#thank you again this was goddamn awesome.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 10 - Look And See

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Going back to my roots (forced proximity)

Chapter title from Thank You by Led Zeppelin

Word Count: 17k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You, Sam, and Dean finish a case from Ruby, and it has consequences. Usual warnings.

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

Chapter 9 - Chapter 11

Read on A03!

“Can you drive any fucking slower?”

Dean shot Her a glare in the rearview mirror, trying not to get lost in how Her eyes were shining in the low light of dusk, or how all Her features seemed to be washed in the cool, pastel colors of sunset. “No, Princess, because I’m trying not to give the cops an excuse to pull us over after you blew our fucking cover-“

“I did not blow our cover,” She hissed. “I said we needed to leave now, and you decided to stick around and try to find more caviar-“

“We weren’t done, and I was hungry-“

“You’re always hungry! And we were done, you just don’t listen to me-“

“Maybe I don’t listen to you because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Her eyes narrowed, and Dean could almost feel Her gaze burning and twisting on his skin. “We both know that I’m the only one who knows exactly what I'm talking about-“ She paused, and Dean could see Her giving Sam an apologetic grimace in the mirror. “Sorry, Sam-“

“It’s fine.” Sam shrugs, his attention forcefully fixed on the book in his lap. Dean had a feeling Sam had entirely been tuning them out. “I mean, you’re not really wrong.”

“Don’t tell her that, Sammy, she’ll explode from her ego-“

“My ego? That’s fucking rich from you, Winchester-“

His grip began to strangle Baby’s wheel. “At least my head is in the game, sweetheart-“

“My head is in the game-“

“Didn’t look like it was,” Dean hissed. “It looked like you were more worried about flirting with that old son of a bitch rather than getting the knife-“

“It’s not a knife,” She snapped. “And I wasn’t flirting, I was looking for information, dumbass-“

“Yeah, that seemed to really pay off for you-“

“It did-“

“Dean.” Sam cut in with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You guys can keep fighting, I just want to make sure you remember-“

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m going to Norfolk, Virginia, and the black-eyed bitch will meet us there.”

“Ruby’s trying to help-“

“Well, shit load of good it’s doing, we didn’t even get the damn knife-“

“It’s not a knife.” She leaned forward, resting Her forearms on the bench, and Dean could feel the heat from Her body. It was a little dizzying, and She smelled like sugar and fruit, there was that damn fruit again-

Sammy was frowning, shaking his head. “Ruby said it was a blade-“

“And She was wrong. And I’m-“

“Right?” Dean muttered under his breath, glowering at the road. “You’re always right, aren’t you-“

“Yeah, I am.” Her words were clipped, and Dean hated how that made his heart split and howl in his chest. “And you better say thank you, because I didn’t break my nail just for-“

Dean snorted, and he hated the sound. It was louder than it should be, and toxic in his ears. He hated all of this. He didn’t know how to stop it. “How fucking tragic, her majesty broke a nail-“

“It hurt, dickwad. And,” She leaned back, only for a second, and Dean had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop himself from reaching over the bench and pulling Her back to where he could still feel her warmth. “You’re welcome.”

Sam was frowning, twisting in his seat to look at Her, and Dean wished he could do the same. Especially as Sammy gasped, and he felt as if his jaw was going to snap and his teeth were going to grind to ash. What was She doing that made Sam gasp, why did She always have to be so awesome and insufferable and annoying and brilliant, why couldn’t Dean just know when to quit, why wouldn’t she just leave him alone to die in goddamn peace-

“When did you-“

“While Dean was drinking half the bar,” She cut Sam off with almost a sneer, and it was burning over Dean’s head. “I got the museum curator to show me the collection.”

“And that’s-“

“Yep.”

Sam swallowed, and when Dean glanced over, the kid’s eyes were nearly bulging out of his head. “And you’re sure-“

“I’m always sure, Samuel.” Her tone was smug, and Dean could picture the proud, pretty smirk on Her face. “And it’s not a knife. It’s an arrowhead.”

Sam reached back, Dean heard a slapping sound, and when he glanced in the mirror She was clutching something to Her chest, glaring at the front seat.

“Don’t touch it.” She snapped, and Sam blinked at Her.

“It’s just a rock,” Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a what the hell is happening look. 

Dean didn’t know. With Her, Dean never fucking knew.

“It’s not- You-“ She took a deep breath, Her voice suddenly far too soft and measured. “Just, I’m going to hold onto it, okay?”

“But-“

“Sam. Please.”

Sam frowned at Her, but nodded, and Dean scowled.

He had to bite down vile, spitting words about Her thinking she was better, about not even trusting them to hold the weapon. There was a line, and Dean refused to cross it. He couldn’t stop toeing right up to it—driven by the bitter, furious part of him that still hated how She’d lied about being sick, how She’d left him fucking dying in the hospital, how She was better and Dean couldn’t be allowed to have her—but he wouldn’t cross it. He couldn’t leave a real mark on Her. It would fully drive Her away, make her finally snap and leave him in the mud for good.

And She’d been working with them for several weeks, and Dean was still being a selfish piece of shit. 

He couldn’t fall out of Her orbit. He couldn’t bring himself to save Her from himself, from all the horror that came with being in his life, but he couldn’t hate Her enough to lie that he didn’t want Her here and mean it. He couldn’t just mean it.

Dean couldn’t sneer that She knew everything and believe it to be the truth in his bones. He couldn’t snap that She’d been flirting with that old asshole—and he knew it was the museum curator, and he knew it was for the case, and he didn’t care—and not put extra venom in his voice because She wasn’t smiling at Dean like that. She was barely smiling at Dean at all.

He didn’t blame Her. He was being a dick, but it was for Her own good. He was lying, but it was for Her.

He repeated, over and over in the dead of night, that it was for Her. For the best. And, it was but he still couldn’t quite convince himself. 

He had five months left. If he was smart, Dean would stop swallowing his crueler words and just vomit up every false reason he hated Her—She was too pretty, She did strange things to his heart and body he didn’t like not being able to control, he’d follow Her anywhere but knew she wouldn’t do the same for him—until She left, and he’d rescued Her from caring about him.

Because Dean was damned. 

But he never wanted to be damned for hurting Her. 

So he was being a fucking asshole and not crossing the line, because he wanted Her. He couldn’t stop wanting Her, he didn’t know how, it had become such a critical part of him now—to always crash down, down, down into Her and that soft, sliver light that She always cast over the pit inside of him, even when She hated him and he was supposed to hate Her—that Dean was pretty sure he’d only ever stop wanting Her when his soul was carved up and split into pieces.

Yet he still wouldn’t tell Her. He still couldn’t allow himself to look Her in her bright eyes and tell her I’m dying, Princess. I’m pretty much already dead.

Dean didn’t have a good enough memory to keep track of all the lies he was telling Her. And Sammy was barely creative enough to come up with a proper story that explained the Devil’s Gate and Azazel and Lilith while completely omitting the whole demon deal thing.

But they managed.

And She had no idea.

She believed they were hunting Lilith because that was their job. That they were researching crossroads demon because Lilith was known to work with them. That they were working with Ruby, getting this arrowhead for Her, because they needed anything at all to try and kill Lilith. 

Dean had called Bobby, and told him that, under no circumstances, could he tell Her about the deal. About Dean’s timer, and how it was slowly creeping closer and closer to zero. That they were hunting together again, and Dean wouldn’t ask Bobby why the hell he’d lied about Her being sick, as long as Bobby didn’t rat them out. 

“I won’t say anythin’ unprompted,” Bobby had grunted through the phone. “But if she asks, I ain’t gonna lie to her.”

Dean had scowled into the air, keeping a careful eye on the sidewalk through the window. She and Sammy had gone to get coffee. Dean had needed to wrap this up before they got back. “Bobby-“

“No. You know you’re my family, boy, but she’s always gonna be first.” Bobby had sighed. “Listen, I won’t tell her ‘less she catches it herself. But you know she’s far from dumb, Dean. She’ll pick up that something’s off, and there ain’t nothin’ that’s gonna save you from how pissed she’ll be that you kept it from her. At least try and give her the dignity of learnin’ it from you.”

Bobby had hung up, and Dean hadn’t told Her. He couldn’t. Bobby and Sam didn’t understand that he just fucking couldn’t. 

Couldn’t tell Her.

Couldn’t fully push Her away.

“How are you sure?” Sam was watching Her carefully, and Dean kept his eyes on the road. She was there. Right now, Her being there was all the relief he could allow himself. “I mean, I trust you, but we just need to be positive before we show this to Ruby-“

“It’s jade, and that’s what Ruby told you it would be, right?”

Sammy nodded. “Yeah, but-“

“And if you trust her-“

“I do.”

Dean frowned. Sam, for some reason, did seem to trust Ruby. Dean didn’t, because She was a demon. Being trustworthy was against her freakin’ nature.

“Well, she said it would have writing on it, right-“

“Yeah, but-“

“Look.” Dean saw Her shift in the rearview mirror, and felt Her brush his arm as she leaned back forward. 

Little sparks flew through his body, and he sat a little taller, and he could see Her side-profile in his periphery and She was glowing, and there was the fruit again-

She was trying to make him crash the car.

“That’s Hebrew.” She tapped the arrowhead she spoke. “That’s Arabic, and that’s-“

“Latin.” Sam finished, and Dean rolled his eyes. Fucking nerds. “What about that one-“

She jerked Her hand back as Sam went to touch the arrowhead, and elbowed Dean in the shoulder.

He grunted, gritting his teeth as the dull pain. “Son of a bitch-“

“Shit, sorry, De-“

“Whatever.” He muttered, refusing to look Her in the eyes. She’d almost called him De. And maybe She’d been about to say Dean, but that wasn’t any better. His whole body felt like it was buzzing and heavy, and took a tight grip on the wheel to stop himself from leaning closer to Her. “Answer Sammy’s question.”

“Yeah, it’s, um-“ She swallowed. Dean could goddamn feel Her gaze. “Sorry, it’s just like, witch symbols. Probably.”

Sam’s face twisted slightly, and Dean didn’t understand that look. It was more tense than Sam’s usual, doubtful bitch-face. It was almost pained. Weary.

“Probably?” He asked, and She shrugged.

“Yeah. You’re the one who said it’s a witch artifact-“

“Ruby said it’s a witch artifact, I just passed it on. And, I dunno, can you not tell-“

“Tell what?” Her voice became clipped again, and something in the air shifted. Became heavier, more taut. 

“That it’s a witch artifact-“

“I know all the same things you do. If Ruby says it’s a witch, it’s a witch.”

Sam frowned, Her arm brushed against Dean’s again, and the taut thing was now frayed. 

Dean didn’t know what was happening. 

“Okay.” Sam broke their odd stand-off first, letting out a slow exhale. “I just wanted to-“

“Be sure.” She muttered. “Yeah, I know.”

There was a long pause—Dean forcing himself to focus on the low sound of the radio rather than how close She was, how her breathing was heavy and measured, how he wanted to follow the pattern with his heartbeat until he was moving with Her all the time—and when She leaned back, Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her small frown in the rearview mirror. 

“What did Ruby say this was for?” 

Sam shrugged, turning in his seat as he spoke. “She told me it could help kill anything inhuman or unholy. Stuff that even her knife and the Colt can’t gank.”

“The nasty sons of bitches,” Dean muttered. “Worst of the worst.”

There was another pause, and when She spoke again her voice was small. “I- anything?”

“Powerful things,” Sam explained. “Ruby said it was designed for things outside of nature. Like Lilith.”

“Like Lilith.” She repeated, and She sounded strange. Nervous.

Dean glanced back in the mirror to see Her curled into the backseat, turning the arrowhead between Her fingers with a tight frown, Her body braced in the way it always was when She started to freak out, her free hand gripping slightly at Her throat, that little wrinkle in Her brow obvious and prominent-

He couldn’t reach back and run his thumb over, no matter how much he itched to. She probably wouldn’t even let him. 

But God, the sight of Her like this made him feel sick. He hadn’t seen any real, full episodes since Her return, but he’d seen the bags under Her eyes, the raised marks on Her skin, the dried blood around Her nails.

It wasn’t his place to say anything anymore.

But it still torn him to pieces. Still made him feel like he was doing something wrong, still made Dean feel wrong. If he was good, he’d never allow something as amazing as She was to be in pain. He’d stop being selfish and set Her free of his burden, because even his proximity stole and hoarded Her light. 

But he needed Her here. Even if She couldn’t be his.

And he needed Her to stop clawing at Her throat. 

So he did the only thing he could think of, and coughed for Her attention.

Her eyes flicked to his in the rearview mirror, and they set off fireworks over his ribs. Colorful and hot and bright and Her-

“Nice work.” He muttered. “With the case. You were-“ Dean choked on the word right. Of course She was right. She was the only right thing in the universe. “You did good.”

He wouldn’t apologize. Dad said to never apologize for making the smart, right call, even if it was the tough one. Especially if it was the tough one, because that meant he was being strong, and it wasn’t his responsibility to make sure people understood that.

And what he’d said seemed to be enough. She sat a little taller, Her chin tilting a little higher, and when She spoke again Her voice was back to its usual tone. Smooth and clear and designed to haunt Dean in his sleep.

“Of course I did good.” She snapped. “I know what I’m doing, Winchester. I always do.”

Something in Her suddenly seemed to be glowing, leaking out through Her eyes on Dean’s in the mirror. 

It made Dean glow. Like he was being called further down into Her. He didn’t know how the hell She always did that to him. He’d likely never get a chance to find out. 

So all Dean did was roll his eyes and look back to road, because now he had a new lie to drill into his brain.

The lie that—if that hadn’t succeeded in returning Her to the proud, sharp, blinding woman She usually was—Dean would’ve said sorry.

That if She ever did lash at him with words that left bigger and more purposeful scars than the ones he already carried—the ones that seemed to line his every thought and breath, where he was haunted by Her when she was gone and consumed by her when she was there, and he was almost certain She didn’t even know how deep she was branding him—Dean would fall to his knees and fucking grovel for Her to heal him. For that shifting, easy light to cast over him and Her warmth to fuse him back together, better than he’d been before. For Her.

Dean would do most anything for Her.

And that meant—even if Bobby and Sam disagreed—lying to Her about the deal. 

“Dean,” Sam was shifting through his backpack as they pulled into a gas station, his attention mostly focused on trying to find a credit card that hadn’t gotten frozen. “If they don’t have pie-“

“We’re in Carolina, they’re gonna have freakin’ pie-“

Sam sighed. “Yeah, but if they don’t-“

“They will.” Dean snapped. The world was already fucking tormenting him. They didn’t need to take away his pie as well. “Pie, Sammy. Nothing else.”

“Dean-“

“Pie-“

“We’ll find you pie, you giant baby.” She rolled Her eyes from the backseat, stretching as she scooted to the door. Dean could see a little bit of bare skin from the movement.

His pants got a little tight.

He was fucking pathetic.

Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a weary look from the corner of his eyes. “We can’t control what the gas station has-“

“We’ll figure it out.” She shrugged. “C’mon, buddy. Let Deano brood in peace.”

Dean scowled, half because of Her drawling, bored use of Deano that still made him bend a little much for her, and half because he wasn’t brooding. And if he was, he should be allowed to. He was dying-

She didn’t know that. She was going to find him pie anyway. 

And he hated this.

It was the good moments that were the worst. Moments when they glanced at each other when Sam said something dramatic, and he wanted to whisper a joke, but he wasn’t allowed to anymore. Moments where they brushed past each other and didn’t flinch, where Dean would see Her early in the morning and She’d look downright adorable with that small, pouting frown. 

Moments like this one. Where She got back before Sam, passed Dean his pie without a word, and sprawled out in the backseat. And Dean could glance at Her as he filled up Baby’s tank, and She fit so naturally that he wasn’t sure how his very foundation hadn’t crumbled to nothing while She was gone.

She looked beautiful. She was wearing the jacket he’d left Her, and Dean could see the poke of the blade he’d given Her, and she was frowning at the broken nail she’d mentioned earlier, and it would be so easy to reach out and run his thumb down Her nose until she let out a soft, easy breath and everything was okay again.

“Have you met Ruby?”

Dean blinked at Her. “Yeah.”

She hummed, not looking away from Her nails. “What’s she like?”

“She’s a demonic bitch.” Dean muttered, glaring at the gas pump, and She snorted. 

“Eloquent, De.”

He felt like he was falling from a million feet. She’d really called him De again. Out of fucking nowhere, like nothing had happened, She was smiling at him and calling him De and there was something in Her that was guarded and Dean wanted to shred it down and crash right into Her-

“Why are you working with her?” She asked, tilting Her head at him. “Is it because of Sam?”

“He trusts Ruby.” Dean’s words were pushed through his teeth. “And I trust him.”

“Should I trust her?”

Dean let out a dry chuckle. “Gonna matter what my answer is?”

“Yeah.” She said the word like it was nothing, and Dean’s lungs stuttered and caved for a brief second, as if he’d just been shot. “I didn’t ask for shits and giggles, Winchester-“

“Then don’t.” He grunted. “Don’t trust Ruby.”

“Alright.” She shrugged. “I won’t.”

There was a pause, and Dean didn’t know why She wasn’t trying to fight with him. He didn’t understand Her, how she could be acting like nothing was wrong when it so clearly freakin’ was, when they hadn’t even dared to speak about how She’d left him and lied and obviously didn’t want anything real to do with Dean-

“Did you see Sam trying to flirt with that waitress-“

“I have to shit.” Dean blurted, refusing to meet Her eyes as he returned the gas pump to its station, because She might look sad or surprised or hurt, and he wouldn’t know how to deal with that in a way he could permit. “Watch the car.”

He walked away before She could say anything, and Jesus, he was an asshole.

She’s been trying to be nice to him. Dean didn’t know why, but She seemed to be determined to try and patch at least something between them, and it made everything so much goddamn worse. She’d sneer at him one second—when the air around them was heated and weighted in Dean’s lungs, when Dean was biting at Her and she didn’t resist his silent plea for Her to bite back—and then do something like that the next, and Dean couldn’t live with it.

He couldn’t live with himself. It might be a good thing he was damned, because otherwise he’d have no justification for how he’d just walked away, how Her trying to reach out to him just made him recoil, because nothing had ever been as good as Her, and no one had ever been less deserving of Her than Dean.

And that was why he hated the good moments the most. They reminded him that She really was better, and Dean wasn’t worthy of Her infinite… everything. They forced him to build his walls higher, to line them with further barbed wire, because if he didn’t, She’d slip through a crack without effort.

Dean couldn’t afford to let Her back in. She needed to hate him. This whole thing would be so much easier if She would just hate him. 

Maybe one day he’d walk away like that again and not glance over to check that She was still there. He had to drive Her away, but he still made sure She was still there.

And She was. She always was. Every day for the past few weeks, Dean had looked for Her and she’d been there. Legs folded in a chair as She chewed on a pencil, lying flat on Her back and humming to herself in a way that made Dean’s head a little fuzzy, standing tall as She scanned over a room and rubbed Her thumb over that scar on Her palm.

She was doing that now. Leaning over the front seats and rubbing Her palm, head slightly bowed so Her hair blocked a full view of Her face, occasionally reaching down to touch something that was on the bench. Probably Sammy’s book.

She was so pretty.

She could never be Dean’s.

Sam didn’t say anything when Dean shuffled to his side in the station, just raising his brows, glancing out the window, and letting out an unnecessarily long breath with a shake of his head.

“Wanted some coffee.” Dean muttered, grabbing a paper cup and ignoring Sam’s flat expression of disbelief. “Long drive ahead.”

“Sure, dude.” Sam was still looking out the window, an odd expression on his face. “Huh.”

“What-“

“See the Cadillac? The silver one?”

Dean followed Sam’s gaze to the parking lot. “Yeah, what about it-“

“It was behind us, on the highway. For a while.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, shooting Dean a tight look. “Did you seriously not notice?”

“Course I noticed.” Dean muttered, and he very much had not fucking noticed. He’d been distracted. She’d been right there whenever he used the mirror, and there had still been a little bit of lipstick stained on her mouth from the case, and he’d wanted to wipe the smudge on Her cheek off with his thumb, just to test if She’d gape at him or look at him like he mattered. Like he could matter to Her, if that was allowed. “Lotta cars in the world, Sammy, some of them are bound to be going from Carolina to Virginia-“

Dean cut himself off as the Cadillac stopped in the middle of the lot, its door opened, three large men climbed out.

They were walking towards the Impala.

He could see the sun catch light off of something in the largest one’s hand, and it was glinting and long and-

Dean was roaring Her name before he could think better of it. There was red lining his vision and a blaring, alarm-like sound in his ear, and She was in danger-

Sam was right on his tail as he burst out of the lot, sprinting back to the car—back to Her—as the men started crowding the windows, but She was faster. Right before Fuckhead Number One could bash Baby’s windows in, She pushed the door open into his gut, vaulting forward with Her knife in hand as the man let out a guttural noise of pain.

Dean slammed his body right into Fuckhead Number Two—the big, ugly one who’s knife he’d seen—right as Sam caught up to him, grabbing Fuckhead Number Three and pushing him down onto the concrete with a grunt.

They all had the same knives. Somewhere in the whirlwind of the fight—fists flying, Dean trying to reach for his gun but always fumbling as he had to dodge another punch, Sammy scrambling with Fuckhead Three on the ground as She danced around Fuckhead One—Dean realized that it wasn’t just the asshole he was fighting who had a that knife. 

It was the same one that had stabbed Her in Colorado. Same curved, sharp blade he’d seen a few times on Bobby’s desk, that had damn near killed Her-

They’d gotten separated. Somehow Sam had ended up wresting with Fuckhead Three in the grass, She and Fuckhead One were the middle of the lot with Her knife in hand, and Fuckhead Two had backed Dean up to the stations walls.

“If it ain’t the Winchesters.” Fuckhead sneered, and Dean barely managed to duck the blow aimed at his jaw. “Didn’t expect to see you here-“

“Shut up.” Dean snapped. “Unless you’re gonna say why you’re trailing us, I don’t wanna here a word out of your ugly mouth-“

Dean side-stepped another punch, and Fuckhead gave him a crude smile.

“Not trailing you.” He sneered. “Trailing what you’ve got.”

“If it’s Sammy, you can have him,” Dean slammed his knee into Fuckhead Two’s side, sending him stumbling back with a grunt. “But I’ll warn you, he snores like a bitch-“

“We have no interest in Azazel’s little experiment.” Fuckhead let out a dry chuckle, not balking as Dean finally grabbed his gun, aiming the barrel at his temple. “Our kind deal in far… bigger, older affairs.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “This the part where I’m supposed to ask you what your kind are instead of just shooting you-“

Fuckhead smirked. “I’d imagine you’d like to know, Dean. Not like you can kill me anyway.”

“You wanna bet on that-“

“I’m not the betting type. To risky. And we- Well, we aren’t the kind to take risks.”

Dean was about to scoff and pull the trigger, but Fuckhead held his gaze, and his eyes shifted.

Eclipsed with a venomous, neon green for a long second, the grin on his face widening until he was laughing.

“You have no idea what you’ve begun to meddle with, Mr. Winchester-“

Dean shot Fuckhead’s foot. He didn’t need a villain rant right now, worst that would result in was a limp for the vessel, and goddamnit why couldn’t anything ever be easy-

“Sammy!” He roared across the lot. “Demons!”

Sam nodded, locking his arms around Fuckhead Three’s neck and started to chant the exorcism, and Dean sprinted forward to where She was still fighting Fuckhead One with a shout of Her name-

She was faster. She was always faster. 

Dean watched as She brought Her knife right up to Fuckhead One’s throat, hissed something in his ear, and seconds later bright green smoke erupted out of his mouth.

The same happened with Fuckhead Two and Three, and Dean frowned. He’d never seen Sam do the exorcism that fast.

He muttered Her name, fisting his hands at his side to stop himself reaching for Her. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She snapped. “Let’s go before someone calls the cops.”

She didn’t look okay. Sam rejoined them at the car—dusting the grass and dirt off his pants and looking between them with a frown—and Dean had to restrain himself with brutal reminders that She didn’t need him, because She looked the furthest thing from okay and it was eating at his gut.

She wasn’t speaking. For the rest of the drive She was lying on her back, eyes squeezed shut, body half curled into itself and arms wrapped around Her stomach. For the first time since She’d returned, she really did look sick. Colorless and pallid, lips drawn in a thin line as if she was in pain, breathing loud enough for Dean to hear over the music. Sammy kept asking damn questions about the demons, about what Fuckhead Two had said to Dean and what green eyes could possibly mean, but Dean couldn’t really hear him. 

His tongue was caught in his throat to stop him from spitting out that they needed to stop, because he was worried about Her. His chest felt like it was contracting and aching and ripping, and his heart was loud in his ears, and why was this so goddamn horrible, why couldn’t he just not care that She was in pain-

“Dean.” Sam muttered, long after the sun had set, a little while after She’d fallen asleep. “We need to tell her. About the deal.”

Dean scowled, his gaze flicking back to Her in the mirror. She seemed to be really, truly asleep. 

Dean wouldn’t bet on it.

“Not now, Sam-“

“Bobby was right, she’d going to work it out eventually-“

“No, she won’t. She’ll leave first.”

Sam gave him an odd look, glancing back to Her with a shake of his head. “Why are you so fucking convinced she’s going to leave-“

“She always leaves.“ Dean snapped. “She left at the hospital-“

“Because she was sick-“

“Does she look sick to you-“

“Yeah, she does.” Sam seemed to suddenly, somehow, be taller. “And I know she does to you too, Dean. I mean, just look at her-“

“I did.” Dean muttered, glowering at the passing white lines on the highway. “And it’s not my business. I’m not talking about this, Sammy. So fucking drop it.”

Sam sighed. “You know can convince her you don’t care about her, shit, you can even convince yourself, but you can’t convince me. If it were anyone else, you’d have shot them in Utah, and we both know it.”

“Shut up-“

“I am. Just-“ Sam said Her name, and Dean felt like he was going to vomit. ��You’re not good at being right about her. You get blinded, Dean, and I think she needs us just as much as-“

“She doesn’t need us.” Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her in the backseat. 

Hauntingly beautiful in the night, the shadows and moving lights of the road making Her look even more like something that had fallen from the sky, like a piece of a star or comet that had started to breathe and walk the earth. The breeze breaking through the cracked windows blowing through Her hair and giving her cheeks a slightly flush.

Her knife was gripped tight in Her hands, and she was folded around it like it was gravity.

Dean wanted Her to fold around him like that. He wanted to be the thing that grounded Her.

But he wasn’t.

“She doesn’t need anyone, Sam.” He muttered, ripping his gaze back onto the road. “We’ll be there in an hour.”

And when Sam dropped it with a sigh, Dean made himself focus on the music. Normally, he’d turn it up to drown out his own thoughts, louder than even Sam’s chastising voice.

Tonight he kept it low, because louder meant there would be a possibility of disturbing Her. And Dean was already pretty sure She didn’t get as much sleep as she needed. 

So he’d give Her this last hour of the drive—going a little slower to extended the time—and he’d let himself look at Her a little more when she couldn’t see.

Then he’d park the car in the motel lot, mutter to Sam that he needed to work out how to get Her up without getting himself stabbed, and steel himself as he exited the car.

He couldn’t care. It would be unfair to Her for Dean to care, when he’d be gone in five months. 

Maybe, if he repeated it enough in his head, it would feel true.

Dean stopped in front of the room from Ruby’s message to Sam, and he’d barely had a chance to raise his fist to knock before the door swung open, and Ruby was glaring at him from the other side.

“Where’s Sam.”

“Hi, Dean.” He muttered, shoving past Ruby with an eye roll. “Thanks for taking time to get the thing for me, I’m going to try and not be a fucking bitch for five seconds to show my gratitude-“

“I’m not going to be grateful when you probably didn’t to shit.” Ruby crossed her arms, turning to him with narrowed eyes. “Where’s Sam.”

“I’m here,” Sam’s head poked around the door frame, a tense frown on his face. “Dean, she’s not moving-“

Dean froze at the foot of the bed. “What do you mean, she’s not moving-“

“She woke up, but she said she just wants to stay in the car-“

“She can’t stay in the car, Sammy, she has the arrowhead and we- shit, we just got jumped by demons-“

Ruby stared between them, her eyes wide. “You just got- who the hell are you talking about-“

“Oh, yeah, you guys haven’t met yet.” Sam swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “I- uh- You remember how I mentioned that girl Dean used to hunt with-“

“You told Ruby about her?!” Dean hissed, and Sam shot him an apologetic look.

“Just like, once-“

“Wait,” Ruby looked between them, said Her name, and Dean was going to rip out Her tongue. The bitch shouldn’t be allowed to say Her name. Nothing evil should even be allowed to know about Her. “She’s here?”

“Yeah,” Dean narrowed his eyes. “You got a problem with that?”

“Of course I do, you two idiots weren’t supposed to tell anyone what you were doing-“

“You don’t get to tell us what we do and don’t do,” Dean hissed, his glare turning to a very worried looking Sam. “She’s not coming out of the car?”

Sam shook his head. “No, uh-“

“I’ll take care of it.” He grunted, not looking at Ruby as he moved back to the door, clapping Sam on the shoulder with short words. “You kids keep it in your pants while I get her majesty inside.”

Dean didn’t bother to wait for Ruby to make a snide remark, just marching to the Impala and opening the back door, glaring down and where She still lay.

“C’mon, Princess, we’ve landed-“

“Don’t care.” She mumbled, twisting onto Her side and burying Her face in the seat. “I’m fine here, Dean.”

Dean jaw clenched. “Fine, just- give me the arrowhead thingy-“

“No.”

Dean grunted Her name. “You can wallow in the car all you freakin’ want, but we need that arrowhead-“

“Why.”

“The hell do you mean why, the whole point of that whole damn thing-“

“Why was it the point?” She rolled onto Her back, meeting Dean’s eyes with raised brows. “Who would want this thing?”

“Ruby wants it, and she’s going to be a real bitch if we don’t give it to her-“

“Should I give it to Her?”

Dean stared at Her, saying her name slowly. “What the hell are you talking about.”

“You told me not to trust her, Dean.” She held his gaze, and Dean felt like She looking right down into the pit. Daring him to admit something he didn’t understand. “Why should I give her the arrowhead if I shouldn’t trust her.”

It took a second for Her words to sink in. She was just watching him, a challenging expression on Her pretty face, and when it clicked, Dean had to go rigid and still to stop himself from crashing down into Her pouting, drawn lips.

She was taking him seriously. She was taking Dean—Dean, of all damn people—and his opinion and trust of Ruby, seriously. She wasn’t trusting Ruby because he told Her not to, and there wasn’t an ounce of doubt in Her voice. It had been flat, pointed, filled with that same dry tone She’d used when she’d asked Dean a rhetorical question about a hunt or a monster She’d already known everything about. The voice She used when she was half quizzing him, but She’d also been in charge of designing all the answers.

He couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t sit in how it made him stand a little taller, how Her gaze on his was almost certainly looking all the way into him, how She was seeing into every piece and sunken hollow in Dean’s body and not moving away.

Why the hell couldn’t She just move away.

He couldn’t have this. He couldn’t have Her. Dean needed to keep moving, and Her looking at him like that—like She could see him, like he was real, like She wanted to fall up into him just as bad as he wanted to tumble down to Her—made him want to stay in this parking lot for the entirety of his remaining months. 

“We still gotta work with the bitch,” Dean said Her name, forcing his gaze to remain on Her’s, all while trying to remember how he’d ever managed to convince Her to do anything. “She’s our best line to Lilith-“

“That can’t be true.” 

Dean blinked at Her. “You got a better idea?”

“No. But I could find one.”

“You planning to find it in the car?”

She scowled. “Shut up-“

“Look, you-“ Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “You don’t need to give it to Ruby. But you need to come inside.”

Her eyes narrowed, Her mouth opening to probably say something harsh and firm along the lines of shove it up your ass, Winchester, you don’t tell me what to do, but Dean pushed on before She could. 

“Please?” He watched Her carefully, trying not to get lost in how She was blinking at him, how he could move just a few inches and brush the hair off Her face, trace his fingers over her parted lips. “Can’t just leave you alone in the car at 3am. You never know when more demons might jump out of the bushes, sweetheart.”

“It’s three in the-“ She cut Herself off with a yawn, and God, she could be real damn cute when She wasn’t glaring at him. 

“C’mon, Princess.” Dean nodded to the motel room, hoping She was too tired to hear the affection in his voice. “Let’s go.”

When She pushed herself to her feet, Dean’s hand almost shot out to rest on Her lower back and guide her inside.

He regained control of his body at the last second, and flinched back. He was falling again. Further and further every time, because he always thought he’d reached the deepest part of this strange pull to Her, and he was always wrong. 

She didn’t see it. Didn’t see how he recoiled from Her body. Shit, Dean hoped She hadn’t seen it. That might be the line crossed—might be something She took as Dean hating her, when he couldn’t, he didn’t know how—and Dean didn’t want to lose Her. He would. He’d have to.

But not now.

Not when She was listening to him. Not when he could feel something start to bloom to the right of his heart, because She was trusting him. Against all odds and logic and reason, She was trusting Dean. He didn’t understand it. He never did. But this was good, and it would all be gone soon regardless, and Dean can’t be allowed to have something so good just to break it, but he also couldn’t live with himself if he shattered Her without having her at all.

His head was spinning around that idea. How could She still trust Dean, he was Dean, he was damned and selfish and mean to Her, but she still trusted him-

He almost missed the chorus of shouts that broke through the motel room. 

She flying at Ruby, knife in hand and eyes slightly crazed, blocked only by Sam jumping in Her path and holding Her back as Ruby scrambled away.

“What the fuck-“

“Let go of me!” She was screaming, thrashing in Sam’s hold and watching Ruby with a slightly crazed expression. “Sam- Fucking let go- I- I can’t-“

Sam said Her name, his voice in the calming tone he used on the vics. “That’s just Ruby, she’s an ally-“

“Just an ally?” Ruby shot him a glare. “Ouch, Sammy, I thought we were friends-“

“I- Maybe wait until after I calm her down to start yelling at me-“ Sam cut himself off with a groan as She elbowed him in the gut, but didn’t waver his hold. “Fuck-“

“Let- Sam, let me go- I need to- fuck- Dean!” She screamed for him, and whatever daze Dean had been shocked into was destroyed by the sound of it. “Dean, it’s a- Dean-“

“Fucking hell,” Ruby shook her head slightly, her back still pressed to the wall, her body a little more rigid than Dean had seen it before. “She’s a dramatic one, isn’t she-“

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Dean snapped, giving Ruby a firm, harsh, don’t fucking test me, bitch, glower before taking Her face between his hands, lowering his voice until only She could really hear it. “You need to calm down, Princess-“

She shook Her head, hair sliding over Her brow, and Dean had a striking realization that this was the closest he’d been to Her in over two years. 

“Dean, she’s- If- It’s wrong- Something’s wrong-“

“Ruby’s a demon,” he said Her name carefully, scanning over Her open features. “You knew that-“

“I- I’m not-“ She shook Her head, Her voice more panicked by the second. “It’s wrong, Dean, something’s wrong-“

“I know. Just, son of a bitch-“

He gave in. Dean let his control slip just a little, gave into his every deeply rooted and natural instinct, and ran his thumb down Her nose.

The effect was almost immediate. Her eyes closed slowly, the tension leaving Her expression and body as she half-slumped into him, and this was everything Dean had been trying to avoid, but he also couldn’t ignore how his own bones felt lighter in his body, how the world felt bigger—in a relieving, colorful and bright way that made Dean’s head not feel like a weight on his neck—because She wasn’t freaking out.

He moved Her to the bed without a word, letting Her lie flat on her back and curling his fingers to stop himself from falling further—from tracing Her cheekbones and tucking Her hair behind her ears—and only managed to remember they weren’t alone in the whole universe because Ruby coughed behind him.

“What the hell was that-“

“She must have, uh-“ Sam swallowed, glancing to Her on the bed as he said Her name. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She muttered, eyes still closed as She twisted a ring on her finger. “Forgot she was a demon. Sorry.”

Lie.

That was a lie.

Dean frowned at Her, keeping his voice level and casual. “How’d you manage to remember-“

“I must have flashed my eyes.” Ruby jumped in, and she hadn’t moved from her spot on the wall. “Happens sometimes.”

Sam shot Dean a confused, slightly questions look, and Dean gave a small shake of his head. 

“I’ve never seen you do that shit by accident, Ruby-“

“Well you don’t look at me, Dean, so kindly stop being an ass and have your girlfriend hand over the arrowhead.”

Dean scowled, but couldn’t bring himself to properly protest the girlfriend thing. Not when his brain was still in a scratching loop of Her face so close, Her warm cheeks under his hands, the intoxicating smell of that goddamn fruit dragging him higher and higher-

“No.” She muttered from the bed, and when Her eyes opened they found Dean’s so fast he’d have thought he was a magnet. “It’s staying with me.”

Ruby’s eyes narrowed as she pushed off the wall, Dean body moved a slight inch to the side—just enough to stop Ruby if she tried something on his- his whatever She was—and Sam sighed.

“Oh, shit.”

“What do you mean, no?” Ruby sneered, taking a slow step forward. “I sent you to get it for me, you can’t just keep it-“

“You ever heard of finders keepers?” Her voice was bored, and whatever panic Ruby’s black eyes had sparked in Her seemed to have vanished entirely. “This is that.”

Ruby scoffed. “That doesn’t work here, you spoiled brat-“

Something hot filled Her eyes, and Dean felt like something was rotting in his chest. 

“That’s rude.” She cut Ruby off with a shrug, nothing in Her tone shifting, but Her eyes remained different. Dean wasn’t sure anyone else had noticed. “And I’m sorry, but I’ve never been good at being peer pressured. Try again later.”

“Later? Are you-“ Ruby whipped around to snap at Sammy. “Make her give me my arrowhead.”

“I- uh-“ Sam glanced to Dean, his face filled with worry. “I’m not-“

“Shut it, Ruby.” Dean grunted, and Sam’s whole body seemed to slump with relief. “If her majesty says no arrowhead, you don’t get an arrowhead.”

Ruby glared at him. “Are you fucking kidding me-“

“I dunno,” Dean looked to Her with raised brows, and he could’ve sworn he saw Her mouth tug slightly upwards. “You kidding, sweetheart?”

“Not really, no.”

“Alright.” He shrugged, turning back to Ruby with a shrug. “You heard the lady. No arrowhead.”

Ruby’s jaw twitched. “This is stupid, I mean, even for you, Dean-“

“It’s not stupid.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean glanced over to find Ruby on the end of one of Her coldest, most threatening glares. “I’m holding onto it. No one else.”

“You could try and take it from her,” Dean suggested, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll warn you, she plays it real fast and loose with that knife.”

There was a long, silent stand-off—Sammy shifting on his feet in the background, looking around the group like he was trying to work out which bomb in a pile would go off first—and Ruby caved first.

“Fine.” Ruby sighed, shooting Her a glare. “Be a fucking child. In the meantime, we need to go back to how Sam said you three got jumped by demons.”

“Jumped is a strong word,” She muttered, arms wrapping around Her stomach. “More like snuck up on-“

“This isn’t a joke.” Ruby snapped. “If demons are following you, it’s because of the arrowhead, which means more will be coming if we don’t do something about it.”

She sat up on the bed, an odd and unreadable expression on Her face, but before Dean could ask what the hell it was for, Sam was talking.

“They were- uh-“ He looked to Dean and Her, his voice filled with slight nerves. “They were green? The demons-“

“Green?” Ruby stared at Sam, the almost frightened look returning to her face. “Sam, what the hell do you mean they were green-“

“He means they were green, genius.” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. “Green smoke, green eyes. Green-“

“Demons.” Ruby was shaking her head, the movement almost frantic. “For- God, for fuck’s sake, can you two not making anything easy-“

“Do you know what they are?” She was fully sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Her palm with a thumb as Her attention fixed on Ruby. “The green demons, have you heard of them-“

Ruby let out a dry laugh. “Of course I’ve heard of them. They, shit, they’re like nightmares. In hell we use them to scare little baby demons into brushing their fucking teeth-“

Dean frowned. “Hold up, you’ve got baby demons-“

“Obviously not, dumbass, I’m just trying to drive home how fucked we are-“

She took a long breath, pushed off the bed, and Dean was worried he was going insane. He thought he saw Ruby fucking flinch at Her movement.

“Ruby.” She said, and that was the tone She used on a hunt. When She wasn’t looking for anyone to argue with Her, and wasn’t going to give way for the opportunity. “What are the green demons.”

“Hell’s Assassins.” Ruby said, her words pushed through teeth. “They do things that are above every other demon’s pay grade, usually staying in the shadows and only showing themselves when there’s no other option. If they’re out now, that means, shit-“

“We’re screwed.” Sammy muttered, and Ruby nodded.

“Royally fucked. Our best bet is throwing them off the trail.” Ruby sighed, started to ramble about how if they could convince the green-eyed douchebags that they’d taken the arrowhead somewhere else and dropped it, maybe they could buy enough time to figure out how to avoid them once they worked out it had been a trick, but Dean wasn’t listening.

He was looking at Her. 

And She looked horrible.

Drop dead gorgeous—just as She always was—but horrible. Sick. She looked truly, awfully, deeply sick again. Sunken and afraid and small, curled into Herself and eye screwed tight, and this was worse than any of the fear because Dean felt like he needed to do something, but he wasn’t a healer, he’d break Her further and She’d leave for good once more, and it would kill him. He was an asshole, and if She walked away now—right as he was starting to see parts of him that had been hollow and cracked fuse back together, brighter and stronger than before—it would kill Dean before the contract even got the chance to catch up with him.

But Her obvious pain was clawing at Dean’s throat and burning over his skin, he needed to fix it, needed to make things better for Her, everything had to be better for Her-

“I’ll take Sam, then.” Ruby’s words cut through his thoughts, and Dean turned with a scowl.

“Take Sam where-“

“To drive off the demons, you meat-headed idiot-“

“Shut up.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean wasn’t imagining it. Ruby flinched. The bitch was actually fucking afraid of Her.

Which was understandable. 

She could be scary. 

And right now, with Her furiously beautiful features and firm glare, She was downright terrifying.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” She muttered. “And you’re not just taking Sam-“

“I’m- I think it’s a good plan.” Sam scratched his neck, shooting Her an apologetic look. “I mean, she’s right, Ruby. Talk to Dean like that again and I won’t hold her back when she tries to carve your eyes out, but I’ll go with you. For the team.”

The team. They were a team. And She and Sam were standing up for him, and cared about him enough to maul Ruby or put up with her for an extended amount of time, and this exactly what Dean was afraid of-

“You two will have to go on lockdown,” Ruby snapped, and Dean didn’t miss how she was standing a little too tall. Too guarded. “Buddy system to get food, doors shut day and night, no one in or out that’s not me or Sammy-“

Sam frowned. “Don’t call me that. Or I’m not driving these demons off with you.”

“Well, Sammy, you don’t really have a choice. Just like Elizabeth and Darcy,” Ruby turned her smirk of Her and Dean. “Are going to have to hole up here. Together. Just them, all week.”

“All-“ She swallowed, and something stung at Dean’s heart at the expression on Her face. “Can’t we just go to Bobby’s-“

“In Dakota?” Ruby laughed. “We don’t have time for that. Besides, we’re taking the car-“

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Like hell you’re taking my car-““Don’t worry, Sammy will drive. Ready?” 

Sam blinked. “I- are we leaving now-“

“Like I said, we don’t have time. Those things- They’re a bigger threat than Lilith. So unless you’re going to hand over the arrowhead-“

“Not a chance.” Her chin raised slightly, and Dean couldn’t stop a smirk at the sour expression on Ruby’s face.

“Fine. Have fun on lockdown.”

Everything moved in a flash. Ruby and Sam got stopped at the door as She moved in front of it—Dean didn’t know how She was suddenly back to her usual, sharp and quick self, but he did know that Ruby froze at the sight of Her in their path—and She demanded the full, detailed plan. Ruby and Sam were going to draw the green-eyed demons away by fucking off to Oklahoma, She and Dean were going to stay here and keep the arrowhead safe, and once they were in the clear Sam and Ruby would come back. 

And before Dean could find the proper words to express how he was so fatally close to completely giving back into Her, to moving fully back into Her orbit and doing everything he’d sworn he wouldn’t—forgiving Her again, being whatever She needed him to be, trying to hold Her when he’d really be nothing more than literal dirt and blood by the end of the year—Sam and Ruby were gone.

Dean was alone again.

But this was worse.

Because he was alone with Her.

And it didn’t matter what Ruby claimed. 

That was a bigger threat than Lilith.

————

This is going to kill you. 

You should’ve protested more. Insisted that you and Dean didn’t need to go on lockdown together, that there had to be other options.

You couldn’t think of other options, but there had to be some. 

Dean wouldn’t have let you stay alone. You had to stay with the arrowhead. There was no world where you’d let Dean go off with Ruby. You didn’t even love Sam going off with Ruby, and she’d only been insulting him while casting a broader net for Dean. 

Nobody should go with Ruby. But you had a feeling she wouldn’t have allowed that, just as you wouldn’t have allowed her to take Dean. 

And you’re certain she’s not your biggest fan either, given how she flinched at the sight of you, even before you tried to kill her.

You’d almost let the Darkness slip there. If Sam hadn’t held you back, you would’ve let it rush out and stomp Ruby down to nothing, because you’d never seen a demon that hideous. They all had horrid, twisted and marred faces, shifting and moving in the smoke, but Ruby had been awful. Glinting and rolling and stained along her vessel like a disease.

And maybe she was just an ugly bitch.

But maybe you’d have to keep an eye on her. She’d wormed her way into Sam and Dean’s life like a parasite, and you now had to ensure they came out the other side with all their organs intact.

And that’s not your job. Not your place.

But you’re going to do it anyway. 

You have to repay them somehow. For putting up with this. For putting up with you, and the danger you brought just by daring to try and breathe in their proximity. 

In Dean’s proximity.

You can’t stop drawing closer and closer to Dean.

And you know he hates you. He has every right to, even if you don’t know why. You have a theory it starts and ends with John, and how you never said goodbye, but it doesn’t matter.

You’ll spend your time with him trying to keep yourself on a leash, and pretending you’re not already addicted to his voice and smell and face once more. 

You’d never truly been clean of him. You’d never stopped dreaming of him, never stopped wanting him, and the White had never hesitated to whine and buck and scream for you to turn around and return to where you should be. 

Wherever Dean was.

But one month back, he hates you, and you’ve never needed him more. Because he makes it easier. The pain is harsher and sharper when it comes—on worse cases and when you don’t sleep for long nights that never seem to end, until color breaks the horizon and Dean is at your side once more—but every waking moment doesn’t feel vile. Sometimes you breathe and it’s not poison in your lungs. Your heart beats and it’s a steady time that isn’t shredding itself apart. Dean brushes past you in the hall, or meets your eyes in the Impala’s mirror, and snaps your name like he cares about, and everything turns silver.

So you can’t stop trying to fix it. Dean so plainly loathes you, but then he’ll smirk at you, or laugh at a joke, or pull you away from danger, and you’ll fall further into himo. It fuels you. To patch this vast crack between you with whatever you can find, scavenging for thread that isn’t frayed in heated moments—when he cares, or when he’s furious—that fuse this back together a little more.

And God, it’s so unhealthy. How you’re scrambling to fix something you’d never had a right to break in the first place, especially when Dean doesn’t even care to see it fixed himself. When, even if you manage to salvage this, it will crumble once more when the Darkness gets a full hold of you, and everything crashes down. 

But knowing that had never stopped you.

And it’s Dean. And he’s magnetic and strong and still somehow the only certain thing in the universe. You’re drowning in him every second, and the whole world has become sharp and stained in gold because he’s right there and you could touch him if you tried, so you can’t just give up. He’ll snap and you’ll snap back, but you won’t leave. 

You can’t leave.

When Dean’s finally here, you don’t think you could pull fully away if you tried.

Now would be the time to learn. When you know that the demons hunting you are Hell’s fucking assassins, and they’re here for you. You’ll let Sam and Dean believe it’s the arrowhead—and you have a sense that Ruby is already aware it’s not—but it’s you. They’d been there for you, and the Darkness had started to seep out no matter how you chewed your tongue red or dug your nails to your skin, and nobody was safe with you but you still couldn’t leave.

Not when you’re locked down.

With Dean.

You won’t let him touch the arrowhead. You’d caught him, the first day, trying to shift through your jacket and pull it out while you’d been taking a shower. You’d cleared your throat, your arms crossed over your chest, and he’d turned with a wide-eyed, guilty expression. 

“I- uh-“

“It’s not nice to snoop, Winchester.” You’d said, giving him a pointed look. “And it’s not there anyway.”

He’d blinked at you, but recovered quickly. Charming, boy-ish grin returning, expression a picture of mock innocence, so painfully unaware of how the White in your chest was begging you to close the space and just hold him-

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart, I was just looking for something. Is a guy not allowed to look for things anymore?”

You’d raised your brows at him. “What were you looking for?”

“Gun.”

“In my jacket?”

He’d paused at that. “Thought it was my jacket.”

“I didn’t know you wore women’s jackets, Deano.” You’d taken at step back into the bathroom, reaching for your spare towel as you continued. “You are not a good liar.”

He’d scowled. “I’m a freakin’ fantastic liar-“

You’d hummed, shooting him a look of amusement. “Sure.”

“I’m better than you are.” He’d snapped. “I always have you figured out, Princess. And I’m lying right fucking now.”

It had been hard not to wince at that one. Dean was better than you were. Everyone was.

And he could be lying, and you don’t even know about what, but he could be. And you’d deserve it. Whether it’s a punishment or just another way for Dean to hate you, you’d deserve it for making everything so much worse.

So you’d sighed, grabbed the arrowhead from folded towel, and held it up for him to see.

“Just- don’t try and take this. Don’t touch it.” You held Dean’s gaze, and there had been something hot inside of it. Something that seemed more turned on him than aimed at you.

It still hurt.

“Please.” You’d added, just because he really couldn’t touch it. “Dean, I need you to say-“

“I won’t touch it,” he’d grunted. “Bossy.”

And the White had relaxed. A little less danger for Dean to be in. 

Another thing to take and let ignite you from within. To grab onto and cast around your body, until those fractured pieces could grow a little further back together, and the world could be a little more colorful.

Days later, you’re still keeping the arrowhead under your pillow. Dean hasn’t tried to take it, but there’s no other place for it to be.

It has to stay with you.

Because whatever Ruby thinks it is, she’s wrong.

There had been a brief moment of terror, when Sam had said made to kill powerful things, but then you’d looked at it and you’d known that wasn’t the truth. The weight over your chest and pressing on your lungs had been relieved, but only for a second. 

Then you’d looked closer, and it was something far worse.

There were four languages carved into the jade, and one of them was shifting and strange the same way your thoughts always did when you created a ritual, the same way the words women of the high always moved on the paper. You’d told Sam it was simply witch symbols, and it hadn’t been a full lie. They were symbols, just as all letters were. And they were likely carved by a witch.

But they were likely more. 

Because this thing was powerful. 

And it fed the Darkness more than anything you’d seen before.

Everything was louder and bigger and sharper when you held it in your hands. Even Dean’s presences didn’t fully soften the sheer vastness of everything when the arrowhead was in your hands. The world was still silver, but it wasn’t blurred. It was harsh and bright and violent inside of you, barely contained and pressing up under your skin to be freed.

And then there was Dean. How when you hold the arrowhead, he’s not just leaving stains. 

He’s branded into you. 

It’s visible. You can feel it. You can fucking taste him, lingering in the back of your throat despite never having been that close to him before. He’s embedded in your chest and marked all over you in places that he hasn’t touched in years. There’s something faint golden painted all over your body—tangled in your hair and glowing in your guts—and it spurs all those fractured pieces into an overwhelming frenzy. They grasp onto every bit of light the gold provides and toss it all over your body until even the Darkness feels like it’s blended into the White and everything is all just silver.

But then you drop the arrowhead, your hand growing weak from just how fucking much everything is, and it all becomes numbed pain and shifting gold on the couch and Dean’s bed.

So whatever the arrowhead is, Ruby can’t have it. And Dean can’t know what it is, or why you keep staring at him with a tight frown when you hold it, watching his… everything. How he’s like a walking, breathing pillar of gold.

“Take a picture, Princess.” He mutters from the table, his attention on the laptop Sam had left you. “It’ll last longer.”

You scowl, shoving the arrowhead back under your pillow. “Shut up.”

He does.

You don’t think it’s because you told him to.

About three days of your lockdown have passed. Dean’s barely speaking to you.

It’s eating you alive.

Every day has been the same. You exist in Dean’s gravity, and he doesn’t even know you can’t pull away, and time passes in barely a crawl. You watch the tiny box TV and flip through the motel’s provided magazines and your own books, while Dean drinks and hunches over Sam’s laptop.

Half your trash is beer bottles, and you haven’t even had one. You still don’t drink—now doesn’t really feel like the time to start—and Dean probably remembers that, but it still worries you. You know he’s had a rough two years, that he had to watch John die, and Sam almost die, and fight Azazel, and deal with the Devil’s Gate, but this seems worse. Dean drank before.

He didn’t quite drink like this. 

And he still won’t really look at you. 

The most you get from him is grunts about food, strange looks that end the moment you catch his eyes on yours, and muttered words about how Sam sent a message, and he and Ruby are still alive.

It’s moves the Darkness to an edge. Everything is still silver, but the Darkness is still a part of that, and it’s volatile. Hateful and wrathful. Cracking over your ribs and rotten on your tongue, and at night—when Dean snores in his bed and you stare at the ceiling with your knife in hand—you feel so fucking sick once more.

And this is another one of those nights. The day had been the same as all the others, and Dean’s fast asleep across the room, and you allow yourself to look at him.

He’s still so pretty. There are a few more lines on his face and a slightly heavier expression on his face, but he’s still Dean. Still the best thing you’ve ever seen, and the only one that had ever managed to make you falter. To sit down and want to stay there, to have that strong, unexplainable pull that makes you watch him in the dark like a creep, that drags you down, down, down when he’s only existing near you.

It’s just as terrifying as it’s always been. How Dean is just more. How he was like a phantom behind you in the years apart, and how he’s all the world in front of you. How there had been moments—while you’d been apart with no belief you’d ever fall back into him again, when you’d skipped every town you set foot in and never allowed yourself to stop moving—where someone at a bar had smirked at you and asked for your name, and you’d given it, and when they’d repeated it with a drawl and heated promise in their eyes, all you’d been able to think was not Dean.

And he’s right there. In the dark.

And you’re not running.

But you are growing sicker. Watching him makes the White rear its head, and that sparks the Darkness, and Dean has always been able to set you off more than anyone else, and he’s just lying there and looking like everything you could ever need, and you’re losing control.

You push out of your bed—holding your breath and taking light steps on the creaking floor—and move to the bathroom. 

You can’t use your usual methods. Dean would wake from the sound or notice the blood in the morning, and you don’t need that right now. So you take the second-best choice and turn the sink on, letting the hot water flow until steam is rising from it, and run your hands under it.

Your skin feels like it’s raw and peeling. It fucking hurts, and you might not be able to really turn a page in the morning without wincing. 

But the Darkness sinks back down.

So it works.

You bow your head, eyes squeezed shut, and push on. You need the Darkness to go be tamed, to go so deep into your body that you’ll be able to go at least the whole day with no fear of losing it, with no fear of hurting-

“You shouldn’t do that.”

When your eyes shoot open, he’s right there. Dean’s frowning at you from the door, supporting himself with one hand on the frame and rubbing his eyes as he speaks.

“’S not good for you.”

“Yeah, well,” you narrow your eyes at him, furious at yourself for not locking the door, furious at him for thinking he has any right to tell you what to do. He doesn’t know you’d follow him anywhere, and trust him with your soul in his hands. As far as Dean’s concerned, you’re nothing, so he doesn’t get to tell you what to do. “You shouldn’t drink.”

He blinks at you. “What.”

“Half the motel room is beer bottles.” You snap. “And if you’re allowed to do that, I’m allowed to do this.”

“You-“ Dean jaw twitches, his eyes darting to your hands, still pressed until the steaming water. “There’s no fucking reason for you to be doing that shit-“

“Is there a reason for you to drink?”

He scowls. “That’s different, Princess-“

“Is it?” You hum, looking back to your hands. They hurt. You won’t pull them away. “How?”

“That’s not your business- It just fuckin’ is-“

“So this isn’t yours.” You shrug, letting out a long, slow breath. “Go back to bed, Dean.”

There’s a long moment where you can still see him in the doorway. You think he’s going to argue, or push you, or keep trying to convince you to step back from the sink. 

But the floorboards creak, and he’s gone. You follow him, a handful of minutes later.

Neither of you mention it in the morning. 

“We need to get more food,” Dean mutters that afternoon. “But Sammy took my fucking car-“

“There’s the shop down the street we used last time.” You don’t look up from your book, because if you do, you’ll meet Dean’s eyes and fall a little further. “It’s like, a five-minute walk.”

“I don’t wanna use that place, they didn’t have bacon-“

“They were out of bacon. Three days ago.” You sigh, glaring at the words on your page. You’ve read them ten times before, and you’re getting bored, but Dean will only talk to you about necessity so repetition is your only option. “I’m sure they’ve restocked.”

Dean mutters something under his breath you can’t hear, and don’t really want to. 

But you’re right. When you’ve dressed and walked down to the tiny, acceptably useful grocery store—Dean one pace behind you, your body leaning slightly back as if it can’t help but try to be a little closer to him where it’s allowed—they’ve restocked on bacon.

“I’ve got a list of what we need,” you’re trying to ignore how he’s shifting at your side, like he can’t wait to move away. You wish you could blame him. “Find whatever else you want, and try not to go overboard.”

“You can’t go overboard on food, Princess.” Dean’s words are casual. Easy. Your heart skips and beat then freezes in your chest. “You try not to get lost.”

You glare up at him. “I am not going to get lost, asshole-“

He’s already walking away.

It takes all your willpower not to chase after him. 

The grocery store really is small, and you don’t need much. One of the—countless—amazing things about Dean is how he’s a man of habit. Even after two years apart, you can still predict him like he’s the moon in the sky. Beer, jerky, the bacon he was so whiny about, a few pre-made pies. A lot of butter and meatballs because you refuse to not take advantage of having a real, small kitchen for the first time in years, and Dean will be eating with you whether the asshole likes it or not.

And you don’t know where he’s wandered off to at first, but you realize quickly it’s not as far as you thought. 

Because you glance over your shoulder at the exact right time, and Dean’s there. Half hidden behind a shelf, glaring at a bag of vegetable broth that is so obviously a cover, you almost laugh.

You don’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

You’re too starved and desperate for his proximity—how easily everything is bright and silver in your body—to confront him. 

So the rest of the grocery trip passes exactly like that.

You wander the isles to cross every item off your list. Dean stays several, poorly hidden paces behind you like some kind of oddly trained guard dog. You indulge him and pretend he’s being stealthy, when in reality he’s just a massive man very obviously following you around in a grocery store. 

At one point you catch his eye and raise your brows—because you just can’t fucking help it—and you could swear he blushes before he looks away.

This is so strange. He’s barely looked at you all week, and suddenly he’s doing this.

You wish you could bring yourself to care about that a little more.

Around the canned goods isle—chicken soup because it’s easy—a woman approaches Dean. She’s not a demon, just a pretty human with soft eyes that are fixed on your—not your—Dean, but you still feel something stabbing and biting in your gut when he even looks at her.

It’s pathetic. You have no claim there, no valid reason to want to march over and link your arm through Dean’s like you used to, to suddenly wish he’d just fucking stop the whole act and come stand at your side, but that doesn’t stop the feeling

Or the way the whole world—in and out of your body—sings when Dean dismissed the woman barely a chance. When he glances at her, shrugs off her overly sweet words, and doesn’t shift at her fluttering lashes. When she shuffles off with slumped shoulders, and Dean keeps up his stupid little charade of trailing you through the store.

He probably was just being cautious. You’re both a little wired and vigilant given the whole situation. 

But those featured pieces still bloom and grow along your body. And you can’t bring yourself to be bitter about it.

Neither of you mention anything when you meet back at the checkout isle. Dean shoves his hands in his pockets with a short nod and grunt of done, stays his usual one step behind you, and pretends nothing odd happened at all.

“I got you one case of beer,” you say as you approach the front of the line. “If you want more, I’d go get it now-“

“One is fine.” He leans slightly forward, and you can feel the heat from his body, and he smells like grass and spice- “Where the hell is my bacon.”

You turn to glare at him, and fuck, that’s a mistake. He’s very close, and you can see the slight crook of his nose and how full his lips are, and if you moved your hand up a little you could trace along his jaw-

“Did you forget my fucking bacon-“

You pull yourself together, and give him a flat look. “Such little faith, Deano-“

“I’m not seein’ it-“

You shift around the basket, pushing items aside as you take a step forward, revealing the three packs of bacon and placing them on the checkout belt. 

“It was the first thing I got,” you shrug, moving the rest of the food out of the basket. “Add whatever you grabbed to the belt.”

He hadn’t grabbed anything. You were pretty fucking certain Dean hadn’t actually gotten anything, because he’d spent the whole time following you. The only reason he missed the bacon was because you’d gotten it first, and he’d been-

Getting something. Dean reaches into his jacket and pulls out a few candy bars and fruits, dropping them onto the belt without a glance in your direction.

“What-“

“They’re for you.” He mutters. He’s still not looking at you. “You never freakin’ remember to get yourself something.”

You blink at him, and nod slowly. 

He got you things. He’d followed you through the grocery store and got you things, but he still won’t look at you. He’ll barely speak to you.

Another day passes, and Dean won’t just look at you.

You’re not sleeping. And that’s no different than normal, but this feels worse. When it had been you and Jo—before your party got crashed—Jo had agreed to do shifts. She’d known what was happening, known that there was no world where you’d sleep easy, especially not with another person in the room, and she’d talked you into rotating schedules. 

It had worked.

And in the past month with Sam and Dean, you’d had your own room. If demons burst through the door, you’d be the only target. 

But now you’re putting Dean in danger. 

So you don’t sleep. You keep yourself functional with quick naps in the middle of the day—when Dean’s awake and not looking at you—but you can feel cracks starting to form over your head. Somethings set to snap. 

You’re going to break. 

You can feel it coming, like a storm moving in and pressure shifting in the air. 

Your only hope is to hold it down. You try to hold it down. The hot water is running out faster, and the skin around your nail is raw and bloody, and Dean still won’t look at you-

And your guard slips.

When they arrive, you’re not ready. 

Your head is a little fogged. You’d left your knife on your bed, in your jacket from when you’d gone to the motel lobby for more toilet paper. Your back is to the door because the sun is too bright, and it’s giving you a headache. You’re curled on the couch because everything hurts, and Dean’s still in the lobby grabbing ice and you wish he’d just finish the fuck up, because you need him close but you’re never allow to say that- 

You’re too tired to think anything of the first bang on the door. It’s likely just housekeeping, even though you’d put the do not disturb sign up, and carried the toilet paper back yourself.

The second bang makes you frown, and you can’t see anyone outside.

Third bang. Your voice is dripping with exhaustion when you raise it, trying not to flinch at the fourth bang. 

“Sorry, we have do not disturb-“

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’.” A drawling, almost honeyed voice drawls from the other side of the door, and your blood runs cold. “And I can promise this ain’t gonna be disturbin’ if you make it easy.”

You try to launch to the bed, to grab your knife, but the door crashes open before your jelly-like body can even get off the bed.

You manage to scramble to the edge of the mattress, grabbing the arrowhead and shoving it into your jeans, but you’re barely turning before the violent, rioting and furious green grabs you by the throat and yanks you up-

Instinct kicks in, and you ram your knee into the vessels gut. It’s enough for the grip to falter, enough for you to pry his grip off your neck with shaking finger and scramble back, but there are three more and one grabbing your arms and the second has it’s knife aimed right into your chest-

“Dean!” It’s the only thing you can think to say. Scream. Pray. “Dean, I- Dean!”

You hear a gunshot go off, and a choked sound leaves your throat, but no abnormal pain comes.

The demon behind you slumps, you got right down with its weight, and the one with the knife stumbles right over your head.

You’re still too tired to fight properly. But you’re not useless. You slam your body into the knifed demon’s legs, and roll away as he topples down. 

Then you look up, see Dean’s jaw clenched as he wrestles with the fourth demon, and demon you’d kneed earlier is coming up right behind him with the knife-

It wouldn’t have killed you. If the demon on the floor had gotten you, you’d have screamed and shattered but lived. 

You don’t think Dean will live.

And the rush kicks in.

You launch yourself at the demon that’s behind Dean, wrapping your arms around it’s neck and squeezing with all the strength in your body.

Dean turns with wide eyes and a roar of your name, and you rear all your body weight forward. Slamming your demon into the one that Dean’s had been fighting, because the dumbass hadn’t knocked him down and he’d been barreling at Dean like a tank. 

You jump off right in time, and Dean catches you. Steadying you on your feet and scanning over your face like he’s looking for something, opening his mouth to say something but shutting it closed when the still conscious demon on the floor start to stumble upwards.

Dean shoves you behind him and draws his gun once more, the shot echoing around the motel room as you dunk under his arm and run to the bed-

Dean shouts your name, and you can feel his gaze searing into your skull. “What the fuck are you-“

You grab your knife—jumping up on the bed and spinning it in your hand—and launch forward, grabbing Dean’s head and shoving it down as you land on the first demon’s shoulder’s driving your knife right into its chest. 

These vessels weren’t going to live. You hadn’t bothered to tell Sam and Dean at the gas station—it was already a shit day, and you didn’t want to be fucking bummer—but you’d learned the hard way that the moment a green demon possessed a human, they were done. That ripping and tearing violence inside of them killed them the same as any bullet or blade. 

So you don’t pull punches.

And you tear your knife right down the demon’s skin.

Dean catches you again, when the demon under you collapses. Holds you right to his side as he shoots the last demon—crawling up behind you with a blade angled at your calf—and keeping you there in the long moments after.

He looks like an avenging angel or something else stupidly beautiful. The arrowhead is still a weight in your pocket, and Dean’s muttering words you can barely hear over the ringing in your ears, and he’s glowing and golden and powerful—rioting in an almost righteous way, in stark contrast to the vicious fury of the green demons, rocketing out of their vessels and screeching out the windows—and you put him in danger.

Dean could’ve died. You could’ve gotten him killed.

You could’ve killed him.

And suddenly you’re not your own anymore. The rush fades and it’s all too real and Dean’s right here, but you could’ve lost him and had no one to blame but yourself because you’re cancerous and evil and wrong and can’t just save him—save something so permanent and beautiful that you have no right to be protected or served by in any way—because you’re the bad thing, you’re the sickness, you’re worse than the demons. And you’re everywhere. You’re the jagged pain of the shattered windows and the ache of the cracked walls and the shredded fever of the torn blankets and ruined couch-

“Hey,” Dean’s muttering your name, his voice low and firm, and it’s the only thing in the world that isn’t painful. “You’re good. We’re both alive, Princess, don’t- Shit, don’t cry-“

Something warm but not burning is cupping your face, and tracing your cheeks, brushing away a white-hot stain that had begun to wash out of your stinging eyes-

You are crying. And Dean—those were his hands, touching you carefully, like he was afraid you’d shatter in his hold when you’ve never felt more whole—is wiping away your tears.

You’re fucking pathetic.

And you can’t stop yourself leaning into his touch, falling into his focused certainty, and letting out a shaky breath when he starts to pet down your nose and the world sinks right back into your body.

You’re only you again.

But you’re still Dean a little, too. He’s so golden and you’re molten silver a little to the right of your heart, and those fractured pieces are surging up and around you, blooming and furious and bright, so fucking bright-

It’s good Dean pulls away right then. You’d been seconds from fusing fully back together, from something not snapping apart, but into place.

You already too far gone.

You still need to be able to pretend you’re not completely, irreversibly his. 

Neither of you speak. You don’t really see a reason to. Dean just watches you, and you watch him, and then you’re both moving.

The motel is trashed. Cracks mark up the wall, the bed and couch have been flipped, the door was fully crashed through, and there’s really no universe where anyone who sees this doesn’t call the cops. Ruby checked in, and the room was under her fake name and credit card, so all you and Dean need to do is leave. 

Dean starts to gather everything together—including your blood-stained jacket, the arrowhead stuffed safely in the jacket—as he calls Sam, telling him what happened, and that you’re skipping town. You head outside while that fun conversation happens, surveying the cars and picking the fanciest, fastest one you can find. 

“No.” Dean snaps, glowering down at you in the driver’s seat. “You’re fucking begging for attention in that this thing, sweetheart, cops will catch us in an hour-“

“So we’ll drop this at 59 minutes.” You say, holding his gaze. “And take the train from there. This car only needs to get us the furthest away, not fully out.”

Dean scowls. “I am not taking the train-“

“Yeah, you are.” You nod your head to the trunk. “Pack up and haul ass, car boy. Now.”

You get a mutter of fucking trains, but Dean does what you’re telling him and soon you’re bound for Chicago, staring at Dean from across the train compartment.

You’d gotten a compartment. And a bed.

One bed.

You’re going to stab someone. You did not pay almost two thousand dollars on a fake credit card for a double private room, only to be stuck in your most beautiful, terrifying nightmare.

Sleeping next to Dean.

You’d been careful. You’d been so fucking careful, for so many years, to not give in to being that more for Dean. Because it would never be enough. Dean could’ve flirt and tease all he wanted, he never wouldn’t convinced you to share his bed because you’d never just share his bed. It would’ve been a catalyst. Something would’ve shifted in you, and there would never be any coming back from Dean. There was the whole, vast, amazing and horrible world, and then there was Dean, and he could maybe be yours.

He’d never be yours. You weren’t something someone wanted to have. 

But that being the truth didn’t stop the longing or craving or need. It never had. So you’d made it clear that you barely slept in the same room, and you never shared a bed.

And almost six years of effort—four if you didn’t count those two years apart, which was still far too many years—were crumbled because you said room for two people, the ticket lady added who are sharing a bed in her head, and you’d only caught it when it was too late.

It could be fine. You feel like you’re about to pass out but you’re also far too paranoid to sleep, Dean had been up at the crack of dawn to steal all the hot water and it’s almost midnight, and this is a twenty-one hour ride so eventually you’ll both need to sleep. 

You could stagger it. Dean could sleep, then you could sleep. 

But then he’d realizes you don’t actually sleep, and that would be a whole thing that you didn’t need. You know you need rest. You are perfectly aware sleep is good for you.

Every single nerve is alight in your body with fear that a demon will crash through that door as well, the Darkness is one wrong nightmare or sound from bursting out of your body, and guilt is swollen in your stomach and sticking in your throat as one single thought loops in your head.

You could’ve gotten Dean killed. 

He could’ve died. He’s fine—his arms crossed as the glares at the room around you, splayed out over the compartment’s chairs—but Dean could’ve died. Because of you. Because you’d dragged the green demons there, and you’d put him in danger, and you’d been useless, you’d barely held it together, you hadn’t held it together, and Dean had been there to pull you back up but what if he wasn’t-

“Stop doing that.” 

You blink at him, he jerks his head to your hands, and you realize that blood is running down your fingers. 

You hadn’t even felt it. 

And you make a choice. He needs to know. He needs to understand that you don’t mean to, you never mean to, and he’s in danger as long as he’s with you so he should run, he should kill you or put you down and then run-

“Dean.” You whisper, bracing yourself for the fallout. Telling Jo went alright, and she’d only just met you.

Dean isn’t Jo. 

He’s so much more. And even just him running might break something fundamental in your body, that lives just to the right of your heart.

He grunts. “What.”

“I- the demons-“ You stare at his hands, because you can’t stand to look at his face. Maybe those same hands will be strangling you in only seconds. You’ll find out. “I- We need to talk.”

“We’re talking right freakin’ now, Princess.”

“I know, but I-“ Deep breath. Nails in your skin. Keep it together. “They were at the motel for me. The demons, they were there for me-“

“I got that, Princess.” He grunts, and your gaze shoots up find him glowering at you, his words low and his jaw clenched. 

He knows. He’s known, or he figured it out, and it’s over but why didn’t he say anything and why aren’t you dead but why does he look like he wants to throttle you or pin you against something-

“You still have that freakin’ arrowhead.”

“I-“ You swallow, your brow furrowing as you stare at him.“What?”

“The damn arrow thing, that you wouldn’t give to Ruby-“

You shake your head, your voice growing a little stronger. “That’s not- I couldn’t give it her-“

”I’m not complaining about that, the bitch is a demon. You’d be better off trusting a damn witch or vamp.”

It’s hard not to flinch at that. You manage. “Then what are you-“

“You’re just-“ He scowls. “You can never fucking listen.”

You stare at him. “What?”

“I told you to fucking wait for me,” Dean snaps, sitting a little taller. “Those sons of bitches never would’ve even gotten to you if you’d just stayed with me.”

You don’t remember that. Your brain had been the same, blurred haze it is now, deprived of sleep and aching for Dean while only knowing that it can’t have him. 

It pokes through the fog. Dean grunting wait for me, we gotta stick together as he hunched over the ice machine, and he’d smelled so good, and you’d almost collapsed over him. 

You’d barely heard him. You’d just known you couldn’t be there, or you would’ve destroyed something that already barely held together. 

But Dean can’t know that. It will lead to more questions you’re not ready to answer, because he’d just said witch like it was barely better than demon, and just as bad as vampire.

You’re bending. You can’t.

So you raise your chin, and hold his gaze. “I didn’t hear you. And I’m fine-“

He scoffs. “You were fucking sobbing-“

“Because I just got attacked by demons-“

“Which happened,” he leans forward, his voice a hiss. “Because you didn’t listen to me. You never just fucking listen-“

You roll your eyes. “Fuck off, Winchester, you’re not my dad-“

“No. And that doesn’t matter. You don’t listen to anyone. You-“ He shakes his head, and you think he’s seeing right into you. Finally, really seeing just how wrong you are, and getting ready to deliver the killing blow with only his words. “You’re so goddamn stubborn, and you’re going to get yourself fucking killed and I won’t be there to save your ass-“

“I don’t need to save my ass.” You snap. “I’m fine, Dean. I can handle myself, and I’m stubborn because I know what the hell I’m doing-“

“You’re stubborn,” he sneers. “Because you can’t stand that sometimes, sweetheart, you’re fucking wrong. You don’t listen because you hate not being in control-“

It cuts deep. You can cut deeper. “At least people listen to me, Dean. At least I can tell people what to do, instead of following someone around like a fucking dog-“

“Well at least I never fucking run! At least I don’t leave people whenever things get hard, when they-“ His shout is pushed through his teeth, and it’s almost venomous. “You fucking run. You just goddamn vanish, and act sick, when you’re fine, just can’t fucking stomach having to deal with something instead of fucking running.”

“Are you talking about the-“ You gape at him, shaking your head. “I had to leave, asshole! I fucking had to-“

He rolls his eyes. “You never have to, you just didn’t want to deal with all of our shit, but you never- You just-“

“Azazel threatened me.” You hiss, the words falling out like vomit, before you can stop them. “He told me he’d kill Bobby if I didn’t vanish.”

Dean stares at you, and you hadn’t meant to tell him that. You’d meant, earlier, to explain what was wrong with you and leave John and Azazel fully out of it. Dean had loved his dad. You’d known that, and you’d known better than to make him face the horrid truth that John was a fucking asshole, shit-headed cunt-face of a father.

Maybe that’s why you still hadn’t mentioned that John had been a part of it. Dean already looks like he’s tearing his head apart trying to figure out if he should believe you for what you did say.

You don’t need to make this worse than you already have. For either of you.

“Azazel…” Dean trials off, shaking his head like he’s trying to physically remove something from his skin. “He fucking- what-“

“He said if I didn’t leave, he’d- He’d kill Bobby.” You let out a slow breath, scanning over Dean’s shocked expression. You’re a little worried he’s going to hurt himself, with how you can see his brain whirling behind his eyes.

There’s not a lot of color on his face.

“And you- You just-“ Dean’s throat bobs, and something flashes in his eyes. “You should’ve fucking told me, I would’ve protect you-“

You shake your head, and whatever burning anger in your body had been there moments before was gone. 

You’re really just so fucking tired.

“You have enough people to protect, Dean.” You’re looking at his hands again. Curled back into fists. You want to touch his knuckles, a little bruised and swollen from the fight. At least press ice to them, keep them from getting worse. Keep Dean from being in pain. “And I was okay. Bobby’s okay. Nothing- I didn’t want to.” You swallow, choking on a lump in your throat. “I never wanted to.”

“Bobby- He said you were sick-“

“I am.” You mutter. “Two things can be true.”

“How?”

You frown at him. “How-“

“What’s wrong with you.”

You can’t tell him. Not now. You will, when you have more courage than a martyr and you’re feeling a little less intelligent, but not now. 

Now you just give him a sad, soft smile. “My- I don’t know. I’ve never been able to figure it out.”

He nods slowly, and suddenly he won’t meet your eyes. “Sammy could look at you. He’s smart.”

“I’m smart-“

“Yeah,” he offers you his own little half-smile, and his teeth flash white in the low light of the compartment. “But you can be real dumb, Princess.”

He hasn’t said Princess like that since you returned. In a way that feels like a name, in a way that’s almost more than affectionate. Filled with an odd honor you can’t place, and tugging your own smile a little wider.

And everything blends, so easily, back to silver.

You pull out a book. Dean locks the door and starts to clean his gun, humming low music until you chuck your iPod at his face. 

He grumbles, but put his earbuds in, and starts to stretch out on the seats. 

It’s a silent decision he’s making himself. Dean will sleep on the seats, you’ll sleep on the bed.

You won’t sleep on the bed. You’ll pretend to, ignoring how he’s right there. You’ll stare at the ceiling and count the little dot on it to pass the time, and everything will be better in the morning, when Dean is—maybe, just maybe—your friend again, and he’s safe, and you’re in pain and exhausted, but that’s okay-

“Go to sleep,” Dean mutters your name, and you frown.

“I am asleep.”

You think you hear him chuckle. “Sleep more, than.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are, De. You always are.”

You can hear his frown through the dark. “I don’t love the third degree, sweetheart-“

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Maybe. You need fuckin’ sleep.” He pauses, his voice getting slightly softer. “I’ve- You don’t sleep. You gotta sleep.”

You let out a long breath, frowning at the ceiling. “I can’t.”

“Because you’re sick?”

“Yeah.” You swallow. “It’s- Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence, then- “What does Bobby do.”

“He-“ You swallow. “When I was younger he’d do a sweep of my room. Like a real hunt.”

“And now-“

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”

You think you can hear Dean’s brain moving, and you don’t know why this matters to him so much. It’s just sleep. You’ve lived like this forever, worse and worse over time, and eventually you’ll just pass out and everything will be fine-

“Would it help if I was there? With- uh- with my gun?”

His voice isn’t as firm as usual, and it’s almost nervous. Like he’s afraid of the answer.

And you should say no. A gun wouldn’t even do anything, not with these demons.

But you’re tired, and that always makes you weaker. And Dean’s here, and that always makes you dumber.

“Yes.” You whisper. “Please.”

You hear him moving from the seats without any further conversation, and when his weight settles beside you, his thigh presses to yours. 

It would be too much if it was Dean. If his warmth wasn’t something you’d always chased after, even when you’d both be sweating in Georgia or Texas, even when your blood had been running high and the sun had been beating down on your skin.

Up close, it’s so easy to fold into. It’s soothing, and he smells like grass and spice all around you, and when your eyes flutter open for even a second the whole world is softly glowing with gold.

It’s imprinting deeper on your body, just from how close he is. Not everywhere, but close. And the gold is sinking so far down you’ll never be able to pull it back out. Those fractured pieces are so terrifyingly close to growing fully back together, and you don’t know what you’ll become when they do.

You can’t really find it in you to care.

The sound of Dean’s snoring is like a lullaby, and the smell of his is like an anesthetic and just his presence is making the world something peaceful. 

For the first time in years, sleep comes fast, and you go down without a fight. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel truly rested when you wake up. 

End Note: Sam Winchester you are once again God’s strongest solider for not grabbing them and mashing them together like they’re barbie and ken dolls. I just know he spent his whole trip with Ruby bitching about how impossible they are. Thank you for your service my king.

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

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[loemius]

Can you please tell us about drag? <3 Why did you get into it, what does it mean to you... Anything you'd like to talk about!

hi hi! thank you SO much for this question, i would ABSOLUTELY love to!! i've been into drag for... honestly my whole life. i've always been interested in makeup since i was a pre-teen and once i discovered drag makeup tutorials on youtube it was game over. i spent a ton of time in my teen years just practicing different makeup looks and playing with cosmetics. it's always been a huge interest of mine. it's a means of self expression for me. i'm transmasc and present more androgynous, leaning towards masculine, and i don't really like to wear makeup day to day (mostly because it's a lot of effort tbh). it gives me a chance to express my love of makeup and fashion, as well as my femininity, that i feel most comfortable doing in drag. performing in drag is a unique artform that you can't really get anywhere else imo. there's so many ways to approach it! you can do so much with it. it's this unique blend of music, dance, references, soundbites, fashion, theater, all in one package. it's self-expression, it's art, it's history! there's so much history behind drag, which is a really big passion of mine as well. i'm a huge nerd about lgbt+ history, pop culture, and art of all kinds, so it's just... a blend of everything i love. there's no wrong way to do drag, which is something i love about it. there's something for everyone in drag, if you're willing to get into it. i think a lot of people only thing of drag as queens, which is Not true. i personally am a queen, there's kings and people who prefer other terms like 'performer' or 'drag monster' too! it's not just people being glamorous in pretty rhinestoned gowns on stage or what you see on drag race, although it Can be. it's also horror, comedy, camp, so much more. i'm very lucky that my university has a drag house/club, and i'm very involved. i help plan the shows, promote them, and of course, i perform in them. i'm a pretty seasoned performer at this point, coming up on my third year of actually performing in drag, although i only got to do one show in my first year of performance. being up on stage is... an experience like no other. it's so much fun. it's indescribable. i've gotten to host shows and it's literally so magical to me. i'm deeply blessed to have the community that i do with so many drag siblings and even my own drag children! i really struggled to find my 'people' so to speak when i went to uni until i got into drag. i have so many friends now from it that it just... blows my mind. it means so much to me to get to share this art form that i love with others and help them experience it too. i'm deeply, deeply blessed. for anyone interested in drag, i highly suggest checking out local performers near you. get on social media (esp instagram if you've got it) and look for performers in your nearest city and see who they follow, who they perform with, and just follow them and support them. likes and comments mean a lot. if you're able to go to shows, i cannot suggest it enough. local drag is an experience like nothing else. it's honestly life changing to me, and i'm deeply blessed to have had this experience and pray i always get to be a drag performer. thank you so much for this ask, this was really awesome to talk about and i really appreciate the opportunity!!! gods bless you always with happiness, health, and love <3333 as a reminder my ask box is still open for more q&a's if anyone's got em!

[tiredsmashbros]

oh boy i did it :)))

haven't done a good rendered comic page in a good while goddamn

want to say thanks once again to @notethisdownnow as he's the one that inspired me to make this from the AWESOME gacha shorts he made for me <33333 {i just love lore ftuyghijko} IF YOU HAVE NOT ALREADY, PLEASE GO WATCH THEM THEY'RE GREAT!!! this is based from the inspiration of the first one!! {watch first part here!}

[shares-a-vest]

I had to give Eddie blonde hair (well, a wig) hehe.

"Tell me, my dearest Christine," Eddie hisses, looking at his reflection in his dressing room mirror, "Why do I need to do this again?"

His gaze narrows in on the dorky, short blonde wig on his head – a monstrosity the hair and makeup artist for today's embarrassing shoot just finished gluing to his skull.

It's mortifying!

God-awful.

A career-ending tuft of piss-yellow cat hair, all for some stupid magazine's stupid 'serious' tell-all interview with his own stupid self.

"Don't worry," Chrissy replies, "You look cute."

Eddie shrieks and whirls around to glare at his best friend slash-assistant slash-everything in between.

"Excuse me?" he shrieks, his voice bouncing off the walls of the cramped dressing room.

Chrissy giggles.

"It's just for today," she assures, "The photographer wants you to surprise people! Shed your bad-boy rockstar image to uh... better connect with a wider audience..."

She trails off with that last part, unsure as she repeats the magazine's pitch that left them both more than a little sceptical when the email first came through about a month back.

He frowns and puffs out his chest, ready to discuss the desperate and greedy corporatisation of the music industry. One that stifles creativity, all the while profiting millions off the very talent lawyers and managers (and whoever else in between) want to bend and mould and shape into nothing more than a bubblegum pop princess who –

Chrissy jumps at a knock on the dressing room door. But before Eddie can scream "Occupied!", in walks Steve, looking scrumptious and cozy in his new favourite cable-knit sweater, coffee in hand and smiling wide.

Eddie's face drops.

"Get out!" he screams, palming at the wig.

He wishes he could yank it right off, but he thinks his totally awesome and not-at-all dorky hair might come with it and never recover.

Eddie shudders at the thought.

"Way to greet – oh my god!" Steve cuts himself off as he all but shoves the coffee into Chrissy's waiting hands.

"Thank you," she whispers, hiding another laugh with the coffee cup.

Steve grins back at Eddie like the goddamn Cheshire Cat.

Eddie folds his arms and turns back to the mirror, away from the now rapturous chuckles behind him. But he only gets an eyeful of the wig once again and honestly? He thinks he might cry about it.

"Why are you here?" he dry-sobs.

"Cleared my schedule for the morning," Steve says and soon after Eddie feels a warm body next to his and a sweet kiss pressing to his cheek, "Chrissy said I had to come down here and laugh at you."

"I want a divorce," Eddie threatens despite leaning into Steve's side.

"Nuh-uh," Steve teases, addressing him via the mirror, "You gave me that line last week when I forgot to buy our favourite ice cream."

"It was on the shopping list!"

"And I told you, I had to leave the store because someone was following me and taking photos."

Eddie turns to his partner and smiles, "You looked so cute with your little shopping cart, baby."

He wraps his arms around Steve's middle as Chrissy groans.

Oh.

"I'll leave you guys with... whatever is gonna go on here," she warns, turning to the door, "Just don't mess up your makeup. I'll go and find out what's taking wardrobe so long."

She exits, still humming over her coffee and Steve smiles as he runs a feather-light hand over the wig.

"Now who looks like a Ken Doll?"

"Shut up," Eddie grumbles, pulling Steve tighter.

"What have they got you wearing for this thing?"

Eddie sighs, "A fucking grandma blouse and these really tight cream pants. Stevie, they are so tight."

"Ohhh," Steve coos, "I wanna see those."

[artistsfuneral]

Hey, remember that really cool witcher fic I never wrote bc it's living rent free in my head? Yes this one:

Lambert gets captured by a mage, for some plot reason, and to avoid getting killed by the rightfully angry witcher, the mage curses Lambert's senses.

His vision is terribly blurry, think dark vignette around the corners, messy shapes, more a constantly shifting, wobbly mess than anything else. He can't see. It hurts to open his eyes because he can't even control his pupils anymore so light just gets in and - yeah it's not great.

He is deafened. A normal human would probably be unable to hear anything, but he's a witcher. It all sounds like his head is held under water. He can't make out any of the quiet noises and everything loud sounds distorted and really far away. Lambert is in a lot of danger.

He also can't talk. Not in words at least. He can growl and whine and scream and- He doesn't need to be able to hear himself to know that he sounds more like an animal.

The only thing the mage has left him with is his sense of smell (and touch). The idiot probably had no idea just how good a witcher's sense of smellcan be and it's Lambert's main tool of survival now.

So Lambert somehow manages to escape anyways - because it's Lambert and Lambert is awesome and there needs to be plot to this. But it's also winter and everything is just loud and bright and cold and oh gods what the fuck is he supposed to do?

He can't see anything. Light reflects off of snow and right into his blown out pupils, effectively blinding him. The sound of his boots against the snow is incredibly disorienting. Every crunch seems to echo in his ears and he can't make out anything else. There's only one way for him to go and it's foreward. Away from the smell of ozone and into the forest.

He stumbles and falls and gets up just to stumble all over again - he just wants to get away, it doesn't matter into which direction he's walking, as long as he's getting further and further away from that hellhole

And then he stumbles again, trips through the snow and down a goddamn cliff - thankfully the snow cushions his fall but yeah... He's not doing so peachy. He loses his consciousness (like all good characters do) and he thinks that's it, he's going to die in a heap of snow. He hopes his brothers won't think he fell on purpose. Despite how much he complains he would never actually leave them behind like this....

What Lambert doesn't know is that he's basically fallen into the temporary camp of the cat caravan. And they look at him and decide yes, they are going to keep this absolutely pathetic (broken, bloody, too thin, shivering, wet, barely alive) looking witcher.

When Lambert wakes, he panics (obviously) and his fight or flight kicks in hard. There's strangers all around him and they're trying to hold him down and they're strong and gods above this is fucking scary! And then- then his hand meets a familiar object. A medallion. He freezes up, clutches at the medallion like he's holding onto his own lifeline- and then a hand takes hold of his and leads it to another medallion and with his hand against their chests he can feel their witcher-slow heartbeats and oh thank fuck-

(i am procrastinating by writing this down, need to post it now or else i will be sitting here til tomorrow, avoiding my actual task but do let me know if you want to hear how this continues because yes theres a lot more of this in my brain)

[neil-gaiman]

hi dad,

ok i know ur not -really- my dad lmao just let me cope. i lost mine, so you're stuck with that title now. anyway. i just felt like telling you how great things seem to be going for me rn (fuck i hope i don't curse it). i've been a fan for a long ass time, but i got into the GO fandom only last year, and in just a few months i feel like i've gotten so much better, both mental health wise and creatively. i'm a neat little bundle of depression, anxiety, autiADHD, BPD, and cPTSD. isn't that lovely haha. but hey, i'm also a writer. a poet. an artist. and a helluva burned out musician. BUT. ever since i've been hanging out here, i've been writing SO much more, i've been doing fanfics, and so many cool poems, and improving my writing skills so much. i started drawing again after like 2 years of not touching a goddamn pencil, and i just bought some paint and a canvas bc i wanna get back into painting again like i used to when i was younger. and also through reading other GO fics, i've felt inspired to play piano again, which was a great deal to me a few years back. and it's awesome to feel that spark again.

Good Omens has meant a lot to me since i first read it around 2015. but now more than ever because there's a whole community i can share stuff about it with and it feels great. i recently lost a close group of friends, one of my best friends to suicide, and well. my irl dad. and i've been feeling hella lonely for a long time. but i feel like i've been gaining that sense of community again through good omens. and i can't tell you enough how much it means to me. so, idk. i guess i wanted to say thanks for that. and also for being so supportive of trans/queer people. it means the world to me. so. thanks dad. ily

I'm just glad I'm helping.

[sc4llywag]

Since I got Tumblr and have free range to rant however I want, its time for the Assassin's Creed main characters and how they walk post!!!

With each of the games, they change the main characters walking animation to fit their vibe and I need to be able to study them beheehe

Desmond

I don't have too much to say about Desmond's other than his is simple and similar to Ezio's and Altaïr's and I like to think that this is due to the bleeding effect(it happened to me too I walk like the assassin's all the time) his is a little more confined and he keeps his arms closer to himself so he's very typical in the way he walks

Altaïr

In his walk he has a sway to his hips and steady hands(probably to keep himself ready for any assassination), but goddamn the SWAY I never noticed it.

His shoulders also sway with his walk and I love how fluid he is in general, this ties back to his robes for me and how flowy they are to show the grace of an assassin in high profile but when low profile they stay to his sides and he's all in the shadows and I REALLY love that about him.

Ezio

This gif is all I could find so i can't really remember if Ezio's walk is different in Ac2 from Altaïr's because ubisoft is the king of recycling things but whatever. He still has the outward stance but I do notice his head is pointed low to try and keep himself hidden(shadows shit be like) but ofc hes holding the apple here so it's hard to tell if he's trying to swing his arm a lot lol, anyway body language is important to Ezio so hes very good at looking broody as well as fluid in his movements

Connor

(Walk Cycle Research | PKlover4078)

My man my man my man my man😍‼️‼️

The way Connor walks with his hands stretched out and then clenching his fists every moment because he's always ready for a fight goddamn this MF could take me in an alleyway and I'd be happy. I'd like to note with this gif, it doesn't show his slow slow walk and I remember it pretty well, he has a slight cautious aura in his walk, he's really careful in his foot placement(I think) and he's super awesome and I love him a lot. Since we have him running I'd like to talk about that too. He has such an efficient sprint it's so mesmerizing, he keeps his head low and just fuckin vrooms across the colonies<3

Aveline

You can barely see her here bc the damn community doesn't care for Aveline much but I like her even tho I haven't played Liberation, I enjoy the way she walks in a proper manner and she's got that strut the runway strut is everything. I also like how she has a wider swing in her arms, more carefree and comfortable.

Edward

This is such a great quality gif thanks so much Ac fandom!!

Anyway, I really love the difference in Edwards walk compared to the rest of the assassins because he's a pirate, he hasn't had the teaching of grace and secrecy. Therefore his walk is staggering in his footwork but still proper bc he's a sword fighter and very good at it. In a longer gif you'd be able to tell but his footing is a little messy, showing that drunken sailor pirate personality shows in his walk. He has a close arm swing due to him always needing to be close to his weapons, ready for a fight(like his grandson<3)

Haytham

I can barely see how he's walking but I'm pretty sure he had his hand on his sword hilt which says so much abt his character, again always being ready for a fight. He has a very straight posture due to his pompous nature, quick in his form to be efficient because why walk if you don't look proper and efficient?

Shay

Ok he's a Templar and so is Haytham but fuck you I love them.

His walk is so GOOD his walk has a heavy step and he's very prominent, got that straight posture again, not much to say about his arm sway other than the added shoulder sway, love that for him bc he's just so intimidating.

(For reasons I'm not doing Arno, Evie, Jacob, Kassandra, and Eivor since I haven't played their games)

Bayek

Bayek's walk is very different from every other assassin and that makes me love him so much more. He feels very carefree and relaxed but when in combat good lord does he go off!! He puts more sway in his arms than his hips and that's probably why he has a combat centered walk, like Edward.

If you've reached the end thank you for reading my rambling ass get over excited over walk cycle animations :) follow for more rambling!!

[candyheartedchy]

you are so amazing and I look up to you so goddamn much, I love love love how you shamelessly draw your selfships and your art is just so so so prettyyy!!! you inspired me to be brave about my f/os and selfships no matter how cringe they are!!

and ye i have a question

how the hell do you draw kisses so damn good like I can't draw 2 people kissing without them looking so weird??? I always struggle drawing kisses, esp the just before when they are gazing at each others lips, it always ends up looking awkward! and since I think that you're such a awesome artist, I'm coming to you for advice

once again, you're an amazing artist, and no pressure :3

GOSH THANK YOU 🥺😭💗

I did make a little how to guide about drawing kisses here a while back.

But for creating a “just before the kiss” type of drawing, basically have the pair have a “intimate or intense” sort of vibe to them, especially with how the expressions are drawn (like furrowed brows, half lidded eyes) and the hands placement (like desperately grabbing ahold of each other). Something like this:

And there’s all kinds of kisses to draw, so it’s really just playing around with the expressions! Is it an angry kiss? A happy, giggly one? Or a sad kiss?

[askew-d]

WANGXIAN FICS MASTERLIST

• tonight i can write the saddest lines, by sarahyyy — post-canon amnesiac lan wangji getting to know wei wuxian again. amazing! i love this author, sincerely.

• deconstruct, by flowercity (faorie) — a soulmate au in which what you write in your skin appears in the other person’s. i’ll admit that soulmate aus aren’t my cup of tea, however i quite liked this one!

• resonant frequencies, by chinxe — the infamous fake relationship story. with wangxian, this works so well! just amazing.

• between the lines, by fading_fast — modern setting au with wangxian meeting through a game. love these strange meetings and this one’s damn enjoyable.

• something real, by latios — wangxian wrong number au involving bunny pictures. i need more wrong number aus for them!! gimme!!

• all your life you’ll dream of this, by attila — cinderella au but with wei wuxian as prince charming. a fantastic story, i was so engaged in this it’s a wonder.

• ⭐️🎖️ one good thing, by yuu_chi — wei wuxian’s a ghost haunting his childhood house until lan wangji appears. seriously, everything about this plot charmed me. i’m enchanted.

• of rabbits and men, by shoutowo — wei wuxian turning into a rabbit and making his way into lan wangji’s heart for the second time. anything more wangxian than this?

• ⭐️ rumor has it, by ulan — post-canon cql in which wei wuxian comes back to “haunt” his rumored cultivation partner. the softness in this killed me.

• ⭐️🎖️ a little happiness, by suspicious_popsicle — lan wangji gets cursed and is transformed into his child version. so lovely to see!! i’m surprised i can read this for free.

• critical path analysis, by chinxe — brooklyn 99 au with wangxian in that episode where they make a bet and wei wuxian takes wangji on a terrible date that’s not terrible at all!

• ⭐️ some of you, by tangerine chair — social media au where lan wangji’s an actor and posts a suspicious tweet about his love life. incredible story, really.

• ⭐️ this should definitely happen, by yeolinski — wei wuxian waking up high in anesthesia and hitting on the hot guy who’s there with him. this is so goddamn funny, i swear i can’t.

• linger in the sun, by etymologyplayground — wangxian are cursed to not hear or see one another. i loved this a lot, it’s terrific.

• another way, by anonymous — wei wuxian sneaks outside to buy emperor smile’s again, and once again encounters lan wangji. i’m frustrated this doesn’t have as many kudos as it deserves, tbh.

• life, drama and action, by akai_hana — one more social media au with wangxian as a famous couple. awesome story.

• inebriation and affections, by chewing — wei wuxian gets drunk and shows his clingy attitude. it’s great to see him like that for the first time, thank you author 🙏🏼

• ⭐️ the inquiries of the heart, by ziane — very much alike “another way”, but this one has a sequel. it’s a whole show alright. a hella nice canon-divergence.

• 我在, by tangerinechair — wei wuxian comforting lan wangji in the xuanwu cave. something i deeply needed to read.

• facilitated diffusion, by chinxe — lan wangji can’t stop ordering stuff just to see the cute delivery worker. at this point i’m bookmarking every work by this author, ngl.

• ⭐️ you, asleep and dreaming, by etymologyplayground — post-canon cql that’ll haunt your mind but that you need to check out if you haven’t already.

• a wild heart to tame mine, by theroyalsavage — superheroes au in a soft perspective and amazing plot, liked every bit.

• ⭐️ a song you’ve never heard, by arahir — wei wuxian’s fatally injured and lan wangji… well, you can imagine. it’s heartbreaking and heartwarming all in between.

• ⭐️ to wing your soul with jasmines, by enemyofrome — while reaching gusu, wei wuxian starts sending flowers to lan wangji. cql post-canon. i could die basking on this adorable story.

• dear hanguang-jun, by cavaleira — people start sending letters asking for relationship advice from lan wangji and he gives it to them. whoa, the entertainment!

• ⭐️🎖️ two guys r in love thats literally it, victortor — wei wuxian traveling back to his old self and meeting lan wangji again. it’s a shame we didn’t hear more from this author in this fandom for a long time. where are you?? come back to give us more of this gay lil beasts. i absolutely love this and the title makes it more interesting. iconic.

• concessions to love, by besanii — arranged marriage wangxian. it’s well-noted and well-written. it rocks!

• “congratulations, get rich”, by attila — it’s chinese new year and wei wuxian wants to do things differently. incredibly done.

• atlas, by etymologyplayground — if you want a crossover between hob and mdzs, here it is. and it’s amazing!

• soft-hearted, by sarahyyy — canon-divergence where wei wuxian ends up in the lan sect. it’s so soft, just as the name tells us!

• seldom all they seem, by fahye — here we go with one more arranged marriage au. this one’s rated e, surely a ride! worth every bit.

• and in the spring i shed my skin, by wvlfqveen — shapeshifter lan wangji in a modern with magic au where they’re professors. do i need to say more? all too good, all too good

• love & longing, rabbit edition, by jaws_3 — lan wangji gets turned into a rabbit and looks for wei wuxian for help. do you sense a pattern? yes, maybe i love the idea of lan wangji as a bunny. in fact, i recommend every story by this author and many others but i’ll just be adding by absolute favorites. and this one’s fabulous.

• 在此恭迎夷陵老祖; to yiling laozu, the great and venerable, by yiqie — we had people writing letters to hanguang-jun asking for advice and now it’s people writing letters to the yiling patriarch! also gorgeous.

• 1 unread message, by bittersweetirony — office au where wei wuxian keeps receiving emails from an admirer. short and very sweet!

• ⭐️ the stars in the hazy heaven tremble above you, by cicer — wherein wei wuxian’s ciderella and wangji’s prince charming. i could read this over and over and never get tired. in fact, i did.

• ⭐️🎖️ only the deepest love, by occultings (microcomets) — pride and prejudice fusion. everything’s a bliss, magically and wonderfully so. i fell in love with this masterpiece. in fact, read everything by this author!! highly recommend. especially three days gone, if you go searching rabbits and a life in your shape!

• beneath six layers of silk, by darkredloveknot (enheduane) — lan wangji’s cursed to speak every thought of his out loud. come on, who never wanted to check what this guy’s thinking? perfect!

• ⭐️ let me come home, by cafecliche — seven nights with wangxian being sappy. i could dream about this piece of art. really.

• ⭐️🎖️ i hope that you will come and meet me, by feyburner — another post-canon cql where wangxian slowly get together. i find this particularly devastating and so beautiful.

• the ocean between us, by catbrainedschemes — this is for those who watched the legend of the blue sea, yes, the k-drama! because this is a fusion of it, where wei wuxian is a mermaid.

• call me, beep me, by myung — a whole social media au in another level! they are all actors and i love this idea so much. myung-laoshi big brained, tis glorious story right here made a lot happier.

• and his wanting grows teeth, by yukla — cultivator lan wangji finding wei wuxian in a village, an au in canon setting as the tag says. it's devasting how good this is, really.

• 🎖️ how to fall in love with a catfish: a guide by wei wuxian (disaster rat), by bwyn, yuisaki — wei wuxian finds a catfish trying to be the famous lan wangji. turns out, of course, that it's not a catfish. can we talk about this story more? the sheer hurt/comfort of it, and how it's the perfect rom-com slash drama depiction? i want this as a real show! new york, i love you, by yuisaki also gorgeous!

• listen to the voice inside your head, by pupeez4eva— wei wuxian wakes up to his future-self voice inside his head. it's telling him suspicious things. the amount of giggles i let it slip. in fact, i recommend every work by this author because they always makes me laugh!

• 🎖️ the breaking of your soul (upon my lips), by sunsandships — canon-divergence where wei wuxian discovers that lan wangji's the one who kissed him without his consent. that changes everything. just... magnificent fix-up story, as i said so in my bookmark.

• love on 35mm, by fakeplasticlily — film student lan wangji and wei wuxian as the brother of lan wangji's best friend. my heart was aching during this.

• neatly arranged, by thunderwear — wei wuxian and lan wangji are betrothed, against their own wills. do we have enough wangxian arranged marriage content? no, we do not.

• ⭐️🎖️paint smears on sunny days, by snowshadowao3 — lan wangji's son, lan yuan, has a favorite teacher, and that's wei-laoshi, art professional and also an expert at getting into lan wangji's heart. i will dive DEEP into teacher wei wuxian concept. this one's so wholesome, i could Die.

• 🎖️the absolutely true story of the yiling patriarch: a manifesto in many parts, by aubreyli — the juniors decide to make up wei wuxian's reputation by creating a book of his stories with hanguang-jun. it goes well. one time or another. haha, i love the juniors, they are so creative when making wangxian get together.

• ⭐️🎖️ pigtail pulling, by protos_metazu_isson — lan wangji decides to face wei wuxian's pigtail pulling face to face. that goes better than the expected and worse that what he further imagined. it's surely one of stories i keep on rereading from time to time, especially because it's not big and it's so CUTE!! help.

• ⭐️🎖️ your hand in mine, by cerbykerby — wangxian cursed to hold each other's hand. i could scream while i'm are. come on, this is one of the best stories here, it's short and so sweet, so fitting for them too. perfect, perfect.

• ⭐️ as you like it, by cosmicmilktea — wei wuxian starts to discover what's lan wangji likes. it's what he should know as his husband, after all. IT'S WHAT WE NEED AND DESERVE.

• after the final rose, by azulewaxwing — the bachelor au, because who doesn't want a lan wangji for themselves? turns out, the cameraman attracts his attention more than any contestant could. absolute fire.

• your heartbeat, across the grass, by fakeplasticlily — former classmates with now wei wuxian babysitting and lan wangji as a famous football player. aaah, just imagining lan wangji playing football, as a brazilian, it gives me chills.

• grow, by cafecliche — age degression wei wuxian troubling cloud recesses and the juniors. i love this idea! love a tiny wei wuxian. he deserves good things.

• obedient and bellicose, by thunderwear — an ella the enchanted au where, as per say, lan wangji has to follow every rule. oh, what an incredible fusion. it fits so well, even.

• ⭐️ at least in this lifetime, by etymologyplayground — aaaah i'm sighing over this again. this story's pure sweetness. diabetes. fluff. outstanding. basically, it's just wangxian getting married.

• ⭐️🎖️ i'm the one for your fire, by occultings (microcomets) — a cherry magic au, where wei wuxian can reads mind and discovers lan wangji from the office is actually into him. and maybe he's also into lan wangji. but like, in a no homo kinda way. of course! (denial's a river on africa, dear.)

• ⭐️ look not with the eyes, by spodumene — a case fic post-canon cql where everyone who knows lan wangji starts to devote themselves to him and it doesn't work on wei wuxian. why would that be? i wonder.

• ⭐️🎖️ sweet chaos, by eachandeverydimension — it took me a long time to finish this because everything was so good i wanted to feel it forever. wangxian arranged marriage where they're fourteen and lan wangji goes spend the time with him at yunmeng.

• ⭐️🎖️ your words upon my lips, by uchiuchi — during a nighthun, wangxian get cursed, what one says comes on the other's lips. this killed me, it's so freaking funny and overall over the top.

• ⭐️🎖️ linger by the door (i've always been yours), by piecrust — epistolary wangxian! post-canon cql! introspection! slow burn! everything i could ever want in just one fic. and the letters are unbearably beautiful.

• my heart skips a beat (so my gut can feel the punch), by piecrust — wangxian taking the long way back home. i always wonder how these pretty stories come into an author's mind.

• we sit in the sunset glow, by moonsteps — tangled au where wei wuxian's flynn rider and wangji's rapunzel. thank you, dear author, indeed wangxian came straight out of a fairy tale movie and we deserve more fics like this!

•⭐️not in so many words, by jaws_3 — getting hananaki through a curse after he flirts with the wrong florist, wei wuxian starts dealing with the consequences of his actions. a masterpiece. and so, so lovely, gimme more. this author also has many darling works.

• ⭐️tickling sleeping dragons, by fallingfeathers — a hogwarts au with wei wuxian as a troublemaker gryffindor and lan wangji as a rigorous ravenclaw! perfect, isn't it? the development's awesome as well.

• blooming into the color of love, series by leffy — actors wei wuxian and lan wangji, who are judged to be rivals, have to work together for a tv show. and they have sex scenes at that. so enjoyable!

• love potion no. 9, by ria_green — one more hogwarts au where amortentia's involved, so you can imagine what happens. short and soft.

• the rivers start to sing, by fruitys — another tangled au but this time with wei wuxian as rapunzel and lan wangji as flynn rider. it's a marvel that we have two tangled aus in here! phenomenal. mountains, we met by this author (every work of theirs, actually) are also worth every bit!

•⭐️blue-ribbon bunny, by cicer — shapeshifter lan wangji is forced into a shift after getting tired at work and wei wuxian finds him. bunji won my heart, i want to pet him! wei wuxian, you lucky fool.

•⭐️no more looking, i've found home, by annadream — more epistolary wangxian! more post-canon cql! getting together! once again, with terrific letters. i'm astonished with these author's mind.

•⭐️🎖️teen project to change the world, by animeloverhomura — mdzs characters watching mdzs donghua!!! please, this is my utmost FAVORITE! ever! i'm also translating this into portuguese, for those who wanna check in the start note (i'm slowly updating it, im sorry). but aaah, how sensational this work is!!

• an impromptu visit to the city, by bosbie — lan wangji time travels into a modern time and wei wuxian finds him there! oh, this is precious, they are the best.

• heartkeeper, by postingpebbles — bunny lan wangji again, but this ain't modern times, and it's also fascinating. the arts in these made me so warm inside, too.

• ⭐️🎖️the one-body problem, by metisket — during a ritual, lan jingyi's possessed and wei wuxian's on his body with him. waahhh, i couldn't help but chuckle during every part of this, it's well-written and freaking nice to see them bonding. jingyi and wei wuxian being buddies owns my life.

• ⭐️🎖️no certainty of doors between us, by betts — this is the story that HAUNTS me. i read this every once in a while because it's goddamn FANTASTIC. just roommates wangxian with wangji complaining about wei wuxian but being head over heels in love with the man. chaotic, amusing and flawless!!!

• ⭐️🎖️covered in bees, by scarlettstorm— apiary au with wei wuxian freaking out over bees at his doorstep, but then lan wangji comes to aid. and of course, chemistry sparks. and there are bees everywhere. and my heart's melted.

•🎖️lavender blue, by ana_cp — wei wuxian's a florist for a wedding and lan wangji's a cook, they meet and don't stop meeting afterwards. everything about this work is excellent!

•⭐️ wrong turn, right place, by diamondbruise — more time-travel au! this time, it's wei wuxian who goes to cloud recesses coming from his modern time. one of my favorite quotes from all the fics i've read it's in here. such an exquisite work.

• hello, it. have you tried turning it off and on again?, by overmountainandmeadow — here we have modern setting, office wangxian, it superior lan wangji, juniors as interns and other great plots. stunning work!

• diamonds are wei wuxian's worst enemy, by thefaceofno — lan wangji says he wants to marry, and wei wuxian thinks it's with another person. of course it isn't. so he helps plan his own wedding. coming from our best fool, that's expected, really. splendid!

• secretary lan, series by silverclaw — exactly what it says, lan wangji as his husband's secretary and everybody thinks wei wuxian's cheating on their spouse with... well, his spouse. it's absurdly good.

• our hands clasped so tight, by chapter_61 — wangxian get stuck in a library and conversations ensue. i like the idea of fics with a lot of dialogue, and this one didn't fail to surprise and light me up! lovely!

• ⭐️connected: unknown number, by phoenixking25 — wrong number aus always have my heart, and wow, how good this one is. truly excellent, with the perfect lenght. the ones i read are always so short, but this is longer! a win for the wrong number lovers.

• cut through the clouds, break the ceiling, by tardigradeschool — modern setting with our adorable boys including a drunk confession. i'm not lying when i say this is so delightful, i want to print it out and keep it.

• who could stay? you could stay, by martyrsdaughter — neighbours au, where wei wuxian's a bit intruding. maybe too much. but lan wangji likes him anywhere. what is there not to like? haha, a whole awesome read.

• ⭐️ be gay, do crime, by merelydovely — lan wangji thinks wei wuxian, the guy who invaded his home one afternoon and petted his bunnies, is a bad guy. he's not. hilarious and brilliant!

• ⭐️don't threaten me with a good time, by livinginaworldofnoise — ridiculously funny! basically, a great british bake off au with wei wuxian being a lil demon. i want this to be printed and delivered during my funeral, thank you very much.

• ⭐️as the clouds part and clear, we finally meet again, by 12262325 — lan wangji, as a kid, encounters wei wuxian, who's older than him. they keep on encountering each other, and lan wangji keeps on falling in love with his senior. aah, i'm in love with this work! i can't stop rereading!

• as if you were a mythical thing, by daltoneering — a vague steampunk au as the author suggest, and it absolutely rocks! i wish this had even more hits, as it deserves.

you can check my wangxian bookmarks on ao3 for more recs! i’d just like to note again that this is, of course, based on my own opinion. regardless if these stories are famous or not, i wanted to make this list for my enjoyment and for those who want more wangxian content, either they’re old here or if they’re just entering the fandom :)

as always, i’m accepting other recs if you have those. check my pinned tweet for more of my stuff and thank yoou!

[wreckless-tempestry]

“May I have this dance?”

Year of the OTP 2025 — January Prompt

Characters: Finn x Shrimpo (Dandy’s World)

AN: WHOO I managed to make this 4.2k words exactly lmao. Anyway euhh this is my first time posting my writing to Tumblr so I hope you enjoy! These two tickle my brain so I dedicated my January to them (and will probably do so again for the rest of 2025 💀). Not sure how many shrimpbowl enjoyers are on Tumblr but pspspsps come out come out wherever you are.

As far as the whole New Years thing went, Shrimpo wasn’t a fan. Maybe other Toons felt the need to make silly resolutions, or claim it was time for a ‘new them’ but not him – he was already awesome and the best of all Toons just the way he was; there was no need for change! Thus, every January 1st that rolled around was met with Shrimpo’s typical disdain. Clearly such a meaningless date change warranted no means for celebration.

His obviously impeccable logic never seemed to pick up with the other Toons, however, and just like every year Gardenview was hosting a dance that night in the center, with all Toons being welcome to attend. A certain hum of anticipation could be felt throughout the day, with all of Gardenview’s inhabitants bustling about to make sure everything was ready for the big event. Several Toons were helping to set up the final decorations, with Dandy’s supervision, and the rest were getting themselves properly dressed and prepared for the evening.

Shrimpo was… in his room, predictably. He was trying to get in some boxing practice, but it was proving rather difficult to get in the zone when Scraps was loudly rummaging through her closet next door, giggling with her brother Goob all the while. He hated Scraps, he hated Goob, he hated dances, hated hated hated—

“Heya, Shrimpo! You pumped about the dance too?”

Shrimpo’s fist missed the punching bag entirely at the sudden voice behind him, and he whirled around with boiling ire to yell in some idiot’s face — to be met with a familiar gap-toothed grin.

Finn had traded out his usual orange life vest (god how Shrimpo despised that thing) for a white dress shirt and crimson tie, accompanied with slacks that matched the shirt. The cuffs were folded back several times, and those shoes had to be at least 2 sizes too big, yet the fishbowl seemed practically ecstatic. Like staring at a goddamn sun, Shrimpo thought, his previous loathing bubbling down to faint annoyance.

“Your tie’s crooked, dummy,” Shrimpo commented rather than replying, turning back to his punching bag.

“Ack! Come on, Goob, I trusted you!” Finn replied semi-jokingly as he attempted to tighten the offending tie, with little success. Shrimpo sighed in agitation, staring at the bag in front of him for one fleeting moment before reluctantly beginning to take his boxing gloves off. 

“You asked Goob to do your tie? That’s the dumbest thing I've ever heard.” Shrimpo snorted as he approached the other Toon. 

“Well, it was his tie, and he seemed so happy about–” 

In one swift movement Shrimpo grabbed the tie in his hands and yanked the knot upward (albeit perhaps a little too forcefully) so that it rested snugly against Finn’s neck. The boy in question coughed in mild surprise and tugged on his collar slightly. “Are ties supposed to be this tight?” he queried.

“Of course it is! I always tie them right,” Shrimpo boasted, a small smirk appearing on his face as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. No need to mention it was the only time he’d ever tied a tie — surely this was proof enough. 

“Well, if you say so,” Finn conceded, his previous grin reemerging. “Thanks, Shrimpo! You’re a big kelp.”

Of course. Shrimpo knew it was too good to be true, to have evaded any aquatic puns for so long. His smirk fell almost instantly. “That doesn’t even make sense!” he answered with a scowl, crossing his arms. “All you did was switch out a letter!”

“I’m running low on material right now, okay?” Finn complained in response. “I’m going out to pick up some more books tomorrow, and then I’ll have a ton of good jokes for you, promise!”

Shrimpo was tempted to retort that all of Finn’s jokes were terrible and he was a menace to everyone around him, but the fishbowl was already backing out of the room. “Thanks again! Can’t wait to see you at the dance!” were Finn’s final words before he scampered off down the hall.

“Huh? Hey, wait—!” Shrimpo was far too late to call out to Finn and explain that he had no intention whatsoever of leaving his room tonight. What, did Finn think he’d be caught dead on a dance floor? Hell no. Besides, with all the other toons up at Gardenview Center, he might finally be able to get a moment of peace and quiet down here. 

With an exasperated groan, Shrimpo shuffled over to his bed and flopped down onto the somewhat stiff mattress. Punching the pillow once, he rolled onto his back and stared up at his remarkably unextraordinary ceiling. The hallway outside had quieted down significantly, he realized; most of the Toons must already be making their way upstairs to the dance. “I hate pillows,” he muttered for good measure.

It was at rare moments like these, when there was no one around to berate and nothing to profess his undying hatred towards, that Shrimpo presumed he would have some peace of mind. Usually he did, or at least his thoughts weren’t quite so loud. Today, however, his brain seemed to have different plans. Against his own will, he started to think with purpose, and not only about his hate for remarkably unextraordinary ceilings.

The hall was silent. Everyone else was at the dance. Shrimpo was alone in the dorms. The dance would last a couple hours. He had nothing important to do and a lot of time to fill. Thinking would only last him so long before he didn’t want to anymore. Nobody had any plans of running into him. 

Well… almost nobody.

Heya Shrimpo! You pumped about the dance too?

Are ties supposed to be this tight?

Thanks again! Can’t wait to see you at the dance!

Might as well go to bed a little earlier than usual, eh? Not much else to do anyway. He closed his eyes. He could hear the faint buzz of the fluorescent lamps out in the hall. He opened his eyes. He looked at the clock. Four minutes had passed since the dorms had cleared out. 

Thanks again! Can’t wait to see you at the dance!

He looked back up at the empty, empty ceiling.

Thanks again! Can’t wait to see you at the dance!

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He walked over to where he had placed his boxing gloves, stared down at them, and turned back around again. Shuffling a little ways, he opened his closet and stared at what little contents it harbored. He closed it, looked at the bed, looked at the doorway.

Thanks again! Can’t wait to–

He slammed the closet open again. The room felt smaller, the silence deafening. The air hung about him like a blanket made to smother.

‘I need to get out of here.’ He whipped around again to make for the hall, then paused. Where to? Hell would freeze over the day anything worth visiting popped up in this hellhole. The food in the cafeteria might as well be garbage, and he didn’t particularly have an appetite at the moment anyway. Stopping by the rooms of other Toons would be weird, not to mention pointless — everyone and their mother was probably at the goddamn…

He stood in the center of his room, breathing out of his mouth and his sights fixed on nothing. He looked up and to the side. Four minutes had turned to seven.

Thanks aga–

He turned, excruciatingly slowly, and glanced back at his closet. 

Gardenview Center was, predictably, chock-full with guests. Several were up on the dais in the center of the room dancing to the music being broadcast over the speakers. Others were milling around by the food and beverage stations, and yet others were wandering aimlessly about, whether by themselves or with friends. Finn was nowhere in sight.

Shrimpo stood stiffly in the entryway, hands in fists at his side. The most remotely formal thing he could find was some unlabeled letterman jacket, which he had slung over his regular attire. 

“Shrimpo! Glad t’see ya here, friend!” Goob waved at him as he walked past, his sister at his side. He sported an uncharacteristically dignified tuxedo, bowtie and all.

“Shut up!” Shrimpo hissed immediately. “I hate dances and I hate you!” He silently congratulated himself on not completely losing his touch; he still had his fiery tongue after all. Goob gave him a weird look before turning and making his way inside. Scraps gave Shrimpo a dirty side-eye as she passed; he shot her the finger in return.

This is stupid. He whipped around on his heel, fully prepared to take his leave. Why the hell was he here? He had made it abundantly clear to everyone that he wasn't all for such events. Finn would just have to suck it up and deal with it; what sort of imbecile leaves a guy hanging after all but–

A hand grabbed his own from behind him. For the second time that day, Shrimpo spun to shoot a scathing remark at an unfortunate Toon, and was met with the same face.

“There you are! I was waiting for you.” Finn shot him his trademark grin. When the hell would that tooth grow in again? “Not trying to leave yet, are ya? You haven't tried the punch yet!”

“Wh–” Shrimpo was already being all but dragged across the room to the food stations. A couple of Toons glanced at him in what looked like surprise – Shrimpo made a point to glare at them all, despite his slight daze from the abrupt change in plans that was occurring in front of his very eyes.

He blinked, and then he stood in front of a bowl full of some crimson liquid, which Finn was currently ladling into a Solo cup. “Trust me, it’s great stuff!” the fishbowl assured Shrimpo, extending the cup to him. “Teagan was the one who made it, so you know it’s COD-ta be good! Hehehe.”

Shrimpo stared at the offending cup, and the contents of which were the reason his plans of escape had been foiled. Coming back to himself somewhat, he briskly snatched the thing from Finn’s hand, glared at the punch it held within, and downed the thing in one angry gulp. Sweet was the first word that came to mind, though not unbearably so. Tasted sort of like strawberries.

“I hate punch,” he muttered, not with the same bite as he thought it would have. He wondered where all his capability with Goob had gone. All that had changed was the audience, so what was it that kept him from speaking with the venom he knew he was capable of?

“You say that about everything, silly,” Finn chuckled, his eyes glinting in the dim lighting as he helped himself to his own cup. “SHORE-ley there must be something you don’t hate, right?”

Shrimpo was fully ready to counter that it was entirely possible and absolutely true that he despised everything, and maybe Finn should come to terms with that and stop trying so hard – and then all of a sudden they weren’t alone. Skittering towards them was a familiar little runt with a wide smile on her face, Rodger tailing close behind.

“Finn!!” Toodles hopped in place upon reaching them, hands clasped tightly together. Her usual hoodie had been replaced with a remarkably similar dress, except with a lot more unnecessary frills. “Hi hi hi!” Her gaze drifted briefly to Shrimpo, and her facial expression switched to the sort of look bratty little children give you when trying (and failing) to appear aloof. “And you’re here too, I guess.” 

“You little–” Shrimpo had the sudden urge to upend the punch bowl over Toodles’ sorry mug, but was interrupted by Rodger’s more even tone.

“I apologize. Toodles, be nice,” he hummed, his one eye half-lidded as always (though he didn’t look too apologetic). “Though I will say I am… pleasantly surprised to meet you here, Shrimpo.” The older man continued on before Shrimpo could cut in. “Finn, I asked Teagan to reserve Toodles and I a table, and she requested that I open an invitation to you as well. It’s… quite a large table for only three.” Glancing at Shrimpo once more, he added, “I suppose you can bring along your company, if you’d like.”  

“Really?!” Finn brightened immediately, his smile widening. “Well… gee, I’d love to!” His gaze turned to Shrimpo suddenly, fixing him with his bright, questioning gaze. “Only if you want to as well, though,” he added with a light laugh.

‘What the hell –?’ Why was Finn so adamant on keeping him around? Shrimpo wasn’t dumb; he was well aware that he would not be what other Toons might consider good company or whatever. Even Rodger, who was arguably one of the more level-headed members of Gardenview, seemed somewhat hesitant about extending the offer to him – his sole reason for doing so seemed to be out of politeness for Finn’s sake. The boy could have used this opportunity to slip away and head off to do whatever it is normal people do at a party.  Yet for whatever reason, Finn seemed to be completely unbothered by Shrimpo’s demeanor. It baffled the shrimp to no end. And Shrimpo hated being baffled. 

 “Whatever,” he grumbled after a brief pause, glowering at the floor. Seeming to take this as a yes, Finn took Shrimpo’s free hand once more and proclaimed “Lead the way!” to Toodles, who seemed to have gotten bored of her withdrawn charade and was already beginning to skip off in the direction of wherever the hell they were headed, Rodger close behind and Finn and Shrimpo taking up the rear. The latter got the sense that he would not be arriving back at his dorm for a long while. 

Sitting with Rodger and the rest wasn’t… horrible, Shrimpo supposed. Much better than dancing at least, God forbid. He had sort of tuned out the second the rest of the group had moved on from greeting each other, and was now staring off into space with his resting bitch face. 

At least Finn seemed to be enjoying himself, Shrimpo mused with a sideways glance at the boy, who was amiably chatting it up with Teagan. The two of them had always had some sort of friendship, with the latter often inviting Finn to some dumb tea party or whatever. What was the point, anyway?— He would just end up drinking water the entire time. Somebody should host a water party instead; Finn would surely all but jump for joy at the—

“Alllright folks!” Dandy’s sunshiny voice echoing from the speakers derailed Shrimpo’s train of thought. Jeez, could he finish one sentence even in his thoughts?! “We’ll be wrapping tonight up with one more song! Everybody, grab a partner or two and head up to the dance floor!” Cheers rose joyously from the crowd, before hands started grabbing other hands and any Toons not already on the dais began to swarm forwards in small crowds. Toodles grabbed the hands of Rodger and Teagan and leaped out of her seat to join the throng, towing along the two chuckling adults.

‘Ugh.’ Shrimpo had never attended one of these godforsaken parties before, but already he could tell that this was his cue to head out. He rose from his seat, empty plastic cup still in hand – only for his free palm to be captured by another. 

“May I have this dance?” Once again, Finn’s eyes that seemed to almost sparkle met Shrimpo’s, his hand extended towards him. Briefly taken aback, Shrimpo hurriedly regained his scowl. “Are you kidding me? You couldn’t bribe me a million dollars to go up there.” (If such an amount was actually procured, Shrimpo may have reconsidered, but no matter.) 

“Oh, come on. Would it kill you to enjoy yourself, just this once?” Finn’s voice had gotten quieter. “It’s only one song.” 

“I hate dances.” The words sounded less convincing then they had the first time around. 

“You say that about everything,” Finn answered softly for the second time that night. He wasn’t laughing this time. The room seemed to get a couple degrees warmer.

“I can’t promise you you’ll like it, but better to try now than to be left wondering later, right? I have a feeling you’d be even less satisfied than if you just take the risk and see for yourself.” 

People did not look at Shrimpo the way Finn was looking at him now. “I…” Shrimpo scrambled to speak, to refute Finn’s abruptly silken words – what do you care? How can you claim to know how I feel? – and for once in his life found his jaw unwilling to let the words loose. 

Why? When any other Toon could have easily left him aside with little remorse, Finn seemed determined to pull him off the sidelines. He didn’t have to invite Shrimpo to the party, nor did he have to extend a seating invitation meant primarily for him to Shrimpo. And most certainly he did not have to invite him to dance. It could have been anybody that Finn invited. So then why him?

Shrimpo did not know. This he could not deny, no matter how much it terrified infuriated him. 

The music was starting, sounding as if it were reaching him from underwater. Finn’s other hand reached forward to join its twin, wrapping lightly around the back of Shrimpo’s palm. The twinkle in his eye had become warmer. “Please? For me?”

One other fact Shrimpo was forced to acknowledge: Finn did know him, perhaps alarmingly well. Though his brain urged him to refuse, to play it safe as he always did, there was a nagging little flicker of curiosity that could not be beaten down. It whispered possibilities and queries in his ear, one after the other.

What’s it like to dance? Would people be looking? Would I care? Would I enjoy it?

Would I enjoy it more with Finn?

Finn knew the answer to none of these questions.

But maybe he’d be able to find them out.

“Fine.” His voice was almost a whisper, his gaze set on the ground underfoot. He could almost hear Finn’s eyebrows raise. The silence between them seemed to ring in Shrimpo’s ears.

Had Finn remained quiet for any longer, Shrimpo would have disappeared from Gardenview Center faster than Pebbles could bark, but such a thing was never to happen, for Finn smiled and replied, “Okay.” And then the two of them were walking towards the dais, their hands still intertwined. Shrimpo didn’t know if he felt weightless or even more weighed down than before. 

The lights were glaring and the music was even louder and Shrimpo was already having second thoughts, but Finn captured his attention and kept it, and he felt a little more grounded. It took a second of standing and staring at one another to realize that the action of dancing was now a requirement.

“...Um. I might not actually know how to dance,” Finn admitted, giggling sheepishly.

“Are you for real?” Shrimpo quirked one irritated eyebrow, though he found he didn’t feel the familiar boil of anger beneath his skin. It felt funny… not necessarily in a bad context. 

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that hard,” Finn dismissed with a carefree wave of his hand, glancing over at some of the other dancers. “Uh, let me see… okay, okay, I think I get it! Sorta. Just… try to copy me, I guess. Okay?”

Not unsurprisingly, the instinct to make a snappy comment threatened to resurface, but no words ended up leaving his mouth. Instead he watched where Finn was stepping, how he held himself, and he took the same step. And he did it again. And again. 

Not once did their hands part.

If other Toons had been looking, Shrimpo hadn't been paying attention.

“Let's give a round of applause to Boxten for helping to assemble tonight's playlist!” Clapping ensued from the crowd, with Glisten grinning and uttering a whoo! The music box in question turned a light shade of crimson and ducked his eyes, though a small smile flickered across his lips. “Thank you all for attending, and have a wonderful rest of your year!” The speakers shut off with a click, and all the gathered Toons erupted in jubilant chatter. Some began to file out, while others lingered around for conversation.

Shrimpo stared at it all, unmoving. He didn’t know how to feel. His naturally angry front seemed pointless to him now, so how should he be instead? His chest felt tight, his head a little dizzy, but the sensation was… certainly not unpleasant.

The warm pressure on his hand tightened slightly, returning his attention to the present. “So?” Finn surveyed him inquisitively, grinning from ear to ear. His eyes were brighter than stars. “Was it okay?”

Shrimpo seemed to be having a bit of trouble with his reaction time, for it took a moment of all but gawking at the other boy before he could muster up a response. “...It… wasn’t bad,” he finally answered. 

“Are you glad you tried it?” The two had started ambling out of the center along with the rest of the lingering partygoers, almost without their knowledge. 

“...Uh-huh.”

“I thought so.” 

Neither Toon spoke for the rest of the trip to the dorms. 

“I guess this is where part ways for the night,” Finn hummed as the two paused outside of Shrimpo’s room. The muffled sounds of Toons winding down for the evening could be heard around them. 

“Eh? Oh.” Shrimpo had thought the walk would take longer than that, but he supposed he wasn’t in the most capable state of mind to be the judge of such things.

“Well… Goodnight, then. And, uh…” Finn lingered, looking almost uncertain for a moment. “…I had fun, earlier.” Shrimpo’s hand was released, leaving his hand abruptly cold. He tucked it into his pants pocket, feeling an odd sense of loss.

“Um. Me too. I guess,” he added, his usual habits refusing to be fully abandoned even now. A brief pause, in which the two boys stared unblinkingly at each other. Finn had small specks of amber in his eyes amidst the usual blue — like grains of sand, Shrimpo noted.

The silence quickly devolved into awkwardness, so to spare himself from further tension he muttered, “See you tomorrow,” and began to turn towards his doorway. 

He felt the faint brush of warmth against his cheek, a single soft breath close to his ear, and when he glanced to the side Finn was already dashing off down the hall, whipping around a corner and out of sight in a matter of seconds. He blinked, then blinked again. The hand that had been occupied by someone else’s moment before now raised to touch his fingertips to the skin. 

If he thought about it a little too hard he started feeling weird and fizzy, so he put that train of thought aside, shook his head and entered his room.

Other thoughts quickly rose to fill the empty space in his brain as he took off his letterman jacket. He felt as if something had shifted slightly between him and Finn tonight, though what exactly it had become he could not pinpoint. Should he ask about it, or should he just… know? Or maybe he wasn’t supposed to talk about it at all? Where did they stand with one another now?

Come to think of it, he had never really known what the two of them shared. He had thought that he would naturally be unapproachable with everyone, but a certain someone seemed to not apply to this dynamic the way everyone else seemed to. He found himself acting differently around Finn than he might with other Toons, even if it was but a slight difference — and what had transpired at the dance was decidedly not slight.

But… looking back, although he had certainly felt a little out of place and unnatural, he had felt almost… liberated, in a way. The act of ire came easily to him now with how often he used it around others, but back up on the dais, when the people around him were the last thing on his mind and his only focus was the mimicry of Finn’s steps… he hadn’t felt that uninhibited in years. And, he realized with shock, he wanted to feel that way again in the future.

Which left him wondering: 

How many things did he do, did he say, simply because he wanted to?

Perhaps he should save this revelation for another time. He slipped on his sleepwear and rolled onto his mattress, laying in the same position which he was in only a couple of hours before; the high of the night’s events was beginning to catch up to him. His ceiling was still remarkably unextraordinary. He didn’t mind; there were plenty of other, more extraordinary things he could think about instead.

He rolled over to face the wall and shut his eyes. He was out in seconds.

He dreamed of sparkling eyes and a gap-toothed grin. 

[daryfromthefuture]

i have another wild au concept i need to share: bttf shifted like 40 years forward and marty and doc meet online (maybe during the covid pandemic even?)

doc has some sort of username that's just "science_guy_121" or something and he like. replies to martys instagram story at some point where marty maybe just had to tag random ass accounts for a challenge. marty didn't expect anyone to reply but doc was like "Thank you for tagging me! 😃" and marty knows just from this message that doc is OLD lmao

marty goes "yeah no prob" and doesn't think he'll talk to the guy ever again, but doc just keeps messaging him. they find out they share an interest in music and ramble about bands a lot.

the man does know about internet anonymity and doesn't say his name, but he does say how old he is at some point and marty probably should be concerned about talking to 60 year olds online at like 13/14 years old, but he really isn't since the guy is so friendly. he does ask at some point, and doc is just super confused as to why anyone would even have bad intentions and assures marty he just likes talking to people, and that topic is never brought up again

a year later or so, marty convinces doc to get discord, and that happens at like two in the morning, so doc asks what's keeping the kid awake and marty goes on to tell doc about his family situation. doc is really empathetic and grows to be martys support system, and even as an online friend, he helps marty so much, talking to him at 3 am to calm him after hearing his parents fight all night. doc also helps him with schoolwork via internet, essentially helping marty pass several classes.

in early 2025, doc leaks that he's building something really cool and that he'd love to show marty his new invention, to which marty goes "damn, i wanna come see. may i ask which city u live close to" and doc replies with "Oh, I believe San Francisco seems adjacent enough." marty cannot believe this and texts "NO WAY, SAME HERE".

doc: That's quite the coincidence! Well, I might as well say I live in a small town called Hill Valley.

marty: WHAT

doc: Yeah, I'd assume you've never heard of it. 😂

marty: NO NO

marty: I ACTUALLY

marty: I LITERALLY AM FROM THE SAME TOWN?!?!

and that's how marty finds out he's been talking to the "crazy doc brown" the ENTIRE TIME lol

the two can, without any trouble, meet in person, and the first thing marty does when getting to the garage is apologize profusely for still laughing about the rumors about doc while texting him online about how kind he was at the same time. doc forgives him, and that's how they basically start spending time together in person. marty's screen time goes down significantly, but he's actually so goddamn happy about having a friend like that and will defend doc with his life.

yeah that's kinda it. also a bit of a homage to all the awesome people i have met on the internet. love you guys <3

[sevi007]

If I spontaneosuly combust and am never heard from again, it's because the Stobotnik fandom has heaped so much sweet love on my fics. Just, you know, so you all are aware where the mess comes from when I go BOOM. I'm not in charge of cleaning that up.

In all seriousness, you guys are so nice?! I cry over you all's comments. I am helplessly behind on answering them because there are SO MANY but please know I'm reading every single one multiple times and I'm grinning so wide it hurts. Thank you all, so so much, you are an amazing fandom, and kind of insane for reading so goddamn it fast, like, how did someone just read 286k in two days, you all mad, I love you.

As a goody because you are all awesome - I've started three separate WIPS for Stobotnik now, one set before the movie to tie Coffee and Mayhem together with the movie - this one I have written 5k since yesterday evening - and two others, which are supposed to be set in the plot of Movie 3 itself. One of them is just silly Robotnik is a streamer stuff and the chat goes wild ober cryptid Stone, while the other one is more serious. I'm still rusty, and I work fulltime again, so finishing the fics might be a slow process, just like me answering comments. But the start is there!

[cowboylikeyouu]

i finally watched the making of deadpool & wolverine and wrote down every thought that popped up into my mind while watching, have fun lol

god hugh jackman is gorgeous

they’re talking about all the different ideas they had for this movie and honestly??? i would eat up every single one of them they should still do it lol

god hugh jackman is GORGEOUS

man i missed them sm i haven’t watched dp&w in TWO MONTHS?????

i will never shut up about the deadpool suit in this movie it’s SO AWESOME it’s a blessing for my eyes every time it’s on screen

"that’s what we were striving for with rdj in endgame, is to give this iconic fictional character an amazing ending." yeah well only that endgame‘s ending SUCKED and i will never forgive anyone for it <3

ugh hugh jackman is gorgeous

i could watch him speak forever

i‘m SO glad ryan made that "i should use his body as a weapon" pitch bc GODDAMN that opening scene will never get old

ahhhhhh i love that we‘re getting some insight in the stunt/fight stuff, SO interesting !! the shitty iphone test videos are hilarious

they should’ve made a "he ACTUALLY broke his toe when he kicked that helmet!!!!" reference when ryan kicked logan‘s skull lmao

the marry puppins SNOGGING ryan bts clips will never get old lmao funniest shit ever

THE SUIT LOOKS SO GOOD UGHHHH am i having a gender or a sexuality crisis over it???? guess we’ll never know

EMMA CORRIN ILYSM

shout out to british people gotta be one of my fav genders fr

all the different lines ryan screamed out of the honda????😭😭 honestly they should’ve just kept all of these idc about logic

EMMA CORRIN

"and i knew the fans would love it" ohhh hugh i think we all love it a bit too much

"and yet, i wouldn’t say wolverine is a straight man" awesome, thanks, case fucking CLOSED.

"which i don’t recommend, sending a 10 minute voice memo to anyone"

*me looking at the five 10-20 minute voicemails i send my friends every single day*

THE SUITS LOOK SO GOOD TOGETHER (their asses do as well)

GOD hugh jackman is gorgeous

"what we refer to as the van fight" no babe that’s the honda odyssey sex marathon actually!!

"violence is our love language" ITS CONFIRMED (everyone knew. BUT STILL)

choreographing this scene (all the deadpool vs wolverine fight scenes really) must’ve been SO FUN like UGH just coming up with all this violence knowing that it won’t affect your characters in the long haul and you can add of many of it as you want????? THE DREAM

THEM HUGGING IN THE HONDA???😭😭 brb gotta cry

I LOVE YOU EMMA CORRIN

CHRIS EVANS LOML

it’s unfair how attractive he is i‘m gonna throw up

reminder to myself to finally learn johnny‘s monologue i wanna be able to randomly hit people with it

OHHHH i actually did NOT realize that was hulk‘s bed from ragnarok??? which is weird bc i used to watch that movie religiously. but hey that’s so cool!!

channing tatum talking about gambit is so heartwarming man so happy for him😭

jennifer garner is so pretty i‘m so gay lord help

me

dafne keen‘s voice sounds SO different when she’s not playing laura, CRAZY

EMMA CORRIN MY LOVE

just once just ONCE i wanna walk through a street filme set like this UGH it looks so cool & surreal

"this is our baby yoda" i have to be this annoying person i‘m sorry but HIS NAME IS GROGU

i don’t know shit about music but i could listen to people talk about movie scores for hours on end (how did you know sideways is my fav youtube video essayist???)

good fucking god hugh jackman is gorgeous

lmao they should’ve kept the "zoooombies wake uuuppp" again, idc about logic

EMMA CORRIN ‼️‼️‼️

ohh hugh jackman is gorgeous (put your greasy tits away you preening slut)

ugh i‘m getting emotional help

well that was awesome, gonna cry myself to sleep now byeee

(have i mentioned how gorgeous hugh jackman is?)

[kyri45]

✨ISAT Sky: Cotl!AU Q&A (22-09)✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the ISAT Sky: Cotl!AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto:Hey your ISAT Sky: COTL crossover comic is what got me to try out sky, it's pretty fun even if players approaching me is a bit intimidating for my socially anxious self. The comic itself is pretty nice too and thank you for getting me into such a cute looking game :3

Thank you so much!!!♥️♥️♥️ sky is wonderful, it became my personal happy place!

@lunarmoff ha chiesto: Hello!! Hi, you probably have a lot of asks in your box but I wanted to thank you for getting me into isat! I first read your Isat sky au when I was in the sky fandom and I loved it even though I didn't know the characters at all! Now that I've gotten into the fandom and gotten to know the characters, I understand your au a lot more now. I love your art style and how you added a bunch of peoples sky kids into your story! I myself would have given you my sky kid but I found your comic a little to late to give them to you. Just know that I love your comic, and I can't wait to see how it ends!!!

AAAAAhhhhh that's awesome!!!So gad that you like ISAT! It's an emotional rollercoaster but it's soooo good!

@a-tired-human-draws-junk ha chiesto: I've been reading ur sky cotl x isat au and its driving me NUTS isat is a newer brainrot for me and sky is an OLD one like I havent played sky properly in over a year and you dragged me back into the game w ur comics DURING THE SEASON OF DUETS and I've been playing daily so I can get stuff AND I CANT BELIEVE AN ISAT AU IS WHAT DRAGGED ME BACK TO CANDLERUNNING HELL /lhj Anyways love the sky cotl x isat comics I see siffrin is still an idiot (Also I cant stop imagine siffrin honking at his family like a goddamn excited moth while running around them goofily as per average sky kid interaction and the mental image is so funny)

ASDFGHJKL YOU CAN'T UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I NEED SIFFRIN TO JUST- ACT LIKE A GOOFY EXCITED AND INNOCENT SKY KID AGAIN. HE'S JUST A LITTLE GUY!!!! HE DESERVE ALL THE HAPPYNESS AND FLUFF IN THE WORLD AND I'M HERE TO GIVE IT TO HIM (after I made him suffer hell of course)

@o-rainknight-o ha chiesto:I just want you to know that I love your art! It's so beautiful!Your LMK AU is amazing. I haven't played Sky in a while and I've never played ISAT but my sister has, so I know a little about it. It's also very pretty the way you draw it.Make sure not to overwork yourself too! We are all strangers here but a lot of us care :)

Ty!!!! I hope you get the chance to play sky as well!

@scarftale-bryan ha chiesto: Why did the lads skip the plains and wasteland?

cause I don't have the time or will to draw all 6 the realms. And also cause geographically, I don't know where the wastelands could be placed in Guadeloupe

Anonimo ha chiesto:

crying wailing throwing up over isat cotl i love it so much

AAAHH TY!!!

@puppetxtheatre ha chiesto: I don't even like sky but your comic was so good it convinced me to play ISAT and now I'm in love with the game thank you

WELCOME TO YOUR NEW HELL/pos

Anonimo ha chiesto: is it bad that i keep tricking myself into believing your isat comics are canon?

omg I myself have to do it otherwise I would just go insane over the fact we will never have comfirmation to what happened to the forgotten island

Anonimo ha chiesto:I don't know anything about children of the sky (is that the name???) but I really like ISAT and I ADORE your comic. I'm so pumped to see all them colors and pretty stuff in your awesome style

Thank you! Me as well omg you have no idea (even though then panels will take double the time to color

@kestrel-bee ha chiesto: Hihi!

I’m loving your Shadowpeach AU, loving the current angst :]

but when going through your profile I saw your ISAT x COTL AU, which reminded me of the fact that I’d been intending to buy ISAT for a long while, so I finally did.

That was yesterday and I am now 6hrs in. Thank you for the new hyperfixation material 🙏

LMAO THAT WAS ME. THE FUCK (I finished the game in 3 days.)

Anonimo ha chiesto:I would just like to say I am in LOVE with the way you draw the sky kids! This is making me inspired to draw my sky kid!!

Thank you!!!

@sunsetcannon ha chiesto: Considering I am both an ISAT fan and a Sky fan I'm going to be permanently rotating this AU in my head like it's a microwave so thank you for that

And I need you to know that unfortunately you'll remain in said microwave for a lot more/pos

@selfdestructivecat ha chiesto: Hello! I have a question about your ISAT: COTL AU comic! So Nesting guide was there! Does that mean that Season of Nesting had already happened in this universe? Presumably Season of Revival will be happening once the dust has settled on this comic and everyone works on restoring Aviary Village, so does that mean that Revival happens after Nesting in this timeline? And will Duets, the most recent season, also have happened before Revival? (I’m just very happy because now my skid, a nesting moth, canonically can exist in this au! XD)

You can find the timeline of the AU here!

[beefscrap]

CONTEST HONORABLE MENTIONS

A total of 12 designs were submitted for this contest. Holy crap! I couldn’t ask for more. Not only that but they were all so goddamn cool and creative. It was HARD picking the top three out of all of them. So if you weren’t chosen, you should still be so proud of yourself!! Thank you to each and every one of you for your submissions.

Everyone who didn’t get first place can do whatever they wish with their designs, ofc. Whatever you choose, I wanted to do a LITTLE something to express my thanks. So I did a stupid little doodle for each of them :]

THE SUBMISSIONS

The first submission, and a GREAT start! I love your clean style, and the colors you used. Like I said before, I LOVE the birthmark

SO BADASS!!! Nugget never fails to make an amazing design. The headcanons are so silly and entertaining to think abt. Imagining a dragon who loves to walk on his hind legs for no reason like lmaooo

The colors here are FANTASTIC. The fades between each scale plate are super unique. I really love the pattern of the stars, too. Just a super cool style in general.

I ADORE the idea of nightwing scales going white with age for this dude. As I said before I loveee how he’s shaped. So many fun lore ideas were added to this guy. I love old men

Beautiful wings and awesome colors. The combo of red and blue is really cool. You have such a pretty style!!! And I love their big ears

Another baddassss designnnn. Face marking you added is something I just can’t get over. I had so much fun reading the lore.. and his name (Sickle-Moon) is so cool sounding.??! Where do yall find these names

(As I’ve said) I haven’t seen compression gloves like this for a dragon before! That’s so cool! And the pattern on them makes them even better. The blues are great - need more blue Nightwings in my life

The amount of detail put into this is CRAZY. Especially with those accessories - holy crap. They were something i particularly kept note of because of the job this character has in the story …

Love love loveddd this guy. Again, the tear drop jewelry was something I kept in mind and really liked. There’s so much care put into the scales in this drawing. Omg some of you have patience that I do NOT

[karlachismylife]

For the celebration! The Prompt: laying their hand on the other’s leg. The pairing SoapxReader or DammonxReader, you choose! >:3 pls and tyyy

Never ask me to choose again, darling, I'm polyamorous for a reason >< You get both! And also lots of love from me for your support and overall awesomeness <3

Link to the celebration post for anyone interested here!

Emotional Support Dog

John "Soap" MacTavish x gn!civilian!reader

Even the air around you feels charged with anxiety. No amount of meticulously created comfort can tone it down: tucked into the soft corner of your couch, surrounded with pillows, a blanket, a steaming cup and a bowl of snacks to accompany fat stacks of papers to read, you still feel nervous. No one can blame you though: your boss wasn't particularly fair informing you of the upcoming meeting late. Very late. Couple of days before a very important meeting with your place at the company depenging on it - that sort of late.

Goddamn corporate.

So it's not surprising that you're slightly crumbling under pressure to get prepared with all available documentation; maybe they're trying to set you up to be at their mercy or fail, but you're not going down without a fight. Even if the fight makes your knee bounce nervously and the almost-forgotten nail biting come back as your eyes scan one bureaucratic word vomit page after another.

You're so engrossed in the process of absorbing vital information from the bulky speech figures and long columns of numbers that you nearly miss the sound of the apartment door opening and closing - and the one entering isn't even trying to be subtle about it. Poor door suffers a concussion in its core each time it gets slammed shut by the overly excited to be home individual; then follows the jiggling of keys thrown to their place, two hasty thuds of boots being enthusiastically kicked off, and finally - a dramatic pause. Were you a little less busy, you would've already been at the door, right where one hearty hug awaits, arms opened and everything; maybe you would've made him wait on purpose, just to see a sulky pout of an impatient pup light up with pure inner sunlight by your presence; but you can't just pull yourself away from this very important reading.

So in a minute Johnny peeks around the living room entrance, wary expression immediately replaced with a loving glint in the aquatic eyes at the sight of you. In two strides he is already at the sofa, plopping his ass right next to you and nuzzling the side of your face with one, two - three kisses: to the temple buzzing with brainwork, to the soft cheek and to the corner of your sightly frowned mouth.

"Whit are ye doing there, bonnie? Thought ye fell asleep, didnae even come hug me at th' door," here comes the famous pout, eyes full of betrayal boring straight into your soul in hopes of coaxing more kisses and cuddles. Would've definitely worked.

If not for the bloody headache fussing over this goddamn meeting planted into your skull.

You open your mouth with a sigh, planning to answer him - you're going to hug and kiss him alright, just a second, you just have to finish this paragraph, so wordy and inhumanely written that you almost don't doubt it was done by a real person - to deliberately make every reader's of this file head explode. An efficient way to balance the workforce market.

Soap, however, reads into your frowny silence and immediately smells that something's wrong. And it very much might be his fault - even though he did the dishes, took you to your favourite Italian on the weekend, showed impeccable restraint when a guy at the parking lot ran his mouth at you (that prick was lucky Johnny didn't want to start the date with a fight: "Ye better thank tis guardian angel 'ere fur haudin' me back, or ah'd teach ye a lesson, ye sod," - all said with a firm hand placed on the small of your back while you glared at the mouthy motherfucker), folded the laund- oh shite. It was the laundry, wasn't it?

"Bonnie, ye're nae angry at me, are ye?" Johnny tilts his head, trying to catch a direct glimpse at you, and almost shoves himself between you and your reading, squeezing in more kisses. "Ah'll dae th' laundry, ah promise, must've forgotten-" - you finally blink and emerge from your hyperfocused state, immediately cupping the Scot's worried face and planting a loud smooch on his nose.

"I'm not angry... not at you, at least," you give him an apologetic kiss on his pouty lips and look back down at the paper in your lap. "It's just work. Gotta read all this or I'll be in trouble, boss gave me a really short notice this time. It's like they're trying to set me up... sorry for ignoring you, sunshine."

Initial relief on Johnny's face that showed there when you confirmed he didn't get on your bad side (he did fold the laudry after all, just managed to forget that he did) gets replaced with a concerned look once again. Leaning back a bit, he gauges the stacks of papers laid out on the coffee table in front of you and furrows his full brows.

"'N' how long ye 'ave tae read all tis?" - "The meeting's two days away, morning." You rub your neck with another exasperated sigh, and a much larger hand, warm and calloused, comes up to do it for you, squeezing the sore spots and making you shudder as it forces the knots away. How long have you been sitting here, hunched over the papers?

"Steamin' Jesus, tha's a lot of reading tae dae," he mutters, squinting to try and make something out of the corporate gibberish - and inevitably failing. With a sigh, Johnny reserves to kissing your temple again. "Well, shite, nae lik' ye 'ave much choice, dae ye? Wanntae 'ave pasta fur dinner? Ah'll cook."

With a confirming nod and a grateful grunt from you, already deep in the papers again, he raises from the couch that creaks with relief, but then pauses and sits right back down. His big hand finds its way to your leg, squeezing your knee reassuringly and stopping the jittering with warm, heavy weight. You lift your eyes once again, meeting his bluest ones with a net of crow's feet around them, nothing but warmth towards you. This sight makes breathing, constricted by the pressure put on you by the situation, easier.

"Ye got tis, aye, bonnie? Ah ken ye got tis. Ye gonnae show 'em."

With a pat, meant to gently hammer in this confidence in case you were still worrying and doubting yourself, Johnny finally gets up, and your knee immediately feels cold without his big paw on it.

"Ah'll go start th' dinner, and ye holler if ye need anything, aye? Ah heard snoggin's good fur yer brains."

Of course he did. Bloody rascal with his innocent blue eyes winking at you and calming your wired self down. Well, why refuse such considerate service when offered?

Forged Under the Stars

Dammon x gn!reader

The cool of the night yields under the relentless burning of several campfires and torches lighting the clearing your celebratory party takes place at, their heat amplified by mulled wine and other drinks generously shared between everyone present. Sitting close to one of the campfires, you quietly observe folks with genuine smiles on their faces that only add to the pleasant warmth in your chest. It's nice, you think, seeing them relax and shrug off the heavy weight of barely avoided danger. They deserve this small moment of peace and quiet among impending doom, and so do you.

Drunken laughter at one of the barrels people gather for the good ale distracts you, your curiousity piqued as you lazily try to make out what caused the whistling and hooting - some brave soul trying to compete against others in absorbing a humongous mug in one go, perhaps? Whatever it is, it keeps your attention long enough for someone to stumble a bit clumsily and seat themself down with a quiet "oof", warm knee nudging your leg in an accidental move before the person straightens up. Snapping your eyes to the right, you can't help the wide smile tugging at your lips.

"Hello to you too, Dammon," you raise your clay mug as a greeting, taking in the view. The blacksmith doesn't look too out of it, but he's clearly tipsy - you aren't surprised, he does give off the impression of someone easily getting lightheaded from a drink or two. Even the warm orange hue of the campfire can't hide cute rosy blush on his cheeks and pointy eartips; neither manages he to conceal a certain glint in his bright glowing eyes.

"Sorry," he mumbles, probably referring to his clumsy landing, but you just shake your head - he didn't even really disturb you, holding up quite well. Same can't be said for everyone: with another glance around, you notice a completely plastered tiefling maiden try and dance with Wyll, who ends up catching her and preventing a fall after fall for the giggling girl. A quiet rustling from behind alerts you, but even without looking you realize it's just Dammon's tail getting restless, usual reserved attitude lifted by ale or whatever he was drinking.

You two sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the party and stealing glances at each other, smiles widening and chuckles escaping when you catch each other looking - after one of these accidental eye contacts Dammon and you burst out in particularly loud fits of laughter, leaning forward and shaking your heads. Alcohol makes it so much funnier, fuzzy, pleasant feelings coiling like furry cats in your stomachs.

"Gods above, I haven't laughed like that for a long time," Dammon sits back up and tilts his head back, inhaling fresh night air and watching the night sky. His vision makes the stars shine brighter, and while you watch him instead of the nightsky, you think you see the celestial bodies swirling in his eyes, reflected as if they were a crysral clear lake.

"Not much laughter in Avernus, eh?" Your slightly intoxicated tongue works faster than your brain, and you immediately stutter, cursing yourself for bringing The Descent - of all things, damn it! - up. "Sorry, didn't mean to..."

"It's alright. I know what you meant," Dammon's smile doesn't falter and he tears his gaze away from the sky to look at you. Maybe it's a play of the flickering flame you sit at, but it seems as if his eyes only shine brighter when looking at you. "And you're right, that wasn't... although there was this one time..."

He briefly checks if you're listening and goes off - waving his mug, unusually expressive and talkative, clearly encouraged when you prop your cheek on your palm and listen on. Maybe you don't quite keep up with the amout of terms and unkown words his slurred speech is littered with, but you still laugh, when he puffs his blushing cheeks, reenacting the way some poor apprentice thrown into his forge held a heavy anvil and tried to use it as a hammer when they ran out of those (how does a forge run out of hammers? why yes, of course, when a whole squadron of unprepared for battle soldiers swarms it and takes everything and anything they can use as a weapon. yes, the firepokers too.)

At the sound of your laughter, loud and unbothered, Dammon pauses with his antics and turns back into his shy self, holding his breath and drinking in the sight of you with a surprisingly sober shine to his eyes. Your fit of giggles dies down, when you feel a warm hand on your thigh, barely squeezing, long tiefling claws carfully denting the skin underneath your clothing.

"Thank you," sincerely whispers Dammon, looking at you like you've hung the moon in the skies and lit up the fire in his forge, "for everything. For this night."

He leans in closer, lips slightly parted, something else dancing on the tip of his tongue, something he can't brace himself to say out loud. You smile, covering his palm with yours - his is strong, warm, a hand of someone working hard, rough and with visible burns from accidental sparks scorching through the protective mittens. It startles Dammon, fingers twitching and squeezig a bit harder before he lets go of your leg and moves his eyes away. His ears slowly start glowing brighter, tail swishing behind you and nearly swatting your bum - turns out, it almost coiled around your waits while you two were sitting next to each other.

Unwilling to let his bashfulness to get in the way, you catch Dammon's hand before it slips away and hold it gently, allowing to rest on your thigh again, your fingers almost intertwined.

"I'm glad you're here," there's enough courage in you for the both of you, added in liquid form or coming to you naturally - doesn't matter. Dammon's shy smile grazes his lips once again, and he finally allows his tail to wrap around your seated form, carefully, ready to pull away if you show any signs of discomfort.

You don't.

"I hope we see each other again," with your support, Dammon allows his thoughts to spill out. It's a little bittersweet, a reminder that the celebration will eventually come to an end and you both will have to move on, heavy burdens on both of your shoulders. But maybe, just maybe the knowledge that wherever life chucks you, if there's a forge nearby, you might see a familiar face - maybe that knowledge lifts the weight just a little bit.

After all, this blacksmith has some fine, strong shoulders you can lean on.

If you know anything about the Faerûn traditions, it's that lovespoons are carved out of wood. Unlike that little forged one that you find among your posessions the next morning.