#the psychic damage of when friends ask to know about them and my first thought is ONE THOUSAND UNTOLD PISS SECRETS

[starry-eyed-omo]

the worst part of making new ocs is that inevitably my brain will ask "do they piss themselves tho" and the answer is always yes

[spacebarbarianweird]

Ooh how about a Ranger!Tav who hunts undead (like Vampire Lords 👀) x Astarion?

This is the ultimate monster-hunting duo! Though, Rangers are known to be a bit lame in DnD. If it isn't their favored terrain or favored enemy - they are fucked up.

And Tumblr ate the first rough draft, which caused me some psychic damage.

What if Ranger!Tav is a member of some party of heroes, like "Vox Maquina"? And just can't wait to reunite with their former companions?

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion x Ranger!Tav

You never had a chance to talk about your future together. It's not like any of you expected to survive and not be turned into Mindflayers.

When Astarion runs away from the sun, you rush to find him but lose track.

Cities aren't your favored terrain.

Astarion returns to the Elfsong Tavern three days later - he looks like a beaten stray cat.

You cuss him. Use all the known slurs.

Why didn't he come back the first day? Why did he disappear?

You thought he'd died! Burnt to ashes!

He is shocked. 

He has never thought his actions could hurt you. He thought you would be better without him.

You drag Astarion to the bathroom, and, while helping him scrub himself, you finally start talking about your own past.

Something you never really mentioned before.

You have home.

Rather a home base but still home

You have a family.

Rather, a group of weirdos who happened to meet each other years ago and call themselves the Brotherhood of Shadows.

Yes, the name was chosen by a Bard. No one had better suggestions, but you know it's stupid.

There is also a Fighter, a Bard, a Cleric, and a Sorcerer. Together you hunt monsters, bad guys, and protect the common people.

You know, eat the rich and distribute their money among the poor.

And you are coming back.

Astarion is hesitant. He isn't ready to share you. And what if those friends of yours won't accept him?

What if years of friendship are a counterweight to this month of passionate love?

They are monster hunters! Monster hunters don't accept monsters at their homes.

What if one of them is in love with you?

But you still ask him to give it a try.

Astarion prays to all the gods to make the journey as long as possible. 

Deep within, he knows he will lose you.

Suddenly, he notices a raven, circling above you.

"Black Death!" you exclaim, stretching out your hand. 

"It's my pet raven, Black Death. Black Death, this is Astarion".

"Death, death, death," repeats the raven, staring at Astarion.

Then the raven soared into the sky and disappeared.

The next day a Half-Orc Sorcerer rushes toward you, yelling "Tav! Tav is that really you?!"

Astarion stands aside, feeling like a fifth wheel, while you and your old friend share news.

"Listen about this man with me…"

"A vampire? So, you've rejected all the men who ever dared to approach you, including myself, and found yourself a vampire?" 

Astarion feels a wave of anger. He already doesn't like your friends.

But the next moment, the Half-Orc stands in front of him, friendly insisting on joining the Brotherhood.

"Besides, I can't believe there have been so many wild bloodsuckers in these woods. It's good to have a vampire of your own to deal with them, am I right?"

Apparently, no one objects to a vampire in their small army of weirdos.

Or maybe they love Tav so much they are ready to accept anyone she brings along.

"Sign me up for the next Mindflayer's attack. I want to get a man, too!" the Cleric jokes.

Astarion sleeps in your room. When the Brotherhood leaves at daylight, Astarion stays to keep an eye on the homebase.

And he talks to possible contractors, demanding to be paid more than they expect.

He is insufferable in the best meaning of this word.

Astarion makes friends.

He often talks about magic and history with the Sorcerer. Or arguing with the Bard ( they have so much in common it pisses them both off)

Astarion feels at home. He has family, he has friends, he has a person to love and hold.

Even Black Death accepts him as his master, though Astarion isn't always capable of communicating with the bird.

Often, you go on night walks together into the woods, an, since you are both horny as nine hells, it often ends not as expected.

You are switches - both hunters and both prey.

Sometimes Astarion "hunts" you - a murderous vampire chasing a helpless Ranger to subdue to his power and hunger.

Then it's your turn - you are a monster hunter, and no vampire has ever escaped you.

Even the Bard calls you freaks when you return at sunset both covered in dirt (and, probably, other fluids under your clothes).

Astarion cares about you deeply - always making sure you are healed before you embark on another adventure.

And he is the one who nurtures you if you are sick or wounded.

He likes being a hero. He likes being a caregiver, both roles he once despised. 

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

[sheinsidemymindvro]

could you explain this entire situation because im only catching bits and pieces of it

im rlly confused :/

hey, so elusin is a woman aged 26. she makes music. at the start of september last year i followed her on ig. i didn't know it yet but she is psychic and by looking at a photo of me she used her ability to connect with my brain and she can see my vision, hear my thoughts and because psychics are in ones consciousness they can also manipulate electrical currents that we use to move around (how we function) they can send pulses to your body's muscles like an electrical massage machine and make the muscles tense. they use this to annoy me and to do things like give me headaches, and constipate me. elusin is a person that acts like she is nice but is a horrible ugly person and im not the first to be the victim of her and her sister and friends psychic attacks. my blog is made to bring awareness to my experience and to out her for what she is. ive decided that i will tell people around me about what ive learnt about psychic abilities. let me know if you wanna know more about other things ive learnt, when i followed her at the time i was a listener of her music and just started to learn how to make music. it has been a year since. for the first six months she kept silent on abusing me through non verbal abilities such as stopping me from sleeping, mimicking my voice to manipulate me into thinking her whispers were my thoughts. making my body tense to try and trick my brain into thinking its anxious. after six months of that she and her companion psychics went into full psychic attack, and i get all the abuse plus i have constant verbal attacks as long as I'm awake. elusin is obsessed with trying to destroy my mental health and has changed her sleep schedule to my own. she is in norway and i am in new zealand. she is a neet who receives money from her parents and lives in one of their spare houses. that is how she is able to do this to me regarding time. my music is what has kept her around for so long. she wants to copy it, but i have made it very difficult for her by raising awareness of what she is doing to me on the internet to leave records, aswell as posting demo versions of songs. I'm only a beginner and she has been making music for ten years. it sucks that my creative journey is starting like this but i have decided to stop making music until she leaves me alone so that she has nothing to gain by remaining in my mind. i have stopped completely for the last two or three months and am just waiting this out. she constantly taunts me with immature mockery and the easiest way to describe her is that she is 26 and is extremely stupid. what has stopped me from having my mental health damaged from this is realising she is an idiot. she revealed to me her identity because she thought i wouldn't talk about it. i deal with a 12 year old in a 26 year olds body is the shortest i could put it. I'm doing ok now, i've learnt to ignore her and the worst she does to me is keep me up night so that I'm tired at work. I'm staying strong and positive and focusing on other areas of my life right now. thank you for asking me about it, i'm here to share my story and what i've learnt about human psychic abilities. it sucks that she decided to use her ability to try and break people and make their lives worse. i know there must be a lot of psychics out there, and they aren't going to be like her. the things i describe are very real and if a psychic would read them they might be interested and check it out. once they connect to your consciousness, they feel your being as if they are you, and when that happens they know your thoughts as you think. which isn't so bad. when that happens they have access to also your memories and can look through them, its like how you are able to think about your own memories and know them. this means other psychics will become aware of what she is and what she has done. I feel like if there are any other idiot psychics going on psychic attack sprees for years, people are going to become aware that psychics exist, i hope to make a place where other people that have gone through similar experiences can talk.

[rush-the-stars]

If you still accept asks please elaborate on sub wolfwood 🙏 and if you want on that soft free use post but with vash and wolfwood 👀 you have so many great ideas!

anon i have been saving this until after i finished my lil sewing project and answered emails....i would love to elaborate on sub wolfwood and free use with vash and woflwood made me feel CRAAZYYYYYY. reading that i did psychic damage. also thank you!!! i am just blabbing away on this lil blog

cw: subbing, pet play mentioned, caning mentioned, slapping mentioned

okay okay. sub woflwood.

i just see wolfwood as being pretty experienced sexually? he's tried a lot. had his fair share of lovers. i think he's been a dom and a sub at various points. and overall he likes being a service dom or sub. he likes to please or if not please...be used? i think depending on your own experience does he get a lil bratty/mouthy....if you're more experienced, he likes to rile you up. challenges you a little. but i can see if you're a lil less experienced in domming, he may go easier for a bit, until you really find your confidence. and then he gets sorta mouthy. kinda a rope bunny as a sub lol. he wants to be tied up. likes to be roughed up a bit when he is being bratty. pulling his hair...a slap here and there...scratching...maybe a light caning...i don't think he's a huge masochist but i do think he can take a fair amount of pain which can make punishments interesting.

i also do think....maybe unknown to him at first....he would sorta like a touch of pet play. you call him a mutt or talk to him like a dog and he's sorta shocked when he gets so hard so fast. you could maybe escalate to a collar....leashes.....perhaps a muzzle. for some reason i always see that one as something he discovers with a reader lol or its a newer one for him lol

if i had infinite time and energy i would write the long exploratory character study d/s fic of my dreams with him. but alas.

okay now free use with vash and wolfwood 😵‍💫

i am. unwell. thinking about like maybe being close friends with them. and maybe you and wolfwood sometimes sleep together to relieve some stress.....mutual using. sometimes you use him more, sometimes he uses you more.

but wolfwood sees how vash looks at you...you know? i mean, who wouldn't look at you like that?

it's just that wolfwood...trusts vash.

and well. he knows you adore vash, too...and...you'd wanna help him out a little, wouldn't you? vash is so....touch starved? maybe a lil lonely in this way. so he sorta offers you up to vash? and vash at first is unsure and reluctant but. he can't really help himself when it comes to you.

and suddenly vash is babbling about how you feel so good and you're so good for him as wolfwood watches him use you. vash is inhuman...he has a lot of stamina...and you thought wolfwood had a lot....but vash is keyed up. he's pent up.

(wolfwood makes sure vash isn't too rough with you. tells him to ease up if he is....and vash really is a sweetheart beneath all the pent up lust. he does really adore you. maybe a little too much?)

and then it sorta becomes this thing? whenever one of you needs to let off some steam. i think vash would really like being used too.....of course he wants to be helpful smh.

and sometimes wolfwood just tells you to sit pretty and take it while the two of them do as they please. they're never mean about it...in fact, they're quite loving. shower you in praise. they always take care of you—clean you up after. feed you. bathe you.

(you sorta gotta be careful with them though.....they wouldn't be opposed to keeping you, always naked, in bed and waiting for them. vash especially. he feels so bad about it but....well. you'd certainly be safe in his bed all day, wouldn't you? why can't you let them take care of everything?)

its free use but they adore you.....you know

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Wash. RINSE. Repeat. - Dean x Reader/OFC

"Rinse" is Part 3 of the Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Series

Rating Mature

Dean x Reader/OFC

Tags: Canon-compliant (or trying to be), Season 3, Lots of Angst, Demon Assault/Attempted Sexual Assault (trigger), Show Level Gore/Violence, Language, Pining, Dean is infuriating at times, Sam is the sweetest, Main character death (offscreen; but, it's Supernatural, so you know, it's probably not sticking)

Word Count: 15,000

Summary: The boys stink. Something needs to be done about it.

The above summary was something I came up with when I thought this was going to be a fun little one shot. (hah! stupid writer and her stupid assumptions. how dare she think she can make plans and have Sam and Dean adhere to them.) It still applies to the beginning (and this sniff, sniff theme may come up again) but I'm going to add that this story is a first person reader insert that weaves in and out of show canon.

"Rinse" won't make a lick of sense if you haven't read the other parts. If you want to read the previous installments, you can find them on AO3 -- WASH -- PRE-RINSE

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Friends Becoming Strangers" square.

A huge thanks to @jacklesversebingo for allowing me to use one of my bingo squares in a part of a story I was currently working on. These bingo prompts have genuinely tested my creativity and provided some meaty plot twists. Thank you, thank you!

Rinse

~ Six Months Later ~

I bolt upright in bed, mid-gasp.

My heart pounds. Flashes of what caused my pulse to race appear in the curtain call of each blink.

Bobby. In the dark with a flashlight. In his house? Sneaking around, like he’s investigating an unfamiliar place. Then, he was attacked by something. Thrown to the floor in his kitchen. A blur of arms clawing. A screeching sound that wasn’t human.

What the hell? I shake the shiver out of my spine and glance over at the alarm clock. Fifteen minutes before it goes off. There’s no way I’ll get back to sleep. I resign myself to get out of bed and start the day.

It’s gonna be a busy one at Hoyt and Hagan. There are two client appointments on the calendar. I’ve got some note taking during and transcribing to do after each of them.

I debate with myself in the shower as to when I should check on Bobby. It’s still too early and he’ll only scoff in my ear at the unnecessary concern.

I decide I’ll call him during my lunch break, all nonchalant like. Hey Bobby, it’s your favorite psychic nut job, poking out of hunter hibernation for some updates.

Just to be sure he’s okay.

I grab a slice and a soda at Tony’s Pizza Parlor for lunch. The four block walk gives me a chance to stretch my legs and see if they’ll be short staffed over the next week. I need to bulk up my car maintenance fund. According to Nate at Carl’s Auto Shop, I will probably need to replace the brake pads in a few months. Before the squeaks turn into screeches at every stop.

Gary’s working the counter. I try not to fuss with my hair too much in his presence. His dimples drill into his cheeks with a bright smile. My stomach spins like it’s in a washing machine. I ask him how his Aunt Cheryl is doing. The swoony, sensitive six footer moved back to Matamoras when his only living relative, Cheryl Somers, fell ill and couldn’t take care of herself anymore.

It’s been five months since Gary arrived and became ubiquitous around this tiny town where you only have to breathe heavily to become the subject of juicy gossip. He works a variety of service jobs. I’m blessed that one of them is at Tony’s. My random shifts have intersected with his on occasion. I am also cursed because I still haven’t gotten the nerve to get past simple pleasantries. Mainly I worry I’ll slip about my personal details or he’ll ask me a question about my family. And, I’ll have to lie. Because he’d never believe the truth. The people that would understand are just as damaged as I am.

Playing at normal is tough.

I scoot into a booth that has a nice vantage of the counter so I can spy on Gary. I pry the greasy pepperoni one by one from the stringy mozzarella. The deconstruction exercise prolongs my excuse to hang around with my solitary slice. I mindfully chew. Taste buds light up with oregano, tomato sauce, processed toppings, and velvety cheese.

The one brain cell not focused on Gary reminds me about Bobby. I dab at my face with a one-ply scratchy napkin, then tap in the start of a phone number I know by heart on my cell. Bobby’s name appears from my contacts after the fifth digit.

I’m still miffed about Garth accidently dropping my old phone in the depths of the Delaware when he visited six months back. He felt so bad he drove me to the nearest cell phone store and bought me a new one right on the spot. He got me a newer and nicer model. It didn’t make up for all the contacts and messages I lost, though. It took me weeks to connect with almost everyone I could remember.

I wait for Bobby to pick up. It rings. And rings. And rings. The voicemail answers. “You’ve reached Bobby. You know what to do.”

I know what to do, but I hang up instead. I’m that person that hits redial and gives it another try. Bobby is prone to leaving his cell phone atop a stack of books or on the kitchen counter as he hops from room to room. So, there’s a chance he might…

“You’ve reached Bobby. You know what to do.”

I sigh and collect my words. “Hey, Bobby. It’s been a bit. Wanted to see how you’re doing. Nothing much new on this end. Give me a call, though, soon. Yeah? Been told my car’s gonna need new brake pads. Wanna make sure I’m not getting hosed on the cost to replace them. Okay? Thanks. Bye.”

“Who’s Bobby?” The voice drifts over my shoulder from behind me.

Oh God. Gary’s asking that question. I’m gonna have to turn and actually make eye contact and answer. I swallow and rotate in the booth a bit. He’s wiping down the table, tray filled with trash in his grasp. Wavy jet black bangs obscure his eyes for a brief second. It’s not enough time before his onyx irises gaze with interest in my direction.

“Huh?” I pretend I didn’t hear him.

“Who’s Bobby? He’s not the only guy that knows a thing or two about cars.” His smile is bright. “I could probably help you out. Take a look.”

“Oh.” I want to bang my head into the table to shake out any words that are longer than one syllable. “That’s… that’s…”

“He family? Bobby?” Gary stands beside my booth now.

“Yeah.”

Gary nods. “Well, offer’s available if you need it.” Someone, maybe Maribel, shouts his name across the restaurant. “Good luck.” He darts away.

“Thanks.” I groan at my suave communication skills.

~~~~

(Italicized Dialogue from S3, Episode 10, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” - Teleplay by Cathryn Humphris; Story by Sera Gamble & Cathryn Humphris)

Dean sat at Bobby’s hospital bedside. 

It’d only been a couple days since he got the call. A doctor had been looking for a Mr. Snyderson.

Bobby enjoyed informing Dean years ago of the name he would have to answer to if he received a call from someone in search of Bobby Singer’s emergency contact. 

“How the hell’d you get yourself into this mess, Bobby?” he asked aloud.

Dean wondered if Bobby had picked the name Edgar Snyderson so that would be all John’s eldest son would focus on. Not the fact that if he ever heard it uttered by anyone else, it would be because Bobby wouldn’t be able to call him a numbnut or an idjit.

Sam was due back any minute. Dean’d tasked Sam with the research part of this mystery, which included combing through the collage of pictures and news clippings hidden on the back closet wall in Bobby’s hotel room.

The room where his comatose body had been found.

Dean had gone to the university to dig up any information on a Dr. Walter Gregg, whose obit had graced Bobby’s case board. Finding out about unapproved dream studies led to the name of a test subject, Jeremy Frost. The college kid made it clear the doctor had been playing fast and loose with his research and the people involved. That equalled a whole lot of potential enemies and nefarious insinuators. Bobby was probably close to figuring out who the murderer was.

The machines whirred and beeped around the man he’d bet his life on, if he had much left of it to wager. 

Dean was shy of six months before his demon bill came due.

“I don’t need you rolling out the red carpet for me in the hereafter. Pretty sure you ain’t gonna be taking a sauna or walking over raked coals. But we don’t need you practicing your harp skills anytime soon, either.” He bit his tongue at the name that almost slipped out. He tried not to mention her if he could help it. The more time went on, the more he hoped it would stick; his nonexistence for her. “It’d kill her if something happened to you.” He nodded to no one. “We’ll figure this out.”  

As if on cue, his studious brother entered the room. “How is he?”

“No change.” Dean wiped a hand over his face and stood to meet Sam by the tray table at the edge of the bed. “What you got?”

“Well, considering what you told me about the Doc’s experiments, Bobby’s wall is starting to make a hell of a lot more sense.”

“How so?”

“This plant, Silene Capensis, also known as African Dream Root, it’s been used by shamans and medicine men for centuries.”

“Let me guess – they dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, and start kicking around the hacky.”

Sam scoffed. “Not quite. If you believe the legends, it’s used for dream walking. I mean entering another person’s dreams, poking around in their heads.”

“I take it we believe the legends.”

“When don’t we? But dream-walking is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this dream root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with enough practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good. You could turn good dreams bad.”

“And killing people in their sleep.” Dean added the obvious.

“For example. So, let’s say this doc was testing the stuff on his patients Tim Leary-Style.”

“Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night.”

“But what about Bobby? I mean if the killer came after him, how come he’s still alive?”

They both stared at Bobby.

“I don’t know.” Dean tapped Sam in the middle of his chest. “Come on. Man needs as much beauty rest as he can get before we wake him. And a kiss on the lips better not end up being the cure.” He strolled to the doorway and turned back in time to see Sam making his way to Bobby’s side.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing we’ve ever had to do to save someone.” Sam chided in a soft whisper over his shoulder towards Dean. “Stay strong until we can figure this out, Bobby.” His gigantor hand gripped Bobby’s pale one.

Dean marched out into the hallway in wait. Something heavy lodged in the base of Dean’s throat. He swallowed but the fear wouldn’t loosen. The possibility of losing Bobby. The memories of his father in the hospital right before he died kept rising to the surface. He didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Sam finally joined him. They walked down the hall towards the nurse’s station and the elevators. Their steps got into that synced soldier rhythm they easily fell into often. Dean wished it would continue in silence. But out of the corner of his eye he spotted Sam’s mouth open and close. Trying out the lines in his head before he’d have to share what he was thinking.

With that much thought, Dean knew it wasn’t going to be anything good.

When it was only the two of them in the elevator going down, Sam spoke. “Am I gonna have to be the one that mentions the elephant in the room?”

Dean’s gaze lifted to the ceiling. He sighed.

“We gotta call her, Dean.”

“No. We don’t. We’re gonna handle it so she doesn’t have to ever know what kind of danger Bobby was in.”

“She deserves to know,” Sam mumbled. “Bobby’s important to her. Plus, all of this dream stuff…”

“Sam,” Dean started.

Sam got his hands and arms in the conversation now, waving them about. “She should be here!”

“No!” Dean huffed, raising his voice back at Sam. He glanced at the number display. “I still need to work this case with you. I shouldn’t even be in the same state as her, let alone the same room. We can’t risk that, Sam. Not again.”

“You of all people know what she’s capable of. She could get into Bobby’s head.”

“Yeah. You know it. I know it. Bobby knows it. But, as far as we know, Elena doesn’t. As long as she doesn’t remember me, she won’t be doing any ‘Wonder Twins, Activate’ shit. And we’re gonna keep it that way.”

“Dean!”

“No. Bobby’s been onboard with the plan, all of it, for the past six months. Last I checked, you were, too.”

“Not like you gave any of us a choice.” Sam snarked. 

Dean ignored the jab. “Bobby’d want us to exhaust every other option before we pull her into something like this. Again.” He pointed at the floor as the door’s slid open. “We find another way.” He waved a hand for Sam to exit first. “Let’s go, Sherlock.” They covered the distance quickly to another set of double doors. “So, how do we find our homicidal little sandman?”

“It could be anyone.” Sam stated, looking thoroughly exasperated.

“Yeah?”

Yeah.

Dean rattled off possible suspects. “Anyone who knew the doctor, had access to his dream shrooms.”

“Maybe one of his test subjects or something?”

“Possible, but his research is pretty sketchy. I mean, we don’t know how many subjects he had or who all of them were.”

Sam scoffed.

“What?” Dean asked.

Sam sighed, long and deep. “In any other case, we’d be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now.”

Dean halted, pulled at Sam’s forearm to stop his brother’s stride. “Know what? You’re right.”

“What?”

“Let’s go talk to him.”

“Sure. I think we might find the conversation a bit one-sided.”

“Not if we’re tripping on some Dream Root.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

~~~~

There’s been no response from Bobby by the end of my work day.

Something was up. A car question always ensured Bobby would return a call within hours.

I call the other hunter who knows almost everyone’s business as much as Bobby does.

“Elle Woods.” Garth coos his nickname for me. I still don’t get how he made the connection between me and the fictional main character in Legally Blonde. “How’re you doin? To what do I owe this honor?”

“Hey, Garth. I’m trying to get a hold of Bobby. He’s not answering my calls.”

“Oh?” The one syllable expresses confusion.

“Yeah.”

“When’d you last talk to him?”

“It’s been about a month.” My face warms at the confession.

“Oh.” The one syllable is laced with judgment.

I let the guilt was over me as I wait.

“Hm. Well, I had to call him about a case I worked in Baton Rouge, Louisiana last week. There was this circus in town and a murder pinned on one of the performers. Killer clowns couldn’t turn their victims into a pile of green goo last I checked.” Garth chuckles.

I veer the conversation back. “Was he okay? Everything good at the salvage yard?”

“Oh, well, he wasn’t home. Was working his own case.”

My skin tingles at the news. It’s not surprising to hear. Bobby hunts on occasion. It’s more the reminder of the dream I had of him that morning that puts me on edge. “Where was he?”

Garth sighs. “If memory serves right, he was investigating something that happened at a university in, I think, Pittsburgh.”

“Okay, thanks Garth.”

“Sure thing, sweets. Want me to try and check in on him, too?”

I smile. “Appreciate it.”

“I’ll tell him to call you ASAP if I make contact.”

“Thanks.”

“No problemo.”

“Talk soon.”

I hang up. Pittsburgh. It’s clear across in western Pennsylvania. A good six-hour drive from me. Couldn’t be any farther from Matamoras and in the same state. It makes sense he wouldn’t bother to call me. Not like he could do a quick pop in.

Still.

I click my teeth. Moments later, I’m clicking away at the keyboard, searching anything weird over the wire that matches what Garth told me. Only one news headline has me screaming Yahtzee in my head. There’s mention of a university neurologist dying in his sleep. Cause: Unknown.

It’s not much. But, it would catch Bobby’s eye. And he’d do some digging. So, I do the same. The neurologist was the research head of a large, ongoing sleep study. And, another article hints that his death may have been the result of foul play.

I then do what Bobby always suggests I do when I can’t get a hold of him and he’s off on a case somewhere. I contact hospitals in the area.

By the third phone call, I’ve found him. All I can get out of the medical staff is that he’s unresponsive and been in their care for a few days.

An hour later, I’m on I-80, headed to Pittsburgh.

My brakes are squeaking big time.

~~~~ 

(Italicized Dialogue from S3, Episode 10, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” - Teleplay by Cathryn Humphris; Story by Sera Gamble & Cathryn Humphris)

My driver’s license (fake) gets me the information I need at the hospital. Next of kin and all that. A doctor runs through the updates on Bobby’s current medical state while we stand at the nurse’s station. It's good news. Bobby woke up a few hours ago.

The doc questions why I wasn’t listed as an emergency contact. He mentions that they had to call a Mr. Snyderson instead. I shrug, rattling off that my Dad probably doesn’t think I know how to manage an emergency.

I wonder who the hell Mr. Snyderson is as I get Bobby’s room number and am pointed in the direction to find it. Mainly I’m relieved that the closest thing I have to family - that hasn’t disowned me - is conscious and doing fine by all accounts.

I don’t even need to check the number, hearing Bobby’s voice drift out into the hall from a room just up ahead on the right. “We better work fast… and coffee up. ‘Cause the one thing we cannot do is fall asleep.”

I take a cautious step in and prepare to meet “Mr. Snyderson.” A very tall figure with expansive shoulders stands at the side of Bobby’s bed. His broad back is to the doorway. It’s the moppy head of hair that I recognize first. My brain swims with sudden knowledge and memory. I feel overwhelmed and a bit lightheaded.

Sam. Sam Winchester. A hunt. We worked a hunt together a couple years ago. Road tripped from Maine to California. I even remember spending some time with him at Bobby’s after a car accident he’d been in with his dad. I’m also struck with the fact that he lost his dad. The scattered moments don’t have any connective tissue that I can discern. They catch my attention like twinkling ornaments atop a Christmas tree. Each represents some commemorative event I need to be reminded of.

Bobby sees me in the doorway. His face runs a litany of emotions. Serious to surprised. Welcoming to worried. “L.” He whispers.

I smile. Sam spins. His rotation hints at the shape of someone sitting on the other side of Bobby’s bed. Sam settles with a stare at me and walls off the stranger for the time being.

Sam’s as cute as I remember. There’s a bit more mass to him. And then, I remember us bonding over his psychic abilities. It’s disorienting, the flashes and pops of life bursting out of hibernation.

“L?” Bobby asks. “You doin’ alright there, kid?”

I shake my head and manage a smile again. “Considering I’m visiting you in the hospital, don’t you think I should be the one asking that question?” I hesitate at the awkward glances Sam and Bobby shoot each other. I flap my hands at my sides. “Hey, Sam. How are you doing? Been a while.”

His eyes bug. “H-Hey Elina. Yeah. I’m, I’m doin’ pretty well.” A hand scratches the side of his neck. “How’s things in Matamoras?”

“Good. Doing my best to stay out of trouble.” I point a finger at him. “Are you Mr. Snyderson, who got the call about Bobby instead of me?”

“That’d be me.” There’s a terse answer from the other side of the room. The figure is still hidden by Sam. A scrape of chair legs follows.

Sam swallows. Hard. He steps to the side.

My gaze lands on a pair of bright green eyes staring back. The guy is male model attractive. My skin warms up in a reflexive response to all that pretty. “You can call me Dean, though.” He smirks.

“Dean?” The name registers instantly. “Sam’s brother?”

He nods and puffs his chest out. I can’t quite tell if it’s a smug posture or if he’s donning some invisible protective armor.

“He-” I start to fill the gaps in my mind as my mouth reveals the facts. “Sam’s mentioned you.” Older brother. Cocky. Pain in the ass. Overbearing.

I don’t get a response in return. Instead, Dean turns to Bobby. “We’ll touch base if we hear anything else.” He rounds the edge of the hospital bed and taps Sam on the arm. All I get is a quick nod from Dean before he disappears.

“See ya.” Sam smiles, lips scrunched tight. He stumbles past me out of the room, following his older, shorter brother.

Yeah, I’ve met my share of guys like that before. Bad boys have never done me any favors. Way more trouble than they’re worth. I keep reminding myself of that as I catch one last glimpse of Dean Winchester in the hallway before Sam shuts the door behind him.

When it’s only the two of us, I hurry over and give the old man a careful embrace. He taps my back in assurance. “I’m fine.”

I peel away and stand to squint at him. “Let me guess? Fine enough to hop back into solving whatever caused this.” I plant my hands on my hips. “Why can’t you fall back asleep? And why does that Dean dude rank as your emergency contact?”

He squints back at me. “The Winchester boys are family, too, L.”

“Sam’s what you’d call an absolute peach, Bobby, I’ll give you that. But, I don’t have any firsthand experience with Dean to make a judgment call.”

“Hm.” Bobby nods slowly. “Could’ve sworn you’ve met both of them.”

“Nope.” I definitely would have remembered Dean Winchester.

~~~~

I knock on the door to Bobby’s room at The Aviary Hotel.

There’s a delay. I can hear some cursing and arguing as I wait. The taller squatter opens the door part way in greeting. “El.” Sam smiles.

“Hi.”

“Everything alright?” A hand stuffs into a pocket and he leans against the door, filling up the space.

“Bobby’s probably getting released tomorrow morning.”

“That’s great news.”

“It is. I figured I’d grab him some clean clothes for his discharge.” I sweep a hand towards him. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, uh…” Sam stammers.

“For chrissakes.” Dean’s voice interrupts. An arm pushes Sam back into the room and out of the way. Dean grimaces at Sam before giving me a dose of all that attitude. “Listen, Elena, it’s great that you’ve decided to come all this way and play nursemaid. But, we’ve got actual case work to do. So, would you make it quick?”

I blink at the condescending tone. Bobby filled me in on the details back at the hospital. I had felt a little sympathy at the predicament Dean has found himself in. HAD. “Oh, of course. Certainly don’t want to interfere with all your great case work. Is there another suspect you need to give a DNA sample to?”

Dean’s irritation crumbles. He looks like a shamed puppy that’s peed on the carpet.

“Don’t mind him, El.” Sam pulls the door all the way open. “We’re all a little high strung at the moment.”

I scoot in between the brothers. The room’s wallpaper is a feathery explosion in blues, greens and yellows. “Well, the decor isn’t going to help calm anyone down,” I critique.

Dean flops in a sad looking armchair and grabs sheets of paper on a nearby side table to study with intense interest.

Hospitality must be Dean Winchester’s middle name.     

“Get you something to drink?” Sam strolls by Dean, backhanding Dean’s bicep along the way. Dean pays him no mind.

I wave a hand. “Nope. Just point me in the direction of Bobby’s stuff and I’ll be out of here.”

Sam offers a soft smile in apology and gestures to a set of louvered bifold doors. The room is crazy huge. A full kitchen and another door that must lead to the bathroom make up the other half. There’s a desk on this side of the living area. More papers litter its surface, along with a laptop that I recognize as Sam’s (various stickers are slapped on top).

Yep, the brothers have made themselves at home. The double beds have been slept in by the state of the sheets. I smell greasy fast food.

When I open the closet, Bobby’s entire wardrobe is hung up. I grab the empty duffle from the closet floor. “Was he planning on moving here?” I frown to myself. When I remove the first plaid ensemble from a hanger I spot the case board on the back closet wall. “Ah, of course.” I take my time and fold one shirt with care before packing it. Then another. Taking my sweet time as I take in all the information.

I decide to inquire with the friendlier Winchester. “So, Sam. Bobby told me what happened to him.” I turn to see him sitting at the desk. Dean’s in my field of view in the background as well, still reading. I attempt a poke. “That he was stupid enough to make himself a prime lullaby target of this Frost kid.” Dean’s mouth purses but he doesn’t look over. “Got any ideas yet on how he gets some shut eye without being murdered?”

Sam sighs. “No.”

I want to ask if he’s thought about using his powers while he’s asleep and under the influence of the African Dream Root again. But I don’t know how Dean feels about his brother’s powers. Or, if he even knows for certain. My memory is still hazy and I don’t want to risk outing him or stirring up a touchy subject. Something tells me Dean wouldn’t handle Sam’s powers well if he did know.

“Well, if you need me to try and make contact with someone on the other side, let me know. I mean I haven’t done it in a while, but I can always give Bobby’s friend Pam a call if I need some guid-”

Dean bolts out of his chair. Papers crumple in his tight fist. “We don’t need you to do anything.” The dismissive tone matches the inconsequential way he stares at me. “We don’t need anyone else fucking things up.”

Sam rotates in the seat, arm resting along the chair back. His bewildered and angry expression towards Dean is all I focus on. My cheeks warm at the berating from this stranger with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Grand Canyon. 

“From what I hear,” Dean continues, “you are giving the normal life the good ole college try back in Montezuma. I suggest you keep it that way. And get as far away from all this as you can.” His voice cracks at the end. That sound makes me dare to lift my gaze back to him.

He’s trying his best to be an all-knowing asshole. But something’s cracking the veneer. I don’t think he’ll be able to keep it up for much longer. For a moment, I want to march right into this guy’s personal space and slap him. Right before I hug him. But it’s a fleeting inkling. I nod at him. “I’ll get this stuff to Bobby. Sounds like the both of you can handle picking him up at the hospital in the morning.” I inhale and prop up a smile as I turn to Sam. It’s the only way I’ll keep my lips from quivering.

Sam’s brows angle down. “I’m sorry, El.” He whispers.

I shake my head. I can’t speak. If I do, I’ll cry. And I don’t fucking know why my body is reacting like this to the things Dean Winchester said to me. 

My heart is racing. I walk with lightning speed to the door.

My brakes are squeaking big time back to Matamoras. 

~~~~

Sam’s tired. He should be the one sleeping in the back seat.

He’s the one that’s lived through and remembered hundreds of Tuesdays where Dean died. He didn’t have the blessing(?) of a memory wipe with every morning reset. Now, he panics when he stumbles upon a radio station playing the chorus of Asia’s most well known song. He woke up on so many Tuesdays to “the heat of the moment.” Those words grate like fingernails across a chalkboard every time he hears it. Hearing that music always makes him question for a couple seconds if he’s been dropped back into Groundhog Day Hell.

One Tuesday did have a Wednesday after it. Without Dean. 

Sam’s lived six months without Dean already. The Trickster showed him what life would be like without his brother. Sam spent those six months obsessed, determined to find a way to bring Dean back from the dead. He’d convinced the Trickster to snap his fingers and take him back to a Wednesday where Dean lived. Honestly, the Trickster probably got bored of Sam’s sulking and found another puppet’s strings to pull. But, regardless, Sam got his brother back.

He hasn’t bothered to share any of what happened during those six months with Dean (or that one of his deaths actually stuck). Not when they’re trying to prevent Dean from going to hell.

Sam’s need to fix messes could be considered heroic –maybe even to him– if he wasn’t the reason the messes were created.

Sam’s not sure how much one person is expected to withstand. If he and Dean are in some kind of tragedy endurance contest, he’d like to tap out, please, and wave the white flag in surrender. But, then, he thinks about Dean going it alone. When he decides that’s not an option, he straightens up, plants his feet, and braces for the next wave of sorrow to pummel him.

So, yeah, Sam’s tired. But still determined that his brother’s not gonna die. Not anytime soon. Not if he has a say in the matter. Especially when Dean’s no longer resigned to the inevitable of his demon deal coming to fruition.

Sam can push through the exhaustion and fight for Dean’s future because even Dean wants a chance at what’s possible for himself.

Sam saw it with his very own eyes in Dean’s dream. Not the dream Dean’s currently having in the backseat. In between snuffles and snores he’s mumbling nonsense (something about wrenches and spanners). No, what Sam witnessed in Dean’s dream months back proved Dean thinks about a future of what ifs.

The dream had occurred days after he and Dean had managed to wake Bobby from the nightmare coma courtesy of Jeremy Frost. Days after Dean found himself in grave danger of becoming Jeremy’s next victim.

Dean hadn’t slept for days. The threat of never waking up again meant classic rock on full blast in Baby. Gallons of coffee. A concerning amount of No-Doze pills that Dean most definitely wasn’t taking to cram for a college exam.

Bobby had kept himself awake researching with Bela. In between, he spent a lot of time fuming at Dean for the way he’d sent Elina packing. Dean brushed off Bobby's grumpy attitude and reminded him it was best for Elina.

Dean had eventually reached a breaking point, gave his safety a big ole’ “fuck you,” and decided sleep was worth the risk. He’d driven Baby to a clearing off the road, parked her, and leaned back to close his eyes.

Sam harvested some of Dean’s hair right off the scalp, insisting that if Dean was going under he’d need someone to watch his back in the dreamworld.

When they’d both roused from sleep in the Impala nothing had seemed off.

Until Elina popped up in the backseat.

“Finally!” Elina exclaimed.

Sam almost pogoed off the bench at the sound made by a person that most definitely could not be there.

She bopped first Dean’s, then Sam’s, shoulder with a folded up newspaper. “Geez, you two were really knocked out.” Her elbows and arms draped atop the front bench’s backrest. “I was gonna give you five more minutes of beauty sleep. I know you both need it.” 

Dean’s eyes widened, staring at her. His lips parted.

Sam dared to interact with the apparition. “El, what are you doing here?”

Her brows furrowed. She nodded in pensive thought. “I ask myself that question every day, Sam. What the hell am I doing with my life, hunting with the likes of you two?” She nudged Dean’s shoulder with an elbow and grinned at him. “Saving people: an absolutely non-existent way to earn a living, am I right?”

Dean nodded back and offered a confused smile. “R-right.”

Elina looked from Dean to Sam then back to Dean. “You okay?”

Dean nodded with increased fervor and turned in his seat to give her his full attention. “Yeah.”

“Better be. I think I found us a case.” She presented the paper to Sam. “Take a look.”

Sam took the offering and gazed at the front page. A jumble of letters littered the paper like a word search puzzle. “What are we looking at?” Sam bluffed.

“A man was found dead in the famous confectionery amusement park in Hershey, Pennsylvania. Police hadn’t released details of the death to the public.” She tapped the spot that appeared to be a headline. “An anonymous source talked to this reporter and said the guy that died had been literally encased in a chocolate mold. You know, like those chocolate bunnies? Only this was a gigantic chocolate dude. Impossible to create anything like that in the on-site factory.”

“Solid Milk Murder,” Dean mumbled. Sam watched his older brother fixate his gaze away on Elina’s face.

“Get this,” Elina continued. “This reporter did more digging into the victim’s life. Six months prior his father had died. Dad had been a supervisor at a candy factory in a Delaware beach town. He’d been pulled to pieces in a taffy stretching machine.” She scooted behind Dean and wrapped her arms around him. Dean stiffened in shock. “Sticky situation,” she mumbled into Dean’s ear and then pecked him on the cheek. Dean closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A small smile lined his lips. When his eyes blinked open and Adam's apple twitched with a swallow, he appeared to relax into the embrace. “I say the Three Amigos see if this is our kind of thing.”  

Before Sam or Dean could respond a noise rattled outside of the car. Elina flickered out, gone in an instant. There’d been no time for either of them to discuss what had happened. They quickly exited the car to investigate.

Dean manifested Lisa next. The scene was the perfect slice of Apple Pie Life. A picnic in the park. Lisa had even told Dean she loved him before disappearing.

Things went downhill from there. But, they’d made it out of the dream alive. Jeremy hadn’t, thanks to Sam turning the tables.

Unfortunately, Bela had broken into the safe in the hotel room and stolen the Colt. Bobby left them with a promise to be in touch if he got a lead on her or the gun’s whereabouts. That was the only thing they thought could kill Lilith.

Sam finished packing back at the hotel. A heavy mix of anger and defeat hung in the air. Quietly writing, Dean hunched over the desk in an attempt at privacy while Sam bounced around the room grabbing all their items. Sam spotted names on the envelopes Dean stuffed into his bag when he was done. One read Lisa. The other, Elina. 

It wasn’t until they headed out to the car and tossed the bags in the trunk that Dean spoke.

“Hey Sam, I was wondering, when you were in my head what did you see?”

“Uh, just Jeremy, he kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out I guess. What about you? You never said.”

“Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time.”

As easy as it was for Sam to withhold all the dream details, he was pretty certain Dean was doing the same. 

The car doors creaked and squeaked. When they settled in the driver and passenger seat, Dean said, “Sam…”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been doing some thinking. And… well, the thing is… I don’t want to die. I don’t want to go to hell.”

“All right, yeah. We’ll find a way to save you.”

“Okay, good.”

Sam’s lived through his own hell since Dean confessed wanting salvation from an eternity of torture. With everything they have been through, they’ve got nothing to show for it. They still aren’t any closer to finding Bela and the Colt and the magic bullet that will put an end to Dean’s demon deal.

The last case in Milan, Ohio and the monster they encountered fed off Dean’s fear of dying. The crocotta had used its powers to mimic their dad’s voice and contact Dean through the phone. The monster, claiming to be John, told Dean he could help him locate the demon that held his contract.

Dean had opened up to Sam after they’d defeated the crocotta back at the motel room.

(Dialogue - in italics - from Ep. Long Distance Call; written by Jeremy Carver)

“I wanted to believe so badly there was a way out of this. I mean, I’m staring down the barrel at this thing. You know, Hell… for real, forever, and I’m just…”

“Yeah.”

“I’m scared, Sam. I’m really scared.”

“I know.”

“I guess I was willing to believe anything – you know, last act of a desperate man.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having hope, you know.”

“Hope doesn’t get you Jack Squat. I can’t expect Dad to show up with some miracle at the last minute. I can’t expect anybody to, you know? And the only person that can get me out of this thing is me.”

“And me.”

“‘And me’?”

“What?”

“Deep revelation, having a real moment here, that’s what you come back with – ‘And me’?”

“Do you want a poem?”

“Moments gone.” Dean turned on the television. “Unbelievable.” He passed Sam a beer and they drank in silence.

They’ve shaked and baked their way through a handful of demons since that case; trying to get any information on the real demon that holds Dean’s contract. But they keep hitting a brick wall. Whatever owns the agreement to Dean’s demise scares the holy hell out of every demon they’ve encountered.

Sam might have a lead on a novel way out of Dean’s contract. It doesn’t involve facing off with the Demon that makes every underling willingly choose an exorcism over betrayal. The solution may be wrapped up in the potential case they’re heading to in Erie, Pennsylvania. Sam knows it will be a hard sell if his hunch is right. But he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

For now, anyway, Sam’s got another trick up his sleeve. He offered to drive from Ohio into Pennsylvania so Dean could get some shut eye. The trek had taken longer because he passed right on by Erie. On purpose.

Sam’s luck ran out about an hour from the destination when Dean stretched and sat up in the backseat.

Sam clocked Dean in the rearview mirror. He checked his watch. Eyes widened. “What the hell? Did you drug me? I’ve been out for like seven hours.”

Sam had thought about knocking his brother out. Thankfully, he didn’t need to resort to that. Yet. 

Sam shrugged. “My smooth driving lulled you to sleep.”

“Yeah, right.” Dean chuckled.

Sam’s jaw clenched as he passed a highway distance sign that displayed the city where they were headed.

“Sam.” The mirth in Dean’s voice disappeared. “Sam,” he repeated. “Are you lost? You better be lost.”

Dean has always looked out for Sam. Sam knows, deep down, Dean’s always wanted happiness for him. Sam wants that for Dean, too. If Sam can unload Dean off to someone that might be able to help him get happiness in whatever form - whether it’s the hunting life with Elina or the suburban life with Lisa - why shouldn’t Dean get the chance to try? 

“Pull over,” Dean ordered.

Sam shook his head. “Nope.”

“Bitch, what the fuck?”

“Consider this a proactive discussion prior to the demon deal dissolution.”

Dean groaned. His head flopped onto the backrest. “I’m so kicking your ass when you stop this car. And, you’ve gotta stop eventually.”

“It’ll be worth it.” The hesitance in Sam’s voice contradicted the certainty of his words.

Dean was directly behind him now. Sam could feel Dean’s warm breath on the back of his neck as he huffed, “Really?”

Sam swallowed hard. “Yep. We’re gonna find a way to save you, Dean. And, when we do, Elena’s gonna remember all of it.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean murmured.

“Well, if she doesn’t, then Bobby and I will tell her everything that happened.” 

Dean slapped him upside the head.

“Jerk! I’m driving!” Sam exclaimed.

“It won’t change anything.” Dean slid to the middle of the back seat. “It won’t change how I feel. She’s better off without me, Sam, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t. And how would she know it when she doesn’t even remember you? You got a shit deal and Elena got dragged in as a free gift with your order.”

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“I know you didn’t. But, Dean,” –Sam glanced at his brother– “Elena didn’t ask for it either.”

“She’s trying the normal life thing. That’s good. I’d just complicate it all again.”

“You could give the normal life thing a try, too, you know.”

“You aren’t gonna shut up about this are ya?”

“Nope. Come on, no time like the present.” Because there’s literally no time, Sam thought.

~~~~

Ugh. No time!

I rummage through the jewelry box. Again. My gaze darts to the alarm clock on the nightstand. I should have left the apartment five minutes ago if I wanted to appear fashionably late. 

The attempt at nonchalance is no longer an option. I will now have to text Gary. 

Running later than expected. Wait for me?

Thoughts claw their way up the curtains in my head when I rush like this. I can’t find my grandmother’s rose gold necklace. I know I didn’t lose it. At least I hope not.

Are the blouse and skirt not dressy enough for Bella Notte? I forgot to ask Gary if it’s a formal restaurant. If I send another text it will be obvious I’m obsessing way more than I should. Maybe the outfit is too much? If it is, I probably don’t need the necklace, too. But now that I went searching for it and it’s not where I expected it to be, I have to find it.

My fingers thread through my hair and grip my skull. I’ve gotta calm my ass down. 

The phone chirps with news of a Gary response.

Nowhere I gotta be but waiting for a beautiful woman. Just don’t stand me up, alright? 

Gary’s flirting. And even through the technical distance of texting this attention increases the beating of my racing heart. I steady my fingers to type.

Of course not.

Screw it. It’s taken almost a year for this first date to happen. I can tear the apartment upside down for the necklace I was going to wear when I return. 

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the jewelry box mirror. I touch the soft leather cord around my neck. It doesn’t go with the blouse. But I promised Bobby I wouldn’t take the thing off when he gave it to me months ago. 

I sigh, thinking about the grouch in the hospital bed. Back then, he asked where the fire was that I needed to get to in such a goddamn hurry. I wasn’t about to tell him I was running away from an avalanche of attitude by the name of Dean Winchester. The passing thought of that guy still bristles my fur. What the hell was his problem?

Bobby ordered me to hand over his duffle I’d brought from the hotel room. It took him a couple minutes to sift through it as he grumbled about my packing job. Eventually, he pulled out a cord with a charm.

“Should have given you one of these years ago, L. They only gotta find a chink in your armor when you’re the most vulnerable. Lost. Without hope.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Demons, knucklehead.” He rubbed the scrap of hair atop his balding skull.

I frowned. “My place is warded to ‘Singer Specifications.’” I air-quoted. “Salt lines get redone on the windows and doors weekly with double-sided tape. I’ve got a spray bottle of holy water on the kitchen counter. You even told me you peeled the upholstery off the roof of my car to paint a Devil’s Trap under it.”

He cleared his throat. “Right, I forgot I did that.” He waves the cord at me. “Overkill? Maybe? But a lot of shit’s been stirred up lately. And there’s an increase in demon activity because of it. Humor an old man. Put it on and promise me you won’t take it off. Ever.”

“Ever?”

He nodded. “Shower with it. Sleep with it. The whole nine yards.” 

I’d kept my promise. 

But, tonight. Well, tonight, fashion sense beats common as I pull the cord over my head. Before I can drop it into my jewelry box, there’s a knock at my door.

I frown, stuff the cord and charm in my grip, and wonder who’s paying me a visit and how fast I can get rid of them. “Who is it?” I call out.

“Uh, it’s Dean Winchester.” The voice rumbles. “You probably don’t remember me.”

“Oh no,” I mumble and rush to the door. I’m face to face with him after a quick unlock and pull. “What happened?” The question spews out. I hear how frantic I sound.

His eyes widen and punctuate his already shocked expression. “What?”

“Bobby! What happened?”

���Nothing. Bobby’s fine. Back in Sioux Falls, far as I know. Talked to him just yesterday.” He raises a hand to apparently calm me.

The gesture has the opposite effect. From my limited encounters, any reaction from this man reeks of condescension. I lash out with what I think is biting sarcasm. “Good. Hopefully Bobby put me down as his emergency contact like I asked, Mr. Snyderson.”

He confuses me further with a smile.

I shake my head and try not to focus on how cute his smile is. Or how long his lashes are and how that only adds to the flirtatious vibes when his lids flutter over those green eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Sam and I were in the area. On the way to a case.” He rocks back and forth from heel to sole.

I peek past him to the staircase landing. No Sam.

“He’s waiting in the car, outside.” Dean clears his throat. “He figured it was better I do this alone.”

My hand lands on my hip as I try my best cool-and-could-care-less stance. “Do what?”

He sighs. “Apologize.”

I’m staring up at this guy. Not as tall and eclipsing as his brother, but still much taller than me. He’s wearing a leather jacket that’s a little too big for his frame. A fleeting thought has me wondering if it’s Sam’s. But that can’t be right. An older brother doesn’t get his younger brother’s hand-me-downs. There’s hesitation and uncertainty in his eyes. Their gaze flits from side to side. For a moment, he seems smaller.

And sincere.

“I’m on my way out,” I state. Then add, “but you can come in for a minute.” 

He tugs a smile up the corner of his mouth and hurries inside. My nose twitches at the odor of stale sweat and something metallic.

“This is a nice little place you got here. Just like I imagined it would be.”

Why the hell had he been imagining what my place looks like?

His hands disappear into his jacket pockets. He strolls into the middle of my apartment.

I close the door. “You mentioned apologizing.” I’ve got places to be, buddy.

Dean turns to stare back at me. He lifts a brow, then steels his jaw. “Yeah.” He rotates on his heels to face me full on. “I was a dick and you didn’t deserve any of my bullshit. I’ve been going through some shit for about a year… not an excuse, I know that. But, I figured an explanation to go along with the apology was in order. Trying to make amends to the people I wronged before I hang up my hunting license.”

“You’re quitting?” For some reason, the confession utterly surprises me. I know nothing about this guy. But, none of that lines up in my brain about him. “Getting out of the life?”

“Something like that, yeah.” He smiles. It’s forced and pinned high on his cheeks. “Got any tips?”

“Tips?”

“Yeah, how’d you do it?”

I shake my head. “Tips should come from someone who’s done it successfully. I can’t say I’ll never get wrapped up in a case again. It’s a work in progress.”

He shrugs. The long jacket sleeve almost swallows his clenched fist at the action. “I don’t know. You’ve got a job. Your own place. Sounds pretty successful to me.” He spins, slow and deliberate, taking in the details of my apartment.

It should feel intrusive. Privacy invading. But, I find myself taking advantage of the opportunity to study his mannerisms. His lids squint, then relax. He licks his top lip. There’s a slight nod to some steady bopping tune that might be playing in his head.

Dean halts and stares at something. He bends over and leans to the side. On his way to the dresser, he crouches with creeping steps. Investigation mode appears to be activated with a graceful squat. A hand sweeps along the wood floor out of my view. He hops up to standing. Something shiny dangles between his fingers.

I float over in adulation at the sight. “Oh wow, you found it!”

He grins and drops it into my open, waiting palm. “Pretty important?”

“A gift from my grandmother.” My gaze darts to the corner behind the dresser where it had been hiding. I connect the dots. “It must have slipped over the side.” I inhale and beam at Dean. “Thank you.”

“Glad I could help.”

I drop the anti-possession charm on the dresser and use both hands to put on Grandma’s rose gold necklace.

Dean points to the leather cord. “Don’t forget that.”

I shake my head. “Doesn’t go.”

The judgment in his eyes wipes away any mirth on his face. “Bobby gave you that, didn’t he? He’d be awfully disappointed to know you weren’t taking precautions. ‘Out of the life’ doesn’t mean you slack off on being careful.” He scoops up the cord and unties the knot. A nod precedes his order. “Hold your arm out.”

I’ve obeyed before I realize it. He wraps the cord around my wrist a few times, turning it into a bracelet. Warm fingers fumble against my skin to fasten the leather. They slide up my forearm just enough to tuck the charm under my cuffed sleeve. “There,” he states. “Don’t have to worry about clashing or demons tonight.”

I’m about to thank him again when his eyes do a double-take in the direction of my dresser. He stares in surprise. “You-uh-you collect a lot of cat figurines, huh?”

I huff out a laugh and joke, “Yeah, I’m easing into the crazy cat lady role.”

He picks one up from the dozen miniature cats without asking.

I smile at the little angel in his hand. “That’s my favorite one.”

Dean raises a brow. “Another gift?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Best guess is the people that rented the apartment before me forgot it in the dresser they left behind. I found it in the bottom of a drawer under my clothes one day.”

“Oh.” He nods. “Why’s it your favorite?”

“I don’t know. Just makes me smile.”

“Hmm.” There’s a far away expression on his face.

I suddenly remember I am now very, very late for a date. “Well, Dean, I appreciate you coming by to apologize. No hard feelings. I hope things work out for you. Really.”

Dean relocates the angel with care. He straightens and gains a couple of inches. “I can use all the hope I can get.”

I nod along with him for what seems like forever.

“Riiight.” He stretches the word. “Have a nice night.”

I trail him to the door. “Tell Sam I said hi?”

He turns and looks at me. “Will do.” A hitch of breath follows. I wait for him to say whatever it is he seems to be mulling over. He offers me a soft smile. “Goodbye, Elina.”

The door opens and closes in a second and he’s gone. I’ve been surprisingly affected again by one Dean Winchester. And even though the apology should make me feel better, I somehow find myself worrying about the mysterious and aloof hunter.

I sigh and choose not to dwell on it if I can help it. After all, I’ve got a date! 

I rush to the bathroom one more time.

~~~~

Gary’s lips are insistent. Not super rough. His hands curl about my waist. The door handle by the passenger seat presses into my lower back.

The front seat of my VW bug isn’t very roomy. But, here we are, parked at the Staircase Rapids Canoe and Kayak Launch along the Delaware River. The deserted pull off and the moonlight dancing over the water make for a decent and impromptu makeout location.

Dinner was nice enough. I thought my Fettuccine Alfredo was a little runny. But I kept those thoughts to myself.

Gary was a nice enough dinner companion – from the crusty Italian bread with the dipping oil to the Tiramisu we shared. After months of building Gary up in my head, I thought I’d only find more of him to be starry eyed about. Once we could finally talk uninterrupted, the only new thing I’ve found out is he’s very good at deflecting. He offered up short and stubby answers to most of my questions. 

I assumed a cool disinterest had crept up in him by the end of the night. He didn’t ask anything very personal. There was nothing deep and probing. Well, except for his tongue currently in my mouth.

As I rate his kissing technique (there’s too much swirl and suction for my liking) I’m also wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Why am I not able to let go and enjoy the closeness and warmth of this other person? It’s been way too long since I’ve experienced this kind of touch. I don’t need to calculate how long. My inner scorekeeper quickly reminds me. It’s been almost two years since my one night stand in Wildwood, New Jersey. 

I’m swimming in a haze of too much wine mixed with indecisiveness. His fingers skirt under the hem of my blouse and test the waters. When do I tell him that’s enough? Do I let him cop a feel over my bra? Despite his insistence to pay for my dinner, I slipped my credit card to the waitress so we could split the cost. I didn’t want to owe him anything.

I’ve done more for less attention and regretted it later. I shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t beat myself up for craving touch and fulfilling a basic human need.

It would be easy if I didn’t want more. And I’m realizing with every slip and slurp of Gary’s mouth that there isn’t going to be anything more than this. Whatever happens.

He whispers in my ear that I look incredibly hot tonight. I should gasp a thank you or toss him a complementary compliment. Instead, I’m reminding myself how expendable and forgettable I am. I’m tallying up how many people I expected to stick around –who displayed a modicum of care and interest– actually did.

Gary has been, well, nice enough. I recall how he offered to look at my brakes months back. Fixed them for me at cost at the garage where he moonlights.

All the chance encounters with this man have been thrilling and invigorating. After tonight, they could be embarrassing and stomach upsetting.

Cause this doesn’t feel right.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I finally get what I think I want… and… it’s not.

“Whatsa matter, baby?” he mumbles the question into my mouth.

I snatch at the opportunity presented. My hand rests atop his chest to push him away. I am done inhaling the red wine and cocoa on his breath. “I-I think it’s getting late.” His offer to drive me home in my car, after I had too much wine, is now an obvious problem. I scramble to sound invested in his well being. “You don’t want to call Jason too late for that drive back to the restaurant to pick up your truck, do you?”

“Sweet of you to worry, but I’m a big boy.” He combs some of my hair behind my ear. “You aren’t having a good time?”

“No,” I hurry out my answer. Gary’s figure is awash in the ashy gray of evening. His face, half in pitch black shadow, gives me little to read. The whites of his eyes are the only thing I can make out well. He blinks in wait. I continue. “I had a great time. But, it’s getting late.”

“We could have an even better time if you’d relax.” His thin lips curl up high into a smirk. Hands overpower with ease and clamp over my wrists. A push and I’m smothered between his chest and the door. He grapples my arms tight against my sides. His mouth latches onto my neck. “Isn’t this what you’ve been wanting?” His question vibrates under my skin.

My heart beats for release. “Gary, please…”

“Hm, begging for it already.” He chuckles.

“No.” I squirm. I shake my head, lift my shoulder in vain to detach his lips from me. “Take me home, please.”

He groans out an exasperated sigh. His bangs sweep over my lips. “For fuck’s sake. We could’ve had a good time tonight, El.” His teeth click. He launches backward into the driver’s seat.

I sit up and wedge farther into the little corner between the door and the seat. Where the hell can I run where he won’t catch me right away? There isn’t anything for five miles in either direction on this stretch of road heading back to Matamoras from Pond Eddy. I massage the skin of one wrist. Maybe I can convince him to drive me home? Promise to continue the fun at my apartment? I could hop out of the car and run to the 24-hour Smoke Shop a block away. 

When I switch to the other wrist I notice something’s missing.

Gary starts the engine. The dashboard illuminates and winks to life. He taps on the overhead light. My leather cord dangles from the tips of his fingers. He eyes the charm swaying back and forth. His lips peel back and display pearly whites. “Fuckin’ piece of shit,” he hisses. Under the engine hum a whirr accompanies the opening of the driver’s side window. With a quick slingshot, my necklace disappears into the darkness outside.

“What the hell are you doing?” I’m surprised at my ability to sound angry.

“What did Dean have to say when he stopped by earlier?” Gary asks and turns to look at me. I can see every inch of his face now but he’s not any easier to read.

Oh. Shit.

I grab the door handle.

But I’m not faster than Gary.

He cups the back of my head and slams my forehead into the curved outcrop of the dash. A shock of whiplash shuffles the contents of my skull. It’s followed by a ringing in my ears. Fingers weave into my hair and tug me to sit upright, tipping my head back like a Pez dispenser. I scream at the corkscrew twisting of his hand. Hundreds of strands yank out of my scalp. 

“The Winchesters.” Gary is calm and stone faced. He’s in my personal space, staring down at me. “Where are they headed?”

“I-I don’t know.” Balance upended, I’m woozy and confused. “How-, why-”

“Those two are stupid enough to get themselves killed if they aren’t careful, El. Help ‘em out. Tell me where they are going.”

“I t-t-told you. I don’t kn-”

I hear a crack, then realize it was the side of my head getting slammed into the car window. A dull, heavy pulse bangs against the kettle drum that is my brain.

“We gotta do it the hard way, huh?”

I slump against the glass and close my eyes. The surface is cool, slippery. Despite the pain radiating throughout my body, I could fall asleep.

Gears shift. The car judders forward in that familiar way when I give it a little too much gas. Then, it slows to a crawl.

“We’ve got a pool going, seeing how boring as hell it’s been topside lately. Pun intended, by the way.” Gary hums a little to the pop tune blaring from the radio. “Who’s Dean gonna run to before his deal comes due?” He announces the question like a game show host. “I had my money on you. Always thought you had an advantage over Lisa. I mean, yeah, there’s Ben. That meat stick has a soft spot for kids. But, you, I mean come on, you were in the life. You know what it’s like. You get him. Well, when you remember him.” Gary snorts. “You saved him for fuck’s sake!”

I force my lids open. Something sticky’s blurring the vision of my right eye. The headlights are creeping over a dirt path. Gary taps the steering wheel to the song’s beat. 

“Wha- talkin’ ‘bout?” I murmur.  

“You pulled out in the lead at the last minute. Spray a little scrubbing bubbles in there” – he presses a finger to my temple – “and I’ll get what I need, get out of this ass backwards town and onto bigger and better things. A promotion from Lilith. Maybe visit New York City. Get up to some trouble.” Gary turns to grin at me. I’m seeing double, his figure swimming in and out of focus. 

His eyes turn totally black.

I shake my head. The pounding only increases.

A demon. There’s a fucking demon driving my car.

“Gotta say I’m a little disappointed.” Gary slams the brake pedal hard. My body flails back into the seat. I groan as Gary continues talking, shifting into park while the engine runs. “Thought we could have some real fun before getting down to the doldrums of business. This wasn’t the way Gary wanted to end up inside you, either.”

I gotta get out of here. I reach for one of the door handles but I only fist at air. Beyond the car hood, I can only make out a sliver of the dirt path awash in high beams. Ripples of water, the color of black volcanic glass, sway and meet the edge of the earth. 

Sudden and abrupt, Gary’s palms cradle my head. A kaleidoscope of black-eyed masks circle in my vision. “Open wide so I can have a peek, baby.” His jaw unhinges. Smoke expels from between his lips. Onyx clouds hang in the air. Terror bubbles up and a pitiful yelp leaves me. His gaping hole of a mouth turns up at the corners in a sinister cheshire cat grin. 

The smoke appears sentient, swirling its form into a thread with a needle-like point heading right toward my mouth. Then, I feel the invasion. The alien gas slides down my throat. It violates and expands throughout my lungs and inflates in dominance. It’s rough, uncaring, pawing under my skin for control. My vision is gone, a complete blackout. I can’t stop blinking in hopes I will see something, anything. I gasp somewhere, far away, for breath. 

“There we go, baby.” It’s my voice, but I’m not saying the words. I’ve been amputated from the body I’m stuck inside. The prisoner part of me rattles around in my brain, beating against my skull. “It’ll be better if you don’t fight.”

My sight returns but it’s distorted. I’m peeking through a fisheye lens. My hand adjusts the rear view mirror - without any directive that’s mine - so I can stare at my reflection. Half of my face is smeared in blood. My blood. My fingers push matted hair off my forehead and cheek. My eyes leer at my own visage, lascivious and coveting. My tongue peeks out to lick the blood dripping from my nose.

“Oh, we’re gonna be able to get so much more done with this body.” Incorporeal fingers flip through my memory. “Hm. You weren’t lying. You don’t know where they went.” 

“Elina?” A hoarse voice mumbles out of Gary’s body slumped in the driver’s seat.

“All those naughty thoughts.” My voice holds a condescending, judgy tone, as I stare at Gary. “Maybe if you’d paid more attention to taking care of that sickly aunt you wouldn’t be in this mess, Gar.” One of my hands feels its way up Gary’s shirt and under his suit jacket. It finds something cool and hard inside the breast pocket. My other hand unceremoniously pulls the clear bud vase from the mount it resides in near the steering wheel. “Lilith appreciates your service.”

Gary stares at the folded hunting knife in my hand. A firm wrist whip releases the blade from the confines. He scrambles to sit up in the seat. “What-what are you-”

Gary doesn’t get to finish his sentence. I’m screaming in the cage of my brain. My hand slashes at his throat, plunging deep into the flesh and meeting the resistance of bone. My wrist twists. My other hand places the bud vase near the gaping wound. Blood gurgles and spurts into the receptacle as Gary’s head flops to the side.

I can’t stop screaming. 

“Hopefully that’s enough.”

My voice quips out some lines of Latin as my eyes stare hard at the tiny vase.

“Fuck. Well, guess that killing two birds with one stone saying doesn’t apply here. Not enough juice.” My hand tosses the vase into the back of the car. “We’ll just give Sam a ring and find out where he and Dean are. Find another warm body to make another call. Then we’ll update Lilith on our progress.” I see my lips scrunch up in the mirror’s reflection. “Gary’s gonna have to go for a swim.” My body expels an exasperated sigh.

I can’t stop screaming.

“Shut the fuck up. Or when we track Dean and Sam down, I’ll cut their tongues out and feed them to you.”

I gasp, stunned and muted by the threat.

“That’s better. Now where’s that cell phone of yours.”

Dropping the knife, my hand searches the footwell by my heels. The demon will secure my purse in moments.

Dean’s face flashes in my memory. I can use all the hope I can get.

“You get him. Well, when you remember him. You saved him for fuck’s sake!” Gary’s voice - the demon’s words - replay in my head.

Demons lie. 

But I remember Sam. Sam doesn’t deserve whatever this demon has in store for him. And, deep down, I’m pretty sure Dean doesn’t deserve it either.

From the periphery of my sight, I see blood seeping out of Gary’s fatal wound. The wound my hands created.

Demons kill.

The demon won’t hesitate to do this again to someone else.

Unless I fight back.

“You can’t fight me.” My voice sing songs. “You don’t get out of this until I say.”

I remember Sam. Sam was able to do things he hadn’t thought possible when something was important enough to try and save.

“I told you to shut up.”

I realize how similar my voice sounds to my sister’s when she used to tease and scold me.

I hated that.

The engine idles, a background hum to all of the crazy.

My hand flips my phone open and begins to tap through my contacts.

I won’t be used to hurt another person. Anger boils and the body I’m in heats up around me. My thoughts zone in on how the gear shift would feel in my hand. How I’d press on the brake while I switch from Park to Drive.

The pedal bears down and the gear shift clicks to R, N, then D.

“What the–?”

I imagine my foot lifting off the brake and slamming the gas.

The car hiccups forward, almost rearing up on its wheels like a horse being whipped. It’s only a few seconds and then it’s bobbing as if it’s been fitted with hydraulics. Gary’s lifeless body bounces in the driver’s seat.

“You psycho bitch!” My voice screams. “Your funeral, not mine!” I feel my jaw open wide, stretching muscles and tendons to their limits.

The lights flicker out in the car. I focus on the sound of water lapping against the exterior. Whatever is going to happen next, I hope it’s quick.

“What the hell?!?” My voice roars in the dark. “What did you do?!? Why am I stuck?!?” My head whips side to side with a feral intensity.

I imagine chuckling like a victorious villain. The Devil’s Trap on the ceiling. Bobby came through for me. Again. Even as my body shivers at the cold water surrounding my feet, I know I can do one last thing to make the man proud. After all, I aced my Latin class in college.

I thread the words of the exorcism together, echoing in my brain.

“No! Stop!”

My body is betraying me again, either because of the demon or because I might be weakening its hold and control over my flesh. I’m fading. Lids too heavy to keep open. 

Glass breaks behind me and water rushes in. The ice cold shocks my heart. Hands wrap around my waist and tug. I’m pulled through the water. This must be what dying feels like.

I break through the water’s surface. “El!” A hand wraps around my waist. A body tangles around mine in the river and drags me somewhere. 

Pairs of hands hold me down on hard ground.

“Fuck! Sam!”

The Latin chant spills from a familiar voice, fast and furious.

Sam.

The force of water and smoke expelling from my throat jolts me awake. My eyes flicker open.

I see them.

Sam and Dean stare down at me. A heavy full moon hangs in the sky behind them.

“Hold on, El!”

Dean. 

I can’t, though.

~~~~

I wake up screaming.

Sam and Dean are gone.

No moon. No night.

I’m in a room. Yellow fluorescent light.

My heart races. Something beeps.

I stare at a drop ceiling.

“El!”

Pamela. Pamela’s here. I gasp for air.

“It’s alright, darlin’.” Her hand soothes a warm trail up and down my arm.

I slowly realize “here” is a hospital room. I am in a bed, sensors taped to skin and needles tapped into veins.

“Aw, sweetie. Everyone’s gonna be so happy to know you’re awake. Doctor’s gonna want to check you out and talk to you.” She sighs. “Unfortunately, so are the police.”

My mind swims with newfound knowledge. “Dean.” I croak out. “Where’s Dean?” I turn to see her watercolor blue eyes inspect me. The usual troublemaker grin is nowhere to be found.

She pats my hand. “Later, sweetie. Listen to me now.”

“Pamela…”

“Do you remember what happened to you? In the car?” She strokes the hair atop my head. “Do you remember what that thing did to you? Do you remember what it made you do to Gary?”

The knife in Gary’s throat. The blood. I nod. The tears flow.

Pamela nods back. “That’s what the police want to talk to you about,” she whispers. “But, if you claim it was self-defense-that he was gonna hurt you-trust me, it’ll be an easy sell. Those two lawyers you work for, Mitch and Ryan?” I nod as she continues. “They’ve been by to check on you and keep me informed of the investigation. Gary’s Aunt Cheryl’s been rotting away in the  basement of her house for months. Gary” –her voice even lower– “that thing joyriding him, it had you in its sights all that time, just waiting for the right moment, like a goddamn serial killer. Cops found photos of you all over the house and satanic” –she air quotes– “stuff in his room.”

My head spins. “Why? Why was it after Sam and Dean?”

A nurse pops in. Her face lights up. “Oh. How’s the patient?”

Pamela smiles and grips my wrist. “Sis just woke up.”

The nurse beelines to the side of my bed and checks the IV drip. Her gaze skirts over me and then at the monitor. “Dr. Wallace is making the rounds.” She clears her throat. “We’ve been given specific instructions to notify the police department as soon as…”

Pamela waves a hand, “Just do whatever you gotta do so we can get her out of here as soon as she’s able. Please.”

The nurse nods and zips out of the room.

“Sis?” I notice a dull throb from my forehead extends to the right side of my head. Oh, yeah, my skull met the dashboard and a window. The painkillers are obviously holding back a torrent of pain.

“Bobby needed one of your relatives to watch over you while he…” Pamela trails off.

“He’s with them, isn’t he? Sam and Dean?”

“What do you remember?”

It’s all a jumble. Memories and thoughts can’t reconcile themselves. “I remember knowing Dean, and then… not. And then, knowing him again.”

Her fingers rub circles atop my hand. “I don’t know all the details. Bobby’s a vault when he swears to secrecy. But, the long and short of it… this Dean Winchester made some kind of demon deal almost a year ago.”

I close my eyes. All I hear in my head is Dean.

I don’t like any of this, though, not one bit. I can’t keep literally dragging you into my shit.

Whatever this connection is, it’s obvious we don’t have any control over it. And that can go real bad, real quick.

You’re special. And I want you to stay that way.

“Oh, Dean,” I whisper. “What did you do?”

“Hey.” Pamela gives me a soft nudge. “This Dean sounds like a ton more trouble than he’s worth. You need to worry more about yourself right now, those police that are going to be by, and getting better. Bobby’s orders.”

~~~~ 

I was in the hospital for two more days under observation because of the head trauma I sustained. Once they ran me back and forth for numerous tests I finally got discharged with orders to rest.

I’ve been on lockdown for three weeks. I’ve also got security detail.

Not from the cops, mind you. I was convincing enough with my story. They bought that what I did to Gary was in self-defense. It wasn’t like I had to embellish much, just selectively omit some details. The demon had left a trail of crazy and murder that only supported my innocence.

No, I’m on lockdown with Pamela. And Garth, my security detail, has been ordered by Bobby to act as a sentinel outside my building. When he’s not in his car by the entrance during the day, he’s tucked into a sleeping bag by the threshold of my door at night. Pamela sleeps on the couch. I am within eyesight of either one of them in my twin bed. No one could ever claim this studio apartment is spacious.

It’s not so much about who might be coming after me, I suspect, as much as where I might run off to. Bobby called Pamela often. There’d been discussions, of which I’d not been allowed input, that maybe I should be moved. But the logistics and the where couldn’t be agreed. I couldn’t be taken to Sioux Falls. That meant Sam and Dean were there.

Garth had to get on the phone one night and offer, “Geez, Bobby. Law enforcement here is so on edge even the wind changing direction gets the third degree. No way anyone new or somethin’ out of the ordinary gets by them for quite a while. This is probably the safest place for El to be right now.”

That seemed to be good enough for Bobby, finally. Not for me. All I want are answers from Dean about why he thought wiping my memory of him was a great idea. More importantly, all I want to do is help him. Nothing involving a demon is good, I’m living proof. And anything involving a deal with a demon is a thousand times worse.

Pamela went out for food and supplies one morning while “cousin” Garth and I had a late Saturday breakfast. It was the first time we’d been by ourselves.

“You never met Sam and Dean Winchester?” I ask and slurp the sweet sugared milk from my cereal bowl.

“Nope.” Garth helps himself to another serving of the copycat Froot Loops.

I sit up and eye him as he digs in. “So, it was Bobby, then, that had you destroy my phone?”

He gasps, then coughs, mouth full of cereal. A little milk dribbles out of his nose. The features on his cue ball of a head scrunch in towards the center at his discomfort. “What?”

“Come on, Garth. Be honest with me.”

He wipes the mess off his face. “Alright, fine. Yes, Bobby had me do it.” He raises a hand. “And before you ask, I swear I don’t know why. He just told me you needed to be kept out of harm’s way and getting rid of your phone would help with that. So, I did.”

“I know why,” I mumble. “Erase any trace of Dean. It was probably Dean’s idea and Bobby just had you execute it.” I stand, itchy with irritation, and head over to the sink to deposit my cereal bowl. “Doesn’t it piss you off? The way Bobby doles out orders and we’re supposed to follow them without question?”

Garth blows his nose, I’m guessing to clear it of any residual milk. He flares his nostrils and does a little head shake. “Way I see it, Bobby’s survived this long on more than a little luck and a lot of praying. Like it or not, he’s usually right.” Garth looks up at me from his seat. His face wrinkles up into a thoughtful expression. “Bobby did tell me you got pretty close to those Winchesters. The Dean fella, in particular.”

I cross my arms, lean against the tiny bit of counter space that makes up my kitchenette. “I thought so.” I sweep my socked foot along the linoleum floor. My gaze lands on the cat figurine collection across the room on the dresser.

“Thought?”

I zone in on the cat angel. The one Dean got me. The one he picked up when he was here and trying to apologize when I didn’t remember everything. “Being close to someone means having faith in them. That’s how it goes for me anyway.”

“Faith is hard to come by for some people.” Garth shrugs. “You and I are close but it wasn’t always like that. I had to earn it. Look me in the eyes and say you have faith in everything I do with a straight face.” He raises his eyebrows.

I feel my mouth quirk up into a grin. “Fair enough,” I chuckle.

There’s a tell tale knock at the door. It’s the secret knock and I start for the door. But Garth raises a finger and sprints over before me.

Pamela breezes in with a couple bags. “Alright, I think I got everything on the list.” She drops them on the table and pulls out a newspaper for Garth.

“Thanks, Pammy. Gotta catch up on what Marmaduke’s up to.”

She smiles softly at him, then hands me a pile of envelopes. “Grabbed your mail.”

“Thanks, Pammy.” I parrot Garth.

I don’t get the same sweet smile at the use of the nickname. “I’m makin’ rice and beans tonight. Not up for discussion.”

“Hmmm.” Garth rubs his non-existent tummy and wades through the newspaper.

The two of them chatter. I walk to the couch and flop on it, flipping through the mail. Bill. Bill. Junk. But then there’s an envelope with my name and address handwritten on it. The print is haphazard and hurried. It’s postmarked from Sioux Falls from about a week ago. And in the top left corner are two letters.

D.W.

I purse my lips to hold in a gasp. Once I compose myself I announce, “Anyone gotta use the bathroom before I take a shower?”

“Nope,” Pamela states.

“I am A OK,” Garth replies. “Pammy, you like Garfield?”

I pull some clean clothes out of the dresser and dash into the bathroom while they discuss the merits of Odie.

It’s the only place I can get any privacy. I sit on the toilet, my change of clothes a heap in my lap, and Dean’s letter in my hands.

My entire body shivers. I inhale deep and slow to try and calm down, but it’s not helping. A finger inches under the flap and rips open the envelope. I unfold three pieces of paper that were inside. The first one is on stationery from The Aviary Hotel.There’s a crease etched in the middle, top to bottom, and a few left to right; it’s been folded into a smaller square at some point in the past.

The writing is tight and neat. Different from the one on the envelope.

I’m not gonna apologize for how I acted today, El.  What would be the point, anyway? You wouldn’t understand why I had to.  Take my advice and stay as far away from Sam and me as possible. –Dean

Short and not very sweet. But, I think back to the altercation I had with Dean in the hotel room with the loudest wallpaper I’d ever seen. It was when I didn’t remember, months back. Bobby had been in the hospital. I shake my head, even now, at how obnoxious Dean had been.

The fucker was doing everything in his power to make sure I wasn’t gonna give a shit about him. But why? Why the memory wipe? I tuck the page behind the others.

The next page is on very familiar stationery. I gave it to Bobby as a cheeky little gift one Christmas. He never uses it, but I know where he stashes it - in the right side drawer of the desk in his library.

Dean found that stationery and probably sat at that very desk to write what I’m now reading. The page has crinkles in it, like it was balled up and thrown out.

I let out a chuckle in nervous hiccups at Dean’s scribble right under the fancy font.

A bunch of BS from the desk of B.S. Ain’t that the truth!!! El, Bobby told me you remember everything. His friend Pamela told him that you’ve been asking about me. I don’t know why your memories came back. The deal’s not up yet. I’m glad you’re gonna get to go home soon. I’m so sorry you got caught in the middle of all of this ,. princess I always just wanted you safe. As much as I wish things could be different, nothing good comes from being around me. It kills me you had to find out the hard way with the demon riding that guy. All those times you saved me and didn’t give up on me, it kills me I’ll never be able to repay you proper. I’m glad you remember me now. Truth is, I didn’t think you ever would again.  It hurt to have to push you away all this time. To not reach out and tell you about the stupid thing I did when I was crazy in my head over losing Sam. He died, El. About a year ago.

I stop reading. Drop the papers in my lap. I recall the very healthy looking Sam I saw months back. And the one who helped rescue me only weeks ago.

I traded my soul to bring him back. But the crossroads demon only gave me a year before my bill came due. 

My heart beat increases, pounds in my head. Dean’s words trigger the pain from the assault, a deep ache in my bones. My skin prickles with anger. 

Sam died a year ago and Dean’s deal was for a year. 

No, Dean. No.

The bitch thought it’d be cute to wipe your memory of every little bit of me as part of the agreement. You gotta believe me, El, that’s not what I wanted. I may have thought it was better you’d never met me. But I never would have traded losing you for Sam. Me, that’s a no-brainer. 

I turn the page over and continue to read Dean’s words through my blurry vision. The other pages scatter onto the tile floor.

I want It just twisted the knife, having you look at me like I was a stranger. Having to tear into you hurt so fucking much. But it was all I could do to drive that urge to help out of you. You were a great hunting partner. One of the best. It’s selfish of me and dangerous for you, but I’ve thought about what it would be like having you hunt with Sam and me again. Like a team. And it feels right. I think that life, if the apple pie life was never in the cards for me, that would have been nice. 

But my time is almost up, so I’m gonna try to hold on to what might have been, wherever I’m going.  I just want to tell you that I love  need you to stay safe, alright. I need you to be okay when all this is over. And, I need you to be there for Sam. And maybe, maybe he can be there for you, when you want to remember me. Cause I’ll never forget you, Suds. -Dean  

Both hands cover my mouth. I stifle the sobs. It’s not helping and I’m only getting louder. Pamela or Garth will knock on the door soon. I lean to the left and twist the faucet knob. A spurt of water shoots out. A steady stream soon follows.

I wish he’d tried to tell me. That night when he was here. I would have thought he was crazy. But, still, I might have told him to have Sam come up and confirm. I might have called Bobby. I might never have gone to meet Gary.

I could have been with them all this time. Trying anything and everything to help. I grab the page again and look at that word he’s crossed out. Love. He could have written anything after that. He could have just wanted to remind me that he loves pie.

But somehow, I think not.

More tears come.

I flip the lever so water cascades out of the showerhead. I wipe my soggy eyes with the back of my hand and gather up the other dropped pages.

The last page wasn’t written by Dean. The print is large and loopy. Sam. 

Dean tossed both these letters out today. The first one he’d been carrying around in his bag for months in an envelope with your name on it. I saw him dump it in Bobby’s office along with the second note. I wanted to give you the chance to read them now, in case there’s time for you to reach out before we track down Lilith. Maybe give him a reason to keep fighting, El. Cause he’s tired of hearing me. He’s trying to hold on but the closer he gets to the clock running out… I can’t lose him, either. Sam.

I leave all the pages atop the sink. My gaze lingers on the phone number Sam wrote at the bottom of the note. It’s gotta be Dean’s. My brain and body go on autopilot. I cry as I shower, towel off, and then dress into my second set of pajamas for the day.

By the time I exit the bathroom, Garth is gone, and Pamela waits for me on the couch. She’s the best big sister I could ask for in that moment, opening her arms for me to collapse into and cry some more. She waits until I’m ready to tell her everything. When I’m done, she tucks my damp hair behind my ears and gives me a nod for courage.

“You do what you got to do, sweetie. I’ll be out in the hall. When you need me, that’s where I’ll be.”

I know he won’t pick up. And, I don’t know what I’m gonna leave on his voicemail. I stand up and walk over to the dresser. I place Sam’s note on top of it, by my cat figurine collection, and punch in the numbers. The ringing begins and I stare at the little cat angel, readying to say anything after Dean’s greeting.

“This is Dean’s other, other cell so you must know what to do.”

“Hi.” My voice eeks out, a whispery rasp. I clear my throat. “Dean. It’s me. El. I-I just wanted to tell you that I’m-I’m pissed. I’m pissed that you didn’t hang around at the hospital and wait for me to wake up. Cause, ah, I-I did think of a tip for you.” The lump in my throat makes my breath hitch. “Don’t quit the life. Not yet. And don’t wait so damn long to kiss me the next time you see me, Winchester. I’ll, I’ll be waiting.”

I circle my finger along the halo of the little kitty.

~~~~

I don’t sleep that night. I wait for his call. When my phone finally rings, it’s a little after two in the morning.

But the name on the screen is Bobby. He hasn’t called me direct since I’ve been out of the hospital.

I answer but don’t say anything. Just wait for the old man’s voice.

“I’m sorry, L. He’s-he’s gone.”

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for knocking out a dozen waiters?

So, I (20sM) am a gangster from Las Vegas. Recently, our boss ordered my team to get one-up on a rival group in the same crime syndicate as us. And in their basement, we ended up discovering a magic drug that gives you superpowers.

Y'see, here's the problem. The syndicate's higher-ups found out about the theft, and now they're sending superpowered assassins after us to try and get back the briefcase full of drugs. It's not ideal.

Our plan is to deliver the briefcase to their planned buyer, and then we'll have enough money to keep them off our backs for good. But if we don't deliver it in 72 hours, I'm gonna die because of magic contract bullshit. (How that happened's not really relevant to this story, just know we're on a time limit).

Our last fight went...not so great. I almost got turned into a fridge, one of my friends almost got buried alive, and another got exploded. We're stranded out in the middle of nowhere near Albuquerque, trying to walk to civilization (or at least to where we can find a new car).

Enter a new problem: a mother fucking roadrunner.

Now, I knew this was gonna be some magic horseshit. We all suddenly started craving chicken just before it appeared, so clearly it was using its own psychic powers to bait us into some kind of cartoon hijinks that would end in our hilarious demise. I even saw some cartoon subtitles come out of the thing.

So instead of going to capture and eat the awful bird like all of my friends — I'm not used to being the voice of reason — I went back to this ominous hotel that we passed on the way. Unfortunately, it was incredibly dusty, and full of skeletons. But one thing I did find: an anvil, a pulley, and some rope.

What I did is have one of my friends use them to catapult me off into the middle distance towards Albequerque so I could go get us a car. I thought that if the road runner has cartoon powers, then maybe it'd rub off on us and prevent my horrible demise, right?

Using my power (a magic pinball I can chuck really hard and ricochet off of things), I managed to kill my momentum and land in someone's pool. So all I had to do then was procure a car for the others. Easy, right?

Not easy. The first twelve dozen times I tried to steal a car were a total bust. I went door to-door trying to stick people up for their car keys, but most of them just screamed and slammed the door on me.

So, realizing I needed a change of plan, I headed over to a fancy restaurant with valet parking, and I made a ton of noise in the parking lot. When a waiter headed out and asked me what I was doing, I beaned him in the head with my pinball to steal his keys.

This caused another waiter to hear the noise and come out looking for answers, and I ended up panicking and also knocking them out. Then another came out. A dozen restaurant staff later, I managed to get a new car and drive back to where my friends were with a now-dead bird.

...It's not exactly new for our fights to have collateral damage, but even I can recognize that it got a bit out of hand. AITA?

[dodger-chan]

The second part of my hurricane distraction fic (part one is here)

There was no way to get alone time with Eddie in the mobile home, nor were they likely to get a private moment before they took on Henry and his psychic bat army. But their plan was too dangerous, had too many potential points of failure, for Robin to feel comfortable postponing the conversation until the dust settled. So she sat next to him on the floor of the RV and hissed into his ear,

“What are you doing, Munson?”

“Um, staying out of sight?” he answered.

“I meant with Steve. Big Boy? Really?” Robin muffled her snort. She didn’t want to draw the attention of the little ones. “I’ve worked with Steve for months and that was one of the most pathetic attempts at flirtation I’ve seen. Including whatever it was that he thought he was doing at Scoops last June.”

“Do you think he noticed?” Eddie asked. Robin rolled her eyes. She held her hands out in front of her like a scale.

“Well, on the one hand, the world might be ending, we’re all on the run from both the law and Steve’s old friends, and one of his kids is cursed and might die horribly even if we do manage to save the world. Plus his first love is having issues with the guy she left him for and is leaning on him in a way I find kinda gross, even if I don’t think she’s doing it on purpose.” Robin hefted her right hand like she was weighing everything she’d just said. Then she let her left hand drop to the ground hard and fast. “On the other hand, he’s Steve Harrington: if there’s one thing he knows, it’s flirting. So, yeah, I think he noticed you flirting with him, I think he noticed exactly when you started flirting with him, and the second he and I can have a completely private conversation he’s going to ask me for advice so I am asking you: what is it you are trying to do?”

“Set myself up for a beating if we all make it through this, apparently,” Eddie grumbled. Robin smacked his arm. “Ow!”

Nancy turned to look at them with a questioning frown. Robin just smiled sweetly and waited for the other girl to go back to navigating for Steve.

“The only person who might beat you up here is me,” she whispered. “And then only if you make Steve cry, which honestly is really hard to do. He’s internalized a lot of deeply damaging ideas about men not crying, which - I do not have time to get into with you right now. Or possibly ever. Depending on your explanation for why, after years of mostly ignoring him except when he was buying pot, and days of horror-filled proximity, you decided to start flirting with Steve while we were trapped in a hell dimension.”

“He’s hot?” Eddie seemed a little uncertain.

“Agree to disagree there, but he doesn’t look any different than he did yesterday or the day before. Except for the bat bites. And your vest.” A thought struck her. “It’s not just the clothes, right? Because he might wear your clothes if you invite him to a concert or something, but that whole preppy jock look really is what he’s most comfortable in.”

“He ripped a bat in half with his bare hands. I damn near proposed marriage right there.”

So weird. But not any weirder than Steve confessing to her that he was maybe not as over that crush as he’d previously thought shortly after Eddie had almost killed him with that broken bottle.

“Right,” Robin said with a nod. She moved to get up, but Eddie stopped her with a hand on her arm and a curious look. She sympathized, really, but…

“I can’t spill Steve’s secrets; best friend confidentiality,” she apologized. “But, uh, when Steve asks me what he should do, I’m gonna tell him to flirt back.”

[rodismancave]

A reminder to new folks because I feel I need to say this. It's a few specific rules and more of a 'this is how i roleplay' thing. It kinda got away from me fast but alas, I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable for any reason so I just said what I feel i need to say to make that happen.

My muse is mean. It's usually nothing personal but he is Mean if provoked. There is a line and it is Thin.

This extends to his friends, mostly as a show of ease around them and as jokes, its just how he is. a little jokey joke. he says things without thinking and sometimes that leads to misunderstanding or an otherwise "cruel" comment. He normally doesnt mean it like that (unless he does)

this account is like 80% crack. i am here to have fun and be silly. if you take me seriously and get offended by it then I'm sorry but frankly, I have stated this many, many times. I do roleplay serious stuff, I do focus on a little bit of storytelling every once in a while, but for the most part I am silly and quirky. My portrayal won't always be 100% ic, sometimes a little ooc is healthy, for the bit. I stay committed to the bit, always.

Of course. if he's mean to your muse and you don't like it then you can let me know and I'll tone it down. I'll never be an asshole to people I dont know are 100% down to it or who aren't familiar with how my muse acts. However, sometimes being mean is in character with my muse and theres no other way around it. But the more intense, "i want to cause psychic damage" convos I will always ask if its okay for my muse to go hard on yours.

Rodimus is aware of the multiverse. This does not mean he's aware of the history of each multiverse. He may be aware of them, briefly, but he is really not going to dwell on it much and if you expect him to know it he just. wont. He doesn't really care all that much. This is also to say that he may confuse your muse for someone in his crew because of looking alike, and will treat you as such unless proven otherwise.

There are no people who are "canon" to Rodimus' crew, not at the moment. The only ones who I can say with confidence who are in his crew are @weavingmemoir and @stealthfeline, who are also my muses. This is for practicality. If your muse is part of the Lost Light crew in general, though (brainstorm, whirl, megatron, etc) you can respond to my lost light posts as if you were a member of his crew, I dont really mind. Like I said: commitment to the bit, always. The bit is always funnier when more people join.

Don't pretend like your muse knows mine and vice versa without talking to me first. This is mostly about muses outside G1 and IDW, or even people in IDW that Rodimus never really met, as well as OCs. It isn't really towards muses who HAVE interacted with Rodimus at least a few times. It is Awkward having to figure that out, and I'm not particularly a fan of having to dig around for people's relationships to understand what's going on between your muse and mine.

I don't really care if your muse is banging another Rodimus, or anyone else from his crew. Like I genuinely do not care, and neither does he.

I'll always make adjustments if you ask me to. I'll create new verses to fit with your muse, but that requires communication first and foremost. This also goes for events, if you want in on an event just talk to me and we'll see about it together. My events are never 100% thought out because I like leaving space for other participants to have a say in what happens. I just think its fun, like a group project (but less stressful)

When interacting with me I ask to lay off on the quirky colors and varying different fonts in one single reply. I have a lot of difficulty reading things like that and it strains my vision and it gives me a headache. Just, always have the same font throughout, and if there are different fonts, please let them be at least readable. The standard tumblr fonts are fine, except 'lucille', and the small font tends to me specially frustrating sometimes.

This is a g1/idw based blog. I take stuff i like from g1 and stuff i like from idw and i slam it together until I have something I like. Rodimus does not like the prime title, he does not miss being a prime, and he absolutely does not appreciate being called one, unless its doing things for his ego or to make himself look greater than he is. He is an Ass.

[raw-law]

oh yeah i can relate, L. i had exactly one close friend growing up (most kids didn't DISLIKE me but they thought i was weird and intense) that i would play games with littlest pet shop figures with. littlest pet shop is a series of little animal toys in multiple colors and such, btw. but i always had a specific way i wanted things to go, but my friend had thoughts too and wanted chances to have an input too, and i reacted with 'Absolutely Not, fuck you' except not swearing because i was a good child. and i also got very fatigued after talking too long, so i'd just wanna go silent and start arranging the figures, but she didn't like that. and when i suggested we play a video game or watched a movie, she didn't like that either. looking back, it's a wonder we stayed friends as long as we did.

a sort of side story, when i was like 7 or 8, i got my first set of pokemon cards. i loved looking at them and organizing them and making decks (although they were always poorly balanced) and my mom took me to a local game store to learn to actually play the game. i was TERRIBLE, but i LOVED playing. my favorite part was looking at other people's cards, especially pikachu cards.

one time, i DID win though, and it was when all the cards were against me. however, there's a Lot of context to make it understandable.

so the way pokemon TCG works is each player shuffles their deck and draws 6 cards without looking and sets them face down on the left side of the table, these are called 'prize cards'. every time you knock out an opponent's pokemon, you draw a prize card, or if the opponent's pokemon in question is an ex, EX(yes they are different), GX, V, or BREAK pokemon, you draw 2. once all 6 are drawn, you win. there's also different types; grass, fire, water, electric, psychic, fighting, dark, steel, fairy, dragon, and normal. the only type advantage you need to know is that water types are weak to grass types.

so i'm like 8, in the middle of a game with this 20 year old guy, playing with one of my super imbalanced decks. somehow, i'd actually managed to knock out enough of his pokemon to have 2 prize cards remaining. he had 1. his attacking pokemon was a blastoise EX, a giant water type turtle pokemon, and my attacking pokemon was masquerin, a tiny grass type bug pokemon. i got INSANELY fucking lucky and i had a lot of item cards that allowed me to remove damage cards, so by slowly chipping away at this giant water tank turtle and healing before my pokemon was knocked out, i managed to knock out the blastoise, and WON. this guy who played competitively and had been making decks for longer than i'd been alive got beat by a tiny 8 year old with a pikachu plush and pikachu jacket, AND SAID 8 YEAR OLD BEAT HIM WITH A BUG. he said his ego was hurt and i still brag about it.

-rainbow dash

L:

first i should apologize for only now getting to this. it got mixed in with other asks from other side blogs i have and only now realized this was buried in there. feel free to whack me on the head with a metal bar for that.

but my god this is... beauty at its finest....

you should keep bragging about it. i would refuse to let them ever live that down. i can't even remember if i have any stories that live up to that kind of achievement.

my god this is simply divine.

Light:

I'm so sorry I'm only getting to it now, the past few weeks have been terribly busy for me.

But, I must say, your life is very, very interesting...do you have any such stories? I'd love to hear more if all of them are adventures like this....

And Ryuzaki's right. If that happened to me, I'd really never shut up about it...

[gohandinhand]

Goey please be safe 🫂❤️

hey thanks nonnie! doing my best! brain-wise it has been rough for awhile... i knew my thirties were shaping up to be "time to answer big questions about your life" time but i didn't expect "lol what if you just die tho" to be one of the questions my brain would incessantly be asking me! it sucks!

but i'm bumping along okay, reminding myself to hold on to the little stuff. yesterday i had a bad morning and was taking psychic damage while driving around in the car alone with my thoughts but in the afternoon i had a 45 minute phone call with my sister and then went to my exercise class at the senior center where literally all but two of us are named kathy or linda and when i was driving home in the sunshine with my windows down and blasting fun music i was vibing much more happily. small joys, baby!

plus maddie has been consuming the scholomance books at the pace of approximately one book per day and live texting me her reactions and theories and it's the BEST. currently in the 'dear friend experiencing my favorite books for the first time" fandom & i WILL keep it going. if you are my friend and you haven't read them yet please know you are now being hunted 🫡

[artemiscellaniousart]

So I’ve been wanting to make a game with my ocs for a while, and I’ve got a small synopsis of what I want it to be. Suggestions are very welcome, and here it is without further ado.

In the prologue Lucy will be in her parents home, her relationship with her aunt is prominently displayed. Her parents aren’t great to her and her aunt is her rock. Shows both of their appreciation for books, mainly as an escape from reality.

Lucy’s aunt gets murdered by a supernatural being, witnessed by Lucy. A tome is left by the being, unexplained thus far. Nobody believes her about the perpetrator being supernatural, but the damage is too great to her aunts body for her to have been a suspect. Nobody has any explanation besides her, closed case with no leads.

Open on Lucy running from home into the streets. She takes a drunk strangers meal without them noticing using her telekinesis, alluding to her near future of stealing to survive (and sometimes for fun). She then takes a bus to a town she doesn’t know, ducking into an abandoned bookstore for the night.

Flash forward, Lucy has cleaned up the place a bit. It’s clearly been a couple years and she has made the bookstore into her home. Hints that she has been repressing thoughts of finding the culprit of her aunts murder. She has met a couple people in town, namely Amanita the botany shop owner and Dr Sage, the “quack” doctor (he’s a bird wearing a Groucho nose to hide his beak, other than that a decent doctor). She has seen her neighbors boy Toby and waved at him before but they’ve never spoken. Lucy has been using the books in her bookstore to escape from the reality of her aunts murder. You get a day to walk around alone and take in the environmental storytelling, seeing the daily interactions between Lucy and the folk around her. At the end of it she gets home and talks to Toby for the first time. He is incredibly talkative introducing himself with inconsistent eye contact and Lucy is trying to inch away visibly when he’s not looking at her, think red light green light.

He asks why she lives alone when she’s close to her bookshops window and it reminds her of her aunt, she snaps at Toby and rushes inside. Lucy spends that night unable to get it out of her head, she doesn’t sleep much.

The next morning, Toby sees you and rushes over. He says how what happened before was weird and figured you could use someone to talk to. You tell him you don’t want to talk about it, and he decides that y’all are best friends and he wants to hang out with you doing whatever you do. You slightly push back, as you find him incredibly verbally honest and that disturbs you. However you do really need a friend, and he seems harmless enough.

Throughout the day you decide that you’re going to stop ignoring it and investigate what happened to your aunt. You pull the tome from the hiding space between four bookshelves you created, and read the first few pages for the first time.

It is an invitation to insanity, to knowing more than you should ever have known and changing for the worst for it. Of course, it says none of that. It simply speaks of the psychic power that one could wield with the information contained within, what would become incredibly useful for finding this awful driving force behind her aunts demise. She decides to perform the first spell in the book, a “psychic primer” if you will. Helps get the ball really rolling with her telekinesis.

An identical her is placed into another reality by her first spell that you switch between as the player but have no connection with as the character. Working towards the same goal but in entirely separate ways. Neither one has any knowledge of the existence of the other, but they help each other out in many ways throughout the story.

The main theme of the game is how people are shaped by their environment. Dark Lucy is forced somewhere where morals are a luxury she can’t afford to have, and Planet Lucy is forming a friendship with Toby/her community and is able to hold onto a lot more of her scruples in her investigation. Her journey is is still tough but it is nowhere near as gruesome as the other, with the visuals reminiscent of her aunt being confined to the Evil World Lucy.

You may have to pick a side near the end, they can see into each others minds when they meet for the first time. Planet Lucy sees the other as evil for the things she has done to get here and leaps to action immediately, while Lucy of the Netherworld knows due to her time in Hell that it’s either attack first or die and she needs what she did to be worthwhile so she can pursue her aunts killer, as she knows she’s the only one that can.

Planet Lucy doesn’t have the tools to, and will eventually move on with her life. Her community is able to vouch for her, and she gets off on self defense. (The “good ending”)

Hell Lucy will defeat her aunts murderer but will have none of the community that Planet Lucy built. She will either run forever or die by the hands of the community. (The “bad ending”)

[debtsunpaid]

i'm still going apeshit over my new guy while i write their backstory but i'm being a perfectionist about it, so in the meantime here's a few lil things about klavier:

formerly an astrophysicist working for the ESA (and one-time astronaut, but that wasn't always the plan). their colleagues remember him best for their mental math prowess, his ferocity in advocating for their team & their project, the six separate times he almost knocked himself out on the wing of their own spaceplane, and the very, very formal weekly dinners they hosted that no one ever expected to be that formal bc he brought them up like inviting friends over to watch the game on sunday.

re: the dinners: they love to cook for people. love it. very picky about the process and doesn't often like other people helping them (he takes hosting and courtesy towards houseguests very seriously), but doesn't mind people watching or taste-testing. he doesn't do it as much these days, because all the joy was really in the social aspect & he considers themself too dangerous to get close enough to people to invite them over, but they'll still pull out absolutely flawless cutting technique when applicable.

met their fiancée (magdalena) in university bc he was arguing with a professor in the law library where she worked. she came over to tell them to shut the fuck up, and he jumped so badly that she felt guilty later & went back over to apologize, to which he Also apologized & suggested that hitting him with one of the heavier books would have been equally effective. they started talking about each other's work & majors, were going to part ways when the library closed, then awkwardly ended up walking the same way home. to the same apartment complex. for a while after that, whenever klavier went to the library while magdalena was working, she'd catch his eye and pretend to line up a shot with the heaviest book she had on hand, which always made them laugh.

currently a drifting adjunct professor & substitute teacher, as well as an occasional german, spanish, & math tutor. he tends to focus more on teaching/talking about mathematics these days rather than astrophysics, though they've done a few physics lectures here and there; if asked why, they'd say it's because he's still hiding from the german government + MI-6 and it's smarter to avoid being found within his field of expertise. but really it's because the last time they knew what was real & what wasn't was in 1990, the world's ideas about the cosmos have changed drastically since then, and he no longer feels like an expert in anything, or like he even knows the world they're standing on, let alone any worlds elsewhere.

CLIFF NOTES ON THE GOD PROBLEM: klavier was psychically bonded with jallakuntilliokan during his first (and only) spaceflight on the spaceplane hermes because their orbit put them Directly over the geotroniks facility where the magi caecus were firing the fear machine, at the exact moment when john constantine, zed, and marj were completing their ritual to summon its anima (other godly half) and negate its intended damaging influence on the world. but while the beings themselves balanced out, the summoning rituals did not (pagan nation involved 3 people, geotroniks involved 2), and they could not co-exist unevenly in the world, so jallakuntilliokan had to draw on more psychic energy in order to even things out.

luckily for jalla, there was a spaceplane with 3 powerful potential psychics perfectly aligned with the ley lines that it drew its power from, courtesy of string-pulling and secret testing led by the UK magi caecus and klavier's own mother for over a year prior. it was a flimsy backup plan based on the (so they thought) astronomically slim chance the summoning would fail, with the intention that the spaceplane would be intentionally crashed into the facility and some poor suckers would be sacrificed for enough psychic potential + public shock & alarm to rev the fear engine all the way up to its purpose. they just didn't count on jallakuntilliokan sniffing out the supply first.

the other two astronauts were fried, but klavi survived; the burst severely damaged the hermes and it crashed back to earth, veering off course and hitting the baltic sea. all klavier remembers is the burst, seeing his colleagues burn out, the agonizing sensation of something segmenting their brain like an orange, and then being dragged out of the ocean later. he was then secretly held by the german government for three years in the hopes of determining what the fuck had happened & what was now wrong with him, until jallakuntilliokan shoved their consciousness into the Dreaming long enough to take hold of the body and bust out. he's been on the run ever since, all but convinced there's an alien living in his skull, unaware that he's playing host to a god.

[councilblr-voting-rights]

No1 Councilblr Weirdo Bracket (BEHIND THE SCENES)

First things first, I should note that ALL NOMINEES were included in the bracket. I only excluded TWO users for not having obvious ties to Councilblr. And when I spotted "the whole t4tnavyseal hivemind" I thought it would be funny, FOR THE BIT, to let in every hivemind member I could track down and include them in the bracket (which does mean there were contestants with no nominations).

This lead to a strange number of contestants, so I myself nominated rumiracle-whip and rubysparx to help even it out (one of them is an understated weirdo and both of them are fans of Exandroth so I call that immediately weirdo-worthy).

With a full list of contestants I got to work on the bracket. Users colestyle and burning-sol got separated to help with the odd number of contestants and to avoid any large sweeps. The regular nominees and the hivemind were separated with two exceptions, who I picked just based on *shrugs*. Users with a higher number of nominations I attempted to spread out and everyone else was randomised. I also made some other personal choices for the hell of it. Basically, it was a system of executive choices and also just a luck of the draw.

That's about everything I have to say on the behind the scenes. Since I have experience now, hopefully the next bracket will be easier to run.

Anyways, here are ALL the responses (aside from a few ommissions). CONTENT WARNING: many of these nominations were certified NOT WEIRD and dare I say NORMAL <- next time I will NOT be nice and NOT include everyone because you all cannot be trusted.

21 - colestyle

"i mean. cmon. the gillion eggs post." "i think the gillion lays eggs post is a good reason" "Have you seen his blog???" "are you kidding me" "you know why" "egg post 💀" "do I even have to explain this one" "do you really need to ask that" "funny guy. something deeply wrong with him. fussy. eggs. etc etc etc. need I say more" "eggs" "yeah" "do you even have to ask" "gillion egg webweave" "do i need to?" "self explanatory <3" "eggposting." "obviously" "Fussy, titstrider Tuesday, that gillion egg post" "very strange and off putting" "have you seen !!!!"

8 - burning-sol

"The Everything /affectionate" "Eldritchstrings and general exandroth posting" "i mean ‘weirdo’ in such a kind and positive way here because but i think if the council were to be exposed to his blog they would take some kind of psychic damage from the pinned post alone" "Many reasons, including being the person that started the Morse hivemind clicks" "just look at them" "Because they're my friend, and we can't all possibly nominate Lukas Colestyle" "excessive exandroth and eldritchstrings posting (/pos)"

5 - misty-lilies

"niklaus simp" "they want to get destroyed in a poll" "niklaus apologist 100 emoji" "accidentally started the t4t navyseal hivemind" "my favourite moot who makes banger charcter analysis posts and also is a simp for niklaus hendrix"

5 - navysealt4t

"^_^ get freaky wit it!! am a lil navyseal lover <3" "navyseal and t4t, they are cool and my mutual <3" "1 out of the 2 og t4tnavysealers…." "Them and t4tnavyseal started the t4t navyseal hivemind" "he literally WROTE an entire song for jay based on the idea of a musical. also she's my favorite mutual. so. i must be biased"

4 - willotstreet

"absolute killer.Murderer. SOMEHOW being able to rolan deep post so much im astounded. Thumbs up" "crazy insane rolan deep guy /pos" "honest;y whatever that guys got going on is infinitely funnier than anything else. i log onto this webbed site, watch ren post about their breakdown, then watch them post about how rolan deep is their wife."

3 - jadejemdoesstuff

"Scrimbles" "Hits post limit Way too frequently to be normal" "scrunkly"

3 - nickyclose

"First of all,had the SCUcondi username which was iconic,they are the ceo of Ashe winters and are my friend :}" "SAYS SO MUCH IN THEIR POSTS.SO MANY IDEAS. SOMEHOW. never runs out. Freak behavior. IDEAL !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! slash pos" "constantly brainrotting about npcs"

3 - spacedustmantis

"they r cool and understand gillion tidestrider" "really into plays that's kinda not normal right" "eel boy tidestrider"

2 - sp4rk-p1ug

"if he doesnt get in im blowing this whole fucking website up and deleting the cringe comp and the councilblr discord server and my blog" "i’m colestyles boyfriend"

2 - the-albatross-sails

"british representation" "called old man earl a top, british, just look at my pfp and that's all the evidence you need"

2 - dracolunae / pretzel-the-frogtopus

"No one can run that many update blogs and be considered an average blog /aff" "Beasty beastly beast best beast ORANGE Also they run like all of the update accounts All of them"

2 - alkalineleak

"1. i watched hymn liveblog making the undersea headcanon doc on discord 2. beloved jrwi riptide mutual" "big naturals"

1 - fiveminuterice

"omegaverse post"

1 - atlix2

"he's gotten a litle too silly"

1 - unwitnessprotection

"sorry for shipping william wisp and william wight. ok. sorry. god itd be so funny though. sorry also for contemplating shipping william with the wisp illusion of him. i havent gone to confession in years i could keep going"

1 - xaeyrnofnbe

"I think they are very nice :)"

1 - twinkfromconvergence / maybewren

"im their friend an i think it would be funny"

1 - viewfinder-chernobyl

"They wanted to be nominated"

1 - t4tnavyseal

"they have a cool blog :3"

1 - grrsalot

"freak (aff)"

1 - tragicfaggots

"they are silly :3"

1 - thanatosyaoi

"technically this is discord interactions based rather than blog based but. uhhh. yknow lets just go with “you had to be there” i dont need to disclose what happens in boo’s insane room"

1 - apple-the-bluebird

"You said we could nominate ourselves. Also. The year of the yaoi thing and having multiple posts on the cringe comp"

1 - chaos-caverns

"rand"

1 - seraphex

"Vibes"

1 - verdellium

"as a good friend of rosemarys heres my list on why she is weird and insane: - sent me a video of her doing an "autism jig" (intense stimming) over gillions i hate you speech - sent me a video of wym crying at 1 am over the bitb finale. unnerving and weird to wake up to at 6 am and see that video. - has a 1000 word note in her notes app about how one of his pieces in band perfectly fits albatrio. refuses to share it with me. - wrote like. 200 words to his mutual about band and jrwi. - in her drafts, there is a post that says "gillion is an exmormon. i said it." i dont know where this came from.

1 - tranny-tidestriders

"they reblogged the charlie twerking GIF about 15 times in a row. and he has autistic tboy swag"

1 - enderspawn 1 - fragilecqpricorn 1 - goatmanwithstrawberrytea 1 - asteraeliana 1 - everwizard

Someone simply submitted "ohmigoshiloveyou" and nothing else. The user "firefox-official" was nominated with the note "must i explain" but I couldn't find any obvious ties to Councilblr so I didn't include them, "sadmushroomgoblin" was nominated with no comment and excluded for the same reason.

[chaoticbard]

“A bard, is it? You’re fortunate in that profession.” Astarion mentioned in passing. “Cazador didn’t much care for bards. Punished us for bringing them in. I suppose you performed in taverns or—?”

Alaara nodded, a faint grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. He had to know that she was a bard; her casual attire in camp and her ever-present instrument gave it away plainly.

Astarion is trying to make casual conversation, bless him, Alaara thought. He certainly didn't have to. It was a wonder he wanted to do anything but give back to the world what it had given him first. She wasn't sure if she'd been in his shoes she would've been able to act as he did. Regardless of his constant disapproval to help others, he still did so. Maybe she was going crazy, but she felt as if ever so slowly, she was chipping away at Astarion's shell and getting to the real him. The version of himself he wanted to be. Not just the mask he put on for everybody. Perhaps she would chip away at it just that much more during her chat?

"Cazador doesn't care for bards, hmm? I can't wait for you to take us to his mansion so I can piss him off before we kill him. I'll make sure I sing extra loudly and off-key and play my lyre out of tune." She paused. "...You might want to get ear plugs for that performance. No sense in taking psychic damage."

Alaara's discreet grin blossomed across her face into a full-fledged and toothy smile. For once she'd relish killing someone instead of finding it an unfortunate necessity of their circumstances. Of course, Astarion would get the final blows. Cazador was his prey to hunt, not hers. She would merely be support, helping to weaken him for his final moment. She hoped his demise would bring Astarion peace.

She shook her head, gently snorting as she re-focused. Best to answer the question asked than to get too lost in melancholy and in the future. "To answer your question, I played festivals and faires when I was little. My parents took my sister and I all over Faerûn to learn the craft of our clan. Once I left them to go my own way, I stuck to mostly taverns. They're where you learn things of interest. Such tales of interest landed me in Waterdeep, chasing after- well, stories mostly... and a little treasure. Poking around the city ended up getting me into a lot of shit, but all's well that ends, well, not as bad as it could have. My friends and I were, er, gifted a run-down tavern in exchange for finding someone. We fixed it up and reopened it, we got a free employee out of the ghost haunting it, and we don't really need to worry about overhead costs. We lucked upon a jug of infinite liquids that gives us a drink nobody else in the city can offer patrons."

Truly, the tavern was one of the wonderful things that had come of tangling with the nobility of Waterdeep and with the Zhentarim among others. By the gods that had been miserable. Of course, meeting a dragon at the pinnacle of their journey had more than made up for the troubles. But spinning yarns about meeting a dragon hidden in Waterdeep's depths was for another time. "...If we get out of this alive, you're welcome to come to the Jolly Goose any time you wish, Astarion. It's part tavern, part inn. I'll see to it you'll never have to pay for a room or for a drink."

[metalmewtwo-kxb]

By the time she had finished, Benta's head had gradually tilted all the way to the side. And he was squinting at her with such confusion that it wouldn't be too far of jump to guess he stopped processing clearly after the first half.

Though, not for the reason she might think.

Alternate reality... Easy enough to believe, with the information she gave. Dialga and Palkia, who governed space and time, and even the lord of the Reverse World, were all rumored to have access to alternate realities in the form of dimensions and timelines. And, having encountered Celebi long before the chaos, Benta felt there was at least some truth to that.

Strange power sources? Also believable. There were many strange ways to obtain power in the world, and the one she described sounded akin to Gaia. But instead of taking life and energy, what she described was a provider. The polar opposite. And as for the concept of needing her body rebuilt, adjusted, and altered, that was something he understood to a certain degree. In fact, there were a number of things in basic detail that he could relate to.

It was the rest that managed to bring his mind to a puzzled stall.

Light making rock... Then rock finding Maria and taking her to light... This light 'noticing' things... And "wily?" A wily what?

The first two sounded like pokemon types, and he couldn't seem to put them in any other context, so it left him in visible befuddlement. He actually leaned down to Greavee and half-whispered to her with a hand held up to his muzzle, as if to hide his embarrassment. Because he was certain his understanding of those things were ridiculously incorrect.

"You would not happen to know what she is saying, would you?"

The sweet little pokemon, though having listened, tilted her head in the same manner of confusion, emphasizing so by raising one of her floppy ears. She smiled and panted contentedly though, as if she were simply happy to be included. "Raff."

"Mm... I thought not." Maybe Maria would allow him to ask her to clarify those things, once his fur didn't feel so hot from the very idea of sounding silly.

He decided his question could wait though, when it was her turn to ask one.

As much as he did not like talking about it, he figured this would have been one of her first questions. And he had no reason to deny her the common courtesy.

He straightened up a bit, keeping his arms and tail curled close. And he gave a slight shake of his head. "No," he started quietly, then returned to psychic speech.

"Like you, I had been in an accident many years ago. Humans came after me and my parents in Johto, because they discovered our existence through very old wildlife documents. They chased us into the mines, and we stumbled into caves of unknown ruins where we ultimately had to defend ourselves while we were running," he explained.

"There was a collapse in the cavern network, and the rocks separated us," he recalled, keeping his eyes fixed on the fire. And his gaze looked far away. "In the effort to save my mother, I was crushed beneath them. My father...never made it out."

Greavee inched closer to Benta and curled tightly against his thigh. Evidently, these were things she remembered too. "A pokemon researcher named Hana, the friend I mentioned, was the one who found us. She had followed the commotion from her own work around the ruins along with the professor of the region. They came upon me half dead, and my mother too overwhelmed with anger and grief to run away."

"Hana, her family, and the professor were the ones who saved and hid us from the humans that killed my father and caused the collapse. My back, chest cavity, and part of my head were all broken along with other damage. My spinal chord was severed in my neck, and I also lost use of an eye." At that, he pointed to his right eye specifically. Only now would Maria see it's pupil actively shift and adjust, flash with a blue mechanical glow, then dim and return to its normal state. "So, Hana designed a means of rebuilding the damaged areas of my skeletal and neurological structure, as well as mend my damaged organs so I could live and move again. The efforts even helped me retain my psychic power and enhance it a little." His brows knitted together in thought. "Although...I am honestly unsure why my new ability does what it does. Hana didn't know why or how I somehow gained the new powers either, but we collectively decided to call the ability 'Activation', since they seem to originate from my cybernetics as a whole. I only discovered them by accident when I first had to defend myself after the surgeries."

Benta shook his head to get himself back on track. "That was a little more than twenty-five years ago... Mother stayed close to the house for the years I stayed with Hana's family to recover, to keep an eye on me and scare off visitors and intruders. It was long and tiring...but I cannot say I am upset for all the augmentations. I can breathe, I am not in pain...so I do not altogether consider them a burden. Just an unpleasant reminder."

"Ra-raff raff?" Greavee woofed in concern when he was finished.

"Of course I am not ungrateful," he said to her, giving her a pet behind the candle on her head. "If it were not for this I would be dead. And Mother would have forever hated humans as a whole for what they did, rather than knowing there are still good ones."

"So," he added, "There are upsides...just as there are downsides." Throughout his explanation Maria would notice he didn't think anything very odd about himself beyond the cybernetics. As far as he was aware, the rest of the details concerning his appearance and apparent bringing was perfectly normal.

Although...that did bring up something she mentioned before. Something that sat rather...unusual and wrong with him.

"That reminds me... May I ask what a 'mew-two' is? I am afraid I never heard of the term." She implied something to the effect that they were something made. And that was yet another thing that did not make much sense to him.

The large pokemon listened quietly, though didn't glance her way again until she finished her say.

Yet again he had to admit she caught his interest, at least a little. He didn't know what exactly she could say that would alter his worldview. But somehow that didn't sound entirely like a bad thing. His view of the world had already been changed a lot, in incredibly negative ways lately. Who knows...maybe it would be a good distraction, if nothing else.

Or maybe not. There was always the chance it could be worse.

Said chances were low, but never zero.

Benta took another breath to clear his head. "Very well." Using his powers he pulled scraps of wood and stone from the rubble, bringing them to the center of the tile floor where they could safely be used for a small controlled fire. "I imagine we will be here for a while. If we are 'exchanging notes', as it were...you are welcome to ask me any questions you like as well." After all, he figured there might be one or two. Even unpleasant ones.

After arranging the rubble into a make-shift fire pit, he lit the wood with a spark of his psychic electricity. When Greavee saw the small flame ignite she left Benta's side to inspect it with him following in tow. Once she gave it a short sniff, she curled up just short of the barrier of stones he used to contain the fire. And Greavee wagged her tail as he sat down with her, leaving his cloak and hat folded together beside them.

"I do have one thing I would like to ask first..." he said after a moment.

"You said before that you used to be human," he noted. He also remembered her mentioning that her soul somehow powered her core, or just sat in the middle of it? Something like that. The concept of such technology was rather lost on him, like most usually was."So, how then did you become...some sort of living machine?"

[latenightsimping]

Nothing Else Matters

Summary: Being Jason Carver’s little sister can be be hell. Especially when you fall in love with someone he despises. Jason has a plan to break you up, and it almost works. Almost. (Part 2 is here!)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word count: 6,618

Warnings: V ANGSTY, angst to fluff, heavy themes of bullying, themes of child abuse and neglect, Jason Carver is an absolute shitheel in this, mentions of suicide, argument heavy in one part, reader is Jason Carver’s little sister, this is kind of a rough one for the first three quarters or so, it does get better I swear, posted without being beta read and in the early hours of the morning

AN: This was a wonderful request that I got from borhapgirlforlife19, and my first one for this blog, so thank you!! Really hope you enjoy it! The request asked for smut at the end, and I’m gonna be working on that in the next couple of days! I wanted to put it in two parts; one because this got quite long, and also separating it means that those who don’t wanna read smut can choose not to click on the second half if they wish! Actually gave myself psychic damage writing some of this lmao

Being the little sister to the school’s golden boy had both good and bad connotations. For one, you weren’t picked on throughout your years in high school, able to weave through the halls and mind your own business. Make a couple of friends, and manage to keep your head down and focus on your grades.

However, the downside was that Jason was the one to make your life hell, if he was in one of his moods. A couple of times he’d humiliated you for some inane reason that he thought required payback. The worst had been when you’d told your Mom about him sneaking out at night to drink with his buddies, only to come back from a gym class the next day to find your fantasy books in shreds after they’d been stolen from your bag. No doubt orchestrated by Jason as revenge, seeing as the cheerleaders seemed to follow his every command.

It was how you and Eddie had first met, the day that it happened.

You were crying under the East stairwell during class, hating the thought of having to go to class and face the smug looks on the faces of your bullies, knowing they’d finally got to you by ruining the one thing you enjoyed. Back pressed against the cold bricks, arms wrapped around your legs and your forehead pressed against your knees as you tried to will yourself to stop crying.

“What’re you cryin’ for, pretty girl?” he had asked you softly, making your head snap up to look at him. A halo of dark curls and soft brown eyes, such a contrast against his rough and sharp outfit of ripped jeans and chains. When you only sniffled in response, he carefully crouched in front of you, a respectful distance away as he placed his rings hands against his knees. “Somethin’ bad happen?”

“M-my books,” you manage to get out between ragged breaths, and you watched as his eyes flickered towards the piles of paper by your bag. It looked as if you had tried to rescue them, only to become overwhelmed after you realised it was pointless. Sitting himself in front of you, legs crossed in front of him, a hand slowly reached out to carefully pluck a cover from the pile. Eyebrows furrowing as he clicked his tongue behind his teeth and shook his head as his eyes snapped back up yours.

“Someone destroyed a copy of The Silmarillion? Why princess, that’s sacrilege. Honestly, the firing squad need to be summoned at once for this heinous crime.” His dramatic flair as he spoke; the hand clutching fake pearls and the exaggerated exasperation made you let out a small giggle. His face warmed as he set his hands back in his lap, tilting his head with a soft smile.

“There it is,” he mused, making your eyebrows knit in confusion at his words.

“What?” was your dumb reply, already internally kicking yourself at how small and helpless you sounded.

“There’s that smile I look for in the cafeteria,” he answered with a soft voice, making your stomach flip pleasantly at the thought of him looking for you in a sea of people. You’d known of Eddie, of course you did. Had watched him launch himself up onto the table to parade around, yelling about whatever had him revved up that day. Had seen him rough-housing with his friends in the hallways, all smiles and earnest laughter. But you’d also seen the kinder side of him. Letting people pass when he was in the way, or holding doors open on instinct whenever someone was behind him. No matter how much people bullied him, he was still giving them common decency. And now you knew he knew who you were? You couldn’t stop the heavy blush dusting your cheeks.

As if sensing your slight embarrassment, he cleared his throat as he shifted on his place on the floor to get more comfortable. Both hands placed on the floor behind, him, leaning back as if giving you some space if you needed it. “Soooo… I happen to have a few copies of Tolkien kicking around my place. Wouldn’t mind lending them to you, until you get another. Totally your call, though. Won’t be offended if you tell me to get lost.”

Your heart warmed at the offer. You’d never spoken to him before, but he was clearly picking up on how upset you were, willing to go without if it made you happy. The kindness that you’d soon learn that filled him so much he was fit to burst with the intensity, especially when it came to the ones he loved and cared for. It made your smile so wide it made your cheeks hurt as you wiped your tears away with the back of your cardigan as you nodded.

“I’d like that.”

A love of books had bonded you both, and what begun as sneaking copies of what one thought the other would like when nobody was around turned into hanging out to talk about them. You’d tell your parents you were visiting a friend when you went out for the weekend, which was technically the truth. You would spend your free time in his messy bedroom, reading in comfortable silence or watching him play his guitar as you tried to focus on homework, something that fascinated you endlessly. The way his fingers would move over the fret board with an ease that came from a lot of practice, playing you songs that you thought you’d like. He was the one to introduce you to heavy metal, and you found that you actually really liked it. You’d had so many deep conversations when you were curled beside him on his bed, talking about how much you hated when Jason picked on you and others, or other worries that filled your mind. He was a good listener, and always seemed to know what to say to soothe you. His bedroom became your solace, somewhere that you would yearn for when you weren’t there.

 In return, he shared the thoughts that you knew he never shared with anyone else, keeping them to himself and gnawing on his soul. How much he missed his Mom, or how the years of abuse at the hands of his father when he was drunk still made him carry both mental and physical scars. You soothed him when it became too much, a hand on his and rubbing soothing patterns onto the skin of the back of his hand as you listened to the heartache that poured from him. You wondered why he never asked you not to tell, but it eventually dawned on you that he trusted you. He trusted you to hold his heart, and to never crush it. And it made you feel honoured to do so.

It was there that you had your first kiss. You could still remember how you were both laughing at some silly joke as you lay side by side, and the way that your bodies were practically inches from each other when you rolled onto your side to face him. How his eyes darted down to your lips, his own parting as if he was silently asking for permission. Seemingly finding the want you had for him in your body language, and closing the distance to slot his lips between your own. He tasted like cigarettes and cherry flavoured gum, and it became a taste you so desperately needed every time you were with him. Needed the way that his hand would come up to cradle your jaw, the cool metal of his rings against your warm skin. He always kissed you like it would be the last; passionate, tender, loving. He was your first kiss, and you found yourself wanting him to be the only boy you kissed for the rest of your life.

Ever since the first, the kisses didn’t stop. He would come and find you, nodding his head towards a supply closet and ducking inside, knowing you would follow to be wrapped in his arms with his mouth peppering your lips, your cheeks, your jaw with soft kisses as he told you how beautiful you were. You were only dating for a few months, but it was the small things like that which had you smitten with each other. He would find you small gifts that made him think of you; a beanie baby of an otter, because you once noted how adorable you found them. A silver chain bracelet very similar to his, though daintier, that you wore with pride. His eyes would light up when would find him new books to read that were his favoured genre, finding them when you took trips to the second hand bookstore. Your handwriting on the first page, saying things like ‘I thought you’d like this one because of the lore on elves. Enjoy!’ with your name signed underneath and a small heart.

You didn’t know it, but Jason knew something was up with you. You’d been smiling more, and wasn’t bothered by his usual jabs to your confidence, and the fact of it enraged him. The suspicions were confirmed when he was snooping through your room when you were out of the house, finding a very familiar shirt buried in the bottom of your dresser drawer. Moth eaten and faded with time, the black cotton with WASP proudly emblazoned on the front made him see red as he clutched it tighter in his hand. He knew who the previous owner was, considering he was one of the only people he knew that listened to this sort of music. Not to mention the faint smell of weed still eminating from the fabric. What the fuck was Munson’s shirt doing in your room? Slowly, he put the clues together. The late nights coming home, the smell of cigarettes on your clothes and the near constant chipper demeanour for the past couple of months.

You were banging the freak. And he wasn’t going to have that.

A plan formed in his mind, coming to fruition on the Monday morning before class. One of the cheerleaders, Donna, had a knack for copying handwriting; she was the one that they would come to if they needed a fake sick note, or an excuse for not doing homework. Filling her and the rest of the cheerleaders in on the plan, they were all right on board to make his little sister and the Devil worshipper of Hawkins break up. “It’s for her own good,” they had nodded sagely as they all chipped in an insult to write down, as though they were fully in their right to meddle in people’s affairs. Chrissy seemed uncomfortable with it, though she didn’t say anything as she watched. Just hanging onto Jason’s varsity jacket sleeve, giving him a small frown that he chose to ignore. In his eyes, he was second ranking in the position of the other man of the house. The women in the household were expected to listen to him, just like they listened to his father. In his eyes, he was doing the right thing. Straight up threatening would only push you further into Munson’s arms. This way? This way, he could kill two birds with one stone. Destroy Munson, and get his little sister away from him. The freak would be doing all the hard work, and he could come out of this looking like the one in the right. It was perfect.

~

Eddie was late to school, yet again. He was really trying to get in on time, knowing that it would look bad on him. The rubber soles of his sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as he rounded the corner, coming to a harsh stop in front of his locker. “Shit, shit, c’mon baby work with me,” he quietly pleaded with the combination lock, fingers fumbling as he twisted the dial. A triumphant noise escaping his lips as it finally unlocked, making quick work of putting his backpack and lunch box into the locker as he picked up the Math and Chemistry books he needed. He almost missed the small folded piece of paper that fluttered on the floor, his name in a familiar handwriting with a small heart just underneath. A sight that he was always glad to see, knowing that this was something you did often. Picking it up and shoving it into his pocket, he booked it towards Math. Not really because he was excited to learn about whatever the fuck the teacher was on about. But because he would have time to read your little love note.

Ten minutes into the lesson, and he finally took his chance to retrieve the paper and gently fold it open. Seeing his name on the top made him swoon. But as his eyes scanned the words, the grip on the note tightened so much that his ringed knuckles turned white.

Eddie,

I know it isn’t April Fools yet, but surprise!! Got you real good there, didn’t I? Got you thinking this was real, didn’t you? God, you’re a loser. Should have seen your face when I said I loved you. All doe eyes and stupid grin. Who would ever love you? You’re a freak and a nobody. Trailer park trash, just like your no good Daddy. Wonder if you’re gonna share a cell when you eventually wind up in prison? Or will you OD on smack before then, just like Mommy? Maybe if you do some sort of pact with your Lord and Master Lucifer, they might bring them back for you? When you’re not too busy sucking his dick, of course.

I never want to see your pathetic, ugly face again. This is the last you’ll hear of me. So enjoy the memories of me fucking you while they last, perv. Hope this finally sends you over the edge and you finally do us all a fucking favour.

p.s. Get a fucking haircut, you look like like the ugliest chick alive.

Your name was signed on it, and it just made his heart shatter that much more, his whole world crashing down around him. His hands were shaking as he tried to control his breathing, trying to keep it from going as rapid as his body was trying to force him to do. Vision growing blurry as hot tears pricked at his eyes that he couldn’t stop from forming. He was stood up before he realised his own body was moving, barely hearing the teacher yell at him for leaving the class halfway through and Jeff’s voice asking “What the fuck, man?”

Now in the halls, he began sprinting. Letting his feet pound on the floor as a wretched sob burst from his chest, running towards the only place of solace that he had left. He’d thought that he’d got used to the bullying over the years. He’d got used to the punches and kicks; those could be patched up and bruises covered. Even the names stopped bothering him after a while, after he’d heard them enough times. Only one time had got him to this state, and that was when they had stolen a necklace that he had hung on the rearview mirror of his van. One of the last things he had that belonged to his mother- the one of very few items in the whole world that he cherished more than anything. And it was you who had got it back for him after you snuck into Jason’s room to get it, risking your own neck in the process. It was you who he had spoken about her to, about how much he missed her every damn day and still wished every night that she was still around. You had hugged him while he cried on her birthday last month, carding your fingers through his hair so tenderly and softly whispering that it was okay to cry, to just let it all out, that you were always going to be around to catch him when he felt like he was free falling.

He had trusted you, heart and soul. He loved you. And none of it was real.

…

“Hey, have you seen Eddie?”

You were confused to not find him at the head of the Hellfire table when you got to the cafeteria. You were used to him giving you a lopsided grin as you passed to make your way to sit with your friends, teasingly patting his lap in offering and knowing full well that you wanted nothing more than to indulge and finally join him. Coming up to the table was already a risk; the boys who sat there looking nervous as you approached. But you had to. Eddie had promised that he wouldn’t skip school because he was determined to graduate this year, and you knew full well that you would see him here if he nothing was wrong. Was he sick? Maybe his van broke down? Either way, your stomach lurched as you waited for an answer.

The boys shot looks you couldn’t quite decipher between them all, and it was a curly haired boy with a boyish smile that Eddie told you was named Dustin to finally answer. “Do you uh… Do you need him for anything?”

You knew why they were being apprehensive. With the last name of Carver, of course it was going set them on edge. No doubt your older brother was making their lives a misery, and they wondered if you were about to do the same.

You gave them a soft smile as you nodded. “Yeah, I um… I-I have one of his books that he gave me. Wanted to return it.” Technically the truth. His beloved copy of Lord of the Rings was safely tucked in your backpack.

“We can give it to him,” Dustin offered, still eyeing you with suspicion.

“Oh, thank you, but there’s no need,” you answered, keeping your tone light. “I actually need to talk to him about something, too.”

The one with the dark cropped hair and kind eyes seemed to give you some pity. “You know that’s his girlfriend, right?” he muttered to his friends, keeping his voice down in case they were overheard. All eyes snapped back to you, shoulders relaxing and small sheepish smiles when they finally put two and two together. Eddie had been talking non-stop about a girl he was dating, and it was actually Jeff who had sussed it out first. It wasn’t rocket science, considering he’d probably caught the way you two stared at each other every moment you got. You wondered why Eddie hadn’t told them your identity, but you also understood. If word got out that you two were dating, it’d mean untold consequences for the both of you. You knew he trusted his friends enough not to snitch you two out, but you guessed he was just being extra careful with it all.

“Yeah, I am,” you said, smiling fondly at being called ‘his girlfriend’ in public. His girlfriend. You were Eddie’s, and he was yours. And you loved how it sounded. “I was just wondering if he was okay? If he was actually in school today?”

“He burst out of Math about something,” Jeff explained, shrugging as he pushed food around his plate with the tines of his fork. “Seemed real pissed. You might find him out in the woods, past the football fields and keeping right on the path. He sometimes goes there to smoke on the old bench out there.”

You couldn’t stop your heart racing as you nodded, thanking them profusely as you turned heel and left towards the place Jeff had told you about. Eddie was mad at something? He seemed fine when you saw him yesterday. In fact, he seemed in a really good mood. He’d got his first C in English, and you celebrated by ordering in pizza and cuddling up to watch horror movies on his couch. It had made him laugh when you jumped at the sudden scares in the movie, a smug grin on his face when you cuddled into him and whined that it wasn’t funny. Kissing the top of your head as he soothed a hand over your back. “Don’t worry babe,” he’d cooed. “I’ll save you from all the nasty zombies.”

So the fact that he’d left a class that he was set on passing was making you worry even more. Had Jason done something to upset him again? If he had, that would be the last straw. Eddie was rubbing off on you, and not in a bad way. For your whole life, you had bowed to your older brother. If he said jump, you asked how high. But Eddie had gently reminded you that you were your own person, and you didn’t have to do anything that you didn’t want. And that included with him, too. Many times, you had talked about losing your virginity with him, and he had promised that you would finally take the next step in your relationship, as soon as you were sure you were ready. As soon as you were sure you wanted to lose it with him. And like the gentleman he was, he never went any further than some light over the clothes action when you’d practically begged him to, respecting your wishes to not go any further. And you loved him all the more for it.

He came into view as you entered the clearing, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of the very familiar Dio patch on the back of him denim jacket. He was sat on the table of the bench, feet planted against the seat, facing away from you and his shoulders hunched over. You could see the lit cigarette in his hand as he leaned his weight on the arm beside him, clutched between index and middle finger that was tapping in quick succession on the rotten wood. It was a nervous habit that you’d picked up on a while ago. Though his hands were always in motion, you could tell by the pace what kind of mood he was in. Slow and languid meant he was calm or sleepy. Slightly more rapid, he was excited. If they moved in the shape of frets to his favourite songs, he was trying to focus on something to take his mind off whatever bothered him. But this near frantic energy meant he was really, really upset or angry. It set you on edge a little as you winced at the sight of it.

“Eds?” you called out, noticing how his whole form froze as he heard your voice calling the name only you called him. A soft, sharp sob escaping his chest, the sound causing cracks to form in your heart. You took careful steps towards him, rounding the bench as you came into his view. Eyes downcast, red and puffy from crying. Cheeks stained from tears, and bottom lip quivering as he gasped for breath. Your eyebrows furrowed as you softly cooed, holding out your arms as you stepped towards him. “Baby, what’s wro-”

“Don’t you fucking touch me.” His voice was cracked, the edges of the words sharp and laced with anger, making you stop dead in your tracks and freeze in place.

Your eyes widened as you took a sharp inhale of breath, confusion marring your features as you dropped your hands to your sides. “Eddie? What’s wrong?”

He laughed, though there was no trace of humour in them as he shook his head and poked his cheek with his tongue. Reaching into his jean pocket, a piece of paper was in his grasp for only a second, before it was flung towards your feet. “You still keeping up the charade, Carver? Wanna try and hurt me more?” The use of your last name made you cringe. He knew you hated when people called you that; you hated being called the same thing as your brother. To Eddie, you were babydoll, princess, babe, sweetheart or angel. Barely ever your name any more. Using your last name was a weapon to hurt you with. And you both knew it.

Reaching down to pick up the piece of paper, you unfolded it and skimmed it through. A strangled, horrified sound escaping your lips as you felt physically sick from the cruelty of the words. The handwriting was so familiar, yet slight differences that only you could notice. The inflections of the letter I, or the syntax slightly off. But an icy hot panic washed over you in an instant when you realised why it was so familiar. It was your handwriting. Well, nearly. But to him, blinded by rage and hurt, those differences didn’t matter. You tried desperately to find the words, to try and tell him that none of this was you, but all you could do was shake your head.

You heard him take a sharp inhale of breath, and when your eyes flickered up, you watched the smoke languidly flow from his mouth. He wasn’t crying now. Instead, there was a mask-like quality to his features. Devoid of all emotion, eyes hardened as he stared at you. And honestly? It hurt worse than seeing him upset. Knowing that underneath it all, he was fully blaming you for the trauma. “Going to drop the act now? Hm?” He flicked the filter of the cigarette in your direction, with more force than needed to break the embers away. “You’re embarrassing yourself with keeping it up.”

“Eddie, I didn’t write this,” you whispered, tone practically pleading as you gripped the note with shaking hands. “You’ve gotta believe me, I don’t-”

“I know your fuckin’ handwriting,” he interjected, spoken through gritted teeth. “Don’t play dumb.”

“No, please, I promise! I swear on everything I love!” Your voice was becoming more shrill as you flailed your arms around, wishing to God that the ground would swallow you up. This was it. You’d never know Eddie’s kisses again; never know the intimate moments on late afternoons when you were wrapped up in his arms, or listen to him sing along to whatever he played on his guitar with that devastatingly beautiful voice of his. It was all snatched away from you, and you hadn’t even done anything.

“That’s your problem,” he scoffed, pointing at you with the fingers that held his cigarette between them, jabbing them at you with fury. “You don’t love anything. You’re a fucking sociopath, Carver. Just like your brother.”

His vile words made your knees buckle, sending you careening to the dirt and leaves until you kneeled in front of him, the crumbled note in your hands that rested on your lap. Hot tears welled in your eyes as you dropped your head, a sob wracking through your chest as the accusation hit you. Causing all brain function to cease as you shook your head. Over the course of your relationship, you’d never said those three little words to him. Too scared of rocking the boat, of driving him away if you said them too soon. Didn’t want to be too clingy, or too desperate, fearful of never being good enough for him and living in fear that some day he would up and leave when he found a girl who would treat him right. Wouldn’t have a brother who was one of his biggest tormentors.

“That’s not true,” you finally managed to squeak out. “I… I love you, Eddie. I’m so sorry that I never said it before but-” Your words were interrupted with another whimpered hiccup, trying to wipe away the wetness on your cheeks with the sleeve of your cardigan before trying again. “If I could turn back the clock, I’d never stop saying it. Please, just believe me when I say that I didn’t do this.” You finally looked up at him, not noticing a slight confusion that furrowed his brow, too wrapped up in your own grief and agony. “I love you, Eddie. I love you more than anything.”

Everything seemed to stop for long, agonising moments. Only the sounds of your small sobs, and his hitched breath mingling with the distant sounds of birdsong. “You… You didn’t say it,” he finally murmured, harshly driving the embers of his cigarette against the table until it was extinguished and hopping off it to take a few steps towards you.

“Wh-what?” you whimpered, flinching as he took another step.

“The note, you… It said that you told me you loved me.” His words were rushed now, his hands coming up to run harshly through his curls, giving them a small tug as the penny well and truly dropped. “But you never did. And it said that we… That we slept together, but we haven’t.”

You scanned the note again, noticing what he was talking about. The stuff about his parents was knowledge that was easy to come by if you asked the right people, considering the rumour mill in this small town was always working full time. Devil worshipping, living in a trailer park and cheap shots at his appearance? That had been flung at him since middle school. But he was right. In his haze of anger and hurt, he must have forgotten that some of the content just didn’t add up. But who would do this? Who had this much malice and scorn, that they would try and split you up like this?

The name seemed to come into both your minds at the same second, knocking against your skulls with the force of it. A person that hated his guts, and wouldn’t care if you got hurt in the process. In fact, they might see it as some sort of punishment. A consequence for your actions, that would would be criminal if they had their way.

A long few moments of silence filled the clearing, both of you trying to wrap their heads around the consequences of this encounter. Would you be able to come back from this? Would Eddie be able to forgive himself for the harsh words spat like hellfire, because of his own wounded heart? Would you be able to forgive him? Was this the end of everything, before it even had the chance to fully begin? You had fallen so hard for him, and now you felt like you were freefalling, and the anxieties that came with that feeling made your gut clench and palms sweat.

You were the first to speak. A small “oh my God,” barely audible, burying your face in your hands to try and hide away from the embarrassment and pain. Of course your brother would be the culprit behind this. And behind the agony, sparks of fury threatened to set ablaze the kindling of memories, of all the times he had made you feel less than a person. Hiding your dress hours before the Winter Formal, not caring how much you cried when you realised you weren’t going to be able to go. Breaking countless cassettes because he didn’t approve of them. Driving away potential friends because he ‘didn’t approve’. All with the knowledge that your parents saw it all, and didn’t do a thing to stop it. Jason was the golden child. The star basketball player, the popular one, the one who could never do something wrong. You knew that, all you life, you knew. But now, being with Eddie, a person that thought you hung the moon and saw you, really saw you, and loved you with such a warm intensity that it seeped through every fibre of you being? You weren’t ready to give that up. Not for anything.

You heard movement from in front of you; a heavy thump as you opened your eyes to find him kneeling in front of you, knees framing the outsides of your own. His dark eyes so filled with regret and shame, that it hurt to look at. His shaky hands came towards you, yet stopped when he realised that maybe you didn’t want him to touch you. Perhaps thinking that maybe you just… Couldn’t forgive him. “Baby, I-I’m so sorry… Please, can we talk-”

It was instinct that drove you to launch yourself at him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck and burying your face into the crook of his neck, nearly knocking him off balance. You felt him coil his arms around you in return, a hand on the back of your neck and his forearm against the small of your back, pressing you close to his chest. “I-It wasn’t me,” you mumbled, muffled by his skin and hoping he could hear you because of it. “J-Jason…”

“Ssh, it’s okay,” he softly cooed, the hand resting at your waist gently rubbing at the skin there to soothe you. “I know. I know it wasn’t you, okay? A-and I’m so sorry for what I said. I was so wrong, and I was an asshole, and it’s okay if you don’t forgive me because it was such an awful thing to say, a-and…”

You knew that he rambled whenever he was upset, and though the sorrow was still there, a fondness seeped through you at the reminder of his little habits. A warmth in the knowledge that this was fixable, and that you had the luxury of time in the relationship to fix the heartache that this had caused. “You don’t need to apologise,” you said softly, head raising to meet his own, forehead pressed against his. “You were hurt, and I understand. It was such an awful thing they did to you, Eddie. I just wish I could say sorry on my brother’s behalf.”

“You don’t need to do that,” he frowned. “Please don’t ever apologise for other people’s actions. Especially not your dickhead of a brother.” The jab at Jason made you abruptly smile at the sentiment, and he mirrored it as he shifted his legs to pull you to sit in his lap. “Because I was wrong. Carver is your last name, but you’re nothin’ like him, sweetheart. You’re kind, and funny, and so smart. Beautiful, too.”

The compliments made your cheeks warm as you let out a small giggle, shaking your head a fraction as you bit your bottom lip. “Stop…” The whine was small, and playful. God, you never wanted him to stop loving you with his words. Not really.

As if he knew, he rose to the challenge, capturing your lips in his own with a soft and brief kiss. “Pretty,” he whispered against your lips, adding another kiss. “Talented.” Another kiss, though to the side of your mouth. “Brave.” One at you jaw. “Thoughtful.” The word pressed into your neck, and you could feel him smile against the skin there. “You wan’ me to keep going, or are you gonna give in and let me adore you?”

“I give in,” you squealed, hurt temporarily forgotten at the tender affection that he gave. Happy to share a few moments in his embrace, enjoying the warmth and tenderness that you would never grow tired of. You allowed the silence to settle for only a few heartbeats, before you finally broke it. “I meant it, you know.”

He came into view again, a small smile on his lips as his eyebrows slightly furrowed in questioning. “Meant what, angel?”

“That I love you.” The words came easier now; now that they could come from the heart, each syllable laced with loving intent. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before, but… I mean it. I’ve fallen in love with you, Eddie Munson.”

The grin that overtook his face was an incredible sight. His eyes crinkling with the ferocity of it, happiness seeping from every pore. “I love you too, sweetheart. So fuckin’ much.”

The lunch bell must have rung out a long time ago, and you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. Not when you were kissing him like this, and he was returning them with a matching earnestness. You kissed until your lips were slightly bruised, barely coming up for air before coming back for more. So in love, your heart so full that it was a near ache. You only stopped when you felt the soft patters of rain on the crown of your head, looking up to find the skies a deep grey, threatening to let the heavens open. He helped you up onto wobbly legs, his arm around you as you made your way back to the school for shelter.

You noticed his apprehension as you got closer, and you knew exactly why. He was worried that if Jason saw you together, he would make both your lives hell. But with this little stunt your brother tired to pull, that kindling of rebellion had been well and truly set alight. You no longer wanted Jason to make decisions for you. Eddie Munson was the love of your life. And you didn’t give a single fuck who knew it. Placing your hand on his where it rested on your shoulder, you looked up at him with a smile. A silent plea to keep it there, and one he seemed to acknowledge as he pulled you closer.

“Can I come over tonight, after school?” you asked him, voice hopeful as you bit your lip.

“’Course you can,” he answered with a grin. “Was thinking about taking you for a milkshake at that diner you like, actually. Could drop by there before we get to mine, if you want?”

It was an invitation to go public, and you knew that. A lot of the teenagers at your school went to that diner, and it wouldn’t be long before word got back to your brother about your involvement with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about that. Hope filled you as you tilted your head. “Like a date?”

“Like a date,” he echoed, pecking a kiss to your temple. “Never took you out on one before, and that’s kind of a shitty boyfriend move. How ‘bout it, sweetheart? Wanna finally have that first date I owe you?”

A grin spread over your features as the school finally came into view. You were about to walk the halls of Hawkins high, your boyfriend finally by your side and his arm over your shoulders, just like you finally wanted. Screw what anyone else wanted.

“I’d like that.”