#thanks for feeding my imagination

[klywrites]

let mira break up with juan over a disastrous round of a board game, lmao.

Not you advocating for them to split!! 😂😂😂

Okay to be fair, they're in an open relationship and frequently on/off so... it's plausible

But over a boardgame?? It's so petty loll I need to see this (in my brain)

[wispscribbles]

Your art style is just so delicious!!! It’s got such low key Ghibli vibes, especially in the eyes, and your color control is fantastic. You’re amazing, keep rockin it! ✨

aw yay, Ghibli vibes!! I grew up on those movies, they've definitely inspired me to create. Thank you sm <3

wanted to draw some small ghibli ghoap after getting this ask. 'Ghost's moving castle'

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 324

Is Mermay Over? Yes. Is that going to stop me? No. 

So, Danny and Jazz might’ve run off to their uncle’s- they love their parents, don’t get them wrong, but even with at least one person in each generation of their family ending up a villain, they’re… intense. And they were getting that I’m going to destroy the government for this, look on their faces. 

SO! Off to Uncle Crane’s, the somehow responsible one of the family. Seriously, how the Gotham Rogue is somehow the responsible person is… well, it’s a story to be sure, but hey, he’s actually pretty chill. And sometimes you need fear to eat and survive, they get it, it’s a liminal thing and a ghost thing. 

Siren thing? 

Look, it’s something to do with how ecto interacts with the body of a living or partially living person, even if they’re all still baffled about the how and why. Then again, it’s not particularly important at the moment, they’re in Gotham now and vibing in one of their uncle’s homes. 

Honestly? They see why he didn’t move away after university, this place is pretty chill. Well, save for the fact the waters are horrible unless you’re used to it, but that’s what the tanks indoors are for. Even if Danny is the only one of them that has like, a proper fully aquatic form at the moment. 

But honestly, doesn’t really matter. They’re pretty chill, even if the local furry brigade keeps breaking into their warehouses? Like damn, it’s not like their uncle is even currently doing rogue work, chill. 

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

What would jade do if she found a girl flirting with simon

OH MY. OKAY. SO.

First things first, Jade is an avid observer. She'd pause and wait for Ghost's reaction. Jade completely trusts Simon, and considering how he is, Ghost himself would just steps away/leaves the flirting gal 😶‍🌫️, trying to find Jade.

But if the gal insists and keeps on following him, Jade herself would also probably notice Ghost's discomfort. Coming in between Ghost and the girl would lead to more conversations which she doesn't want to take part of, so she'll just call his first name from the distance. Ghost (who'd recognize her voice, and is absolutely relieved) would then just leave the girl and rv with Jade instead.

Ooorrr if she's feeling a bit infuriated, Jade will come to his side, and spoke to the girl. "Hey, Love. Who's this? Oh! Nice to meet you." And tries to be friendly with her instead, while repeating the fact that the man is taken to assert some soft dominance. After that, she'd say "oh, the movie's about to start. Let's go, Love. See you later!"

[luxaofhesperides]

ghostlights prompt with "it's okay, you're safe now" hurt/comfort?

It takes over a month to find Danny. 

Thirty seven days of panic and ever growing dread, searching for him every single day. Duke hasn’t felt this way since he was in foster care, running away from whatever home he got placed in to search for his parents. 

The first week was spent trying to find any trace of Danny, working on nothing but his last few messages and a voicemail he left Duke, where all he said was a whispered, Call me back when you can. I might just be paranoid, but I think someone’s following me. I’m walking home right now. I… I don’t know, I feel a little sick, Duke, I— And then static before the voicemail ends. 

There hadn’t been any sign that Danny made it home. No cameras caught sight of him after he walked past a bus stop. No one around on the streets to tell him what happened. 

One moment, Danny was there. The next, he was gone.

He had to recruit the rest of the Bats into searching for Danny, and his guilt of outing Danny as a meta (half ghost, as Danny called himself) was easily buried under his desperation. Duke knows the statistics. The chances of finding someone after three days drop drastically, and after enough time, it’s safe to assume they’re dead even if people keep searching. 

Jason promised to interrogate some traffickers moving outside of Crime Alley, updating Duke weekly on any other kidnappings that might be related to Danny’s case. Tim had been checking around Danny’s neighborhood, slipping in and out of spaces to gather information, leaving behind cameras and bugs on the off chance the kidnappers came back to the area. Barbara hacked her way into the messages of traffickers, trying to find any mention of Danny. Even Bruce had gotten involved, looking into Danny’s background to see if there was anyone that might be connected to his disappearance.

Vlad Masters wasn’t a lead. He had no idea Danny was missing when they called, and he ended the call immediately to begin his own search.

Thirty seven days.

Duke didn’t want to lose hope, but all he could think about were the empty spaces in his life where Danny once was. 

And now, on the thirty eighth day, Duke jerks awake as his cell phone rings at max volume and he scrambles to get it. He’s not risking another missed call, not after Danny disappeared. 

He doesn’t have time to say anything once he accepts the call before Jason is saying, “We found him Duke. Babs is sending the location to the GPS of your motorcycle. Suit up and meet us here.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s…” Jason hesitates. “He’ll live. But these fuckers did a number on him, from what we've read in their files. We’re waiting for you and the others to get here, and then we’ll take them out while you get your boy to safety.”

“I’m on my way,” Duke says, already pulling his suit out to get changed. He hasn’t bothered to bring it to the Batcave for weeks, spending most of his time out on the streets as the Signal. It’s just easier to have it on hand than to go to the Batcave to suit up, or to leave it in the Hatch. He chucks his phone back onto his bed and is jumping out the window of his apartment just a minute later, dropping down to street level just as his motorcycle pulls up on the street.

He’ll have to remember to get Babs a gift basket or something when this is all over. It’s the least he can do after she’s helped him so much over the past month. 

“Thanks, Babs,” Duke says into his comm, switching it to a private line with Oracle. She hums an acknowledgement, but otherwise doesn’t respond. Not that Duke has much in him for conversation; all his focus is on Danny, Danny, Danny.

The GPS on the motorcycle leads him to the outskirts of GCU campus, in one of the buildings that had been closed off after a fire earlier in the year that they still haven’t fixed due to the amount of mobsters who liked to pass through it, using it as a drop sight for arms deals. Red Hood leans on the chain link fence surrounding it, watching as he approaches.

Duke all but jumps off the motorcycle to reach Red Hood, barely remembering to turn on the cloaking to hide it from sight.

“Where is he?”

“Basement,” Red Hood answers, and even through the helmet, Duke can hear the tightness in his voice that means he’s doing his best to hold back his rage. “Red Robin and the Batgirls are in there, getting Oracle access to their computers. They’re going to make sure no one slips by us. I’m going to make them wish I had been kind enough to kill them, and you’re going to take your boy straight to the Batcave where the Doc is waiting with Alfred.”

It’s not much of a plan, but Duke trusts the others to do what they need to do. All he cares about is getting Danny out of there. 

“Lead the way.”

They scale the fence easily, and there’s no one on the upper levels when they walk in. Not even a single camera to alert anyone to their entrance. Red Hood leads him down a stairwell, ignoring the way the shadows around them move on their own, Duke’s agitation making them twist into some dark nightmare. 

He sees the flicker of light as soon as they step out into the basement hallway. All the light bulbs above their head are broken, covering the floor in sharp glass, and doors going down the hall are all left open, some barely hanging onto their hinges. The building is a wreck, graffiti decorating portions of the wall, and it looks abandoned. He would bet even mobsters avoid coming down here; it’s all sorts of health hazards.

Normally, he’d be cautious. He would sneak through the wall, sticking to the shadows and staying hidden as he went deeper in, ready for anything. 

Duke hasn’t been thinking clearly in weeks. He sees the light, the soft white glow he associates with Danny, and tears after it like a man possessed. 

Distantly, he hears Red Hood curse behind him, and then he’s turning the corner, feeling the familiar burn in his eyes as his powers kick in and let him see the small ball of light flickering weakly as it guides him through the basement level. 

Red Robin and Batgirl’s voices fill his helmet and Duke doesn’t waste a second in muting his comm; if there’s a problem, they can work it out with Red Hood. Now that he’s so close to Danny, he’s not letting anything get in his way. 

The first guy he runs into is a surprise. Clearly a scientist, judging by the lab coat and the notebook in his hands, paired with the dark circles stamped beneath his eyes. He barely has time to open his mouth, looking alarmed, before Duke slams into him, tackling him to the floor and knocking him out with a quick hit to the temple. 

A vent in the ceiling falls down, and Red Robin pops out.

“They’re keeping him in the back, locked in. I’m warning you now, it’s not a pretty sight.”

“I don’t care,” Duke snaps, “I’m getting him back.”

“We’ll clear the way and keep them from stopping you,” Red Robin says.

He whips out his bo staff and sprints away, kicking in a door. Duke follows after him, ignoring the yells from the other scientists gathered in there, leaving them to Red Robin’s tender mercies. 

The light leads him to a room hidden away in the lab, a small window in the door that is too dirty to see through. The door is locked, so Duke feels out the shadows around him and uses one to slip into the room.

And Danny’s there.

Danny, never without a smile, glowing and funny and so, so sweet, is lying curled up on the floor. There are shackles around his ankles, keeping him trapped in the room with the chain nailed into the wall. His wrists are bound in meta suppressant cuffs, leaving him weak and vulnerable. That’s not the worst thing.

The worst thing is the visible wounds Duke can see on him, sluggishly bleeding. There are blood stains all over the floor, cuts along his arms and thighs, clothes torn into nothing but dirty rags. There’s a large incision on his chest, going down from his collarbone to his navel, hastily stitched together in a way that only keeps it slightly closed, the stitches loose enough to be pulled out with a single pull. 

As if sensing his gaze, Danny blinks his eyes open, staring at the space next to Duke. Slowly, his gaze slides over, eyes hazy with pain and exhaustion. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.

Duke kneels next to him, pulling off his gloves to cup Danny’s cheek as gently as he can.

“Hey,” he whispers, overcome with both grief at the pain Danny had to go through, and relief at finally finding him. “Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe now.”

Danny doesn’t try to speak again. Instead, he closes his eyes and leans into Duke’s touch, relaxing. 

“I got you honey, it’s alright. I’m gonna get you out of here and take you to some people who can patch you up.”

He slides his arms beneath Danny’s body, lifting him into his arms. 

He doesn’t remember much of what happens next; it’s all a blur of movement and feeling blood slide over his hands. Later, he’ll hear the others give their report, telling of how they found Danny following the trail of a university professor bragging about a paper that would make him famous for a deeper understanding of meta biology. They’ll recount their scouting, the information they stole, how many people they fought and captured. They’ll talk about how the shadows completely overwhelmed the basement when Duke left with Danny, traveling through shadows at a speed he had never achieved before, going farther than he’s ever been able to. 

Leslie and Alfred input their own medical reports of the torture done to Danny and how long he’ll need to be in recovery, checking for infection and possible side effects to his powers. 

All of that will be important later. 

Duke doesn’t care about anything at all when he’s finally able to return to Danny’s side once Alfred and Leslie are done patching him up. The weight that’s been on his shoulders for the past thirty seven days is gone. The sight of Danny’s blue eyes fluttering open is the most beautiful he’ll ever see.

“Hey, honey,” he says softly, holding Danny’s hand as he wakes.

Danny smiles at him. “Duke,” he whispers, “I knew you’d find me.”

“Always, honey. Always.”

. . .

[send me a ghostlights prompt!]

[evansbby]

my opinion on the Blake lively situation

[dont-hug-me-its-yuri]

stares at you with my autistic eyes. you should tell me your favorite music artists.. or songs.. maybe even ones you'd associate with coffin... smiles (-thecultoflove :DDD !!!)

Thank you for this question I can already feel my sickness healing ^_^

my favorite songs always seem to rotate every month or so but my top 4 favorite artists are Mitski, Will Wood, The cure, and Queen, I’ve also been trying to broaden my taste when it comes to goth music/bands :3

You’ve activated my autism by mentioning Coffin so you may suffer through this

I associate a lot of Mitski songs with them though I associate the song Abbey with her the most

I also think Memento Mori by Will wood suits her a lot due to the songs overall theme about the inevitability of death

Amygdala’s rag doll because. Amygdala’s rag doll.

If I list all of them this post will be way to long so here’s my wip playlist for them on Spotify :3

[cctinsleybaxter]

God bless my parents for letting me (vegetarian toddler) think pigs ears weren't literal pig ears. They were our dog's favorite treat so I loved getting them at the deli for her, but thought they were like a type of biscuit until I was 8 or 9 😭 In kindergarten I remember wondering why we don't have 'pigs ears for people' and thinking they would be a croissant-type thing

[bruciemilf]

Miguel gives Battinson the greatest aftercare that he does after plastering and making Bruce incoherent to the world around him that isn’t Spiderman 2099.

Please! In my head it's like...Miguel panting heavily in Bruce's neck, exhaustion unfamiliar but very tasty on his tongue. He's covering Bruce almost completely, heavy, boneless, and sweaty and so perfectly sore. Bruce is panting too, little soft gasps of satisfaction in Miguel's ear, numb arms hugging and clinging.

Bruce, softest bitch in the whole wide world, kisses Miguel's nose and expects NOT to be railed again? That's his fault.

[86maylin]

– by @pointdotiozao

and always, there is hunger I will admit that I do not know if I should hold you or eat you.

– Derold Ernest Sligh, Occupation

"Do you really think I wouldn't prepare before coming to the infamous blood church?" She locks his arms behind his back, pinning his upper body against the wall while she binds them with a reinforced metal chain. "Then you are badly mistaken, father."

Upon flipping him over, she sees his eyes burning bright red in anger and she smirks. 

"You're like a fish on the cutting board, so helpless and cute. I wonder, why did you choose to attack me? I've heard you usually have volunteers, no?"

She is right, this is not how I usually operate. But her scent…it riles up my primal urge. It's like I need her, need to taste her-

Her hand yanking his hair interrupts his thought, forcing him to expose his neck as her other hand rips open the collar of his soutane. 

"Not cooperative, I see. That's ok…two can play this ‘game’ of yours."

He hisses at the sudden pain as her teeth sinks into his neck. What is she doing!? She can’t be serious. 

He almost finds this role reversal amusing, but being in this vulnerable position makes the predator side of him furious, even as there’s a burning lust igniting in the pit of his stomach. 

She lets go of his neck after what feels like eternity, despite him knowing it’s only been seconds. The prickly sensation of her tongue dragging over the bite mark gives him goosebumps. He finds the feeling oddly pleasant. Why do I want to submit to her? 

Just when he thought she’s finally releasing him, she bites down again, and again, and again. With each bite, the urge to submit grows stronger, until he’s moaning and whimpering at her every touch. 

“Please…”

She crushes her lips with his, swallowing any further words. 

“No, I don’t think I want you to talk anymore.”

He doesn’t think he minds that, at all.

[gregmarriage]

claustrophobia combined with agoraphobia, is the stupidest shit in the world. like, oh, you’re going actually insane being stuck in the house all the time, due to your disability? oh, here’s sickening anxiety about leaving the house, like, wow, well done brain 👍🏻

[michsjacket]

X

[fellpyrean]

Claps hands alright we’re doing this! So I started listening to magnus archives a few months ago and it really did things to my writing ideas, so now I’m gonna round some up and post ‘em. 

I forget where/when I first saw a moth!jon but u know. He’s cute. So here is some moth!jon AU! Corruption Jon :Dc and archivist Sasha! ~1800 words. 

Since he is a corruption avatar in this, there is (as expected) some possibly gross bug imagery, but not a lot of holes. And no worms! :D

______________

The flat is quiet. 

Quieter than Sasha expected, and much neater too than she expected when they connected this one to "Filth." The lights are off and there's a faint dusty, sweet scent in the air as she cracks open the door, torch slicing through the dark. 

It catches on motes of dust. She thinks she hears movement, a susurrus of rustling like fabric faint in the depths of the place but little else. She pushes the door further, feels it catch on the ragged old rug on the floor and watches moths flutter up, batter against her torch in little puffs of dust before they flutter away. 

Part of her worries as she steps inside, as she closes the door behind herself - leaving just a crack in case she needs to get out fast. 

This is too quiet for something of the powers. The flat should be more of a wreck, more… more miserably bloodstained, more disgusting and unnerving, but it looks, honestly, just a bit messy, a bit moth-eaten. The couch sags a bit wrong, but hell, she can't pretend she's never had one like it. There are shelves of books, their edges chewed and pages no doubt holey, there's even a mug left forgotten on the kitchen counter. It's all dim; lit only by what spills around heavy curtain edges and her own torch as she steps further in and - and hears that rustling again from the end of the hallway and heads straight for it. 

More moths flutter up at her steps, and she is wary, she is. But the things just… flutter uselessly at her hands, their wings shedding dust and their fat abdomens plump and full, but hardly a threat before they fly - further inside. 

Towards that faint rustling noise, towards the door at the end of the dim-lit hall that is just open enough to allow the frantic moths to flit inside. Writhing and wriggling at the crack between door and jamb just a moment before they vanish inside, but the movement… it makes Sasha swallow. 

Something about the way the bulbous little things squirm before they pop through sets her stomach on edge. Too many of them; more than she thought, all struggling to squeeze into that door. 

The crack writhes by the time she reaches it. 

She can swear she hears them whine and click and screech in tiny voices above the din of their frantically fluttering wings.

She uses her torch to push the door open. Fast, loosing a cloud of moths from the stuffed crack that fall and flutter and scatter into the dim room before her. 

The rustling has not gone quiet. Neither has the soft, whining song of flapping wings and voices she cannot place as she raises her torch high, fumbling for her pepper spray in her other hand. More of a comfort to herself than any real belief it would accomplish anything against something abnormal, but the room doesn’t… change. Nothing leaps out of the dim shadows, nothing comes ravening towards her with a horrid, dripping maw. 

It’s a bedroom. The bed is really as far as the light peeking around the curtains lights, in thin, dusty stripes across worn rugs and a small pile of abandoned clothes. 

“A-Ah.” 

Sasha whips her torch towards the voice, and stills. 

There is… there is something like a man there. Tucked in the corner, with all the moths frantically fluttering, scuttling towards it. She watches, stomach queasy, as the moths drill between the heavy folds of the blanket? The wrap? It has folded around itself. It reaches a hand out to a particularly fat straggler and cradles it in its palms like a treasure, bringing it up slowly, carefully, and opens thin, paled lips and lets the thing crawl straight into its mouth as Sasha gags. 

It is almost worse then when it looks up. 

Long, straggling hair that was probably rather nice once. Now it is loose and lank, black shot with grey and dust that hangs over… over his shoulders, over the thing he has cocooned himself within. His eyes are dark. Too dark. 

There are no whites, she realizes, and cannot help but feel her fingers twinge around the pepper spray. 

But he isn’t attacking. He is just looking at her, head cocked like a curious animal as the moths burrow back into the shelter he offers. 

She can work with this. She sucks in a breath, wills her stomach to settle as she tells it it could really be so, so much worse, and points the torch further towards the floor. Good manners. Going out on a limb that he’s probably not too fond of bright light. 

“Hello,” she says. The strange man stares at her. Hard enough she swears she can feel the tracks his eyes leave on her skin, but she only makes herself stand taller. He seems to like that. He laughs. Not maliciously. 

It’s soft. Like cotton, like it’s been a long while since he’s used his voice, and the rasp sticks to it as he speaks and Sasha tries not to linger on where exactly that moth went. 

“Hello, Archivist. Doing house calls?” 

He’s smiling. And that’s what gets her. 

His voice is soft and smooth like old silk and his smile stiff like he’s unused to using it, but something about him feels familiar. It’s there, just at the corner of her mind, and she knows she’s frowning deeply as she casts a line and tries to hook just why she feels like she knows this strange man, but then he laughs again and stands. 

He rustles as he does. That… that thing wrapped around him doesn’t move the way it should, not like cloth, but she can’t immediately place that, either. Not until he walks a little closer and her torch light catches on it and it… shimmers. 

Like moth wings. And Sasha sucks in a breath. 

She can see it now. The patterns in the dusty brown, the oranges that circle white to make massive, partly hidden eyespots. The thick, dark veins supporting the overall structure, and she can’t help herself from blurting out, “Can you fly with those?” 

The man shudders, that smile hung unmoving on his face as he brings a hand to his mouth and coughs against the static. 

“Not well,” he answers into his hand, his too-dark eyes sparkling. He lets his hand drop back into the too-layered folds of his wings and shuffles a little closer; his wingtips drag across the floor, like a blanket wrapped around a child too small for it, and she can see now where his long, untied hair turns into something shorter. A ruff of fur at the back of his neck, across the back of his shoulders.

(Can see the moths wriggling down into the fur, settling there, an army of tiny, coal-black eyes staring out at her, glinting green when her torch light catches them.) 

And then he stands still, that faint smile on his face, his dark eyes half-lidded in an expression she cannot place, and waits as that soft, soft distant song hums in the room. 

Sasha exhales. This is more than she dared hope for. He’s talking. He’s non-aggressive.

“I,” she begins, wetting her tongue before plunging back into her words. “I was wondering if I could ask you some questions. About the ‘Filth.’ About you.”

He watches, and she feels emboldened. 

(Her phone begins to ring as she steps closer to him, and she ignores it. It’s Elias. She knows.)

“We don’t have answers. And if you could tell me, tell us what you know? About… about what’s happening.” 

Her phone stops ringing. It starts again. The man smiles wider and reaches out. Sasha can see that his hands are… strange. Plated like chitin, and the desire to grab his hand and investigate each delicately plated joint wars deeply with the uneasy reminder that there are probably moths crawling beneath, of statements that were far, far more explicit about what ‘Filth’ did to a person than this man showed. 

His hand waves in front of her face for a moment and she starts, coming back to herself, as her phone angrily rings again. 

“Your phone?” the man asks, and Sasha doesn’t hesitate for a moment to shut the thing off. 

(Elias. All three calls. If he doesn’t want her here, then she’s not leaving.) 

“Well Archivist,” and she knows she is not missing the strange bitterness that clings to that word this time, knows there is something she is missing about him, “If you have that many questions, we should probably get a little more comfortable. I have a feeling that once I let you start, you’ll keep me well after dusk.” 

And isn’t it bizarre? As he brushes past Sasha - both carefully and clearly telegraphing his movements so she only feels the barest touch of his wings as he heads back out into the hallway - she realizes she doesn’t feel afraid of this one. A little disgusted if she thinks about him too hard, yes, but there’s been no threat. No… no menace, no winding, evasive non-answers, just. Incredibly human remarks. It almost circles right back around from comforting to even worse than something as alien as the thing with the door. Michael. 

But as the rustling moves away from her down the hallway, she can’t help but flash her torch around the bedroom. One last bit of nosiness. 

An old, worn bed, rather like the couch. Shelves with books so moth-eaten they’ve gone to pieces. An open closet, filled with over-large sweaters and… She blinks. And oddly proper button ups, slacks. 

And then… and then she turns her torch in one last semi-circle and catches upon a strange shine beneath the lumpy pillows. 

Like polaroids. 

The itch that there’s something she should know only grows when she spots them; growing from a thing at the edge of her thoughts to an all consuming need that drives her in fast steps across the dusty rug before she even catches herself. She fishes the pictures out with deft fingers and - and she thinks her heart stops in her chest. 

She knows the people in the picture. 

That long, dark hair shot with grey is distinctive - even set on a much more vibrant, lively face, and above a painfully crisp button up. He’s wearing glasses in the picture, and. A name tag. 

She can’t read the name, but she’d recognize that emblem anywhere. Not that she needs to. 

Because beside the stuffy librarian like man, his eyes green instead of black, stands… Tim. Tim, his shirt as loud as ever, his smile boisterous, and an arm slung affectionately around the man who couldn’t possibly be any more his opposite. And the same horrible name tag pinned to a pineapple-strewn lapel. 

The man worked at the Magnus Institute. 

He worked with Tim. 

She knows his name now. 

Jonathan Sims. 

[fragglerockopinions]

.

[hellhoundlair]

could we have some more thoughts on ruby posessing deans body post-s3?

how would dean react when he returned?

thank you for asking, my lovely little anon. i totally forgot i had mentioned this a while back and being reminded of it has made me go holy shit.... my mind.....

(putting a cut here because i wrote a lot)

i think it all would have started very shortly after dean died. the entire foundation of sam and rubys relationship at this point has been that sam has reluctantly agreed to be rubys ally for the sake of saving dean. ruby KNOWS how far sam is willing to go for him and is already using that to manipulate sam from the moment they meet. she knows. like she knows knows. maybe just from being around him or from stalking him or from a hearing it from a little birdie whos been in sams head before. but she knows.

I dont know how long the gap between ruby being possessed by lilith and ruby coming back would be, id imagine a few days, giving sam time to grieve dean or at least to accept the fact that hes dead before ruby shows up in a brand new (or all to familiar) body.

i wont pretend to understand how possession works, especially when its happening to a dead character. i dont think the writers knew either so itd be safe to make up my own rules about it. but its deans body. polished and buffed with not a scratch on him.

sams reaction would be similar to the one we see in the show. hed think dean was undead (technically right) and try to kill ruby before she can get a word out.

and ruby would explain it to sam like hes an idiot, like the reason behind her possessing dean is a no brainer. shes keeping deans body warm for when they get him back. otherwise who knows what will get to him first? this isnt possessing someone and controlling their body against their will. this is a favor. and sam will feel stupid and concede that shes right even if hes uncomfortable with the idea.

it starts immediately. sam treating ruby like she really is dean. without even thinking about it sams already agreed to work together with ruby in bringing dean back and theyre running off together without a word into an all too familiar routine - the only difference being that sam sits in the drivers seat now, and even that is back to normal after sam gets injured on the job and ruby drives them both to safety, a hand clutching sams bleeding shoulder and telling him hes gonna be alright and theyre gonna get back and patch him up and he'll be good as new. and its all too achingly familiar that sams holding her hand on top of his wound and letting himself fall asleep, putting trust in her that he would only ever put in dean.

its the same, but its not. ruby for the most part leans into the dean-isms, but jolts sam back to reality sometimes when she lets her eyes linger while sams just out of the shower bent over looking through his duffle for clean clothes, when shes giving him a hungry look that sams only ever seen dean direct at girls in bars that makes sams stomach flutter. when ruby moves in for the kill it takes suprisingly little convincing to get sam okay with the idea. like hes been waiting to just be told that its okay to want it this entire time.

before they know it deans back (despite bringing dean back being against rubys plans) and in his own body (she has to keep her promises) and ruby has plucked the body of a legally dead jane doe to parade around in. and its. different. dean takes sams new affinity for physical contact as a reaction to finally having dean back, that he needs to feel that deans really there to believe it, but its a lot. a lot more than hes used to from sam.

he doesnt know. not for a while. he wouldnt think to suspect it. until eventually the truth comes out and deans fucking pissed that no one thought to tell him a fucking demon was piloting around his body for a few months, but he doesnt understand the level of reaction that sam gives. how guilty sam feels. until the guilt and the touching and ruby acting like sams jealous ex starts coming together in deans mind.

even if dean has feelings for sam or wouldve done the exact same if he was in sams position, i think it would still feel like a violation. sam took something that dean didnt give and for dean to realise that right after coming out of hell by the only person in the world he would trust not to violate him that way? itd be a lot to deal with. he'd push down his panic over it and laugh about it and make fun of sam for it and stop the conversation when sam sees straight through him and tries to have a genuine heart to heart about it because dean cant fucking handle the thought of having to talk about the repeated brutal rape and torture sessions he both endured and enacted in hell, or to console sam over it when he might fucking snap and beat him with a crowbar if he has to see sam acting like a kicked dog when hes the one who raped him.

it'd take a lot for them to work through. it wouldnt be sunshine and rainbows while they kiss and both declare their love for each other. dean doesnt talk about hell but they both know the memories consume him, a newfound violence in the way he kills, the effective coldness in the way he tortures and interrogates. the distance in his eyes when sam tries to talk to him when hes in that mindspace. thered be a lot of acting like they used to, then eventually dean snapping either because hes frustrated with feeling like he has to act like things are normal and that hes okay with what sam did, or frustrated that things do feel normal and that he still feels safe around sam.

they fight. its bad. not in a property damage way but in an emotions way because it all comes out. and then they slowly and gently work through it one step at a time.

[fkmarrycill]

I feel like a mama bird, bringing yummy pics of that beautiful man back to my nest of mutuals. 🫶🏽