#the thing is right this isn’t just a me problem

[revelboo]

Possible spoilers for earthspark season 3

Ok ok hear me out- yk the episode with the hate virus right after prowl was introduced I think, and how before they all turn into zombies it’s just Bumblebee who’s like really angry for literally no reason? Can I request something spicy with him using reader to try and calm himself down and it doesn’t work? I had an idea idk if it’s a good one tho lmao

Sure! It’s a good one 🤣

🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Aggression

ES Bumblebee x Reader

• What’s wrong with him, everything hazed and tinged with an impatient sort of anger. Every little thing putting him on edge until he’s snapping at everyone, servos trembling. Wanting to hurt someone, anyone. And you’re laying a soft hand on his leg, distracting him from snarling at the Terrans. “Come on,” you say, chin tipped up and you’re the only thing that isn’t setting him off. Familiar and grounding amid the fury roiling through him, heat and need twisting through him as he focuses on you. “Let’s get some air and talk.”

• Have no idea what’s wrong with him, but he looked like he was about to shove Jawbreaker’s head through a wall and you’re not having it. This isn’t like him and his engine is softly revving as he follows you outside into the tree line and away from the house. When you round on him to ask him what his problem is, his big palm smacks against the trunk of a tree. Making you realize he’s mass shifted and he’s caging you with his body.

• “I need,” he growls, struggling for the words as that angry haze digs in deeper. Need you to distract him so he doesn’t lose it. Hurt someone. Wants to hurt someone. Something’s wrong with him and he’s on edge. “Need,” he rasps again, leaning into your space when you back up, coming up against the tree. Those violent impulses keep him from reaching for you. Afraid of hurting you without meaning to even as his spike stirs.

• “Tell me what you need,” you whisper, and his optics flicker, bleeding red for a beat. What was that? He’s growling softly, engine revving nonstop now and the only thing you’re sure of? That he’s not going to hurt you, but he’s definitely a threat to everyone else in this state. And you can’t let him go near them. “You need me?”

• They’re back there. Enemies. Plotting to take you, hurt you. Unless he hurts them first. Turning toward the barn and house with a snarl, he hesitates when you cup his face, pulling him back to you. “Don’t worry about them. I need you.” And your mouth covers his. That chaos in his processor jangling through him. Hating them, but grounded by you.

• And he’s focused completely on you, servos a little rough as he tries to figure out your clothes and just ends up tearing them. Growling softly as his mouth finds your neck, kissing and then biting gently. Big hands gripping your waist and lifting you and his spike brushes against your inner thigh. Slides against you before he’s stretching you and you arch in his grip. Clinging to him as he moves against you and your body softens for him. Can feel the rough bark digging into you as he pins you, hips pumping urgently. Almost too rough as his servos dig in to your hips, probably leaving bruises on you.

• He’s less out of control buried deep inside you, the familiar scent and feel of you keeping him barely in check. Working out the anger with the feel of you wrapped so tight around his spike and your gasping cries. Feels your heels digging into him as he ruts against you, spike stroking deep and he claims your mouth again, muffling your cry when you fist his spike. Managing a handful of deep drives of his hips before he’s shuddering with his overload to fill you. Head brushing yours, that rage is banked for the moment, but it’s still there. And he’s still so hard and aching for you.

[half-of-a-gay]

PART 4 OF RUGBY VIKA X MANAGER READER PLEASEEEEE ITS SOO CUTE <\3

[A/N: You guys keep asking for this and I have a problem saying no so here you go. Enjoy!]

Links: part 1, part 2, part 3

PART 4:

Rugby player!Sevika x Team manager!Reader

The morning after the date starts slow.

You're in bed longer than usual, half-buried in blankets and replaying everything from the night before on a loop - the warm light of the diner, the way Sevika’s laugh had turned unguarded by the end of the evening, the brush of her hand finding yours. 

You try not to think about it too much. You try to school your expression and put on the best poker face you could muster. But the second you step into the coffee shop to meet your friends, you know you’re not getting away with anything. 

They’re already at a booth by the window, hands wrapped around steaming mugs, mid-conversation until one of them spots you and immediately smirks.

“Well,” she says before you’re even seated. “Someone’s looking suspiciously well-rested this morning.”

You slide into the booth and fight the smile tugging at your lips. “I’m just in a good mood.”

“Mhm. Spill.”

You hesitate for a moment. It’s not that you don’t want to tell them - it’s just that talking about it out loud makes it feel… fragile. But they’re your friends, and you did promise to fill them in.

“We went out last night,” you say finally. “Me and Sevika.”

You keep going, your words measured. “She took me to this old diner. Said it was kind of her safe spot. We just talked, ate pie, nothing wild. But it was… good. She was different than I thought she’d be.”

There’s a brief, telling pause. One of your friends glances at the others, exchanging a look that’s hard to miss.

“She didn’t even kiss me until I did it first,” you add quickly, almost too quickly. “She was actually kind of nervous.”

Another pause- longer this time. The weight of it hangs between you, and the air feels suddenly thick.

“I thought she ghosted you after the away game,” one of them says, their tone carefully neutral, but the undertone is there. It’s pointed. “Didn’t you say something happened, and then she just… disappeared?”

You feel your chest tighten at the reminder. Your hand wraps around your cup, fingers tightening around it, but you force yourself to stay calm.

“It wasn’t like that,” you insist, a little too forcefully. “She didn’t ghost me. She just… shut down for a while.”

“Isn’t that worse?” someone else chimes in. “I mean, you barely said what happened but we just don’t want you getting blindsided again.”

You stiffen. “It’s different now. She opened up. She took me somewhere that matters to her. I don’t think she does that with everyone.”

“Are you sure?” one of them asks gently. “You’ve had a thing for her for ages. You really think you’re seeing this clearly?”

You blink. The warmth from earlier starts to feel thinner. Shaky. 

Another one of your friends leans back in her chair, arms crossed. She’s quiet for a beat, then speaks slowly, as if weighing her words. “I don’t know… I mean, it sounds nice and all, but you’re talking about Sevika. The same Sevika who’s kind of known for sleeping around and disappearing when things get real? And, I don’t know, you really think she’s different with you? After all that… history?”

Her words are gentle, but they sting, the undertone of doubt there- unavoidable.

You shake your head, trying to keep your voice steady. “She’s been different. I’m telling you, she’s not what you think.”

They exchange another look. You know they’re trying to be careful, but there’s something in the way they’re looking at you- something a little too knowing.

“She’s got a reputation,” another says, a shrug in her voice. “It’s not personal, it’s just… you said yourself  she doesn’t let people in, right? How do you know she’s not running the same play she always does? Maybe that diner’s her move. Sob story, meaningful eye contact, pie, boom. Hooked.”

Your heart sinks, but you fight it. You’re not going to let them make you doubt this. Not yet. Not when you know, deep down, it’s been real between you two.

“She’s not like that,” you say, quieter now. You take a breath, then meet their eyes, more firm. “You don’t get it. Sevika’s… complicated. But I’m telling you, she’s trying. And she’s not the person you think she is.”

There’s another long pause. This time, the silence feels different- not like understanding, but like uncertainty. 

—

The conversation with your friends lingers in the back of your mind as you walk towards the field for practice. The buzz of the café around you fades, but their words, the doubts - they stick. You had been so sure of yourself before, so open, so willing to jump in without hesitation. But now, a voice in the back of your head asks: What if they’re right? What if you’re just another one of Sevika’s fleeting moments?

You push the thoughts away, trying to focus on the here and now, as you arrive at the field earlie like you usually do. The sun paints the world in soft, golden hues. The morning air is cool, a contrast to the rising heat of the day. It's quiet, just the sound of your footsteps echoing across the grass, your mind still tangled from your conversation with your friends. You tell yourself it’s no big deal, that you’ll shake it off, but a little knot of doubt lingers.

As you make your way across the field, you spot Sevika already warming up. She straightens when she sees you approaching. Her posture is relaxed,arms crossed, but there’s a quiet tension in the way she watches you approach. She’s early. You weren’t expecting her to be, since she’s late for practice. For a moment, you can’t help but feel a little warmth in your chest. That’s what she does to you - makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room, even when it’s just the two of you.

You step closer, the soft crunch of grass beneath your shoes the only sound between you.

A slow smile tugs at the corners of Sevikas lips as she greets you. “Hey,” her voice is low but warm. “I didn’t think I’d beat you here.”

“Neither did I,” you say, chuckling softly, though you can’t help but feel a little lighter in her presence. You don’t want to overthink it, but it’s hard not to. “How long have you been here?”

“Not too long,” she replies, not offering more than that, but the way she glances at you - just a little longer than necessary - lets you know she’s been waiting for this. For you.

There’s a beat of silence, and you feel the familiar stir of doubt creeping in. Your friends' words still echo in your mind. You try to push them away, but they linger, casting a shadow over everything. You bite your lip, not sure if you should say anything. You should just act normal, but you can’t help the way your heart stutters when Sevika looks at you like that.

You don’t say anything right away, just stand there in front of her, your eyes bouncing from her to the side and back, not quite sure how to act. It’s quiet, uncomfortably so. There’s an expectant hum beneath it . She doesn’t tease, doesn’t smile - just looks at you with that open, steady expression of hers that always makes it hard to hide.

"You’re being kinda quiet today,” she says finally, tone low, careful. “Everything alright?”

You hesitate. There’s a soft warmth in your chest at her asking, at the way her voice dips, gentle just for you. You nod, but it's shaky, uncertain. “Yeah, I just... stuff’s been on my mind.”

She doesn’t push. Just tips her head slightly. “Want to talk about it?”

You almost say yes - almost spill all your insecurities - but then your chest tugs and twists and you find yourself unable to loosen your tongue. Your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Sevika just waits patently, eyes locked on yours. You’re about to finally spit it out, about to open the door to the mess you’ve been carrying all morning - when the sharp crack of a cleat on gravel pulls your attention.

Voices. Laughter.

The sound of Sevikas teammates spilling onto the field bursts the quiet little world you'd just started to build between the two of you.

You blink, shoulders tensing. Like you’ve been caught. You take a step back before Sevika can say anything. “I- uh- I’ll see you out there.”

Her brows knit, confused. You don’t wait to see if she calls after you.

Practice is a blur and Sevika can’t focus at all.

Not on the drills, not on the plays, not on her teammates shouting out positions or the coach barking through a megaphone. She runs the plays, hits her marks, does everything right on paper- but her mind keeps drifting.

To you.

You, on the far side of the field, planner in hand, expression tight. You’re not watching her. Not like you usually do. Usually, you steal glances when you think she’s not looking- those little flickers of interest, that slight raise of your brow when her muscles flex. Sevika's always noticed. Always looked for it.

But today? Today, you're all business.

Eyes on the team. Voice clipped, efficient, distant. And Sevika hates it.

She catches herself glancing over at you again- fourth time in ten minutes. Her steps stutter. She curses under her breath and pushes harder through the drill, jaw tight. "Focus," she mutters to herself.

But she can't- not when something’s wrong and you won't even look at her long enough to say what it is.

On the other side of the field, you're trying to look like everything’s normal. Pen tapping the cover of your planner in a controlled rhythm. But your eyes keep drifting too. To her and worse- to the girl beside her- number 9.

A newer teammate, a year younger, shorter than Sevika but just as quick on the field. You’ve noticed the way she hovers around Sevika for a while now. Always close. Always laughing at anything Sevika says. Always “accidentally” brushing against her arm when they line up. And Sevika never pushes her off. 

You’d told yourself it didn’t bother you. That it didn’t mean anything. That Sevika’s body language was stiff- barely engaged. And besides who were you to be bitter about it, she wasn't even yours.

But you couldn’t help it. Today your chest is tight with every little interaction. Every time she stretches way too close beside her. Every time she leans in, grinning like she knows something you don’t.

And Sevika just stands there. Not encouraging it- but telling her to fuck off either.

It gets to you even if it shouldn’t.  Because you can’t help but think: Was there something between them?  Did she ever bring her to the diner?

You shake your head, trying to shove the thoughts down. Trying to focus on your job. On the team. On not caring.

But your eyes find Sevika again, just in time to see the girl laughing too loudly at something and resting her hand on Sevika’s arm- too casual, too familiar.

And the way Sevika doesn’t flinch- doesn’t shrug her off-  It hits you right in the stomach. You look away before you can let it show.

But Sevika sees your eyes narrow, sees the set of your jaw shift, and her gut twists. She doesn’t know what she did, but she knows something’s off.

The rest of practice blurs by in a haze of second-guessing and tension. And the secondit+s over, you’re gone. Your strides are long and brisk, head down like you’ve got somewhere urgent to be. You don’t. You just can’t be here. Not with the weight in your chest getting heavier every time you catch Sevika out of the corner of your eye. Not with that girl still smiling at her like she knows her. Like she’s been there.

Maybe she has. Maybe that diner wasn’t special.  Maybe  all of it was just another version of a thing she’s done before.

You feel stupid. You told your friends they were wrong. That Sevika was different. That what you had meant something. But now, with every second that passes, you’re starting to wonder if you just saw what you wanted to see.

She didn’t even pull away from that girl…

Across the field, Sevika sees you move. Sees your sharp exit, the set of your shoulders, the way your head stays low. And her stomach drops.

She doesn’t move. Just stands there, eyes fixed on the corner you disappeared around. Her hands flexing at her sides like she doesn't know whether to chase you or punch something. And the only thought running through her head is: Fuck. I messed up again.

Behind her, number 9 walks up and bumps her shoulder bringing her out of her daze.  “Hey, Cap,” she says, voice bright. “Drinks with the team tonight?”

Sevika blinks at her. “What?”

“You know. Post-practice. You in?”

She hesitates, eyes still on the space you just vacated. “…Not tonight.”

The girl’s smile falters. “Oh. Okay.”

Sevika doesn’t even offer an excuse. Just turns and starts walking toward the locker room.

—

Sevika sits alone in the locker room long after most of the team has cleared out. The only sound is the low hum of the overhead lights and the occasional creak of pipes somewhere in the walls.

She hasn’t moved in ten minutes. Just sits there, elbows on her knees, hands loosely hanging, staring at the floor like it might give her answers. But all she can think about is the way you walked off the field. And the way you refused to look at her. Her stomach churns.

What the hell happened?

The date had gone well. At least she thought it had. You said you had a good time. You wouldn’t have said that if it wasn’t true… right?

So what changed? Was it the diner?

She swallows hard, jaw tightening as her thoughts circle back there.

Was that too much? Too personal?

She wanted it to mean something. She thought it did. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe it scared you off. Maybe you saw too much of her, too much of the quiet, lonely parts and decided she was too much, too complicated.

She scrubs a hand down her face, leans back against the lockers with a dull thud. Her eyes squeeze shut.

She can’t remember the last time she felt like this. So off-kilter. You weren’t supposed to matter this much, this soon. But you do.

And now she doesn’t know what to do with herself. She replays every moment from the date again. The way you looked around the diner like it was magic. The way your fingers had brushed hers across the table. The way you kissed her so softly at your door.

She’d gone home that night feeling something she didn’t let herself name. Something that sat heavy in her chest and warm in her ribs. Now she feels like she’s watching it slip away. And she doesn’t even know why.

Behind her, there's a quiet scuff of feet and a soft thunk of a locker door.

Then a familiar voice- calm and too perceptive by half. “Hey.”

Sevika stiffens slightly. Looks up.

Ran.

They’re leaning against the lockers across from her, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded like they’ve been there long enough to read Sevika’s whole emotional state and draft a thesis on it.

But her expression isn’t mocking. Not this time. Just curious. Concerned. Sharp around the edges in that way only Ran can pull off without sounding like they’re lecturing you.

“You good?” she asks.

Sevika exhales, slow and tight. “Fine.”

Ran tilts their head, unconvinced. They sit in silence for a while. Sevika keeps scowling at the floor until– “...No.”

Ran’s arms loosen just slightly across their chest. They don't smirk, don't push. They’re reading the room, watching Sevika carefully like she’s a skittish animal ready to bolt.

“She left fast,” Ran says, voice even, like it’s just an observation.

Sevika’s jaw flexes. “I noticed.”

Ran shifts their weight but doesn't break eye contact. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

After a long pause, she adds, casually: “She looked upset.”

That lands hard. Sevika doesn’t respond, but her eyes flick up- sharp, stung. Ran watches her reaction. Tucks the confirmation away without comment.

“I don’t know what I did,” Sevika mutters finally.

Ran nods slowly, arms still folded. “Date go bad?”

“No. It went—” Sevika breaks off, shaking her head. “It went good. She smiled. She kissed me. We texted after.”

“Then maybe it’s not about the date,” Ran says.

Their tone stays light, neutral. But they watch Sevika closely. Measure the way her brow furrows, the way her hands clench tighter between her knees.

“Could be something else,” Ran adds, “or someone.”

The shift is subtle. Intentional. She doesn’t say the teammate’s name. But Sevika’s body goes still.

Ran sees it but doesn’t press. Just lets the implication sit. A nudge, not a shove.

“Shit,” Sevika mutters.

And that’s all Ran needs to hear. They push off the locker, stretching lazily like they’re just making conversation. “Look, I don’t know what happened,” they say. “But if it’s important maybe stop staring at the floor and start figuring out how to fix it.” And just like that, they turn to go.

No judgment. No teasing. Just their usual quiet brand of tough love, dropped like a stone in the middle of Sevika’s spiral.

Sevika stays where she is for a few more seconds. Then drags both hands down her face with a groan, before reaching for her phone.

—

You’re halfway through changing when your phone buzzes across the desk. You don’t even look at first. You know who it is. You feel it in your chest.

Eventually, you check– Sevika. Calling.

Your thumb hovers over the screen but you don't answer. Not out of spite. Just… you’re not ready. Still too wrapped up in your own head, caught between doubt and guilt and god, I wanted her to be different.

The call rings out. The screen goes dark. You sit back against the chair, heart pounding, mind racing. You tell yourself it’s fine. That she’ll get it. That you’re allowed to need space.

But a minute later- She calls again.

You stare at the screen longer this time. There’s a weird ache in your chest. The same ache you felt after that night at the away game- when she pulled away without a word. When she vanished and left you scrambling, wondering what you’d done wrong.

And now you’re doing the same thing. You sigh. Run a hand through your hair.

Then you swipe to answer.

“…Hey.”

There’s silence on the other end for a second too long.

Then: “You picked up.” Her voice is rougher than usual tense, but quiet. Like she wasn’t expecting you to actually answer.

“Yeah,” you say. “I didn’t want to ignore you. I just… needed a minute.”

Another beat. Then she asks, cautious: “Did I do something?”

You close your eyes.

“No,” you say softly. “I mean- not on purpose. I don’t know.”  You pause, then add, “It’s not fair to make you guess.”

More silence. You hear her exhale through her nose.

“Can we talk?” she asks. “Like- really talk?”

You hesitate, then nod before realizing she can’t see you. “Yeah,” you say. “Okay.”

You don't know exactly what you’ll say yet, or how to explain the way your mind spun out all day over something that probably wasn’t even real. But you know one thing for sure: You don’t want to hurt her. Not like that. She doesn’t deserve that.

—

Twenty minutes after the call, there’s a knock at your door. You hesitate for a second, then cross the room and open it. And there she is- Sevika.

In a hoodie that’s a little too big on her, sleeves pushed up just enough to show the veins in her forearms. Her hair is still damp from the shower, pushed back messily like she didn’t bother with a mirror. Her jaw is tense, her mouth set in a line that tries to stay calm, but the twitch in her fingers gives her away. Like she couldn’t stay still after hanging up. Like she came straight here, nerves and all, just to make this right.

She looks beautiful. Your breath catches a little. Because somehow, she always looks the best when she’s like this- unguarded. Like she doesn’t know how fucking magnetic she is.

The hard line of her shoulders. The storm in her eyes. The rawness she doesn’t know she’s showing.

God, she’s too much.

“Hi,” she says, voice low and rough at the edges.

You blink, breath still caught in your throat. “…Hey.”

You step back. “Come in.”

It’s quiet for a while.

You sit on the couch with Sevika, the space between you charged with quiet tension. She’s waiting. Not pushing- just waiting. You take a shaky breath, looking down at your hands in your lap. You’ve been turning the words over in your head all day, but now they feel jagged in your throat.

“I know it’s dumb,” you start. “But… I saw you today. With her.”

Sevika’s eyes narrow slightly, not defensive- just focused. She knows who you mean immediately.

“That girl- on the team. The one who’s always- flirting with you. All over you.” You say it flatly, trying not to sound bitter.

“Oh,” Sevika says, voice low.

“And it just… got in my head,” you admit. “Because you didn’t push her away.”

Sevika shifts like she wants to explain, but doesn’t interrupt.

Your throat tightens. “And then I couldn’t stop thinking about what my friends- ” The words come too fast. 

You freeze. Eyes wide. You cover your mouth with your hand like you could shove the sentence back inside.

Shit. You didn’t mean to say that. But it’s out now.

Sevika sits up straighter, eyes sharpening immediately. “…Your friends? What did they say?” she asks carefully.

You look away. “Forget it.”

“No,” she says, firm but low. “Tell me.”

You shake your head, but she leans in- voice softer now, but insistent. You stare at the coffee table like the grain in the wood might save you. Then, reluctantly: “They said some stuff. After the date.”

Her hands are already curled into fists in her lap.

You rush to soften it. “It wasn’t like- they didn’t mean it like that. They just… they’re protective. And they remember how upset I was after the away game. And they think I’m-”

Your voice drops to a near whisper.  “-setting myself up to get hurt.”

That hangs there for a second too long. You look down again, swallowing hard. Sevika stills. Her hands curl into fists in her lap, slow and tight. And her jaw clenches so hard you see the muscle twitch. And when you finally glance up at her, her gaze is on the floor, her face holds an unreadable expression. But the silence is brutal.

She breathes in, shallow. Then finally says- soft, flat: “They think I’m not serious.”

You wince. “I’m not saying they’re right. I’m just- ”

“No,” she cuts in. “It’s okay. I get it. I know what I look like from the outside.”

You turn to face her. “Sev- ”

“I know what people say about me. That I’m cold, distant, not the relationship type. They're not wrong. I’ve always kept people at arm’s length, kept things short, casual. Easy to build a wall when no one expects anything from you.”

She swallows, jaw clenching.“So yeah, I get why it looks bad. Why they’d think I’m just doing it again.”

There’s no bitterness in it. Just cold honesty.

“But that’s not what this is,” she adds. She looks up, and her voice is rougher now. “I need you to know that.”

You don’t interrupt. You just watch the way her eyes shine more than they should, the way her jaw clenches like she’s holding something back.

“I’m trying,” she says. “I’m fucking trying.” Her voice breaks- just slightly. Her jaw flexes again. Her chest rises with a shaky breath, and her eyes flick down, then quickly away, like she doesn’t want you to see it.

But you do.

You see the way her eyes gloss over, the way her shoulders tense like she’s barely holding it together. Not crying, but on the edge of it. Misty and raw in a way Sevika never lets herself be seen.

And your heart just splinters.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, your voice catching. “I’m so sorry. I just-” You exhale shakily. “I got scared.”

You feel it more now- the weight of it. How unfair it was. The way her voice cracked. The way she’s sitting so still, trying not to fall apart.

“I let them get in my head,” you admit. “And that’s on me.”

She doesn’t respond, but her breath hitches. She blinks hard and presses her tongue to the inside of her cheek like she’s trying to choke the feeling down. Her hand in yours is warm and solid, but her fingers twitch, betraying the spiral beneath the surface. Then her eyes dart away, and you catch it- the tear that spills over before she can stop it.

She rubs it away with the back of her hand- rough and fast, like it embarrassed her just to let it fall. You reach up, gently, and brush your thumb along the other side of her cheek. She stiffens at the touch, but doesn't pull back.

You search her face. “You’ve been doing everything right, Sev. I just- got in my own way. And I’m so sorry.”

She blinks again. Breath shaky. Voice rough.

“I’m not good at this.”

You give a tired, self-deprecating little huff in response. “I’m not proving to be much better…”

“I mean- I let a couple offhand comments from people who weren’t even there outweigh everything I saw and felt that night. I’m not exactly winning any awards over here.”

Her mouth twitches, just barely. “So we both suck at this.”

You smile, just a little. “Yeah, well… at least it keeps us even”

She huffs something close to a laugh, but it tapers off fast. Her face still feels warm and flushed.  “Fuck,” she whispers, sniffling. “I don’t cry. What the hell are you doing to me?” A shaky breath escapes her, half a laugh and half something else.

You lean in until your forehead presses to hers, your hand cradling the side of her neck. Her eyes flutter shut. Her shoulders finally drop. And for a long, quiet beat, you just sit there. Forehead to forehead. Fingers tangled between you.

After a while you pull back just slightly, just enough to look at her. Her eyes are still red around the edges, still glassy, but she doesn’t try to hide it anymore.

You tilt your head. “Wanna stay a while?” You smile, small and warm. “We could… put something on. One of those bad action movies you like. Something with explosions and horrible acting. Preferably violent.”

She huffs under her breath, but there’s the faintest lift at the corner of her mouth. “Watch it,” she mutters. “Those are classics.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Mmm, sure. Deeply nuanced storytelling… Nothing says emotional range like twenty minutes of slow-mo gunfire and a one-liner about justice.”

“Okay, now you’re just asking to be kicked off the couch.” she says, deadpan.

“I’d like to see you try, big girl” you murmur, grinning.

She looks at you, eyes a little softer now. Like she can breathe again. And then you tilt your head, tone dropping low, teasing around the edges.

“I mean… your shoulder must be acting up again. It’s been weeks since you crawled into my lap whining about how you needed to be held?”

She groans immediately, dragging a hand down her face. “Fuck’s sake.”

You smile—just a little. “I’m just saying. You made a very convincing case last time.I’m just trying to be a responsible manager here.”

“Don’t,” she warns, but she’s already fighting a smile.

You don’t say anything. You just tug her gently down with you, guiding her head onto your chest. And when she follows- quiet, still a little raw- you don’t push or tease anymore. You just cradle her into your arms, wrapping them around her and letting her sink into you, like gravity takes her. 

And maybe that’s all they need right now- just this. Just here. And for it to finally feel like a beginning.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Part 1

Eddie’s propped up against the door in the backseat, warm breath fogging the window, eyes open but completely sightless. Nancy wonders what’s going through his head, if he’s figured out why Steve’s upset and Robin’s angry enough to pick a fight. 

She doesn’t think he knows that Steve’s bisexual. Clearly Robin’s constant meddling hasn’t spurred his confessions. At the very least, Eddie has to be confused about how abruptly Steve reacted. Nancy could see the helpless anguish in Eddie’s face as he watched tears shimmer in Steve’s eyes. 

The sight of a heartbroken Steve Harrington is awful to bear. It isn’t something she’d wish on anyone, let alone someone as amazing as Eddie. Now it’s just another shitty thing she and Eddie have in common, like surviving the apocalypse or having curly hair. 

She shifts her eyes sideways and finds Argyle slightly more relaxed than Eddie but still unusually quiet. It could be the high, she supposes. But she’s seen him smoke almost twice as much as he had tonight and be completely fine. She doesn’t even know him that well and the silence is still unsettling. 

They’re about five minutes into the drive when Argyle’s eyes flash to the rearview mirror. “So, Eddie, I didn’t know you and Johnny were a thing.”

“We aren’t,” Eddie startles, almost like in his brooding he forgot where he was. Nancy catches him shifting in his seat. He’s clearly uncomfortable, biting his lip as his eyes skirt back and forth between his lap and Argyle’s in the mirror.

“Sure looked like you two were pretty into each other,” Argyle says. His tone is an honest attempt at light and carefree. It lacks the signature Argyle vibrancy. 

Eddie catches her looking in the rearview mirror, faster than Nancy can avert her gaze. He huffs, nostrils flared, though his eyes are wide with anxiety. “It’s not like that,” he tries to argue back. 

Argyle scoffs. “Seemed like Johnny thought it was.”

“Well it wasn’t.”

The boys almost simultaneously cross their arms and slump back into their seats. It’s quiet until they pull up to Argyle’s new apartment. Once out of the car, he leans back inside. Big brown eyes downcast, his hair hangs loose around his face, shielding him from view of the backseat. Nancy can practically see his heart on his sleeve when he looks at her.

“Nance, let me know how he’s doing?” The question is vague enough that he could mean any of them, but Argyle’s heart is four sizes bigger than anyone she’s met. Of course he’d care about Steve even now that he’s got his own problems.

She smiles, small and sad but hopefully reassuring. “It’s a deal.” He taps the roof of the car, moving to close the door before she surprises herself by calling out to him again. “But if you need anything, you know, maybe someone to talk to–” she hesitates, scrambling for the right words. “It’s just– I know Jonathan better than anyone, other than you, obviously. So if you want to talk, you can always call me.”

Now more than ever Nancy cringes at how socially out-of-place she always feels. It sounds like she’s placing some sort of weird claim on Jonathan, implying that he’s still somehow, inarguably hers after all this time. Even after Robin. 

She quickly gathers her wits to explain herself, wishing she could just shove her tiny foot in her mouth when he cuts through her anxiety with a smile. It matches hers from only moments ago: small, sad, but hopeful. “Sounds like a deal, Big Wheels.”

Nancy chuckles at the new nickname, pulling a more genuine smile out of the both of them. She watches as steps inside before pulling out of the lot and back onto the road toward the trailer park.

Argyle’s absence somehow only makes the tension worse. Eddie stays sitting in the back, slumped forward enough that Nancy worries he’s not actually buckled in. His head is in his hands, face hidden away. 

Her and Eddie have grown close since the final battle with Vecna, just barely making it to the hospital in time to stop him from bleeding out. Nancy, Robin, Steve, and Dustin had sat by his bedside in shifts almost every day for two weeks until he finally woke up. She’d driven him to his appointments, helped him with errands, and made an easy, detailed schedule for his medications.

They’d sat around watching shitty TV reruns. She’d smoked her first joint with him, just two of them sprawled out on the couch talking about all the shit they’d been through. Except every single time, no matter how their conversations started, they always ended with Robin and Steve. 

What started as delicate conversations turned into late night confessions. Eddie was the first person she turned to when she started questioning herself. Nancy knows she was the only person he’d told about his crush on Steve. He’d made her promise not to tell anyone– especially Robin, obviously– and she’d agreed to take it to the grave. She’s fairly sure Robin made a similar promise to Steve. Though, that didn’t stop them from constantly encouraging the boys to just talk to each other.

After what happened today, it’s painfully obvious that Steve likes Eddie just as much as Eddie likes him. Robin’s reaction to everything almost outright confirms it without Steve even having to say anything. At least, it’s obvious to most people.

“I don’t see what the big deal is– why anyone even cares.” Eddie’s words are barely discernible, mumbling into his own hands pressed against his face. He runs his hands roughly through his hair as he leans back against the seat, looking at Nancy through the mirror with wild, angry eyes. 

“I maybe get why you would be upset,” Eddie continues his rant, gesturing at her. His voice begins to rise with frustration, his movements a bit erratic– ‘worked up’ as how Wayne puts it. “You’re with Robin now, and I know you don’t feel that way about Jonathan anymore. But… It just doesn’t make sense.” 

He’s pulling at his curls, and she wants to wrap her hands in his to get him to stop. “Robin’s never been mad at anyone before, and she looked like she was trying not to hit me. She wouldn’t even let me talk to Steve, which is bullshit considering I spend just as much time with him as she does, spend just as many nights there as her. I deserve to know why he’s upset!”

She stays quiet, knowing she’ll get her moment when he runs out of fuel. He always does eventually, it’s just a matter of patience– something she’s grown a lot better at between being best friends with Eddie and dating Robin.

He slumps down into the seat, strings cut. Eddie fails to stop a stray tear from breaking loose as he tips his head back. She sighs as they finally pull up to the trailer, throwing the car in park before she fully turns around to face him. When he refuses to meet her gaze, Nancy sighs again, loud and obnoxious to get his attention. 

She puts a steadying hand on his knee and heaves herself over the center counsel, pushing herself clumsily into the back seat. Eddie yelps in surprise when her knee hits something soft, but they eventually sort themselves out. They turn to face each other, legs tangled up in the middle.

“Nance,” Eddie sighs, his quiet voice tinged with sadness, “why do I feel so shitty about a stupid kiss?”

She reaches across the seats to grab his hand, gently running her thumb across the top of his knuckles. “Do you like Jonathan?”

“Of course I do. What’s not to like?” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself it’s true, eyes scrunched and brow furrowed. She shoots him a scrutinizing glare, and he rolls his eyes in response. “Jesus Christ, Nancy, just say whatever you want to say. You look like you’re trying to kill me with your brain.”

“No, El kills people with her brain. I shoot guns.”

He chuckles nervously, trying to pull his hand away, but she grips it tighter.

She sighs and asks him again, with pointed emphasis. “Do you like like him, though?”

“Do I like like him?” Eddie mimics her, his teasing laugh strained with sarcasm. “Never thought I’d see the day where Nancy Wheeler– my actual fucking best friend, despite the odds– holds my hand and asks if I like like her ex.”

“Which ex?” Nancy shoots back, quick as a whip.

“... What?”

“Jonathan or Steve?”

“What–” Eddie tries to pull away again, and this time she lets him– “I thought we were talking about Jon?”

Nancy hums in thought. “Are we? Is this about your feelings for Jonathan?”

Before Nancy can stop him, he scoffs and throws himself out of the car. She scrambles across the seat and follows him out. His legs may be longer, but even after almost a full recovery, she’s still faster on her feet. Nancy catches him by the wrist just as he jams his key into the front door.

“Eddie, stop acting like a child and talk to me,” Nancy says. “Don’t storm off and pretend like we both don’t know why you’re upset.”

“It was just a kiss!” He rounds on her with red fury in his cheeks, tears clinging to his lashline. “It was just a stupid, fun kiss. I shouldn’t have to feel this way because someone kissed me at a party and I kissed them back. I don’t see why it’s a big deal, it’s not like it matters.”

“Seems like it mattered to Steve.” It’s about as close as she can hint without getting into trouble with Robin. Nancy knows Steve’s still playing his cards close to his chest, but she also knows sometimes it’s best to just go all in. 

Air rushes out of Eddie’s lungs, breath punched out of him as Nancy hits her proverbial target. Although she does wish she could actually punch him sometimes. Which is why it almost feels like a small triumph when she watches the poorly-obscured implication settle over him. 

Another tear breaks from its hold. He uses the back of his sleeve to wipe his face and drag it across his sniffling nose. Absolutely disgusting, but she doesn’t say anything, even though she desperately wants to offer him a tissue from her car.

“He was just upset because of the–”

“‘The shitty weed?’” Nancy finishes for him, quoting Robin’s awful excuse from earlier. “Do you mean Argyle’s personal stash?” It’s the best marijuana Nancy’s ever smoked, although that only includes Eddie’s wrinkled joints he re-discovers in random pockets and bags.

When Eddie opens his mouth, she’s already one step ahead of his ridiculous arguments. “And don’t you dare say he was upset because he’s homophobic.”

She hears the click of his teeth for how hard his jaw snaps closed. Nancy slips her hand down from his wrist and slides her fingers between his. This time when she squeezes, he squeezes back.

“He’s straight, Nance. You should know that better than anyone.” He sniffles and– to her horror– doesn’t let go of her hand when he uses the same arm to wipe his face again. God, men are animals. At least she’s never had to watch Robin pick her nose, even though the way she flosses is pretty graphic.

She sighs, throwing her arms around him in a hug, if not to get away from his snotty hands. “Seemed pretty upset for a straight best friend.” Nancy kisses him on the cheek before pulling away, making her way back down the stairs toward her car. “But you’re right, I would know better than anyone how Steve could feel right now.”

Driving home, she hopes her message landed, that maybe she’s helped and not overstepped. Especially when it comes to Steve. She can’t bear to see him heartbroken again, up close and personal in a way she selfishly distanced herself from last time. 

But she thinks, unlike the last time, Steve has a chance to be truly happy with someone who loves him more than anything in the world. The chance to be with someone who wants to take care of him, and be doted on in return. She’s finally found that in Robin, and she damn well knows Eddie’s the one for Steve. So if it means she toed the line on saying too much, then it’ll all be worth it if it’s the nudge Eddie needs to find his courage.

~~~

I always upload to Tumblr first but follow on ao3 if you prefer

Part 3 coming soon!

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[hoiststowline]

Would you be able to do crush/relationship headcanons for Perceptor? I just need some more of my nerdy guy 👉🏻👈🏻

_perceptor x reader hc’s 

[a/n: sure! honestly, me too. I had sm fun writing these!! <3!!]

you’d be blissfully unaware for a long while in reference to the fact that perceptor harbors romantic feelings for you, especially with how he behaves after such a realization consumes him. not even in a vague sense, because he isn’t sharing that information, confident that he can not only keep this suppressed, but keep up appearances as normal. perceptor is unable to part with the sentiment so willingly, not when he’s already mapped out about nine different scenarios that all end with you saying no. in his mind, it’s particulars that are best to keep to himself, waiting for a better suited time then trying to shove it from his processor. even if it arises effortlessly, without doubt, every time you’re in the same room as him. perceptor carries on being friendly and congenial with you, never directing personal frustrations your way. it’s like nothing ever occurred to him, but his outward demeanor does not match the rampaging thoughts that are circling his processor on a daily basis. 

it’s become a standoff, whether you bring your feelings forward first or perceptor loses the ability to keep his stifled. and on those placing bets, it’s more than likely the former, as perceptor is pretty sure he could carry such a secret far longer. he’s found himself cowardly in that sense, afraid to break something that doesn’t need to be remedied. it’s perfect the way it is, your current friendship, and while he would be immensely elated to see it escalate to a romantic status, he’s convinced himself otherwise. the copious amounts of ‘advice’ and relentless nudging wasn’t entirely helping his case either, feeling like every time he caught your attention, someone else caught that he was after it in the first place. 

upon entering a romantic relationship, it’s effortless to tell that the things he was already doing for you were silent displays of affection. quality time or acts of service I can see being his love languages, but heavy on acts of service. anything that perceptor can assist you with, it’s an immediate response, no questions asked. he’s also the type of mech to do it without being prompted, but if you approach him with a difficult problem he’s more than happy to offer advice if that’s what you’re seeking on the subject. speaking of, he’s also a very good listener as well, hearing you out from beginning to end before proposing suggestions or pointers. you can actively see him thinking it through, wanting to extend the best possible counsel, hopeful to lead you in the best direction. on the other hand, perceptor finds himself approaching you for opinions and direction as well, pleased to have your undivided attention and suggestions for a resolution.

affection is for behind closed doors and there only. it’s private, and while perceptor is overjoyed to oblige you in the solitude of his quarters, there are small gestures that happen outside of them. well-deserved wins or favorable outcomes merit celebration. perceptor finds that high-fives regarding achievements make you laugh. laughter of delight, soft and meaningful as if you can’t quite find the right words to say at the given moment. neither could he, as to why he proffered his servo to you, knowing that you would wordlessly understand the implication. on several occasions, he’s willing to let you sit on his lap while he’s working, so long as it’s not dangerous. if there’s a chance for you to get hurt, it’s an instant no, but in the early stages of tests and assessments you are more than welcome to join him. perceptor sometimes waits for you to ask, other times, an impatience arises and he’d rather just have you right where he can see you. whilst sitting on his lap, he definitely hunches a bit so he can mumble each step of what he’s doing, voice just above a whisper.

[deadtoes666]

Can we talk about Laura Lee? Like, REALLY talk?

(This is super long and not perfect)

I'm going to start with the Summer camp scene here. The scene itself is a sweltering day at a pool, busy with kids at play. We see a sign above the pool reading ‘Mary Magdalene Summer Camp’ and a faint ‘bible study’ poster behind Laura Lee, both insisting that this is run by a christian organisation. We then pan to a younger Laura, at least a year before the plane crash, sitting by the pool with her legs in the water. She then gets up and hovers over the edge of the pool for a moment, before diving in head first. Once she hits the water, she outstretches her palms, grazing them against the bottom of the pool, but making no attempt to stop herself from hurling into a concussion. As a result, she passes out from the impact of bashing her head against the bottom of the pool, floating at the stop with blood flowing from her forehead. In the lingering moment before she dives, I think she's hesitating. She’s thinking ‘should I really do this?’ because she's about to take her own life. After the jump, she is so unafraid to die, that I think it proves that she is really trying to hurt herself, because she doesn't seem to get a last rush of fear. I think she knew very well where she was and what would happen to her.

But, why would Laura Lee want to attempt suicide? Well, let’s see: Laura Lee was raised into religion, implied to have the ‘big christian poster family’; she is hinted to have mental health problems in the second episode where she says “This is all my fault”, blaming herself for the plane crash; and she could very well be feeling disconnected to her religion or even God itself. This disconnect is interesting when you look at Laura Lee’s not-so-goody-two-shoes acts like: going to parties, playing defence in sport, and having a close relationship with both Lottie and Van. Although it was scrapped, Laura Lee and Van were best friends in the original Yellowjackets script, and this is a very interesting choice, because we know that Van is lesbian. Sadly, we never get to learn if Laura Lee knows this, but we do get some implications of what both Van and Tai assumed of her. The very episode after Laura’s death, Van and Taissa stop hiding their relationship from the other girls, and kiss at the ‘dooms-coming’ party. Earlier in the show, Van says that ‘we can’t hide it forever’ and Tai responds with ‘I just don’t want to deal with the drama’. It’s possible that the ‘drama’ Tai refers to could be Laura Lee’s reaction, fuelled by her bible worship. However, considering that the original script was going to make Van and Laura very close friends, I tend to doubt that Laura was really as homophobic as Tai (rightfully) assumes. She played on a girl’s football team, for christ’ sake– Laura knew damn well about the queer connotations of that, it was the 90s. And this isn’t the only thing Laura Lee could be going against her religion with. Referring back: she attends high school parties in the woods; Even though she preaches about god, she’s in a woman’s soccer team– which isn’t condemnable, but very unusual for an aspiring christian housewife; She also has quite the temper, even if she doesn't show it most of the time. We do get to see this in her scene with Ben in episode ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’, when she asks “What are you going to do to stop me?” after he tries to stop her from leaving. In this scene, she’s not afraid to curse and admit reality. She says she has to go, “Or else we’re all going to fucking starve.” She's ambitious and determined - which are well or ill qualities in their own right, but may be not what's expected from a ‘good Christian girl’.

All to say, Laura Lee feeling disconnected from her religion because she doesn't agree with major preaching points is very much plausible. The summer camp scene itself is there to show how and why Laura Lee is so devout in the current day, and this could hint that Laura wasn’t nearly as nun-like before her suicide attempt. Perhaps she tries to take her own life as a way to test her dwindling faith. She's young and developing, and her close relationship with Lottie can definitely be read as something more than a simple friendship, meaning she could very well be read as queer herself. This could also explain her friendship and kinship with Van. Maybe because Laura Lee was growing apart from many christian beliefs, she was desperate to be proved wrong, because she loved her family and knew that she wouldn’t be accepted if she lived her truth. 

I take Laura’s act of jumping into the pool as a dare. A test to God. ‘If I live, I've been saved. if I die, God is false.’ It’s a very risky bet, but not one that Laura Lee isn't scared to try. If God is false, she doesn’t see herself having anything to live for. No community, no family. She is so ingrained into christianity that she would die if it wasn’t true. She was yearning for a close connection to god. She can’t consider anything else; it’s her way of following religion. If God ‘allows’ Laura Lee to keep living, it means she has a purpose to fill. A mission, something, anything – she's not lost. It allows her to ignore (or deny) other parts of her identity. After she is saved by the lifeguard, she tries to thank him, but even he refuses to take any credit, and tells Laura Lee to thank God. This is why she is so incredibly devout. Even in her last moment of clarity, the person who saved her redirected her back to God.

This scene creates such a strong impression because of the amount of small details and little things that allude to Laura Lee’s mental illness, and why she repeatedly tries to hurt herself. This young girl has been forced into an incredibly restrictive and toxic environment, and she struggles to find herself amongst priests who tell her right from wrong. And it isn’t just when she tries to kill herself in the pool that’s impactful, but also when she tries to fly a plane that has been abandoned in the woods upwards of decades. She's completely untrained, and would be flying through a complex area filled with mountains and valleys, where even highly experienced pilots have struggled. She had no idea how far she had to fly, and in what direction, let alone how to land, or what conditions would be like. Not only is this incredibly insane, but it’s just dumb. Yes, Laura says it’s for the good of the group. Yes, she says it’s to save Van and Shauna– but it’s impossible. Her grandfather was a pilot, so it’s not like she was uneducated. She does it for god. She tests him yet again. Laura Lee uses her faith as an excuse to put herself in harm's way again. 

Expanding on her “This is all my fault” comment, we also know that Laura Lee can’t imagine God wanting to punish the other yellowjackets. She knows all too well that none of them are saints: getting drunk, having physical relations before marriage, and being queer (If we assume that Laura knows). She thinks so lowly of herself that she immediately takes the blame for an uncontrollable plane crash, blaming herself just because she called her piano teacher ‘a cunt’ in her own mind, sobbing “But god heard me. And now he's punishing all of us (because of her actions).” While this is also meant to serve as a comedic scene, with all the characters laughing at Laura Lee, it has some deeper implications into Laura Lee’s harmful mindset. This really shows how her upbringing negatively impacts her, with this ‘it’s all my fault’ mindset linking back to divine punishment. 

Despite her low self-worth, Laura Lee still manages to be a good character with strong morals. She is continuously understanding of Lottie and so sweet and gentle with her when she shows interest in Laura’s religion. Not only that, but she isn’t incredibly pushy about God, despite being so pious. She doesn't bring up God especially often in the wilderness, where everyone is scared and vulnerable. She keeps her religion mostly to herself. This contrasts most preachers, as so many major (mainly christian) religions rely on preying on the needy to collect followers. Preachers often see moments of vulnerability as an opportunity for people to ‘let god into their heart’, but Laura Lee doesn't do such things. In fact, I'd say she discusses God less now that she's in the wilderness. Before the crash, it seemed like every line of dialogue linked back to God. When considering Laura Lee’s own moment of ‘saviour’ (being resuscitated from a suicide attempt), one may dare to say that she was one of the vulnerable people who the church trapped herself. Despite being raised into christianity, I don’t think she truly believed when she was old enough to know that Santa Claus wasn’t real either. Maybe she had a tweenage rebellion, but we know painfully little about Laura Lee’s past.

All of these things have such an impact because it directly tackles the power that ‘God’, as an idea, can give to mentally ill people. Laura Lee puts herself in harm's way ‘for the sake of god’ when she really just wants to die. This is why she doesn't get the help she needs. Everyone sees her acts as devotion, when they are harmful. Flying the plane follows the same path as the pool scene: God lets Laura Lee live, and she saves the day; or God isn't here, and Laura Lee dies. She's provoking both God and the Wilderness, if they exist. If they do not, Laura Lee is just following her suicidal tendencies by risking her life with an excuse: potentially saving the others. And, as we know, nothing can save Laura Lee from her violent plane explosion. In the moments before her death, she is so glad to have the chance to save everyone, and panics when the fire lights. She looks around frantically, repeating “No, no…”, but knows that she can’t stop the inevitable. Laura Lee doesn't even look particularly afraid after realising that she is about to die, and there’s nothing she can do. There's a fire lit beside her, but she just keeps looking forward, inhaling the smoke. She clutches her necklace, calm and serene, and the plane implodes. It’s a bittersweet feeling to see the death of a character who was trying to die, but, as Lottie had written on her chalkboard in Shana, Van, and Akilah’s hallucination in episode three of season three: ‘Of all the ways to lose a person, death is the kindest.’ It was a mercy to Laura Lee, so that she didn't need to endure the horrors of winter and thereafter.

It's fascinating to compare Laura Lee with Jackie on their shared suicidal ideologies, because they're both trying to kill themselves in their own way. Laura Lee hides it (to others, but I think also to herself) behind her faith and her desire to save everyone, whereas Jackie stops eating and begins to self-isolate. They're both trying to be subtle about it, but they both want to die.

One of the few characters that respond to Laura’s small signs of instability is Lottie. When everyone laughs at Laura for her piano teacher confession, Lottie jumps in to reveal her own plane-crashing secret: She steals from T.J. Max, only to return the clothes and collect ‘T.J. bucks’ in the hundreds. So, in a way, it was Lottie who started the round of team confessions to show that Laura Lee wasn't alone, helping to turn a silly moment into team bonding. It’s fascinating because this is the first time we get to see Lottie's observation skills and empathy as leadership qualities, even if she still has the quiet girl status at the time. Throughout Lottie’s metamorphosis into who she is in season two, Laura Lee is there to encourage her into speaking up, and giving Lottie the confidence she needed to be able to grow into herself. When Lottie is unmedicated, Laura Lee is one of her few pillars of support and understanding. Even though it may not be good for Lott, Laura listens to and considers the things that Lottie is seeing in an honest and slightly delusional manner. Laura Lee sees Lottie as a prophet of God. During their time in the wilderness, Laura Lee and Lottie grow much closer. Laura Lee supports Lottie and believes in her visions even when there is no reason to. She believed Lottie was a prophet and her visions were messages from god, and this may not have been the best for either of them, but it made them happy, at least. Laura takes these dark parts of Lottie that have been repressed for years as a blessing. Laura Lee embraces Lottie for who she is, and that’s something not even Lott’s parents could do. 

And Lottie helps Laura Lee believe in God, despite the setting of the wilderness and the lack of societal barriers that Laura grew up with. Lottie upholds the divinity of a priest for Laura Lee, resulting in her throwing herself deeper into christianity instead of allowing herself to start doubting her faith again. Laura Lee and Lottie both build up off of each other: Laura shrouds herself in her faith like a shield or suit of armour because Lottie reinforces her beliefs; and Lottie begins to be more and more outspoken as Laura Lee brings her out of her shell, resulting in her eventual leadership. Laura is such a major part of Lottie’s ascent to the throne that it’s hard to talk about one without talking about the other. Their relationship isn’t crystal clear before the crash, but we know that they chose to sit close to each other (Lottie behind Laura) on the plane. When it began its descent, they reached out to each other for support, gripping one another’s hand. They may not have been best friends ever before the crash, but there's an undeniable sense of familiarity between the two of them. They’ve definitely known each other a while, with being on the same sports team. And they seem to like each other’s company too, especially since we know that Laura Lee and Van were meant to be best friends in the pilot, and still Laura chose to sit with Lottie. 

In episode 6 ‘Saints’, Laura Lee takes it upon herself to baptize Lottie in the lake. There's a lot of symbo- lism in this scene, specifically in Lottie’s vision where she is transported to a basement where she sees a male deer. The stag can represent many things here, but on the surface, the stag can simply symbolize the spiritual cleanse (baptism). But, in christianity, a stag represents Christ's crucifixion as well as a spiritual guide. So, Lottie follows the stag into a passageway in the basement, and there’s several candles burning. She lights one of the unlit candles. In terms of religious symbolism, the candlelight often represents the light of christ. Because of this scene, i think that While underwater, Lottie opens her eyes back up only to see Laura Lee’s face above, with a halo around her head akin to the ones seen around saint’s heads in religious paintings. Due to the similarly named episode, the symbolism of Laura Lee being like a saint is highlighted, and this could absolutely allude to Laura Lee’s tragic end, much like the saints of catholicism. This scene is so impactful to me because it creates such a strong impression on the viewer. We see two characters who are shown to be mentally ill feeding into each other's delusions, while simultaneously building up their characters and setting up Lottie’s character arc as the leader. We can see the way that the story is going, especially with the knowledge that everyone will devolve into cannibal cultists hunting each other for survival from the pilot episode. 

[trcdreamer]

Andrew “Don’t touch my things, Riko. I don’t share.” Minyard

“Andrew showed up in time to protect Neil. He should have gone straight for Kevin, since Kevin appeared to be the center of his strange world, but he’d put himself between Riko and Neil instead.”

“Last I checked Andrew didn’t like you.” “He still doesn’t” “Interesting.”

Andrew “from now until May you are still Neil Josten and I am still the man who said he would keep you alive.” Minyard

Neil “But that didn’t count, because Andrew was Andrew, and this was definitely the last turn he needed his thoughts to take.” Josten

Andrew “but that’s what makes you interesting. It’s also what makes you dangerous. I should know better by now. Maybe I’m not as smart as I thought I was. Should I be disappointed or amused? Minyard

“What does Andrew have to do with this?” “Everything that matters”

“He straightened and turned to find Andrew had shifted closer. There was nowhere for Neil to stand except against Andrew, but somehow Neil didn’t mind.”

Neil “if it means losing you , then no.” Josten

Andrew “you were supposed to be a side effect of the drugs” Minyard

Neil “I’m not a hallucination” Josten

Andrew “you are a pipe dream” Minyard

“Just promise me this isn’t going to be a problem.” “What?” “I can’t tell if you’re being obtuse to fuck with me or if you’re really that dumb. I would pity you, but Andrew’s right. I don’t get paid enough to get involved in this. Figure it out yourself, on your own time.”

“So Andrew finally gave in huh?”

Neil “You hate me, remember?” Josten

Andrew “Every inch of you, That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t blow you” Minyard

Neil “you like me” Josten

Andrew “I hate you” Minyard

Neil “For a dizzying moment, he understood. He remembered Andrew’s hand over his mouth in Exites as he backed out of their conversation. He thought of Andrew yielding to his prodding and holding him up when Neil needed him most. Andrew had called him interesting and dangerous and had given him keys to his house and car.”

Neil “You gave me a key and called it home.” Josten

Andrew “don’t look at me like that, I am not your answer, and you sure as fuck aren’t mine.” Minyard

Neil “Thinking that Andrew needed space and time to regroup the same way Neil did almost wrecked Neil’s attempts to get his neutral facade back together.” Josten

“Andrew kissed him like this was a fight with their lives on the line, like his world stopped and started with Neil’s mouth”

Neil “So are you completely off- limits or are there any safe zones?” Josten

Andrew “what are you hoping for, coordinates?” Minyard

Neil “How a man who viewed the world with such studied disconnect could kiss like this, Neil didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to complain.” Josten

Andrew “Yes or no?” Minyard

Neil “This was Andrew learning every inch and edge of him.” Josten

Neil “kissing Andrew changed things even if Neil knew it shouldn’t” Josten

Neil “I am nothing, and as you’ve always said, you want nothing.” Josten 😏

Neil “I really want to know when Coach figured out that you want to kill me only ninety-three percent of the time” Josten

Neil “Kissing you doesn’t make me look at any of them differently. The only one I’m interested in is you.” Josten

Neil “Thank you. You were amazing.” Josten 🥺

Andrew “I don’t trust them to give you back” Minyard 😭

“Did he really choke Kevin?” “Took three of us to pull him off”

“Andrew hadn’t spoke to anyone since they checked out of the hotel in Baltimore”

Neil “It’d only been a couple days since those kisses on the bus but right now it felt like forever.” Josten

Andrew “your neck fetish is not attractive” Minyard

Neil “you like it, I like that you like it” Josten

Neil “it’s always a yes with you” Josten

Neil “didn’t miss the looks the upperclassmen sent him when they saw what Andrew was wearing” Josten

“He was holding a set of arm bands identical to Andrew’s”

“I returned the favor. Neil used Katelyn against me so I used Neil against Andrew. Depending on how you look at it, Neil’s as much a violation to our deal as Katelyn was. Andrew could break our deal and let me go or break things off with Neil.”

Andrew “I’m not as smart as I thought I was, I know better than to do this again. Perhaps it’s the self-destructive streak in me? Minyard

Neil “I’m not a pipe dream, I’m not going anywhere” Josten

“Roland looked from Andrew to Neil and back again, brow furrowed a bit in badly-concealed concern. Neil realized then he was looking for a sign they were all right after what he’d let slip back in January.” “I’ll drink to that, it’s about damned time.”

Andrew “Survival tip, no one likes a smart mouth” Minyard

Neil “except you.” Josten

[youdontknowe]

Heyyy this is both my therapy and the reason I need therapy so let’s see how much it hurts or helps this week LMAO

* Ehehe standing in the corner like 🧍

* Not the firebird (tbf it has no headlights)

* 😧 he’d be willing to leave BABY? Now that’s a dean in love

* Dean no you cannot play the I was dead card after using I’m on a timer card

* Lol sleepy girly is not waking up yet

* Awh her brain finally processing that he’s back

* lol Bobby always has someone to chew out on their dumb shit

* lol every time skip from sam is just ‘did you get bigger?’

* Ooooo enochian? That is awesome (cue cas and her sharing secret notes to shit talk)

* lol poor sam will never get to know his hair looks good

* I like the detail In translation doesn’t always quite work even if it’s psychological

* Ehehe if I remember correctly she was also compared to a cat (don’t quote me my memory isn’t grand)

* Uhoh I forgot about the whole Sam’s got a problem because of ruby

* I always like how you explain bobbys soul cus it fits his character so well!! Cus of course he’d be something solid cus he’s about the only solid thing for his kids (the boys ain’t johns kids in anything by name in my mind)

* Ooooo Mayhaps they’re like that because chuck has like them as like the most detailed characters? I dunno I could be talking crap

* Pfff dean catching sass off castiel

* Bros doing a lot of bending rules for an angel

* Lmao he doesn’t care she can’t be smited doesn’t even question it he just relaxed like ‘oh thank god(chuck?) that I don’t have to worry about that too’

* By far the most frustrating (in a good way) part of your slow burns is nones allowed to say I love you before like at minimum half way through the fic

* It’s on sight with ruby. She’s catching hands and a magic woodchopper

* Girls trip!! (They’re going to kill something but that’s what really makes a girls trip right?)

* Yesss dragon hoarding gold analogy 10/10

* Lmao at least she’s aware and not ruining Jo’s breakfast with the icky details

* Jo is now getting official little sister shit card for princess

* Lmao “I can see souls, Jo.” I read that in the most deadpan way

* In giggling so hard Jo is just throwing any and all teasing comments about dean whenever she can

* Woohoo Jo your so smart! Really taking after her mentor

* Dean saying please is literally just the magic word to get her to agree to something

* The fact it’s widely known deans obsessed is so funny and yes I agree with Jo I would marry a man who drove from the falls to Texas for me cus I googled it and that’s a minimum 15 hour drive 💀 (America is scary big wtf)

* Damn bro was fast as fuck to get there! He was totally like literally just entering the area and called to get where she was lmao

* Bobby having a topic he will rant for ages about is so dad canon

* Hehehe sleepover ritual is so cute but the image of dean in a face mask - PRICELESS

* Sam being fed up of Dean part 2329473

* I think my favourite little scenes are Dean quietly threatening people whenever princess is asleep on or next to him

* Yk it’s cool to think of like an alternate reality where she IS maybe a bit evil and wants something really big bad to go down and how unstoppable both her and Dean could be, just because he’d do anything for her and it’d be even worse if she guaranteed Sam and people he cares about safe during it

* Sad nightmares :(

* Bro has NO issues getting on his knees for her at any time and I’m living for it. Give me more men on their knees for their girls

* YES more dress content cus she’s rocking silk

* It’s never good when someone gets a bad feeling oh no I’m nervous

* Oh bloody hell it’s a disaster

* OH I like that we’re getting deans pov on what she looks like using her powers

* And back to the shitshow this hunt has become

* I love deans pov in all this it really secures the, chaos- omg she’s so pretty i would die for her- oh shit more chaos

* What’s happening oh no

* I’m panicking people I’m panicking

* OMG IS IT HAPPENING

* ITS HAPPENING AHHHHHH THEY SMOOCHIN

* Shit that was a tasty make out scene

* Lmao that must have been the single most victorious and awkward few minutes for Jo

* Magdalene is a cool asf name

* Ooooooo I love the history lessons and lore drops so much it’s amazing

* Yeah cas bad bad timing but tbf this is probably the best for Dean cus he’s got less things to worry about her hating him for

* Do we get more smoochin action next week? Pretty please

* End note: Dean really needs one of those shiny shock blankets they give out from ambulances n stuff. Hes really just gonna be sitting for weeks trying to wrap his head around the fact she’s seen all that in hell and STILL sticks to him. I love them so much

* It took a a little longer to read this week but I really enjoyed it 💙 im so excited we get to maybe see more physical affection from here cuz it’s finally happeningggg

Chapter 18 - You Can Start to Make It Better

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Return of the swaggy Monster of the Week cases.

Chapter Title from Hey Jude by The Beatles

Word Count: 17.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You go home, and try to get back into a rhythm. Usual Warnings.

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

Chapter 17 - Chapter 19

Read on A03!

You have rules.

If you’re going to love Dean, you have to have rules.

To keep yourself sane, and to keep Dean safe.

To ensure that your priority can be making sure Dean stays alive. You can never, ever fail him again, because now that you have him, it will take a biblical tragedy to make you lose him again.

So you have rules.

The first rule comes before the drive home. You stay the night in Texas, but neither of you really sleep. For Dean, it’s so the stiches can set, and for you, it’s so you can feel Dean’s arms around you and hear his heartbeat near your ear, his hand splayed gently over your stomach to monitor the stitches. Then, before the dawn has even fully broken the sky, you go.

Together.

Dean asked you not to run, so now you means you and Dean, together.

He goes to pick you up some non-bloodstained clothing—you’d slept in his shirt, and you’d both silently agreed not to talk about it—as you get the coffee, and when you start to change he takes a tall, rigid stance facing the door. It’s almost adorable, how he’s fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket and glowering at the walls. Like he’s somehow trying to preserve your modesty.

“We’re taking my car.” Dean mutters, and you freeze with one leg in the sweatpants.

“Dean, I’m not just leaving the Firebird.“

“Yeah, you are.”

“You gave me that car-“

“I’ll send Sammy back for it.” He snaps. “He’ll bus down and drive it back up, and you’ll stay with me.”

You roll your eyes, standing up straight as you finish with the sweats. “You never let Sam drive Baby, why is my car different-“

“Because.” Dean grunts, shooting you a glare as you shuffle over to his side. “I am not letting you drive back to Sioux Falls by yourself after you just got fucking shot, Princess. We’re leaving the Firebird.”

“You can be really dramatic, Deano, you know that?”

His lips twitch slightly. “It’s not dramatic to make sure you don’t bleed out somewhere in Oklahoma, Princess.”

“See, you sound dramatic-“

“And you’re not driving yourself home. Give it up.”

You pout up at him, putting on your best, innocent, sweet expression. “But my car, De. Please-“

“I don’t give a shit about your car.” He grumbles, and that breaks you in a second.

You could see the clench of his jaw and fists, hear the resolve in his voice, and this wasn’t a fight you were going to win. If Dean is valuing you over the car, you’d lost before the conversation even started.

It wasn’t like you really cared either way. If it were up to you, you’d climb onto Dean’s body and never be peeled away from him again.

“What about your car?” You hum, just to selfishly press a little further, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“If that’s what it’s gonna take to get your ass back home, we’ll take the freakin’ Firebird instead. But,” he narrows his eyes at you. “I’m driving, and you’re resting, and that’s it.”

You stare at him, and it creeps right up to the edge of your tongue. You love him. So much. Desperately and eternally, because he cares. More than anyone. All the time. You’ve seen him almost shoot people for looking at the Impala wrong, he’s willing to leave it in fucking Texas for you, and you can see how serious he is in his Gold—solid and burning in his body—and you love him-

“Dean, you don’t need to-“

“I do.” He grumbles, starting to herd you out the door. “I’ll carry you home on fucking foot, if I have to. You’re more important-“

“Than a car?!” 

Dean shoots you a glare, you offer him a soft, teasing smile, and he sighs. “And you’ve got the nerve to call me dramatic.”

“Bold words from the man who just said he’d carry me home on foot.” You hum, and Dean finally grins.

Wide and pretty and unrestrained, staring at you in the breaching light of the morning that’s somehow less golden than he is, and here. Alive.

Not yours, but with you. 

And you love him. 

“I missed you, Princess.” He mutters, and it’s a good thing you’re already half-pressed into his side. Otherwise, you would’ve fallen over.

“I missed you too,” you whisper, and Dean’s grin is beautiful, and there’s the first rule.

This can’t be about you. He’s too pretty and magnetic and Golden, and you love him, but if you’re going to keep loving him it can’t be about you.

“We can take Baby.” You mumble. “I- That was nice, though.”

“No problem.” Dean rubs the back of his neck, and you could swear there was a slight redness to his cheeks before he looked away. “I, uh- Yeah. C’mon.”

Dean half carries you to the car, because he’s an amazing idiot who really seems to think that if he takes his hand off your body for a second, you’ll vanish into thin air.

You understand the sentiment. It’s the same reason that, when you stop for gas after a few hours and he tells you to stay in the car, you shake your head and start to open the door.

“What are you-“

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, I told you to stay-“

“You’re not the boss of me.” You mutter, twisting to glare at him when his arm crosses your chest, pinning you to the seat. “I want a shitty gas station donut, Winchester. Let me go.”

He doesn’t move. “I’ll get you one, sweetheart, just stay-“

“Listen to me.” You snap, leaning forward with a scowl. “If you don’t let me out, I am going to break out, stab you, and sit on you while I eat my donut.”

Dean’s eyes widen slightly, and a small smirk creeps onto his face. “Bossy, Princess.”

“Dean Winchester-“

“Chill out,” he drawls your name, his arm moving back and leaving an almost whining depression where he’d been touching you before. “I’m not looking to get stabbed today, you can get your own freakin’ donut.”

You smile at him in triumph, Dean snorts and shakes his head, and you really don’t give a fuck about the donut. You care about Dean, guiding you inside with a hand on your lower back, muttering low jokes in your ear as you wait in the shockingly long line, and grinning at you like there’s nobody else in the world.

Dean plays his music too loud in the car on the drive back, trying to get you to sing along and pouting whenever you refuse.

“You know, this isn’t very nice,” he grumbles after the fifth attempt. “I just came back from the dead, Princess, the least you could do is sing for me.”

You shoot him glare, the Silver whining in your body at the reminder. “The I was dead card isn’t going to work on me, Deano. I don’t think it’s funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” He shrugs. “C’mon. I think I’m making it work.”

“You’re not.” You mutter, wrapping your arms around your stomach, and Dean drops it like that.

You don’t know if he gets it. The toll his death took on you. And you’re going to do everything in your power to ensure he never knows—that’s just another burden you don’t want him to carry—but there are things you can’t keep him from seeing. 

How you get quiet whenever he mentions it, because the numb feeling of nothing, Dean’s gone so there’s nothing, washes back over your body. The fact that you know you don’t look healthy, because even with the Silver humming once more in your body, you still have bruises from malnutrition and rashes on your wrists from where Ketch tied you up. There’s a gaunt quality to your skin that wasn’t there when he last saw you, and you might not be trying to force the Silver down anymore, but the habit of picking your skin raw is too deeply ingrained to go away.

You have gotten better at the healing, over the past four months. But the weakness from being held captive hasn’t faded away, and it means that you’re too tired to do most anything but rest, and talk to Dean.

You can always talk to Dean. 

He’s keeping his voice softer than usual. Almost gentle, as your eyelids start to droop, and his word fade in and out of your head.

“I’m gonna pull over.” He mutters after another few hours. “Check your stitches.”

You hum, and don’t bother to do anything but wait for Dean to park the car and move so he’s kneeling on the grass before you, then let him maneuver your body, so your stomach is under the flashlight in his mouth.

All your effort goes into trying not to moan, when his fingers brush over your skin. Warm and broad and calloused, so careful when they touch you, like you’re something that could possibly be broken.

You don’t care if the Sky sees this. If it hates it, or doesn’t care because Dean’s keeping you safe and alive. 

You’re for Dean. Nothing and no one else. He’s the one who sits you up carefully and presses a kiss to your brow, before making you drink water and settling you upright once more. Dean is the only person in the universe who, when he scoots back into the driver’s seat and slings his arm around your shoulders, you’d ever even consider leaning into.

Sleep comes easy and peaceful, on Dean’s shoulder, the music humming softly in the background and the Silver flowing softly through the world as Dean drives you home.

It’s twilight, when he wakes you up. Everything is cast in deep shades of blue, and the shadows have grown a little longer in the night, but there’s no pain or fear in your body at all.

It’s all still technicolor. 

Dean’s still here.

And you’re curled right into his side, and you can hear his heartbeat, and everything is okay.

“You wanna go right to bed?” He mutters in your ear, and you blink up at him as sleep lingers over your brain.

“Huh?”

Dean huffs a soft laugh, looking at you with an odd gentleness you don’t understand, but are going to cling to for the rest of your life.

“De, I-“ You cut yourself off with a yawn, burrowing yourself a little further into his side because he’s warm and alive and you’re too tired to stop yourself. “What’s happening?”

“We’re back at Bobby’s, Princess.” Dean watches you carefully, his voice still so strongly low and soft. “And Sammy told me they’d wait up, if you wanted, but if you wanna go to bed, we can sleep in your room, or the room I’ve been using. If you, uh, if you want me in the bed, obviously. We can separate and I can take the couch if you want my room-“

You shake your head, moving your hand to press over Dean’s mouth. 

He blinks at you, and you only stare at him through a slight daze.

“Slow down, Deano, you’re talking so fast.” Your voice sounds whiny to your own ears, but Dean doesn’t really look like he cares, and you’re so tired. “‘M tired, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Dean grabs your hand and slowly lowers it down, his eyes dancing with a soft light. “You’re tired, sweetheart?”

You nod, dropping your head to his shoulder, and he lets out a low chuckle that rolls through your body. 

“Alright, you’re doing bed then.”

You frown against his body. “What’s doing bed mean.”

“Means you’re acting like you’re freakin’ drunk, ba- Princess.” Dean starts to shift you around until you might be in his lap—the world is all blurry color and Dean, so you can’t really tell—and sighs in your ear. “So Sam and Bobby will just have to wait till morning.”

“Sam and Bobby. Where are-” Your words die as you lean back, and Dean’s face is right there. A breath from yours, and pretty, and there’s so much life in his eyes—all beautiful and so focused on you—that you almost burst into tears.

“Wait, shit-“ Dean grabs your face with one hand, the other keeping you steady by your waist, and that’s enough. Your eyes start to sting, and a weak noise leaves your chest as the Silver pours out into the world.

You’re the easy wind outside the car, the gentle comfort of the Impala—warm and filled with love from Dean’s care—and the soft hope of a lightbulb outside, covered in moths and flickering but still holding out to draw something else into its light. 

You’re not Dean, but you’re curled right against him, and when your eyes flick down to your hands they’re covered in gold, and Dean-

“Fuck, Princess, don’t cry- It’s- I didn’t mean to- Oof-“

You tackle your body fully into his, somehow finding force without movement, and Dean’s arms wrap tight around you in half a second as you sob.

“You died.” Your hands fist against his shirt, and there’s too much dizzy, sleepy fog over your brain for you to do anything else but sob and hold onto Dean. “You- you were gone, and you died, and I couldn’t- I tried but I couldn’t- And you- You were in Hell, and I didn’t-“

You cut yourself off with another strangled sound, and Dean’s hand starts to stroke through your hair.

“I know. But I’m good now.” he mutters in your ear, and it’s soothing. Like a lullaby that’s a little more. A promise. “I know, Princess I do, but you’re okay. We’re gonna get you to bed, sweetheart, you’re real tired and it’s- It’s okay.”

Dean pries you off his chest as you continue to sniffle, his thumb presses to the bridge of your nose, and it’s like a spell. 

The Silver eases back into your body, and you’re out. 

When you wake up, sunlight is filtering through the room. Your room.

You’re back in your own room.

It hasn’t really changed. Bobby seems to have cleaned up all your notes from the floor, and the sheets are fresh and changed, but everything else is as you left it, save for a slight coat of dust.

And Dean.

The last time you’d slept in this room, Dean had been at your side, but he’s not here now.

The only thing that keeps the Silver from bursting out of your body and ripping through the world to find him is the Gold. Bright and strong and covering your whole room, imprinted on the mattress and all across your clothing, a soft lining of it on the door knob and over the carpet. 

Dean is alive. The Spiderweb is soft and iridescent in your body, so he’s still alive, and he’d been here because only Dean is Golden like that.

It wasn’t just a cruel nightmare or trick of your mind, that he’d come to get you, and-

Oh, fuck.

You’re not tired now, but god, you had been when you got home, and you’d fallen apart from nothing at all. Fragile and uncontrolled and sobbing into Dean’s arms when he was the one who fucking died.

And he’d held you, but you’d been far too close. If he hadn’t somehow eased you to sleep, you probably mumbled that you loved him, in your exhaustion. And he had so many other things to worry about, all far more important than you. Dean shouldn’t be responsible for soothing you whenever you lose your fucking mind-

But he had. Because he was amazing, and Dean, and has always had you  when you lost your fucking mind.

You love him.

Second rule.

You can’t overindulge yourself.

If Dean volunteers to care for you, you’ll take it because you’ll never have enough will to not. But you can never ask for more, when he already gives so much. If you ask for more and he gives it, that won’t be love. It will be selfishness, and greed, and the monster in you hoarding him like the gold he is because you love him, and nothing should ever touch him again. 

Instead you’ll be his beast. Snarling and marching in front of him and taking whatever scraps he throws to you. If Dean asks to keep sleeping in your bed, there’s no world where you say no. If he wants to carry you around and stitches up your wounds and hug you in his lap, you’ll keep pressing your face to his shoulder and drowning yourself in his Gold until he either shoves you away, or you start to infect him and you have to put yourself down.

Castiel said you’d already infected him. That you’d embedded yourself in him.

He’d seemed fine. There were all those new parts of the Gold, and the way that the rivers of Silver were glowing and secured through his body, but if that was what Castiel had been talking about, Dean didn’t seem to be fighting it or rejecting it from his soul. 

That could be part of the no overindulging. What you’d planted in Dean seems to have grown roots, and there was no taking that back, but it ends there. With the only exception of saving his life, the Silver will never touch him again. Especially with how little control over it you still have.

When you see Castiel again, you’ll have to ask him what he knows about souls. He’s the first other not-person you’ve met who ca see them. 

As your brain starts to fully kick back into its normal gear—devoid of weeks without sleep and months of being plagued by Dean’s voice on the wind—it hits you that you really need to talk to Castiel again. He’s a fucking angel. Angels are real, and one had saved Dean, and all the Hell dreams were real too, which has to mean something, but you don’t know what, and Castiel hadn’t seemed to know what either, but he was an angel, so he has to know something-

One thing at a time. 

Too much is happening, and you’ll get through it—you always do—but you still had to go one thing at a time.

And you’re home.

You shuffle out of the bedroom on silent feet, and you can hear them before you can see them.

“I still don’t know why I have to go to Texas.” Sam’s voice mutters from the kitchen. “You’re the one who made her leave her car there-“

“She’d been bleeding out, Sammy, I wasn’t gonna just let her fucking drive-“

“But-“

“Sam.” Bobby’s voice grunts, and you can hear the exhaustion in it. You can’t really tell if the gnawing feeling in your gut is guilt of relief. “I’m with Dean on this one.”

“Thank you, Bobby-“

“Not cause you made the right call, ya’ idjit.” Bobby snaps, and you can very easily picture Dean’s dejected puppy look. “If you’d used your fuckin’ brain, you wouldn’t have taken off the moment Cas found her, and one of us coulda driven it back behind you.”

“But, uh, I still did the right thing with the stitches and driving-“

“Stop fishin’ for compliments. You’re lucky I don’t shoot you for only callin’ us two hours before you got back.”

“I was busy,” Dean mutters, Sam snorts, and you finally turn into the kitchen. 

Dean sees you first, but Bobby’s close behind, and once they’re both staring at you, Sam follows their gaze with wide eyes.

“Hi.” You mumble, keeping one hand on the doorframe to steady yourself. “I- uh- sorry.”

It’s all you can think of to say.

And it turns out it’s all you need, because the words hang in the air for a fraction of a second before Bobby’s marching across the room and you’re pulled into a long firm hug.

You hug him back without a thought, and his grip tightens. You can almost feel all of Bobby’s anger and stress and relief pressing into your body, and you’ve been a really shitty daughter but he’s still hugging you, and there’s no urge to let go.

It’s the same way he’d hug you when you were a kid. When you’d make the house go haywire, then curl into a corner and cry for hours. The hug that meant, even though you’d made a huge mess for him to clean up, Bobby was just glad you hadn’t killed yourself in the process. 

And you hadn’t.

But when Bobby speaks, his voice is still gruff.

“Don’t ever fuckin’ do that to me again, kiddo.” He mutters, low enough for only you to hear, and he knows you don’t need to hear the rest of the lecture. About how you damn near killed him, and he doesn’t need to lose you and Dean, so next time you should just come home. You can feel it all in his hug, and that’s enough.

“I won’t.” You whisper, squeezing him a little tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I know.” Bobby pulls back, scanning over you with a tight frown. “You gonna tell us what had you off the face of the damn earth and needin’ stitches?”

You nod, rubbing your wrists as you speak. “I will later.” You lean around Bobby to see Sam still gaping at you from his chair. “Hi, Sam.”

Sam pushes out of his chair without another word, and Bobby barely side-steps him before you’re in another death-gripping hug, Sam almost crushing you into his body.

“Did you get bigger?” You mutter into his chest, and Sam snorts.

“I’ve had a weird seven months.” 

“Ah.” You lean back, and Sam stares down at you, but doesn’t let go. “Same.”

He swallows, and something flashes over his face that you don’t understand. “I, um- I’m sorry I didn’t look for you. Dean was gone, and I knew you’d take it worse than anyone, and you were kind of all I had left of him, so I really should’ve tried harder-“

“Sam.” You offer him a soft smile. “It’s okay. I didn’t make myself an easy person to find.”

He nods, taking a slow step back, and Dean clears his throat.

“Can I have a hug too, Princess?”

You give him a flat look. “I’ve hugged you three times already.”

“Yeah, but I also drove you home, I think that’s earning me another one-“

“I’m not running a hug-based economy, Winchester, they’re fucking free-“

Dean almost crashes into you, and you hadn’t realized how different Dean hugging you really was until you felt them all back-to-back. 

Sam and Bobby had been firm, and almost strangling, but they hadn’t been trying to move you into their body. They hadn’t rested their chin on the top of your head, or moved your face to press into their necks, and you hadn’t tilted your head to try and hear their heartbeats. 

Sam and Bobby had stepped back, after the socially allotted amount of time.

Even after Sam lets out a very loud cough, Dean still squeezes you one last time, and keeps his hand between your shoulder blades as he moves away.

That wasn’t overindulging. Dean had hugged you, and you’d only responded to the pace he’d set. You’d sunken a little further down, down, down into Dean because he’d given you to chance, and you’d curled your fingers at the nape of his neck because the situation called for it.

Still, you have to set another two rules.

Third, you can’t let it show on your face, where Sam and Bobby and anyone else who knows where to look can see. When Dean keeps talking—and he’s right next you, and you love him, and he’s so pretty—you can’t just stare at him with a stupid smile and soft, adoring eyes. It has to be business as usual, no matter what, where you love Dean and it’s kept locked in the Spiderweb.

Fourth, you can’t let it affect work. At all. You have to fucking pay attention as they fill you in on the seals, heaven and Lilith, some guy named Chuck wrote those books, and a girl named Anna who’s now a missing angel.

“Oh, wait, get this.” Sam leans forward, his eyes wide on yours. “Where’s the Blade and your book, there’s-“

You cut Sam off with a long sigh. “I lost them.” 

“You- How?”

“Hunters.” You mutter, twisting the skin on your finger, and Dean’s eyes narrow.

“You got a clue where they are, Princess?”

“Yes.”

Dean opens his mouth to push it, but Sam cuts him off before he gets the chance.

“Well, alright, Dean says you can write in the language too-“

You frown. “What language?”

“Cas and Uriel called it Enochian.” Dean mutters, running his hand over his face. “Angel language.”

“Angel what?”

“You heard him, kiddo.” Bobby shrugs at you, and you must still be clouded with sleep, because there’s no fucking way-

“I speak angel?”

“Yeah, but,” Sam sighs, frowning at the air. “We don’t know why, so if you’ve got something-“

You shake your head. “I’m not an angel, Sam, if that’s where you’re-“

“It’s not. Anna was a secret angel, and that was worked out in a month.” Sam sighs, running a hand through his hair. It’s gotten really long, but—and he’ll never get to hear this—it suits him. “It’s just better than nothing, right? Did you find anything new on, you know…”

You huff a soft laugh as Sam trails off. “Yeah, I know. And sort of. It’s- I was sort of visiting a bunch of witches-“

Dean pushed off the counter with wide eyes. “You were what-“

“Calm down, Deano.” You give him a firm look, and he scowls, but shuts his mouth. “None of them hurt me. They all treated me like I was some sort of royalty. It was really fucking weird.”

Dean frowns, opening his mouth to say something that’s likely going to be adorable and unhelpful, but Bobby beats him to the punch.

“They give you anythin’ to go off of? If they were treatin’ you like that, they had to know somethin’-“

You shake your head with a long sigh. “They didn’t have a fucking clue either. One older one, like really old, said the name for what I was is lost, but-“ Your eyes widen. “Fuck.”

“What-“

You shake your head, and Sam cuts himself off as you stare ahead into nothing and rub your wrists, letting your brain turn over the chance. It’s lining up, and it’s less than a gamble and more of a risk, but there’s no fucking way it’s that easy-

Dean says your name in a low, careful voice. “What are you thinking?”

“You remember how I thought the soulweapons were solemn oath weapons? And you told me that solemn oath means soul?” You run your thumb against your palm, and Dean nods. “I thought that was just, you know, whoever wrote it being weird or something. But if it really is a different language-“

“It is.” Sam mumbles, and you sigh. 

“Okay, but that means I’ve been translating in my head for some fucking reason, and what if I’ve been mistranslating other words like that?”

Sam frowns. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve been makin’ them literal.” Bobby grunts, giving you a small smile and nod, and you stand a little taller. “You thinkin’ of another word you need worked out?”

“Yeah.” You swallow. “Are you guys still kind of fighting with Castiel, or is he going to take a, uh, prayer?”

“He’ll take it if we say we’ve got something interesting. He’s nosy.” Dean starts to guide you to the table. “He’s kinda like a cat. Comes and goes. You’ll like him.”

You give Dean a sweet smile, biting down the words that you already met him, and he did seem a little like a cat. It’s not a lie. It’s an omission.

And that’s bad within itself, but at least until you see Castiel again—and he gets real fucking specific about what the angels have been waiting for means—you’ll have to keep omitting. 

Even if Dean pulls out a chair and helps you into your seat, and the Silver twists because there’s still some muss in his hair from sleep, and he’s still touching you, and you love him.

“I can walk myself, you know.” You raise your brows at him, and he shrugs, dropping in the seat between you and Sam.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Princess.”

“We both know you won’t-“

“Sammy, can we have some paper?” Sam passes Dean a sheet from his notebook, and it’s slid in front of you with a pen.

You blink at Dean, and he sighs, grabbing the pen and moving it into your hands.

“Write down what you want Cas to look at.” He mutters, tapping the paper. “So when we call him, we’ve got something to show him.”

“Oh.” You whisper, glancing down to the paper. “Right. Smart.”

You could swear Dean sits a little taller, his face breaking out in an even wider grin, and the rest of breakfast slides by fast. You do some loose, more pointless catchup about the past months—Sam found some new books he can show you, Bobby’s being a butthead and won’t tell you if he’s been dating, and Dean won’t stop reminding Sam that he needs to get moving to Texas soon—and for long, beautiful seconds, it’s hard to remember that you were gone at all.

But there’s evidence. Proof only you can see that you’ve change. That you’ve all changed.

Dean’s soul is still Golden, even if parts of it are to clearly new and molten from being mended, and Bobby’s soul is still green—although a little more worn, which is going to keep eating at your stomach—but Sam is…

Different. 

There’s more red, even when you give him a quick glance. It’s like blood seeping over his softer tissue and bone, and there’s certainly far less blue to his purple than before. It looks a little like an infection. It’s raw and malignant the same way the Darkness was, and the Silver doesn’t like it. It’s still setting off and keening to spread out over you in an almost chemical reaction. To burst and bubble and flow until all the red is gone, because it’s wrong.

You can’t really think of a good way to mention that to Sam. You’ve never told someone that their soul looks infected before. 

A problem for a later.

Because right now, as you finish up with the word—it takes longer than you’d like, but you’ve never tried to write in Enochian, and it takes an odd amount of effort to separate it in your brain—and you take the time to look at their souls fully, you see it.

Bobby’s soul is firm and pact, like the soil of the ground. Unwavering and firm, but not cold like stone. 

But Sam and Dean aren’t anything you’ve ever seen.

You’d noticed it, when Dean found you, but you’d been tired and chalked it up to exhaustion. Yet you’ve slept, and you’re looking with the intent of seeing, and they’re not anything.

Or they’re everything.

You can’t really tell.

But whatever they’re made of, it’s the same. It’s all light and shadow, shifting and turning like a star inside of them, and almost pure looking. Like it’s raw, but still made from something old. 

You can’t stare. If you stare, they’ll ask questions that you don’t have an answer for. Whatever it is, they’ve been made of it their whole lives, so it’s not another change.

And the changes all fit themselves—except for Sam’s, you’re a little worried about him—but they also still fit each other. You can see that too. How Sam’s soul is running with wisps of Bobby’s green, deeper coatings of gold that look a little like stitches over the redness, and a thin layer of silver that’s flowing through and off of him without leaving any scratches. The marks of silver are on Bobby as well, although a little brighter and further into the muscle of his soul, and then Dean-

Embedded.

You’re embedded in Dean. The rivers of silver as refracting with rainbow and have been almost buried in the Gold, and that’s what Castiel meant.

You don’t get to ask him about it when he arrives.

The introduction is quick. Dean says your name, Castiel—Cas is quicker, and suits him a little better—gives you a short nod, and you both stare at each other for a long second as Dean keeps talking. 

“We just need you to take a look at it.” He taps the paper, and Cas’ eyes flick away from yours, down to the paper.

“That is it?”

You nod, glancing down to the words. Word. When you’ve focused on writing it in Enochian, it’s obviously one word, no matter how it keeps shifting off the paper into four. “I, uh, I might have been giving it a literal translation, because nobody ever actually taught me what I was writing. I didn’t even know I was writing in a different language.”

“Enochian is… very old and complex.” Cas mutters, moving to frown down at the paper. “I do recognize this word, but I’m afraid I don’t know what it means.”

Dean frowns. “How can you not know what it means, it’s your freakin’ magic language-“

“Do you know every word in the English dictionary, Dean?” Cas gives him a bored, pointed look, and you have to cover your mouth to hide your giggle.

“No.” He grumbles, shooting you a glare. “And you’re supposed to be on my side, Princess.“

“I am.” You shrug. “But that was funny.”

Dean rolls his eyes, and Cas keeps staring down at the paper.

"There are some things I will have to check before I give you an answer." Cas turns to look at you, his words slow and cautious. "But I warn you, what I find may not be what you wish to hear."

"As long as it's something." You mutter, leaning back in your chair. "I really don't give a fuck what."

It's a few more minutes where Cas lingers in the kitchen, talking about some new seal Lilith is trying to break, and telling you that—wherever he has to look for the direct translation of your word—it may take him a few weeks to do it undetected.

"Won't the angels want us to figure it out?" Sam asks, frowning down at your paper. "I mean, you told Dean that not even you guys really know-"

"None of my siblings within my rank know." Cas corrects, shaking his head. "It is not information that has been deemed necessary. Our only orders are to keep out of it.”

"Then what's got you suddenly all in on helping her?" Dean raises his brows, and Cas shrugs.

"I am... curious. My brothers and sisters are dying, and if this is what I think it may be-“ Cas sighs. “I am willing to bend things. For this alone. And as long as we are careful, and the seal is dealt with-"

"Your big bosses won't be all pissed.” Dean finishes, running a hand over his face. "I dunno, Cas, that douchebag at Chuck's didn't seem too flexible about things."

"Aw." You give Dean a soft, teasing smile before Cas has to respond. "You're worried about him getting in trouble."

Dean scowls. "Yeah, because they'll freakin' smite him or something, Princess. Then maybe try to get you too-"

"They cannot smite her.” Cas shrugs. “They’ve been very clear about that. It would not be effective.” 

You swallow, but Dean relaxes. That opens up a million more questions, but Dean lets out a slow breath and presses his knee further into yours, and you almost say it again. 

And you know that there has to be a last rule. 

It’s most important of all. 

You can never say it aloud. 

It won’t bring Dean anything but more danger. More grief. Everything is only growing more and more complicated, and telling Dean you love him will only be cruel to you both. Telling someone else will force them to keep your secret, and that’s selfish. 

It will have to live in your head. Where only you can hear. Not even the mirror can know, because the Sky might be listening, and you never want it to touch Dean. 

You love him. 

You’re going to have to find a way to tell yourself that in more silence, because it’s not helpful to repeat. You’re aware. It’s a given. You love Dean.

And you don’t know how you convince him to go without you for the seal case. It’s a lot of promises of phone calls and check-ins, plus the fact that Ruby’s going to be there, and Sam is—rightfully—under the impression that you’ll kill the moment you see her.

“She left me at the gas station. She’s the reason I didn’t get to Dean on time.” You hiss to Sam—Dean, Cas, and Bobby wrapping up in the kitchen—and he sighs.

“She got kicked out of her vessel by Lilith.” He mutters your name, and you scoff. 

You don’t believe him. 

More accurately, you don’t believe what Ruby’s told him. 

But it’s still the right call to sit out the seal case. The angels are still hunting you. Cas is likely risking a fair amount by looking into the Enochian, and it’s better not to draw attention while things are still so fragile. You lie low at Bobby’s for a few days while Sam gets the Firebird, and you keep to your rules. Dean sleeps in your bed, but you only hold him when he holds you first. He hovers at your side like your stitches may rip open if you breathe wrong, and you keep your glances at him measured and controlled, your flush under complete control.

When Jo calls you with a case—bunch of deaths at an opera house, sounding like a lich—you agree to it in a second.

It doesn’t matter how the Silver howls at the idea of leaving Dean’s side. It can’t affect work, and you miss Jo, so even as Dean glowers at you when you hang up, you’re going to go on that hunt.

“I can’t just sit here, De.” You mutter before he can even open his mouth. “Cas said it could take a week, and if the angels are looking for me I shouldn’t be doing the seals-“

“You safer here.” He cuts you off with a grunt. “There are wards, and Bobby can watch you-“

“I don’t need watching. And you don’t get to fucking bench me-“

“I’m not- Son of a bitch.” Dean lets out a long breath, leaning forward and holding your gaze. “Just come with us. I really don’t give a shit if you kill Ruby, I’m all for it, but you just got back-“

“Dean.” You sigh, keeping your tone soft. “I’m not leaving. You and Sam will work the seal, and I’ll be with Jo the whole time.”

“But-“

“She asked me to help. I’m going to. And,” you give him a pointed look. “You can’t stop me. You can either go with Sam, or come on this case with me, but you’re not keeping me here.”

“Bossy.” Dean mutters, and you’ve won.

You want to lean forward and kiss him—at least on the cheek as a thanks—but that would be overindulging. 

Sam’s back by that night, and when the morning comes, you split up once more.

“Call me if it goes south.” Dean mutters your name as you stand in front of the Impala, Sam already in the passenger’s seat.

“It won’t. I know what I’m doing, Winchester-“

“Yeah, I know, just-“ He sighs. “You heading out to New York?”

“Boston.” You correct. “Citizen’s Opera House. We’ll be fine, and you guys can join us if you finish first.”

Dean gives a tight nod and, right before he turns to climb into the Impala, he whips around and pulls you right back into a crushing hug.

You hug him back without a thought, and it’s not breaking a rule. He hugged you. 

“Come with us.” He mutters in your ear. “Fuck the angels and Ruby, it’s safer together-“

“Not for this, De.” You force yourself to peel back, giving him a soft, sad smile. “And I’ll be with Jo. She’ll have a gun.”

Dean’s mouth twitches slightly. You’ll take it.

He presses a kiss to your brow before he takes off, and you really are a monster. A dragon. Taking every bit of Gold Dean gives you and only craving more. You can’t let it show on your face, but he’s driving away, and you want him to turn around. 

He looks back. You see him glancing in the rearview mirror, and it’s all you can do to keep the Silver in your body as he vanishes down the road.

He’ll be fine. Sam won’t let him get hurt, won’t let him be taken away from you, even if Ruby’s there. And you did miss Jo—grinning at you from the motel sidewalk as you pull into the parking lot—but this might have been a mistake.

Because more than anyone, you want to tell Jo. 

The biggest point of the case—at least to you—is to mimic some normalcy. Sam and Dean are trying to stop Lilith from something to do with flowers blooming at night, and if you can’t be with them, you can’t just do nothing. And lich are easy—up until the very end—so most of the case can just be you and Jo talking, like nothing in the world is wrong at all.

“It’s like a scavenger hunt.” You tell her over breakfast, flipping through the evidence she’s already found. “It’ll have a bunch of artifacts it’s tethered its lifeforce to, and once we burn all of those, we find the lich and burn it.”

Jo frowns. “Will it be easy to tell? If it’s a magic corpse?”

“It can illusion itself.” You shrug. “But it’ll just be an illusion, so-“ You pause, glancing down at Jo’s eggs. “I’ll tell you later.”

She grimaces. “It’s gonna be real freakin’ gross, isn’t it.”

“I think it’ll be better if I don’t answer that.”

“Great.” Jo sighs, poking at her plate with her fork. “Ya know, I didn’t think Dean was gonna just let you go off alone.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say nothin’-“

“Yeah, but I know where you’re going with it.”

“What?” Jo gives you a mockingly innocent smile. “That you two should save us all and start suckin’ face- Shit!”

You laugh as she barely manages to doge one of your apple slices, aim right at her head. 

“Fuckin’- I just did my hair-“

“Well I warned you.” You stick out your tongue, a wide grin still splitting your face. “I told you to shut up, and you didn’t.”

“You just don’t want to hear the truth-“

“Because it’s not the truth.”

“God, you’re fuckin’ stupid for the smartest person I know.”

You scowl. “Hey-“

Jo cuts you off with raised brows. “How many times Dean called you, since you guys split up?”

You flush, and do the smart and mature thing.

Ignore her.

But it still scratches at your tongue. You want to tell Jo. To lean forward and whisper that you love Dean, like it’s not something complicated. Like you’re just two girls in your twenties, eating greasy diner food and gossiping about crushes and other pointless, normal things.

You’re not, though. The very next thing you do is grab your knife and a set of matches, then get in the car to go kill a magic corpse. 

The first day really is just a scavenger hunt.

“This place is freakin’ fancy,” Jo mutters in your ear, adjusting the black cap on her head, and you hum in agreement.

“Just act like you belong.” You whisper, scanning over the lobby. “We’re new staff. I’m in hair and makeup, you do sound.”

“I don’t know how to do sound-“

“You don’t have to know.” You shrug. “We just need as much backstage access as we can get.”

“Right. Smart.”

You shoot her a grin. “I know.”

Jo scoffs. “Shut up. How are we gonna know what’s one of those life-objects?”

“The normal effort is a lot of cutting your hand and seeing if the object eats your blood-“

“Eats your blood-“

“But.” You raise your brows, and Jo sighs. 

“You’ve got something else, don’t you.”

“Nope.” You give her a wide grin. “You’ve got me. And the life force is just a faded and split form of their souls. So…”

You spread your arms, and Jo just stares at you. “So what?”

“I can see souls, Jo.”

“Oh, shit, that’s right.” She gives you a grimacing smile. “I kinda forgot. Lot been happenin’ this year.”

“Yeah. That’s fair.” You let out a long sigh, rubbing your palm as you scan around the lobby. “Ready?”

Jo nods, and for such a fancy place, it’s shockingly easy to lie your way into a fake job. 

“I didn’t know we had new people.” The small, pretty girl—sitting at the front desk with a bow in her hair—smiles between you and Jo, and you’ve never seen someone’s teeth be so white. “They never tell me anything, though, so don’t worry about it.”

“They didn’t tell us much either,” you give her an innocent nervous smile, glancing back to Jo over your shoulder. “Do you know where we’re supposed to go?”

The girl waves her hand. “Just walk into the stage. If someone yells at you, tell them to actually tell Lacy things instead of just expecting her to deal.” She pauses. “I’m Lacy, by the way.”

“I guessed that.” You glance to the doors. “Just walk inside?”

“Yeah, um, wait-“ Lacy slides two badges across the desk. “Take these, and uh, be careful. We’ve been having a lot of accidents.”

You blink like you have no clue what she’s talking about, passing Jo one of the badges. “Accidents?”

“There’s been a lot of crew deaths, right?” Jo jumps in with a perfect, fake-worried expression. “Is it gonna be affectin’ the jobs?”

She’s gotten really good at this.

You’re proud.

Lacy shakes her head. “No, bosses say it’s business as usual. Just really bad luck.”

Bad luck doesn’t usually end up making corpses look like they’ve been dead five years. 

Lacy doesn’t need to worry about that.

“Jesus fuckin’ Mary.” Jo’s eyes widen as you step into the house, the stage large and shining ahead of you, rows of red velvet seats around you. “Can we actually just work here? For real?”

You snort. “After we kill the undead wizard, sure.” 

“Right.” She gives you a teasing look. “You think Dean would wanna work mechanics, so you can stay together-“

“I’m going to push you off the balcony.” You say in a flat tone, marching up towards the stage, and Jo laughs before running after you.

“That’s fuckin’ rude!”

“I’m not listening!” You call over your shoulder, not bothering to hide your smile, and push yourself up onto the stage. “There’s nothing in here, by the way.”

“What’d you-“

“No souls.” 

“Oh. Yeah.” Jo climbs up to your side, frowning around the house. “You know, I can play a mean triangle. Maybe they’d take me. Or- Dean told me you can sing, we can run away with the circus-“

“This is the literal opposite of a circus.” You mutter, turning to scan over the stage. “And Dean’s never heard me sing.”

You’re walking before Jo can push it further, because every single mention of Dean is going to make you want to tell her, and you can’t let this distract you from the job.

Lich cases really are easy, when you know what you’re doing. The first thing you find is a delicate, old hand mirror in a dressing room—crawling and twisting with faded gray tendrils—and Jo throws it against the wall before you can stop her.

“That do it?”

You poke one of the shards with your foot, and let out a long sigh. “Yeah. Somehow it did.”

“Awesome.” Jo grins at you, turning around the room with her gun in hand. “Now we fight?”

“There are going to be like, two or three more you know.”

“Three?” Jo gapes at you, and you snort. 

“Yep. Nothing else in here, though.” You start back towards the door, poking your head out the hall to check for other staff. “Jo?”

She sighs from behind you. “No more smashin’?”

You give her an apologetic look. “It’s kind of loud. And we can’t draw attention, or people will split us up.”

“But it’s fun, and it works-“

“You sound like Dean.”

“From you, I’m takin’ that as a compliment.”

You flush again, but you walked into that one.

You’re walking into most of these. The day passes quickly, and you manage to destroy another two artifacts—a comb and a fountain pen—before the building closes. There are no deaths when you leave for the night, but you really wish a stakeout was a plausible option, because most of the night is filled with Jo teasing about Dean.

Most of the whole next day is filled with teasing about Dean. You find a fancy gun with lifeforce, and Jo says you should give it to Dean. It doesn’t help that you would, if it didn’t need to be destroyed to kill the lich. It’s the exact type of gun Dean would like.

It wears off around the afternoon, though. Every single sweep of a room, you find another artifact, and it’s starting to drive you and Jo up the wall.

“You said three,” she grumbles as you drag another mirror into what you’ve deemed the destruction room. “This is more than three.”

You shrug, stepping back so Jo can smash, because she was right. It does work. “Yeah, well, this asshole must be strong.”

“How are we even gonna know when we’re done?”

“I’ll be able to see it, because all its lifeforce will be back inside its body.”

“So I don’t have to do the gross thing?”

You shake your head. “Once the objects are destroyed, you can’t do the gross thing.”

She frowns at you. “Which was?”

“Touching it.” You sigh, wiping your hands on your pants. “You’ll be able to. You know. Feel the deadness, right now.”

Jo wrinkles her nose. “But after?”

“It’ll make you the deadness.”

“Oh.” Jo blinks. “Fun.”

You hum, and move on to the next sweep. 

It doesn’t take all the artifacts being destroyed to work out who the lich is, though. Jo works it out herself by day three.

“Who even wears a monocle anymore.” You mutter, chucking this one at the wall yourself, and Jo tilts her head.

“I’ve seen an old guy doin’ it. The one who waves his hands, while the orchestra’s rehearsin’.”

You frown. “The conductor?”

“Yeah, him.” She pauses, staring into the air for a long second before speaking with slow, careful words. “That was his dressin’ room. And I ain’t seen that monocle on his face before. You don’t think-“

“If you think.” You shrug. “I’m on board. Be careful of the conductor.”

Jo grins, and you’re really proud of her. She’s got this whole case under control, to the point that she barely even needs you at all. She figures out that—as you keep looking everywhere, finding less and less with each sweep—it’s likely that there’s an instrument you won’t be able to get until the orchestras rehearsing again, and that you’ll have to be ready to fight the moment it goes down.

The lich hasn’t been killing since you showed up, though. It’s probably worked out that you’re not just new staff. Figuring out that it’s the conductor puts you back on even ground.

Jo figuring out that it’s the conductor.

You hadn’t even looked at the name on the dressing room, because Dean had texted you, and you’d gotten distracted.

You let yourself off the hook for that one, though. It wasn’t your love for Dean messing with your focus. It was the fact that he’d been blowing up your phone with how he was gonna fucking shoot Ruby in the face.

“I think you should.” You tell him over the phone that night, and he laughs through the speaker.

“I’m this freakin’ close, Princess. I’m serious. She’s a fucking bitch-“

“Do you want me to tell you not to?” You grin into the night air, leaning against the outside of the diner. “Because that would be lying, De, and lying is a sin-“

He snorts. “You were just telling me about how you spent the whole day committing property damage-“

“Which is a crime. Not a sin.”

“So you’re a criminal?”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Nah, I wanna hear you admit it-“

“You’re gonna be waiting a long fucking time, Winchester.”

“Alright. I got patience.” You can hear his smile over the phone, and your fingers are still painted in his Gold. It’s going to drive you insane. “Oh, and text me the address of the motel you’re staying at. Me and Sammy are wrapping this up.”

You sigh, ignoring how the Silver start to riot at the very idea of Dean, here, holding you all day and through the night, and why did you suggest splitting up in the first place, you haven’t slept well all week, and all you do is dream of him anyway-

“Dean, you don’t have to-“

“I know. But I’m gonna. And if you don’t text me, I’ll make Sammy do his computer magic to track you down.”

You sigh. You know he’s not lying, and that makes all of this harder. “You’re being dramatic again.”

Dean pauses, muttering something you can’t make out, but raising his voice before you can ask what. “C’mon. Do it for Jo, least she’ll be happy to see me-“”

“I’ll be happy to see you, De.” You cut him off with a frown at the air. “But the seal was all the way in Kentucky-“

“And I love driving.”

“I know, but-“

“Please,” Dean mutters, and that’s it.

He wants to. It’s not indulging if he wants to.

“Sam and Dean are coming to help.” You tell Jo as you slide back into the booth, and her grin is shit-eating.

“Aw, he wants to see you,” she hums when you hang up, and you flip her off without a word.

It’s not effective. 

“You guys are so cute, runnin’ around after each other, and callin’ every night-“

“I got shot.” You mutter, tracing your fingers over your stomach. You haven’t tried to fully heal it with the Silver. At this point, it would be pointless anyway. “He calls to make sure I’m not dead.”

“Cause he loves-“

“Jo.” You shoot her a glare over the table, and she scoffs.

“Why don’t you think he loves you?”

“I don’t want to talk about this-“

“I do! He at least wants you!” She sighs, leaning forward and holding your gaze. “You’re supposed to be smart, you know. Whenever people ask me about you, they ask you know the smart girl that-“

Jo cuts herself off with a sudden, strange expression, and you narrow your eyes. “That what.”

“I don’t remember.” She mumbles lamely.

“Joanna-“

“You don’t wanna hear it.”

“Well now I have to-“

“That Dean Winchester’s obsessed with!” She blurts, giving you an apologetic expression, and the whole world stops for a second. 

Obsessed with. And you’re embedded in him. And he’d apologized, on his knees, and put you to bed and let you crawl all over him and had never wanted you to leave-

“You were kinda all he talked about, before you got back.” Jo sighs. “I’m kinda shocked you ain’t together, after all that. I mean, everyone’s seen it, and if they ain’t seen it, they’ve heard about how you damn near died tryin’ to save him, and how he’s always smilin’ more when you’re at the roadhouse with him.”

“Jo.” You whisper, and the Spiderweb feels like it’s crashing down, down, down all while building and pulsing with light. “Please don’t. I- Everything is so complicated, and I-“

You can’t say it aloud.

And Jo only gives you a soft smile, reaching across the table and holding your hand. She’s such a pretty, soft blue, when you look over at her. Smooth and gentle like water, but still running and turning faster than any other soul you’ve ever seen. 

“I know.” She mutters, and you feel a little like a child. “I just need you to know, cause, God, I ain’t gonna be able to handle another year of y’all starin’ at each other like lost puppies. You’re happier together, and he drove to freakin’ Texas for you, then begged you to come home.”

You sigh. “I shouldn’t have told you about that-“

“But ya did. And if a guy did that for me, I’d marry him.”

“I-“

“I’m not sayin’ you marry him now. I’m just saying thinkin’ he don’t at least want you is insane. But,” she leans back, shrugging and giving you a small smile. “We can talk about somethin’ else now. How’d you get shot, anyway?”

You pause, giving Jo a careful look. She’s really just moved on that fast, her brows raised as she takes a bite of her burger, and you let out a long sigh. “You can’t tell Dean.”

“Ooo, it’s a secret-“

“It’s not a secret, I just don’t want him to-“

“Worry?”

You flush, glaring down at your plate. “Shut up.”

“I’m teasin’.” Jo says your name, giving you a firm look. “When have I ever told one of your secrets?”

That’s a fair point. She hasn’t. And the Spiderweb is still raw in your body as the world grows more and more vibrant, so maybe your judgement is clouded, but maybe it’s just Jo. And you sort of trust her more than anyone in the world. 

And you tell her everything. Studying witchcraft, and trying to look for ways to bring back Dean. How ever has been Silver since he died but it’s all still so painful and hard to control, and Ketch and Davis chasing you then holding you captive. The books—you need to ask them how that panned out, actually—and Enochian and the months on the road.

You leave out the Spiderweb and the Sky and Cas’ visit, for the same reason you won’t tell Dean you love him. That’s not their problems. You won’t make things more complicated than they already are.

But you do mention seeing Dean in Hell, mostly because you have to tell someone.

“Like- In Hell?”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “And I, uh- I don’t think it was a dream thing. It was really realistic, and I saw-“

“You still don’t want him to know about this, right?”

You frown at her. “Yeah, wh-“

“Cause I can see Dean right now.”

Jo nods over your shoulder, you twist in your booth, and she right.

Dean’s standing at the door, his hands in his pockets as he scans over the diner, and when his eyes land on yours, a wide, bright grin splits his whole face.

You love him.

You’re going to fucking kill him. 

“We’ll finish later,” Jo whispers, and you give her a small nod right as Dean stops at your table. 

He’s so fucking pretty, grinning at you as he drops into at your side without a word, forcing you to scoot back so he doesn’t end up half on your lap, and looping his arm around the back of the booth like this is the most casual thing in the world. 

“What are two girls like you doing in a place like this, huh?”

“Dean.” You keep your voice firm, forcing yourself to ignore how he’s pressed his thigh right to yours without a thought. “You’re supposed to be in Kentucky.”

“Sammy’s got it. Rather be here anyway.” He shrugs like as if it’s nothing, already eyeing your fries because he’s a perfect idiot. “You ladies doin’ like a girls night or something?”

“We’re huntin’.” Jo says, crossing her arms and raising her chin, and you slide your plate over to Dean without a word.

He winks at you before he takes one.

You’re going to explode.

“I heard, kid. You know, extra hands never hurt-“

You snort. “Dean. What do you want.”

“Why do I have to want something.” His eyes flick right to yours, and he’s Golden, and you swallow. “Can’t I just be here-“

“What about Kentucky?” Jo pipes in, and Dean sighs.

“I already said Sam’s got it. What are we hunting?”

“We’re not hunting anything-“

“Lich.” 

You shoot Jo a glare, and she just shrugs. 

“We get to smash things,” she tells Dean, and he raises his brows.

“I can smash things, Princess.”

“Yeah, I know you can, De. Jo, if it’s just the instrument-“

“Then the lich is going to reveal itself.” She gives you a pointed look. “And the more people we have for that, the better.”

“Awesome.” Dean takes another fry, settling somehow further into the booth. Into you. “I’ll tell Sammy to call Bobby when he’s done, and we can gank this lich thingy.”

“Cool. But,” Jo shoots you a grin, and you’re going to kill her. “It’s funny you mentioned it, Dean, but we do have a girl’s night. You agree not to be a big whinin’ bitch about it, you can stay in our motel room.”

Dean pauses, glances over to you in a silent question, and death isn’t a firm enough fate for Jo. You’re going to leave her in a room with Bobby after you ask him about historical figures he thinks were secretly hunters or monsters.

You shouldn’t have trained her so well. It’s coming back to bite you in the fucking ass.

There’s nothing you can do but give Dean a small smile and nod—because he’s asking permission, but you split open the world if it meant not having to go another night without him on the other side of the bed—and mouth I hate you at Jo across the table. 

She only laughs, and you’re not going to kill her.

The rest of the night is going to kill you first.

Because you can’t stop seeing it, now that Jo has said something. Dean doesn’t ever just press into people like this, or offer anyone else fries with raised brows. And he fucking pouts when you say no, then grins when you roll your eyes and snatch the fry from his hand. Whenever Jo’s talking he’s listening, but you can’t stop staring at him from the corner of your eyes, and he glances over at you so often. And he helps you out of the booth, and pays the bill—you’ve never seen him volunteer to pay a bill, not unless he was trying to make a dramatic point—and walks you to your car like you don’t have a fucking knife in your jacket.

The jacket that’s always been yours, but he held onto when he didn’t even know if he’d see you again. And the knife he gave you, because he was worried about you.

His hand stays on your lower back with every step.

This isn’t good. 

Not when you can really never say it aloud.

Dean trails you back to the motel in the Impala, and while Jo had been exaggerating about girl’s night, you do have… rituals. 

There aren’t a lot of other girl hunters. And you love the men you’ve surrounded yourself with, but the one most secure in his masculinity is Rufus, and it’s still not pseudo-sleepover-secure. 

Because that’s a better description for this. Neither you nor Jo got real, stupid, fun sleepovers growing up, so it’s become a habit whenever you have a hunt together. A stupid game, or more stupid series of truth or dare—Dean is a banned truth topic for you, and get the most people to leave the bar is a banned dare topic for Jo after the fire incident—with snacks and a movie and-

“I am not doing a fuckin’ face mask.” Dean snaps at you, and you raise your brows as Jo snickers.

“You said you wouldn’t be a little bitch, Winchester.”

“I said whining bitch-“

“You’re still being a bitch.”

Dean scowls, eyeing the plastic in your hand like it’s a bomb set to go off. “What’s it even going to help with, my skin is fine-“

“Yeah, but it’s not-“ You glance down, having already forgotten which mask you chose. “Poreless.”

“I- I fuckin’ need my pores-“

“It’ll make you pretty, Dean.” Jo calls from her bed, and he flips her off. 

You sigh. “Not helpful, Jo.”

“Sorry, mom.”

Dean snorts, and you whack his arm.

“Whose side are you on, Winchester?”

He shrugs. “Whichever side gets me out of that mask, Princess.” 

“What if I say please?”

“Uh,” Dean sighs. “Maybe.”

“What if I say please,” you pout at him slightly, making your smile impossibly sweet. “And I promise not to stab you when you try to check my stitches later?”

“I wasn’t gonna-“ Dean cuts himself off at your pointed look, running a hand over his face. “Fine. But I get to actually check them, too.”

“Deal.” You lock your pinky with his quickly, shoving the mask into his hands before he can take it back. “Go wash your face.”

Dean doesn’t move. He only stares at you, and Spiderweb might as well be made of the Sun in your body, and your pinkies are still locked. His skin is rough, and warm, and feels right against yours, and he can’t look at you like that, or you’ll-

Jo coughs, and you pull yourself back together. 

“C’mon.” You fold your fingers fully through Dean’s and pull him after you into the motel bathroom. 

You sit on the sink for a better, and it’s a good excuse to touch him, as you smooth out the lines of the mask on his face. Taking more time than you need, with more careful fingers than necessary, because you just want to touch him a little longer. 

“Be honest.” He mutters as you move around his eyes, continuing after you hum an agreement. “I look stupid.”

“That’s not a question, De-“

“So I do look stupid-“

“You look very handsome.” You let your fingers trail down to his cheeks. “Stoic. Debonair and heroesque-“

“Alright, alright. I get it.”

“Everyone looks stupid in a face mask.” You mumble, pressing the sheet onto his brow. “You’re still working it pretty well.”

Dean gives you an odd look. “You’ll look good.”

It’s a good thing you didn’t bother with the full overhead light. Dean doesn’t need to see how your flush is spreading down your neck. “Thanks.”

He just shrugs, and the silence stretches on without tension as you try to focus on the mask, you’re touching him because of the mask, not to trace his sharp jawline and slightly crooked nose-

“Dad would kill me if he saw me now.” Dean chuckles suddenly, and your hands still on his face. 

“Because you’re with me?”

Dean shakes his head. “One of the reasons, yeah. Mostly cause I let Sammy talk me into ditching him for a girl.”

You frown at him. “Sam told you to go?”

“Apparently I was driving him insane.” Dean mutters. “He said he had it, and I should, uh, just freaking go to her.”

“Her?”

“You.”

You swallow, and he’s so close. You’re brushing over his lips as you keep holding his face, and the liquid of his mask is sticky, but you don’t really care. 

“Is my face supposed to be tingling?” He mutters, and pulls a soft giggle from your throat.

“Yep. That means it’s working.”

Dean frowns, but lets you keep touching him. And he does look handsome with the mask. It’s insane, and unfair, and even when you finish up, he doesn’t move away.

Neither of you are trying to move away.

And things are always complicated. They’ve always been complicated, but when he’s gotten the chance, Dean’s always stayed, and you can’t tell him that, but you have to tell him something-

“I’m really glad you’re alive.” You whisper, and he beams at you.

Full and happy and so fucking Dean—handsome and Golden and not yours, but still making the Spiderweb catch light and throw it around your body until you’re a little dizzy—and nothing about this is easy, but it still feels it. Dean is here, so pain is somehow foreign. 

You’re suddenly a little afraid of what you’d do to keep him safe, and away from the Sky, out of the angel’s reach.

“Yeah. I- I’m glad you’re alive, too.” He blinks, frowning into the air. “I mean- I’m glad we’re both alive. Uh, together.”

You smile at him, and in the low light of the bathroom, it’s a little like he has a halo.

You still don’t know what his soul is made of. You don’t really care. 

It’s still Dean all the same.

“All the way down.” You take a careful step back, but you’re cruel to yourself, so you let your hand fall back into his. 

It’s his gravity.

You’re never going to be able to pull away.

And if you could, you’d never able to bring yourself to try.

Because he grins, and says it back with a squeeze of your hand. 

“All the way down.”

And you know. It doesn’t matter what Cas comes back saying you are, or what heaven or hell wants from you. You know what you are. 

Dean’s.

You’ll be damnation or salvation or a whore or a monster for him. You’ll be wrathful god if that’s what it comes to. But you’ll be his.

All the way down.

——————

She’d fallen asleep on Dean’s chest. 

At some point during the movie She started to lean into him, and Dean could never be strong enough to push Her away. When Her eyes had started to flutter shut and Her face had angled in his body, he’d pulled her a little closer. When she’d let out a small, soft sigh, he’d been certain that the world could crumble and collapse around them, but he would just stay right fucking here.

Jo had been giving Dean smug, pointed looks when Her arms had wrapped around his stomach. And when he’d carefully moved his hand to brush a little hair from Her face, he’d kept his words to Jo low.

He didn’t want to wake Her up. Not when She was sleeping this well.

“Don’t say a freakin’ word.”

Jo had let out a soft laugh, her gaze never moving from the chick flick on the TV. “I ain’t said nothin’.”

“If you tell Bobby, he’ll-“

“Like Bobby don’t already know.” Jo had scoffed. “He’s old, not blind and stupid.”

Dean had swallowed—Bobby couldn’t know, nobody really knew—but kept going. “Fine, but if you tell Sam about anything tonight-“

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep all the girly stuff you did to myself.” 

“Okay-“

“But I am gonna tell him about this.” 

Jo had waved a loose hand to Her and Dean—their bodies now fully curled together, Her breathing even and steady, one of Dean’s hand stroking carefully through Her hair—and Dean’s jaw had clenched.

The only thing that has kept him from yelling at Jo was Her. She’d stirred slightly as he tensed, and he couldn’t disturb Her. 

And, selfishly, he couldn’t ruin this for himself.

This was the part of being Her shadow that he’d always wanted, but never dared to ask for. The part that was softer, and bloodless, and gave Her even more. Where he got to hold Her and touch her like no one else, and She was safe as long as Dean was at her side. The part that could maybe lead to his hands on bare, soft skin, to Dean being allowed to kiss a little more than Her brow when he could get away with it. 

He didn’t know how to earn that. Hell, he hadn’t even earned this. He could never fucking earn it. She’d told him that She was what they hunted, but that was fucking insane because nobody in their right mind could want to hurt Her. It would take more than a monster to grab something rare and beautiful and destroy it, rather than orbit around it and follow it all the way to the edge of the earth, then down. Dean was the one who’d barely become better than a demon, but the very last fucking thing separating him from the black-eyed sons of bitches was that he still had things to defend. 

No matter how Sammy was driving him insane with the Ruby bullshit, Dean still defended him because that was what he did. Sam was still a kid, and he was smart as shit but he could never handle all the blood and guts the same way Dean was crafted for them. It was the same way She fit so well into Dean, but She could never been made for the mud and darkness. Dean was Her shadow to keep as much of that from Her hands as he could. 

She’d chosen to be here, with Dean. To come home and forgive him for things She shouldn’t ever have to know about, and the angels could forget all their fucking plans, because if She told Dean she wanted Lilith to open the seals and to let the world burn, he’d let it fall apart without a single fucking question.

And She wouldn’t do that. She was made of too many good things, and full of too much light to want the world to be ash. It wouldn’t be any place for Her, so Dean wouldn’t let it happen. 

This was the place for Her.

At Dean’s side, where he could watch over Her and silently crave more until She decided he’d earned it. Because it would never matter what Dean had done until She said it was too far, then the last piece of him that Alistair hadn’t carved into would become the very ash he was trying to save Her from.

“You call her Princess, don’t you.” Alistair sneered, and Dean didn’t respond, only staring at the different weapons before him. “Answer me, boy.”

He hadn’t. It was one of the last lines Dean had for himself. He’d rip himself and a million other souls apart, but he’d never let Alistair touch on the fucking idea of Her or Sammy. It was his last apology to them. The last way he had to protect them, when—if they saw him now—he’d beg them to drive Ruby’s knife right into his ribs to save themselves.

His silence always ended with a little extra torment. Dean could live—or die—with that. It was what he deserved.

“I’ve warned ya.” Alistair hissed Her name in his ear after. “She’d got a special spot on my rack, when I drag her down here. I might not be supposed to hurt her, but I ain’t ever cared ‘bout the rules before. Nothing gonna fuckin’ stop me anyway.”

Dean had tensed, and Alistair had laughed in his ear.

“You think you’re gonna save her? That she’d want you to save her? Be your Princess’s shining white knight and sweep her away into the sunset? Here’s a new lesson for you, Dean. Nothin’ can save her, and if I’m bein’ honest, she might be better off down here, with me. I’m not man of god, and maybe,” Alistair’s breath had been hot over Dean’s face as he’d been yanked up by his hair. “That’s exactly what she fuckin’ needs. Maybe she’ll beg me to hurt her. I’ve heard what a little masochist that one is.”

Dean jolted awake in a cold sweat, the sound of Alistair’s laughter still echoing around his skull. It was just another nightmare. She was still right at his side. His hand was touching the bare skin of Her arm, and when he dared to draw small circles with his thumb, She hummed and let out a soft sound Dean would like to hear for the rest of his life. 

Cas needed to hurry up on that translation. The sooner they had better idea of what She was, the sooner Dean could handle those certain nightmares better. 

They’d never go away.

But at least he’d be able to wake up, look at Her, and know nothing would touch Her. That Lilith couldn’t grab Her and use her against them, and the angels might not want Her around, but they could never hurt Her, and She was—as long as he used all the sharper and bloodied parts of himself right—safe at Dean’s side. 

Or across the room from him, or in his car, or holding his hand and pulling him into the fanciest fucking building he’d ever seen. Wherever he could see Her, and orbit around Her. 

Maybe crash down to his knees before Her, because that had worked real well in his favor last time, and there was really no other proper response to Her when she looked like that.

She really was a fucking Princess. This dress was worse than the one last year. Silk, falling over Her body like it was made for Her—most of the world was—and showing Dean too much for him to properly, but still not enough to satiate him, because was a greedy son of a bitch.

He didn’t have a goddamn clue where She’d gotten such fancy outfits on such a short notice, but he knew his tie wasn’t strangling at his throat because She’d carefully adjusted it before they left the motel. Standing only a long breath away, every bit of Her blinding and beautiful as she chewed at Her lower lip, going over the plan one last time.

“There might be multiple instruments.” She’d said, glancing over her shoulder to Jo, who was working on balancing  in her heels. “Once I find what they are, we have to move fast. Smash them, burn them, whatever you need to do. Then the conductor will be in raw form, and if I can see him, I’ll give you the all clear to burn him. Dean, we have to take separate cars-“

Dean had scowled. “No-“

“We’re about to burn a man alive at a public event.” She’d said with a flat voice. “Once we finish, we have to book it. And I am not making Sam take the bus again. Finally,” Her fingers had stilled on Dean’s chest, Her voice dropping to a soft, firm tone. “Don’t let it touch you. It’ll turn you into a puppet corpse.”

Jo had gaped at Her. “A what-“

“Puppet corpse.” She’d sighed. “It’ll kill you then use your body like a puppet.”

“Oh. Gross.”

Dean had cleared his throat. “Can we go back to the car thing-“

“No.” She’d turned on Her heels, tangled Her hand in Dean’s, and pulled him out the door.

And Alistair hadn’t been wrong that Dean wasn’t a white knight, but he was still Her’s. She was brilliant, and as long as it wasn’t putting Her in direct danger, Dean would do whatever the hell She asked. If She needed an army, he’d been a million fucking soldiers. If She needed a guard, he’d turn into a shield.

If She needed him to stand off to the side of a stage while a lady sang in loud, high sounds and She frowned the orchestra, he’d do that. 

He was even allowed to keep his hand on Her lower back. 

“De.” She whispered, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket, and he glanced down to see Her attention fully fixed on the area below them. “It’s the harp.”

Dean followed Her gaze to the instrument. “You sure?”

She nodded, and Jo’s voice crackled in their ears. “Is there only one?”

“Yeah.” She whispered, scanning slowly over the area once more. “But- Shit, there are so many people here, Dean we’ve gotta-“

Dean nodded. “Jo, you’re in the sound booth thing, right?”

“Uh huh. I think I’m actually gettin’ the hang of this, too.” Jo hummed Her name. “Turns out I can do sound. You want me to steal more earpieces before we go?”

A small smile tugged at Her lips, and She gave Dean an amused look as she spoke. “We’ve already stolen three, and we’re about to totally ruin their performance. I think that’s enough.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jo paused. “Were you tryin’ to talk to me, Dean?”

She giggled, eyes dancing with amusement, and Dean couldn’t really be that annoyed if this was making Her so happy. “Yeah, I’m thinking you can cut all the sound to the audience, we can run out, get it done in the confusion, then get out.”

“That’s good,” She muttered with a nod, and Dean stood a little taller. “Maybe- Jo, can you just amplify the speakers? If you get them loud enough it’ll start a feedback loop, and we’ll get a good-“

“Cover?” Jo finished Her sentence, and Dean could hear the grin in the girl’s voice. “On it. You want a countdown?”

“One second.” She turned to Dean with a firm, determined look. “Go for the harp. I’ll take care of the conductor.”

There was no fucking way Dean was letting Her do the more dangerous thing. That was supposed to be what he was here for-

“And before you argue, if it’s not the conductor, I’ll be able to see who it is. You won’t.”

Son of a bitch, that was a good point. And She had that shining, fluttering look in Her eyes as Dean just glared at Her, the one where she knew She’d already won. “Princess-“

“Please, De.” 

God fucking damnit. “Fine.”

She gave him a wide, sweet smile, and raised Her hand to her ear. “Ready, Jo. Turn it up.”

“Alright.” Jo hummed, and Dean’s fingers started to curl onto the bare skin of Her back. “Three.”

Dean didn’t like this. Something was tight in his gut, and She’d hunted these things before and been just fine alone—with Dean or Jo there to help Her—but this felt wrong-

“Two-“

He muttered Her name, and She gave him a smile, and it was only making him feel sick because something was off about this-

“Go.”

A loud, screeching noise echoed through the theatre, people started shouting as it pierced into their skulls, and Dean had to force himself not to grab Her and hold her to his chest until it all just passed. 

None of this would pass unless he did his job.

Smash the harp. All Dean had to do was smash the fucking harp. Break it into pieces so She could burn this lich asshole.

Dean could break something. He really was good at breaking things, and breaking something for Her might be the easiest job he’d ever had.

He ran into the pit, shoving his way through the orchestra and ignoring people shouts of protest. His ears felt like they were going to fucking bleed, but he’d felt worse, so Dean pushed through it. 

The harp was heavier than Dean had thought it would be, when he reached it.

It still broke easy.

Dean threw his whole body against it, the instrument fell to the floor, and when the first piece of wood snapped off, all hell broke loose. 

People were screaming and running around—that had been a given, the rich idiots probably thought they were under attack—but over all of it, Dean could hear Her, shouting his name.

He turned right in time to see the conductor running right towards him, hands outstretched, and fuck-

Dean dodged as She screamed, and started to fumble in his pockets for his lighter, where was his fucking lighter, he was tripping over abandoned trumpets and seats as the conductor continued to swing at him, and where the fuck was his lighter-

There was another scream of his name, and Dean looked up to see the conductor only fucking inches away, and that couldn’t be good, but right before slightly shriveled hands closed around Dean’s face, the man stumbled back and screeched.

Loud, and echoing through the theater, his whole body writhing, seeming to flicker and wither and-

“Son of a bitch.” Dean muttered as the lich’s illusion fully faded, his body a sticky, browned and boned corpse. “You’re one ugly asshole.”

The lich only screeched again, and as it fell to its knees, Dean looked up to find Her standing on the edge of the stage.

Dean had only seen Her use her thing once, when Lilith had attacked them. And that had only been a primal, feral scream ripping through Her body as Lilith released him with a cruel laugh.

This was different. 

There was no proper way to describe it, but She didn’t look like a human. Or a monster. Or a demon, or angel, or witch.

She looked like Her, turned up to a goddamn million. Everything closer to Her body was more colorful. Her hair was impossibly shinier, and Her skin seemed to be glowing, and Her eyes were fucking bright. 

Her pupils weren’t black anymore. They were silver. 

Dean had never seen anything more terrifyingly beautiful in his life. And when the lich turned to slime at their feet—sinking back into the floor and vanishing like there had never been anything at all—whatever had been amplifying Her seemed to collect back into Her body, her eyes focused right on Dean’s.

He almost fell to his knees again. This was the siren or goddess he’d been silently worshipping since he met Her. This was the royal, ethereal woman he wanted to serve for the rest of with worthless life. And it was just Her, but it was all of Her, and Dean wanted fucking all of Her-

He didn’t see it until it was too late. 

The woman behind Her. 

Not a woman. The illusion of a small young woman—white-teethed with a bow in her hair—vanished the moment the lich grabbed Her around the wrist.

There were two. 

There were fucking two, and Dean wasn’t goddamn fast enough.

The only reason he could hear his roar over the blood in his ears was because it echoed around the theater. And She wasn’t even fucking fighting the thing, She’d gone slack and pale, and Dean was sprinting over the abandoned instruments to get to Her, yanking his gun from his jacket and aiming it right at the ugly bitch’s fucking face.

The shots didn’t kill it, but the lich released Her and stumbled back, falling right on the floor as Jo sprinted out from the backstage.

Jo’s lighter dropped, and the lich died with a scream.

But the fire didn’t slow or die. It only spread across the stage, and Dean was going to have to add arson to his rap sheet again, but he really didn’t fucking care.

All that mattered was Her, pallid and backed into the wall, rubbing at her wrists like she’d been branded.

Dean wasn’t sure if the whole corpse puppet thing was contagious.

That was another thing he really didn’t fucking care about.

“Hey,” Dean muttered Her name as he grabbed her face between his hands, forcing Her slightly glazed eyes onto his. “You’re gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay-“

“It touched me.” She cut him off with a whisper, and Dean’s grip tightened. “Dean, it touched me-“

“I know.” He grunted. “I know, Princess, but it’s- we’ll fix it.”

She shook Her head, still scratching at Her wrists and Dean did the only thing he could think of. He stroked his thumb down the bridge of Her nose until her breathing was relaxed, and she’d slumped forward into his arms.

“Dean?” Jo called from behind them. “I- uh, we should go before the building burns down.”

Dean nodded an acknowledgment, but She wouldn’t be able to run. She was too pale, shaking in his arms and starting to draw blood with Her nails- 

He knocked Her hand away, She made a whining noise, and this was not allowed to be it. He was not fucking losing Her like this, he’d call another fucking demon deal or trap a million fucking angels until they performed a miracle, or-

Cas. He needed to call Cas. 

But first, he had to get Her out before the building killed all three of them. 

Dean pressed a quick kiss to Her brow, and hauled Her up bridal-style into his arms, and the moment Jo was at his side he was moving. Out the back into the cold air of an alley, down the streets until they were at the Impala and the Firebird. 

“Here’s the plan.” He grunted, raising up to face a pale-faced Jo on the sidewalk. “You’re taking her car. Drive for forty minutes west, then stop at the first motel you see. Call Sam on the drive, tell him what happened.”

Jo nodded, catching Her keys with shaking hands. “What about- Dean, I’m- We thought there was one-“

“Jo.” He snapped. “Just fucking go.”

“Is she gonna be okay-“

“Yes. Go.”

Dean’s short, firm words got Jo to move, but he didn’t have a fucking clue if She was going to be okay. She wasn’t turning into a corpse, but She was still colorless and silent, and Dean was praying to Cas the whole fucking ride but they didn’t have a goddamn timeline on this, it might already be over-

It couldn’t be over. Dean had only just gotten Her back, and he’d meant it.

He wasn’t losing Her.

She’d know how to fix this. She knew everything, and She was a genius, so if Dean could get Her to speak, he’d do whatever she said needed to be done to fix this.

Jo met them right where she was supposed to, and Dean gave short orders for her to just keep fucking praying to Cas until he showed up. 

“C’mon.” He muttered Her name, moving her to the edge of the bed and kneeling down, keeping his thumb running down her nose and scanning over Her slack face. “I need you to talk to me, I don’t have a fucking clue how to do this, Princess, I- I fucking need you, c’mon-“

Something was wrapping around Dean’s lungs. He wouldn’t fucking lose Her. Not like this. It was all his head could loop around because fuck, this would kill Jo, and he’d never be able to look at Bobby again, and he would’ve gotten Her back for barely a week just to prove Alistair right.

She was better anywhere without Dean. He’d do anything for Her, but anything wasn’t enough, and She’d survived all those months without him, but the moment he’d gotten back he’d killed Her, he’d fucking broken the one that had always seemed permanent, and he was a vile piece of shit from lower than the mud, and Dad should’ve killed him. Instead of threatening and hurting Her, Dad should’ve pressed a barrel to Dean’s head and shot him. It would’ve saved everyone a whole lot of grief if Dad had gotten some fucking clarity and killed Dean instead, or just let him die in that goddamn hospital-

“Dean.” She whispered, blinding eyes finally focusing on his. “You need to go.”

He stared at Her. “What.”

“Before it hits. I- I can’t feel it, but once it kicks in-“

“You’re going to be fine.” He snapped. This wasn’t a conversation he was going to have, because it wouldn’t matter when She was fine, and they were driving back to Bobby’s like nothing had happened at all. “Cas is coming, and I’ll grab whatever we need to slow this down-“

“There’s no slowing it down.” She gave him a small smile, and Dean’s heart might be trying to claw its way out of his throat. “It’ll be better to burn me. So nothing finds my body.”

“Shut up.” He grunted, his hands tightening on Her thighs. She wasn’t moving away, and maybe if he held tight enough, that would keep Her together. “We’ll fix this, there’s always a way to fix this-“

“Not here, De. I- I’m-“ She started to rub Her wrists, letting out a slow breath. “I could do it myself, but I can’t even feel it, I’d have to feel it to know what to fix-“

“Then maybe you’re fine-“

“I don’t want to risk it.” She mumbled. “Please go.”

“No.”

“Dean-“

“I’m staying right fucking here.” He hissed, rising up on his knees to look Her in the eyes. “And that’s it. You try to kick me out and I’ll come right back in, Princess, I did not spend so goddamn long waiting for you only to lose you-“

“You can’t lose me.” She whispered. “You’ve never been able to lose me. I-“ 

She swallowed, Her eyes starting to go glossy, and Dean wouldn’t let the sting in his own take over. There was nothing to mourn about, because She was going to be fine-

“I’m here.” She pressed Her hand to his chest, and he wasn’t breathing. “All the way down.”

Dean stared at Her. 

He didn’t have enough words for Her beauty. He never had. He’d never been good at words, or saying the right thing, or knowing when to stop or how to keep something. And he’d let the world use him and beat him however it wanted—crawl right back onto Alistair’s rack or pick up only torture instrument until he was a demon—if he got to break that last pattern. Dean could replace words with actions, replace saying the right thing with doing the right thing, and replace knowing when to stop with going until his soul gave out. 

He couldn’t replace Her. Keeping Her was the only option, if She’d have him.

But losing Her to something other than Her own will was simply not on the goddamn table.

Dean had prayed before. Since the angels had showed up, he’d been praying to Cas a lot. 

But he’d never prayed to God. 

And it was all he could do now. This wouldn’t be it. Nothing holy or good owed Dean any favors, but the fucking universe owed Her. It couldn’t let Her go, because She was too good for all of it, and Dean needed Her.

She was the universe. She was bigger and brighter than God, and wherever the hell that asshole was—if he was even real at all—he better be fucking listening because Dean needed Her, and maybe She was God and he just needed to pray and worship Her instead.

The thought moved through Dean’s whole body. He needed to tend to Her. That was what he could see. What he could know. What he’d always known. 

He rose slowly, never breaking Her gaze. Giving Her time to move away as he inched closer, cupping one hand on Her face and bracing the other on the mattress, stopping where if he spoke, Dean’s lips would brush Her’s.

There was no mistaking what he was daring to attempt. No way for Her to miss it, and be caught off guard. A long, strained moment where Dean gave Her the chance to shove him away and curse his name back to Hell, and at least then he’d know. That he’d always be in Her orbit, but to Her, Dean was just another thing, trying to sit in Her light. 

But She wasn’t moving. Her eyes were wide on his, yet She wasn’t looking away. Her fingers were curled on his shirt, and Her breath was heavy from her nostrils.

He licked his lips because he couldn’t fucking help himself, and She flushed, Her breath hitching, and Her mouth falling slightly open.

There it was.

Dean crashed down, and kissed Her.

And he’d never been good with words.

But this didn’t need any.

It was all movement and feeling. Her lips fit even better against Dean’s than he’d ever been able to imagine, and every single bit of desperation he threw into Her, she threw right fucking back. Dean bit at Her lower lip and She moaned, right down his fucking throat as She opened further for him, but when Dean got to press his tongue into Her mouth and have more, She pulled it between Her teeth and swallowed Dean’s groan with the best sound he’d ever fucking heard escaping from her throat. 

She tasted like coffee and sugar and that fucking fruit, Dean could taste the fruit and he was going to get addicted, but there were worse fucking vices to have. At least this one had Her wrapping an arm around his neck and tugging at his shirt to get him closer, She wanted Dean closer and he’d have to be fucking insane to deny Her.

When he pushed deeper, moving Her down to lie flat on Her back and never fucking breaking the kiss, She let him. She let Dean have fucking all of it. He got to overtake Her quickly, and She was responding to all his silents pleas for more and shivering under his touch when he grabbed Her waist and trailed his fingers down, down, down, to the bare skin of Her thighs-

“Dean.” She gasped against him, arching slightly off the mattress, and if God didn’t take his prayer, Dean would put all his torture skills to some good fucking use until the son of a bitch promised to never let anything hurt Her again. 

Until then he’d keep Her caged safely between the mattress and his body, devouring every single sound he was learning so fast to pull from Her body with only his mouth. They were all somehow better than last, and Dean had never felt this fucking high from just a kiss-

A foreign noise breached through Dean’s skull, and he sat up in half a second, pulling Her with him and burying Her tight into his chest. Anything that wasn’t Her or Dean was a fucking threat and-

It was Jo. When Dean twisted around with a deadly glower it was just Jo, and maybe he’d gotten a little too intense about that. 

But She was still in danger. The lich had still touched Her.

“Dean." She shoved at his chest, Her words muffled in his body, and he loosened his grip until She could twist against him.

But She stayed against him. Small victories.

“How, uh-“ She swallowed, and Dean glanced down to see Her rubbing at her wrists. “How long have you been there?”

“Few minutes.” Jo mumbled, staring at the floor, and Dean realized the girl’s whole face was red. “I’m sorry, I just- I didn’t stop it cause I was happy for you, but then I realized it was just gonna keep goin’, and, uh, sorry-“

“Jo.” Dean muttered. “What-“

“Cas is here.” Jo gave Dean a nervous look. “I prayed to him.” 

Dean sat a little taller. She would be fine. “Tell him to get his angel-ass in here and fix her-“

“There is nothing to fix.” Cas was very suddenly in the room, and Jo squeaked in surprise.

“Fuckin’ Christ-“

“My apologies.” Cas said with a small, grimacing frown. “You told me to wait until I was summoned, and Dean did just say to get my ass in here. My ass can’t be here without the rest of me, so-“

“Cas.” Dean gave him a flat look. “Focus. What’d you mean there’s nothing to fix-“

Cas said Her name slowly. “She is in perfect health.”

She frowned. “But the lich-“

“You are not in danger of any lich infection.” Cas shrugged. “It is not possible for your kind to succumb to any sort of preternatural disease, curse, or weapon. At most you will have felt a little sick, but it will have already passed.”

“My-“ She cut Herself off, setting up tall and straight, and Dean caught it. 

What Cas had implied. .

“My kind?” She whispered, Her eyes wide. “Did you- You figured out what I am?”

Cas sighed, and nodded. “I cannot offer a full explanation- The word you gave me is ancient. Uncommon. I would not call it taboo, but it is mostly lost with purpose.”

Dean frowned. “You mean on purpose?”

“No, Dean. With purpose. It has been deemed better for mortals to know as little as possible. Even we are not fully able to comprehend it.”

“Cas.” She muttered, rubbing Her thumb over her palm. “Please just say it.”

Cas let out a long breath. “You are the Magdalene.” He said Her name, watching her carefully as he continued. “They are the oldest and rarest breed of witch, although witch is a… crude term. You are made of the magic witches learn to harness.”

She swallowed, Her voice impossibly soft. “I- I’m a Magdalene.”

“No. You are the Magdalene.”

“Cas.” Dean grunted. “What the hell are you talking about.”

Cas sighed, still not moving from his place beside a wide-eyed Jo. “There is nothing in heaven’s record or knowledge about where Magdalene’s come from. They simply… are. Impossibly rare, and powerful. Dangerous. There is maybe one born every five hundred years, with the rare exception of two existing at once around the end of what your historians call the Common Era.” Cas said Her name again, and Dean was a little worried She wasn’t breathing. “You are the most powerful one recorded.”

“Oh.” She mumbled. “Cool. I- Doesn’t that probably mean whatever, um, Magdalene comes after me will be more powerful?”

Cas shook his head. “Heaven has monitored Magdalene’s since Lilith-“

Dean went rigid. “Lilith? What the hell does that bitch have to do with-“

“She’s a Magdalene, isn’t she.” Her words were still soft, Her attention still trained on Cas. “She said she was like me. That I was her descendent.”

Cas gave Her a grimacing, apologetic nod. “It is a biological trait, yes. There are complexities to it I do not think you’ll care to understand, but before Lilith was a demon, she was the first Magdalene. She had daughters, and they had daughters, and-“

“It led to me.” She muttered, and Cas nodded.

“The birth of a Magdalene has always heralded danger. Change. Lilith brought on demons, Avva, a goat-keeper in Sumar, brought on writing and calendars, and a consort in ancient China name Fu Hau introduced witchcraft to non-natural born-“

Dean sighed. “Man, we’re not here for a history lesson-“

“I am getting to my point, Dean.” Cas’ voice remained flat, his attention returning to Her. “The most powerful Magdalene’s before you were Cleopatra VII Thea Philopato, who brought about the Roman Empire, and Mary-“

“Magdalene.” She finished, Her eyes widening. “Is it- If it’s that old, how can it be named after her?”

“It isn’t.” Cas shrugged. “Magdala was the home of Lilith, as a human. It is simply what you would call coincidence.”

“Cas.” Dean grunted. “The point.”

Cas sighed. “Mary brought on the invention of the human religion, Christianity, which has been… impactful. Both her soul, and that of Cleopatra’s, had a sliver of the Magdalene power.”

Jo frowned, her voice small as she jumped in. “A sliver? How much is in a sliver?”

“My best estimate would be 2.159%.” Cas said. “Although I do not think Dean would want a math lesson on top of my history.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and She let out a soft laugh, even as Her nails started to dig into Dean’s skin.

Better than it being Her own.

“Cas?” She said carefully, and they were already looking at each other like there was a silent conversation Dean and Jo weren’t allowed to be a part of. 

Cas said Her name, bowing his head slightly, and She swallowed.

“How much of my soul is… Magdalene.”

“Half.” Cas muttered, giving Her an apologetic look, and She was going to draw blood. “And from what I have found, that should not be possible.”

“Oh.” She was almost fully curling into Dean’s body. He chanced one arm snaking around Her side, and She held it there.

Small, horrible victories. 

“It is likely why you were able to walk into Hell.” Cas said, looking only at Her, and Dean froze.

“What’d you mean, walk into Hell.” He hissed, looking between Her and Cas. “You’ve never been to Hell, Princess, and nobody just walks in-“

“I- I know, De, just-“ She shot Cas a glare. “You have horrible timing.”

Cas frowned. “I will- is that something to improve?”

“Yes. We’ll talk about it later.” She sighed, giving Dean a careful, soft expression that made something in him balk.

She couldn’t have walked into Hell. Something would’ve grabbed Her, Alistair would’ve known and seen Her and hurt Her, and Dean felt like a million fucking bricks were being pressed down onto his chest. 

“I sort of,” She took a deep, long breath, and whatever it was, Dean kind of didn’t want to hear it. “Could see you, sometimes. In Hell.”

“See me.” He grunted, and She nodded. “When.”

“Every night.” She whispered. “I was- I saw Cas saving you. That’s how he knows.”

She wasn’t lying. 

And there wasn’t a place low enough for Dean in the universe. She’d seen everything. And he’d be able to just beat himself and ignore the bruises if it hands only been his torture, but She’d seen parts of what he’d done. The souls he’d ripped and broken, and there had to be something worse than Hell, for things like Dean. 

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled, and She wasn’t pulling away. 

Dean didn’t know why She wasn’t pulling away. This was the reason. More than an out, a neon sign begging Her to take the exit door, yet She was still here.

He’d never understand Her. She wasn’t caving under any of this, just looking back to Cas and staying pressed to Dean, and She knew, She’s known, how has She known and not fucking left-

“What now?” She asked, and Dean had to focus.

It wasn’t about him, now. If he was going to keep doing the shadow thing right, it was about Her.

“You will need to be careful.” Cas said slowly. “There is more, that I was not able to access, and once it is known that you have reunited with the Winchester’s, precautions may be taken.”

“What-“

“I am not able to say, but mostly because I do not know. I have already lingered too long. Jo. Dean,” Cas gave them both nods, then said Her name with the same movement. “We will talk later.”

She blinked, something flashing over Her face that Dean didn’t understand, and Cas vanished. 

None of them spoke. There was nothing to say. Too much had changed from the morning, and it was all so fucking complicated, and God, Dean really fucking hated that word.

But She was still in Dean’s arms. A hand over his on Her stomach, that fucking fruit smell invading his sense as She leaned slightly further into his body. Into Dean.

So as long as he could manage, Dean wasn’t going to let Her go.

End Note: The emotional whiplash Dean just went through... someone get him like a blanket or something. (Also 300k words to kiss. They're insane)

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

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[bambisturns]

“This situationship has to end”

Warnings: angst, arguing, end of a “situationship” , nicknamed reader (peaches to fit the eternal sunshine aura lol)

You sat cross-legged on the worn-out couch, the fabric rough against your skin. The room was dimly lit, shadows creeping in from the corners, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in your mind. You picked at a loose thread on your favorite sweater, a soft, faded pink that had seen better days. It matched your mood, a blend of sweetness and fraying edges. Matt leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression a mix of irritation and impatience. The sunlight from the window framed his tall figure, but it did little to soften the hard lines of his jaw.

“Can we just get this over with?” he said, his tone clipped. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat growing heavier. “You don’t have to be such a jerk about it-“ “Jerk? I’m trying to be straightforward here.” He pushed off the doorframe, pacing the small space, boots scuffing the hardwood floor with a dull thud. “Do you want me to sugarcoat it? Because I’m not going to lie. This isn’t working.” he says “Right, because you’re the expert on relationships,” you shot back, your voice rising.

“You’ve been stringing me along for months.” Matt’s eyes flashed, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of regret. “I never asked you to hang on. You could’ve walked away anytime.” He says, rolling his eyes. “And what? Leave you to your games? You know it’s not that easy!” You stood, fists clenched at your sides. “Maybe if you didn’t act like such a—” “Like a what?” He stepped closer, the tension in the room thickening. “A loser? A guy who doesn’t want to be tied down? You want me to be someone I’m not?” Your breath hitched, anger swirling with a sense of betrayal. “No, Matt, I wanted you to care. To show up when it mattered.”

“I did show up.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, shrugging off the weight of your words. “But you know what? Caring doesn’t mean I have to pretend things are okay when they’re not.” You felt the sting of tears threatening to spill. “You think I wanted this? This... whatever we had? I wanted more.” You turned away, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “You made me feel like I was the problem.” Matt scoffed, the sound echoing in the cramped space. “You are the problem. You keep wanting something from me that I can’t give. I don’t want a relationship, Peaches. I want my freedom.”

“Freedom?” You repeated, incredulous. “Is that what you call it? Leaving me hanging? I thought we were building something, not just... whatever this is.” He scoffs “Building?” He laughed, but it was a harsh sound, devoid of warmth. “You mean tearing each other apart? That’s not building, that’s destruction.” You faced him again, a mix of hurt and defiance in your gaze. “So what? You just walk away? You think I’m just going to accept that?” You ask “Maybe you should.” His voice was cold, cutting through you like a knife. “You need to realize this isn’t going anywhere. It’s toxic, and we both know it.”

“Don’t you dare throw that word at me.” You took a step back, pressing your back against the wall as if it could shield you from his words. “You think you’re so much better than me?” You ask, shaking your head “No, I just think I’m being honest for once.” He ran a hand through his hair, exasperation evident in the way he clenched his fists at his sides. “You’re the one making this harder. Just admit it. You’re scared of being alone.”

“Scared? I’m terrified of you!” You yelled, your voice breaking. “You act like you don’t care, but you make me feel like I’m nothing. Like I’m just... there.” You add on “That’s not my fault. You can’t put that on me.” He stepped closer, his expression softening for a brief moment. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” He says softly “But you did.” You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to breathe through the pain. “I’ve given you everything. I’ve tried to be what you want, but it’s never enough.”

“Maybe I don’t want anything.” His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “Maybe it’s time you stopped trying to fix what’s broken.”he sighs out “Broken?” You laughed, the sound bitter. “You think we’re broken? We were never even whole to begin with.” Anger seeped past your lips “Then what are we doing here?” he shot back, frustration creeping into his tone. “We’re just going to keep hurting each other until there’s nothing left.” “Is that what you want? To hurt me?” You ask.

“No!” The sudden intensity of his voice made her flinch. “I just... I can’t keep doing this. It’s exhausting.” You clenched your jaw, every nerve in your body screaming for him to understand. “You don’t get to decide when I’m exhausted. I’m not the one who wanted this... this whatever we had. You’re the one who kept pulling me back in.” Matt rolled his eyes, clearly losing patience. “You think I’m the one who wanted to keep you around? You made it impossible to walk away. You keep saying you want more, but then you cling to the scraps I throw you.”

“Scraps?” You echoed, your voice trembling. “You’re so blind to your own cruelty. I cared about you, and you took advantage of that.” You mumble out “Careful, Peaches. Sounds like you’re blaming me for your feelings.” He scoffs “Maybe I am!” You snapped, the anger pouring out of you. “Maybe I’m tired of pretending I’m okay with being second best to your freedom.” You say “Second best?” He stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender. “I never promised you anything. You made that up in your head.”

“Or maybe you just never bothered to clarify.” You felt your heart racing, a mix of fury and despair bubbling just beneath the surface. “You could have been honest from the start. Instead, you let me believe—” “Believe what? That I’d change?” He shrugged again, the casualness of it all sending a fresh wave of frustration through you. “People don’t change, Peaches. Not really. Not for someone else.” He states “Then why did we even start this?” Your voice cracked, the anger giving way to vulnerability. “Was it just for fun? Just to pass the time?”

“Maybe.” He stepped closer, his gaze softening for a moment. “I didn’t think it would get this complicated, okay? But you kept pushing.” “Pushing for what?” You asked, voice low now, almost pleading. “For you to love me? For you to care? For you to see me?” He sighed, running a hand over his face, the weight of the conversation hanging heavy in the air. “You know what I want. I want out.” He groans “Out? Just like that?” You felt the tears finally spill over, hot against your cheeks. “You just walk away, and it’s over?” You ask quietly, “Peaches...” His voice softened, but the resolve in his eyes was unyielding. “It’s not that simple. But it’s not fair to keep dragging this out. You deserve someone who can give you what you want.”

“Someone like you?” You scoffed, wiping at your tears. “Someone who doesn’t even know what he wants?” You say mockingly “I know what I don’t want.” He stepped back, arms crossed again, as if creating a barrier between the both of you . “And I don’t want to keep hurting you.” He whispered “Then why does it hurt so much?” You whispered back, your heart aching with the finality of it all. “Because it’s hard to let go, but it’s harder to hold on.” You took a deep breath, the air thick with unspoken words. “So this is it, then? Just... done?” you question “Yeah.” He nodded, the finality of it echoing in the silence.

You felt the weight of it all crash down, a mixture of relief and despair. “I guess I should have seen this coming.” You chuckle out in sadness “Maybe.” He shifted, looking anywhere but at you. “But you have to understand, it’s not all on me. You’re not innocent in this.” You shook your head slowly, the truth laced with bitterness. “I know. I just wish... I wish we could have been different.” You mutter out “Me too.” He responds.

The room fell silent, the air heavy with the remnants of your argument. You turned away, the tears flowing freely now, a river of hurt washing over you. You felt like you were drowning in it, and all you could hear was the echo of his footsteps as Matt walked away, leaving you alone in the dim light, surrounded by the ghost of what they once had. “Goodbye, Peaches,” he said softly from the doorway, but the sound faded into the walls, just like everything else they had shared.

“Goodbye,” you whispered, the word hanging in the air like a fragile promise. And as the door clicked shut behind him.

© bambisturns, please do not copy, reuse, or modify any of my writings!

[lunchboxpoems]

SOMETHING

Something went wrong. That’s what the machine says when I call to say my paper didn’t arrive. Machines are trained by people, so they’re smart, they know a thing or fifty trillion. Did you miss your Sunday delivery? it asks. I did, I say. I miss everything, I say, because it’s a machine and it has to listen, or at least it has to not hang up without trying to understand why I called, which means trying to correct what went wrong. Let me see if I got this right, the voice says, you missed your Sunday paper? Yes, I say, but also I miss my childhood and fairy tales, like Eden. I miss sweet Rob Roys with strangers, I miss fabric softener and soft lighting. I’m sorry, the machine says. I’m having trouble understanding. Did you miss today’s paper? Yes, I say, but that’s not the half of it. Sometimes I just feel like half of me, and even that feels like too much. I’m having trouble understanding, the machine repeats, its syllables halted, as if trying to mimic an empath. I’m having trouble understanding too, I say. I used to understand so much: photosynthesis, the human heart, I’d even memorized the Krebs cycle, but now all I remember is lifting the golden coil of the kitchen phone to maneuver under my mother’s conversations. It was like lifting the horizon. There’s a silence, and the machine asks: Are you still there? In a few words, please describe your issue. Where do I begin being a minimalist? Time, I say, I’ve got a problem with that. Also, loss, and attachment. That’s pretty much it, and the news in its sky- blue sleeve is meant to be a distraction, isn’t it? I ask. More silence, and then: You miss your mother? a voice asks. It’s a human voice. Me too, she says.

ANDREA COHEN

[haru-dipthong]

Fansub release + translation notes for Utena ep 30!

This episode was a really tough one. There were quite a few difficult lines that I ended up superficially rephrasing in the translation. But I think these rephrasings actually convey the meaning behind the words more effectively.

だって、デートは二人っきりです���もんです。

Literally translated, this would be “Because! Dates are something two people do by themselves!” and this is what I had in my first draft. The problem with this translation is that it’s not quite how an English speaker would phrase it. There’s something intangible. It’s not the way the line reads, but the way it doesn’t read — this phrasing feels off not because it sounds strange itself, but because there’s that nagging feeling that there is a phrasing that would sound better that isn’t being used instead. I felt like the problem of this line was to figure out how an English speaker would naturally phrase it, and I think I ended up finding it with this:

Because! It wouldn't be a date if it wasn't just the two of us.

さては焼いてるなーお主。

You're jealous aren't you, kid?

This was tricky because neither Anya or I could think of the right word (kid) that had the correct amount of condescension and playful teasing. I started with “little one” as a placeholder, but that really didn’t sound right. I had the urge to change it to “young padawan” but didn’t. Hilariously, and completely unprompted, in the editing notes Anya mentioned the first thing that came to mind for them was “young padawan”. It was tempting, but I knew there had to be a better solution. I stared at this line for ages working on the second draft before coming up with “kid”.

なんか理事長らしくないというか、ちょっと、いけないひとみたい。

It's just, you're not very chairman-like. You're like… You're like the kind of person grown-ups would warn me about.

Another doozy of a line. The direct translation of this would be “It’s just, you’re not very chairman like. You’re like a bad* person.” Big asterisk next to “bad” because Utena isn’t saying “bad person” like we use that two word phrase in English (to mean “a person who is selfish and does harm to others”). いけない in this context is similar to “not to be done”, “not allowed”, “forbidden” (as in “you are forbidden from staying at your boyfriend’s place overnight”, but not really “forbidden” as in “the forbidden fruit”), or “bad” as in “the bad boy”. A lot of subtlties to get across for just one word out of the sentence, which is why this translation has blown out so much. The short noun phrase いけない人みたい has been translated into the lengthy “You're like the kind of person grown-ups would warn me about”. Despite the length, I do like this translation a lot and I think it captures Utena’s immaturity and internal conflict well.

Thank you as always to my editor @dontbe-lasanya! This project and this episode in particular wouldn't be possible without you!

Follow the blog to see new episodes as they're released. As an aside, I've finally gotten around to posting the raw subtitle files on the google drive, so check that out if you're interested in encoding some video yourself. You can find that and all the episodes released so far here:

Rose divider taken from this post.

[clairdelunetarot]

Addressing an Ongoing Issue Before My Return

I have noticed strong similarities between my content and this person's ever since I created my blog, and just a few days later, this person @/hermetiqa changed the aesthetic of theirs. I know i am a small blog with less than 400 followers and i disappear a lot. I have had sad experiences with plagiarism before, people have stolen my work (tarot and non tarot), and even if this isn’t exactly that, it’s really frustrating when someone with a bigger blog starts taking a lot of inspiration from you, never acknowledges it, you block them, and even after being blocked, they come back and keep doing it.

There’s no problem with being inspired, the issue is the context and how often it happens. Especially because this person changed their aesthetic after I opened my blog, along with their masterlist. I only found out now that they kept going because some friends outside my tarot blog told me. My last post was in November and guess what? So was theirs. I don’t know them, and they don’t know me. But the vibe here for me stinks bad. There’s also one thought that crossed my mind, even if it sounds silly: their blog has been around longer than mine, so what if I come back and they do it again? I won't feel comfortable because they made it weird. They could have said: oh and this masterlist was inspired by clairdelune. Like, they have paid readings, and are gaining money out of people. If you are having a business at least be transparent and support newcomers with their small business too when there's something you like or something you take inspo from.

PSA: I don't want anyone to give me advice on how to proceed, I just want to vent about this and not feel like I'm crazy. Even if it doesn't seem like it, this takes A LOT of time and days. Making tarot readings for a lot of public is draining because of the energies, and then decorating and coming up with something to make it look attractive is also draining. It's not a crime to get inspired, but the way this person has handled it has made me angry and feel a very bad energy around it.

For context this was their blog before:

It was simple, cute, straight to the point with three pictures. When you went down to read your pile, no section of "signs" with mbti or astrological placements where there. I love mbti, i checked their readings superficially and never noticed them referencing them. Here, you can see it for yourself:

then here's where it all started for me. This is what their masterlist looked like before:

Now this is what it looked like after taking inspiration from me and not even changing the roman numbers. Just changing small details but the essence is there. That's the difference with inspo and copy. You can take inspo from someone but the essence is going to be yours. If they did not change a few little tiny things, this would be confused with mine.

After this I blocked them. My thought process was: If they are a big blog and can do this with no one raising their eyebrows, It's safe to say they could even take inspo from my pictures and even readings. I don't know them, I don't know if this could be a one time thing or something that can continue, or worse: something that can enter plagiarism. I was hoping this would be enough for them to never see my blog again. But no. It kept going. At least they haven't copied what i write as I am aware.

Now, this can get tricky because unlike plagiarism, this is more inspiration based. Which is not a crime, but again, this being done heavily, with no acknowledgement whatsoever because i am a lesser known blog and after getting blocked? Not so nice and too much to be coincidence. Check the dates.

Same months, and this one took two weeks because before that, they posted another reading in between. I mean, putting floating png objects is not a trademark. But after I blocked them for what they did with my masterlist it pissed me off. Right now, them gaining more interactions with their post after this and with no acknowledgement is what did not sit well with me. It is hard to be a new blog in the tarot community and opening a ton of ask games for people to then unfollow you when they get their energy and reading from you and never interact with your blog again. Specially when this was a chance for you to get some money for college. But then again, seeing the strong similarities gets tricky, but you can see the inspiration.

Mine:

Theirs:

They never posted that section before. You can see it in their readings before, right? So when I started posting it too, guess what? they did it too. You know, it doesn’t feel fair that even after blocking them so they would leave me alone and find someone else to get inspired by, they still have this recurrent thing with me and might keep doing it with anything new I come up with. Because i stopped posting readings, the last reading I posted was the same theme (romantic partner) and with strong similarities as mine. I have not posted ever since. The one before that for me was future spouse related and theirs too. You know what's crazy? Mine got a lot of trouble and issues with the aesthetic I had to pull it down. This person's energy is so down heavy it made me put down my reading.

This can be called speculation, but we are in a spiritual community and I believe this could not be a coincidence and their energy towards me is not a good one. You can check the date. All in november. This is also a warning for other tarot readers, if you are sensitive like me with people's vibes, beware when opening a tarot blog.

They don't just do it with one thing and move on, they keep doing it with several things even after not being well received by my end, and it becomes annoying and it literally made me put my own post down.

I just want to leave this here before closing this blog and moving on, because honestly this hasn't been my year and I know it’s just starting, but little things like this don't give me a good vibe to keep running such an open blog to any audience. The energy is so draining and I want to do impulsive things like deleting my posts. Because I start thinking back to times where people straight up stole my work or envied it and posted it as theirs and I don't want that happening again.

Again, please, be mindful with your comments. If you have something rude to say, keep it.

[femmehaljordan]

hii, i really really hate bruce wayne. not even just for him being an abusive bitch but he’s so fucking entitled. it’s like that comment. “spoilt entitled little rich boy.”

he’s never (really) had to work for anything in his entire life, so he’s not going to understand what people of crime alley, the bowery, etc went through and yet he claims that it’s his city. like no the fuck it’s not. i do feel people always wanna make bruce seem like the kind of rich person that oliver is and then end up putting oliver down for that snow birds. it’s been a consistent thing that bruce hits his kids and he never apologises.

and also?? i get that the main villains are a real problem in the city but truly the goons just need money to provide for their families. like willis right? he did it to provide for his wife and son. the writers are always trying to spin the narrative that bruce is almost the saviours of these poor kids and their parents are criminals who don’t deserve children.

there’s also the thing with bruce taking in dick, away from his culture and not even attempting to help him stay connected to his culture. dare i say, that’s neglectful of him.

i overly yapped but i really hate him so so much. i want him dead.

- ☀️ :)

YES YES YSE

ALL OF THIS ALL OF THIS

I’ve mentioned it before but Bruce isn’t from Gotham. Not in the way Jason, and Steph, and Duke, and the Rows are. He doesn’t KNOW.

And the Ollie point. YEAH. YES. I AM SOOOOOO TIRED. FANON BRUCE IS OLIVER. SORRY. if people reference Snowbirds beyond something Roy and Oliver have been healed from for YEARS I want to scream. Bc then they’ll turn around and say Bruce’s abuse is just ooc and doesn’t mean anything.

WILLIS WILLIS GET BEHIND ME NOW. WILLIS I LOVE YOU COME HOME PLEASE. COME KILL BRUCE. But like yeah. He was poor and had to provide for his family so he resorted to crime. People who write him as abusive need to never write again.

And considering a majority of his kids are Not White (canon or headcanon) the “Bruce saved them” stuff also veers veryyyyy quickly into white savior territory. ESPECIALLY with how a lot of people talk about Damian.

DICK BEING REMOVED FROM HIS CULTURE AOUGHHHHH. Life if Raptor had raised him LIKE HE SHOULD HAVE CONSIDERING HES HIS GODFATHER

I hate Bruce Wayne

[herjuhodivine]

03 | enemies spotted

cw : cursing , barely any dialogue ( more of a description episode )

traveling to the cafe is peaceful journey. you never really had time anymore to observe your surroundings and the special beauties of the city. the pretty cherry blossoms trees, the petals littered on the ground, the low sounds of cars and bikes zooming by as you walk the street.

the beaming warm sun making your skin glow, heating up your body slowing but nicely. your off shoulder sweater hugging your body.

maybe this day will go nicely for a long time in a while.

“what the fuck are you doing here?!” the spiky haired male whispered yelled to his friends. Nobara and Yuji looked at each other and then looked at at Megumi. “Megs, you’ll survive, they won’t pay attention to you anyways.”

Megumi physically facepalmed. the problem isn’t your attention being here, it’s being in your presence. having their history together, is the damn issue. he wouldn’t mind if he wasn’t on shift today.

Nobara’s phone buzzed. she whips it out and checks and reads the notification. Megumi stared at her, silently praying that it’s you and you last minute reschedule; Nobara’s eyes light up, “she’s five(5) minutes away.” Megumi lost color in his face.

“wow ‘gumi! you look like a ghost!” Yuji laughs while speaking.

but nothing was funny. this whole situation isn’t funny but these two idiots are chuckling like shit is sweet.

the worst part is he can’t even disappear for a while because they are short staffed so he has to work while you are here.

“come on yuji, let’s go take a seat for us to sit at when she gets here.” nobara said, spinning around and walking away to find a table as yuji is right behind her.

sometimes…he hates his friends.

“y/n! over here!” you hear as you opened the cafe door, the voice muffled out the bell sound of the opening door. you glanced up to see Nobara and Yuji sitting at a booth, waving at you happily.

you smiled, venturing your way there as you sat down next to yuji, across from nobara. Yuji gave you the tightest bear hug ever. “oh my gosh y/nnn! i missed you so much! how have you been?” he shakes you ever so excitedly. you laughed, “i’ve been well yuji, how about you?” he says the same thing, expressing how much you owe him and your cooking. you nod understanding; even promising to make him something soon.

he’s watching you. of course he is. you don’t know that, you didn’t even see him when you walked in. he watches when Yuji hugs you, Nobara held your hands, the three of you talking so freely and no awkward tension even after haven’t seen each other for almost three (3) years now. his heart tings, the plastic cup with the order crashes in his hand, snapping his head down, mumbling curse words.

—but his mind wasn’t focused on that, subconsciously cleaning up the mess why are you so comfortable with them? why can’t you talk to him? he never got the chance to explain himself before you just left him. why are his friends stealing you away from him? he finished up the order and drops it off at the pick up station, calling out the number.

after you finished talking about the dorm arrangements with Nobara, you were just talking about random stuff, “order number 1125.” you heard it, that’s your order number, but you don’t move. that voice, that same damn voice from a few years ago. Nobara and Yuji must have noticed it too, “hey uh y/n, you alright? was that your order?” Nobara asked, but you couldn’t be yourself to respond.

slowly turning around, you see him, the same spiky hair, sharp face, good looking ex boyfriend of yours, megumi. seems like he was already staring at you so you naturally locked eyes.

you don’t even know what happened but you got up and grabbed your bag and walked out of the cafe. you didn’t even hear Nobara calling after you or see Yuji’s color fade away.

you know what…fuck today, the day didn’t go nice one bit.

chap 02 // masterlist \\ chap 04

✮⋆˙ hey! you guys missed me?

ᥫ᭡. @bekah814 @thisgirlisgaythankyouverymuch @linaaeatsfamilies @2ukika @s3ns4ti0n4l @not-aya @noooo-onee @justbored-sv @rcveriees @kekeanna266 @anonymity-222 @lucentwings @1l-ynn @linny-bloggs @gumiiiiezzzz @sttaejoon-blog @josie901 @k4ss11333 @meguemii

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Dumbledore as the minister?

(sequel to this)

We know the results of that. Up into Harry's first 3 years, Fudge's asks Dumbledore for advice on Everything:

“ ’Course,” said Hagrid. “They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o’ course, but he’d never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin’ fer advice.”

(PS)

“Of course he doesn’t,” said Mr. Weasley. “He’s never wanted the Minister’s job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but he’s never quite forgotten how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though Dumbledore never applied for the job.” “Deep down, Fudge knows Dumbledore’s much cleverer than he is, a much more powerful wizard, and in the early days of his Ministry, he was forever asking Dumbledore for help and advice,” said Lupin. “But it seems that he’s become fond of power now, and much more confident. He loves being Minister of Magic, and he’s managed to convince himself that he’s the clever one and Dumbledore’s simply stirring up trouble for the sake of it.”

(OotP)

The state of Azkaban, werewolf laws, house elf rights, and the state of muggleborns we see in the books is what they would've looked like if Dumbledore was in charge. Dumbledore isn't an idealist for change; he wants to keep the ministry as is. He doesn't see the problems in the system as a whole and he never cared to push for it even when he could (As a Chief Warlock who had the minister's ear).

He is only fighting Voldemort because he became very anti-dark arts because of his ex. It's personal for him, not political.

Dumbledore is definitely smart and charismatic, but he is also narcissistic, arrogant, a show off, and yes, a little power hungry. And Dumbledore knows all of this about himself. He knows he is arrogant and not to be trusted with power. He is self-aware enough to know he would not improve the Wizarding World by being a minister and that the position would make him worse, and yet, he pushes himself into other political positions, almost like he can't help himself. (Hogwarts headmaster is low-key a political position in their world. There's a reason Dumbledore accuses Tom of wanting to teach at Hogwarts for political gain; he is projecting a little, as he always does when it comes to Tom. Dumbledore sees his own worst traits in Tom).

The point is, Dumbledore as a minister would be very prideful, he won't want advice from others, he won't share any important information with anyone, he won't change any of the main issues their world has, and he'll find ways to ensure he keeps his own power for as long as possible, unless he has a good reason not to. I actually think Dumbledore placed himself in a more protected position than Minister. In the years before the books, Dumbledore could influence the minister and the ministry, while enjoying the ability to say his hands were clean.

If we look at how he handles Hogwarts when dangerous things happen, we see he lets things play out and only acts when he has no other choice. He allows students to be endangered by Quirrellmort, the basilisk, Lockheart, Sirius (perceived threat), Barty, Umbridge, Draco, etc, every year and leaves it up to Harry to deal with.

(Yes, it is a staple of the genre of the books, but if we look at it from a Watsonian perspective, it seems he doesn't really care for his student's safety:

“D’you think he meant you to do it?” said Ron. “Sending you your father’s cloak and everything?” “Well, ” Hermione exploded, “if he did — I mean to say that’s terrible — you could have been killed.” “No, it isn’t,” said Harry thoughtfully. “He’s a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don’t think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It’s almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could….” “Yeah, Dumbledore’s off his rocker, all right,” said Ron proudly.

(PS))

Dumbledore wouldn't have prepared the ministry for Voldemort's return, since he hadn't before the books when he could have. He would've wanted Vodlemrot to reveal himself, to make the first move, just like canon — and when the war starts, does he work with the Aurors? Does he put aside his pride to protect more people? No. I understand keeping the horcruxes a secret, but I think it's striking that he doesn't even work well with his own Order, sending them on pointless missions for the most part. Dumbledore doesn't know how to cooperate with other people, which, I think, is essential for being a good minister (and for a lot of other things in life, really).

Basically, Dumbledore as a minister would result in the world as we see it in the books. He might remove the dementors from Azkaban, but I'm not even convinced of that, since he had the capacity to influence Fudge at the beginning of his career and didn't. It means that a lot of things Dumbledore says are important to him, aren't so.

[rainbow-starheart]

...Let's try something new shall we...?

Today, we stand at a crossroads. A crossroads where the lines between what is right and what is wrong have been drawn so harshly that we forget what it means to truly heal, to be kind, to support each other—no matter where we come from, no matter our pasts.

As someone who lives with autism and navigates the complexities of being neurodivergent, I know what it feels like to be misunderstood. I know what it feels like to be judged by others who may not see my struggles or my heart, and that’s why I speak today—not as a leader above, but as one among us, one who believes we can do better. We must do better.

I know there are many of us who have been hurt, who have experienced trauma. And I know there are many who have faced the darkness of manipulation and grooming, especially in communities like the proship world. But there’s something we must recognize—proshippers are not enemies. They are not faceless villains. They are, in many cases, just like us. They’ve been manipulated, hurt, or misled by their pasts, and they found refuge in a place that seemed to accept them.

We must recognize that, as much as we stand for justice and protection, there are survivors on both sides of this divide—survivors who, when they find each other, must not be torn apart by our judgments but brought together by our shared understanding of pain. We cannot ignore that some proshippers are simply victims of circumstances. Their pasts are not their fault, and neither is their need for comfort in these spaces. So why do we, who fight for justice, become the ones who further isolate them?

If we truly want to protect the vulnerable, if we truly want to stand against grooming and manipulation, we must reach out. We must not be the ones who push them away because they don't fit our idea of what’s acceptable. Instead, we must be the ones who offer healing. We are the ones who should guide them to a better way, not crush them under the weight of our pride and prejudice.

And let me be clear: I’m not advocating for excusing harmful behavior. I’m advocating for understanding, for reaching into the broken parts of someone and offering a hand. If we want to stop the cycle of abuse and trauma, it begins with empathy—not judgment.

The truth is, we’ve all been through things. Some of us—maybe even many of us—came from places that were dark and painful. We may have been ex-antis or ex-proshippers. We may have become what we are because of the way we were treated, the way we reacted to the world. And yes, sometimes we get it wrong. Sometimes we get too caught up in the heat of our own pride and refuse to admit that we, too, have been part of the problem. But that is the spirit of rebellion, isn’t it? The fight to do better.

We, the anti-proship community, are not the ones who should belittle the survivors of manipulation. We are the ones who should be their champions, their protectors. We are the ones who should help them heal, who should give them the space and understanding they need to process their pain. We should never be the ones who stand in judgment, condemning those who are trying to grow and evolve.

And what of the proshippers who have come to us seeking understanding? Those who’ve crossed over from the darkness of the proship world to the side of healing? Should we shut them out, too? Should we tell them that they are beyond redemption? No. We welcome them. We offer them the same grace that we would hope for ourselves. We tell them, “You are not your past. You have the power to change, and we’ll be here for you as you do.”

We are all outcasts, but we are not lost. We are not beyond saving. The key to changing the cycle of trauma isn’t pushing others down. It’s lifting each other up.

So let us stand in leadership—not with pride, but with humility. Let us stand with justice, not as a weapon, but as a shield. And let us stand for freedom, not the freedom to hurt, but the freedom to heal.

In the end, we may not all agree. We may have different paths and different views. But we are united in one thing—we are all survivors, fighting to be heard. It is not about who is right or wrong. It’s about healing. It’s about finding light in each other’s stories, no matter how dark the past may seem.

So, I call on all of us—the antis, the proshippers, the outcasts of every corner—to put aside pride and embrace empathy. Together, we can heal. Together, we can fight for justice without tearing each other apart.

[forrest-onfire]

Soooo funny to me that every time I come across a post saying “I haven’t seen any fics/art where this Li does [kink/fetish/etc]” and always, every single time, my first reaction is:

“You’re not looking hard enough.”

Like especially in the LADS fandom 😂 someone said something about there being a disappointing amount of monster fucker content considering there’s a dragon AND a mermaid, and lemme tell you.

YOU. ARE. NOT. LOOKING. HARD. ENOUGH.

I kid you not, right before reading that post, I had just gone through a whole slew of mermaid!Raf art that was deliciously explicit, two penises and all.

Obviously this isn’t an actual complaint. It’s just REALLY funny to me because I’ve seen quite a few of these now about various different things. And without fail, they’re always talking about something I’ve already read dozens of times over… just couldn’t tell you where because my memory is shit. Maybe I’m the problem.