every dye we put in paint, as every food we are forced to consume and as the tool that at the end of the days ends up changing us.

Also something something, gods punishing poor sinners for wanting to enjoy life something something an apple and a weaving contest being the show of ultimate pride something something I don't have religious trauma you do

Like do you get it???? Do you see how insane this is??? How much information they've packed into six lines???

And I'm not even gonna go over the way Life and Death are capitalized and personified, you all already know how I feel about how impressive it is they do that, but regardless, this poem is amazing and you can pry it out of my coffin-bloodied-cold-dead hands.

As always, the source is always more interesting than anything I have to say, so if you haven't yet, go read Lazarus Rises(amongst other things) and follow them on their Tumblr @icaruspendragon because they write so many cool things beyond just their published book.