#texas is not where evil people go to live

[outrunningthedark]

Would be really cool and neat if people in 9-1-1 fandom, especially the bloggers who like to act as though they are #educated on ableism, would refrain from speaking on Christopher Diaz until they look at him like the 14 year old he is and not the 6/7 year old boy from the Eddie Begins flashback. Christopher has the ability (literally! he can talk, he can use his words!) to voice what he wants, what's going to make him feel better. And the thing he wanted at the end of last season? The thing that was going to make him feel better about his situation? Was to be separated from his father. Instead of treating Christopher like that little boy in Texas who really had no say in where he was going to live, whose grandparents wanted him to have stability, why don't you try acknowledging that Eddie has taken his stability away by not just causing Marisol - someone Chris liked! - to break up with him, but causing her to break up with him because he brought a doppelganger of Chris's dead mother into their home without warning. Y'all keep framing Helena's actions as attempts at hurting Eddie when all she's really doing is putting Chris first. The very thing his father should have done before allowing Kim into that house *knowing* Marisol and Chris were going to come back at any time. This is probably the most I've ever criticized Eddie during my time in the fandom, but when you keep ignoring Chris's autonomy in your quest to paint someone else as evil because you can't let a scene from four years ago die...you're asking for your internal biases to be called into question. If you can't be normal about a disabled kid living in a fictional world making his own decisions, I don't even wanna know what you're like when you're faced with people like us IRL.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Home | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mention of parental death, mentions of abuse

Word Count: 4388

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You sat cross-legged on the floor of the boys’ motel room, sipping a coffee you’d run out to get earlier that morning. Dean was on his computer, and you were responding to the potential cases he’d found.

“A fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali—” Dean started.

“Ooh, I like Cali,” you cut him off.

“—Its crew vanished.” He finished.

“And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.” 

“Meh, that’s boring. Let somebody else handle that one,” you dismissed.

Dean noticed Sam hadn’t spoken in just about the last hour. He was frantically scribbling on a notepad.

“Hey,” Dean called to his brother. “Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?”

“No. I’m listening. Keep going.”

He clearly wasn’t.

“And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times.”

“Ooh, I like that one,” you said. 

Dean leaned over and waved a hand in front of Sam’s face. “Any of these things blowin’ up your skirt, pal?”

Sam furrowed his eyebrows at his notepad. “Wait. I’ve seen this.”

“Seen what?” you asked.

Sam got up from his bed and began rifling through his duffel bag. 

“What are you doing?” Dean eyed his brother strangely.

The younger brother pulled out a photo from the bag and held it up next to his drawing. You couldn’t quite see what he was looking at from where you sat.

“Guys, I know where we have to go next.”

“Where?” Dean asked.

“Back home. Back to Kansas,” he responded.

The older brother was surprised. “Okay, random. Where’d that come from?”

He showed the photo to the two of you. “Alright, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?”

“Yeah…?” Dean still had no idea where he was going with this.

“And it didn’t burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?” 

Dean— as well as you— was still lost. “I guess so, yeah. What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“Okay, look, this is gonna sound crazy but… the people who live in our old house— I think they might be in danger,” Sam rushed out.

“Why would you think that?” you questioned.

“Uh… it’s just, um… look, just trust me on this, okay?” Sam turned away.

“Wait, whoa, whoa, trust you?” Dean shook his head and stood to follow him. “Come on, man, that’s weak. You gotta give us a little bit more than that.”

“I can’t really explain it is all,” Sam shrugged.

“Well, tough. I’m not goin’ anywhere until you do.” 

You turned to face Sam as he began to explain. “I have these nightmares.”

You nodded. “We’ve noticed.”

“And sometimes… they come true.”

Dean was stunned. “Come again?”

“Look, Dean… I dreamt about Jessica’s death— for days before it happened,” Sam explained.

“Sam, people have weird dreams, man. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” Dean sat back down on the edge of his bed. 

“No,” the younger brother protested. “I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it. And now I’m dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started, man, this has to mean something, right?”

You felt overwhelmed, and so did Dean. “I don’t know.”

Sam sat down across from his brother. “What do you mean you don’t know, Dean? This woman might be in danger. I mean, this might even be the thing that killed Mom and Jessica!”

“Sam, slow down—” you urged him, knowing Dean was about to go through the roof.

Sure enough, Dean stood and started pacing. “I mean, first you tell me that you’ve got the Shining? And then you tell me that I’ve gotta go back home? Especially when….”

“When what?” you asked.

Dean’s voice broke for the first time since you’d met him. “When I swore to myself that I would never go back there?”

Sam’s puppy dog eyes appeared as he spoke softly, “Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.”

Dean nodded. “I know we do.”

***

You looked out at the boys’ childhood home and followed them up to the front door.

“You gonna be alright, man?” Sam asked his brother who didn’t respond.

“Jury’s still out on that,” you muttered in response.

Dean knocked on the front door, and a young woman answered. You could see a look of recognition pass over Sam’s face.

“Yes?” the woman said.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal—”

One Winchester cut the other off. “I’m Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean. We used to live here. You know, we were just drivin’ by, and we were wondering if we could come see the old place.”

The woman seemed surprised and smiled. “Winchester. Yeah, that’s so funny. You know, I think I found some of your photos the other night.” She turned to you. “Are you a Winchester, too? I didn’t see a little girl in any of the pictures.”

You shook your head. “No, no. Just a friend. (Y/N).”

She smiled at you. “Nice to meet you. Come on in.”

Inside the home, a girl who looked to be around seven sat at the table doing homework, and a little boy who was presumably two jumped in his playpen.

“Juice! Juice! Juice! Juice!” the toddler called excitedly.

“That’s Ritchie. He’s kind of a juice junkie,” Jenny explained, taking a sippy cup from the fridge and bringing it to her son. “But, hey, at least he won’t get scurvy.” She walked back over to her daughter. “Sari, this is Sam, Dean, and (Y/N). The boys used to live here.”

“Hi,” the shy girl said quietly.

You waved.

“So, you just moved in?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, from Wichita.”

“You got family here, or…?”

Jenny’s smile faded. “No. I just, uh… needed a fresh start, that’s all. So, new town, new job— I mean, as soon as I find one. New house.”

“So, how you likin’ it so far?” Sam questioned.

Jenny laughed awkwardly. “Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home— I mean, I’m sure you had lots of happy memories here—”

You discreetly turned to see Dean smile weakly. 

“But this place has its issues,” she finished.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Well, it’s just getting old. Like the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.”

That caught your attention. “Oh, that’s too bad. What else?”

“Um…sink’s backed up, there’s rats in the basement…” She trailed off. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.”

Dean shook his head. “No. Have you seen the rats or have you just heard scratching?”

Jenny looked at him quizzically. “It’s just the scratching, actually.”

Sari tugged on her mom’s shirt, who stooped down next to her. “Ask them if it was here when they lived here.”

“What, Sari?” Sam asked.

“The thing in my closet,” she whispered as if the thing would hear.

“Oh, no, baby, there was nothing in their closets.” Jenny looked up to you and the boys. “Right?”

They shook their heads.

“She had a nightmare the other night,” Jenny explained.

Sari’s voice suddenly got louder. “I wasn’t dreaming. It came into my bedroom and it was on fire.”

The boys seemed too shocked to speak.

You took over. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You’re okay now though, right?”

She nodded.

“See? It didn’t get ya. It was only a dream.”

You knew it wasn’t. A pit filled your stomach after saying your goodbyes to the family and heading out of the door. 

“You hear that? A figure on fire,” Sam reminded the two of you.

“And that woman, Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?” Dean asked.

"Yeah. And you hear what she was talking about? Scratching, flickering lights, both signs of a malevolent spirit.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just freaked out that your weirdo visions are comin’ true,” the older brother chuckled humorlessly.

“Well, forget about that for a minute. The thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?”

“I don’t know!” Dean responded.

The brothers were only making each other panic worse at this point.

“Well, I mean, has it come back or has it been here the whole time?” Sam inquired.

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely, Sam, we don’t know yet.”

“Both of you need to calm down,” you told them, simultaneously getting in the car. “We’re gonna get those people safe. Whatever’s in there is not gonna hurt you or those people.”

“Thank you, Dr. Phil,” Dean remarked.

You snapped into a more intense tone, leaning over the backseat. “Look, dude, you’re gonna get your shit together. The two of you are only ramping each other up. Now, you are going to get a grip or I will do this job on my own.”

Sam and Dean both nodded.

“You’re runnin’ low on gas, Dee.” You patted Dean’s cheek before sitting back against your chair. 

***

“We just gotta chill out, that’s all,” Dean said as he pumped gas. 

“I’ve tried telling you that eighty times since we left that house.”

He ignored your snide comment. “You know, if this was any other kind of job, what would we do?”

"We’d try to figure out what we were dealin’ with. We’d dig into the history of the house,” Sam sighed.

"Exactly,” the older brother began, “except this time, we already know what happened.”

"Yeah, but how much do we know? I mean, how much do you actually remember?”

"About that night, you mean?”

"Yeah.”

Dean paused. “Not much. I remember the fire… the heat. And then I carried you out the front door.”

You looked at the floor, knowing how hard this must be for him to open up.

“You did?” the younger Winchester asked.

"Yeah, what, you never knew that?”

"No.”

“And, well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do. Mom was— was on the ceiling. And whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.”

“And he never had a theory about what did it?”

“If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times.”

"Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s goin’ on now…we have to figure out what happened back then. And see if it’s the same thing.”

You decided to add your two cents. “Yeah. We can talk to your dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.”

Silence blanketed the three of you for a moment, the air feeling heavy. 

“Does this feel like just another job to you?” Sam piped up.

‘Of course, it doesn’t,’ you thought.

Dean kept quiet for a moment. “I’ll be right back,” he finally said. “I gotta go to the bathroom.” He walked away, and you watched him turn the corner around the gas station. He looked back for a moment, and you assumed it was to see if anyone had followed him.

You furrowed your brows. You allowed a few minutes to pass before you announced to Sam, “I’m gonna go check on Dean.”

While you turned the corner, you saw Dean exiting the bathroom door. He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. When he noticed you, he tried to shoulder his normal attitude.

“You stalkin’ me?”

“No, actually, I came to check on you.”

“Well, I’m fine.” He went to brush past you.

You grabbed his bicep. “Don’t lie to me.”

He stopped, looking you over. “I’m fine, sweetheart.”

“Then what’s this?” you gently brushed your first finger under his chin, picking up a tear he had forgotten to wipe away. You held it up for him to see.

Dean opened his mouth to say something before snapping it shut again. He gently pulled his arm out of your grip. “C’mon, let’s go.” He started walking away from you.

You caught up to him, asking, “Are you sure you don’t just want me to do this one by myself?”

He nodded sharply. 

Sam gave you a curious look while Dean got in the car.

You shook your head before the two of you ducked into the Impala simultaneously.

***

The three of you spoke to a man who had owned a car garage with John years ago. You learned how much John had changed before Mary’s death versus after, and you began to understand why Dean was the way he was. You also learned that he had been going to see a palm reader in town. Dean recognized the names of one of the palm readers Sam had read from a compiled list: Missouri Moseley. The three of you went over to her house and waited in her foyer as she finished with her last client.

She guided the client out of the door. “Alright, there. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.”

The man thanked her, and she closed the door behind you.

She addressed the three of you. “Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.”

You giggled.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean asked.

“People don’t come here for the truth. They come for good news,” the woman explained. You stared at her, as did the boys.

“Well? Sam, Dean, (Y/N), come on already, I ain’t got all day.”

You looked at Dean. You knew you hadn’t told her your name. The three of you followed her into the next room. 

“Well, lemme look at ya,” she smiled at the boys. “Oh, you boys grew up handsome.” She pointed her finger at Dean. “And you were one goofy-lookin’ kid, too.” 

You giggled again. You liked her a lot.

“Sam.” Missouri grabbed his hand. “Oh, honey…I’m sorry about your girlfriend. And your father— he’s missin’?”

“How’d you know all that?” Sam asked her.

“Well, you were just thinkin’ it just now.”

“Well, where is he? Is he okay?” Dean questioned.

Missouri’s smile faded. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know? Well, you’re supposed to be a psychic, right?” 

“Boy, you see me sawin’ some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air. Sit, please.”

You smirked at Sam and sat down.

Missouri snapped at Dean. “Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m ‘a whack you with a spoon!”

“I didn’t do anything!” he responded.

“But you were thinkin’ about it.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, and you and Sam smiled.

“(Y/N), honey, I didn’t mean to completely disregard you,” she smiled at you. “(Y/L/N)... where do I know that name from?” She pondered for a moment and her smile faded. “I knew your dad. Mean ol’ bastard.”

Your throat clenched. You could feel the boys looking at you, but you kept your eyes on Missouri. 

“I don’t mean to embarrass you,” she went on. “I’m just sorry about what he did to you. And your brother? You poor thing.” She tsked. 

Tears welled in your eyes. 

Sam knew he should change the subject. “Okay. So, our dad— when did you first meet him?”

“He came for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say I drew back the curtains for him,” Missouri explained.

“What about the fire? Do you know about what killed our mom?” Dean questioned.

“A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hopin’ I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing.”

“And could you?”

You tried to focus on the conversation, but your throat was still choked up. You could vaguely register them talking about what Missouri sensed in their house and how she had been keeping an eye on the place since Mary’s passing. All you could focus on were the memories you were being pulled back into. Memories of what your father put you through and how your mother just stood by. Memories of defending your brother against your father’s wickedness. You tried your best to pull yourself back to the light; you knew Missouri could hear what you were thinking. You wouldn’t let yourself be weak enough to let your father hurt you eight years after his death.

“Baby, you are not weak.” Missouri’s voice pulled you back to shore. “I’m sorry I brought all that up for you.”

You nodded at her, voice too weak to respond. Sam squeezed your hand, and you could feel Dean’s gaze boring into the side of your head. 

***

You and the boys headed back to their childhood home with Missouri. You still couldn’t register what was going on outside of your own head. You knew Missouri hadn’t truly brought anything up for you; these memories were all just buried under the surface for you. Hunting didn’t exactly leave much time for you to dwell on your emotions. 

Jenny allowed Missouri to come into her home and showed her and your trio into Sari’s bedroom. You were beginning to come back to earth and could focus on the conversation happening around you. 

“If there’s a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it,” Missouri explained, walking around Sari’s room. 

“Why?” Sam asked.

Missouri turned to him. “This used to be your nursery, Sam. This is where it all happened.”

Dean pulled out his repurposed walkman.

“That an EMF?” Missouri asked.

“Yeah,” Dean answered.

“Amateur,” she deadpanned.

You noticed the EMF was beeping frantically. 

“I don’t know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom,” Missouri told the Winchesters.

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam furrowed his eyebrows.

She nodded.

“How do you know?”

“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s somethin’ different.”

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“Not it.” Missouri opened the closer. “Them. There’s more than one spirit in this place.”

“What are they doing here?” Dean asked.

“They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes, wounds get infected,” Missouri elaborated.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“This place is a magnet for paranormal energy. It’s attracted a poltergeist. A nasty one. And it won’t rest until Jenny and her babies are dead.”

“You said there was more than one spirit.”

“There is. I just can’t quite make out the second one.”

Dean’s voice became hard. “Well, one thing’s for damn sure— nobody’s dyin’ in this house ever again. So whatever is here, how do we stop it?”

***

After Missouri taught you how to pack small protection bags that you and the boys were to place in the cardinal points on both floors in Jenny’s house, you had to get Jenny and her kids out of harm's way.

“Look, I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving you guys here alone,” she told Missouri.

“Just take your kids to the movies or somethin’, and it’ll be over by the time you get back.”

You could tell the woman was still unsure, but she followed orders anyway. And with that, the four of you got to work.

When you were halfway done with the job, things started to get ugly. Just as you were about to place your second and final bag in the wall of Jenny’s bedroom, a cord snaked around your neck and pulled tightly. You dropped the bag of herbs to the ground; unable to get it into the wall in time. You gasped for air, frantically reaching for the bag but the spirit’s hold was too strong. Your vision began to spot and your face contorted in discomfort; doing the best you could to get air in your lungs. It was no use. Just when you thought it was over, Dean rushed to your side.

“(Y/N)!” he cried, pulling at the cord with all his might.

You clawed at your neck with one hand and motioned to the bag of herbs with the other. Dean understood what you were trying to say, and kicked a hole in the wall. He quickly put the bag inside, and your neck was released. Your head fell to the ground gasping for air.

Dean pulled you into a fierce hug that left you breathless. He pulled back from you, holding your face on either side. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. He gingerly touched the place where the cord had undoubtedly bruised your neck. “Can you stand?”

You nodded again. With Dean’s help, you made your way down to Missouri and Sam who stood in the middle of an extremely messy kitchen. Jenny’s kitchen table had been turned on its side with knives driven through the top of it, assumedly by the ghosts. The refrigerator door was swung wide open, and various items from the pantry had spilled out all over the place. 

“You sure this is over?” Sam asked the psychic.

“I’m sure. Why? Why do you ask?”

Sam sighed in response. “Never mind. It’s nothin’, I guess.”

The front door opened.

“Hello? We’re home,” Jenny announced when she walked into the house. She came into the kitchen, dumbfounded by the mess. “What happened?”

"Hi, sorry. Um, we’ll pay for all of this,” Sam told her.

“Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess,” Missouri added.

Dean stood glued to his spot.

“Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop.”

He glared at Missouri, but began walking away nonetheless.

“And don’t cuss at me!”

***

You remained confused by how Dean had hugged you for the rest of the night which you spent in the Impala parked in front of Jenny’s house.

“Alright, so, tell me again, what are we still doin’ here?” Dean asked his brother.

“I don’t know. I just… I still have a bad feeling,” he responded.

“Why? Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing, the house should be clean, it should be over.”

“Yeah, well, probably. But I just wanna make sure, that’s all.”

Dean slumped down in his seat. “Yeah, well, problem is I could be sleeping in a bed right now.”

You slumped down in your seat, too, only to see Jenny screaming and banging on her bedroom window. “Guys, look!”

The three of you rushed into the house.

“You two grab the kids, I’ll get Jenny,” Dean said.

You nodded and sprinted to Ritchie’s room. The sleeping toddler was startled when you woke him up, but allowed you to carry him downstairs nonetheless. You met Sam by the front door who said to Sari, “Take your brother outside as fast as you can, and don’t look back.” She obliged and took the little boy from you. 

Before the two of you could do anything else, you were slammed to the ground and dragged backward across the tile floor. You could hear poor Sari screaming as you and Sam were dragged away. 

You were pinned to the wall by an invisible force and pushed up toward the ceiling. You could hear presumably Dean hacking away at the door, trying desperately to get in as a figure on fire approached you.

Dean made his way into the home and called your names frantically. He raised his gun at the fire figure when he caught sight of it.

“No, don’t! Don’t!” Sam cried.

“What, why?!” you asked.

“Because I know who it is. I can see her now.”

And then, the fire vanished revealing who you recognized from pictures as Mary Winchester. She was wearing a white nightgown and her blonde hair billowed softly around her. Her feet were bare, and her aging skin was only slightly wrinkled.

You could see tears rising in Dean’s eyes as he lowered his gun. “Mom?”

The woman smiled and stepped closer to him. “Dean.”

She walked toward you and her youngest son. “Sam.” Her smile faded. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he asked. 

She looked at him sadly, but said nothing.  

The woman turned to you last. “Thank you,” she said. 

You smiled back at her, though you weren’t quite sure what she was thanking you for.

She turned away and looked up toward the ceiling. “You get out of my house. And let go of my son.” Her hair and nightgown were swept up into flames once more. The fire licked up to the ceiling, growing larger before disappearing entirely. You and Sam were released from the wall at once.

“Now it’s over,” Sam muttered.

***

The sun had risen while you and the boys were in the house. You called Missouri back to the Winchesters’ childhood home, and she sat on the porch talking with Sam.

You were standing with Dean by the car looking through his old family photos.

“Thanks for these,” Dean told Jenny.

“Don’t thank me, they’re yours.”

Dean put the trunk of photos and family memorabilia in the car.  You and Dean bid Jenny, who thanked you, goodbye before leaning against the car together. The two of you knew you had a lot to talk about, but you weren’t brave enough to start the conversation.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked you.

You couldn’t look at him. “Why do you ask?”

“I think you know.”

You paused a moment before turning to face him. “I promise I’ll tell you, just… not today.” You stuck out your pinkie for him to take.

He chuckled at you. “What are we, five?”

“Just do it, asshole,” you smiled back.

He linked his pinkie with yours, shaking your hand back and forth lightly. The two of you stood there for a second, staring at each other and getting lost in the moment. Before long, you both realized what was going on and jerked away from each other.

Dean scratched his head. “Sam, you ready?” he called.

Sam nodded and came over to the car.

“Don’t you kids be strangers,” Missouri told you.

“We won’t,” Dean responded. 

“See you around,” the woman winked at you.

You smiled at her before getting in the car and driving away. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @thepocketverse @simpingdeadcharacters @elqsiian @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @doublecrazyyymofo

[scoupsahoy]

i know people love a villain (especially an evil or emotionally abusive parent) in a network procedural but the helena diaz hate train is a little unfounded if not misogynistic

i am on eddie's side and i love him and im so excited for him to confront his trauma and his mistakes and for the characters on the show to show up for him. he's had a genuinely concerning mental health crisis basically once every other season since we met him and i want him to focus on himself instead of worrying about being a perfect father all the time and hindering his own healing in effort to put chris first

that being said sometimes children are betrayed by their parents and go to live with their grandparents for a while. chris has been whisked away and abandoned several times growing up by both of his parents including the time his mother died. eddie is basically put on suicide watch in season 5 due to an EXTREMELY TRAUMATIZING MOMENT FOR CHRIS. the thing with kim as a whole is a result of his inability to process his own trauma and pain and it keeps happening. at the end of season 7 CHRIS calls his grandparents because he cannot trust his father and it is not uncommon or unreasonable for a kid his age who has gone through what he's gone through to live with his grandparents

like this isn't "i'm mad at my dad for cheating on his girlfriend" it's "a woman who looked identical to my mother who died suddenly and tragically when i was like seven years old was in my living room embracing my father while i was hanging out with his girlfriend who babysits me regularly due to the fact that my father is a firefighter and i am a disabled teenager"

helena and ramon are presumably wealthy, presumably retired, presumably have a stable marriage, and chris trusts them. and im not saying that that's a requirement to take care of a child but that's clearly what chris wants and needs right now

being like "helena is taking advantage of the situation because she was never a good parent to eddie and should in fact be pushing chris back to him" is

1. ignoring chris' agency and the legitimate reasons he had for calling his grandparents in texas vs like buck or someone

2. USUALLY ignoring ramon's hand in it even though ramon was the parent to eddie that was neglectful and arguably emotionally abusive on some level

3. a bad faith reading of a nuanced situation where helena and ramon ON SCREEN IN TEXT believed, supported, and empathized with eddie when they were picking up chris

i understand the desire to have a bad guy in whatever situation but also like. a genuinely really lazy boring reading to me to be like "and no one has done anything wrong except for this horrid woman who has bad intentions and probably never loved her son"

PS i know no one is going to read this let alone agree with me but if anyone uses this as an excuse to say anything bad about eddie diaz. don't

[the-ferocious-kittyrose]

Hazbin Hotel Ep1 Rewrite

Okay, let’s get the shit I like first out of the way. Animation? Beautiful. Art style? Iconic. Music? Pops off.

Okay, now the fun part…

First let me just say, I adore biblical lore. So when I see something changed from the og lore, where I think the og was more interesting, I cannot let it go.

(I’m gonna focus on the Charlie storyline in the episode)

1. The Backstory

Let’s start with the first scene, the backstory of Lucifer and Lilith. In the show, they got some of the timeline and motivations wrong. I understand that the story is sugar coated, but hear me out.

“Once upon a time, there was a dazzling kingdom protected by golden gates, known as Heaven. Home to beings of pure light. Angels that worshiped good and lived in peace and harmony under the rule of God. The most beautiful of the Angels was Lucifer. He was a dreamer, with fantastical ideas for all creation. But he was restricted by God and the elders of Heaven, for they felt his way of thinking was dangerous to the order of their world.

Outraged by this injustice, Lucifer gathered an army of Angels, and declared war on the kingdom of Heaven. The battle raged on for centuries, but in the end, Heaven reigned victorious. As punishment for their betrayal, Lucifer and his army were cast out of Heaven. Banished to a crumbling wasteland, where the light of God could not reach. But Lucifer would not wallow in failure. From the barren landscape he rose a beautiful golden palace, crowned himself king and crafted a plan to share his freedom with God’s newest creation. Humanity.”

(I like to imagine that when Lucifer and his army fell, their wings burned up, leaving scattered feathers everywhere. In order to fly to Eden, Lucifer gathered these burned feathers and turned them into a new pair of wings for himself. They were black, messy, and trailed billowing smoke, but they could fly.)

Now for the Lilith part of the story. The more popular interpretation of her is that she is the first wife of Adam, but there is another version too, one where she is Adam’s second Wife after Eve. I personally prefer the latter because I can’t see anyone sinning or getting cast out of Edan before Eve eats the apple.

“He approached the garden of Edan in disguise, and offered the forbidden fruit of knowledge to the mother of humanity, Eve, who gladly accepted. But with the gift of knowledge and freedom, came a terrible curse. Evil bleed into the earth, and humanity was infected by darkness and sin.

For her disobedience Eve was cast out of Edan, to the dismay of her love, Adam. To appease him, the Angels crafted him a new bride, Lilith. Lilith was beautiful, with a voice so enchanting even Lucifer was mesmerized, but she was strong willed and refused to be subservient to her new husband. She fled from the garden, and rather than chase her, Adam found the tree of knowledge and bit into the forbidden fruit, so he could follow his true love, and be with her once more.

Lilith wandered, lost and alone, until she was found by Lucifer. Enamored by her beauty and iron will, he gave her his heart and made her his queen.”

Then you have the bit about Lucifer becoming depressed while Lilith thrived in Hell. I hate this! I was looking forward to a demonic Mortica and Gomez, not another Stolas and Stella. Plus, I’ve never been a fan of uwu sad misunderstood Lucifer. He is a complex character, but too often he’s over simplified by people who read Paradise Lost in high school and misinterpreted Lucifer as a tragic anti hero who was treated unfairly by the evil Angels. Lucifer can be tragic, even sympathetic. He can be fun and a caring father. But don’t forget that he is king of Hell. He is the prince of pride. He has an ego the size of east Texas and waged war against God himself.

And let’s not forget that in the show he is the head honcho over a strict cast system that encourages violence, allows the worst of the worst to take power, and leaves the hellborn races at the bottom at a severe disadvantage.

In this rewrite, Lucifer and Lilith essentially switch places, except Lilith isn’t a pathetic push over, she’s an incredibly famous rockstar, who’s always busy and not around often, but still has a bigger role in her daughter’s life than her husband, who’s been mia doing king shit.

And the last thing we hear about in the intro monologue is that the exterminations happens to prevent Hell from rising against them, which while that may be the case, don’t have Charlie say it!!! That realization for her would make the entire hotel superfluous! Charlie has to think that the problem truly is overpopulation.

2. Meeting with Adam

Let’s start with Adam himself. I hate this character. Especially as an adaptation of Adam. Yes, Adam is misogynistic. He expected Lilith to be subservient to him, but he wouldn’t be the frat boy type of misogynist, he’d be the old school chivalrous type. Grandpa style sexism. And shouldn’t the father of humanity care about his descendants? It doesn’t make any sense for him to be an executioner. He should be the leader of the guardian Angels or something.

In this rewrite, Adam is not the leader of the executioners, instead it’s the Angel Dumah. Dumah is the angel over the wicked dead, and he was appointed by God to torment sinners in Hell.

I want him to be an actual intimidating antagonist. He rarely speaks (his name means “silence”) and has many eyes (is described as having a thousand eyes)

As for the exorcists, they are Angels, but not actual dead humans wearing mask. They just look like that. Dumah is described as having tens of thousands of Angels of Destruction at his disposal. That’s what the exorcists are going to be, but instead of thousands, I’ll give him five. They don’t speak and are hardly sentient. They stand on top of the tower like gargoyles, until they “come to life” for the execution.

“But it’s a comedy! Shouldn’t they be funny?” No. It’s all about how characters react to them. The Litch in Adventure Time is a good example of this.

So obviously the meeting goes a lot differently.

Charlie gets a call, looks at the number, and excitedly tells everyone to, “shooooosh!” She takes the call nervously, saying, “yeah! Okay! Yes! Of course! I’ll be right there! Thank you SOOO much!!!” She hangs up and happily tells Vaggie that Dumah requested a meeting with her. Vaggie is nervous and says she should probably go with her, but Charlie says that she’ll be fine and tells her to stay and work on the commercial. She leaves excited that the Angels may finally be taking her seriously.

She makes it to the clock tower’s board room, where Dumah sits silently at the end of the table. Charlie nervously starts to greet him before she realizes they’re not alone. The Angels, Gabriel and Uriel have come from Heaven, for a meeting with Hell’s princess.

Uriel remains professional, politely bowing her head as she greeted Charlie. Gabriel on the other hand, threw his arms out, happily yelling, “Charlotte!!!” He wrapped her in an uncomfortably tight and awkward hug, saying how much she’s grown since he last saw her. He’s like a chill but estranged uncle meeting his now adult niece who he hasn’t seen since she was a baby and has no memory of him whatsoever.

Uriel watches the whole thing in embarrassment. She tells Charlie that Dumah had contacted them, regarding some, “interesting,” ideas about the extermination.

Charlie starts with her pitch, but Gabriel insists that they should take some time to catch up first. He claps his hands and summons plates of food for everyone. When we cut back to them, Gabriel is in the middle of telling the story about almost getting his ass kicked by Joseph when he told him his virgin wife was pregnant.

Uriel cuts him off, saying she doesn’t need to hear this story for the eighth millionth time. She turns to Charlie, exasperated, and tells her to get on with the pitch.

Charlie says that she has a potential solution for the over population problem in Hell. Uriel, Gabriel, and Dumah look at her blankly. Gabriel asks, “overpopulation?”

Charlie goes on to explain that she knows overpopulation is a big problem, but 275 sinners were executed this year alone and she just can’t stand to watch her people be slaughtered anymore.

Uriel asks if she’s suggesting an alternative, and Charlie very excitedly pitches her idea for the hotel. Uriel and Gabriel wear a matching “wtf” face and look back and forth at eachother like, “does this girl know what she’s suggesting?”

As Charlie is finishing, Uriel is visibly annoyed. She interrupts Charlie, complaining that this is ridiculous and has all been a massive waste of time as she stands up to leave. Charlie tries to stop her, saying, “please, you don’t understand.”

Uriel snaps back, “no, you don’t understand! They had their chance in life and they earned damnation.”

Charlie responds, “you're wrong. Sinners made mistakes, sure, but everyone makes mistakes.”

Uriel pinches the bridge of her nose (or where a nose would be on a person) “a mistake happens once. It’s an accident, an error in judgment due to naivety. Of course mistakes can be forgiven, but we’re not talking about mistakes, are we? These sinners had a choice, and they chose to live in sin.”

“A choice they now regret!” Charlie defends.

“It takes a lot more than regret to be forgiven.” Uriel says coldly. “It takes remorse.”

Gabriel chimes in, “she has a point, Charlie. It’s easy to make someone regret their actions, but to have them feel true selfless remorse, that is much more difficult.”

Charlie furrows her brow and starts to look defeated.

“But perhaps not impossible.”

Charlie beams with excitement. Gabriel explains that this is a big decision, too big to be made right now, but if she can successfully redeem one demon, they will allow her to come to heaven and pitch her idea to the entire Angelic court. Uriel tries to argue, but Gabriel just says they’ll discuss it later. Charlie gives him a tight hug before he and Uriel disappear.

As she turns to leave, Dumah puts his hand on her shoulder. This is the first time he’s moved in the entire scene. He stares at her coldly and says, “the only reason you’re here is your father has spared you from the executioner’s blade. If I had my way. Each and every one of you would be slaughtered.”

Charlie stares up at him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

For context, part of the reason Gabriel and Uriel were initially confused by Charlie’s proposal is because they know that Lucifer is trying to keep Hell’s population as high as possible, in preparation for the second war with heaven. That’s why he and the other princes of hell work to manipulate humanity and temp them towards sin (i.e. succubi and incubi). That’s why he arranges marriages between powerful demons to make powerful demon children (i.e. Stolas and Stella). He needs as many demons possible for his army if he’s gonna have a chance at winning. So obviously, sending sinners to heaven, aka the opposing force, is the LAST thing Lucifer would want.

[lovelyrotter]

okay but i actually kinda wanna know ur take on stridercest being canon compliant O_O <- autism stare

oh hey i am also hitting you with the autism stare. ill try to get my thoughts down in a way that makes sense to more than just me hahaha

bear in mind that im an epilogue lover and i think Meat/Candy are really valuable pieces that further all of the characters and are also hard canon in the sense that we're looking at just 2 post-game universe outcomes out of an uncountable number (the book in the picnic basket representing post-canon fanfic). i think the characters actions in the epilogues make sense and are satisfying to me. yes even jane (i love alpha jane and i will not do her the disservice of 'cleaning her up' w/o showing her work for it. thats not how you depict a character who grew up with fascist programming). i could totally go on a whole tangent about this specifically but thats another post lol we'd be here forever and its also not stridercest

but okay. canon stridercest. under the cut cause it got kinda long

basically it has to do with the cherubs and how their relationships and mating rituals are pretty obviously incestuous leaning even though cherubs dont have the human concept of Siblings or blood family. the cherub who predominates will search across paradox space to mate with another cherub who closely resembles the cherub they predominated which is like textbook Freudian sexuality. theres a lot of Freud and Jungian stuff in HS imo even if im kinda [wobbly hand gesture] at the validity of these theories applied to real life and real people. but theyre super fun tools and lenses to use in fiction and i mean. gestures at all of dave

so the incest aliens cherubs. the whole reason why im talkin about them is bc Caliborn is so incredibly interested and invested in the Striders in particular. caliborn as both Lord English and Lil Cal shapes earth NOT OVERTLY but more so embeds himself in earth society, but again, the Striders lives in particular. dave is full of incest jokes. hes even apparently got a list of his friends arranged in order of how likely theyd incest-elope with each other (thank you epilogues for this amazing factoid). he seems to think about it often enough to, yknow, Do That. have a good solid think about that and construct an organized list about it. bearing in mind dave makes jokes about stuff thats a) bothering him, or b) generally camping out in his brain. hes not even really aware of it most of the time (as we see in one of the openbounds where hes all 'why am i thinking about puppets???' after seeing dirk for the first time in that dream bubble. he is thinking nonstop about dirk at that point and going off his only frame of reference for ANY dirk, which is his bro. his bro who was most likely deeply warped by Lil Cal)

sorry for the long blocky paragraph lol. but now onto the next thing

Caliborn as Lil Cal is the centerpiece in the beta strider apartment. dave cant escape him and beta dirk grew up with him. what the fuck do you do when youre childhood comfort item is also the most evil creature across all of paradox space? if youre a dirk you try to fight it. but how long can you keep fighting something like that. its safe to say that bro was affected by Caliborns particular brand of perversion and sfw kink. i dont think i have to say how insidious abusive and toxic he is about those things. and looking at the truth of beta bro (16yo alpha dirk) you can start to see just how warped beta bro became. beta bro is a false dirk (still a very Real dirk but not the Truth of dirk. beta bro has been toxified and made infinitely worse by an absolute evil influence over decades of life. in 80s fuckin texas. presumably in the system. anyone would be fucked up after that)

so for this analysis/theory im stating beta bro as a false persona. using jungian terms he is apha dirk's shadow

both dave and dirk live with a fake, carefully manicured version of their bros. they live with personas (or shadows of their guardians on the walls. hello platos allegory of the cave). they dont actually know e/o and they dont until the striunion

alpha dirk especially grows up embedded in the Public Persona Of Dave Strider 400 years post mortem and completely alone with unlimited internet access. hes a self admitted expert on his bro and we dont get to see a lot if any of his early childhood but i can hazard a guess at how much he clung to that persona of his bro. he fuckin idolizes dave. he LOVES dave. right off the bat he is in some kind of love with dave and i think if you try to argue against that then thats you slippin. i think youre a fool and have to reread homestuck because i wholeheartedly believe the striders loving eachother is part of the win state

once again this is speculation cause we get barely anything about alpha dave, but from what we already know about him im guessing this bro-persona is

achingly effortlessly cool

oozing masculinity (toxic or not, not really interested in categorizing that although toxic coolboy masculinity IS something the striders contend with & is an important facet in their lives)

a skilled fighter

a dedicated moviegoer (hes a director need i say more. this one is probably the only genuine thing about his on-screen persona)

and now lets look at jake. someone whos grown up on pretty much nothing but movies, whos doubtlessly been influenced by hollywood and its idea of gritty 'main character' masculinity through that, and who also clings to more old-school ideas of manliness (think victorian/edwardian era gentlemanly-but-loves-a-good-scrum kinda manly. moustache twirly with a monocle kinda manly. basically everything that grandpa harley is)

but okay lets look at what jake wants to be. lets take a look at his teenager persona

achingly effortlessly cool (his own 'hollywood star' kind of cool also def influenced by his favourite characters like lara croft who is indeed achingly cool. you see him succeed in inhabiting this hollywood star persona on earth c)

oozing masculinity (the old school manly mans-man kind)

a skilled fighter (two pistoles always. harder to aim cause you cant use a free hand to make up for kickback. that takes skill)

a dedicated moviegoer (again one of the only genuine parts about his persona. his questionable-to-wretched tastes aside. but bearing in mind that the SBaHJ movies are intentionally bad which is what makes them loop around to good. such is the nature of intentionally 'bad' art. jake fuckin lives in this perpetual bad-good art loop. okay enough with the art tangent keep focused man cmon)

because dirk has obviously way more contact with jake i dont doubt he sees through jakes own (admittedly way more flimsy) coolboy persona but the point still stands i think. different flavours but the same kinda guy. dirk has a type and i dont think its a stretch to say that hes looking for aspects of the bro-persona he grew up looking at in other boys, much like the winning cherub looking for the one they lost in the cherub theyll mate with

also wtf is with dirks obvious boner for dave chasing him across paradox space to decapitate him huh?? the last few sentences in Meat are about that very thing. he wants to fuc fight dave sooo bad. haha remember how the cherubic mating ritual is one of the most violent and long running spectacles in paradox space? i sure do

[loverslantern]

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean

Winchester x f!reader

Description: Sam is haunted by a vision of a woman trapped in his childhood house

Warning: cannon violence, tension/ minor flirting, slight angst and comfort, mentions of death, mentions of a dead parent, the use of witchcraft that isn't exactly apart of Supernatural lore but does have ties to many folklore's interpretations of a witches capability from European Folklore to Appalachian Folk Magic and many more (i used a mix of different lore to create my own interpretation) this took so long to research, l also was testing things out in my apartment so i'd be able to write it properly- literally rearranging furniture for it

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld ,

@okayiamkassandra, @fablerose , @ada--44

Word Count: 12,947

Home

(Master list, Previous Ch., Next Ch.)

I stumble into the boys motel room, stifling a yawn from passing through my lips. Did I wake up two hours ago and refuse to get out of the stiff motel bed instead of coming to meet my lovely friends in their room?

Yes!

“Good morning my little stabby hunters” I greet cheerfully, closing and locking the door behind me. Sam mumbles some incoherent version of a greeting from where he sat on his bed while Dean looks up from Sam’s laptop, “Mornin’ sweetheart”

I walk up to each boy individually giving their hair a nice ruffle before shuffling my way to sit criss-cross applesauce on the unoccupied bed. “You had perfect timing ‘cause I think I found a few candidates for our next gig.”

“Oooh how fun” I half sarcastically say, “read ‘em out!”

“Alright we got a fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali” I nod pretending to know what a ‘trawler’ is, “ –-its crew vanished. And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.” Dean lists out looking up every now and then for a reaction, “Hey. Sammy.” He calls out to his brother who’s sat drawing something on a little notepad.

Sam looks up, giving Dean an annoyed look waiting for what he has to say. Dean leans back in his chair, “Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?”

“No. I’m listening. Keep going.” Sam declares, going right back to his drawing. He was in fact not paying attention.

“And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times.” He stops speaking again, waving his hand in the air intended to get his brother's attention, “Any of these things blowin’ up your skirt, pal?”

Sam suddenly sits up fully, “Wait. I’ve seen this.”

“Seen what?” I ask, Dean and I sharing a confused look. But Sam doesn't answer, he just crosses the room towards his duffel bag, searching for something. “What are you doing?” Dean asks. Again Sam doesn't answer, finally finding whatever he was looking for he pauses studying the two things in his hands, he swiftly turns around “I know where we have to go next.”

“Where?” Dean muses, asking the question were both thinking.

“Back home –- back to Kansas” Sam breathes, a hint of panic in his eyes.

“Okay, random. Where’d that come from?”

Sam shows the thing he took out of his bag, a photo, to his brother, I get up to view it too. “All right, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?” Sam asks, looking between the sort of family photo taken in front of their house and his brother.

“Yeah.” Dean answers plainly.

“And it didn’t burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?” Sam asks further.

“Yeah it took ‘em a while to, I think it was mostly out of respect because no one ever moved in after you either, as far as I know.” I answer only knowing because I lived in town even after they moved away.

“Okay, well, someone lives there now…and, I, uh, look, this is gonna sound crazy but….the people who live in our old house –- I think they might be in danger.” Sam stammers

“Why would you think that?” Dean asks the obvious question. “Uh…it’s just, um….look, just trust me on this, okay?” He starts to walk away to the other side of the room, Dean following suit, “Wait, whoa, whoa, trust you?”

The fighting begins, I think to myself as I chew on the inside of my cheek. I knew Dean would probably act harsher then he meant to, his mom—his old house being a very rough topic for him.

Now it’s Sam’s turn to answer simply, “Yeah.”

“Come on, man, that’s weak. You gotta give me a little bit more than that.” Dean raises his voice slightly.

“I can’t really explain it is all” Sam says looking around the room instead of making eye contact.

“Well, tough. I’m not goin’ anywhere until you do” Dean crosses his arms waiting expectantly.

Sam sighs, “I have these nightmares.”

“I’ve noticed” Dean says while nodding and I want to step in and lecture him for coming off so mean, but I bite my tongue.

“And sometimes…” Sam pauses for a while before continuing, “…they come true.” This time I don’t bite my tongue, the word slipping out of my lips out of pure shock, “Sam” I gasp. “Come again?” Dean says almost at the same time as my gasp.

“Look….I dreamt about Jessica’s death –- for days before it happened.” Sam tries to explain further, nearly getting cut off by his brother, “Sam, people have weird dreams, man. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” I know Dean doesn't want to believe it, I know he’s scared of what this could mean. But I can’t help but feel this is like the argument Dean had started on my twelfth birthday, all those years ago. It felt especially silly to feel this way now, not when I never held a grudge against him because of it. Maybe I should have but I could never find it within myself to do so.

Dean sits down on one of the beds and it’s clear he doesn't know what to do with himself. Sam begins to explain himself more, which I hate the fact he has to, “No, I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it. And now I’m dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started, man, this has to mean something, right?”

“I don’t know.” Dean huffs out. It’s clear he’s overwhelmed, which is a significantly better reaction than what I got to his whole realization of what I really was—a witch—despite the fact he already knew that. I want to respect their relationship and not speak when it’s not my right to, and yet if it comes down to it I know I will. I won’t let their relationship fall apart because of this, I won’t let a hatred form between them. Let alone like how Dean had hated me for months and I had hated myself too.

“I-it can mean something. There's a lot of cultures that believe that dreams are capable of showing the future as a guidance or even as a warning. Egyptians, Romans, and Greeks, they all believed in this; it's,um, called oneiromancy.” I pipe in quietly as if scared that saying it too loud would shatter the delicate atmosphere. Sam was looking at me with big eyes like he was hanging on to each word I spoke, nodding along.

“All right, just slow down, would ya?” Dean stands abruptly beginning to pace the carpeted floor, “I mean, first you tell me that you’ve got the Shining? And then you tell me that I’ve gotta go back home? Especially when….”

“When what?” Sam asks carefully.

Dean sounds on the verge of tears, probably the most vulnerable he’s been in a long time, “When I swore to myself that I would never go back there?” The air, the atmosphere itself, felt fragile then too as if something so palpable had to be careful of where it stood

Sam begins softly, his eyes scrunched in a mix of worry and sympathy, “Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.”

“I know we do.” Dean nods, his head hung low.

The Impala pulls up in front of the old Winchester house, the cute little two story green house standing there simply. I can’t help but wonder if in a hundred years these people who lived in Lawrence would know what happened here? The family that was lost here? Maybe not physically but you can trace everything back to this simple house, where these boys lost a piece of themselves no matter how young they were. You can still feel it in the air now, in this car with Dean's head hung low as he peers up at his old house, the only and last house he’s ever had.

“You gonna be all right, man?” Sam asks, trying to catch his brother's eyes. Dean swallow’s thickly, “Let me get back to you on that.” We exit the safety of the car and with each step forward the weight of this settles on our shoulders, the realness of this all. I know this isn’t about me, but if I let my mind stop focusing on the task at hand I know that it will wisp away to my old house. Just on the other side of town, to every moment I spent wandering the streets with no where particular in mind-

A sharp knocking on the front door snaps me out of my mind. A pretty blonde opens the door, her eyebrows scrunched in what seems like stress, “Yes?” she answers.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal—“ Dean begins his lie getting cut off by his brother, “I’m Sam Winchester, this is my brother, Dean, and our friend Y/N. My brother and I, uh, we used to live here. You know, we were just drivin’ by, and we were wondering if we could come see the old place.”

“Winchester. Yeah, that’s so funny. You know, I think I found some of your photos the other night.” She laughs lightly. Dean's face drops a little, a mix of curiosity and longing on his face that if I hadn’t seen it before, hadn’t known him so well I wouldn’t have recognized it. “You did?” he asks, and I'd have to think it was a look of longing for his life back then, before he lost his mom, to a life that was so simple and child-like because that might have been the only time he really was a child.

She nods and steps aside, “Come on in.” The inside of the house wasn’t so much different from what I’ve been told about it, she shuts and locks the door behind us and we wait for her to lead us further in before moving. “I’m Jenny by the way” she says moving past us. She leads us into the big kitchen, a young girl doing homework at the table while an adorable jumpy toddler bounces in his little playpen, I can’t help the smile that creeps up on my face at the sight.

“Juice! Juice! Juice! Juice!” The toddler chants, bouncing as he speaks.

“That’s Ritchie. He’s kind of a juice junkie.” She introduces going over to the fridge, taking out a sippy cup and handing it to the bouncy baby. “He has good taste” I laugh, the kid being just so freaking adorable.

Jenny walks over to her daughter, “Sari, this is Sam and Dean, they used to live here. And that’s their friend Y/n.” I smile at the girl who greets us with a small “Hi.” Dean for some reason waved awkwardly at the child, as if he doesn't know how to act around kids when that’s so far from the truth.

“Hey, Sari.” Sam smiles before allowing her to get back to her homework.

“So, you just moved in?” Dean asks, jumping right to it. “Yeah, from Wichita.” Jenny answers, referring to a different part of Kansas.

“You got family here, or….?” Dean continues to ask, and honestly it’s kind of a creepy question. She answers a little hesitantly, “No. I just, uh….needed a fresh start, that’s all. So, new town, new job –- I mean, as soon as I find one. New house.”

“Do you like it here?” I ask genuinely. “Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home” She starts looking at the boys as she speaks, “…I mean, I’m sure you had lots of happy memories here…but this place has its issues.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks almost a little too quickly.

Jenny sighs, “Well, it’s just getting old. Like the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.”

“I think that’s an easy fix” I try to remain hopeful, it’s not like we can just tell her ‘oh yeah that’s ‘cause your house is probably haunted by a demon or something.’ And under the assumption that it was just faulty wiring, I really wasn’t sure if it was an easy fix. I mean I am no electrician.

“Anything else?” Dean adds in.

“Um…sink’s backed up, there’s rats in the basement.” She lists off before pausing for a beat, looking between us nervously, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.” Dean looks a little taken back by this concern, because what was written on his face was far from offense, “No. Have you seen the rats or have you just heard scratching?”

“It’s just the scratching, actually.” She answers.

“Mom?” Sari calls out lightly, Jenny kneels down to her daughter waiting for her to continue, “Ask them if it was here when they lived here.”

“What, Sari?” Sam asks, confused.

“The thing in my closet.” She answers weakly, and I swear my heart broke a little at the way in which she said it.

“Oh, no, baby, there was nothing in their closets.” Jenny answers softly, reminding me of my mothers soft tone when she spoke to us. Jenny looks up at the boys, “Right?”

Sam stumbles over his words as he answers, “Right. No, no, of course not.”

“She had a nightmare the other night.” Jenny explains, a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

Sari shakes her head, “I wasn’t dreaming. It came into my bedroom –- and it was on fire.”

Uh oh.

~~~~~~~~

“You hear that? A figure on fire.” Sam whisper-shouts, mainly to his brother who was walking a little too quickly then necessary to his car. The man in question turns around swiftly, “And that woman, Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?”

“Yeah. And you hear what she was talking about? Scratching, flickering lights, both signs of a malevolent spirit.” Sam bites back.

“Yeah, well, I’m just freaked out that your weirdo visions are comin’ true.” Dean snaps.

Sam’s eyes were wide with panic, “Well, forget about that for a minute. The thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?”

“I don’t know!” Dean snaps.

Back and forth they fight like two dogs having a barking match from just over the fence. “Well, I mean, has it come back or has it been here the whole time?” Sam starts again.

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely, Sam, we don’t know yet.”

“Well, those people are in danger, Dean. We have to get ‘em out of that house.”

“And we will.”

“No, I mean now.”

“And how you gonna do that, huh? You got a story that she’s gonna believe?”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Both of you, stop!” I nearly shout, both boys going quiet, “Look” I sigh. “I get this is scary and all but you two bickering isn’t going to get us anywhere! And if we want to help that nice family we have to think logically. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, maybe it’s something else or maybe we have to prepare ourselves for the fact that it is that monster.

Either way we can’t just run into this with assumptions or lead on feeling alone, okay? ‘Cause that’s how we mess up and wind up dead and I don’t know ‘bout you boys but i’m not quite craving the taste of death just yet.” I take a deep breath before continuing, “So, let’s pretend this is any ol’ case, any other hunt. What do we do first?”

“Research” Dean mumbles as if he was a kid who got caught doing something wrong, which arguably isn’t so far from the truth.

“Check our bases, dig into the history” Sam adds.

“Exactly” I smile, “Good job”

Dean opens the driver seat door, getting in as he speaks, “Except this time, we already know what happened.”

Sam and I followed suit, “Yeah, but how much do we know? I mean, how much do you actually remember?” he asks. Dean looks around a little uncomfortable, “About that night, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Not much. I remember the fire…the heat.” He pauses, “And then I carried you out the front door.”

“You did?” Sam asks surprised.

Dean scuffs, starting the car and pulling out of the spot, “Yeah, what, you never knew that?”

Sam shakes his head, “No.”

Dean continues, “And, well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do. Mom was….was on the ceiling. And whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.”

“And he never had a theory about what did it?” Sam questions further, and up until now I didn’t realize how much he was kept in the dark about such a significant moment in his life.

Dean shrugs, “If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times.” Sam starts again, “Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s goin’ on now…we have to figure out what happened back then. And see if it’s the same thing.”

Dean again looks around uncomfortably, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel, “Yeah. We’ll talk to Dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.”

Sam notices this obvious movement like I did and pauses for a moment, you could see the gears turning in his head, “Does this feel like just another job to you?” Dean clears his throat, suddenly jerking the car off to the left side of the road right up to the curb, the car poorly parked, “I’ll be right back. I gotta go to the bathroom.” The second he finishes his sentence he’s out of the car and walking away into some local business that I couldn’t quite see the name of.

“I- I don’t understand him” Sam suddenly says as he watches his brother leave, turning in the passenger seat to talk to me properly, “It would be so much easier if he just…” He sighs, “talked to me.”

“I… don’t want to excuse his actions because you are right, but at the same time you know he was never taught how to be vulnerable.” I try to explain, carefully choosing my words knowing there were eggshells surrounding our feet. He then mumbles something incoherently about their childhood, he looks back up at me, “you know, you don’t really talk about your childhood either.”

“Maybe it’s just something about Kansas” I joke, he laughs lowly, “But I ,uh, I would like to tell you about it…someday…” I offer shyly, trying to offer him something in a moment where he has nothing

“I’d like that, at least I could get closer to one of you” Sam smiles, sadly.

“Hey and maybe it will open the door to encourage Dean to speak up” I say.

“Yeah you know that’s not gonna happen” He scuffs.

“Well, I was trying to be a little optimistic.”

When Dean came back to the car he was dead quiet, his eyes were glossy but he refused to talk. It wasn’t uncommon for him, not one bit.

Sitting in the back of the Impala, I watched the buildings and trees pass by. All blocks I was familiar with even if it was far from where I had actually lived, but when you're lonely you tend to find walking for an eternity isn’t so bad. Funnily enough, sitting in the back of this car felt eerily similar to when I was a child, my dad as quiet as an owl, a then changed man having lost his world. Only, he had forgotten my brother and I had lost her too, and that we were still around to begin with.

Dean stared at the road like my dad had all those years ago, so deeply as if they were to look away it would disappear right beneath them. Then Sam sat in the passenger seat looking between his brother and out the window not knowing what to say, like my brother always did. And I of course still played the same role because some things never change, some feelings never do fully leave.

Dean suddenly clears his throat, “Alright, up ahead is an old pal of dads.” Just as suddenly as he said it, he also hadn’t given us time to say anything before pulling over once more, this time in front of a mechanic's place. A sign reading “Guenther’s Auto Repair” in big red letters hung above a large garage unit. The smell of metal and grease breeze by my nose as I exit the car, following after the two taller men with what I thought was a forgotten sadness now back. I can’t imagine how they must feel, how Dean must feel.

They effortlessly found and began a discussion with the owner, easily lying about being cops which felt especially wrong today. It felt wrong to lie to anyone from the town I pretty much grew up in, even if I never knew any of them.

“So you and John Winchester, you used to own this garage together?” Dean asks the older man. I knew their father was a mechanic but hadn’t known he had his own garage and partner.

“Yeah, we used to, a long time ago. Matter of fact, it must be, uh…twenty years since John disappeared. So why the cops interested all of a sudden?” He says, whipping his dirty hands on a rag stained with car grease.

“Oh, we’re re-opening some of our unsolved cases, and the Winchester disappearance is one of ‘em.” Dean answers smoothly, and I guess it isn’t technically a lie either. He accepts the answer with no further, visible, speculation, “Oh, well, what do you wanna know about John?”

“Well, whatever you remember, you know, whatever sticks out in your mind.” Dean suggests.

“Well…he was a stubborn bastard, I remember that.” He laughs. “And, uh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know? It’s that whole Marine thing. But, oh, he sure loved Mary. And he doted on those kids.” To that I have to stop myself from reacting, for some reason I can’t picture John being anything less of what he is now, in terms of strictness and toughness.

“But that was before the fire?” Sam points out.

He nods, “That’s right.”

“He ever talk about that night?” Sam adds. He seems to think for a moment, “No, not at first. I think he was in shock.”

“Right. But eventually? What did he say about it?” Sam clarifies.

“Oh, he wasn’t thinkin’ straight. He said somethin’ caused that fire and killed Mary.”

“He ever say what did it?” Dean asks this time.

“Nothin’ did it. It was an accident –- an electrical short in the ceiling or walls or somethin’. I begged him to get some help, but….” He explains.

“But what?”

“Oh, he just got worse and worse.” He answered, sympathy written all over his face.

“How?” Dean asks carefully.

“He started readin’ these strange ol’ books. He started goin’ to see this palm reader in town.” He says, suddenly catching my attention, an air of familiarity surrounding it.

“Palm reader? Uh, do you have a name?” Dean questions. I scrunch my eyebrows together trying to remember why this was familiar.

He responds at the same time it suddenly hits me, “No” he scuffs.

The name leaves my mouth in quiet thought, “Missouri Moseley.”

All three of them look at me strangely, before Dean grabs hold of my upper arm, throwing the man a smile and a “Excuse us.” He begins pulling me away from the garage and back to the car, his brother following after us after he had thanked the man.

“Where’d you get that name from?” Dean asks me sternly, looking down at me with sharp curious eyes, his grip on my arm never faulting.

I look up at him, his green eyes piercing mine, expectantly, but I find myself at a loss for words. Each syllable ready to be spoken but dying on my tongue, all in the fault of once more feeling like my younger self. Sam reaches for his brother's shoulder, almost pulling him away from me, “Ease up, Dean.” He shakes his brother off, but listens, releasing my arm and swallowing thickly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay” I cut him off quickly. I wasn’t scared of him at that moment, but of the past and I knew he was too. We all were.

“I remember your dad came over and mentioned that name, along with her being the real deal. I just don’t remember what the conversation was about, I mean it had to be years ago…” I feel my eyebrows scrunch together again as I try to recall more, glimpses of the memory popping up. Our dads sitting on the long vintage couches my mom had bought for the house while me and my brother ran outside to play, “It was at the original house, m-maybe a year before we moved to Kansas.”

“So three years after mom died” Sam nods.

“Yeah that seems about right, but I’m not sure if that encounter was like right after your dad met this Missouri or some time after.” I add

“It sounds familiar. '' Dean breathed out before rounding the car to the trunk, digging through it before pulling out the journal. “In Dad’s journal…here, look at this.” He flips it open, handing it off to his brother, “First page, first sentence, read that.”

Sam takes the book, reading the sentence out loud, “I went to Missouri and I learned the truth.”

“I always thought he meant the state.” Deans shrugs.

Missouri’s house was a cute little two story place. I admire the light brown wood paneling and stained glass windows, something I knew my mom would have loved. Dean and Sam sat squished together on a small couch, all of us waiting for her to be finished with her client. I choose to stand, not only to see them both quietly fight to sit on the couch but also to slightly look around the place without wandering around.

A round faced, warm brown skinned lady with big curly hair tied back in a ponytail escorts a man out of her house, “All right, there. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.” She tells him, her voice a natural soft and sweet tone, accompanied with a southern accent.

She closes the front door behind him, turning to face us, “Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.” Her sweet voice does nothing to soften her blunt statement, my eyes go wide with the comment.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean asks her,

“People don’t come here for the truth. They come for good news.” She answers simply, causing the room to fall quiet for a beat, “Well? Y/n, Sam and Dean, come on already, I ain’t got all day.” She leaves the room, I follow after her only pausing when I realize the boys weren’t following. I turn back towards them waving them over, they share a look before getting up and following.

“Well, lemme look at ya.” She laughs, “Oh, you boys grew up handsome.” She points a finger at Dean, “And you were one goofy-lookin’ kid, too.” A burst of laughter slips through my lips before I can control myself, his face falls and he glares at her.

Her gaze turns to me, my laughter dying out but a permanent smile left on my face, “Oh, you never lost your beauty” She smiles.

“You knew me when I was younger?” I ask, confused.

“Well of course, I knew your mother. Bless her soul” She answers, only leaving me more confused ‘cause my mom never mentioned her and I would sure remember such a sweet and funny woman.

“We helped each other out back then”, she explains, “She would always show me pictures of you and your brother. You were always a smiley girl, it’s good to see you didn’t lose that. Your mother would be glad too.” A warmth blossoms in my heart at that, my smile softens with me and it was like something I didn’t even know was within was fulfilled. It was hard to find new memories of my mom when I really didn’t know anyone who had known her, other than our family, to ask. Missouri hadn’t given me a full in depth memory and yet, it was enough. Enough to know someone else clearly adored my mom and had seen her in the same light I did. I don’t know why my mom never told us about her, but for some reason I didn’t feel the need to ask.

She gives me one last smile before giving her attention to Sam, she grabs his hand, her face falling, “Oh, honey…I’m sorry about your girlfriend.” A wave of shock clearly passes over the boys face, “And your father –- he’s missin’?” she continued.

“How’d you know all that?” Sam asks, clearly forgetting she is a psychic.

“Well, you were just thinkin’ it just now.” She explains.

“Well, where is he? Is he okay?” Dean rapidly spews out.

She half shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know? Well, you’re supposed to be a psychic, right?” He snaps back, far too hostile.

She gives him a weird look, “Boy, you see me sawin’ some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air.” A laugh passes through my lips before I could stop myself, I nudge Dean's shoulder who glares sharply at me before turning that look to Missouri, only furthering my spits of giggles that I try to bite back.

Her demeanor changes back to gentle, “Sit, please.” We listen to her, I took a seat beside Sam so that I wasn’t squished between both boys. Missouri suddenly snaps at Dean, “Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m ‘a whack you with a spoon!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Dean argues, his voice seemingly an octave higher- like a child.

“But you were thinkin’ about it.” She answers.

“Oh, I like you” I say through my laughter, it was quite the breath of fresh air to see someone put gruff ‘macho man’ Dean in his place.

Sam gets back on topic, whipping the smile that formed on his face, “Okay. So, our dad –- when did you first meet him?”

“He came for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say…I drew back the curtains for him.” She responds.

“What about the fire? Do you know about what killed our mom?” Dean asks.

“A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hopin’ I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing” She explains.

“And could you?” Sam asks

She shakes her head, “I…”

“What was it?”

She answers softly, “I don’t know. Oh, but it was evil.”, She pauses for a beat, “So…you think somethin’ is back in that house?”

“Definitely” Sam breathes.

She shakes her head again, “I don’t understand.”

“What?” Sam asks.

“I haven’t been back inside, but I’ve been keepin’ an eye on the place, and it’s been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents. Why is it actin’ up now?” She explains.

“I don’t know. But Dad going missing and Jessica dying and now this house all happening at once –- it just feels like something’s starting.” Sam says, eyebrows scrunched in worry.

“That’s a comforting thought.” Dean mumbles.

~~~~~~~~~

The ride back to the Winchesters house was the light in this complex time. The entire ride Missouri lectured Dean on his driving saying he was just a little too reckless and was gonna get us all killed despite it being a generally short one. They bickered back and forth a while until Dean gave up grumbling something below his breath, causing another snap response from the woman herself.

When we finally arrived Dean quickly got out of the car before anyone else could even register being parked, I genuinely don’t think I've ever seen him happy to be out of Baby. He had very obviously, and purposefully, positioned himself so that he was standing next to me away from Missouri, in fact two people away as she stood on the other side of Sammy. I searched for Dean's hand, my fingers brushed against his larger rougher hand. I clasped it gently, giving it a reassuring squeeze to hopefully ease his tension, caused by the beef he had with the nice lady that was helping us to begin with, even though I most definitely found the whole thing hilarious. Just as Sam knocked on the door I released Dean's hand, bringing both my hands to clasp in front of me. A peak of nervousness rests in my gut as I feel his gaze on me, I ignore it, focusing my eyes forward while I rock on the balls of my feet.

Jenny answers the door, her blond hair messy and clear stress present in the crinkled corner of her eyes and worry etched into her pupils. She holds her baby, Ritchie, close to her chest, “Sam, Dean, Y/N. What are you doing here?”

Sam smiles at the blond, “Hey, Jenny. This is our friend, Missouri.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, we were hoping to show her the old house. You know, for old time’s sake” Dean chimes in.

She scrunches her nose, “You know, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of busy.”

“Listen, Jenny, it’s important.” Dean tries to explain before Missouri smacks him hard on the back of the head, far harder than I ever do, “Ow!” He yelps, turning around swiftly towards the shorter woman, “How did you-!” He nearly yells holding the back of his head. He looks at her with big wild eyes, his yelling coming from the fact she was able to quietly get behind Sam and I to hit him.

Missouri cuts him off, “Give the poor girl a break, can’t you see she’s upset?” She then turns to Jenny, “Forgive this boy, he means well, he’s just not the sharpest tool in the shed, but hear me out.” Dean looks further stunned.

“About what?” Jenny asks, adjusting her hold on her kid.

“About this house.” Missouri answers.

“What are you talking about?” Jenny looks between us all, nervously.

“I think you know what I’m talking about. You think there’s something in this house, something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?” Missouri says.

“Who are you?” Jenny asks just above a whisper.

“We’re people who can help, who can stop this thing. But you’re gonna have to trust us, just a little.” Missouri smiles comfortingly but even so Jenny looks unsure.

She seems to go over it in her head before finally sighing, “Alright.”

The four of us stand in Sari’s bedroom, Jenny having given us room to do what we need to while she waits downstairs with her kids. Sari’s room was a dark blue, a contrast to her pink and white furniture and toys.

“If there’s a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it.” Missouri states, looking around the room carefully from where she stood.

“Why?” Sam asks.

“This used to be your nursery, Sam. This is where it all happened.” She answers, looking around the room. Dean pulls out his DIY EMF from the inside of his coat pocket, “That an EMF?” Missouri asks.

“Yeah.” Dean smiles smugly.

“Amateur.” Missouri says lowly, I don’t know why she was targeting Dean specifically but his reaction to her was too amusing to really ponder it.

The EMF beeps frantically, “I don’t know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom.” Missouri announces.

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam asks frantically, getting a confident nod, “How do you know?”

“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s somethin’ different.” She answers, pausing for a beat before adding, “Can you feel it Y/N?”

My eyes widened in shock, “I’m sorry what?”

“You still got a lot to learn ‘bout your abilities'' She responds waving me over, “c’mere, you might be able to sense the energy.”

I hesitantly place my bag down before slowly walking over to her, she either senses my nervousness or reads my mind because she explains what she means, “Witches tend to have the best intuition and connection to the natural world, you should be able to sense energies especially spiritual ones with a second sight.”

She situates me in front of her with my back towards her, her hands clasp my arms tightly as they rest at my side. “Close your eyes, and just like meditation let everythin’ else fall away.”

I follow her instructions, my eyes fluttering shut reluctantly. I feel incredibly silly as I take a deep breath, the sage-y perfume of the woman behind me filling my nose. I breathe out slowly, forcing my mind to shut out the real world, which isn’t as hard as it should be with the quiet room and my nearly regular meditating. Complete darkness surrounds me as if the room itself had fallen away with all the people in it too, just me floating in an abyss.

I focused more closely on the house itself, extending my awareness far out to the block and then as if a dark fog hugged it I zeroed in on the house. Using my conscious self I pictured what it was like to walk through the house this time with a deep focus and new eyes.

With each step I ventured further into the house cautiously, a buzzing feeling rang through the house like when two strong magnets fight for equilibrium with a clatter. But despite the buzzing a physical warm glow emitted from the home's edges and like a hand reaching out it tried to conquer more of the house, yet it couldn’t. A force I couldn't quite tell held it back. The hair on the back of my neck stood tall, a cold chill running down my spine, I shrugged it off as I walked back up the stairs and down the hall to my physical self.

My foot only breached the doorway when a dreadful feeling filled the halls as if rooted beneath the wallpaper, a twinge of fear made its home in my stomach. I had never done this before, never went into my mind to feel the very things I hunt. I have no experience here, this is not my domain. They must know that as hushed murmurs fluttered around me with voices I couldn’t detect but knew they didn’t belong to anyone in the room. They wouldn’t be able to talk to me here so normally, maybe Missouri but certainly not Sam or Dean.

The murmurs became louder, each whisper jumbled over the next, talking over each other to the point of no recognition. My back hits the hard archway of the door's entrance, the sheer loudness of combined voices knocking me off balance. I braced myself against the door, nails biting into wood, my eyes shut tightly in effort to focus even further.

An unfamiliar cold hand brushes my forearm dragging its fingers up to my elbow as if standing beside me, I swiftly turn around backing up a few feet to see nothing near me. Another brush touches me, this time the back of my neck accompanied by a hot breath fanning by my ear. I don’t move away. this is not my domain, but it will be, and I will not show fear now. Latin spews from its mouth flowing right into my ear, a simple teasing statement, “Another toy.”

My eyes shoot open, pupils blown wide as my eyes adjust to the lighting as well as my mind being back in focus of the physical realm. My heart beats harshly against my chest, my lungs heaving with adrenaline.

A large hand clasps around my upper arm tightly, I nearly stumble back a step before my mind finally catches up with the present. “What is it?” Dean spews out quickly, his green eyes nearly crazed with worry.

I open my mouth to answer only to have Missouri answer for me instead, “You saw them.”

“F-felt more like” I stammer the feeling of its touch still lingering.

“What are they doing here?” Dean asks, looking between Missouri and I for answers, his hand still on my arm. Thing is I don’t have an answer, all that creepy spirit touching and I still don’t know everything.

But of course Missouri does, “They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes, wounds get infected.”

“This house buzzes with energy, literally you can feel it attracting paranormal energy. There’s two here right now…ones in the room. My head turns towards the closet, “A poltergeist. I’m not sure if it sees it as a game or what but I think it wants Jenny and her kids dead.” I know I’m right when Missouri nods her head.

“You both said there was more than one spirit.”

“There is. I just can’t quite make out the second one.” Missouri answers before adding, “You pick up anythin’”

“Only that it felt…good, if that makes sense. It was very different from the other. It was like this warmth trying to consume the house or really rid the house of its evil.” I answer by trying to make sense of everything that I have experienced.

“You’re sure of this?” Dean asks me, gaining my attention again by squeezing my arm before finally letting go.

“Yes.” I breathe simply, failing to explain that my only other hunch was the fact that it hadn’t been bothering me or I suppose terrorizing me like the poltergeist had with its touching.

A hard determined look sharpens on Dean's face, “Well, one thing’s for damn sure –- nobody’s dyin’ in this house ever again. So whatever is here, how do we stop it?”

“We’re gonna cleanse the house” Missouri answers simply, “Y/N, what you have in that bag of yours?”

A devilish smirk stretches itself on my face, “You wanna do purifying bags?” I ask back instead of answering. I walk back over to my discarded bag picking it up and swinging it over my shoulder, “Let’s do this downstairs, don’t want to make a mess in the kids room” Missouri says, answering my question without really answering it.

“Copy” I smile, taking the lead as we exit the room. With a sudden need for my specialty I found a new pep in my step as I quickly descended the stairs beelining for the nearest table. I carefully placed my bag down on the dining room table, pulling out my spell book marked and written in along with small corked glass bottles of different roots and herbs I carry. “When did you put all of this in your bag?” Sam asks, picking up a vial of crossroad dirt.

“Before I left with Dean to come get you, ‘cause you never know when you're gonna have to put together a spell or a potion of sorts” I answer, pulling out a couple empty small brown pouches.

“So you’ve been carrying this ‘round with you this whole time?” Dean asks this time.

“Mhm” I hum as I sit getting right to work.

With a little bag in front of me I put in each ‘ingredient’, for lack of a better word, not needing to look at my book for the right amount in each.

“Well don’t be lazy, help the girl!” Missouri lectures hitting Dean on the back of the head again. He grumbles no longer snapping back with something, he sits down next to me looking for direction.

With the feeling of his gaze on the side of my face I swirl my finger towards my spell book, a purple haze floating through the air turning the pages of my book to the right section for him to follow without me having to stop my work. He doesn't say anything as he takes off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his flannel, putting his forearms on display as he picks up bits of root, unfortunately catching my attention enough to pause my work and stare at him.

His eyes move from my book to the bag he was working on, his eyes sharp and focus as it passes across the words on the page. He moves his hand to the book using a finger to drag across the page underneath each word, the veins in his hand bulging as he does so. His eyebrows scrunch and his jaw ticks as he asks, “What is this stuff anyway?”

“That’s angelica root your holding” I mentioned first, referring to the fuzzy green plant in his hand. “And that’s van van oil, crossroad dirt, sage” I point to each bottle, naming off each ingredient we’re using.

He nods as I speak, his eyes still holding the same level of focus. From his listening to the gentle touch he used as he handled each bottle, all I could feel was pure endearment. The sudden quietness in the room made me painfully aware of the fact that we were the only ones left in said room and that Missouri along with Sam had left at some point, most likely to talk to Jenny.

“What are we supposed to do with it?” Dean questioned, knocking his knee into mine to get my attention once more. A bashful smile breaks its way onto my face at his touch, “We put them inside the walls of each corner of each floor of the house, north, south, east, west.”

“We’ll be punchin’ holes in the dry wall. Jenny’s gonna love that.” Dean points out.

My lips formed a tight line, cringing, “Yeah…this is just how this goes but to be fair some holes in the walls are better than evil spirits.”

He huffed a laugh, “And this will destroy the spirits?”

“It should, it's supposed to purify the house completely, we’ll probably each take a floor but we do have to work quickly because when they catch on to what we’re doing, they get seriously pissed.” I answered

“Won’t they catch on with us doing it here?”

“You would think that but spirits don’t always know until it’s actually happening like when we make the holes then it’s a big deal.” I inform, tying off another bag.

“Huh” He replies as he continues to work.

Soon silence falls upon us while we work, our arms brushing against each other every now and then.

“Are holes in drywall a hard fix?” I ask, breaking the comfortable silence, worried that the spirits won’t be the only pissed ones.

A deep chuckle passes through his lips, “That depends, sweetheart, but it should be.” He went on to explain the logistics of it, and while it wasn’t something I really cared to know about I didn’t stop him from explaining.

By the time his explanation of spackles and walls was over our purifying bags were done too.

Missouri and Sam walk back into the room, the floor creaking slightly underneath them. “You guys almost done?” Sam asked

“Yup” I hummed, “The bags are all done just gotta finish cleaning up”

“Good. Jenny and her kids just left, they’ll be back in an hour or two” Sam explained, placing a bunch of heavy items on the table. “I brought these in from the car, take your pick.”

I look up at the heavy mass, a hammer, a small ax, and two crowbars lay on the table. Though it is an odd collection of weapons as long as it is capable of making a hole in the wall it doesn't really matter, Sam picks up the hammer testing the weight of it in his hand.

With every part of the plan settled I throw the rest of the vials and leftover bags in my bag worrying about organization later, gently tucking my thick spell book into my bag I turn swiftly around, “Let’s get it done.”

“I’ll take this floor” Dean says, picking up his four bags, “Sammy you take upstairs, and you two can take the basement.”

“And remember you need to put a bag in each corner, north, south, east, west.” I order as everyone has the right amount of bags and a weapon of choice.

A collective nod was all we needed to spring into action, with the cold heavy crowbar in my hand I took the lead down the basement Missouri following closely after me. Without any words needed, we split up her heading to the west side of the floor and me to the east.

A chill runs up my spine, an uncomfortable feeling floating in the air, I roll my shoulders trying to rid myself of the feeling. My knees hit the floor, the coldness seeping through my pants. I knock on the wall in an attempt to hear a hollow part, Dean having mentioned before that would be the easiest way to make a hole. My knuckles hit the wall in at least ten separate spots before it no longer sounds solid. I stand back up for better leverage before changing my hold on the crowbar to be horizontal, bashing the end of it into the wall repeatedly until it cracks.

A heavy sliding noise shuffles behind me, I snap my head to the sound of a large dark table moving across the floor right into Missouri. My mouth opens to scream her name in warning but just as the first syllable leaves my mouth a nail comes flying at my face. Out of reflex alone I send the nail flying to the left, the invisible force of my power altering its trajectory. My eyes follow where the nail came from, an open red tool box, more nails come flying my way and each time I knock them away. Knowing it wouldn’t stop I gripped the crowbar harder using only a glimpse back at the wall to know where I was aiming for. While I used one hand and half my focus on changing the direction of the nails I used my other to slam the crowbars end into the already cracked wall but only when it sounded like it broke through enough did I glimpse back again. With another look forward at the coming nails, only one more left, I waited until it got closer, the old nail zooming toward my eye. Just as it got but an inch away I dropped to the floor, turning my body as I went, throwing the purification bag in.

I got up quickly, dropping my crowbar, almost tripping over my other foot as I ran to Missouri, pushing the table away from her, throwing another bag into the hole she had already made before she got attacked. She breathes heavily, a hand on her chest. “You okay?” I ask, putting a hand on her shoulder and leading her away from the table. She nods her head, handing me her two bags, wordlessly telling me to finish the floor.

I grip the bags in one hand as I pick up my discarded crowbar, seeing the nails that flew at me sticking out of the walls. I head over to the undisturbed wall slamming the crowbar into the wall, not even attempting to do the knocking at this point. While I threw in the third bag, worry consumed me at the realization that the spirits must be attacking the boys too. Without wasting any more time I go to the last undisturbed wall, again slamming the crowbar into it. Call it paranoia or instinct that made me turn so that my shoulder was facing the wall instead of my face to see if another attack would be coming. Either way it was that alone that saved me from the poltergeist throwing a wooden chair at my head. I duck again just in time for the chair to smash into pieces above me, wood undoubtedly falling into my hair.

“Stop throwing stuff!” I yell at the air itself or really the incredibly annoying poltergeist. With a huff I throw in the last bag, all the activity silencing on this floor. I get up walking over to Missouri as I pick out chunks of wood from my hair, as soon as I get close enough she reaches up and takes a particularly large piece of chair out of my hair showing it to me with a laugh before tossing it somewhere on the floor.

“Y/N!” A voice yells with a strain, clearly coming from a distance away. Right away I recognize the voice, Deans, I go running climbing up the stairs two at a time. Forget about my hair, forget about leaving Missouri behind (no offense).

The ground floor is practically untouched other than the clear mess that is peeking out from the kitchen, I look around quickly and see no one, “Dean?!” I shout back evident fear in my voice, getting an immediate “Up here.” Slight relief hits me as I again sprint up the stairs, twirling around the banister the second I reach the second floor seeing the closest open door. Forgetting about precautions I immediately approach the door, my hand on the archway when I see Dean on the floor cradling a hurt-limp Sam.

“Wha-“ I begin saying only to lose my train of thought.

“Let’s get him up” Missouri suddenly says from behind me, very calmly. She nudges past me heading straight for the boys, but neither of them move. She leans down beside Sam pressing two fingers to the side of his neck, “He’s still alive, he’ll be just fine.”

He gives her a curt nod before leaning back on his feet and standing, dragging his brother up with him, just as he does so Sam comes to. His eyes fluttering open and close, “It’s okay Sammy, just gonna bring you downstairs” Dean tells him, putting his brother's arm around his shoulder.

Carefully he walks his brother downstairs, Sam grumbling something halfway through before going limp again. Finally they reach the living room, Dean carefully lays his brother on the couch then moves to sit on the coffee table right across from him.

“He’ll be alright” I say softly, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder.

“I know” he replies.

“Were you able to finish the floor?” I ask even though maybe it wasn’t the proper time to.

“No. I was hurled with knives the second I made the hole, then I heard something upstairs and ran to see if Sammy was okay…I don’t think he finished either” He explains, his eyebrows scrunched together.

“It’s okay, i’ll go finish it and you guys can stay here, watch over him” I say, giving his shoulder a little squeeze before moving my hand away.

“Are you crazy?! That’s dangerous. Did you not just see what happened to Sam?!” Dean shoots back, not quite yelling but his voice is definitely louder than needed.

I smiled at him sweetly knowing this was coming from a place of worry and not an incompetent sort of deal, “Don’t worry I can take care of myself just fine, I did so down stairs when we finished up. Got some nails thrown at me, a chair and a table, you know just the usual playing house with the ghost.”

“That’s not the point. I’m coming with you.” He stands up abruptly and I swear I saw his jaw tick.

“Okay. I’m not gonna argue with you” I respond with humor in my voice. “But. If you did want to stay behind to watch your brother I wouldn't fault you for it either.”

He looks at me strangely with those beautiful green eyes before diverting them just past me, “I’m coming with you.”

“Right.” I smile “‘You got the bags?”

He answers by shuffling through his jacket pockets and pulling out a bag from each, he holds them up in an almost teasing way. I take a half step forward, grabbing a bag right out of his hand, only then realizing how close my small step puts us, having to lean my head back far enough to look up at him comfortably. But I don’t move away as I ask him, “What about your axe?”

He tilts his head down slightly towards me, his breathe hot on my face, “Dropped it in the kitchen”

“Good.” I say, nearly and pathetically getting distracted by our closeness…and his eyes… and his lips. “ ‘Cause I have no idea where I left that crowbar”

He laughs and steps away, his shoulder brushing mine as he walks away to the kitchen. Before I can turn to follow him Missouri meets my eyes, giving me a pointed-knowing look about what just happened. ‘Shut up’ I playfully mouth.

Finally I turn around following after the man in question. He comes out of the kitchen holding the small axe but just behind him is a mess. The kitchen looks like a tornado went through it with draws and cabinets open, utensils on the floor, broken dishes scattered around, the table turned over with knives sticking out of it (a tornado could not do that but the point of the mess still stands.) I look back at Dean then behind him repeatedly, “Did you have fun?” I remark sarcastically.

“Oh, not as much fun as you had” He replies gruffly, reaching up to my hair, his fingers sinking in as he ruffles out small chips of wood. My cheeks feel warm at the small contact and even more so when he pulls away and gives me that smirk. Then he walks away towards the back of the house with a cocky look in his eye like he knew exactly what he had done. I take a short deep breath before following him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later every purifying bag is put in place and Sammy is conscious and now we stand in the disaster that is the kitchen, broken cabinets and chair bits on the floor as well as a collection of utensils, all just to see the bunt of the fight.

“‘You sure this is over?” Sam questions, his voice a little rough.

“I’m sure. Why? Why do you ask?” Missouri answers.

“Never mind.” He sighs, “It’s nothin’, I guess.”

The front door opens followed by footsteps, “Hello? We’re home.” Jenny calls out before finding us in the kitchen pure shock written on her face, “What happened?”

“Hi, sorry. Um, we’ll pay for all of this.” Sam word vomits, the words spilling out quickly and anxiously. Both Dean and I’s heads snap towards him, I seriously want to ask him ‘with what money???’ But before anyone can fathom a word Missouri beat us to it, “Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess.” Again with her (maybe) uncalled targeting I have to bite back a smirk, meanwhile Dean stands unmoving his eyebrows scrunched looking at the shorter woman with a total bewildered expression.

“Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop.” She adds, and I don’t know how she has this much power but he listens and begins to walk away or really shuffle away, “And don’t cuss at me!” She lectures.

Laughter slips through my lips as he mutters under his breath, Sam joining in on the hilarious nature that is his brother being bossed around.

Wiping a tear out of the corner of my eye I touch Sam’s shoulder, “I’m gonna go get him and fix this up…” I twirl my finger slightly to signal I mean magically, “Bring Jenny inside somewhere.” He nods, “Okay but you should really let him suffer”

I laugh again, rolling my eyes as I move away.

I find Dean standing in front of a broom closet trying to balance several cleaning objects in his hands at once. I admire his effort but there’s just no way anyone could clean that kitchen when it’s quite literally just destroyed. I grabbed a broom from him that was seconds away from falling, “Not to ruin your fun but I figured it would be easier to use magic on the kitchen than a mop.”

“Thank god” He sighs, shoving everything back in the closet including the broom I held.

Back in the kitchen I try not to get stressed at just how bad it is. Taking a calming breath I walk over to the kitchen counters, closing my eyes, I feel my hair move around me slightly from a small drift in the room, my body stands completely still as I let my hands feel the cool counter below me and the steadiness of it all. As my body relaxes and my shoulders drop, relieving its tension I become a conduit for magic, a dance of ethereal threads weaving through me. The energy flowed from my core to my fingertips, the flow gracefully extending to every nook and cranny. As if tracing an intricate pattern, it embraced the room, coaxing broken shards and scattered pieces back into harmony. The air felt electric with the essence of restoration, and the kitchen hummed with the soothing melody of enchantment.

When I open my eyes again, I feel a gaze on me. I turn my whole body, so that I was standing sideways, to it and of course it’s Dean, he meets my eyes, his mouth just slightly agape and I can only imagine what the swirling of purple energy around the room fixing items must have looked like. His green eyes are slightly glossy with what is maybe curiousity or amazement, either way it was a weird look. Before I could question him I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a tall familiar figure. Sam stands by the kitchen archway waving his hand, signaling it was time to go.

Hours later darkness consumes the Impala. After dropping Missouri back home Sam insisted we came back to the house for a stakeout. It was hard to argue with someone who had a bad feeling over something that is quite literally life or death, so we stayed. We’d been in here so long in fact that I’d taken to lying down flat in the backseat, my legs propped up on the seats (shoes off so Dean wouldn’t complain but at least I got to showcase my cute dragonfly socks).

I stare up at the beige-ish interior roof, my hands laying across my chest. I breathe in and out evenly, but with the prospect of being bored, memories of my life here swarm my head and suddenly I miss my mom more than I've had in a long time. If I focus hard enough on the roof I can still hear the remnants of her laughter and I could see her smile, the one I inherited, on her soft face. That old longing, that old sadness that I thought I was over fills my heart, its hands creep up on it clasping it tightly. It’s been years. So many years since she’s been gone and yet still this feeling—this rawness in my chest, this endless longing is home in my body just as it was the first time around.

I miss my mom.

I want to cry and I want her back, tears threaten my eyes and that stupid tightness in my throat prevails almost like it’s choking me, a tightness that’s so painful I want to rip my throat out. I swallow forcefully, I hate this feeling and I hate death and I hate that I'm feeling this in the back of the car with my best friends just right up front. It’s too vulnerable, it’s too open, too close to home…I want to go home.

I want to go home.

I shut my eyes tightly trying to erase these feelings to move them back in the dusty box they had sat in. But it isn’t that easy and I know it isn’t so instead I breathe deeply and choose to listen to Dean and Sam talk, focusing on the up and down of their words and the softness of each syllable.

“All right, so, tell me again, what are we still doin’ here?” Dean asks, impatience clear on his tongue.

“I don’t know. I just…” Sam sighs, “…still have a bad feeling.”

“Why? Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing, the house should be clean, it should be over.” Dean explains.

“Yeah, well, probably. But I just wanna make sure, that’s all.” Sam answers.

“Yeah, well, problem is I could be sleeping in a bed right now.” Dean responds and I hear him slide down his seat, probably closing his eyes in the process, “Like Y/N back there” he adds, softer, and even with my eyes closed a smile produces itself on my face. The small warmth that spreads in my chest fends off the grief, at least enough for it not to be at the forefront of my mind.

The quiet peace that falls over the Impala is short lived, Sam suddenly yelling, “Guys. Look” My eyes shoot open, “Dean!” He hits his brother's shoulder.

I sit up quickly catching a glimpse of Jenny yelling by her window, with nothing more to be said- we jump out of the car. I shuffled to the car door, leaving my shoes behind, the second I’m out and the door is slammed shut I run after the boys who were only two paces ahead. “You two grab the kids, I’ll get Jenny.” Dean commands as Sam tries the door which of course is locked. Dean pushes him slightly to the side, he takes a step back lifting his leg and kicking in the door. Broken pieces of wood stick out from the side of it.

The dark wooden floors are cold beneath my sock-covered feet, each step up the staircase seems far too long even as we reach the top. At the top Dean stops at a door close to the stairs but I don’t use any more focus to take anything else as Sam and I run down the hall, “Get Sari! I’ll get the baby!” I yell after him. Stopping at the closest door I swing it open only to reveal a bathroom, I curse underneath my breath before spinning around to the door right across the hall. Once more I swing it open, this time revealing a baby room with a white crib in the middle of it. I rush over only slowing to not scare Richie as I approach, somehow he’s still asleep wrapped up in his little blanket.

Carefully I reach in the crib scooping him up from underneath his upper back, my other arm going for his legs. Once in my arms I rearrange him so my dominant hand rests on his lower back while the crook of my other arm cradles his little head, just like holding a baby doll except this one is way cuter and also very alive. Standing back at my full height I fix his blanket around him before exiting the room. I know Sam can handle himself so I head towards the stairs, the baby had to be the priority right now. I quickly descend the stairs, only half way down when I feel Sam close behind, a relief hitting me.

My feet only just hit the ground level when Sam calls my name, swiftly I turn towards him Sari in his arms.

“Y/N, you need to take the kids and go outside.” He orders, placing Sari on the floor.

“Okay, what about you aren’t you coming?” I rushed out, cradling Richie in one arm so I could take hold of Sari’s hand.

Panic is written all over his face and something else lies in his eyes, “Take them. Don’t look back” And before I can argue any further he’s nudging me forward, reluctantly I go only because I know I can’t help with two kids in my arms. I run towards the door at this point, pulling Sari along with me, just behind me I hear a slam to the floor and I know it’s Sam- relief gone. But even so I rush forward.

The chill breeze of the night hits me hard. Jenny and Dean stand on the edge of the grass line. Only a few paces from them Sari lets go of my hand and runs to her mom, Jenny leaning down to catch her and hold her tightly. “Sam’s inside you have to go now” I speak quickly, my words jumbling over itself. Dean's eyes widen and pure fear fills them, on top of being scared guilt fills me now too. He runs to the front door and I hear it slam loudly. I hand Richie back over to his mom who is very obviously relieved to have him again.

Dean runs back to the Impala pulling out a shotgun and an ax, going right back to the door. I know I could open the door for him, it would be easy and I wouldn’t even break a sweat. Yet, my feet remain planted to the grown, the chaos of it all—the guilt. My purifying bags didn’t work, it nearly got a whole family killed and Sam’s now in trouble too. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.

My feet won’t move, my body won’t react, I can't even redeem myself. I don’t want to lose anyone else, I don’t want to. I can’t.

Move.

Move. Please move, I beg myself— my very being to do something anything but be helpless. I hate being helpless and yet I’m here doing nothing, anxiety and fear encasing me to this spot. I hear Dean hacking away at the door, faint grunts leaving his mouth as he does so but still I can’t move. Sari begins to cry latching on to her moms legs only waking up Ritchie in the process who then begins to cry too. The loud crying rings in my ears, only making my heart beat faster.

Jenny, visibly overwhelmed, wrestles with the challenge of consoling both kids, her distress mirrored in her eyes. Without conscious thought, my arms extend, offering to hold Ritchie. To my surprise, she entrusts the baby to me, planting a tender kiss on his forehead before gathering Sari into her embrace. Sari's legs encircle her mother's waist, a protective hand cradling the back of her head.

Richie moving in my arms breaks me out of my panic, if only because someone in need was right there, someone who surely couldn’t help themselves. I begin to rock him, moving my weight from one foot to another but my stress and worry is still there and he must feel it too because it does barely anything to help. I look back up, Dean is still hacking away at the door, not enough progress has been made. I rearrange the baby, using my free arm I lift up a hand my palm facing towards the direction of the door, with barely any thought needed the door slams open. Dean looks back at me for only a second before running in.

Richie's cries persist as I rock him, murmuring reassurances, "It's okay, everything will be okay." I desperately rack my mind for any calming measures, when I suddenly recall my mother singing me lullabies. But still I struggle to remember any of them, the memory too distant to be anything more than a hymn, instead I decide to softly sing "A Lullaby" by Dear Nora – even though it came out way after my mothers passing it always reminded me of her. And I had always kept a small hope that one day if I were to have kids that I would sing it to them too.

As I move a strand of hair from Richie's face, he begins to settle. My voice trembles with fear, but it seems to have a soothing effect anyways. Richie stops crying, and I meet Jenny's gaze. She offers a sad smile while holding her daughter close.

Both boys came out of that house. Relief had hit me like a ton of bricks, my knees felt wobbly with it. At first they could barely speak, shocked at what they saw but then the police and firefighters came and it was all the usual.

It was hours later until everything was resolved, and it wasn’t until Missouri came over that they actually spilt what happened. Their mom was there, she was the good spirit that I had felt, the one that was fighting off the evil and she did exactly that when it had attacked Sam. Somehow, she was still at the house after all these years protecting it. She had used the last of her abilities to say…sorry.

It’s morning now, Missouri cleared the house for real this time no spirit was left in there. The kids were sleeping still, Jenny was giving the photos she found to Dean and Sam sat with Missouri on the steps talking.

I had nothing to say to anyone in particular so I sat in the Impala, my legs outside the car, digging through my bag, when I finally pulled out my spell book I turned to the purifying page, I looked it over again trying to see if we did something wrong and messed up the amounts. But no. We did it right, but for some reason it didn’t work—it didn’t work and people could have died. Holding the book on my lap I reach up to the top of it, my hand holding the single page ready to tear it out when it’s suddenly taken from my grasp “Hey, what are you doing?!” Dean yells, holding it out of reach.

“It didn’t work. It needs to go, please give it back.” I answered, my jaw clenched.

“This was your moms, you’d hate yourself if you ripped it up.” Dean lectures.

“No I wouldn't, give it back. I need to make sure this never happens again.” I shoot up from my seat reaching up to grab it back but his arm shoots down behind his back.

“Yeah, you would. Sorry to break it to you sweetheart but I know you pretty damn well.”

I don’t care if he’s right. I don’t. That page needs to go, I can’t make this mistake again. I won’t. I reach for it again behind his back but again he moves it, “Dean. I’m not joking around give it back.” I don’t often get angry, but I am.

He looks down at me, his eyes scrunched in confusion and concern, “What’s going on with you?”

I huff, frustrated, “What’s going on is I messed up. Badly. They could have died and don’t try to say I don’t know that for sure because I do. And I know you do too, so I don’t need any comforting lies”

"We screw up, sweetheart. It's part of the gig. But we fixed it. They're alive and kickin', okay?" His words carried that gruff reassurance he always had, even when he was being a bit of a hypocrite. Book at his side, guard lowered just a bit, it was my chance to snag it back. "Not this," I jabbed a finger at the book. "I'm good at this. I don't mess up on this."

"I don't care that you're all emotional right now. You're not trashing your spell book." Arms crossed in front of his chest, he held his ground.

My chest heaved, my eyes scrunched in frustration as I looked up at him, my free hand in a tight fist my nails digging into my palm. “But, it needs to—“ I say back, weakly, already my fight was crumbling, being replaced with something else. Suddenly his arms were around me and my face was buried in his chest. His arms held my upper back tightly, his hands going up to cup my head, his fingers entangled into my hair a little while his chin rested on top of my head. With each breath I took, inhaling his smell of something woody and some sort of spice mixed into one, any resolve I had left was gone.

I wanted to keep fighting, I wanted to tell him he was wrong but he held me so close and so gentle that I couldn’t. If that in itself had made me weak then so be it. I wrap my arms around his center, even with my book in my hand. It had to be seconds later when he must have felt the tension leaving my shoulders when he pulled away, his hands dropped down to the crook of my arm holding me a short distance away. His green eyes locked with mine in a silent agreement.

I pull away fully when Sam and Missouri approach, quickly whipping my eyes just in case and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. We each exchange hugs with her, even Dean who surprisingly gets no comment this time.

Missouri smiles, “Don’t you be strangers.”

“We won’t.” Dean nods as he rounds the car.

[book--brackets]

The Wicked + the Divine by Kieron Gillan (2014-2019)

Every ninety years, twelve gods incarnate as humans. They are loved. They are hated. In two years, they are dead. The team behind critical tongue-attractors like Young Avengers and PHONOGRAM reunite to create a world where gods are the ultimate pop stars and pop stars are the ultimate gods. But remember: just because you’re immortal, doesn’t mean you’re going to live forever.

The Checquy Files by Daniel O'Malley (2012-2022)

"The body you are wearing used to be mine." So begins the letter Myfanwy Thomas is holding when she awakes in a London park surrounded by bodies all wearing latex gloves. With no recollection of who she is, Myfanwy must follow the instructions her former self left behind to discover her identity and track down the agents who want to destroy her.

She soon learns that she is a Rook, a high-ranking member of a secret organization called the Chequy that battles the many supernatural forces at work in Britain. She also discovers that she possesses a rare, potentially deadly supernatural ability of her own.

In her quest to uncover which member of the Chequy betrayed her and why, Myfanwy encounters a person with four bodies, an aristocratic woman who can enter her dreams, a secret training facility where children are transformed into deadly fighters, and a conspiracy more vast than she ever could have imagined.

Tea Dragon by K. O'Neill (2017-2021)

From the award-winning author of Princess Princess Ever After comes THE TEA DRAGON SOCIETY, the beloved and charming all-ages book that follows the story of Greta, a blacksmith apprentice, and the people she meets as she becomes entwined in the enchanting world of tea dragons. After discovering a lost tea dragon in the marketplace, Greta learns about the dying art form of tea dragon care-taking from the kind tea shop owners, Hesekiel and Erik. As she befriends them and their shy ward, Minette, Greta sees how the craft enriches their lives--and eventually her own. 

The Dark Is Rising by Susan Cooper (1965-1977)

When the Dark comes rising, six shall turn it back, three from the circle, three from the track; wood, bronze, iron; water, fire, stone; five will return, and one go alone.” 

With these mysterious words, Will Stanton discovers on his 11th birthday that he is no mere boy. He is the Sign-Seeker, last of the immortal Old Ones, destined to battle the powers of evil that trouble the land. His task is monumental: he must find and guard the six great Signs of the Light, which, when joined, will create a force strong enough to match and perhaps overcome that of the Dark. Embarking on this endeavor is dangerous as well as deeply rewarding; Will must work within a continuum of time and space much broader than he ever imagined.

The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories by Angela Carter (1979)

In The Bloody Chamber - which includes the story that is the basis of Neil Jordan's 1984 movie The Company of Wolves - Carter spins subversively dark and sensual versions of familiar fairy tales and legends like "Little Red Riding Hood," "Bluebeard," "Puss in Boots," and "Beauty and the Beast," giving them exhilarating new life in a style steeped in the romantic trappings of the gothic tradition.

Innkeeper Chronicles by Ilona Andrews (2013-2022)

On the outside, Dina Demille is the epitome of normal. She runs a quaint Victorian Bed and Breakfast in a small Texas town, owns a Shih Tzu named Beast, and is a perfect neighbor, whose biggest problem should be what to serve her guests for breakfast. But Dina is...different: Her broom is a deadly weapon; her Inn is magic and thinks for itself. Meant to be a lodging for otherworldly visitors, the only permanent guest is a retired Galactic aristocrat who can’t leave the grounds because she’s responsible for the deaths of millions and someone might shoot her on sight. Under the circumstances, "normal" is a bit of a stretch for Dina.

And now, something with wicked claws and deepwater teeth has begun to hunt at night...Feeling responsible for her neighbors, Dina decides to get involved. Before long, she has to juggle dealing with the annoyingly attractive, ex-military, new neighbor, Sean Evans—an alpha-strain werewolf—and the equally arresting cosmic vampire soldier, Arland, while trying to keep her inn and its guests safe. But the enemy she’s facing is unlike anything she’s ever encountered before. It’s smart, vicious, and lethal, and putting herself between this creature and her neighbors might just cost her everything.

The Sisters Grimm by Michael Buckley (2005-2012)

For Sabrina and Daphne Grimm, life has not been a fairy tale. After the mysterious disappearance of their parents, the sisters are sent to live with their grandmother--a woman they believed was dead! Granny Relda reveals that the girls have two famous ancestors, the Brothers Grimm, whose classic book of fairy tales is actually a collection of case files of magical mischief. Now the girls must take on the family responsibility of being fairy tale detectives.

Lumatere Chronicles by Melina Marchetta (2008-2012)

Finnikin of the Rock and his guardian, Sir Topher, have not been home to their beloved Lumatere for ten years. Not since the dark days when the royal family was murdered and the kingdom put under a terrible curse. But then Finnikin is summoned to meet Evanjalin, a young woman with an incredible claim: the heir to the throne of Lumatere, Prince Balthazar, is alive.

Evanjalin is determined to return home and she is the only one who can lead them to the heir. As they journey together, Finnikin is affected by her arrogance . . . and her hope. He begins to believe he will see his childhood friend, Prince Balthazar, again. And that their cursed people will be able to enter Lumatere and be reunited with those trapped inside. He even believes he will find his imprisoned father.

But Evanjalin is not what she seems. And the truth will test not only Finnikin's faith in her . . . but in himself.

Damar by Robin McKinley (1982-1984)

Harry Crewe is an orphan girl who comes to live in Damar, the desert country shared by the Homelanders and the secretive, magical Hillfolk. Her life is quiet and ordinary-until the night she is kidnapped by Corlath, the Hillfolk King, who takes her deep into the desert. She does not know the Hillfolk language; she does not know why she has been chosen. But Corlath does. Harry is to be trained in the arts of war until she is a match for any of his men. Does she have the courage to accept her true fate?

The Chronicles of the Black Company by Glen Cook (1984-2000)

Some feel the Lady, newly risen from centuries in thrall, stands between humankind and evil. Some feel she is evil itself. The hard-bitten men of the Black Company take their pay and do what they must, burying their doubts with their dead. 

Until the prophesy: The White Rose has been reborn, somewhere, to embody good once more. There must be a way for the Black Company to find her... 

[spookykoolkat]

the red j.m. | chapter one

CHAPTER ONE: STIFF AND COLD

series masterlist | main masterlist | next chapter

pairings: older!joel miller x younger!plus sized!reader

chapter summary: the life you lived was not the one you wanted, and unfortunately on your journey to absolutely nowhere, you were heroically saved by two men who were far from heroes.

warnings: su*cidal tendencies, thoughts, and actions (attempted su*cide), poor mental health, swearing, mentions of brief violence, MDNI!

wc: 5K

na: omg omg omg omg i'm so excited to share this with everyone. i've been working on this series for about two weeks now, and i'm trying to make sure everything is perfect before i post. thank you guys for ALLLLL the love and support i've gotten it makes me feel so warm inside :P please do nottt be shy! i love feeback, i love the comments and the asks, i'm friendly!!! AND thank you for 100 followers omg my gift to U! please like and reblog and leave your thoughts and comments i love all of it!!! i hope this is good!

YOU

november 15th, 2024

this was fucking impossible. 20 years later. and still, fighting to survive. fighting your way to survive by yourself, losing the people you stuck by, fighting to save people just for them to be taken by the world you lived in. you were pissed, to say the least. and as you trudge through city after city, sleeping and camping in the woods, killing those who were alive and those who weren’t people anymore, you truly wished you were dead. you practically were, it was going to find you sooner or later. death. 

but you accepted it. you knew that this long trail of steps you've taken from texas to where ever you are now, was going to come to an end. but it wasn't ending without a never ending fight you put up for yourself. as long as you were here, you refused to accept defeat and lay down to die.

with all of the silence you had to yourself, you found yourself thinking a lot. you remembered the first day it started, down to the minute, down to what you were wearing. you were only five, five years old when everything came crashing down, literally. you promised yourself that the fear you felt growing up as a child  and having to watch everyone you’ve ever loved be ripped from you, picking up a gun to shoot your first clicker, and picking it up again to kill those who tried to kill you—you wouldn’t experience again. 

so, you avoided civilization. or what FEDRA called civilization. it was bullshit to you. it felt like an excuse for not having anything locked and loaded in a situation like this, and it felt the same as your last government. it was suppression, control, lack of free will. they wanted assimilation and compliance in return for what seemed like a dictatorship ran by none other, those in power. those who were left at least. you'd been trapped inside of a QZ not too far from texas, one with harsh summers and hot winters. you felt like you were in actual hell.

you avoided people, their pleas for help as you traveled by yourself or in groups that never lasted long. the only person that mattered in this world was you, and there was no grace from god that you would find any other family, any other friends—because you had none. you didn't make any, and you were better off for it.

you couldn’t deny that you had days where you wanted to let it go. let all of the survival tactics, the lessons you’ve learned from people you traveled with—let yourself be consumed by the evil of the world.

you also didn’t understand why people, and yourself, fought so hard to live in a world that was worse than the one before. why people fought so hard to live in a world where now, people just take. it was an endless cycle of blood and violence, the only way of survival is by taking. never giving, because when you give, you’re dead. 

but you realized if you didn't fight, if you didn't resort to a bullet to the head, you would die just like the ones around you. you tried to be better than the people that were left. by better you meant not resorting to killing innocent people to survive, but you failed. and so did the rest of the world.

you really didn't know who was innocent and who was guilty. it wasn't black and white. everyone did what they needed to do to survive, and if it meant being the guilty one, then you were okay with that. some people were in the wrong place at the wrong time, fighting for the wrong side, invested in a belief that the world will be good if we are divided.

you refused to take the accountability of taking someone's life. it wasn't your fault. this wasn't what you were made to be doing. you told yourself, but the blood on your hands said otherwise. it was this fucked up cycle that you grew apart of, because if you didn't assimilate you would die. so it got easier to take the lives of people, it was for your own safety.

as you carefully stepped in the snow, nothing but rocks, trees and snow surrounding you, you thought about how this was almost comical to you. how many movies about zombie apocalypses, night of the living dead, were out and you still felt it was impossible. there was no way that the world could turn into ruins within 24 hours, no way that your friends and family turned into vessels, having to die at your hand. this was simply too hard to wrap your head around, even being almost 26 years old now. you truly didn’t know how you made it this long, how you were able to keep up and fight despite everything–even down to the way you were shaped.

you were five when it happened, not knowing what the concept of anything really was. and as you got older— you did what you could to make surviving the easiest for you, rummaging through empty yet not so empty malls to find a decent sports bra, taking feminine hygiene needs and making sure your clothes fit loose/tight enough for your benefit. you learned as you lived, and you didn’t have much around you to learn from. you imagined being a woman in the real world was less difficult than this, but realized that life as a woman has never been easy. just made it more real in the apocalypse.

the violence, the danger, the belief towards women just got worse. you were at risk just existing, and the infected that walked amongst you weren't the only danger of humanity. you knew that you'd die by the hands of your fellow person, a clicker, or hunger. it was only a matter of time.

it wasn’t until you heard the sounds of the devilish creatures screech in a distance that you shook back to your reality. it was way too dark, snow falling too fast to see clearly, only using your ability of sight and precision to protect yourself. your gun felt light in your hand as you squeezed, finger lightly over the trigger as you reminded yourself of quietness. you knew you should’ve stayed back, waited until the sun was out to at least search for safety. but you knew you wouldn’t make it, the stab wound was lodged deep in your abdomen. you held the wound tight hoping to stop the bleeding, bit it was too much, too deep.

you realized the time you took to reflect back on your life and stolen childhood, it was your life flashing before your eyes. 

you truly didn’t know where you were, you didn’t know how you got there, and you knew this might be your last night. here you were in the midst of snow and darkness, and you felt yourself losing hope. what were you fighting for exactly? you were tired. you fled from your safe space miles back, and you fled from the place before that, and before that. all you knew was that your stomach was crying to be fed and fixed up, your throat was dry with nothing but a lick of spit, and while you made your way closer towards the sound of a river you noticed that the sound of clickers sounded more distant.

there was no pain in your stomach anymore, it was a throbbing dullness now and you felt the tips of your fingers tingling, becoming frozen around your gun. you weren’t sure if it was because your ears began to ring and your vision started blacking out on the edges, but you felt sick. 

before you could even register that you were going down, you fell into the hard snow and accepted the fact that this was it. and it was okay. you sunk into the darkness, feeling warm all around now, and allowed it. 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

tommy and joel were on their patrol route around the commune when they heard the sound of screeching, possibly heading the other way. it was late when maria told tommy there was a wire tripped right outside of the commune, needing him and joel to take a patrol shift at eleven at night instead of the two rookies that were on it. 

“they ain’t gonna come over here,” tommy reassured, mostly for himself after hearing the screeches of distant infected.

“right,” joel sarcastically agreed, keeping his rifle aimed and ready for anything and anyone to jump out at him or tommy. joel kept following the trail he remembered following himself, wanting to make sure there wasn’t anything going on without his knowledge of it. 

joel was tired, to be frank. but the minute he heard there was a threat around the area, he didn't waste time to gear up and tell ellie to stay inside while he's gone. now, he and tommy were searching for something, anything that could be the cause of maria's concern.

they walked around a little more, searching the ground area and looking within the trees, finding nothing but a few deer and elk. 

“joel!” tommy yelled out. 

joel stopped in his tracks, tightening the grip on his rifle and immediately following his brother’s panicked voice. 

“joel! c’mere man, holy fuck,” tommy shouted, sending joels heart racing and making him speed up, passing by trees and large rocks to get to him.

“where are ya?” he shouted panicked, and as tommy said ‘over here,’ joel followed his voice, the only thing he could hear being the crunch of the snow. finally, he made it towards the river where tommy was kneeling down before something, something that looked like a body. 

“look man, we gotta take her back,” tommy said, checking her pulse and setting his gun down. joel just shook his head, looking at the small pool of blood that trailed from the woman's abdomen in the snow.

“she’s dead. if she’s been out here for however long, she’s gone. ain’t worth it.” he gruffly said, pointing his rifle at the body instead. 

“joel her heart is beatin’, i can feel her pulse. we gotta take her,” tommy said and joel felt himself grow angry. 

“it ain’t worth it.” he said once again and tommy shook his head, moving to flip your body over to see your face.

tommy swiftly moved your backpack and gun out of the way, and saw how blue your face was. your lips were practically purple, and your body was freezing cold, stiff. both the men's eyes trailed to the blood soaked white shirt that clung to your body, the injury deep and wide. but tommy saw the shallow breaths, he saw your chest stutter as it tried to rise and fall. 

“she’s just a kid, joel,” he said.

he was right. joel was fifty seven, and tommy was nearing his late forties and he could tell you weren’t older than thirty. why should it matter? he wanted to say, but he knew. his own lack of trust makes him take a bit to decide. what if it’s a trap? what if she got bit? then she wouldn’t be cold and frozen, idiot. what if this is just a distraction? from what! joel’s inner thoughts fighting with each other, fighting with his gut and finally closed his eyes hard before opening them back up.

“fuck,” he sighed and moved his rifle to sit on his shoulder, going to tommy and deciding to just pick your body up and carry you bridal style. 

tommy saw joel was angry, already knowing the thoughts in his mind saying she wasn't worth it, the girl's practically dead.

“go,” joel demanded and began to follow him as tommy protected the both of you. he didn’t know if this was a good idea. if taking you in and disrupting the course of nature was the best idea. just another mouth to feed. he thought to himself. if you even survived this. he knew he was cold hearted, he knew he wasn’t close to being a good person. 

joel couldn’t help it. he was selfish, he was hard headed, and he was cold. children, women, animals, it got to a point where it was all the same to him. if you were gone, you were gone. he’d killed so many clickers who posed themselves as children, so many women who weren’t women anymore, families even. he was desensitized in the worst way and even though it benefited him and helped keep him alive for twenty years, it was his biggest downfall. 

a little bit of him wished he was softer. more inviting, more trusting but in what fucking world? this was always a world of hate, he thought. a world of pain and despair, and it was only a matter of time before it turned into some sort of hell. 

and as he carried you in your arms, limp and blue, he wondered if you were even going to make it. what was the point of trudging through all of this snow for a dead body? he didn’t have much hope for anything else, for anything but his and ellie’s survival. and as you soaked his shirt with blood, he highly doubted there was a chance you'd live. maybe it was for the best.

joel was just so angry. this was not what he wanted to find. he did not want to be responsible for another person, one who seemed like she didn't even put up a fight. had she walked thirty more feet she would've made it. he thought.

the thing about joel is that the things that softened everyone else up, just made him irritated. even the fact that ellie opened him up as much as she did, he even wanted to resent her for it. but he couldn’t, because to him he could never blame ellie for anything. she was just a kid. but she gave him something to fight for, gave him hope again in a world where hope was seen as childish, naive. he couldn’t resent her for that. 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

was this life after death? you knew your eyes were closed, but you didn’t know how you were still conscious. until you heard the sounds of beeping and heart monitors, you believed you had found purgatory. you wanted to smile, and it creeped on your lips until you heard the noises of what sounded like people shuffling around and immediately you shot up with your eyes wide. 

you were running on pure adrenaline. where am i? what the fuck? where is my gun? who the fuck are these people?

you looked around the room to see a woman, a man and another child  in  the beds, the woman was pregnant, the child was coughing into their arm. but it wasn’t until you looked right next to you to see a man with a mustache and a woman with locs standing closer to your hospital bed. 

“where the fuck is my shit?” you asked harshly, pulling the IV out of your arm and detaching any other wires on your body. 

“no, no honey don’t do that,” the woman said as she tried to step closer to you, and as you were going to defend yourself from her touch, you looked down and saw the swollen belly in all her vulnerability. so all you did was scoot further back into your bed, not wanting to get violent. that's a first.

“where is my gun?” you asked, looking around at the makeshift infirmary that was stocked with everything you could possibly need. 

“we have it. just for right now, you can have everything back just, who are you? was there anyone else with you? do you work for anyone?” the man said swiftly.

you just laughed breathlessly, looking down at the fact that you were naked in a hospital gown but feeling the sharp pain of the wound you remembered, now wrapped with gauze around your abdomen.

“i don’t have to tell you a fuckin’ thing,” you said shaking your head. 

“just let me go. i wanna go.” you couldn’t help but feel scared. the same fear that rattled you as a kid. you couldn't even meet their eyes. you forgot how to talk to people really.

“look, we can help you. i’m tommy, this is my wife maria. she managed and built a space for us to live with the help of her community, our community,  without the threat of those ugly fuckin’ things. you’re here in jackson, wyoming. it’s a safe community.” he said and you looked between the two. wyoming?

“we don’t take kindly to strangers, dear. and you happened upon an area that was real close to our commune, tommy and his brother found you, almost dead, bleeding to death.” maria said as she sat down on the other side of the bed, you just watched her. 

“why didn’t you just leave me?” you asked, weakly. you felt so powerless. so bare. no gun, no knife, no protection. 

“i told ya,” a gruff voice said, making your eyes search the room to see a broad dark figure walking to the edge of your bed. your eyebrows knit together at him and looked away quickly.

“what were you doin’ out there anyway?” tommy asked and you shook your head, looking down at your hands. 

“how long have i been here?” you ignored his question and tommy looked between maria and the man at the foot of your bed, who watched you closely. 

“a week.” you whipped your head to maria, asking with your eyes if she was serious. 

“you were taking your last breaths when they found you. you were so frozen, so stiff we didn’t really think you’d make it past that night. but, we managed to warm you up and put a feeding tube through your nose, stitch you up, hoping for the best. we weren’t sure you’d wake up.” maria informed and you ran your fingers through your hair, suddenly tired. 

“i need to go.” you whispered. 

“go where? is there someone you’re meetin’ or waitin’ on?” tommy asked. joel was silent, watching the exchange between everyone. but his eyes never leaving your figure. he looked at you like he didn't trust you, th same way you looked at all three of them.

“are you just gonna stare at me like a fuckin’ asshole or what?” you spit, looking at the man who was staring at you and glaring at him. he was making you so angry for some odd reason, not understanding why he’s just staring and not talking. 

“no. i’m not meeting no one. i don’t work for anyone. i don’t even remember where i was last before coming up here. i knew i wasn’t gonna make it.” you confessed and the three of them looked between each other. 

“you were alone?” maria asked, getting closer. you were so tired, so drained all of the sudden. 

“been that way since 2012.” you said.

“how old are you?” joel asked finally, his arms crossed against his chest. 

“i’m twenty five.” you said reluctantly and tommy shook his head, looking at maria. tommy was right. you were just a kid. 

“how long before i can leave?” you asked.

“i want you to stay,” she said and joel looked at her sideways. this wasn’t like maria, or tommy actually. joel wondered if this was putting everything at risk, if taking you in like a lost kitten was going to jeopardize everything. 

“you don’t trust us. that’s fine. you don’t want to stay? that’s fine. but letting you go back out there right now is suicide, and you know it. stay for a few weeks, or even a week. everyone deserves a home and a community, especially now. let me help you.” maria pleaded.

she didn’t know exactly why she felt so strongly about you, why she was okay with letting everyone else be denied and dumped from this place. even killed if they didn't leave fast enough. maybe it was her pregnancy, but she felt enough compassion to compensate for all three of you.

she sensed a sadness in you. everyone carried themselves in sadness, regret, guilt. but maria had never seen it so darkly, and she’s been around joel. she knew you could protect yourself out there, that’s not why it was suicide to go back in the open. it was suicide because she knew that’s what you wanted. she knew because she’s been there before. 

“why? what for? i’m just another mouth to feed, another person to take care of. it’s better if i’m on my own.” joel wanted to laugh honestly. he said the exact same thing, and honestly felt the exact same way. he understood where you were coming from, he saw the pain in your face, the eagerness to stand alone even if it killed you. 

“the more the merrier.” 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

you finally got your things back, but not how you remembered and when joel threw the backpack on your hospital bed, you glared at him. 

“where’s my walkman?” you asked and he raised his eyebrow. 

“your walkman? it’s 2024,” joel said as a joke and you glared at him, fisting the fabric of your backpack. 

“where is it?” you asked again and he shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. 

“it was broken, guess you landed on it or somethin’. maria took it down to get it fixed.” you looked down at your bag again and noticed your knife, ammo, and a smaller gun was still in there as well as cassettes that belonged to your mother, empty water bottles, tampons, and matches. you decided to get off the bed, leaving your backpack there and searching the room that was lined with hospital beds. 

“where are my clothes?” you asked him and he nodded to the shelf above the bed, and you sighed.

without missing a beat you swiftly got on the bed and stood up to grab the clothes, not the ones you came in but new ones, duller ones. it was a faded red t-shirt with some university logo, a black sports bra, black underwear and dark brown cargo jeans that were big enough to fit you. 

“can you close the curtain?” you asked, and he stepped back before closing it and letting you be in your own privacy to change. but you saw his shadow under the curtain, still standing there. 

“you don’t have to babysit me. i’m not gonna kill anyone.” you said as you removed the gown and slid on the undergarments quickly. 

“you think i want to? got a lot of other things to do, maria put you on suicide watch.” he said from behind the curtain, facing all the other beds and the exit. you scoffed and slid the shirt over your body, a little snug but good enough for you. 

you pulled the curtains away from you, grabbing your backpack and heading to the door that kept you. 

“where do you think you’re goin’?” he asked as he followed you, grabbing your wrist. 

“don’t fucking touch me, are you crazy?!” you asked and took the gun from your waistband, pointing it at him after cocking the hammer. 

“get your gun out of my face,” he seethed, letting your wrist go and staring at you with his hands at his side. 

“just let me go, don’t say nothin’ to them, let me be on my way. it’s what i want, and i know it’s what you want too.” you said and slowly backed away from him, watching him as carefully as he watched you. 

“i can’t let you do that,” he said.

you felt hopeless. like you were stuck there and even as you tried to back into the door, it wouldn’t budge. 

“fuck!” you screamed and used the back of your hand that was gripping the gun to wipe the sweat from your forehead.

“don’t do anythin’ stupid, just wait for maria. don’t do nothin’,” he warned and you shook your head. 

“or what?! you’ll kill me? here,” you said and cocked your gun again after letting the hammer go back into place, raising it to your temple. “i’ll fuckin’ do it for you. i’m dead anyways! i can’t leave, you’re keepin’ me here, what’s the fucking point!” 

for the first time in a while, joel felt his heart beat pick up in anxiety. he was nervous, a feeling he'd only had a few times in his life. not only because you were threatening to scatter your brains everywhere, but because you were doing it in front of three other patients, one pregnant, one child and one in a coma. not only will you traumatize him, but everyone around you and he can’t let you do that.

but a part of him feels for you. because he knows what that feeling was like. to put a gun to your own head and pull the trigger, only it didn’t seem like you’d flinch like he did when you pulled the trigger. you weren’t scared to die, he felt it. you pull the trigger and you’re dead.

joel had his hands up to you, suddenly wanting to take some of that anger and pain from you. you were nine to ten years old when you were forced to be a killer, and he knew it took so much away from you. you were desperate, you were tired, and he understood, for once in his life the sincerity and empathy was present. It was a weird feeling for him, to not want you here but to also want to make sure you’re safe from yourself.

he felt responsible now.

“give me the gun,” he said, stepping closer and closer to you as your finger danced on the trigger. you didn’t acknowledge the crying child, or the expecting mother clutching on to her belly. your eyes were on joels, turning from hard and angry to soft, worried, almost afraid. 

“i want to go,” you choked, tears streaming down your face as you pressed into the unwilling door. 

“go where? there is no where to go. i reckon your family is gone? hometown gone?” he said, his hands in surrender. 

“i shouldn’t be here.” he knew you weren’t talking about jackson. his heart twinged at it, it reminded him too much of when he and ellie witnessed the same thing a year back. he couldn't let it this happen again under his watch.

he saw your hand fall a bit weak, the barrel of the gun sliding on your temple. watching your every movement he stepped closer, and closer—until he was somewhat right in front of you. he figured if you wanted to kill yourself, you wouldn't have thought twice about pulling the trigger, you were unsure, he could tell. he took the opportunity to get as close as you allowed.

“you ain’t gotta trust us. trust is earned. but i can promise you that these folks won’t let anythin’ happen to ya,” he said, “i know what it’s like, i was you. couldn’t trust not a damn person, killed anyone i had to. i’ve lost too. but i found somethin’ worth fightin’ for.” 

you just listened. you wanted to fight him on it, you wanted to ignore everything he said and just pull the trigger. you felt it was destined, you couldn’t fight anymore, you didn’t want to. you kept the gun at your temple, and in the silence between the two of you, you hear an immediate worried and frantic ‘what are you doing’ from maria and tommy behind him. you couldn't take your eyes off of joel.

the grip on your gun just gets tighter, and joel notices. he shakes his head fast.

“stop! stay right there.” he said and held up a hand to them, still having his eyes on you. 

“i’m tired of fightin’,” he heard your slight texan accent, coming out more in the light of your crying.

maybe it was ellie, maybe it was him still mourning sarah, and all the women he failed. but he felt something in his throat tighten, watching you so vulnerable like this and he doesn’t even know you. he didn’t know why this was so different for him. he’s seen people do this, seen people want to fall off the edge. and for some reason, he can’t fail you. he can’t let you take your life. 

“if you stay here, you ain’t gotta fight by yourself no more. you ain’t alone out here,” joel said and reached slow to your hand. 

“let me help you, please,” you heard the honesty in his voice, how he was practicing pleading for you to put it down.

your eyes kept searching his as you took your lip between your teeth, streams pouring down your face. you let him grab the gun, click the safety on and put it in his waistband. and as you stood there, silently crying and staring into his eyes asking for help, asking for comfort—he couldn’t do it. he couldn’t simply wrap his arms around you to let you fall apart for a minute, he wouldn’t let himself. 

he was like stone, and even though he talked you off a ledge, his heart wouldn't open the way you needed right now. he was going to tell you to leave, to take it somewhere else because now you couldn't be trusted alone. he was angry now. the fact that you did that in front of not only him but a child, he thought you were selfish. but he couldn't blame you.

he knew something was off with you. he saw how this world chewed people up and spit them out, sometimes swallowing them whole. he knew what it did to people, turning them into monsters themselves or people too weak to fight. to him, you weren't the monster.

he was.

maria ran past joel even being five months pregnant, and took you in her arms once she got to you. but your eyes could never leave joels, you were stuck. you were out of it, out of your mind, almost out of your body. you didn’t want this life, and you didn’t want to be around strangers. for once, in a long fucking time, you were scared. 

[aficionadoenthusiast]

i think the most interesting thing about luke castellan's character is that no matter what he did, he is fundamentally a good guy.

i mean, obviously he didn't always succeed, but everything he did was for demigods and to help make demigods' lives better. he (rightly!) saw a problem in the gods and tried really hard to fix it which is how he got corrupted in the first place - because he wanted better lives for himself and his people. he didn't do anything for money or fame. he didn't even particularly care about power. he just wanted the gods to stop mistreating their children. if the demigods had a union, luke would be the forerunner.

and the funny thing about that is it actually took him a long time to decide he wanted to overthrow the gods. he ran away at 9, right? met thalia at 14? that's five years it took to be disillusioned, then three more to actually act on that hatred. it took percy about an hour to be disillusioned, and he was literally fighting gods within a week. without luke to go first, i imagine percy would have led a rampage the size of texas before his 14th birthday.

then you also have to look at his recruitment methods. again, he didn't promise the demigods he recruited anything besides getting even with their neglectful parents. even percy (and jason) promised kymopeleia temples in return for her help. he promised annabeth a place at his side (i think?), but he also asked for her help when he realized he fucked up. by the end of the series, he sacrificed himself to kill kronos! this is not a man who intentionally did evil; this is a traumatized teenager trying to make sure no more kids get hurt.

technically, he succeeded because he managed to help elevate percy to a point where he could ask for those things, but my god. this kid is the definition of a tragic hero.

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

Would you ever write a modern AU one shot/headcanons that would include Varang in any way? I don't think I've seen anyone write anything about her in the modern world. Can you see any universe where she would date Quaritch and be Spider's stepmother?

I’m not opposed to it and as I thought about your ask I definitely got ideas that I’m excited to share!

First I’m personally not into the idea of Quaritch and Varang getting together. I think she’s going to be way more crazy and evil than he is pushing Quaritch more towards the good guys. I don’t think he going to have a redemption arc by any means (nor does he deserve one) but I think for the sake of Spider he’ll be a begrudging anti hero. Also I can’t deny despite the fact the actors are playing characters that our roughly in the same physical age range I can’t separate the actors massive age gap from their characters. If they got together I’d just be thinking about how someone in their thirties is making out with someone in their seventies and cringe. So yeah I just don’t want to see that.

As for some modern au ideas:

So I don’t think I’m really theorizing when I say Varang is going to be a cult leader. It seems pretty clear from everything we’ve learned.

So in a modern a.u she’d still be a cult leader. She runs a compound down in Texas that’s fully self sufficient and off the grid. On the surface it’s a utopia. She takes in every “lost soul” who comes her way. Drug addicts, homeless, queer people, gender non conforming people and just people disillusioned with life and wanting something better. And at first it is great. Everyone gets a room to themselves. They get to pick a job on property, farming, taking care of livestock, managing the power grid, making clothes, cooking, those kind of things. If they need medical care or mental health care they get it completely for free. There’s a real sense of community that most people have never felt before.

It creates the foundation for complete devotion to Varang. Varang saved you. Varang gave you a life. A family. And she is the head of that family. They worship her like their god every night. Listen to her preach about life and the way things should be. How the rest of the world is evil and cruel. How she is the only one that can protect them from that.

If you want to move up the ladder you have to show how devoted you are to Varang. The first step is getting Varang’s symbol branded on your body, typically on the shoulder or wrist. They wear bright red and all wear their hair in the same style regardless of gender identity.

Of course the cult gets into legal trouble every once in a while. Family members of cult members who are worried sick about their child, or sibling, or spouse and try to sue or involve the police to get them back. Varang orders her most loyal to send them a message. They send snakes and dead animals in boxes. Draw messages in blood on their driveways. Stand outside their work for hours to intimidate them.

Varang starts stockpiling weapons preparing for the day when they’ll have to make a stand against the government. It hasn’t come yet but they are ready. Ready for full on war.

As for a story since I write manly about Quaritch and Spider I have an idea set more in my Military Brat au where Quaritch is an overbearing dad raising his son as a single parent. He’s so strict and smothering that at age 16, Miles Jr, who he refuses to call by his chosen name Spider runs away from home. Spider having been raised like he was in the military is really good at staying gone, having no issue living in the woods, sneaking onto delivery trucks, trains and buses until he ends up in Texas. Quaritch is hunting him down the entire time terrified for his son.

While in Texas Spider gets found by a truck driver and the driver is pissed at his hitchhiker. Spider is running for dear life. The driver chases him with a gun. At some point in the chase Spider trips, falls down a steep hill and into the dense foliage at the bottom. On his way down his ankle catches on something and twists. Luckily he loses the truck driver but now he can’t walk. He wads up his shirt to bit down on while he sets his own ankle. Then he rips it into strips, takes some thick sticks and wraps it around his ankle to stabilize it. He painfully limps his way to the road. Cars pass him up for hours. It’s one in the morning he’s freezing cold and starving when a bright red car pulls up. There’s two people in there mid thirties inside dressed completely the same in the same shade of red as the car. It totally creeps him out but he’s desperate for help. He gets in the car.

The compound seems really nice on the surface but Spider’s stomach is still squirming. He’s immediately taken to the med bay to get his ankle properly treated. Then they show him to the bathroom so he can have a hot bath. A hearty meal and fresh clothes are waiting for him in his room. Spider stays there while he heals but of course he never gives into their brain washing. The nightly gatherings where they all worship Varang freak him the fuck out and everyone is just too docile. Like a heard of sheep. Once he’s fully healed he’ll run again. 

After some investigating Quaritch finds out Spider is there. He calls the cops to get his son back but they drag their feet. They explain to Quaritch that his son is in a dangerous cult. A cult that will violently retaliate if they go after them. The authorities know it’s them but they have no real evidence. But if they could get some evidence of wrongdoing then they’d have reason to shut the whole place down. Quaritch agrees to enter the cult to get back his son and find a way to shut them down.

Spider’s been there for months at this point and he’s completely healed. But when he tries to escape he’s caught and brought straight to Varang. Her voice is smooth like a cats purr. She seems so gentle and understanding. To the motherless boy it’s so inviting and part of him want to give into her. But theirs a cruelty in her eyes. A harshness in her smile that puts him off. He wants to try and run again but instinct tells him that’s a dangerous idea. He’d have to bide his time, be observant and wait for the perfect opportunity if he was going to get away.

But one day he’s sitting in his room trying and failing to read a book, daydreaming out the window. At first he can’t believe but when he realizes what he’s seeing he’s insanely relieved to sees his dad walking up to the main house flanked by two higher up. He almost can’t remember why he ran away as he races from the room. He’s scared of this weird creepy place and he wants to go home. “Dad,” he yells running up to him.

His dad wraps him up in fierce hug, sighing in relief. “There’s my boy.”

“This is your son,” one of the higher ups says, clearly unhappy and defensive.

“He sure is,” Quaritch says putting an arm around Spider’s shoulders, “of course I was terrified when I’d first learned where my boy had run off too. But as I learned more about your place here - it seemed like paradise. I want to start again. I want to serve Varang.”

Spider gives him a look that screams, “what the fuck kind of koolaid have you been sipping.” The higher ups are satisfied with this answer though. But this is such a strange situation for them that they take father and son right to Varang.

The woman stoically takes them both in as a subordinate whispers in her ear. There’s a sharp intelligence in her eyes as she mentally dissect them. “Well, now I can see where Spider got his good looks.”

Quaritch scoffs, “his name is Miles,” the boy’s shoulders slump, gaze going to the ground, “and he takes after my late wife not me.”

Varang clicks her tongue her eyes saying sure whatever . “It’s been a joy having Spider here with us. He was in quite the state when we found him…”

“State? What state?” Quaritch asks in a panic his attention going to his son. He grabs the boy’s shoulder trying to get him to look him in the eye. “Miles? What happened to you?” He mumbles a response making his father’s anger flare. “Don’t mumble, answer me like a man!”

“I just twisted my ankle!”

Quaritch automatically went into helicopter mode, “twisted your ankle! Which one! How were you treated! Are you completely healed?! I want x-rays! I want your medical record! I…

Varang clears her throat to get his attention. “Well I see why you ran away.”

Quaritch snarls, “he was just being rebellious.”

“Why don’t you let Spider speak for himself.” All eyes turn to him. Spider stays quiet. “Were you afraid of your father Spider?”

“What? No!”

“I’ve never laid a hand on my boy!”

Varang raises a skeptical eyebrow, “well how was I to know? People who feel loved, safe and supported typically don’t run away from home.” Quaritch growls. “I have a proposition. I don’t believe that you are here for the reasons you say and I do not believe that you are as decent of a father as you think you are. But I would love to be proven wrong. So, tonight, unburden yourself.”

“What?”

Spider’s blood runs cold. He’s heard people talking about the “unburdening”. You sit around a fire and tell everyone your deepest secrets. It sounds simple but he’s seen it at a distance and it looks freaky.

Varang explains a simple version of it to Quaritch. He agrees to go through it.

That night father and son are led out to a field. The fire is already burning bright. Drummers are playing a stirring beat. Varang and her closest followers are decked out in bright red but more notable Varang is wearing a terrifyingly impressive head dress while everyone else is in horrific masks. On instinct Quaritch pulls Spider into his side. Spider happily accepts the protection, feeling like he’s about to be a human sacrifice. “Sit on opposite sides of the fire,” Varang purrs. Quaritch is reluctant to let go of his son but he does. They stair into each other’s eyes through the flames. Varang throws some kind of powder into the fire sending up a purplish red smoke.

Quaritch wants to run to cover Spider’s mouth. The boy is asthmatic and this smoke could cause him to have an attack. But he stays put. He has a sneaking suspicion that some kind of drug is in this smoke. He takes short slow breaths. He doesn’t want to get so stoned that he lets slip all the reasons he’s there. “Breathe deep,” Varang says. Neither do. A whole ten minutes of pounding music go by, the others gathered dancing around them. Spider is so dizzy. Quaritch isn’t as bad but he’s feeling it. Finally Varang asks, “Spider, why did you run away?”

“Because of my dad,” Spider says his words slurring. Quaritch knew that deep down. He just made excuses for himself and blamed his son so he didn’t have to deal with the pain of rejection and failure.

“What did your father do?”

“He’s so fucking controlling! I feel like a prisoner in my own home. I can’t hang out with my friends, I can’t join clubs or go on school field trips unless he’s chaperone. He tracks my location. He won’t let me eat junk food. He has a schedule for every day of the week. It’s down to the fucking minute! I can’t even express myself! He won’t use the name I picked. I can’t wear the clothes I want or style my hair the way I want. He wants me to be a mini him! And I couldn’t take it anymore! I couldn’t….”

Spider starts crying. Quaritch’s heart is breaking for him. “I just wanted to do what I thought was best for you…”

“This is what’s best for me! I feel like you’re crushing me! You reject everything I want to be! Can you even love me if I’m not like you!”

“Of course I love you! Don’t you ever think that I don’t!” It has to be the drugs getting to him because now Quaritch thinks he might start crying. “Every day you were away from me all I wanted was to have you back. God, I laid awake all night stairing at disgusting motel room walls thinkin’ I’d give anything just to know that you were okay. I don’t care how you dress or if you go hang out with your friends. None of that matters to me anymore! I just want you to come home.”

Spider is sobbing now, “I want to go home too dad!”

“But you are home,” Varang says dangerously sweet, “right.”

Quaritch is having trouble thinking through the fog around his brain. Focus he wills himself. “Yes,” he slurs, “we’re home now. We’re going to start over.”

“Excellent.”

“No dad!” Spider shrieks, “I want to go home! Please! I can’t stay here!”

“It’s okay son. Everything is going to be okay. You’ll see.”

The ceremony ends. It’s eerily quiet without the drums. Everyone is still. “Help them to their new home,” Varang says.

They’re brought to a decently sized two bedroom apartment. The furniture looks like it was all made by hand. Everything is painted in warm dark browns and bright reds. It’s not super inviting but it has everything they need.

It takes a couple hours but they eventually sober up. The first thing Quaritch does is checks the place for cameras and microphones. Sure enough he finds them in every room but the bathroom. He takes Spider in there to talk.

“Let me get a good look at y’a,” Quaritch says gently. Despite their reunion earlier in the day Quaritch feels like he’s really seeing his son for the first time. He cups Spider’s face in both his hands. He’s not my little boy anymore. It’s a painful realization but he’s looking at a young man. He’s lost a little bit of weight without his father’s workout regime and hearty protein rich home cooking. He’s wearing ripped jeans and a band t-shirt. His hair has gotten really long. It’s pulled back in a ponytail but Quaritch takes it out combing the curly strands with his fingers. His son looks insanely uncomfortable probably thinking his dad was about to go for the scissors. Quaritch smiles softly at him, “it suits you.”

Spider brightens, “thanks dad.”

Quaritch’s hand move to the back of Spider’s head. He pulls him in close so their foreheads touch. “I’m so sorry. For everything. I love you so much Spider.”

Spider feels like he might cry again. “I know. I love you too dad.” They stay like that a moment before breaking away. “You don’t seriously want to stay here right?”

“Fuck no. But they’re not just gonna let us walk out the front door. This cult is dangerous. Even the cops won’t mess with them. So we need to be quiet and careful. We’ll play along. Get evidence of any laws they might be breaking. That way we have something to use against them when we escape because you know they’ll come after us when we do.” Spider nods determined for them both to get free.

They move to the living room where they cuddle up on the couch. Quaritch wants to see Spider’s recently twisted ankle so Spider lays it across his lap. He turns it this way and that determining that it actually was well taken care of. Then they just relax together, happy to be together again. It’s a nice moment of peace despite the danger surrounding them.

And I’m going to end it there! I know how I would end this but I always love hearing from people. You all have given me some great ideas before and made me think about things I never would have on my own so feel free to reach out. 💞

[outrunningthedark]

I hate that people keep bringing back up Helena and Ramone's comments about stability from Eddie begins. Because as a parent, they were right to ask. Eddie clearly wasn't in a good place. He came back from an active war zone, he was clearly displaying signs of PTSD, and Shannon had just left. I'd be asking tough questions too if it looked like one of my kids was acting irradically and like he was about to spiral.

I don't think they were perfect or blameless, but they aren't the evil monsters fandom makes them out to be.

I wasn't following the show during s3 so I can't say how I would have felt had I watched that scene in real time without other's influence, but being years removed from it? Fandom (surprise, surprise) made a bigger deal of it than what it was because they felt sorry for Eddie and the predicament he found himself in. When Eddie's parents talked about stability, they specifically mentioned him working three jobs. Yes, Eddie working three jobs is a sign of a parent who is trying to provide for his son. Good for him. But what else does working three jobs involve? Barely or never being home. Chris had already "lost" his mother by this time. His dad wasn't a strong presence in his life because he was working. A six year old doesn't understand that dad's not around because he has to make money. A six year old just wants to know why dad isn't there, and why he has to keep going back and forth between houses depending on dad's schedule. That's what the stability was about. Letting Chris live in one place where he *knew* his grandparents could be around for him versus not knowing when dad was coming home from work or whether plans would fall through because dad's three jobs got in the way. Helena and Ramón were offering/willing to take Chris in while Eddie figured out how to balance fatherhood with career responsibilities. If he ever did. (The Eddie we saw in Texas was an Eddie who didn't know where his life was headed.) And you know what? Their suggestion is the reason why Eddie realized he was unintentionally letting Chris down. (He had to ask his son if he missed him for it to be true!) Their suggestion is the reason why Eddie finally realized he had to pick one path and stick with it. Their suggestion is the reason why Chris finally got the stability he needed. In LA. With his father. It's almost like tough love/an "ultimatum" of sorts was exactly what Eddie needed to get his ass in gear, no?

[acmoorereadsandwrites]

An Interview with Genoveva Dimova, Author of Foul Days

Genoveva is a Bulgarian archeologist living in Scotland and loves void cats, metal music, cheese, and Voice-y fast-paced books

Read here or on my substack

AC: Where did the inspiration for the witches’ shadows being linked to magic come from?

GD: Shadows are a common motif in Bulgarian folklore, and the idea that a person’s soul (or power, or essence) resides inside their shadow appears again and again. It is believed, for example, that stepping on someone’s shadow would bring the person ill health. If you’d like to get rid of an unwanted guest, a surefire way to do this is to sweep their shadow through the door. One of my favourite folkloric beliefs is the ritual of embedding, which is something that features prominently in Foul Days: the idea is that in order to make a structure, like a bridge or a wall, as solid and long lasting as possible, you need to embed someone in it, so that their spirit would protect it from evil. In some folk stories, the builders embed a living person, and in others—only the person’s shadow. It doesn’t matter which one of the two they choose, as a person without a shadow would grow ill and die within 40 days.

AC: The Foul Days are linked to the veil between worlds growing thin, which is present in Japanese, Irish, and Mexican traditions. Are there any cultural traditions in Bulgaria with similar ideas?

GD: I love this question! The short answer is—yes, absolutely. The long answer is that Foul Days is based around a real belief: in Bulgarian folklore, the Foul Days are the twelve days between Christmas and St John the Baptist’s Day, after the new year has been born but before it has been baptised, when the barriers between our world and the supernatural realm are thinnest, and therefore, evil spirits are free to roam the land. It was believed that during those twelve days, people should keep away from anything that would function as a doorway between worlds—all the mirrors in the house had to be covered, and washing had to be avoided, as water is a well-known method for transportation between realms. People also had to avoid going out after dark, hosting weddings or funerals, or conceiving, as any baby conceived during the Foul Days was sure to become a drunk or a rascal.

AC: Are there any writers writing Balkan speculative fiction you wanna give a shout-out to?

GD: This is a difficult question as very few Balkan authors have been translated into different languages, and their works are therefore inaccessible not only in the West, but within the Balkans themselves. There are more than a dozen languages spoken on this fairly small piece of land (Google tells me it’s roughly the same size as Texas), which means that we, too, have to rely on translations to read authors from other Balkan countries or cultures.

Anyway, with this caveat, here are some of my favourites:

For people who like literary fiction with a speculative twist, I’d recommend Time Shelter by Georgi Gospodinov. For a book that reads like a folk tale, Baba Yaga Laid an Egg by Dubravka Ugrešić. There is a new Croatian publishing house called Shtriga, which specialises in sharing speculative literature by Croatian authors with the rest of the world—they have a great selection of ebooks, some of which are free, so definitely check them out. The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova is a novel about vampires that takes us on a journey through the Balkans. Finally, Dark Woods, Deep Water by Jelena Dunato is a dark fantasy blending folklore and gothic horror in a setting inspired by the Eastern Adriatic, and I can’t recommend it enough.

When it comes to short stories, I loved the collections Mars by Asja Bakić and Impossibly Blue by Zdravka Evtimova, as well as the individual short stories 'The Language of Knives' by Haralambi Markov and 'The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Reporter' by Daniela Tomova.

AC: I will second the shout-out for Dark Woods, Deep Water by Jelena Dunato. A strong fantasy-horror debut that deserves way more love.

AC: Is the hair being connected to a witch's power also connected to Bulgarian folklore?

GD: Yes, definitely – like in many traditional societies, a woman’s hair was a way to communicate her status. A respectable unmarried woman would always wear her hair braided in public, and a woman who was married would not only braid hers, but also cover it. Female mythical creatures, on the other hand, like samodivas and yudas (forest spirits) or chumas (the personification of the plague) were often depicted with long, loose hair, indicating that they were wild and dangerous. There are a lot of rules surrounding women’s hair: in some parts of the country, cutting it with scissors is forbidden, and a flint has to be used instead. Hair that was cut was never disposed of lightly—it was collected, made into braids, and either burnt, hidden within the walls, or buried with the woman after her death. I’ve also heard of a belief that if a woman lets her hair grow too long, she’s tempting the evil spirits from the underworld to pull her down by it. Essentially, hair was seen as a symbol of the woman’s femininity, which, when uncontained (braided) can be dangerous to the social order.

AC: Growing up in the US, we so strongly associate the Berlin Wall with Germany and perhaps not how the Iron Curtain impacted the Balkans. When you sat down to write this book about Bulgarian folklore, was it a personal goal to connect it to Bulgaria's more recent past?

GD: I suppose, in a way. I grew up with my grandparents’ stories from the early years after the Berlin Wall was built, and for them, it was always a symbol of division, loss, and entrapment. It was essentially the physical manifestation of the Iron Curtain, and therefore, of the totalitarian regime. It was not only a physical barrier, but because of the strict censorship and the ban on anything too Western on the Eastern side of the Wall, it became an intellectual prison, too. I come from a family that had a lot of friction with the regime—one of my great grandfathers was sent to a working camp, another lost his job shortly after the communists came to power, for no other reason than the fact he was educated in Germany. My grandmother, whose mother and grandmother both went to university in France, and who spoke fluent French, was never allowed to travel close to the Bulgarian border—they were so scared she’d defect. It was her dream to see Paris, and she finally got to do it after the Wall fell. This was what I tried to do with the Wall in my book: recreate that feeling of being trapped, of having nowhere to go, no matter how bad things got. I thought it fit nicely with my folklore-inspired setting, because what is worse than having your city attacked by monsters every year than having your city attacked by monsters every year and having nowhere to escape.

AC: Kosara and Roksana's names almost mirror each other and contain almost all of the same letters. Was that an intentional way to signal that they are foils?

GD: The short answer is ‘no’. The long answer is that the naming convention of Foul Days is a bit of an Easter Egg that would only register to Bulgarian readers. Most characters from Chernograd are given Bulgar names (the Bulgars were a tribe that settled on the territory of what is now Bulgaria in the 7th century, establishing the First Bulgarian Empire – prior to this, they were semi-nomadic, living in the steppes of Central Asia). During this period, Bulgaria was pagan, with the Bulgars known for being excellent horse riders and fearsome warriors—and, according to sources from neighbouring Byzantium, barbaric and bloodthirsty.

The characters from neighbouring Belograd have names associated with the Second Bulgarian Empire (established in the 12th century), which was Christian, deeply influenced by Byzantine culture, and in general, seen as prosperous and civilized.

Anyway, the issue with this is that while we know of plenty of male Bulgar names, since historical sources have recorded rulers and nobles, there are only a few female names preserved, mostly from a slightly later historical period: most contain an ‘r’ sound, many contain a ‘k’ sound, and they all end in a vowel. This is why the two names sound similar.

AC: Foul Days has zmey, kikimora, houses with feet, witches, and more. What was your favorite part of Balkan folklore to bring into the story/world?

GD: It has got to be the zmey! I'm a dragon girl at heart (like some people are horse girls, I suppose) and I think zmeys are so cool, especially with their dual nature of both friend/lover and foe. In Bulgarian folklore, zmeys are often presented as benevolent creatures, guarding villages against other, evil types of dragons, like halas and lamias. Despite their generally nice demeanour, they have the habit of taking on their human form of handsome, blond men with blue eyes, and using it to seduce women, marrying them, and taking them to their underworld kingdom. It is believed that when a zmey falls in love with a woman, she'll grow ill, pale, and sad, which is seen as a folkloric allegory for depression. The trick to avoiding marrying a zmey is checking your handsome blond lover's armpits, as it's believed that even in their human form, zmeys have tiny wings under them.

AC: Dragon Girls unite!

AC: There's all kinds of advice out there in regards to the writing process, but I've found that the best thing to do is experiment with a lot of authors' processes until you find a combination that works for you. What's your drafting process like?

GD: I agree with you completely, and I’m actually still in the process of experimentation to try to find a process that works best for me. My drafting process for Foul Days was fairly chaotic, especially since it started with drafting the book in Bulgarian before half-translating, half-rewriting it in English for the second draft! I don’t do that anymore, even if it’s an excellent way to see the text through “fresh eyes” – it’s way too time consuming. What I do nowadays is:

1)    Come up with a pitch, in the style of a back cover blurb or a query letter, to make sure the fundamentals of the idea are there;

2)    Note down a handful of scenes I’m excited to write – those are usually the midpoint, the ending, and a scattering of fun scenes in between. I use those as motivation to push myself to draft, since it’s not my favourite part of the process (that’s revision)

3)    Start drafting!

4)    Get to the end of the first act, pause, and revise until it makes for a good foundation on which to continue building the narrative;

5)    Finish drafting!

6)    Revise, revise revise;

7)    Send the manuscript to a handful of trusted beta readers (usually 3-5)

8)    Revise, revise, revise;

9)    Send the manuscript over to my agent or editor;

10)    Revise, revise, revise;

11)    The end?

AC: Is it ever the end?

AC: Can we expect more dragon or shadow magic books in the future?

GD: Probably! I have a few ideas for books inspired by various other aspects of Bulgarian folklore, so I think I’m going to take a wee break from dragons and shadows, but given how much I love both concepts, I suspect they’ll continue to creep into my writing in the future.

AC: What's next on the horizon for you?

GD: So, Foul Days is completely done and out of my hair for the first time in six years, and I’m currently finishing up the revisions for the sequel, Monstrous Nights. Both are coming out within a few months of each other, Foul Days in June and Monstrous Nights in October, so I suspect I’ll be quite busy during that period. In the meantime, I’m working on a new story, which is likely going to be a standalone, set in a world inspired by the myths and legends of my hometown of Varna on the Black Sea coast – I don’t know if you find that where you’re from, but I always think coastal communities have their own separate culture, different from the in-landers, that comes with its own quirks, beliefs, and, of course, a tonne of sea monsters. So, I’m hoping that will become my next book—fingers crossed.

AC: Not sea monsters, for me, but aliens. And Big Foot. We love Big Foot in West Coast parts of the US.

AC: Some authors focus on food, others on clothes. What's your favorite way to worldbuild?

GD: You’re going to hate me for that answer – but it’s the vibes. Or, to use less wishy-washy terminology, it’s the atmosphere. I take a lot of inspiration from real-world places, and I like to stop and think about how they made me feel, and what I can do to translate this onto the page. As I’ve said above, for Foul Days, I really wanted to recreate the gritty, oppressive atmosphere of Cold War Eastern Europe, so I chose clothing, food, technology, celebrations, traditions—even weather—that in my mind, calls back to it. As an archaeologist, I’m very aware of how interconnected every element of a culture is with each other—how certain elements of clothing develop in tandem with access to certain foods, which is all related to trade, contact, technology level, and environment. So, when I worldbuild, I tend to start with a single high concept idea – like “fantasy Berlin Wall” – and attempt to find the elements that go together with that.

AC: Author as Brand gets thrown around a lot in some circles and not everyone likes it but it's impossible to stop the train at this point. What do you want your Brand to be?

GD: I’m in two minds about ‘author as a brand’, because I think it’s a phrase that gets used to mean two very different things. The first is, the brand of your writing, and I’m all for that – I’d like it if when readers see my name, they expect something based on Balkan folklore, with magic and witches, and probably monsters and murder, with flawed characters and lived-in settings. The second way I’ve seen ‘author as a brand’, used, however, is more like ‘author as an influencer’, and that is something I can’t get on board with, I’m afraid—it comes with an awful lot of expectations about you “curating” your online presence, and it also involves a lot of hard work and time, which is time that is ultimately spent not writing. So, I suppose what I’m saying is, I’d like my “brand” to come across through my writing, not through me as an individual.

AC: I couldn't agree more. Writers need time to actually write and edit and make the best books they possibly can. If they like social media, that's great, but if they don't, then it becomes a chore and perhaps a source of anxiety. 

AC: Is Kosara a metal fan or does she listen to bubblegum pop?

GD: What a cool question! As someone who’s really into music (I am, in fact, a metal fan), I actually spend quite a bit of time coming up with what kind of music various characters would be into – so I can tell you with absolute certainty that Kosara would tell you she only listens to old-school punk, but if you go searching around her record collection, you’ll discover she’s more into pop rock.

AC: We talk a lot in writers spaces about how you have to read modern authors to be part of the conversation going on in our genres. What books is your book in conversation with?

GD: I love reading recent books - I truly believe we're currently in the golden age of fantasy, when so many different voices are finally getting the chance to add their contributions to the genre. Some of the books Foul Days is in conversation with are recent novels inspired by various Eastern European folklores, like Naomi Novik's Uprooted and Katherine Arden's The Bear and the Nightingale. These books showed me that Slavic folklore is something readers enjoy which, as silly as it sounds, I previously wasn't sure about. They inspired me to write my own take, shining light on the folklore of smaller, South Slavic Bulgaria, and I really enjoyed playing with similar tropes, but adding my own twists to them, inspired by my own culture. One of the things I noticed about that modern "Slavic fantasy" movement is that it often features a romantic subplot between a young woman and an older, supernatural being - so, I couldn't resist but to turn this trope on its head, making my book also include such a romance, except it occurred in the past, the supernatural being never redeemed himself, and the relationship ended badly. Another book inspired by Eastern Europe I recently read and loved was The Sins on Their Bones by Laura R. Samotin, which similarly looks at the fallout at the end of an abusive relationship and the way some people become monsters.

AC: The Sins Upon Their Bones was wonderful. I think it's the first book I ever read exploring Ashkenazi Jewish folklore and I've recommended it to all my friends at this point.  

AC: Thank you so much for your time, Gen! 

Where to buy:

Mysterious Galaxy (and get a signed book plate while supplies last)

Waterstones

Amazon

Kobo

Barnes and Noble

Macmillan

Preorder Monstrous Nights:

Amazon

Kobo

Macmillan

[phoenixwatchesmovies]

2023 Favorites

I'm kinda glad I was keeping track of what I watched, in retrospect, because looking back over my posts this year, I realized I forgot about a lot of stuff. XD After looking over the recaps and excluding rewatches, here's my top ten New Stuff I Watched for 2023:

10. Cabinet Of Curiosities

Bizarre nightmares unfold in eight tales of terror in a visually stunning, spine-tingling horror collection curated by Guillermo del Toro.

If GDT is your guy, give this a watch. Creature features, cursed objects, aliens, you name it. 8/8 tentacled eldritch abominations.

9. Wolf Creek

Three backpackers stranded in the Australian outback are plunged inside a hellish nightmare of insufferable torture by a sadistic psychopathic local.

Holy shit, this was intense. And as I said initially, so mean. If you're into Texas Chainsaw Massacre, try this. I'm into franchise bingo, so I'm going to look into the sequels and TV series. 3/3 heads on a stick.

8. Requiem For A Dream

The drug-induced utopias of four Coney Island people are shattered when their addictions run deep.

I get the feeling this is one of those that hurts so much more on rewatching, so there's that to look forward to. I've also rarely seen movies that do so much harmonizing between the music and the visuals, and it was so satisfying. 4/4 refrigerator jump scares.

7. Evil Dead Rise

A twisted tale of two estranged sisters whose reunion is cut short by the rise of flesh-possessing demons, thrusting them into a primal battle for survival as they face the most nightmarish version of family imaginable.

This was probably the most fun I had with a horror movie all year, TBH. Horror exploring family dynamics will always be a fave, and this brought plenty of fresh stuff to the franchise while also holding onto the core traits. 5/5 Staffenies.

6. Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves

A charming thief and a band of unlikely adventurers embark on an epic quest to retrieve a lost relic, but things go dangerously awry when they run afoul of the wrong people.

This was the most fun I had watching a movie all year, period. If you know nothing about DND, it's a good fantasy movie. If you're a DND nerd, the game mechanics are baked into it. If you're a fan of found families, guess what! 6/6 stealth checks.

5. Cowboy Bebop

A ragtag crew of bounty hunters chases down the galaxy's most dangerous criminals. They'll save the world--for the right price.

I got exactly what I wanted out of this, so haters be damned. The anime is a masterpiece and a classic, but if you're not in the mood for the existentialism and other heavier themes, here ya go. 3/3 shower-bath-showers.

4. The Black Phone

After being abducted by a child killer and locked in a soundproof basement, a 13-year-old boy starts receiving calls on a disconnected phone from the killer's previous victims.

Near perfect, as far as I'm concerned. The older I get, the more kids-in-danger as a concept fucks with me, making this the most stressful movie I watched this year (though It Chapter One gave it a run for its money, and I still think they would make a great double feature). 5/5 black balloons.

3. Evil Dead (2013)

Five friends head to a remote cabin, where the discovery of a Book of the Dead leads them to unwittingly summon up demons living in the nearby woods.

It's gnarly. It's badass. I almost puked. I had THE BEST time. The story works as an effective allegory, the effects are gruesomely awesome, and the finale is metal af. Plain and simple. 70,000/70,000 gallons of fake blood.

2. The Crow

A man brutally murdered comes back to life as an undead avenger of his and his fiancée's murder.

Beautiful, sad, aesthetic for days, hella good soundtrack. *chef kiss* I still haven't seen The Batman, but they seem visually similar, so if you like that, you'll probably like this. For more in-depth thoughts, read my post. 1/1 epic rooftop guitar solos.

1. The Fall Of The House Of Usher

To secure their fortune (and future) two ruthless siblings build a family dynasty that begins to crumble when their heirs mysteriously die, one by one.

Not just a new favorite Mike Flanagan. A new favorite in general, and my number one for the year. I just screamed about this one last month, and I don't have anything more to add. I've seen Succession comparisons, and while I have no idea how accurate that is, there's my "if you like that, here's this." Holy crap. 7/7 deadly sins personified.

Happy New Year! 🥂

[piniatafullofblood]

Finally got around to doing the intro post thing. Okay! Hi, I’m Drift. They/them. My main content is gonna be fandom related stuff, the occasional political rant, long-posts where I message with my mutuals, and sometimes a diary. I’m 15, so keep that in mind and don’t be weird.

I’m pretty much your standard ‘of course you have blue hair and pronouns’ type person (except imo a lot less polarizing and violent than the blue extremists. NOT saying I’m a centrist but also not saying I’d vote yes for another hunger games) so if your somehow like a maga republican (oe a zionist) and you want to follow me, don’t, I don’t want you here. There’s gonna be a lot of anti capitalist/anti imperialist/anti police content here.

dni’s:

dni if you think humans are intrinsically evil. I don’t need all that coriolanus bullshit.

also, dni if you’re a leftist and feel comfortable ‘joking’ about harming right wingers ‘the same way they harm us’. if you were in a magical society where everyone saw and no one was judging you and there would be no consequences for lynching a right winger, can you say with a straight face that you wouldn’t do it? I think all human life is intrinsically valuable. even right wingers and even people who hurt others. if you think that too for everyone except right wing people, you are disregarding human life. dni.

last one: dni if you think people should be punished for consuming dark content about fictional characters. dark content is healthy, and Winston smith would hate you. You are my least favorite type of fandom trope.

for fandoms, it’s DW, mha, GO, the sandman, Loki, the mcu, I/ATSV, THG, MLB, nimona, ATLA (NOT lok) BTVS, SDV, SU, PJO, and also if you ask me about HP I will respond and I can still tell you all the lore even tho I haven’t participated in the fandom or read the books in years. I’ll add more as i remember them.

in ships wars; bkdk, lokius, yowzah, zukka, love square, spuffy.

navigation

things that matter to me masterlist for things that I would have pinned if what I have wasn’t more important

reference tag masterlist for resources that I want to have

#piniata politics tag for politic rants

#surviving texas 101 for advice/political theory related to living on the south

that’s it. be nice or I’ll block you.

[charleslee-valentine]

For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Fan Works Event Day 5: The Saw is Family

Ship(s): Lefton

Word Count: ~2,000

Warnings: Pregnancy and sexual themes, pregnant ftm trans character, discussion of abortion and miscarriage, implied abusive family dynamics, period typical transphobia, brief misunderstanding about consent.

note: This is the groundwork of an au where Drayton is Sissy’s father who raises her like a brother, rather than being just her brother. Inspired by this post from @fry-house

@texas-chainsaw-fanworks

________

Still living with his mother, it was nothing short of humiliating that he fell pregnant.

Leave it to Drayton to get himself knocked up just as soon as he got even a few folks to recognize his chosen name. Even mama was starting to be willing to call him by something other than a throwaway nickname like “girl.”

Not if he comes home with a round belly.

Boude would be the one to know what to do, but he’s also the one waving his dick around gettin’ people pregnant. One time. Let him get that horrible thing near him just once, and he ends up with child.

He’s heard the horror stories. About men like him so desperate to not carry a little one to term they end up bleeding out in their own bathrooms. That could never be his choice. Drayton’s too much of a coward to take his own shots, let alone perform an operation on himself.

He’ll have the baby. It’s just, he doesn’t have to pretend to be thrilled about it.

Can’t un-dead this rabbit, though he’ll certainly try to ignore it as long as he can.

When mama's sister Nancy was pregnant, she was out working on the farm ‘til she couldn’t even stand anymore. He’s got at least three or four more months in him before he’s resting in bed.

Except Nancy never had her baby. Maybe following after her isn’t the best idea.

Cold, sickening dread settles heavy in every bone that makes up Drayton body. Some things you just can’t wish away. Like the damned organs in his body that make it possible for him to even be in this mess, God knows Drayton tried to wish that the lady parts away.

Maybe this is punishment. A cruel fucking trick from the big guy in the sky himself for changing what ought not to be. Too damn bad God gets to sit on clouds all day while there’s mortals in their human body’s going through the evil he placed onto this earth. So fucking what if being a predestined, pretty little baby factory wasn’t the life Drayton wanted.

Damn it all to hell. Burn the bridges of the past self.

As much as he hates to admit it, if he’s going to be this stubborn, he can’t do it alone.

Already he’s suffocating under the weight. Or maybe he needs to loosen the bandages some. It’s the same damn issue either way, and he needs his boy to help fix it.

Drayton usually pays his visits under the guise of business. Trading meat for dairy, wool for fruit. Just in case the folks are home and he shows up without reason knowing damn well they don’t approve.

Though that cover today doesn’t go as gracefully as he’d hoped.

The packages he and mama wrapped up this morning for the job smelled something awful. Usually it don’t bother him at all, being raised in meat and everything, but he was off the path and hurling up his guts before he was even halfway to the neighbors. Heightened sensibilities.

That’s of course, how Lefty found him. Doubled over in the weeds. Sweaty and pale and a disheveled goddamn mess. No worse than the done deed itself, Drayton supposed. At least this time, he wasn’t totally vulnerable.

Still, he’d like to not be gawked at. He swipes the back of his sleeve, pulled over his hand, at his mouth, “You just gon’ stand there, Enright?”

“Right. Sorry.” Lefty goes into action mode quick, taking both of Draytons hands and steadying him, letting him choose how much contact he needs. Drayton settles for leaning into his side, so Lefty throws one arm around him to support him best he can. They walk together, at a pace set by the weaker one between them.

Growing a human ain’t easy work.

It’s silent until Lefty asks, hesitant but too concerned to let the unknown linger, “You.. alright, Dray?”

Before he can stop himself, Drayton scoffs, “You should know..”

Those big blue eyes sparkle with worry and remorse, “Did I do something?”

If he weren’t relying on him to walk, he’d be pushing the oblivious asshole away, “Oh yes sir. Oh-ho yes…”

Lefty gets him into his yard and sits Drayton down on a random crate, taking away the little excuse package. Thankfully nobody else from the Enright family is home at the moment, won’t be for a while either, so they’re free to talk in the open air. Mama’s lazy ass surely won’t come snooping.

Maybe he shouldn’t say that about her; Drayton’s not the only one going to have a baby. Mama’s six months or so along. Just a few ahead of her son. That’s half the reason he’s fucking terrified. Having kids that close together, they might as well be siblings.

Lefty don’t know the reason yet to be afraid as he should be, so he keeps prodding, “Whatever I done.. Let me make it right, lover.”

He’ll blame the sickness for how red his face gets, a fever at fault for the warmth under his skin. Blame that quickly turns into frustration and lashing out at him, “This one, you can’t fix. Can’t just, fuck it away, ‘cause- ‘cause thats the damn problem, you hear!”

Lefty’s face sinks. The dread and the anguish in his features, tells Drayton he gets the wrong implication.

He sounds like he’s choking, “I’m sorry, I-I thought we both..”

Drayton cuts him off. Angry as he is, he doesn’t want that kind of anguish in Boude’s heart.

“You’d be right, Enright. But it’s your damn hair-trigger got us into this mess anyhow.”

Confusion. Revelation. Something else unreadable. Almost.. pleasant.

“Are you telling me you’re-“

“Yessir.”

“Drayton that’s-“

“Don’t tell me. I don’t need your damn opinions. I’m keeping it, damn it.”

Really, he shouldn’t be as confident as he is. Lefty Enright can be trusted, sure, but that don’t change that he’s an open transsexual, and now a pregnant one at that. A poor little farmer's child in the most fragile of situations, acting like he has total control.

His Boude is more than used to that. Lefty smiles gently, “I was going to say it’s great.”

“You’re not the one lugging it with you.” Drayton counters.

He won’t argue that it’s a positive. Or even that it’s amazing really. Every part of him is just so afraid, so not used to this particular struggle on top of all the others that he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Really, he feels guilty for taking it all out on his boy.

The very same who so heroically offers, “I would if I could. For you.”

Lefty bullies his way onto the crate seat next to Drayton and holds him. Proving even more of his gentle and sweet nature. His face won’t show it, but Drayton knows he’s desperate. Trying to be heard.

His heart wants to give in. So badly. To roll over and show his (swelling) belly and let Lefty have the validation. For the moment, he’ll indulge some, by leaning heavily into his embrace.

Something rises up. Not just bitter bile, but even harsher words. Mostly, dear.

“That don’t make you some saint, you know that? You still got an unwedded man, a queer, pregnant.”

And then he hurls onto the grass. Instant Karma.

Lefty just rubs his back through it. Soothes him. Only argues with him a little bit, “But I’m a lover, right? A partner, who done nothing but care for your little ass. That makes me a father too.”

A father. They both will be.

They’re only young. Not too young to handle it, but life just started for real. Popping kids out is a lifelong investment to no longer goin’ sneaking. Experimenting. Whatever you could call what it is they’ve been doing together.

It’ll be expected that they get married right away. Before this damn bump starts to show itself would be ideal. A nightmare for someone whose legal name on the certificate wouldn’t match the one his favorite people know him by.

Drayton isn’t ready to face those realities. He shakes his head, pulls away from Lefty just a little, “We can worry about that in a few months.”

It’s not outright denial. He wants Lefty involved and that is thankfully obvious. The intricacies really can wait. For the sake of him not losing his mind already.

Lefty agrees, focusing on the present as well, “What do you want from me right now?”

“Take me inside. Please.” Drayton holds his arms up, finally allowing himself to be as weak as he feels.

He’s not expecting to be fully lifted up and carried there, but since he’d just delivered some relatively life changing news, he’ll let that slide as well.

Lefty assures, as strong willed as he is physically tough, “We’ll figure it out, Dray.”

That’s not the part Drayton was afraid of. He never doubted that Lefty would want to do right by the kid. A man who places that much value on his family isn’t going to just kick a child he’d created to the curb.

His partner is maybe another story.

Lefty loves him and he loves Lefty, easy, but it’s not been as simple navigating what that meant when halfway into their almost decade long relationship, Drayton confessed the truth about the disconnect between body and identity. His boy has always been perfect with it, which is what makes it so terrifying. Unlikely as it is, there’s always that whisper that he’s only been pretending to accept it.

Now that Draytons put out, and of course got knocked up on the very first time doing so, there’s no real reason to keep him around. Lefty could pick up the kid on the weekends, settle down with a nice woman. Move the hell on.

They’re so in sync at this point, Boude sort of reads his mind, “I’m not gonna leave you.”

Tears burn in his eyes and ball up his throat with emotion. Drayton just nods a little in acknowledgment of his boy, not saying a word still.

It’s exactly what he was thinking and it still blindsides him. Some wounds, like the ones that come to be when his daddy left years ago, well maybe they never close up.

Lefty can’t take the silence. He tries to prompt, “I lov-“

“Enough.” Drayton stops him there. He knows it already. But talking about it isn’t his thing. Loving somebody is enough without all the sappy bullshit. “I’m not ready to talk.”

Lefty looks sad. Frowns a little bit. But he doesn’t argue. Never does. That sort of makes Drayton feel worse.

But they really will talk. One day down the line. Give it some time and he’ll be ready.

He places a hand on his belly. The baby is too small to be moving yet. Probably about the size of a pebble. There’s time. Mama will have her baby first, almost like a trial run.

Yeah.

They’ll be able to do this.

Shaking, Drayton takes Enright’s hand. He doesn’t know what to do with it, it’s awkward, but he wants to show him, in some minute way, that he gives a shit about him too.

A small smile is all the acknowledgement he gets. It’s enough.

Hopefully it’ll be enough to save them until Drayton is ready to talk more. Best he can do now is stay curled up in Lefty’s arms for the few hours he’s able. Going back home at the end of the day won’t be easy, it never is, but neither will parenthood be, so. Guess it works out anyhow.

[transgenderer]

john described absolute lithops effect as a less melancholy predecessor to in memory of satan which i think is interesting. lyrics and some notes+quotes under the cut

absolute lithops effect

After one long season of waiting After one long season of wanting I am breaking open My insides are pink and raw And it hurts me when I move my jaw But I am taking tiny steps forward And I feel sure that my wounds will heal And I will bloom here in my room With a little water and a little bit of sunlight And a little bit of tender mercy, tender mercy The big trucks come up the highway And the big wheels rattle my windows And night, night comes to Texas After one blind season alone in here After one long, sweltering summer I'm going to find to exit And I will go to the house of a friend I know And I will let myself forget With a little water and a little bit of sunlight And a little bit of tender mercy, tender mercy

in memory of satan

Got my paintbox out last night Stayed up late and wrecked this place Woke up on the floor again Cellphone stuck to the side of my face Dead space on the other end Perfect howl of emptiness Cast my gaze around the room Someone needs to clean up this mess Tape up the windows Call in a favor from an old friend Make some scratches on my floor Crawl down on my hands and knees In old movies people scream Choking on their fists when they see shadows like these But no one screams cuz it's just me Locked up in myself Never gonna get free Something sacred, something blue Cannons in the harbor dawn I crawled down here to dig for bones One more season then I'm gone Black drapes over the crosses Call in a favor from an old friend

a lithops is a stone plant, yknow the little succulents that look like rocks, and "split" in the middle from which they bloom.

ALE quotes:

This is a song about sitting alone in a room waiting for something to happen. A subject that's most insufficiently addressed by pop music. You know, because not everybody really is going to find the one they love, but everybody is going to spend some time alone in a room waiting for something to happen

I'm of the belief that there are only so many themes for songs, and you can do a number of different -- dressing up of the things that you tend to obsess about, but I think most songwriters have a few things they tend to obsess about. I have recurring images and phrases, right.... But one of mine, uh, which is not surprising to me when I think about it, is, um, is emerging from some place, uh, after a long period of, uh, of waiting to emerge, right, for whatever reason, right, whether, you know -- some, some people in my songs who are emerging, it's because they were too wounded to come out, and some feel like they can't come out. And I don't know if this is the first, uh, occurrence of that, but I noticed it's like a predecessor to In Memory of Satan, which is sort of, uh, I think the more melancholy version of this one, which is called 'Absolute Lithops Effect'

IMoS quotes:

Everyone has spent those years, or maybe entire seasons, indoors where you don't really leave. That's when you go into the inner realms of the spirit. This guy's in hiding, and it's this most spiritual realm. That old saying holds here, that you can't be in a cave unless there's an exit, or else it's a grave

Short version is it's about how you have to worship the devil sometimes. It's not that song. Different kind of worship, same kind of devil. It's about the evil things inside you that you have to learn to celebrate and live with and think of as a part of the whole that makes up you instead of rejecting them because you won't be able to shake them and sometimes they will need to be, as we say in our Wiccan circles, honored. And I frequent several Wiccan circles. My dancing is celebrated at them

and my favorite:

Now this is a song about how, when things are going very badly for you, like really badly for you in your personal life, not in your relationships – that’s part of it, but it’s all rolled into one, because things are bad in your head, and in your heart, and in your body, and everywhere. Bad, terrible. And you reach this point of stasis with it, and then it begins to feel like progress. It’s not like you’re getting better, but you’re getting better at not being well. [audience laughs] It’s funny now, right? At the time, it’s maybe less funny. At the time, it feels more like demon possession, but it feels like the moment of demon possession where you go, “Man, if I’m gonna be possessed by a demon, then fuck it. Let’s just demonically possess this world. Let’s just do the things we demon-possessed people do. If people can’t handle my possessed self, that’s between them and whatever god they worship, but as for me, in my house, we shall worship the devil.” [audience cheers] But this is the thing I’m always trying to point out. We say “woo!” about that, but the devil I��m talking about is not the devil you actually like, it’s not the devil of whiskey and smokes or whatever. It’s the devil who stands between you and the things you hoped to become. The devil who stands between you and your better self. The one with whom you form an allegiance at some point in your life, because you can’t escape him any other way. And then later, you recall this time with great trembling. And this is called “In Memory of Satan.”