#this book is taking the time to make sense of it

[pagesfromthevoid]

saw your bob post and decided to say my thoughts🙏

he’s definitely submissive (or at the very least, not dominant). i love the thought of him reaching out to hold readers hand when he’s getting overwhelmed, pretty whimpers leaving his mouth as they play w his dick🤤 also imagining him desperate to suck on ur tongue as he dry humps ur thigh—

okay i’ll chill out now but gahdayum he is FINE😛

These can combined I think 👀

But listen. I think for the first like, six months? Maybe the first year —he’s definitely not confident enough to be the one that makes any kind of move. I don’t want to give him a label as dominate or submissive because they just…don’t work for him. He’s a broken guy —he’s healing, he’s being helped —but it’s hard. Smut below the cut:

He would, however, crave physical touch. Especially because he’s so scared that if he touches anyone, they’ll be trapped a shame room and he doesn’t wish that on anyone.

He especially doesn’t want that to happen to you.

But you’re patient, and kind. And you don’t seem to mind that he’s always as close as he can be without actually touching you (he has no sense of personal space, which annoys everyone except you, Yelena and Alexei. The others will politely remind him to step away just a bit, and he’s totally okay with that).

Bob likes his little book nook, but he also likes your room. It’s warmly lit, and smells good, and it just feels like a welcoming place. So if he’s not in his corner, he’s usually sitting on the floor of your room, reading, while you lay in bed and scroll through your phone.

His back aches, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s fine where he’s at, and he doesn’t want to get up and leave. Or disrupt the serene quiet of your room. But he shifts, and his back cracks and he lets out a groan.

You roll over onto your stomach and look down at him, brow raised. “You good?”

He nods frantically, apologizing for being loud. But you wave it off. “You don’t have to sit on the floor, you know. You can come sit on the bed. I won’t bite unless you ask.”

He flushes at the comment, looking down for a moment. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t fantasized about you putting your lips on him —but he knew better than to act on anything. It just…it wasn’t safe.

You pat the bed, drawing his attention again, and he stands up with his book. You scoot over, closer to the wall, and smile up at him patiently. Bob swallows hard and slips into your bed, brushing against you just barely. Even that touch —barely there, barely anything —sends a shiver through him. It had been so long since he was close to someone.

Yeah, the team had hugged him when they stopped Void. But that was a safety kind of thing. And it was nice, but he was scared of dying at that point. There was a difference between safety touching and intimacy and he…he really wanted that. With you.

The comfortable silence takes over again, and after a while you both end up engrossed in your own activities. Bob is focused on his book —sort of. Every time you move or adjusted your position, you got slightly closer. Touched him a little more. And he was distracted by thoughts of how you would feel on top of him. Not even in a sexual way; just…your weight, pressed against him, safe and close.

He freezes when your head falls to his shoulder. Nothing bad happens —no shame spirals, no nightmares. But you’re asleep, phone loosely sitting in your hand, and he considers if he should wake you up. But the selfish part of him —the touch starved part —decides to let you lay against him.

Though you adjust again, and push yourself further down into your pillows. Bob doesn’t want you to move but lets you do whatever you want to be comfortable. Except your cheek presses against his thigh, your head finding itself in his lap.

He panics. You’re so close. So warm. And he doesn’t know what to do with his book because it was in his lap but now you are. So he sets it down, folding his hands over his chest because he doesn’t know what to do. You’re actually asleep —breathing soft and even —and he really doesn’t want to wake you up.

So cautiously, he rests a hand on your back. When you don’t stir, he draws circles into your T-shirt in a way he hopes is soothing. His other hand plays with a strand of your hair, trying to keep himself from panicking. He worries you can hear how hard his heart is beating, because he’s pretty sure it’s going to explode out of his chest at any moment. But you don’t wake, and you both lay there for a long time.

He loses track of time; enough so that he’s starting to doze off himself. But you adjust again, just barely, and your hand rests under your cheek on his thigh and he almost jolts up from the touch.

You’re asleep. You’re not…you’re not purposely trying to touch him like this, he knows that, but he can’t help it. You’re so close, and so warm, and nothing bad has happened since you fell asleep. His head falls back into your pillows, trying to think of anything besides how close your hand and mouth are to his cock, but even trying to think about other things leads back to that thought, and there’s nothing he can do but try to adjust away the hard on he’s sporting.

Maybe he can slip a pillow into his lap. Then you have something to lay on and something to hide in case you wake up. But when he moves to take a pillow from behind him, you stir snd yawn. And then he really panics because he knows you’re awake —hyperaware of your eyelashes brushing against his leg as you blink away sleep.

“Oh,” you yawn, though you don’t move away from him. Actually, he swears to god, you move your hand even closer. “I’m sorry —I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

“It’s uh, it’s totally fine,” he practically whimpers, swallowing hard. Shaking his head. “Not your fault.”

“I think this is though,” you murmur, brushing your hand just barely over the bulge in his sweats. Bob buckles, his fingers tangling into your shirt as you glance up at him. “Do you…can I help you out?”

“God, please,” he begs, nodding frantically as you slowly run your hand over his clothed cock. He’s breathing hard, and he probably sounds like an idiot. But he can’t help it. Even through his clothes, your touch is soft and enticing and he just. He wants more. But he can’t bring himself to ask. “Anything. Please, you can —anything.”

“Don’t say that,” you laugh softly, sitting up some to look up at him. Your hand dances along the edge of his waist band. “‘Anything’ is a lot of power.”

“Anything,” he insists, lower stomach contracting some as your fingers slip under and against his skin.

But your touch is gone too soon, and he whines as he opens his eyes. You haven’t gone far —actually, on the contrary. You’re sitting up on your knees and straddling his lap. Just like he’d imagined before —your weight pressed against his body was wonderful. He’s hesitant to touch you, afraid he’ll do something wrong, but you take hands and hold them against your hips.

“You’re allowed to touch me, Bob,” you promise, letting go of his hands. He cautiously squeezes your hips as you reach up to take his face in your hands. “Can I kiss you?”

“God, yes. Please,” he pleads, and without thinking about it, he’s pulling you in by your hips as you close the distance between you both.

He doesn’t care if he’s coming off as desperate or pathetic. Your mouth on his is even better than he could have imagined. Your hands in his hair could have been heaven. But when you press yourself down into his clothed cock, he whimpers. He feels your smile against his mouth, and you press down harder and grind yourself against him. He opens his mouth and pushes his hips up to meet yours, and you take full advantage of his open mouth to slide your tongue against his.

Bob wants to melt into your touch. Your hands tugging at his hair, your teeth nipping at his lips, and your body pressing against his —he’s not even sure when it happens, because he’s too focused on every little touch. But he groans, holding you tight by your hips against him as he cums in his pants.

“Oh god,” he sighs, pressing his forehead into your shoulder. He’s shaking and he doesn’t know if it’s from all of this or embarrassment. “I’m —shit, I’m sorry —I didn’t ���,”

But you’re grinning at him, pressed against him still, but your hand is running through his hair. “It’s okay. That’s what I wanted.”

He pulls back, looking up at you and the teasing grin on your face.

Yeah. You could do whatever you wanted to him and he’d thank you for it, he decides in that moment.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Would love to read a buckyxreader smut with soft, delicate intimacy, like he is very passionate but also emotional, strong feelings are happening

thanks for requesting💌

YOUR LOVE. 18+

bucky barnes x fem!reader

wc. 815 warnings. I cant think of what it's called, but its basically dry humping but without clothes and he's not inside her. lets call it wet humping?? thunderbolts* era bucky, both had a long day yada yada. mdni

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Today was particularly long and tiring for you, the monotonous events of the day seeming to catch up with you as you begin to wind down for the night in bed: a book in hand, a couple candles lit on the nightstand beside you. 

Your attention dwindles when you hear the keys jingle in the front door, the sound of it closing follows shortly after. You preemptively close your book, already anticipating your lover’s train of thought — the lack of light around the apartment meaning you can only be in one place. Bed.

Footsteps scuffle as the door to your shared room gets pushed open, the warm flickering light of your candles casting a soft orange hue on Bucky as he appears behind the gap. He looks tired, appearing to have a long day himself.

“Hi,” you welcome, smiling softly — knowing that what he needs right now is something tender and sincere. 

“Hi,” he repeats, beginning to undress at the foot of the bed. Heavy hero-type clothing dropping to the floor. 

“Long day?” you ask, head tilting sweetly as you look at him.

He nods. “You?”

You nod. 

And with that shared sense of weariness being known, he itches up the length of the bed to you — moving the blanket aside to settle his lower half between your extended legs. He gives you a short kiss when he’s close enough, supporting his weight with hands anchored beside you. 

A kiss becomes two and two becomes more, each one growing longer than the one before. As if it was a physical declaration of how much you both truly needed the warmth and love of the other. 

Your hands reach to hold either side of his head as you scooch yourself downwards, shimmying under the slight caging of him above. The hem of your nightdress gets caught under your ass with the movement, the fabric caught by friction to reveal yourself rather perfectly to him. 

He glances between your bodies, taking an appreciative note of your floral underwear — the pair he has a particular liking to. A slither of your stomach entraps his attention also, which tends to be a given.

“That wasn’t planned,” you meet his eyes, an amused expression mirroring on each of your faces. 

“I wouldn’t mind if it was,” he murmurs against your lips, voice quiet with the obvious close distance. “I wouldn’t mind at all.” 

His speech draws out rather lazily as he litters a faint array of kisses across your cheek, moving to your ear only to travel down, trailing down the length of your throat. Halting briefly when he reaches the nape of your neck.

You retract a hand from the side of his face and direct it between yourselves, moving slowly until you reach the elastic band of your underwear. And as you start to tug it down, Bucky’s hand joins yours, fingers wrapping around your wrist as if to silently stop you. Instead, he slips his index into the side, pulling the fabric and dragging it over your cunt — hooking the material on the other side.

His own hand dips into his boxers and in turn, he pulls his dick out over the top, cock only just beginning to harden. He guides himself closer to you and rests it atop your pussy. Simply letting it sit there for a moment, allowing some time to just feel you.

His hips wind ever so slightly and his cock pushes forward, driving up between the part of your folds. Friction restricting any sense of haste. He repeats again and again and again. Going slow as he pushes and pulls through your cunt’s lips, each thrust making him grow harder against you. 

Your knees hug at his sides as you adjust your hips, getting closer to him and simultaneously keeping him secure with the tightening of your thighs. He plants his hand back into its spot beside your head, resting on forearms to resume a close, similar position to you. 

“Wanna talk about your day?” you whisper, voice breathy from the heavy weight of his dick — the feel of him hindering your air flow. 

He swallows thickly as his head shakes a singular time. He wasn’t too keen on that idea. Maybe later, he thought. Right now he just wanted to focus on you, refamiliarise himself with your gaze and your touch. 

You lift your hands to sit on the sides of his face once more, palms resting over the shells of his ears you pull him in closer — lips meeting in the middle. Your inaudible response provides him your understanding, wordlessly acknowledging his wants.

Bucky’s neck grows slack and his head dips towards the side of your throat and he resumes his prior littering of faint, fluttery kisses. Each one matching the languid, unsystematic thrust of his hips. Dually cementing the grand span of his appreciation for you.

“You’re so perfect.”

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[comicgeekery]

I'm sorry to anyone who feels this way. It's awful.

But I also think it's wrong.

I try to not use the word talent in my life. Because 90% of the time what people describe as talent, an innate even destined ability, is actually skill, an ability that has been developed through practice and experience. And it's a super important distinction, because skill isn't up to genetics or god or some basic seed from which you sprouted. Skill is based in your choices and, essentially, your opportunities.

I don't want to turn this to the other extreme and say that you're not great at That Thing because you haven't tried hard enough. There are certainly many circumstances that can get in the way. Like money, like available time. Can you go to classes? Afford materials? Dedicate hours every week to practice and improvement?

And it's more than that even! Have you ever learned HOW you learn? Were you taught how to embrace failure? Because no matter what, you WILL fail at the thing you like a LOT on the path to getting good at it.

But I think the absolute most important element is, do you have people who support and believe in you? Not just for your interest of choice, but also in general.

OP strongly compares exceptional ability with fame. That makes sense. I know the kind of optimistic posts they're talking about with lists of celebrities who became famous later in life. But fame is a different game entirely. It's based in opportunity to the nth degree, on being attractive in a very specific way, and on having skill in one or two of just a handful of abilities. Sure, there's a fixation on singers, actors, and athletes, but how many people would know it if the world's greatest knitter walked on stage?

That wouldn't mean that the knitter wasn't incredible, just that there isn't an industry built around promoting them.

The celebrities in those posts are for a point of connection, as people you can recognize. But yeah, ANYONE can start again at any time. And to keep it mundane, I'll use myself.

I'm 36. I've spent the last few years rebuilding my life after living through many shitty things. I grew up in an abusive household. I was bullied a lot. I lost friends through death and through just being too much.

And now I've done SO MUCH therapy and work on myself. I find I have the strength to try new things. I've been taking local classes for fun; ballroom dance, juggling, and improv. I started a book club that just reads terrible books because I find that fun. I started ANOTHER club for doing escape rooms because I love those and they need about 4 people. I'm putting together a little business to help people with their writing.

This is a lot of stuff, but I chose it all one at a time. Some of these things may not particularly amount to anything. They certainly won't make me famous. But I get joy from the trying, from working with other people, and from having others who support and compliment my efforts.

So much of our self-esteem, for better or worse, is based in the love and attention of others. Is it really FAME you want? Screaming fans, paparazzi, and a billion strangers with some opinion on your work without knowing a thing about you? Or would you be overwhelmed with joy if a dozen people were proud of you?

I'm sorry you don't have enough love or encouragement or self-esteem right now. I hope that gets better for you as you live and build skills you need.

But most of all, I promise that it's never too late!

everyone says you can always restart. that your future isn't forgotten, just sort of misplaced. they name actors and singers and authors who started at 46, 59. they cite chappell roan's 10 years. they tell you to push and push, that some day you'll open a door and the truth will be behind it.

but what if you aren't a celebrity in sheep's clothing. what if you're just a normal person. most people aren't exceptionally talented or else talent wouldn't be exceptional - right? what if you're just another median person; not ever startlingly bad nor terrifyingly good.

you put the shopping carts back and you walk your dog and you write poems on the internet. you have grown a plant or two; killed a few others. you did okay, overall, and you've been okay most of your life. not valedictorian, but you were a smart kid. you had some hard knocks, but you got up again. your life is just - average. you probably will never sing onstage at coachella. most of the time you are at peace with that - someone needs to drive the speed limit. life isn't about extraordinary circumstances, it's just about building a life you love and figuring out how to live in it.

but you would like to feel as if you'd found "the answer." everyone else seems to have some kind of talent they are born nesting in - and meanwhile you just exist. is that why you cycle through crafts and hobbies and activities like a roulette wheel? are you waiting for the moment where it turns out - all this time, you've been a visionary. a genius. all this time, you were special. even you: someone who has-never-been.

crawling up your throat: something bitter and savage. not quite a feeling of wasted potential. after all, you need to first have potential in order to waste it.

[writingwithcolor]

Does the way my alien character disguises himself as a POC perpetuate harmful tropes?

Anonymous asks:

"Hi all! I'm a longtime follower, first time asker. There's something about my current story that feels a little sticky, and I haven't been able to find any applicable information on the blog. I'm working on a queer monster romance. The setting is a modern one with supernatural elements. One of the main characters is an alien refugee, and his species has an ability to possess corpses and retain some of the last soul's memories to disguise themselves. It's morbid, but it's supposed to be a story about monsters, and he doesn't do worse beyond that. I've read a lot of posts by Latinx and Jewish people talking about aliens on Earth as a metaphor for immigrants, with the struggle of adapting to a new culture and being separated from the one you were born into, and since my story takes place in Southern California, which has a large population of Mexican immigrants, I thought it made sense to make his ""host body"" Mexican. However, the more I think on it, I'm worried that his ""disguise"" method could be viewed as a violation of a brown body. I'm also concerned that he's just TOO monstrous, and could play into a harmful trope of making POC inhuman. The other main character is white and more visibly monstrous, and there are other POC who aren't monsters, but is it enough? Should my alien disguise himself in another way? I know mods aren't answering questions about Latino culture right now, but I think this is more about harmful tropes against POC in general. Thanks for reading."

I appreciate that your response is about the Mexican community rather than the Jewish community, but still take a look at Mod Shira’s post on Jewish Monster Characters Doing Harm  as well as Monsters in General.

Consider the tension that your monsters create. As those posts suggested,  could you swap out “monster” and replace it with “immigrant,” “Latine,” or "Mexican" and see real-world conflict? If so, then the story could be veering towards a metaphor for race-relations, despite being a romance genre and not an #ownvoices narrative. 

You mentioned that some monsters disguise themselves in white bodies but are “more monstrous.” That’s interesting, but I’m still unclear: does your alien monster merge with its host, or is it just wearing their skin? In the anime Parasyte, the alien Migi and its human host have deep conversations about humanity, culture, and perspective. These are all things Migi doesn’t initially understand. This exchange gives the human host agency while preserving their cultural identity. Will your Latine MC receive that kind of humanization?

If not, and these aliens are simply using a Latine appearance as a disguise, that’s a problem. It effectively erases the Latino experience while using a Latine character’s face, which feels deeply unsettling. It risks reducing Mexican identity to an aesthetic rather than acknowledging its depth of culture, traditions, history, food, music, humor, or language.

Since this is a queer romance, it also raises another issue: if the alien is just impersonating a Latine person, then the Latine love interest is, in reality, falling for someone who isn’t actually Latine. Does the love interest teach the alien about Latino culture? That could work, or fall flat depending on execution.

Ultimately, if there’s no strong narrative reason for this alien to present as Latine, it might be worth reconsidering their ethnicity. Maybe your next story could have a Latine MC without this sort of ambiguity, or you could make the alien merge with a real Latine host, similar to Parasyte. Alternatively, the love interest could be Latine, allowing for meaningful cultural exchange. Personally, I’d pass on a book where a non-Latine entity is running around murdering and romancing in Latine skin. But that’s just me. 

~  Melanie 🌻

since my story takes place in Southern California, which has a large population of Mexican immigrants, I thought it made sense to make his "host body" Mexican.

This just sounds exactly like the aliens disguising themselves as Latin American immigrants in The Men In Black (1997) lol. In MIB, it is an intentional joke/play on the word “alien” that only worked in the 90s. That’s going to be the first thing audiences think of when they read this scenario. 

~ Rina

Rina and Melanie’s Required Reading/Watching Recs:

The Men In Black (Columbia Pictures, 1997) 

The Host (Stephenie Meyer, 2008) 😖

Parasyte (dir. Shimizu Kenichi, Madhouse, 2014)

Our prescription: more research and genre awareness.

[yetrop]

Good Omens is autistic—here’s why!

First off, there’s the angelic/demonic nature of the protagonists

They’re trying to blend in with humanity, but have to pick things up as they go along

Because of this, the way they interact with and view people is different from the expected norm

Which also means they're often confused by human customs and find it difficult to read social cues (think Aziraphale asking Maggie if she actually thinks she isn’t crying later on in this scene)

Crowley has to hide his eyes, a part of his identity, from everyone except Aziraphale and the other demons for fear of seeming different/threatening/not human (masking in the most literal sense of the word)

Muriel is concerned with acting and speaking “correctly” to be seen as human

Even though both main characters don’t fit in with humanity because of their angelic/demonic nature, they also don’t fit in with their respective sides, who view them both as strange and don’t understand them. The only place they find acceptance/belonging is with each other. If that isn’t a neurodivergent (and very queer) storyline, I don’t know what is.

Next up, there’s Aziraphale as a whole

The way he stims

Loves routine, dislikes change

Gets uncomfortable when he has to break rules/disrupt order

Taking things literally— “You can’t drive my Bentley.” “I can— I have a license!” (also, this scene is another example of his insistence on order and rules— he insisted on getting a license before they were even legally required)

Paces back and forth talking to himself, planning out what he’s going to say before a conversation (scripting)

The way he suppresses stimming around Heaven by clasping hands behind back, feels uncomfortable and overstimulated there

Bookshop is super cluttered, he has an organizational system that is comprehensible to basically exclusively him

Clumsy, often sucks at motor coordination

Easily startled

He loves alone time, especially when he’s in his own space— he does everything he can to keep customers away from his bookshop

Attaches a lot of sentimental value to inanimate objects (“I’ve kept this in tip-top condition for over 180 years!”)

Incredibly passionate about his interests, especially magic and books

Black and white thinking and rigid morality— He loves and trusts Crowley more than the other angels, but still has tendency to categorize Heaven, Hell, angels and demons as exclusively good or bad (“of course you didn’t go back to Hell— you’re the bad guys!”)

Crowley’s definitely got something neurodivergent going on too (leaning towards ADHD, but potentially AuDHD)

The way he sits in chairs

Hell, (…or Heaven, whatever…) even just the “ducks!” moment alone is enough to show that that his mind jumps around a lot to unexpected loose threads rather than focusing on the subject at hand

Impulsivity

Creative and has a vivid inner world. As pointed out by God Herself, he has what the other demons don’t— an imagination

Craves novelty, frequently changes appearance

Stimming starmaker

This one is from the book, but it’s too good not to point out: the way he idolizes characters like Bond and copies his behaviors off of what he thinks a cool human would do. He has a new computer because it’s “the sort of thing Crowley felt that the sort of human he tried to be would have” (pg 239)

His understanding of how humans fall in love is based on a Richard Curtis film he’s seen

His insistence on asking questions when things don’t make sense to him, knowing why things are the way they are rather than blindly accepting them

And of course, there’s the themes of the story

Black and white thinking vs shades of grey

Breaking away from a world that doesn’t accept you to find love, belonging, and safety

And, as demonstrated time and time again by our two protagonists: intelligence isn’t synonymous with interpersonal skills (…or common sense.)

Thanks for reading all of that! This isn’t the kind of post I normally make, but I have so many thoughts about this that have been on my mind for almost two years now, so I decided to share them.

While there are of course a lot of plot-related reasons for why they behave the way that they do and many of the traits I brushed on could be explained by other factors, I still find it interesting to explore it through a neurodivergent lens. I also think the existence of angels with physical disabilities (like Saraqueal) adds credibility to the idea that other types of disabilities or neurodivergence is at the very least possible for angels and demons in this universe.

Feel free to point out anything I forgot to include (which I have no doubt is a lot) and let me know your own thoughts in the comments or tags— I’d love to hear them!

[rabotimagines]

Do you have more Insecticons?

"Instinct" GN BOT Reader x The Insecticons

Summary: The Insecticons trying to seduce reader while reader doesn't know what the hell is happening.

G1 Characters: The Insecticons, Sideswipes here too (you flirt with each other a little too but casually.)

Genre/Theme: Insecticons failing to seduce Reader.

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours, Their, Them, They

Notes: Autobot Reader! Referencing G1 episodes at the start. Part 2 of this.

You really should've known better. Really, you should have.

After someone let it slip, you knew how to make those energon goodies. The Insecticons wound up kidnapping you. Which half of It you don't even remember because of the mind control shell and the orders they gave you. But it was a day and a half for your friends to get you back from them.

Then they kidnapped you a second time when they were hopped up on that stuff that made them grow a few size classes. Oh yeah, that one ended with Shrapnel exploding because, of course, it did.

So you really should know better.

But the invasive plant fiasco happened, and you got to watch the insecticons clone army get absolutely devoured by those plants. And you were the only one watching what was the original Insecticons freaking out and desperately trying to free Kickback from the clutches of one of said plants.

You should be relieved they were gonna get eaten. It would make your jobs guarding earth a lot easier.

But looking at them panic and Kickback begging, and frankly, it actually looked like he was a nanoklick from bursting into tears. Kinda just- eh, what was the human phrase Carly used to describe that guy she had that encounter with? A pathetic bastard? Yeah, that sounds right. They looked like such pathetic bastards that you couldn't help feeling sorry for them.

You cared way too much in general.

But that's primarily why you were an Autobot and not a Decepticon.

With a sigh, you ran over and promptly slammed your pede onto the vines latched around Kickbacks leg. The plant sensing you close latched another vine out and wrapped it around your arm. You only pressed down harder on the one you were stepping on. And Bombshell and Shrapnel managed to yank Kickback free of the plants' vice grip.

They barely looked your way before booking it away from the killer plants grasp and up into the sky.

Honestly, you really did care too much. You shot Blaster a message to come your way to free you when another vine shot out to wrap around your thigh. The two limbs slowly begun to drag you closer to the main bulb of the plant.

At least these things only ate Insecticons.

-

You were stuck on patrol with Sideswipe during a slow shift. The klicks crawling by agonizingly slow. After the sixth round of your patrol route with absolutely nothing of note happening, you'd opted to take a quick break.

You were both in your root modes, and Sideswipe had moved next to the tree you were already leaning against. You arched an optic ridge at him silently, wondering what he was doing at the tree you'd already claimed as your own.

He mimicked a yawn- like the humans would do, and stretched his arms high and- his arm went over your pauldron. Sideswipe then dragged you a bit closer to his frame, and you could only level him with a blank expression.

"What? It's not like we're doing nothin' could be doing... something." Sideswipe exaggeratedly waggled his optic ridge and made the most ridiculous expression, so you knew he wasn't being serious. "Something fun maybeeee?" He nearly leaned his entire frame weight onto you, and you would've fallen if you didn't make sure to hold him up. This slagger.

Though despite your mild annoyance, your derma quirked upwards. Because two could play this game after all.

Instead of pushing Sideswipe away or breaking away like you assume he was expecting, you only leaned further against him. Your servo moved to trace the dip of his Autobot symbol. You met his gaze and arched an optic brow. And you asked if Sideswipe really thought he could handle you.

Amusement curled in your frame when Sideswipe's optics brightened a touch.

And before you could shove him away and tell him to get real, a shout made you both jump away from each other.

"Autobot!" Bombshell appeared out of the shrubbery in his alt mode. You both automatically reached for your weapons, but Bombshell kept talking. "I challenge you to a duel! No blasters, only frames!" Bombshell announced while staring right at Sideswipe.

Sideswipe thought on it for only half a nano-klick before grinning. "You're on bug boy!" You could only sigh over the response. Of course, the fight junky would take it up with no questions asked.

Which is how you end up standing on the side, watching them both circle one another like a pair of territorial turbofoxes. You'd found a dirt patch in the trees, and it was where they'd started brawling. Sideswipe lundged first and after a big scuffle ended up on Bombshell's back. Bombshell rightfully started bucking and swinging to get Sideswipe off of him. You try to cheer Sideswipe on telling him not to make the Autobots look bad and to keep it together.

But eventually, Sideswipe loses his grip he had on Bombshell's back and gets bucked off. Then Bombshell rushed him, and you half assumed Sideswipe was about to get impaled right in front of you. Only Sideswipe dodged, making Bombshell's horn scrap underneath Sideswipe's frame instead of directly stabbing him.

Bombshell then launched Sideswipe off his horn with a vengeance.

You watched Sideswipe sail into a tree and land in the dirt with a loud crash of branches and metal.

"Yes! Victory is mine!" Bombshell announced aloud and actually started shuffling like he was celebrating his win.

You call out and ask Sideswipe if he's okay.

"Yeah! Kinda scuffed but I'm fine."

Another shout makes you jolt and you turn to see Shrapnel's alt mode jump out of the shrubbery this time into the dirt clearing. But he's got his gaze set right on Bombshell instead of you or Sideswipe.

Shrapnel advanced towards Bombshell "Mine! Mine-!" He repeated aloud.

"No! Not yours! Mine!" Bombshell snapped back, his plating ruffling and shaking in anger. And just like that, they started circling each other like Sideswipe and Bombshell had.

What the pit were they even fighting over? The win?

They charged each other, and after a quick scuffle, Shrapnel managed to grab Bombshell with his big mandibles. Shrapnel whipped around and threw Bombshell against a tree. The wood cracked, and the tree fell with a load crash. "I won! I won-!" Shrapnel quickly started celebrating.

But Bombshell didn't stay down, and he came back via rushing Shrapnel through the bushes. His horn slamming Shrapnel right in the side and sending his alt mode skidding against the ground. Shrapnel hissed, and Bombshell actually growled back at him. Seriously, what are they fighting over!? Shrapnel then let loose a discharge of his electricity, and just like that, you dived to join Sideswipe in the shrubbery.

You both decided to ditch the two of them to start making your way back to the patrol route, while you spit balled ideas on what all that was between each other. Only not too long after you started going, did you start hearing- something.

It almost sounded like- Powerglide trying to take off? Like metal spinning fast and precise. You stared at one another before electing to follow through with your patrol and investigate it.

You ended up tracking the noise together through the woods until you got closer and closer. And eventually you ended up close enough to see a frame in the woods clinging on a tree. You could see- purple and gray- oh Primus, it's Kickback.

And Kickback was? Was he making the sound? You focused your optics and could make out his alt mode legs drumming against his own wings. The reverberated noise you'd been hearing was the drumming sound of very quick metal on metal touches.

You stepped on a branch, and the sound immediately cut out. Kickback glanced your way, and you both tensed.

Only he started drumming the sound up on his wings once more while making optic contact with you in his alt mode. You cycled your optics and continued to stare astonished at the display.

A loud crash made you all snap your attention towards Shrapnel and Bombshell, who both tumbled into your area in a mess of angry bug limbs. Bombshell forced Shrapnel's helm to the side when he pushed him down, and Shrapnel let loose another discharge of his electricity. It engulfed the area making you jerk back. The burning prickles of it ghosted along your frame. Kickback yelling in pain told you he was not as fortunate as you two were.

As soon as the wave of electricity stopped, Bombshell dropped to his side and had to make an effort to get back up again. Shrapnel rose only for Kickback to descend on both of them with a vengeance. It turned into an all-out scrap between the three of them, climbing and swiping and kicking and- a shot of stray electricity nearly hit Sideswipe in the helm. You both looked at each other and turned on a pede and quickly made your way back towards your route and away from the Insecticons apparent madness.

You'd take your boring patrol shift over this any day of the week.

-

"Hold it!" Bombshell snapped, putting a leg each on Shrapnel and Kickbacks helms pushing their alt modes closer to the ground. "Where are they?" At the question, they both glanced left and right and realized like he did that you were gone.

They all broke away from one another to transform back into root mode and start cursing.

"Slagger! Slagger-! That Autobot took off with them- with them-!" Shrapnel angerly clenched his mandibles and stood up. Glancing around seeing if there was any sign for which direction you'd taken off in.

"You two ruined my show! They were interested even!" Kickback pushed Shrapnel and pointed at Bombshell. "They were focusing right on me, and you ruined it!" Kickback swung back and smashed a rock to bits with his pede, sending broken rock flying into the air. His antennas twitched, and his plating quivered in his own displeasure.

"Whatever! Whatever-! Like they'd actually go with you! You-!" Shrapnel glared at Kickback, and Kickback hissed back at him with a sneer.

"Be quiet, both of you!" Bombshell snapped and shoved them both away from one another. "Clearly, we need to re plan our seduction strategy." Kickback and Shrapnel huffed but didn't argue. "We needed that failure to remind us we aren't just trying to be their mate. We've got the entirety of the Autobots to compete with."

They couldn't argue with Bombshell on it because it was true. They were going to be fighting all the Autobots for your attention. While they were busy fighting each other, that red Autobot easily swiped you away from them.

"We'll need to work together to make them our mate." Bombshell turned and started making his way towards a clearing in the trees. "So no more fighting over them between us until we make them ours. Got it?"

"Sounds like a plan- plan-!" Shrapnel followed after Bombshell.

"Fine- the Autobots won't know what hit them when they choose us." Kickback trailed after the both of them smiling as he imagined the scene.

"We'll make them ours soon enough." With that, they all transformed back into alt mode and took to the skies. Keeping their optics open for a familiar sight of your color of paint.

[dark-wackademia]

Concerning the NI bit, as an INTJ, this is true to a point. If I feel like I can actually share openly, I'll keep getting more relaxed at being myself, sharing myself, getting longer and deeper with my texts and convos until I see something that tells me more of who you really are, and if that is not in alignment with essential parts of who I am. Usually, that’s eventually where the disconnect comes into play and shifts how I interact. Seeing this and allowing it to click makes me not give the same energy, not as a dig at them in any bitterness but in knowing they won’t get it. It’s like being in one place in development and trying to talk to someone that is nowhere near that place, you can’t knock 'em for being uncaring about the matters that they haven’t danced with as you have. I guess, for me, always finding out people are who they say they are still is something that I cope with in a grieving sense, being that I believe we are so much more than what we think we are.

Anyway, yeah, I'm an open book of the flux and flow I philosophize my way through but only with people that are receptive, show enjoyment and engagement with, and or get what it is I’m sharing. Otherwise, it feels like I'm being vulnerable in seeking a deeper, real connection and expression of authentically living and being, only to feel disrespected, disregarded, and undervalued—or, on a very soul level, rejected like they are rejecting the parts of themselves I’m trying to show them… but my answer is right there. I understand I’m just a mirror and what they reject of me, is just reflective of what they reject in themselves. It’s sad how many are unhealed to the extent of rejecting their possibility, especially in the aspect of healing, growing, and rebuilding themselves, of their power. If they’re rejecting parts of themselves, and not abiding by themselves, then how do I expect them to offer me a sliver of such a thing? Which I am learning to more quickly acclimate to, as an INTJ, despite my proclivities for holding out hope, since I just hate feeling like I'm wasting my time and energy. And it’s nothing against them for just not being there, but it’s still disheartening.

So, often I'll go back to concise and “normal” speech because I don't have the energy to share something that doesn't matter to them, that they’re not ready to do something with. What’s the point? I was just talking to my super spiritual sister in law who's some type of ExFx, I can't recall. But we do still get each other because she is proactive with her life/cycles and is always willing to face the truth and facts, however upsetting, however raw and brutally honest, to better work her way through it to heal. I relate with that. Which to me, is the BIGGEST part of knowing if a dynamic will work long term or not, for me. IDC how long you cycle in your loops, I’m the type that’s in control of my emotions enough to deal with any frustration of you not taking advice and it coming to fruition (ie. making a mistake) to keep helping you via hours upon hours, days upon days, forever, through your journey because I know THAT’S life. That is living. And I know we all have them, our own loops. I get that we’re all learning and relearning, dismantling and rebuilding, imperfect and trying. But, in this, we recognise the difference between saying and doing. She and I are doers. We love this death and rebirth cycle and chase that growth, changing for the better, no matter how hard the work ahead is. That is the main plus someone can have in my book. Courage, determination, and self-accountability for the things you say matter to you. A deeper consciousness that you do something with. Escaping the loop. But I thankfully am learning how to not people please and let go when I recognize something isn’t working for me and letting a relationship just be what it is. Sometimes, the best thing we can offer is the space and time for that person to decide on their own, who they are and what work matters to them in their life. I have to do the same, regardless, so sticking with that has been helpful. Which is to say, learning and relearning how to keep abiding by myself. Plus, doing something that makes me just feel further alone and misunderstood for the sake of others is people pleasing and the type of self-sabotaging/self-defeating behavior I've worked, and continue to work hard to not fall into. I have to do more of what makes me feel like I'm actually doing something of substance with my time and energy. I have to do what's right for me, and they, as well.

Acceptance is always the key though, and I’m finally really learning how to keep hold of that key in every situation, and in this, my peace, contentment, and embracing of all, as it is, while still accepting me and what is and isn't working for me.

MBTI Types & Texting Styles

Perceiving Functions

xNxP | High Ne: uses run-on sentences and parentheses (to maximize info-dumping and clarification via extraneous details, respectively)

xNxJ | High Ni: Short and simple sentences. It’s not intentionally “dry”, it’s just effective word choice.

xSxP | High Se: lowercase letters/free form sentences and p much any slang they wanna use bc its just texting and not deep enough for proper spelling and grammar

xSxJ | High Si: Breaking up responses to multiple topics into separate paragraphs.

It’s easier to keep track of what you’re talking about this way.

—

Judging Functions

xxFJ | High Fe: traditional/safe emojis and slang for effective communication ie. lol, brb, ☺️, 😅 periods in the middle are okay. Periods at the end are intimidating so it’s best to avoid those

xxFP | High Fi: Using creative combinations of emojis ( 🙏😩 | 👁️👄👁️ | 🥺👉👈) for the ultimate range of personal expression

xxTJ | High Te: Capital letters, and advanced punctuation; they exist for a reason. Big fan of the Oxford Comma.

xxTP | High Ti: Correct spelling and grammar is mostly a byproduct of autocorrect unless its absolutely necessary. it doesnt have to be perfext just understandable

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading updates: april 2025

HI wow what a month! 2025 felt like it was going REAL FAST until about mid-March, and ever since then it's slowed to a sort of molasses. despite the seeming influx of extra time I read much less in April than I have in any of the previous months this year - this is the first month I haven't even cracked double digits! which is fine, of course, it's not a competition, but it is interesting to think about what slowed me down so drastically.

(just kidding, it's not a mystery. it's heaps and heaps of stress. oops!)

ANYWAY. fortunately April's book haul has largely been a case of quality of over quantity, introducing me to several books that I think are guaranteed to land on my year-end best-of list. without further ado:

what have I been reading?

Under the Skin: The Hidden Toll of Racism on American Lives and on the Health of Our Nation (Linda Villarosa, 2022) - I checked this book out last month alongside Dr. Uché Blackstock's memoir, Legacy: A Black Physician Reckons With Racism in Medicine, as kind of a mini-series on racial bias in the American medical system. while I feel like I broadly learned more overall from Villarosa, thanks to her taking a journalistic approach that allows for a broader scope than Blackstock can achieve by primarily focusing on her personal experiences, I found that the two books complemented each other extremely well and each served to bolster and deepen the other. one major advantage of Villarosa's work is the geographic variability and the ability to meet healthcare workers and patients from a much wider range of places than Blackstock's New York hospitals, with particular focus on poor communities in southern states. Villarosa's writing has a strong, compassionate, deeply curious voice that makes her subjects incredibly vivid, rendering them with dignity even as their medical nightmares are laid bare. it was an incredible read and one that had been languishing on my TBR for a while, and I'm very glad I finally made the time.

Earthlings (Sayaka Murata, 2018, trans. Ginny Tapley Takemori, 2020) - while I didn't love this novel quite as much as Murata's briefer wonder, Convenience Store Woman, it did cement Murata as an author whose work absolutely fascinates me. her grasp of trauma and alienation is incredible, and she has a way of depicting unconventional desire in a way that's unlike anything I've ever seen. I'm supremely excited to read more of her work.

The Love Hypothesis (Ali Hazelwood, 2021) - in case you haven't already heard the news: I read the alleged Reylo laboratory AU romance novel expecting to be a big hater and I ended up loving it. joke's on me! you win this round, Ali Hazelwood.

Crying in H Mart (Michelle Zauner, 2021) - listen: you never want to be the guy saying that a woman's memoir about losing her mother to a painful and sudden cancer isn't that sad. to be clear, it is an extremely sad book! Zauner does an incredible job rendering the all-consuming pain of nursing her mother through her final days, a pain devastatingly unique to everyone who experiences it. in this case, the biracial Zauner also has the daunting sense of losing not only her mother but also a core part of her identity, struggling to figure out how to be a Korean American woman without the connection her mother provided. it's a tragedy! it's several tragedies all in one place, make no mistake! but I also feel like I've spent YEARS hearing this book hyped up as The Saddest Book Ever, and perhaps I've just read too many sad memoirs but it was like. it was fine. it's just fine. solid B+, not mad I read it, but I have read sadder. probably I am going to hell for this.

Liquid: A Love Story (Mariam Rahmani, 2025) - I was super excited for Rahmani's debut novel, which has a compelling premise: stuck in a stagnating academic career and with her parents nagging her to wed, an unnamed queer Iranian-American woman decides to go on 100 dates across Los Angeles to find a likely candidate for a marriage that can bring her financial security. her plans inevitably go awry when a family tragedy requires her to travel to Iran, where her goals are brought more sharply into focus - and she ultimately resolves her romantic quandary. it's a stylish book, almost painfully so; I can't say I'd recommend this to anyone who dislikes literary fiction because GOD is this Literary Fiction, our protagonist deeply preoccupied with her own witty malaise and caustic observations. she's a little awful and I liked her a lot, but I also think that the resolution Rahmani brings her protagonist to was devastatingly expected - and unfortunately, no amount of self-aware lampshading actually makes it less predictable. I'm conflicted! it felt like a lot of building up to not a lot of payoff, but I'm compelled all the same and I'm hoping to see more of Rahmani in the future.

Before We Were Trans: A New History of Gender (Kit Heyam, 2022) - god, what a delight of a book. Heyam takes a gorgeously open approach to what constitutes "trans history", casting their net wide to recognize gender nonconformity far beyond contemporary understandings of what it means to be transgender. Heyam advocates for a wide recognition of experiences throughout history: people whose gender identities were shaped by non-Western religions and cultures, those whose identities blurred between same-gender attraction and a desire to be recognized as a different gender than the one expected of them, those whose transgressions of gendered boundaries can't be proven to be align strictly with 21st century ideas of transness. Heyam's approach is one of radical inclusiveness, seeking not to "prove" any particular understandings of transness in historical figures but simply to point at a long, global history of people living outside of a gender binary and weave all of these instances together in the understanding that all of these experiences support and bolster each other in affirming that across time, language, and culture, people bucking gender norms have always existed. reading this book felt like holding a mug of hot chocolate.

Afterparties (Anthony Veasna So, 2021) - genuinely impossible for me to talk about this short story collection without acknowledging that it was published posthumously by So's mother and partner after he died very young. I will freely admit that the first story did not grab me, and since I'm fussy about short stories I might well have set down the book after that if not for the strange sense that I was holding a small representation of a man's life in my hands. I guess that's always the case with a book, but somehow it felt extra sharp here. in any case, I'm glad I stuck it out; So's stories about Cambodian immigrant communities in California are messy and loving and sorrowful and silly, delving deep into the sadness that can cling to a family for generations. I'd be absolutely remiss not to pay particular attention to the final story, "Generational Differences," in which So writes from the point of view of his own mother, talking to his child self and recounting a tragedy. it's a brave and vulnerable approach that I've never encountered before, and it's really something special.

an obligatory update on my book bingo sheets: as usual, the sheet that I'm filling in opportunistically is thriving, with the addition of Liquid completing another bingo and getting me very close to two more

and the list of books that I specifically planned out is LANGUISHING

finger crossed for May, when I'm hoping to cross at least two more off the list...

[starsinthesky5]

ok ok so i’ve had this in my head FOR A WHILE and just kept forgetting to send it to you

but since songbird is based off of taylor, what was Joe’s reaction to the Brazil (I think it was Brazil) show? like it got so hot that she’s struggling to breathe, maybe panicking a little.

lowkey hope this makes sense lmao

a/n: HI MY LOVE <3 ty for sending this in

also, the fic series is not up to the tour storyline yet, but take this as another peek into it like i did a few months ago with this ask!

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

oh god. if joe had been watching that brazil show live, there’s no way he stayed calm. especially if he wasn’t there in person.

he was in pittsburgh, holed up in a quiet corner suite the team booked for away games. it was late—past 11—room lit only by the muted glow of the bathroom light and the flickering of his ipad screen, propped up on the pillows beside him. he was supposed to be asleep by now. that’s what he told her he’d do. but he couldn't help it. he never missed a show if he didn’t have to. especially not when she was overseas, out of reach, singing her heart out in a place where the heat was breaking records and even fans were fainting.

he watched with one earbud in, hoodie up, covers kicked off his legs because his body ran hot at night. his forearm was slung over his eyes like maybe that would help him ignore the adrenaline that always bubbled up when he watched her perform. every night it happened like clockwork, the same soft awe that curled through his chest when she hit her high notes, when the crowd screamed her name, when her smile spread so wide he could feel it in his bones.

and then it happened.

at first, he thought the audio glitched. she paused between songs, longer than usual. too long. and when the camera angle shifted, his gut twisted.

she stepped back a little too slow, like her balance wasn’t quite right. her hand rose to her chest. he saw the way her shoulders hitched—fast, shallow breaths. her lips moved like she was trying to say something, but no sound came through.

and then her hand went to her neck.

joe’s stomach plummeted.

he sat bolt upright, yanking the earbud out and turning the ipad volume all the way up. his heart pounded against his ribs, cold sweat slicking his palms. he leaned in, scanning the screen like he could read her mind, like maybe he could will her body to breathe for her. the lights kept flashing. the crowd was still screaming. but all he could see was her. the way her eyes blinked fast, searching the stage for someone. the way her other hand braced on her thigh. the faint, shaky wobble in her knees.

panic. real, raw panic.

he knew that look. he’s had that look.

and suddenly, he was moving.

already dialing her manager. already flipping open his laptop, opening the group text thread with her team, fingers flying across the keyboard.

“what’s happening.”

“is she okay??”

“SOMEONE GET HER WATER.”

his thumbs could barely keep up with his racing mind. he refreshed the thread twice. his heart thundered like it was trying to punch through his chest. every second that ticked by without an update made him feel physically sick.

he knew how hot that show was. he’d seen the photos—sweat-soaked fans, security handing out bottles like lifelines. he’d heard the warnings about the heat index, how people were being treated for heat exhaustion before she even stepped onstage.

but he hadn’t expected this.

hadn’t expected to watch the love of his life nearly collapse on stage in real time, her body trying to push through something it physically couldn’t take. he didn’t breathe again until he saw her crouch down near the edge of the stage and someone—god bless whoever it was—rushed over with a water bottle and a towel. she took both with shaky hands. stayed down for a beat too long. and then slowly, so slowly, held her mic again raised it to her mouth.

“i just need a second, okay?” she told the crowd, her voice small, rough around the edges. “just…just give me a minute,”.

he could hear how unsteady she was, how hard she was working to keep it together. and still, even then the crowd screamed her name, chanting it like a prayer.

joe stood up, pacing now. one hand fisted in his hair. the other pressed to his chest. he didn’t know what else to do. he wanted to be on that stage. wanted to lift her off her feet and carry her straight into the nearest air-conditioned room. wrap her in a cold towel. rub her back. hold her hand until her breathing slowed.

he came so close to calling her. hovered over her name in his favorites list. but he knew she was still mid-show. he knew she wouldn’t answer. so instead, he left a voicemail. just to feel like he was doing something.

“baby. please. call me. i just need to hear your voice, okay? i need to know you're alright,”.

when she finally called hours later—hair damp, skin pink from the shower, voice still hoarse—he couldn’t speak at first. he just stared at the screen, jaw clenched, blinking too fast.

she gave him a tired smile. “hi, joey,”.

his throat tightened. “baby. jesus. don’t ever scare me like that again,”.

she laughed, but it cracked down the middle. her eyes welled. “i didn’t know if i was gonna pass out or throw up or both,” she admitted, voice whisper-soft. “i couldn’t breathe. my lungs felt like they were cooking,”.

he let out a long breath, running a hand over his mouth, his face. “i almost flew down there,”.

her lips parted. “joey—,”.

“i’m serious. i didn’t even care that i had game tomorrow. i had my bag halfway packed,”.

“you’re in the middle of a season, quarterback,” she whispered.

“don’t care.”

and god, he meant it. she was everything. if she needed him—even for something as simple as sitting cross-legged on a hotel carpet with a cold gatorade pressed to her forehead—he’d do it. no g questions asked.

“next time,” he murmured, soft and deliberate, “we’re getting you one of those backstage AC packs. like, the ones they use in NASCAR. or one of those cool astronaut-suits. i’ll build it myself if i have to,”.

she giggled, all sleepy and tender. “you’d make a cute little roadie, joey,”.

he smiled, gaze warm and unwavering. “anything for my girl,”.

and he meant that, too.

[youdontknowe]

Book report time of the week!!!

Only book reports I’ve even willingly done fr

* Strong start when we thought we were past the avoid the conversation stage 😩

* Awwww Dean yearning so bad for her is everything for me 💙 he’s gonna like buffer so bad when they finally are just together

* Chronic overthinker core

* ‘You’re like the universe, and I’m sorta like the stars, so how this should work is I fill you up-‘ Dean you horny man! I’m in.

* The circumstances around their mutual existence is exhausting no wonder they’re like yk what we don’t need more on this plate

* Being included with sammys life of the line is SERIOUS for him (I like that you add these lil things cus if it’s the car or his brother your getting chosen with or above its big)

* He’s so down bag he’s gotten one moment and he’s wearing the tape down on it

* I wonder if he’d ever just play dumb and pretend he didn’t know a word just to see her smile and tell him (it’s very on brand)

* Lmao Sam being like no you don’t get to ask him he agrees with everything you say!

* Sam getting teamed up on so he will go flirt is his version of getting a taste of his own medicine

* The banter in that scene is also chefs kiss

* I’m always like crying over the sun/shadow sun/moon and the sun/plant thingy you have going it’s so cute

* ‘Scary pretty face important people have’ but like old money pretty or actress pretty?

* I’m sobbing dean freaking out as soon as he woke up is heartbreaking

* I can’t wait for the arc about what she changes cus like topping the ROMAN EMPIRE? Icon behaviour

* OH Dean experiencing the sky? I wonder if that’s a result of her kinda melding into his soul

* Literally giggled when I read she’s trying to figure out how to write deans name

* PLEASE “I raised you better than that!” “No you didn’t” “I tried not my fault it didn’t take” GOLD ABSOLUTE COMEDY GOLD

* Holy shit, cas sayin she looks like god is INSANE (dean is gonna love this also connection to the earlier prayer thought? 👀)

* Everyone just has ptsd by now ( is it ptsd if the stress is ongoing?)

* Damn she’s really spiraling thinking about a hypothetical woman dean could fall in love with

* Oh little theory pause! So by little comments she’s getting more powerful from just Dean being him, what if when they finally get together and she’s like properly soaking up that love she gets to goddess status and then something big happens (leading from a previous thing I said) and then she has her moment and deans her like god equivalent Prince consort (god-consort?)

* Uh oh her trauma is bad and god she’s gonna feel terrible for hurting Sam

* FINALLY Sam gets to say something

* Holy shit I did not expect the boto to be pretending to be dean! And she’s a virgin who knew (not me but I did kinda think hey she’s been a. Lonely b. In love with Dean c. Surrounded by overprotective males. )So yeah makes sense lmao

* YES MORE SMOOCHES

* End note: yeah there would have been some heavy foundation damage to whatever place it occurred before now lmao

* I loved this so much it was more fluffy than last chapters I think, and I’m so happy girly got the balls to go just grab him and I love that he got hard too lmao

Chapter 19 - That's Nothing New

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Welcome to my favorite part of any slow burn: horny

Chapter Title from Vertigo by Griff

Word Count: 18.4k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: A very special valentine’s episode. Usual Warnings.

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

Chapter 18 - Chapter 20

Read on A03!

They hadn’t talked about it. 

Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it. He didn’t know where that conversation led. 

It could be simple. He could corner Her in Bobby kitchen, ask Her what it meant to Her, and they’d have to have The Conversation. And Dean—for once in his life—might get pretty damn lucky, and She’d say it meant the same to Her that it had meant to him.

Everything. 

The kiss had meant everything. It what most of what he was made of, now. The memory of it playing on a heavy loop in his head, the taste of Her lingered on his tongue—he was starting to develop a small habit of licking his lips every single freaking second, trying to gather up whatever little bits of Her remained like some sort of creep—and his hands were itching to touch Her again. 

He didn’t have a goddamn clue how he’d managed to go so long without touching Her. Kissing Her. Trying to find out every single way She could possibly moan his name, because son of a bitch, that was the best thing he’d ever heard.

She was the best thing Dean had ever had. 

And he didn’t even know if it had meant anything to Her.

There were a lot of ways that conversation could go, and Dean had played out most of them in his head already. It was a like planning for a hunt. He’d grab her in the kitchen, because that would give Her more of a warning than if he started The Conversation in Her bedroom, and a better place for him to escape than if he used to Impala.

In some versions, he started The Conversation, then pussied out and ran away. He was a fucking coward. Dean knew how to talk to ladies. He was good at talking to ladies. He was good at talking to Her.

But not about this. 

“Why’re you up, Princess?”

Dean had woken up a few days ago, and She hadn’t been in bed. The only thing that kept him from freaking out was how he could still smell Her on the sheets. And She wouldn’t have just left. She’d pinky promised him She wouldn’t just leave.

He’d found Her in the library. Of course he had. Absentmindedly scratching notes on a small piece of paper as she read, Her brow furrowed in the cuter, less painful version of Her little wrinkle, not even flinching or starting as Dean made himself known.

“Couldn’t sleep.” She’d muttered, and Dean had shrugged.

“You’re not gonna sleep, if you’re down here.”

“I’ll be fine.” She’d written down another note that—when Dean had craned his neck—was obviously in Enochian. She’d been doing that more lately, and Dean didn’t really want to think about why. “Go back to bed, De.”

He could’ve. But that would mean leaving Her, and Dean had promised not to do that. And this had been the perfect time. For The Conversation. No Bobby to try and shoot him, no Sammy to tease him, no Jo to make little jokes about it. Just Her and Dean, in the dead hours of the night.

In the moment, he’d really thought he could do this. 

“So, uh,” He’d cleared his throat, and She’d glanced up from Her book. “Angels.”

She’d frowned. “What about them? I- Nothing has tried to break through the wards, right? Because a lot of those sigils are experimental, but they should start like, glowing, if something is coming-“

“Nothing’s coming.” Dean had mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just. You know. Lotta stuff happening.”

“Like…” She raised Her brows, and Dean wasn’t sure how She always managed to look so perfectly put together. “Angels?”

“Yeah.”

She’d hummed, scanning over Dean with an unreadable expression, and he’d felt like She was looking right into his soul-

Son of a bitch, She probably was. She could see Dean’s soul, and if Hell somehow hadn’t made Her run, this was going to. He didn’t know how it worked, but the want in his body for Her wasn’t pure, and if She saw it and hated it, Dean would end up alone-

“Are you feeling okay?” Her voice had been soft as She cut off Dean’s thoughts, and he’d blinked. “De, you- You’re really red.”

“‘M fine.” He’d mumbled, and She’d shaken Her head.

“Did you get sunburned or something? I know it’s winter, but you’re outside all the time, and I have aloe if it hurts-“

“Nothing hurts.” He’d thrown Her his best, widest, most charming smile, and moved to drop at Her side. “What are we reading?”

She’d smiled slightly, pulling Her book away from Dean’s gaze. “We’re not reading anything.”

“I can read-“

“Not this.”

“But-“

“It’s a girl book, De.” 

He hadn’t known what a girl book was. He still wasn’t entirely sure. 

He’d stayed anyway.

“C’mon, I did those face masks with you and Jo. I can read your girl book.” He’d reached out a hand, and Her eyes had widened.

“Dean-“

“I’m not going back to bed.”

She’d stared at him, and Dean had known She’d heard the silent words. 

Without you. I’m not going back to bed if you’re not there.

“Do you…” She’d swallowed, Her eyes never leaving Dean’s, and maybe he should’ve damned it all and kissed Her again there. “I’m hungry. Are you-“

“I’m always hungry, Princess.” Dean had grinned, and offered Her his hand. “Gas station?”

She’d given him a small smile and nod, The Conversation hadn’t happened, and Dean had decided that bringing it up naturally—which had, somehow, been the plan in the library—had to be taken off the table as an option.

But he didn’t know how to do it otherwise. 

Hey, Princess, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me and if you want to kiss me again, I won’t stop you. Wrong. She was beautiful being that was above goddamn heaven, Dean couldn’t ask Her out like it was a suggestion to get him more pie. Like this wasn’t the most important thing he’d ever done. 

I’m a piece of shit, sweetheart, but I want you, so I’m sorry about that, but could you please fucking kiss me again before I lose my mind. Wrong again. She shouldn’t have to. It didn’t mean anything if She kissed Dean to keep him from losing his mind. She had to want it.

I think you’re fucking awesome. She knew that. It had never gotten Her to kiss him before.

Every single time I dream, it’s about you- 

He wasn’t a teenage girl.

Do you have any idea how fucking hard I get whenever you smile at me? How many times I’ve imagined grabbing you and pinning you to the wall, or bending you over the table, or getting on my knees and-

Bobby would shoot him. He’d deserve it.

You’re like the universe, and I’m sorta like the stars, so how this should work is I fill you up-

He was going to shoot himself.

And there were too many variables for what She might say. Maybe it really had meant nothing to Her, and She’d tell Dean that, and he’d just have to fucking live with that. 

Worse, maybe it had meant everything to Her. Maybe Dean really, fully had Her if he wanted Her, and now he could lose Her. Break Her. Maybe She’d say Deano, of course I’m the universe, but you’re somehow the best thing that happened to me too, and climb on his lap and kiss him again, and he’d get to hold Her, but know angels were hunting Her and Alistair might try to take Her away.

Even if that was the case, even if She did—against all odds and reason—want Dean, he had to have The Conversation about it, first. 

He still didn’t know how to do that. Because it was exactly like planning for a hunt. And the number one rule of making plans for hunts was that you were going to have to improvise. Move on instinct, and stay alive. Speak on instinct, and keep Her by his side.

Dean did not know how to speak on instinct. And if he stumbled or tripped in a hunt—he didn’t, really, ever, as killing monsters was a whole lot easier than trying to tell Her that he’d kill and die to kiss Her just one more fucking time—the only thing it would cost Dean was himself. He never hesitated, when it was Her or Sammy on the line, so the only person that ever ended up hurt because of Dean fucking a hunt up was himself. And that was acceptable.

He didn’t know how to do that for The Conversation. How to find his way with all the right words should he lose them. He could say something horrible, say something wrong, fuck it up and lose Her forever. There were no bullets or blades to jump in front of, if She started to get upset.

Son of a bitch, what if She started to get upset.

What if She started to cry, and Dean wasn’t allowed to calm Her down because he’d fucked it all up. He couldn’t live with himself, if that was how it played out. Dean could barely tolerate himself now, when he’d down and swear that there was blood on his hands once more. She’d stayed when She knew about the blood. If Dean lost Her now, because of his words, there would be no one else to blame but himself.

He was supposed to be Her shadow. And this was part of being Her shadow, but the most important part was keep Her safe and never let anything hurt Her.

Dean could have hurt Her.

But She’d kissed him back. Over the past few weeks, whenever Dean would roll over and look at Her in bed, he’d remind himself that She’d kissed him back. She’d wanted it. He was a piece of shit, but not that low and ugly in the mud. He’d never do that to anyone.

But he was still fantasizing about Her. And it was wrong, so fucking wrong to look over Her in the night and brush hair from Her face because he was allowed to, only to turn around and shuffle into the shower in the morning, and replay the kiss over and over in his head until his cock was raw in his hand.

Even now, sitting in the dark of a parking lot with Her at his side, Dean was having too many fantasies.

They’d been doing it every other night, since the library. Going out to the gas station in the dead of night, just them, together, whenever one of them couldn’t sleep. Tonight She’d even woken Dean up with big glossy eyes and a sad little furrow on Her brow. 

“I- I’m sorry.” She’d whispered, looking a little too much like the exact image that had been in Dean’s head only seconds before. Where She was hovering above him, but his hands were on Her hips, and his mouth was wrapped around one of Her nipples as She rode his cock and screamed his-

He'd been dangerously close to getting hard, and forced himself to focus on the soft nervousness of Her voice—obviously distressed and, for reasons he'd never understand, seeking his comfort—to calm down.

"You can go back to bed, if you want, but-"

"No, 's alright." Dean had rubbed the sleep from his eyes, holding Her against him before she decided to run away. "I was up anyway."

That was a lie. They both knew that was a lie, but She smiled, and it was worth the consequence of another sin added to his roster. 

"You need a ride?" He'd asked, and She'd flushed, giving him a small nod.

"I- Um, yes. Please."

It hadn't been until they were in the car that Dean caught his own wording. Or the fact that holding Her to make sure she stayed had meant grabbing Her by waist and pinning her to his body.

That would be a good way to start The Conversation.

Baby, if I had kissed you right there, would you have stabbed me for real this time, or let me take care of you.

Dean wasn't brave enough to say it. But he could think it, over and over until he drove himself insane. And he could stare at Her in the soft shadows and lights of the parking lot, and know that he'd never be able to have The Conversation. 

He couldn't afford to push his luck. When he didn't dream about kissing Her, he dreamt about Hell. And She'd started to infect those dreams too, since Boston. Since Dean found out She'd been there, and still hadn't left him. He would've left him, if that was an option. Shit, Sammy and Bobby still didn't know, and he dreaded the day they looked at him and saw him. Saw that vast fucking pit that had been in Dean his whole life, ripped open into a chasm by his own hand, and knew what he was.

Worse than a monster. Lower than the mud. 

Never fucking worthy of anything, let alone Her. The drop-dead gorgeous, ethereal, literally fucking magical woman made of stars, who could see him, and was staying.

Dean couldn’t take more from Her than she was already offering, just by staying and letting him care for Her at least like this. He'd gotten to kiss Her once, and that was more than he deserved. He got to be the one She came to in the dead of night for comfort and company. She wasn't leaning against anyone else in the car. Wasn't holding their hand like it was a lifeline as they wandered through the gas station. Didn't stand on Her toes to whisper in anyone's ear but Dean's, because he was Her shadow. No one else.

She'd asked if they could get ice cream. Asked it like Dean wouldn't give Her the fucking Sun if he could figure out how to grab it.

And now She was curled up at his side, a little bit of it stuck on Her nose, and Dean would be fine never kissing Her again, as long as he got to be the one who wiped the splotch away with his thumb and licked it clean. 

“Do you want some?” She held the tub out with raised brows, and Dean gave Her a small grin. 

“Nah, I got my pie.”

“But you gave me some of yours-“

“Cause you were staring, Princess, and I’m a-“ Dean paused, frowning at the air. “What do you call those guys who give people all their things?”

A small, soft smile covered Her features. Dean had never seen anything prettier. “Samaritans?”

“Yeah, that. I’m one of those.”

She giggled, leaning Her head back on the bench. “You know, Sam told me you threatened to exorcise Ruby if she tried to take your ice last week.”

“Well, the bitch didn’t fucking pay for it.” Dean grumbled. “And it is Ruby. You’d have threatened worse.”

“Touché.” She turned Her head to the side, watching Dean through the dark, and he knew She could see it. If She could see his soul, She had to see the chasm as well.

And She was still looking at him. Staying at his side. He didn’t fucking understand why.

“Dean?”

He grunted, fiddling with his jerky bag. She’d grabbed it before anything else. They’d barely been in the store for ten seconds before She’d shoved it into Dean’s hands, the same way he’d grabbed a root beer and passed it to Her without a thought. He didn’t want to think about what that meant. 

“I’m worried about Sam. He’s- You know I don’t trust Ruby, and they’ve been hanging out a lot-“

“I know.” Dean muttered. “I am too, but- I don’t know, sweetheart. He’s not listening to me about it anymore. Says I’m blinded about-“

He cut himself off, because the end of that sentence was Her. That Dean was blinded in his worry about Her, and how because She and Ruby didn’t like each other, they couldn’t bring Her on the seal cases. 

They’d gotten in a fight about it, last week. On the drive back, Dean had grumbled something about missing Her, wanting to bring Her on the next one because She’d fucking nail it—these were Her exact types of cases, weird and impossible to understand until she gave it a once over and got it in ten seconds—and thinking it was unfair that Sam got to bring his untrustworthy demon everywhere, but Dean couldn’t bring his awesome, brilliant, perfect Her.

Sam had sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want her here, Dean, you know I do, but- Ruby’s worried she’ll kill her-“

“Good.” Dean had muttered. “She will.”

“She shouldn’t! Ruby’s the only demon we’ve got completely on our side-“

Dean had snorted. “Jesus, Sammy, I really thought you were smarter than thinking a demon would ever be on our side-“

“Ruby is, she’s proved over and over that she is-“

“Proved to you.”

“She’s tried to prove to you as well, man, but you’re just never wrong about people, I guess-“

“I am wrong about people! I know I’ve been wrong about people, but you know who’s never fucking wrong about people?” Dean had spat Her name, and Sam’s mouth had snapped shut. “I don’t need Ruby to prove herself to me, she needs to prove herself to-“

“The woman who wants to kill her?” Sam had mumbled, watching Dean carefully, and he’d been damn near close to strangling the wheel.

“To the woman who can see fucking souls. She’s not wrong. And I want her on the next seal.”

Sam had sighed. “Dude, if you just want to stay with her, you can skip the next case. I- It’s not just about Ruby.” Sam had said Her name gently, giving Dean a sympathetic look he didn’t fucking want. “If we put her on a seal case, the angels will notice. It won’t be safe for her-“

“I’d protect her.” 

“But what if you can’t, Dean.” Sam’s voice had been too fucking soft. “It’s- The seals are a lot, but all the Magdalene stuff is… different. You told me Cas doesn’t understand it, and Ruby-“

“Don’t.” Dean had pushed the words through his teeth. He was done with the conversation, because he would protect Her. That was the whole point of being Her shadow. If he couldn’t touch Her, at least he could protect Her. And if He couldn’t do that, he might as well just be another asshole in the mud. 

“Dean-“

“No. Don’t tell me what Ruby thinks of my-“ Dean had snapped Her name, and if Sam caught his slip, he didn’t say anything. “Ruby called her a bitch. You know that, Sam? Ruby called her a self-important bitch.”

Sam had—wisely—looked down at his hands with a shameful expression. “I- Dean, I’m not trying to-“

“I don’t care. You know she’s better than Ruby.” She was better than all of them. “And I want her. On the case. Got it?”

Sam had nodded, and that had been the end of it. If She wanted, they’d bring Her on the next seal case. 

If She wanted.

Dean hadn’t asked yet. He hadn’t found a time for it. She was already dealing with enough. 

Yet was another reason they hadn’t had The Conversation. Between the seals, his fights with Sam about Ruby, and the whole dangerous bringer of change thing Cas had dropped on them, this was simply not a good time to start begging Her to tell him what he meant to Her, like he was some kind of pathetic little yipping dog. Trying to get Her attention and affection, when she needed to be working. 

They all needed to be working. 

Dean still spent too much time staring at Her lips, and wondering if just licking them would let him taste the fruit again. 

He’d been staring at Her for too long now. Where She could see it. She’d asked him a genuine question, Dean had been a piece of shit and lost himself in thoughts of licking Her. 

“I, uh- At least you’re coming with us. Instead of Ruby.”

She frowned at him. “What?”

“Next seal case. You’re-“

“Dean,” She sighed, and he’d done something wrong. She was pouting at him a little, and rubbing the scar on Her palm—She’d never actually told him how She got it, but it would once again be far too greedy to take more—so Dean had done something wrong.

“If you want.” He added, trying to keep his voice perfectly even and natural. “They’re just a lot of weird, crazy shit, and you love that stuff-“

“It’s not that.” She whispers, giving him a sad smile. “You remember what Cas said. I- Sam’s right, keeping me away from the seals. That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Dean had a lot of issues with that. To start, Sam was not right. She should not be kept away from anything. Second, and more importantly- “What are you worried about, then?”

“I- I think she’s doing something to him.”

“Ruby? To Sammy?” Dean frowned. Sam was the same. A little angrier, and more exhausted, but the same. 

But She nodded, the movement nervous. “I- I don’t know how. Or what. But I’m really worried about him, Dean, I shouldn’t have run when you-“ She swallowed, and Dean hadn’t missed how She’d been doing that. Aside from their fight in Texas, She never said dead, or died, or death. And Her lips were being chewed raw by her teeth, and Her eyes were a little glazed as she stared at Dean, and- 

There was the wrinkle.

Dean pulled Her fully into his arms without thinking about it. If She wanted to shove him away, She could, and he wouldn’t fight it. But she just dropped Her head into his chest with a long breath, shaking Her head against his body.

“We’re past that, Princess.” He murmured, not sure what else to say. “You’re not running anymore. Remember, I’ll catch you if you try.”

She sighed, the sound a little shaky. “You still need to explain that, Winchester.“

“I’m good.” He shrugged, smiling a little into the air. “I’m not blaming you for what Sam did while I was gone, same as I’m not blaming Sam for you.”

That was a little bit of a lie. But it made Her relax, and She didn’t need to know that he’d shouted at Sam and Bobby for losing Her, so he let it go. 

“Sammy’ll be fine. He’s an idiot, but he’s the smartest little idiot on the planet-“

“He is not little.” She mumbled, and Dean chuckled.

“His soul is little.”

“No, it isn’t.” She buried Her face a little further in Dean’s body. He couldn’t think about it. “It’s big and shiny.”

“Huh.” Dean frowned down at Her. “What about-“

“You’re big and shiny too.”

Warmth inflated in his chest, and that shouldn’t have made him as proud as it did. He was big and shiny. Even if She was obviously hitting the point of sleepy where Dean would think She was drunk if he didn’t know better, She’d called him big and shiny.

And golden. She’d said Dean was golden, and no matter what She could see on his body after Hell, she hadn’t taken it back. 

“What are you?” He asked, running his fingers through Her hair and making his voice soft, and She shrugged. 

“‘M not anything.”

“You-“

“But I can feel it. Everything.” 

“Oh. Of course.” Dean smiled down at Her. “You ready to go home, b- Princess?”

She nodded, but didn’t move. Her fingers curled into his shirt. “What about the next case?”

Dean sighed. He wanted Her there, so fucking much. 

Almost as much as he wanted Her to get what She wanted.

“You don’t have to go-“

“I want to go!” Her voice was almost a whine, and Dean couldn’t let himself think too hard about it as She leaned back, looking up at him with big eyes and shiny hair falling around Her face. “I wanna go Dean, but I- What if the angels don’t want me there?”

“Who gives a shit what they think?”

“I do.” She whispered. “What if they put you back in Hell?”

Dean didn’t know if they could do that. “They won’t.” He hoped he sounded more confident in that than he felt. “They need me for all the seal stuff, and you’re gonna be great at it, so they need you.”

She shook Her head. “They don’t need me. They don’t want me interfering. Cas said they’d take precautions.”

“I don’t care.”

“Dean, I care. I- I’m not already pushing it just by staying with you at Bobby’s, I don’t want to-“ She took a shaking breath, staring at Her hands on Dean’s chest. “We still don’t really know what I am. And if the Magdalene who brought the Roman Empire was barely even five percent…”

“Magic?” Dean offered as She trailed off, and she nodded.

“What am I going to do?”

They hadn’t really talked about this either. The Magdalene thing. Dean didn’t really have anything to say about, because it really hadn’t been an actual answer. They had a name, but no matter how many books She and Sammy read, how many contacts Bobby and Ellen reached out to, nobody had ever even damn heard of it. And angels and demons freaking out about Her wasn’t anything new, and nothing had shifted where She was suddenly some sort of lamb to be sacrificed, or monster to be caged.

She was still just Her. As far as Dean cared, no matter how they framed it, She was Herself, and nothing else really fucking mattered. He’d keep looking for answers because She wanted them, but for Dean, She was enough all on her own. 

“You’ll do whatever you want.” He muttered, holding Her gaze. “And if you want to come on this next one, that’s it.”

She sighed. “Dean-“

He hummed Her name back, and grinned at Her glare.

“What if I’m a seal?” She grumbled. “Have you thought of that?”

“Nope.” Dean slid Her back into her place, pressing a greedy kiss to her brow at the last second. “And I’ll have you however, arfing or not.”

She giggled, shaking Her head. 

It was resting back on his shoulder.

He’s not allowed to think about it.

“That’s not funny.”

“You laughed.”

“I’m tired-“

“And I’m trying to get you to bed.” Dean started Baby’s engine, and She let out a soft hum. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow, Princess. Let’s get you some rest.” 

She didn’t fight it. When Dean pulled Her out of the car, she slumped into his side. He got to all but carry Her up the stairs, and help her back into bed, before crawling in right beside Her. And that was more than anyone else got.

It would have to be enough. For Her to let Dean touch Her at all, when she’d seen what he’d done. For Her to listen to him at all, and agree to go on the case, when all She’d have to say was no, Dean, and he’d drop it. He’d suck it up and deal with Ruby for another week, forcing himself not to grab his phone and call Her every ten minutes. 

But She’d agree. 

She was going on the case. Dean wouldn’t have to deal with Ruby, and—more importantly—he’d get to see Her. All week. In the rearview mirror on the car ride and on the other side of his motel bed, across from him in the diner and next to him at the bar. 

“It’s good we know this is a seal going in.” Sam said, watching Her draw on a paper napkin. 

She’d been doing that a lot, lately. In Enochian, without bothering to tell Sam and Dean what she was doing.

Dean really wasn’t sure how he’d ask. The best he could offer himself was pressing right into Her side and staring over Her shoulder, only half listening as Sam tried to talk about the case.

In his defense, none of them were really paying attention. Dean was staring at Her, She was focused on her napkin, and Sammy kept getting distracted by a redhead making fuck-me eyes at him. Then he’d make the eyes back, before coughing and trying to continue the conversation whenever Dean glanced over and caught him.

She paused, glancing up with a small frown. “Do you usually not know?”

“Sometimes Cas drops in and gives us a heads up,” Dean leaned a little further forward. He didn’t know what he was looking for. He wasn’t magic, and he definitely couldn’t speak angel. “Told us that heaven knows Lilith’s making moves in Florida, and whatever she’s starting, we need to squash.”

She gave Dean an amused look. “Cas did not say making moves.”

“You can’t prove that, sweetheart.” Dean winked at Her, and Sam cleared his throat. 

“We also know what she’s doing-“

“What moves she’s making-“

“Shut up, Dean. A lot of couples have been murdered at the resort we’re headed to.” Sam wrinkled his nose. “Like, a lot. Too many to be normal.”

She hummed, looking back to Her paper. “How many is a lot?”

“Eight.”

“That’s not a lot.”

Sam frowned at Her. “What number would be a lot?”

“I dunno. Fifteen?” 

“That is not a-“

“Yes, it is.” She looked up to Dean. “Fifteen’s a lot, right Deano?”

Sam scoffed. “You can’t ask Dean, he’s just going to agree with you.”

Dean scowled. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are, dude-“

“Well, you’re not giving him a chance to answer, Sam-“

“And I wasn’t going to agree with her-“

She turned to give Dean a pretty, wide-eyed look, and son of a bitch, his cock twitched in his pants. “You weren’t?”

“I- Uh.” Dean coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t really think about it! You and Sam started yelling and shit, I wasn’t really paying attention-“

“Why?” Sam raised his brows, suddenly looking a hell of a lot more smug than earlier. “What were you looking at instead, Dean?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Shut up, Sammy. Go flirt with the redhead who’s been making eyes at you and leave us alone.”

Sam sighed. “We’re in the middle of a case, Dean-“

“Technically the case hasn’t started,” She hummed. “And we get it. Dying couple, resort, Lilith, figure out exactly what the seal is and stop it from being broken. Easy.”

“It’s not easy, and you haven’t even heard the actual plan yet-“

“We’ll go undercover,” She refocused on Her napkin, voice smooth and bored. “We’ll need a patron, a bartender, and a staff member. Optimized access to the facility, a lot of good reasons to talk to people, none of us too out of place for talking to each other.”

Sam frowned. “How would staff and patrons talking not be conspicuous-“

“Staff could be work friends. Patron could be just nosing their way into the conversation. As long as we’re careful, it’ll be fine. The patron will have to stay in their room, to keep appearances, but I doubt Lilith is wire-tapping phones.”

Sam’s mouth opened and closed, and he finally gave in with a sigh. It was a good plan. Of course it was. It was Her plan.

Dean let that show all over his face, as he shot Sammy a smug look. They hadn’t even gotten to the seal yet, and his girl was already killing it. Ruby would’ve talked about sneaking around and breaking in and other stupid shit. She was smarter than that. 

“Go flirt with the redhead, Sam.” She didn’t look up from Her napkin, and Sam sighed.

“I’m not- It’s almost valentine’s day, guys, I’m not trying to be. You know. The guy.”

She looked up. “The guy? What’s the guy?”

“You- Dean knows. He’s been the guy-“

“Sam.” Dean grunted. “Shut it. Go flirt.”

She shook Her head, frowning between them. “I- Sam, what’s the guy-“

“It’s a dude thing.” Dean snapped, and She scoffed.

“I thought we were breaking gender barriers, Winchester. You did me and Jo’s girl things-“

Sam grinned. “What girl things?”

“Nothing. Both of you, shut the fuck up. Sam,” Dean pointed firmly at the red-head with the fuck-me eyes. “Flirt. And you,” Dean turned his glower down to Her, and she covered his mouth with a hand.

That shouldn’t have been as effective as it was. Dean was suddenly too consumed by Her hand—warm and soft and over his mouth—to keep protesting.

“Sam, what’s the guy.”

At least Dean got an apologetic look first. “It’s, uh- The valentine’s day bar guy. Who sleeps with lonely women, because he knows that’s all they want. And,” Sam was still talking. Why the hell was Sam still talking. “Dean hasn’t been that guy in a long time, I promise, I was just making fun of him.”

“Oh.” Dean couldn’t read the expression on Her face. “Okay. Go.”

Sam frowned. “Go-“

“Redhead, Sam.” Her hand dropped from Dean’s mouth. He wanted it to come back. He could kiss Her knuckles, then pin her arms over her head and-

Dean could not get another boner in public, just from thinking about Her. He needed to pull it together.

“But, uh-“ Sam was still protesting, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m not-“

“Maybe she’ll be your soulmate or something.” She shrugged, looking back to the napkin. Dean couldn’t read that tone either. “Go.”

“I, I haven’t done that,” Sam rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down the bar. “In a while. What if-“

“You’ve got this, Buddy.” She gave Sam a thumbs up, and Her voice was bubbly. Dean’s never heard Her be bubbly before. “Go.”

Sam nodded slowly, scooted out of his chair, and the moment Sam was out of earshot, she sighed and rolled Her eyes at Dean.

“Thank god. I could like, fucking feel her.”

Dean frowned. “What?”

“The redhead.” She nodded to where Sam had disappeared in the crowd, Her attention back on the napkin. “She’s been staring at him all night, and god, she’s horny, Dean. It’s like, all over the table.”

She wasn’t tired. She’d actually slept really well last night. And She still didn’t drink, so Dean didn’t need to be worried about that.

He still didn’t have a clue what She was talking about.

“What.”

She sighed, looking up to Dean. He couldn’t breathe. “Her soul. When someone want companionship, they put out like, pheromones. Kind of. It’s hard to explain when you can’t see them.”

“Oh.” Dean paused, then tensed as it hit him. She could tell when people were horny.

Dean was horny all the fucking time.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Are you-“

“Yeah, Princess I’m-“ He swallowed. “Can you just like, see it? When people are, uh. Lookin’ for action?”

“No. It’s, like- It’s not a smell, but it’s not not a smell, and they’re kinda like tentacles-“ 

“Tentacles-“

“No, but yes, and-“ She sighed, shaking Her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to explain it-“

“Hey,” Dean grabbed Her hand before he could second think it, and Her lips parted. Hitched breath. 

Shit.

“You’re fine.” He muttered. “I was just wondering. Don’t hurt yourself, Princess.”

She nodded slowly, still staring at him, and Dean could feel the heat on his face. This was getting too close to something that might cause The Conversation. Dean was not ready for The Conversation.

“Uh, since when can you see that shit?”

She let out a long, slow breath. “I don’t know. Being around people is doing… A lot.” She frowned at the napkin. “It’s kind of messy.”

“Messy-“

“Colorful.”

Dean nodded slowly. He didn’t really fucking understand—with Her, he never did—but he knew what mattered. “It’s it too much?” He tried to keep his voice soft, and he was rewarded with a small nod. 

“Too much.”

“Alright.” Dean pushed off his stool, moving his hand to Her lower back. “Let’s go. We’ll pick up Sammy in the morning.”

She blinked at him in adorable confusion. “Dean-“

“C’mon, we’re going back to the motel.” Dean smirked over at where the redhead was half in Sam lap. “Think we’re done here anyway.”

Dean was certainly done here. He was done anywhere that would make Her curl up into Herself, and there was nothing else for him to do—in this bar or anywhere in the world—but care for Her. 

Sammy seemed happy with his fuck-me-eyes redhead, but Dean was going to have to punch him later for bringing up how Dean used to be one of those guys. It didn’t matter that he had been. Dean had—very purposefully, for a long time—been one of those guys, and he’d been pretty fucking good at it. He wasn’t such a fucking asshole to deny that he had very much thrived on being one of those guys. It had kept him satiated in the dark, the brief touches and lies of permanence and possession. It may have been an artificial light—leaving him hungrier and lonelier than before, once the effects wore off—bur it had worked. He’d done it. And he wouldn’t take it back, because the pit might have swallowed him otherwise. 

But Dean wasn’t one of those guys now.

He really hadn’t been for a while. He hadn’t been that guy on Valentine’s day, but he also hadn’t been that guy at random bars, or the roadhouse, or on the cases. And he didn’t know when it had stopped all together-

That was a fucking lie. 

He knew exactly when it stopped.

It was sooner than he’d ever admit to anyone. It wasn’t after he got back from hell, or he found out about Her magic stuff, or when she learned about the deal and stayed. It wasn’t even when he’d started sharing Her bed.

She’d settled into the backseat of his car like She belonged there, decided to stay for the first time after those witches in Utah—when they’d been looking for Jo and found Her—and Dean had been done with bars and fuck-me eyes. Done with artificial light to keep him from falling into the pit.

And She’d told him about photosynthesis, a while ago. He didn’t know how the hell that had worked itself into a conversation, but She said it’s how plants eat, Deano. They absorb the sunlight and turn it into energy. 

Dean might be a plant. 

She might be the sun. 

And he couldn’t go back to artificial light if he tried.

He did still make fuck-me eyes, though. As he stood alone in the shower—Her long asleep in their bed—Dean could admit he made fuck-me eyes a lot. At Her.

She never seemed to see them, though. Even when they’d been obvious, and he’d been so fucking worried he’d been caught, nothing on Her features had ever shifted. 

Other people made fuck-me eyes at Her, as well. They have to be insane and blind and stupid not to. Everyone should want Her. Dean just didn’t want anyone else to have Her. Not like that. Not less than She deserved, without complete fucking devotion and a feral kind of feeling in their bodies Dean knew he had. And he wouldn’t have any logical reason to stop Her if she took up their offers—he could try no, I’m yours, take me instead, but he didn’t think it would work—and he’d gotten really good at not destroying himself about the idea, because She never did.

Dean had never seen Her fuck-me eyes, now that he thought about it. Not where he could see. 

But he knew She did give him the fluttering, blinding wouldn’t it be good to die for me eyes. 

She might not know she does that.

She can’t know the way that just picturing them is making him so hard it’s a little painful. Just like She can’t know that, before he crawled into bed at Her side, he’d beat his cock into his hands until he came with a groan of Her name.

Dean shouldn’t have kissed Her. 

The knowledge of how She tasted, felt, sounded—gasping his name like She wanted him—was making his decade long practice of best friend, don’t think about Her like that in the daylight, because you don’t deserve it and could never have it a little fucking impossible.

But he was hiding it well.

Dean was pretty fucking sure he was hiding it well.

“There’s no fucking way she’s being the patron, Sammy.” 

She glared at him in the rearview mirror, and Sam looked really fucking amused and pleased for a guy that had stumbled back twenty minture late without underpants.

Dean would’ve ever been proud of him—if he had to be stuck in the orbit of some sort of fucking Goddess he couldn’t touch, at least Sammy was getting some—if he hadn’t just suggested something fucking insane. 

“I can be the patron.” She snapped, Her eyes narrowing. “I’d be a great fucking patron. I can wear a swimsuit, and order stupid drinks, and- and I can act ditzy! And sit on the beach!”

Son of a bitch, She was adorable. Glaring at Dean, mumbling about how She could be ditzy—ditzy people didn’t use the word ditzy—and completely fucking missing the point. Dean knew She’d be a good patron. Between the three of them, She’d be the best patron. She already looked the better and fancier than everyone else part, all the time. She already carried Herself like an angel fallen to Earth—better, actually, because the angels tended to walk all stiff and angry—and She already spoke like if She told the ocean to stay at low tide forever, it would. She’d just need to lose all the softer light in Her eyes and blinding smile that told people She was crafted only from good things, to stop using Her manners, and be a whole lot less adorable and caring, and they’d have their perfect patron.

But Dean was, once again, a selfish piece of shit. 

The patron would have to sleep in the resort. Alone.

Away from the other two.

She’d have to sleep away from Dean.

“I’m not worried about your talents, Princess.” He muttered. “Sammy’ll be a good patron, I can tend bar, and you can be staff.”

Sam raised his hand. “I’m not going to be a good patron. There are like, different forks I’ll have to use, and I never learned those-“

“I did!” She leaned forward, almost propping Her chin on Dean’s should. It wasn’t helping. “I took etiquette lessons until, um- Well, until I made all the cups explode because I needed to pee and no one would let me, but I remember all the forks!”

God fucking damnit. Of course She knew all the forks. “You’re not going to a gala, Sammy. You don’t need to know about the forks.”

Dean’s grip on Baby’s wheel was white, and his last plea for this to end in his favor failed.

He lost the argument. Sam wasn’t comfortable trying to act all fancy,  She had what Sam called a sort of scary pretty face that important people have—She’d flushed and mumbled a thanks, but Dean agreed with Sam’s assessment—and Dean wasn’t allowed to just shout that he couldn’t sleep without Her. 

He fucking couldn’t. He didn’t know how anymore. At least not useful sleep, where he woke up alert and rested the next morning.

Sleep where he woke up panting and swinging at the air came just fine without Her. 

It thrived on the lack of Her, actually. It festered and spread over Dean’s skull, when he didn’t know She was across the mattress, safe and sound.

He somehow made it through the first night. The day had been filled with quick set-up—this resort didn’t seem to be run all that well, given how Sam and Dean didn’t even have to lie that hard about why they needed jobs right now—and recon, and it meant Dean collapsed on the bed barely a moment after he and Sammy returned to the motel. 

But then the morning came. And Dean turned to look and check that She was there and peaceful, because he did that every morning, only to find Her missing. 

He panicked.

Sam said he panicked.

Dean didn’t really remember it at all. There was a blur of ripping up the motel room and grabbing his gun, Alistair’s voice muttering in his ear that he’d find her, Dean’s lovely little Princess, and make Her beg for death ringing in his ears. It didn’t help that all he could really see was an image of Her from Texas, with ragged hair and hollow features and dark stain on Her stomach, red markings imprinted on Her wrists and a skeletal expression on Her face that made Dean want to dice and carve whoever the hell had done that to Her. 

He couldn’t scrape that image from behind his eyes. Sammy had brought him down—reminding him that She was fine, and at the resort, and had literally texted Dean twenty minutes before he woke up that she was going to try and sneak him some good coffee—but he couldn’t fucking relax because all he could see was Her. In pain.

When She’d needed Dean, and he hadn’t been there.

The day was long. Sam stopped by on his breaks, saying that he’d been looking for signs of demons everywhere but found nothing, and She gave by at random points through the day, giving Dean a bright smile from across the bar and making something to the right of his heart fucking howl. 

“Sam slipped me all the vics reservation records.” She said, eyes focused on Her little paper umbrella as Dean cleaned a glass. “And he says he can’t find any demons.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, I heard. You seeing anything?”

“Nothing.”

Dean risked a glance over. Her lip was between Her teeth.

He had to rip his gaze back away.

“We looked at the files last night.” He muttered, trying to pretend he didn’t want to grab Her over the bar and kiss Her until she moaned his name. “None of them had the same last name. Not married couples.”

She paused. “That’s- huh. I was eavesdropping-“

Dean couldn’t stop himself from shooting Her a grin. “That’s pretty freakin’ rude, Princess-“

“Shut up. There were these two old ladies, and they were saying one of those poor girls had such a bright future, too. They mentioned finding the ring on the beach, and, you know, how big and shiny it was.” 

Dean frowned. “The ring?”

“Yep. So not married, but-“

“Engaged.” He muttered, glaring down at his well-polished glass. “Shit, I’ll pass it to Sammy later.”

She nodded, and was gone before Dean could say anything else. . 

Night fell, Dean left Her at the resort, and the nightmares were back in full fucking force. 

This time She was sitting on the edge of the bed in Boston, Dean rose up to kiss Her, and she turned into ugly mold and dirty water, seeping into the bed, then down, down, down into the floor. Vanishing like She’d never been there at all.

That one was going to be reoccurring. Dean had been getting a lot of new nightmares lately, and he’d gotten really good at telling which ones were going to haunt him for a long, long time. 

It kept going like that for a few days. Valentine’s Day itself was creeping up, and they hadn’t found any evidence that it was itself important to the seal, but they hadn’t really found any evidence at all. 

Sammy still hadn’t found any demons, but he had heard rumors from the other staff that some of the girls had been see cheating, hours before their deaths. And after She heard similar rumors, they decided to focus their energy there.

“Maybe it’s like…” Sam had trailed off at the motel table that night, frowning at his laptop. “The seal opens if enough girls cheat on their partners.”

Dean scowled, turning his beer bottle between his hands. She’d smiled at him today, and Her lips had looked glossy, and he couldn’t tell if his head was fuzzy from want or drinking. “That doesn’t make sense, Sammy.”

“No.” Sam had sighed. “It doesn’t.”

Dean’s next nightmare was another frequent flyer. One where Azazel flayed Her and Bobby alive, and but it kept flicking between Azazel and Dad, then it ended with Her broken body in Dean’s hands and Azazel-Dad telling him that it was for his own good.

They still had fucking nothing.

Dean’s job sucked. They found another set of bodies, but he was stuck behind the bar. He had chicks making the fuck-me-eyes at him, but whenever She’d stop by for their briefings, She barely met his gaze. 

It was for their cover. In case something was watching that even Her magic shit couldn’t detect. 

It still made his stupid heart whine. 

And at least Dean got to see Her. Got to chance quick, assessing scans over Her body, just to make sure She was still okay. There was no dried blood on Her lips or caking her nails, and no scratch marks visible on Her arms. Her wrists looked a little odd, but that might be sunburn, or chafing. She was wearing Her jacket, which meant she had Her knife.

It also meant he needed to be worried about Her getting heatstroke.

“You need some ice, sweetheart?” It was an acceptable thing to ask. Sometimes Shirley temples needed ice, and Dean was a bartender.

“No, thank you. If I eat ice, my fingers will get cold. And I won’t be able to hold my pencil.” She gave him a small, pretty smile under Her fluttering lashes. “Thank you, though.”

He couldn’t help himself. “You already thanked me, Princess.”

“Eat my fucking balls.”

Dean had to cough to cover his snort. 

At least he got to hear Her voice in something other than a fantasy or nightmare. 

“I got confirmation about the cheating.” She continued like nothing had happened, although it felt a little more like she was telling Her napkin rather than Dean. “I talked to a woman who was friends with one of the vics, and apparently she’d been talking about leaving her fiancée for some random new guy.”

Dean frowned. He’d been doing that a lot this week. “And this lady is still on her vacation?”

She shrugged, a small smile tugging on Her lips. “Get your money’s worth, I guess.”

That was all he was getting, it seemed. Maybe all She had.

Dean cleared his throat. “So, uh-“

“Text me.” She gave Dean a soft, dark smile that made his knees weak, and slid Her napkin across the counter. 

Those weren’t Her fuck-me eyes. They were a cover, so She could tell him not now, call me later. The napkin didn’t even have one of Her burner phone numbers. It was just a bunch of Enochian, with one specific word-thing repeated over and over.

That night, Dean had one of the older nightmares. A green demon grabbing Her, driving it’s knife right into Her stomach, and Dean unable to move or do anything as She bled out on the motel floor. Then Bobby would burst through the door shouting things that Dean couldn’t hear, but still hurt, before pulling out his shotgun, aiming it at Dean’s head and never pulling the trigger.

The nightmare never ended with Bobby pulling the trigger. Usually they’d just stare at each other for a long time, and Dean would see all his own pain and devastation from Her loss reflected on Bobby’s face, and then—after an eternity—he’d wake up. 

And he’d been right.

Dean made the mistake of falling back asleep after hour, and the kiss-death nightmare returned.

This day was the slowest yet. Dean hadn’t seen Sam since they split up this morning, and he hadn’t seen Her all day. He’d been doing nothing but turning over the case in his head, and he didn’t even have anyone to tell his ideas.

He missed Her. He didn’t know how he was going to go another fucking night without Her, he didn’t know how he’d ever gone a night without Her, no wonder Bobby had told him he looked like shit every single day She’d been gone, he wasn’t fucking sleeping-

“Hey.” She dropped onto the stool across from him, almost conjured—maybe they should revisit that angels thing, because what Dean had been doing did feel a little too close to prayer—and Her hair falling over her eyes. “Anything?”

Her voice was a little shaky, but the bar was loud, so Dean pressed on. “Yeah, uh- I was thinking about how they’ve all been cheaters, right? But it’s only been the chicks.”

“That’s… right.” She paused. She still wouldn’t look Dean in the eyes. “Shit.”

“Yeah, and you know the girl that died second day we were here?” He picked up a new glass. He’d gotten better at pretending to be busy. “All her friends were gossiping about stuff, and one of them said that it was real sad she died a virgin.”

She sat up at that. He had Her attention. “What?”

Her voice was definitely shaky. And a little smaller.

Dean would ask Her about it after. “And you told Sam that those ladies said they couldn’t believe the other mister and missus corpse waited so long, and we thought they were taking about like, engagement-“

“But they were talking about sex.” She muttered. “Fuck.”

“Is that, uh, that’s a good fuck, right?”

“Dean.” She whispered, and he wished She would fucking look at him. “I know what we’re hunting. Fuck, it’s, one shouldn’t even be here but maybe that’s the seal, maybe she gamed it and there aren’t any demons or angels because- but I’ve been- Fuck-“

Dean grunted Her name, throwing cover out the window. “Breathe. You’re fine, you’ve got it, and we’ll gank it and go home-“

“No, Dean, it’s-“ She had started to shake Her head, the movement almost frantic, and She was rubbing her wrists like she was trying to scrub something away. “Fuck- It’s a Pink Boto- I should’ve known, they lure in young women and seduce them, then kill their- Fuck-“

This was getting away from them too fast. Dean damned it further, and grabbed Her face between his hands over the bar. She stopped shaking Her head. Her breathing didn’t slow. “Listen, you’re gonna be fine-“

“I can’t remember, Dean, I- Fuck- I don’t know what to do- I need to know what to do- Why can’t I fucking-“

“Cause you’re tired, Sweetheart, we’re all tired-“

“But I- No-“

“Hey.” Dean made his tone firm, and She froze. “Look at me, Princess. Please.”

She slowly glanced up, and Her eyes were a little glossy. Puffed. Red.

She’d been crying. 

Dean moved faster than he thought.

He tangled his fingers in Her’s, abandoned the bar—it was a shitty bar anyway, and all their whiskey that Dean wasn’t supposed to be drinking tasted like piss—and pulled Her into a small backroom he’d found on one of his breaks. 

“What happened.” He grabbed Her face between his hands, trying to gently angle it so he could find the damage. It was probably on Her body. “Where’s- Shit, I didn’t grab the rubbing alcohol- Stay here and keep it elevated-“

“No- Dean-“ She grabbed his arm before he could move out of the closet, Her eyes wide. “I’m not hurt. It’s just-“ She let out a long, slow breath, and Dean’s heart might have stilled in his chest. “It’s been a long day.”

He nodded slowly. “You gonna tell me about it?”

“I- I can’t.” She whispered. “It’s not that bad, Dean, it’s stupid- I shouldn’t have even, and Sam-“

Dean’s jaw clenched. Sam wouldn’t hurt Her. Even if they lived in a world where Sam didn’t like Her—which he did, the kid fucking adored Her—he cared about Dean too much to hurt Her. They might be fighting about Ruby and the seals, but Sammy was his brother and wouldn’t fucking hurt the only person Dean-

“Sam was trying to help.” She sniffed, and Dean’s fists relaxed. Of course he was. That was good. “But I- Dean, I’m so tired-“

“I know. ” He muttered, letting his hands move back up to frame Her face. “We’re almost done, sweetheart. Then we’ll go home.”

And it was a lie. They both knew it was a lie. They weren’t going to be done. Even if they stopped this seal, there were more. Lilith didn’t seem like the type to roll over and go quietly, and Ruby was still a fucking problem, and She was still something the angels were hunting for insane and cryptic reasons.

Dean hadn’t forgotten what Cas told them. 

Her existence heralded danger. Change. Something big, that they’d have to deal with after this.

But they’d deal with it, and She’d still be here.

And Dean would stay at Her side, all the way down. Her shadow however She wanted it, running his thumb down the bridge of Her nose until She relaxed into his arms. 

“It’ll be okay, Princess.” Dean muttered, and for Her, he’d believe it. 

Even though they had to pull apart, and separate once more. At least they had a name. A better idea of what they were dealing with, so this fight could be done.

But this nightmare was the worst one yet. It was another new one, and Dean didn’t even know what was happening for most of it. There was just a lot of noise, a big crowd, and everything was so fucking colorful. It was like a hurricane, and he was screaming Her name but he couldn’t find Her. She screamed back, but it always echoed around and Dean couldn’t figure out where She was, where did She go, She needed him but he couldn’t find Her-

He burst onto an invisible edge, and started to fall.

Everything was big. Too big. Dean could see a whole lot of the sky, and not much else, and son of a bitch it felt like something was watching him, but She still wasn’t there-

Dean woke up in another cold sweat, and She wasn’t there. 

His phone found it’s away into his hand, and he couldn’t stop staring at the little letters of Her name, a promise on his screen. She was just on the other side of a button. 

It would be dangerous to call Her. Dean couldn’t call Her. He couldn’t risk it.  

He couldn’t take another night of this, and they were always safer together, but the case-

Dean nearly chucked his phone into the wall when it started to buzz. 

It was a good thing he didn’t.

Because She’d called him first.

He’d have to have lost his mind to not answer

“Dean?” Her voice was soft over the phone, and he muttered Her name in response.

“Are you-“

“I’m okay. I, um- Can you…” She trailed off, and for a moment it was only static through the phone. 

“Sweetheart, I need you to talk for me-“

“I don’t want to- This room is really big.”

Dean froze, shooting a quick look over to Sammy. Dead asleep and comfortable. “It is, huh?”

“Yes.” She whispered. “There’s- I have a minibar. It has the chocolate you like. If you’re hungry.” 

“I’m always hungry, Princess.” Dean grinned into the dark. “Parking lot?”

She hummed, Her voice still so soft. “Thank you, De.” 

“I know.”

“Say you’re welcome.”

“Bossy-“

“Dean-“

Dean bit down his snort as he pulled on his shoes. “I’m not saying it. I’m not doing this for the thanks,” He drawled Her name, and he could almost hear Her frown.

“Then what-“

“I’m doing it for you.” Dean didn’t let Her respond. He’d said it for himself, and so She’d know. All She needed to do for him was know. “See you soon.”

They didn’t talk about it, when She grabbed his hand in the parking lot and pulled him into the resort hotel. They didn’t speak at all in the elevator, when She wrapped her arms around his body and pressed Her face to his chest. And when Dean moved Her into bed, dropped on the impossibly soft mattress at Her side, he let out a groan that made Her smile.

He could see it in the dark. 

Same as he could see Her crawl slowly over to his side, drape Herself cautiously over his body, and settle down like the fanciest, smartest, hottest cat in the world.

Dean could be Her shadow like this. Holding Her through the night without a word, drowning in the smell of fruit, and sleeping easy because She was there. With him. 

They never had to talk about it. 

As long as She was with Dean, he could make it into enough.

——————

It’s been a weird week.

You might not have been fully yours for half of it. You’ve been the anxiety of all the guns in Bobby’s house, and the exhaustion of all the roads and bridges you drove over, and the heaviness of the ocean right out your window. The Silver is growing and infecting everything, and you can’t control when it decides to want to become the whole fucking universe, or when it slams back into your body.  For almost every waking moment you’ve been suffocating in it, the fear that it will hurt something and the terror that—as you rub your wrists and try to just focus the Silver, even without pain—something will hurt you.

You really haven’t been yours at all. All the time.

Almost all the time.

You’ve been yours with Dean.

In the Impala at midnight, bumping his knee and shooting you small grins across diner tables, all but carrying you out of the bar when you get exhausted and your brain starts to get fuzzy. Whenever he’s slept next to you in bed, even if he wasn’t touching you.

And you get that.

You wouldn’t touch you either.

It doesn’t matter how much you want Dean to touch you. How you can’t stop thinking about his lips against yours, about how he tasted a little like coffee and the apple you’d made him eat that morning, but he mostly just tasted like Dean. Salt and spice, sort of earthy, and Dean.

He’d been warm above you. You remember him being so fucking warm and safe above you, and he had touched you like he wanted you—with a lot of rough hands on your skin and soft groans and all his weight pressed over you—but he hasn’t touched you since. Not like that. His hand still rests on your lower back when he guides you around, and sometimes you’ll wake up with his fingers tracing over your stomach like he’s worried your long-gone stitches are going to rip, but he hasn’t touched you.

But it really doesn’t fucking matter how much you want to tackle him and kiss him until you’re both just sunken down to the floor, you can’t.

Rule one is this isn’t about you. Kissing Dean would be about you, not him. Rule two is you can’t overindulge. He thought you were dying, and he kissed you, and you didn’t break anything because Dean kissed you, but you’re not allowed to grab that and run with it. He hasn’t kissed you since, and you’re not allowed to kiss him, so now you’re here.

Loving him. Silently.

And fucking hating this stupid fucking case that’s going to make you fucking stab someone.

You shouldn’t have let Dean talk you into this. But you’d missed him, whenever he and Sam went off on a case without you and you were stuck at home. And it’s not about you if Dean asked you to come.

Plus, you were getting what Bobby called hunter fever.

“That’s not a thing.” You’d muttered when he’d brought it up, and he’d scoffed.

“I ain’t just makin’ it up for shits and giggles, kiddo. It’s real and you’ve got it.”

“I feel fine-“

“No, you fuckin’ don’t.” Bobby had given you a flat look. “You been runnin’ around like a headless dog all week-“

“That’s not the saying.”

Bobby had ignored your mumble, pushing on with narrowed eyes. “You’ve started readin’ on the floor again. You only do that when you’re losin’ your damn mind.“

“I am not losing my mind.” You’d snapped. “I’m trying to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do now that we know. What if I start the end of the fucking world? What if my thing is like, the sun explodes, or the moon decides it want to be part of earth again, or- Fuck, what if I kill God-“

“God ain’t real,” Bobby had said your name firmly, dropping down at your side. “And if he is, you’re not killin’ him.”

“But Cas said that Lilith was a Magdalene, and she started demons, and- shit, what if I start something worse than demons? What if I start super-demons?”

Bobby had sighed. “You ain’t gonna start super-demons. We don’t know what your thing is gonna be, but we’ll work it out when it gets here-“

“But what if it’s really bad.” You’d whispered. “He called me the Magdalene. That- I don’t know what that means-“

“I don’t either. And it sounds like Cas don’t have that big a clue either.” Bobby had run a hand over his face, letting out a long breath. “You’re not helpin’ anything by worrying about it. Or doin’ this.”

He’d tapped the papers scattered over the table, all covered in Enochian, and you’d swallowed.  

Some of it was just the soul exercise. Trying to map out Bobby’s soul, watching Sam and Dean when they were home and trying to figure out what the hell they were made of. A lot of it was new rituals or attempts to figure out who other Magdalene witches could’ve been—Cas had made it sound like they could be born anywhere in the world, which really didn’t narrow down anything—and an embarrassing amount of it was just trying to figure out how to write Dean’s name. 

Your excuse was that writing something on purpose would help you distinguish Enochian in your head. 

The real reason was that you loved him, and needed at way to show it where no one else could see. 

“When was the last time you went this long without a hunt.” Bobby’s voice had been soft. Cautious. 

And you’d sighed. “I’ve never gone this long. You know that.”

“Hunter fever. You’re gettin’ sick of being still and not doin’ shit, and it’s makin’ all this,” Bobby had tapped one of the notes. “Worse.”

“That’s so fucking stupid.”

“Hey,” Bobby had given you a glare, the expression massively undercut by the small smile he was failing to fight. “Don’t be rude, kiddo. Raised you better than that.”

“No you didn’t-“

“Tried to.” He’d shrugged, moving back to his feet. “Not my fault it didn’t take.”

You’d rolled your eyes, glanced down at your chewed up pencil—another new habit, because apparently if you couldn’t bite yourself you had to bite something—and you might have had hunter fever. Between the notes, and the restless itch. settling over your bones, sinking deep and deeper every second, it makes sense. You’ve always been moving until the pain made you drop. Now you can’t move, and goddamnit Bobby really was right.

Hunter fever. 

That was a stupid name. You’d told Bobby that, and he’d said that if you come up with a better one he’s all ears, but until then he invented it, so he gets naming rights. 

And the hunter fever had only gotten worse, the longer Sam and Dean were on that case. You’d gone to the library and checked out so many history books you’d had to make two trips to get them all in the Firebird. You’ve been watching so many documentaries that Bobby set a three per day rule, and started making you stop between them so you remembered to eat and use the bathroom. You’ve run out of paper to write on, so you’ve switched to pen and started drawing on yourself. It pricks your skin, but it’s better than carving with your knife or nails when the Silver gets set off by nothing and you can’t reign it back in. 

And you’ve started to keep track of all the times Dean could’ve kissed you and didn’t. 

Every night in the Impala. Whenever he’s been a little drunk and you’ve helped him to bed, letting him hang around your body before pouring the rest of his beer down the toilet. When he’s grinned up at you from the couch, and any time he’s called you Princess, and every waking second where you’re in the same room, and he could grab you and do whatever the hell he wanted to you, and you’d be fine with it because it’s Dean.

It’s most likely for the best that he doesn’t. For so many reasons. You’re dangerous. You’re a Magdalene, and knowing is better than not knowing, but you still don’t fucking know a lot. You’re not exactly stable, and neither is Dean, but letting yourself crash into him isn’t going to make him more stable. It would only make the Spiderweb glow, and fully consume you with Gold, and this isn’t about you. It can’t be about you.

And only a few days before you left for Florida—when Dean was still gone and your room was colder and lonelier—Cas appeared in the middle of your room, the only warning of a glowing sigil on the wall.

He’d said your name with a deep, serious tone, and you’d sighed.

“Hi, Cas.”

“You told me we needed to speak again. About my timing.” He glanced around your room, a small frown pulling at his features. “I am here to do that.”

“I don’t care about your timing.” You’d sighed, moving to lie flat on your back. “That was a cover.”

“A cover over what?”

“Over why I needed to talk to you. It’s a phrase.”

“Oh.” You’d craned your neck up, and Cas blinked at you. “What talk are we covering?”

You’d rubbed at your wrists, lying back down. “Can you sit, please?”

“This body can sit, yes-“ Cas had cut himself off, and you’d let him work through that one himself. “You are… asking me to sit.”

“Yep.”

“I do not need to-“

“Cas. Please.”

You’d expected more resistance. Instead he’d just dropped awkwardly at your side, shifting uncomfortably on the edge of the mattress. “This is... better. Thank you.”

You’d hummed an acknowledgment, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to be honest with me.”

“I cannot promise-“

“You have to.” You hadn’t cared if he could hear the desperation in your tone. “Please.”

Cas had paused for a long moment that was tight over your lungs, then sighed. “Alright.”

He’d folded with such little resistance, again.

That didn’t really feel like a good sign.

“Thanks.” You’d mumbled. “Ready?”

You glanced over to see him staring at you, giving a small nod, and you’d taken a long breath.

“You said I could be what you’ve been waiting for.” You’d muttered, running your thumb over your palm as you spoke. “What does that mean.”

Cas had been silent for a long second, only staring, and you’d briefly wondered if this was what it felt like for everyone else, when you’d look at them and see their souls.

It was a little unnerving. 

“When I said that.” He starts, his words slow and measured. “I was not aware of what you were. However, I am… not sure that matters.”

You’d frowned. “What, that I’m a Magdalene? I thought that was the whole thing-“

“You are the Magdalene.” Cas had corrected. “But that is not the… reason, I guess. I was not considering that, when we spoke before.”

“So am I not whatever you’ve been waiting for?”

“No.”

“No, I’m not, or-“

“You are.”

You’d sighed, pushing up on your palms to fully meet his gaze. “Cas. What have you been waiting for.”

“God.”

Maybe you should’ve had a bigger reaction to that. Cas must have noticed the complete neutrality on your face. But even in the safety of your room, where the Sky couldn’t see you, you’d still been able to feel it. The Silver had started to seep out, and you had been the fear of the vines on Bobby’s house, and they had felt the Sky watching them.

So you’d just swallowed, and taken a long, slow breath.

Why not. Between angels and Dean rising from the dead and the Sky, why not have God be a fun, new problem too. 

“There will be consequences. For you being the Magdalene. And I do not think even my superiors fully understand them.” Cas paused, holding your gaze. “From what I have found, you have long been thought to be a lie. A sort of… myth, is what you might call it.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about how my kind aren’t real-“

Cas had shaken his head. “Not the Magdalenes. You.”

“Oh.” You’d swallowed, and Cas had sighed.

“That is what I meant, before. It is not the Magdalene in you. It is you.” He’d said your name, still watching you so carefully. “There is something… holy.”

You’d blinked at him. “About me?”

Cas had nodded. “It is more than an angel grace. Or a soul. I have only seen it once, a long, long time ago.”

You’d had a pretty good sense of where this was going, and you really hadn’t wanted to hear it, but you were so tired of not knowing. Of only ever having more questions. “Where did you see it?”

“The only time I met my father.” Cas had muttered, frowning down at you, and maybe he’d been able to see it then. In the dark of your bedroom, at midnight, there was an impossibly high chance that Cas looked at you and saw something holy. 

That was more terrifying than anything in the world.

You aren’t holy. You’re barely more than a monster. You’re sick and in pain and exhausted, and you don’t know what looking at you and seeing holy means, but you know it can’t be good.

Nothing you ever do leads to something good. 

Dean will never get to know it, but you’re starting to think John really should’ve saved everyone a whole lot of trouble and put a bullet in your brain. You’re making everything harder. You’re not good for anything but hunting, and you can’t even really do that anymore. You’re going to hurt or break or infect something, because that’s what you do, and just because the Darkness is gone doesn’t mean you’re cured. If anything it means you’ve evolved, like a pathogen or bacteria, and now you can press further and further into the world without resistance. 

You’re not good for Dean. John was right about that, too. You just take from him—his time and sleep and attention—and you’re not going to leave because you promised, but one day Dean’s going to find someone better for him, who never makes him yell or cry or worry, and they’re going to demand you’ll leave.

It’s another reason you fucking hate this case. It’s full of sweet, pretty women with no scars and toothy smiles, humming syrupy words to Dean, right in-front of you.

And they have no way of knowing that you even know Dean. And he doesn’t even look at them. 

But one day he will. 

Then you’ll have to live with that. 

For now you can cling to how Dean brushes off the better women in favor of giving you small, cocky grins. You can feel the bright, colorful rush of the Spiderweb glowing under his attention. You’re addicted to it. 

And God, it’s going to kill you when he finds the woman that makes you leave. Who makes Dean happy, but gets uncomfortable about the weird freak who keeps following him around like they don’t know what else to do—you don’t—and then you’ll have to leave, because Dean loves her and not you. 

You already hate her, and it’s not even her fault. She’s not real. She didn’t do anything to you except not be you. You can’t blame her for not having scars littered in odd places across her body, for having the type of softness and experience and ease that Dean deserves. It not her fault she never makes him kill things for her, or forces him to carry her to safety when she loses her mind like some weak fucking problem. 

And she won’t depend on him. Not like you do. She won’t be a parasite or leech that wants to wrap around Dean and drench herself in gold. She’ll be able to sleep without him, because she’ll be kind and normal and stable. She’ll never draw her own blood or vomit from grief, because Dean will settle down in a simple, white-picket life with her and forget all about how he ever even considered wanting you. 

She won’t be a sickness that’s not strong enough to cure itself. She won’t try to get better, just to make everything so much fucking worse. 

Things won’t be complicated with her. She’ll deserve Dean, and all his Gold.

You don’t. You’re not even close to deserving Dean. He never fucking falters, even under all the crushing weight of everything. All the blood on his hands he had to shed, and every worse thing he’s done was because he had to. 

Dean was pushed into everything. It wasn’t his fault that John made him hunt. He made that deal to save Sam because he’s a good, selfless man. He broke in hell because anyone would’ve broken in hell, and he’d still held on for so fucking long before he gave in, because he was strong.

You’re not.

You’re just like this. 

The first day without him is the worst. You’re alone for most of it, save for when Sam finds you and hands you a towel, the vic records folded into them. He mutters that there’s been no sulfur or temperature drops, and you nod, mumbling an agreement.

You see Dean once. Smiling at a one of those better women from behind the bar.

And his grins goes wide and boyish, the moment he spots you, and it sets off fireworks over the Spiderweb, but you can’t get addicted to that. It’s not going to be permanent. 

But it’s not overindulging if Dean’s grinning at you.

So you smile back.

And that night, you try not to think about it too much. About Sam’s words at the bar, when he’d called Dean one of those guys.

You’d known that. You’ve never been bothered by it. He’s never done it in front of you—where it would’ve ripped you in half—and you’d never had a claim over him that could’ve made him stop. It hadn’t mattered that you’d follow him all the way down, or that you love him, or that there’s a whole part of you that just for Dean. You’d never thought there was even a chance of him wanting you like that until that amazing, stupid fucking kiss, so you’d simply forced yourself not to think about it.

It’s all you can think about now. Dean sliding a woman that’s not you his motel card, telling Sam to find somewhere else to hang out for a while, then kissing her. And she’d kiss him back without any fear or anxiety, because she’d know how. She’d have an idea of what could drive him crazy, and he’d fall on his knees for her with only joy on his pretty face, and then they’d-

This is torture. The whole night is fucking torture, because all you can wallow and sink into it the loneliness, and the reminder that Dean deserves better. Someone who will match him.

Not someone he’ll have to take care of and guide through everything. 

The morning breaks, and you’re not sure you slept at all. 

The second day is worse. You don’t see Dean at all, and there are so many fucking people, everywhere,  all the time. You hadn’t realized how fucking horrible that would be until you were in it. There had been a lot of people, on the lich case with Jo. But the only time they’d all been in one, loud place was the last night, and you’d been more focused on Dean. On keeping him safe and alive. You’d almost tethered yourself to him, because as long as he was there and Golden, there hadn’t really been much else to look at. 

But then you’d spent those weeks between cases letting the Silver grow and grow, letting Dean soothe it into something easy you didn’t want to fight, and it seems to have bloomed. 

You’ve lost control. You can’t remember the world ever being like this in your life—so loud and consuming and overwhelming—and you barely been able to handle it when you were a child, and it was just single colors lined with quickly fading imprints. 

Now it’s so much. You’re a little bit everything all the time and there’s so much. Why is there so fucking much. This is worse than the bar, when souls had simply been loud and amplified by the drinks and emotions. At least there you’d still be able to cling to Dean’s Gold, to breathe in the smell of spice and try not to think about how a whole lot of desire was blaring out from all the souls in the bar, directed to where you and Dean had been sitting.

It was a new trick. It had started after the kiss. You can see souls creeping and drifting out of their bodies, trying to latch onto other people. Trying to sink into them. You’d been able to see the redhead’s hot pink, almost bubblegummy-ness aiming over Sam, and it had been fucking sickening and pungent. Not for Sam—all the parts of him that were still purple had been vibrating from the attention—but for you, and you’d needed to get it away from you. 

And this is so much fucking worse. There are so many people, so many souls, and twining and burning and washing over each other, and you can still smell Dean’s spice when he’s not here, and you’re going fucking insane.

They found another body, that morning. You didn’t see it, but Sam did, and he said it was ugly. Looked like they got beat up by the ocean, and that some of the staff were whispering about how the girl had been seen cheating before her death.

“I’ll ask around.” You mumble, pretending to be busy with the coffee while Sam takes an impossibly long time to grab the trash. “There’s this group of ladies who have been trying to talk me into going to the beach with them, and I think they knew the vic.”

Sam nods. “I’ll pass it onto Dean.”

You swallow, and the Spiderweb whines. “Tell him I say hi.”

Sam gives you an odd look and his mouth opens, but you walk away before he can speak. You don’t want to hear it. You know Dean wants you, at least enough to kiss you once, but he hasn’t kissed you since.

Maybe it was horrible for him. It was perfect for you, but he’s not in love with you, and he probably has a higher standard for good kisses. He’s hasn’t changed since the kiss, but he hasn’t tried to do it again. 

There’s a chance he’s waiting for you to kiss him, to make the scores even. He kisses you once and puts it on the table. You kiss him again and then you get to have him.

You don’t deserve to have him. And you’re not allowed to kiss him first. 

“What about you?” One of the women—the ones you’d told Sam about, with long nails you really wish it would be practical for you to have—says your name, and you blink at her.

They’d already confirmed that the girl had cheated, and you’d mostly been tuning out the rest of the gossip after that. It was too colorful, and thinking about Dean was better than drowning in the vastness of the Silver, so you’d just focused on that.

But now you had to participate. You hadn’t been ready to participate.

“What about me?” You ask, throwing on a small, nervous smile and slipping back into your role. Ditzy. You’d told Dean you’d be ditzy. 

“A man.” A second woman—Monica? You’re pretty sure her name is Monica—grins at you, leaning back in her chair. “You have one?”

Pretty green eyes and soft hair and full lips and Gold- “No.”

“Oh, come on.” The first woman—Halle? That sounds right—rolls her eyes. “You’re so pretty, babe, you’ve gotta have someone, or there’s no hope for the rest of us.”

“I- I don’t-“

“Is it a girl?” Monica whispers, leaning forward. “It’s okay, you can tell us. We’re like, super chill about that.”

You sigh. “It’s not a girl.”

The last girl—Karen, that one’s easy to remember—grins at you. “So there is someone?”

“No, it’s not- It’s complicated-“

Halle scoffs. “If it’s complicated, he’s an idiot.”

You scowl at that. “No, he’s not-“

“Ha!” Karen grins, and this was a mistake. You should’ve just eavesdropped on their conversation like a normal person. “There is someone! What’s his name?”

“I- I’m not-“ You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to find a way out. “It’s really complicated. There’s like, a lot of moving parts, and we’ve known each other a really long time-“

“Awww.” Monica gives you a sweet smile. “Childhood friends? That’s so cute!”

“No- It’s more-“ You choke on the word complicated. “I have to go.”

Halle shakes her head as you stand up. “No, wait, we’re sorry, you’re just cool and we thought there had to be someone-“

She’s still talking. Still apologizing. 

But she grabbed your wrist to stop you from leaving. Right where Ketch had tied you up. Right where the lich grabbed you. 

You can’t breathe. The Silver is bursting and burning through the world because no, no, you’re so tired and it hurts and no-

Something shatters, an impossibly large wave sweeps over half the beach, and the wind picks up, ripping through the air like you’re at the top of a mountain.

The women are shrieking in fear, because this shouldn’t be happening, and you run. Not forever. Just until you’re back in your room, staring at your phone and forcing yourself not to call Dean. 

Half of that had been you. The shattering and wave had been you.

The wind had been the Sky. It had been watching. And the cold had bitten your skin, and it had been more of a warning to you than a defense for you. 

And you’re falling apart. You miss Dean, and it’s worse than when he’d been on a case, and you’d been at Bobby’s. At least you’d been a little useful, there. At least you’d had company, and could think about things that were better women, touching Dean in the dark while you were alone in bed. 

Here, you’re useless. You can’t figure out what the hell you’re supposed to be hunting—which is supposed—to be something you’re good at—because it’s all so loud and colorful and you’re not sleeping, and you miss Dean.

Maybe he’s spending this night with another better woman, again. There are plenty to choose from, this luxury resort filled with people to know how to have something and not infect it. And it’s almost Valentine’s day, so they’ll want company, and anyone—whether they can see the Gold or not—should want Dean. Will want Dean. 

You torture yourself with that for another night. The idea of Dean in bed with someone else, touching someone else, kissing them the same way he’d kissed you, but this time they go further, and then the next day you’ll see that the rivers of silver had been painted over with another color.

Embedded. Cas had said you were embedded in Dean, and that couldn’t go away easy, but what if it does. What if only a gentle, knowing touch cures Dean of you forever, and it’s that easy, and he leaves. 

You’d promised you’d stay, but he didn’t. You both said all the way down, but that was before he kissed you. 

It would be smart to want to take it back. To go back to never thinking about that, because you didn’t think it was an option. To not be getting withdrawals from something you never even fucking had, not really.

You know that.

Knowing never helped.

And at least you still have the Gold lingering on your lips. It’s never been there before, and it makes you feel a little like that holy thing Cas had called you. 

You really are fucking useless. Staring at mirrors and trying to write Dean’s name in Enochian and imaging that he’ll burst through your door and sweep you away. 

It doesn’t help that the wrist thing is looking like it’s here to stay.

The next morning, Sam pulls you into an abandoned room for a meeting.

But he grabs you by the wrist.

And you can’t stop yourself from swinging.

Blind, frantic punches thrown into the air, uncoordinated from exhaustion and landing on nothing, someone is shouting your name but there’s a lot of red in them—red like blood, red like poison—and the fists aren’t enough so you grab your knife and start slashing-

Sam shouts your name, and the blur fade enough for you to know it’s Sam, but then he grabs your wrist to stop the fall of your knife, and the Silver explodes.

There’s a crash, and a ringing in your ears, and-

“Holy- Ow.” Sam stumbles up from the floor, his hands raised in the air and the wall a little dented behind him. “What the hell was that?”

You blink at him, the blur fading, and all that’s in its wake is pain. Pain and a gnawing fucking guilt, because you hurt Sam, why the fuck did you hurt Sam, what’s wrong with you and why can’t you control this without trying to kill yourself-

Sam frowns at you, something softening in his gaze. You don’t deserve how gently he says your name. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I-“ You swallow, drawing yourself up tall and forcing your voice to stay even. “I’m sorry. You startled me. Is your back-“

“It’s fine. I mean, it hurts, but I’ve have worse.” Sam pauses. “Are you sure-“

“What do you need, Sam.”

He stares at you and—in a small mercy—doesn’t push it. Whatever Sam can see on your face, he’s able to work out that now is not the time to talk about how he just touched you, and you tried to kill him. 

Sam only sighs, and moves on. 

“I think we’re dealing with some sort of sex demon.” He says, shuffling back to your side. “All the vics have been cheating, but every single thing I’ve heard about them makes it sound like they were really in love. There has to be some kind of manipulation going on.”

You nod slowly, letting out a long breath. “How do you know they were really in love? Just online snooping?”

“They did all just get engaged. And I mean, people make mistakes with that sometimes, but it’s usually a sign of… you know.” Sam shrugs. “A future. Together.”

“Okay.” You frown at the air. “You pass it onto Dean, and I’ll keep looking for what the seal actually is, so we can stop it.”

Sam shakes his head. “I, uh- I’ve actually got the seal, too. Bobby called me.”

“Oh.”

“He would’ve called you.” Sam rubs at the back of his neck, and suddenly the air is wired. “But this is- Um, it’s sort of better to have in person.”

You narrow your eyes. He’s being weird. “Sam. What’s the seal.”

“Bobby thinks.” Sam won’t meet your eyes. “Based on some old texts that be found, some of yours, actually-“

“Samuel-“

“It’s making a true love stray.” Sam mumbles, his gaze locked on the floor. “And Bobby’s theory for the murders that none of them have been a true love, so after they strayed, they got.” Sam winces. “You know.”

“Yeah, okay. That’s- It makes sense.” You pause. “Why does that need to be said in person?”

Sam glances up, something cautious in his eyes. “Because you and Dean need to be careful.”

The world stills a little, like a heart murmur, but you must have just heard him wrong. “What.”

“You and Dean.” Sam mumbles. “Any two people with, um, strong emotions are in danger.”

“Sam.” You keep your words slow and careful. You can’t really hear them over the ringing in your ears. “They’ve been targeting engaged couples. Dean and I are-“

“You’re really obvious!” Sam almost shouts, and you flinch like he’d stabbed you.

“No.” You whisper, shaking your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach, and the Silver isn’t even growing. This isn’t a danger to it. 

It should be. You’re a danger to Dean.

“Sam, we’re just- I’ve told you-“

“Jo told me about the kiss.” Sam’s voice is gentle. You’re going to claw out your own eyes. “And I know you guys are dealing with other things, but you’re not just friends. And I- I’m sorry,” he mutters your name, and a little bile creeps up your throat. “But I knew a long time before that. You guys are obvious, and I’m not trying to tell you want to, you know, do about it. But you have to be careful.”

No. You don’t. Dean doesn’t love you, but you’ve never even looked anywhere but him and the Gold and that deep life in his eyes, so not only is Sam wrong, he’s cruel.

Dean doesn’t want you like that, and if he loves you, it’s not the truest love. It can’t be. You’re you, and you’re a danger, and you’ve never brought him anything but extra work, screams of his name, and your own tears for him to eat. 

You can’t live on tear and names. You could—you could conquer the world if Dean offered you tear and your name from his lips—but nobody sane and easy can. Dean will live off of good food from a better woman.

And you’ll die with the Sky watching you, alone in that high, cold, lonely place it had promised you when you were young.

“Sam.” You whisper, your hand wrapping around your throat on an old instinct, but the Silver still dormant in your body, because it’s lined with the Spiderweb, and the Spiderweb loves the idea of Dean’s love. “Please don’t say that.”

He says your name, and it’s gentle again. You think you’re choking on the air.

“Don’t-“

“I’m really not trying to push you guys to do anything.” Sam’s voice is almost desperate. “I just- I can’t lose you both again. This demon is taking the couples-“

You make a weak sobbing sound, and Sam catches his mistake.

“Pairs, it’s taking the pairs and if you both go, I don’t know- Shit-“ Sam pleas your name, moving to reach for you, and you take a step back.

“I- I’m going to go tell Dean.” Your voice is strained, and you don’t care about the irony of your own words. “Bye.”

You’d promised Dean you wouldn’t run. 

You haven’t promised Sam fucking shit.

And you were running to Dean. You didn’t care if that made you a hypocrite, or liar, or a whore. You needed to see him, because it made the Silver feel good, and the world manage because you could cling to Dean’s Gold, and know it was going to be okay.

Then you break twice. Once at the bar, when you were supposed to be working, but Dean needed to calm you down because it was all too fucking much and you’re useless. Then again when you caved and called him, just to hear his voice—overindulging—and ended with him wrapped around you in bed.

You’d slept. Well. Easily. And Dean looks peaceful, in the shifting light of dawn, starting to break through the windows. 

He’s perfect. The newer, stronger Gold seems like molten lava in the morning light, but it’s still not fire. And it’s moving rapidly through his body like air, but it’s not. And there a power to it like water, and strength to it like earth, but it’s never enough of one and far too much of the others for you to pin it down.

You don’t really need to pin it down. 

It’s Dean.

You love him all the same.

He tries to hold onto you, when you twist to get out of bed. He makes a cute, disgruntled sound, and tugs you right back into his body before you know what’s happening.

It takes ten minutes for you to slowly swap yourself with one of the pillows. And you don’t want to leave—it might be a dream, to just stay where Dean is holding you for the rest of your life—but you need to think. And you can’t do that when a big, warm hand is spread over your stomach again, and Dean’s breath is hot on your neck.

Your thoughts had kicked back into gear, after Dean calmed you down yesterday. And you’d made some connections.

Connections you’re going to have to tell Sam and Dean about, because they mean you’re good. You can gank the Boto Monster and fuck off. Go home. You don’t even have a seal to deal with.

And you’re going to have to find a way to convince them of that without the truth.

Because under no fucking circumstances can you actually say the truth.

Dean had said the first vic was a virgin, and it had hit you in small, fragmented pieces you’d strung together in the hours after.

Sam had been wrong about the sex demon. This has to be a Pink Boto. You’d hunted one, while you were in Brazil, and this is their exact MO. Make a young, virgin woman cheat on her partner. Then kill them both, with symptoms similar to drowning. You’d remember how to spot one, too. They’d be in a human form of their choice, designed to lure the woman in, but they’d always wear a hat. Their true forms were pink dolphins—botos—and they could shift however they wanted, but they could never get rid of their, so they’d have to cover it. With a hat.

And that was great. Simple. 

It also wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that Lilith brought the boto here, to make the true love stray.

True. Not pure. 

The seal won’t care about any virgins. But the boto will. It will target them, smell it on them, fucking see it. The same way that they can sense when humans have emotional bonds, so they can sniff out couples.

At least, that was how it had been explained to you, in Brazil. 

It was how they’d assured you.

You were single. 

You wouldn’t be a target.

And this is where Sam was right. You and Dean were in danger. You were the target. Lilith brought the boto here because she needs the seal broken, and she knows about your love for Dean, and she probably fucking knows about you. The other deaths haven’t been about the seal. It’s just been the boto feeding. You and Dean have been the endgame from the start.

The good news, you decide as you sit alone on the beach, your toe right on the edge of the water as the sun climbs into the sky, is that Lilith is fucked. You’ve really never even thought about anyone but Dean. Not like that. You missed the window of experimentation in your teens, met Dean at eighteen, and then there was just no fucking point to anyone else. It was Dean. It’s always been Dean. All the way down.

It’s not saving yourself, because that makes you sound fucking pathetic, like a midwestern church girl who won’t show Her ankles because Jesus will get mad. You just don’t think about it, if it’s not Dean. And it’s not like anyone else has ever really looked at you.

That was your first kiss. 

You are never going to fucking tell Dean that.

And you’re staring down at the sand—at the water slowly climbing over your ankles—when you hear him clear his throat behind you. “Hey, sweetheart. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Sorry.” You mutter, not looking up from the sand. “I should’ve texted. I just needed to- you know.”

“Yeah. I do.” You hear the sand shift at your side. He’s sitting down. “Just got worried. I mean, woke up. You weren’t there. Damn near ripped up the room looking for you.”

That gets a small smile. “You think I was going to be under the couch, Deano?”

“No. I’m just saying I was worried. Don’t run off like that.”

There’s a long, heavy silence, and something is wrong. The air is wired and tense, and it’s never like that with Dean. And the Silver isn’t exploding, but it’s not soothed. 

“I’m sorry.” He mutters suddenly, and it really sounds like Dean, but you’re still staring at the sand. “I just got worried, you know? You shouldn’t be out here, the sun is barely even up.”

Dean would be worried. But he wouldn’t say it like… that. 

You suddenly really don’t want to look at him. He’s rubbing strong circles on your back but they’re only making your breathing labored. He’s right at your side, but you don’t feel any of Dean’s gravity.

But it sounds like Dean.

And you’re frozen. 

“Don’t be mad at me.” Dean’s voice hums, close to your ear, and you squeeze your eyes shut. You feel fucking sick. “You know I love you, baby. Let’s go back to bed.”

Baby.

Dean only calls his car Baby. 

But that was his voice. Calling you Baby. It’s echoing around in your head, and you can’t fucking breathe, and you have to open your eyes.

It looks like Dean, too. Pretty features and a boyish grin and green eyes, it’s skin a little more tanned, but only in a way that’s noticeable to someone who’s insane and in love with him.

You don’t need to rip its stupid baseball cap to know it’s not Dean.

It’s not Golden.

And you can still hear it, as you explode.

Baby. You know I love you, baby.

You’re scrambling back, as the Silver presses into the boto. And it not killing it. Not simply sucking up its life and throwing its soul into wherever monsters go after they die.

You’re eliminating it. The same way you’ve eliminated Hell’s Assassin’s.

But you’ve never done it to something with a functioning soul again. A soul you can see. Sense.

Hear.

Those aren’t the screams of the boto, when it’s turned into pure fucking nothing. 

It’s the soul. Begging you for mercy.

Baby.

There’s a last, weak sound, and then the boto is gone.

You fall flat on your back, and stare at the Sky.

It stares back. 

You can’t fucking breathe. The tide is starting to rise, but you can’t fucking move, and you can’t tell what salt is your own tears and what’s the ocean.

And the Sky is just fucking watching.

Dean roars your name, somewhere down the beach. And that’s how your Dean roars your name, and the Spiderweb is glowing, and he’s Golden when he appears over you like some sort of knight, sent to save you from the monster in the water.

You’re the monster in the water. If Dean’s a hero—and he is—he should let you fucking drown.

But he doesn’t. He’s perfect, so he scoops you into his arms with only a grunt and carries you away from the beach. 

When you look over his shoulder, there’s not even a fucking body. It’s like the boto never even existed at all.

“You’re okay.” Dean’s muttering in your ear as he sets you down somewhere with flowers and a small marble waterfall. “Son of a bitch, Princess, you can’t just fucking disappear. I- You weren’t there and I fucking thought- Godamnit-“

Dean grabs your face between his hands, starting to wipe the linger saltwater from your cheeks. You’re blinking at him. In a firm pattern on once, over and over, trying to tell him everything is wrong. But he’s too focused on checking you for injury to see. And that’s how your Dean would be worried. 

Touching you so carefully while shouting at you with a distress you can hear.

You sob before you can stop yourself, and Dean’s eyes widen.

“Fuck, wait-“ He pulls you right back against his body, walking backwards until his back is pressed to a white-brick wall, and you’re still held in his arms.

He wants to be able to see anything coming. He’s trying to keep you safe.

Your tears start to flow.

“No- shit- Don’t cry, Princess, you’re okay, it’s okay, you’re- Fuck-“

Dean’s thumb starts to run down the bridge of your nose, over and over until you’re almost slumped against him. 

It’s peaceful here. Against Dean. Warm and safe. Home. 

And exhaustion is already starting to pull you down, but you can still hear it.

Baby.

“Talk,” Dean mutters your name, brushing away the hair that’s been stuck to your brow. “Shit, I- I need you to talk, I can’t fucking do anything if you don’t tell me what happened, why the hell were you drowning yourself-“

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, and Dean stares at you.

He thinks you’re sorry because of the vanishing act and state he’d found you in.

He’s wrong.

You need to know. Just in case this is a more sophisticated trick, or a dream, or the last chance you ever get. Just in case the angels swoop down and try to take you, or the earth opens up and Dean’s dragged back to Hell, you need to know. It’s selfish and unforgivable, but you need it. You need Dean. 

Baby. I love you, baby.

“You’re-“

Dean words are cut off as your hands fist in his shirt, and you yank him down into a kiss. 

He responds immediately. Dean deepens the kiss in half a second, pulling you somehow closer. Like there wasn’t ever a question of if he would.

And you know.

But you don’t hate yourself enough to pull away.

This isn’t like the first kiss. You’d both been moving through that like you were afraid it would be ripped away at any moment. 

Now you’re both moving like you know it’s going to be ripped away, and you refuse to waste one fucking second.

It’s violent. Heavy and hot and wet, open-mouthed with Dean’s tongue down your throat and his lip between your teeth. Your nails scratch at his back and shoulders as he flips you around, pinning you between his body and the wall. And he’s still touching you so carefully—like he’s afraid you’ll break—but there’s no hesitation when one hand grips your waist hard enough to bruise, before trailing down and under your shirt-

A million fucking sparks set off when Dean’s knuckles touch the bare skin of your hips. Your back arches as he groans and massages your waist, and you’ve stared to grind up into him without thought, because he’s Golden and made of gravity and you want him to devour you. To touch you wherever he wants until you’re painted in Gold, to kiss you until you’re just putty like this, forever. Tended to and touched and without any fucking pain, there’s no fucking pain because Dean’s too good to have pain. 

There can’t be pain when you’re safe against his body. Nothing can exist but Dean kneading at your skin under your shirt, and moaning your name against your lips when you press against something big and hard, poking right at your hip-

Dean pulls away with a grunt, both of you gasping for breath, and your brow drops to his shoulder.

He just smells like spice, now. And you can taste it, too. 

You love him. 

You’re not allowed to say it.

So instead you wrap your arms around his shoulders, clinging to him like there won’t be any consequences. Any prices to be paid.

There will be.

You’ll live with them.

“Dean?” You whisper in his ear, and his hum of response rolls through your whole body. “I- I took care of it. Can we please go home?”

You’re ready for him to push back. To ask what took care of it means, and tell you that you need to be sure, and consult Sam, and you can sit the rest of it out, but you can’t leave just yet.

Instead Dean just sighs, running his fingers through your hair, and nods.

“We can do whatever you want, Princess.”

You want him. You’ve only ever wanted Dean.

But it doesn’t matter what you want. 

You’ll have whatever the fuck Dean offers you. 

And if it’s love, you’ll rip the Sky in half to keep it.

End Note: Okay so I made her a virgin because let’s be so fr, she’s impressively oblivious about that stuff, AND she was not about to get laid when big emotions made things blow up. We’re lucky Dean didn’t kiss her when she was still suppressing her powers. Girlie would’ve blown up the moon about it.

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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[purplecritter]

theories/thoughts/analysis about touchstarved 2025 demo

So uh, I did a long analysis post back when the first demo dropped. I won’t repeat things that I already wrote there but I have some more thoughts especially with the changes and additions they made + several of the scattered official tumblr posts that followed the demo release!

Also heads-up, I will edit this with the daily routine posts from the devs' account if they're relevant, since I already commented on Mhin’s, but apart from those I won’t touch this anymore afterwards 🙏

(Spoilers under the cut)

Kuras

His new red choice… Really amps up his association with fire, and it seems to be directly linked with how close we are to him: if you didn’t get the red choice you still feel it, but you’ll miss this line: “I realize it’s more than physical warmth. The sensation calms my nerves and quiets my mind—the closest thing I’ve ever felt to a comforting embrace”. One thing is interesting though: the red choice was unlocked during my Unnamed playthrough, but not during my others even if I picked the same choices. I tried again picking the opposite choices with my Unnamed and still got that red choice, so I’m pretty sure it depends on your origin, not your relationship with him. Since, as of now, Kuras hasn’t yet revealed his true nature to us (I suspect Eridia more or less knows, though), it would make sense that specifically the origin about detecting hidden supernatural presences would notice earlier than the others.

The dev answered a question on their tumblr about Kuras, “Kuras came through the Shroud because he loved humanity. He’s had human friends, colleagues, and lovers… all of whom he’s destined to outlive. Each person he’s loved—and lost—left an indelible stamp on him.” The stamp part caught my attention; since we feel his powers more whenever when get closed (physically, but moreso emotionally), I wonder if he can… channel? That affection into energy. Kind of how deities are fueled by their followers’ faith, perhaps an angelic being like Kuras is fueled by emotions?

A bit of relevant lore was posted on the dev team's tumblr: “Divine Teacher — The Senobium's folklorists note a curious pattern in humanity's oldest tales. Though the details vary, these stories share a common theme: an otherworldly teacher, bringing the divine gift of knowledge. Alchemy and literacy, art and war...supposedly this being shared all that they knew with the earliest civilizations. In some tales, the otherworldly teacher is a loving, benevolent figure. In others, they are a harbinger of chaos and ruin.” as well as the quote “Hope. A strange concept, after so long seeing myself as the agent of ruin.” Prometheus is the obvious parallel, due to his association with fire (though I would hope Kuras still has his liver intact), but there’s many versions of the Theft of Fire; in the Book of Enoch there’s fallen angels who shared knowledge with humans, too; and undoubtedly several more myths about inhuman figures sharing knowledge. Mhin says that “[Kuras]rarely does [take payment from patients]. That just means he’s paying down the debt elsewhere” which could be related to his distaste for dealing with the Senobium… I wouldn’t even be surprised if he had a hand in creating the Senobium (his robes are white too, and he does collaborate often, yet he isn’t afraid of retribution for messing a little with its members from what we can see of his ending scene), and he had all the time in the world to witness how the knowledge he gifted was used for worse things that he could’ve hoped for :(

Kuras, like Ais, keeps on his own for the most part, though they don’t dislike feeling close to people: Ais actually dislikes isolation but he’s probably too jaded to want to bother interacting, while Kuras actively craves closeness (it’s part of the reason he has a free clinic methinks) even if he knows it will hurt him when he loses it.

Leander

Leander’s group is now called The Adderstone. The symbology of an adder stone, aka witch stone, is definitely a bigger hint at Leander’s unique connection to magic, whereas previously the Bloodhounds evoked the feeling of a mercenary group with a penchant for investigations. In the new demo Adderstone is defined as “a semi-precious mineral that draws out poison”, which also makes me think of his constant disposition as a confident protector and his tendency to disregard the riskier aspects (ie, he wouldn’t care about getting poisoned himself). The Adderstone’s meaning is still vaguely reminiscent of my previous thoughts about the Bloodhounds: Hounds are a breed specifically intended to track something specific (or someone specific) by scent, and in the new metaphor that something/someone is the poison that Leander and his mercenaries are drawing out, hunting.

Adder stones are sometimes also symbolically tied to snakes, some sources saying they were created by turning dead snakes into the stone, others say that the ring-like formation was made by a hardened bubble of saliva when snakes joined together… All quite nicely tied to the recurring Ouroboros symbol in Leander’s outfit and merch!

“I’m no prior or curator. I’m not much for paperwork or pencil pushing. And honestly, I don’t even think those robes come in my size.” I am reminded of an old post by user @/toeridiaorbust about how Leander and the Bloodhounds Adderstones clothes are a direct color inversion of the Senobium’s robes.

“If you want nothing but guidelines, improper policies, and needless bureaucracy, you know where to go […] The Senobium won’t help you. They’re more likely to torture you than to lend you a hand.” Now this? Makes me wonder if his prominent scars are connected to his loathing towards the Senobium.

“But I’m not going to wait from word from on high […] These are our streets. We make our own luck here […] I founded the Adderstones to help people like you.” connects to the “as above, so below” tagline that was in his posters in the first demo and first hinted at him creating the Adderstone as an alternative to the Senobium.

The lore snippet about him on the dev’s tumblr doesn’t add anything that we don’t know from the new demo about Leander and the Adderstone, but there’s an interesting part at the end: “Locals speak praise for the charming leader whose seemingly benign reign extends even below the city streets into the shadowed depths of the Silent Crypts.” Considering all of his symbolism about the cycle of rebirth (I went into detail in my old analysis post), the fact that this references a crypt of all places doesn’t feel coincidental… We haven’t heard of the location yet from what I can remember, but I would bet that it’s connected to Leander’s hidden curse / source of power.

In an old post, the devs confirmed that “The magically talented son of an old Hightown family, Leander was expected to join the Senobium when he came of age. Instead, he packed up his bags twelve years ago to chase his own dreams” which matches with his own words in the demo: “I grew up idolizing the Senobium. I wanted nothing more than to join their ranks, to learn magic from the best, to make a real difference. I was young and blinded by the legends and the legacy. I was so damn naive. All it took was one trip here, to Lowtown, to show me the truth.”

“I won’t leave you, and you won’t leave me” + “How would you feel about being on a leash?” + “You can decide how to thank me. Or I can decide for you.” he’s not beating the yandere allegations.

“It’s not every day I find something that truly challenges me” we already knew he likes being challenged, which is pretty much his whole relationship with Ais. It’s interesting because with MC, he tends to prefer when they defer to him, trust him, take the flower and hold hands…. I think both things are a way to reaffirm his confidence: a challenge surpassed is proof that he’s strong enough to face what he has ahead, and having people trust him (in Kuras’ words, even willing to put their lives on the line for him) is a different way to feel that kind of influence.

The new scene of him coming into MC’s room with the excuse of having information about the curse, it feels like a contrast with the other characters’ ending scenes. Everyone shows a little about themselves, their attitude or their habits, but Leander feels like he mirrors MC. Even asking him about his relationship with the others, he comments on what we say about them rather than speaking up about them unprompted.

I initially didn’t think much of it so it may be nothing but it’s worth mentioning anyways: while chatting with Leander nearer the ending, he can say “How would you feel about being on a leash?” which is easy to dismiss as just him being a little freaky, but then I recalled after the first encounter with Vere, when the MC remarks that they could share his fate and get “leashed” by the Senobium. I doubt Leander would intentionally let MC in the hands of the Senobium, considering his animosity towards them, but it’s still a chilling thought that feels like foreshadowing...

Vere

re: his bad/secret ending, I appreciate that he shows some restraint this time around. I’m now pretty certain that you can only get the option to “Reach out to him” (red choice) versus “Resist him” (neutral) if you played along with him at least a little bit; while “Surrender” (bad ending) is only unlocked if you don’t have his approval and you say that if you can’t find a cure it’s over for you (rather than “I’ll keep looking”).

In two posts on tumblr (here and here), the devs posted a couple of peeks at Vere’s living space. “Candles flicker in the waning light, illuminating a crowded desk at odds with its gloomy surroundings.” and “Few in living memory know why the Senobium built the secret prison where Vere is kept. What do you think happened to the other prisoners?”. Given it’s described as a secret prison, I’m torn about it being located in the entertainment district where we first found him. One one hand, he was shackled there and it was morning, the Senobium cleric hadn’t yet come to fetch him. On the other hand, it feels like a weirdly dangerous place to put the deathly charming Monster in? No other buildings can be seen from the window, which is either just to not clutter the view or it’s a tall building, a spire taller than the rest, which would only leave the blue sky visible from that angle. The three items that mainly occupy his space are candles (I would’ve thought he would be able to see in the dark, perhaps just not comfortably or perhaps he likes the atmosphere they create... or they're not there for his benefit, but that of his captors), books (I could swear there’s a full picture of his sketchbook somewhere but just considering this sneak peek of it here, I think it’s the one in the middle of the desk… As for the books, he doesn’t like puzzles, I’m not sure he would be the studious type, so my bet is on them being entertainment), and shackles in his bedroom and by the desk. This last detail feels particularly invasive, as the implications are that someone is scheduled to keep an eye on his routine, dictating when he is allowed bedtime and when he can read/draw/brush his tail (there’s a little brush and mirror in the shelves). There’s also some handwritten papers on his desk, I wonder if he’s allowed to send letters or if he just writes them? One additional detail caught my attention: doesn’t the decoration in the chair by his desk look remarkably similar to the design of Kuras’ earrings? Though there’s different additional elements for each, they both are a circle with three drops underneath it… Which makes me even more convinced that Kuras played a significant part in initially capturing Vere. The comment about “What do you think happened to the other prisoners?” brings to mind Vere’s insistence that if the Senobium realized what the MC is, they’d be leashed as well. I don’t doubt that other Monsters have been kept by them in a similar manner, perhaps some of them also were offered a way to end their suffering by Vere, like he did with MC in his secret/bad ending.

In a tumblr post by the dev team about his lore: “Bloodstained Snow — The Senobium's archives hold countless records of stories that defy belief. One ancient report recounts the haunting of a remote village by what is described at first as a god, and then as a demon. Heavily redacted, the papers depict a team of researchers hunted by a self-proclaimed deity that transforms into a malignant entity. After the beast succumbs to freezing conditions, its ultimate fate is unknown-doubtlessly lost with the pages removed from the report.” I would bet that this is (part of) the reason why Vere dislikes snow… Apart from that, it’s interesting that Vere presented as a god first. History is written by the victors, and I wouldn’t take this recounting as the full truth. If he approached the village like he did with us, at first charming (if a bit unnerving, but deities can afford that) and then started preying on people’s trauma/insecurities, it’s not much of a stretch that they’d label him a demon—and to be fair, his monstrous form doesn’t inspire much safety either. I wonder if he first caught Kuras’ attention (or wrath) by proclaiming himself a god?

I’m also still thinking of Vere being a foil for Mhin: both hunt Soulless, he does out of obligation and they do presumably as a choice in line with their ideals; one leans completely on his Monster side and lets it leak through nonchalantly, the other despises Monsters and hides their own unnatural skills; Vere puts on airs to hide his thoughts, overwhelming you with (effective or not) charm, while Mhin is standoffish and avoids opening up by… well, avoiding you.

Ais

The Exile notices “Not many scars, though. Strange. Save for one cut along his brow, Ais is unmarked for how seasoned he acts.” In a post on tumblr the team answered a question about this particular scar: “Ais’s scar serves as a memento of his first day in the human realm, a stark reminder of all that can be lost. His gang imparted a lesson he’ll never forget, and he returned the favor in kind.” What feels more likely to me, is that he passed through the Shroud with his gang, they had a serious disagreement and/or they betrayed him (we already know from the character sheets and other hints that he doesn’t like being alone, I feel like it’d take something serious for him to turn his back on them), fought and he got injured during this confrontation. Then he found (?) Ocudeus, and we can assume from the fact that the red-eyed woman who lead us to the Seaspring still had visible marks of her previous health, that the Seaspring doesn’t restore wounds, so the wound was already there and didn’t get healed. I don’t think it’s likely that Ais has regenerative powers (also, his knuckles are bruised constantly, and he bleeds when MC bites him).

Leander also says that Ais “doesn’t see humans as equals”. Humans, by their very nature, can’t realistically be a match for the power of a Monster, so Ais wouldn’t consider them on the same level as him. In the same line of thinking, he seems to like more when MC can hold their own, and I feel like it’s connected to his trauma about being betrayed: if people can take care of themselves (like Vere, who’s as dangerous as Ais, and Leander, whom he respects), if he gets betrayed by those he likes, then at least he won’t have to hold back and it will be a fair fight.

When Ais says his old gang “took a walk”, the Exile wonders about this “He knows how to scare people, and he expects submission, but it’s uncommon for someone so used to being in power to be so… alone.” The Exile also has the most positive reaction by far to the Soulless in the Seaspring. When talking with Mhin, the Exile says “[Ais’] Soulless seem to like him though […] There’s a big difference between Ais’ Soulless and that many-eyed Soulless [that attacked me].” Being playful (perhaps even being in groups) isn’t a behavior they usually display, and I wonder how much of that is because they share being under the influence of Ocudeus so they're not hostile to what they consider allies, and how much it could be Ais’ doing instead: if he feels so alone, I would bet that he would (subconsciously or not) use the bond with the Groupmind as a way to feel less isolated, and those feelings impact the behaviour of the Soulless.

Ais talks about “a time where Leander’s resolve will be tested, same for anyone in this plane or the next” I think that the Adderstones remind him of what he had, or could have had. He sees something of himself in Leander, but Ais is jaded by his previous experience. I now wonder if the assassination attempts are his way to test him, make sure he’s ready for whatever comes, something that he feels like he lacked when he was left alone?

The lore post about Ais on the official tumblr reads: “Death Knell — Whispers echo about a fearsome Monster within the Shroud, their overwhelming power and authority stretching across the realm’s underworld. Few have seen the face of this infamous ruler. As Monsters continued to abandon the Shroud to seek thrills in the human realm, the being stayed behind, devouring forsaken domains and Monsters alike until no challenges were left. Now, as the being seeks conquest elsewhere, Monsters stir in anticipation of impending carnage.” This also could reference the time where [everyone’s] resolve will be tested; I wonder if it’s a general comment, about Monsters as a whole (Ais himself likes a good challenge), or if Ocudeus specifically is working towards something. In England, there was a tradition to ring the so called passing bell from the church when someone’s death was imminent; then the death knell when they passed away (there’d be additional rings to signify gender, and age, so that people could get an idea of who it was); and finally the corpse bell when the funeral was being held. If we want to read too much into the cool moniker, perhaps Ais is not meant to be the harbinger of chaos, but merely a warning sign.

The Unnamed will comment about hearing a faint heartbeat pulsing underground, when they first approach the land near the Seaspring. Earlier they also comment about feeling a kind of thrumming in Eridia itself, I wonder how far Ocuseus’ influence expands? Is it limited to where its Groupmind members are?

Leander says that he’s known Ais for around six years, which considering Kuras says that Ais is a recent arrival, could be that he’s passed through the Shroud into Eridia for less than a decade even?

Mhin

They’re EVEN MORE of a nerd in this version. Clearly knowledgeable about Soulless’ biology, even though they deny having studied anatomy or medicine. In an older post on the devs' tumblr, “Mhin was forced to apply their anatomical knowledge to violence in order to survive. After years of bitter experience, they learned to fight with agility, elegance, and surgical precision. Even in Eridia, their skills see more use in combat than healing.” which again makes me think they maybe didn’t formally study them, but being an apprentice to someone isn’t out of the equation (perhaps even Kuras, the Divine Teacher?). Them saying to an Alchemist’s red choice “It’s been a while since I had someone answer [my theories]” hints that they weren’t always alone in leading a life like this, before. Like Leander says about them, “Vulnerability doesn’t get you much except heartache.”

“Something about them is strange, unlike any human or Monster I’ve ever met. I can’t quite place my hand on why, and that’s a first” is what an Unnamed says when first encountering them. Not human, not Monster, but a mix of both—Not enough Monster yet too far gone from Human. A post on the devs’ tumblr depicts Mhin (partially?) transformed: they’re still clearly recognizable, it could be they’re just mid transformation but considering the comment from the Unnamed, I don’t think Mhin can become fully a Monster (like, say, Vere’s shadow fox is also kinda incorporeal but more shaped): it is said that Monster gain more control over their human form as time progresses, so Mhin has probably only recently become like this. The description of “a tar-like substance leaking from their eyes and bony extrusions” matches their pin designs as well as their “costume” in the official 2024 Halloween art, and the tar/blood leaking from their eye matches the pastry on the official 2025 Valentine’s Day art (bottom right corner).

Ais calls them “dove” and considering their Monster form seems to be quite the opposite, black ichory feathers and all, makes me believe that Ais has seen them shifted sometime and is poking fun at it. Or I’m just reading into it too much and it’s about them having white hair and Ais defaulting to bird nicknames for some reason.

The Exile comments “It’s one thing to strike down Soulless. They’re creatures of instinct, aggressive and dangerous to everyone. But Monsters are lucid, thinking beings—beings that Mhin seems to loathe.” It feels like their hatred is brought on by how familiar they are: they know the thoughts that compel a Monster (hence their insistence that MC seeks help from someone less dangerous than them) and they hate that they’re their own thoughts.

In a recent post detailing their daily schedule, it seems to me that Mhin doesn’t sleep, or barely does. I’m more inclined to say that it’s a consequence of their nature, that they haven’t accepted (so they still want to sleep, even if they can’t or don’t need it), similar to how Kuras doesn’t really eat.

Since they both compete in the same field, I wonder if Mhin and Vere first met while hunting Soulless? Do they ever meet while on the same contract, or do they run in different circles?

I don’t think they mentioned this in the first demo, but Mhin says they grew up in Eridia. Which really surprised me, because in the pre-release content they’re referred as “outsider” and “outcast”… Unless that’s changed in the rewrite, maybe they were cast off when they were young, or maybe they weren’t physically exiled but rather their family/group of origin estranged them? “Eridia wasn’t perfect, but it used to be a place worth living in” also could be said in a more subjective sense, Mhin didn’t lead a perfect life but they were satisfied with it before. Moreover, Leander says about them “I’ve known them since they arrived here.” Perhaps they grew up in Eridia, left at some point, and came back later? And when asking Kuras about Mhin, he says “Like you, they’re a recent arrival.” though that could just be that Kuras has a different concept of time, considering he’s centuries old. In any case, I highly doubt it’s just an oversight from the team because so far every detail is very curated. There’s something here about Mhin’s timeline that I can’t quite put my hands on yet.

Now the juiciest bit of info about them yet in my opinion, is on their tumblr lore drop from the studio: “Lost Expeditions — In a bygone era, before Eridia became the last beacon of humanity, there was Lovent. Yet where a bustling metropolis once stood, there is now only a blasted crater and empty ruins, blanketed by fog. The inhabitants, and large chunks of the city, had vanished into thin air. Over the following years, scholars flocked to the ruins in search of answers. Like the Loventians, they disappeared without a trace, and none ever returned.” Lovent is also referenced in another post, as “The previous largest city, Lovent, was the epicenter of the first Fogfall. In the century since, Soulless and Monster incursions destroyed most cities, leaving Eridia as the largest remaining one.” It makes me wonder, if Mhin maybe did grow up in Eridia, went to Lovent either in time to be caught in its destruction, or afterwards to investigate it. It’s possible that this is how they became a Monster… In the description of their flower, there’s also a reference to “barren wastelands to ruins perpetually shrouded in Fogfall” which is way too similar to “empty ruins, blanketed by fog” to be a coincidence. It’s possible that they physically entered the Fogfall/Shroud, and what emerged wasn’t fully them anymore.

Thanks if you read so far, as always I’m always happy to read other thoughts about it all or if I missed something 👀

[loveemagicpeace]

Lunar Energy & Self-Care

Lunar energy -It is related to how we feel when the moon changes. The moon affects our well-being and how much energy we have and where we invest it. How we express emotions, where we feel safe and comfortable. What can we do when the moon is in a certain sign and what is the most favorable energy for then.

People with a moon in a fire sign will feel best when the moon is fiery, because they will feel emotionally active - for them, it can be challenging if the moon is in a water sign, because they can sometimes be emotionally uncomfortable.

People with a water moon will feel best when the moon is in a water sign because it will give them security, comfort, and a connection to their inner world. They can also connect well with water at that time. For them, a moon in an air sign can be challenging because it can push them too much to express emotions or be logical.

People with an Earth Moon will feel their best when the Moon is in an Earth sign, as they will feel productive and organized. However, they may find the Fire Moon most challenging, as it pushes them to do something immediately.

People with an air moon will feel best around an air moon because it will give them a sense of expression, reflection, and new ideas. However, the most challenging moon for them can be a water moon because they may feel like they don't have complete control over their thoughts or aren't as objective during this time.

♈️ Aries Moon → Movement & Action

Burn off restless energy with exercise or dance. Try something spontaneous like a solo adventure.  Take a hot shower or bath to reset your energy Go for fast walks, boxing, running, dancing, or martial arts. Do something spontaneous and courageous — wear what you want, say no, or make a bold move. Go for bold colors (especially red or scarlet), structured clothing, or statement accessories.

♉️ Taurus Moon → Sensory Comfort

Indulge in skincare, massage, or a cozy night in. Enjoy rich, comforting foods mindfully. Spend time in nature or with grounding scents like vanilla & sandalwood.  Taurus Moon and self-care blend naturally like a soft ritual — it’s about creating comfort through beauty, sensuality, and consistency. A Taurus Moon needs grounding through the senses: warm baths with essential oils, soft fabrics, nourishing homemade meals, music that soothes the soul, and spaces that feel like sanctuary.

♊️ Gemini Moon → Mental Stimulation

Read, journal, or explore new ideas to feed your mind. Connect with friends & have meaningful conversations. Engage in creative self-expression—writing, music, or storytelling. It’s caring for the mind as much as the body — reading a new book, writing thoughts into journals, calling a friend just to laugh, learning something random but exciting. It’s changing up routines when they feel stale, finding comfort in movement, conversation, and ideas. Self-care here isn’t stillness — it’s flow. It’s walking through a city with headphones on, following thoughts like constellations, making space for all your voices and feelings without needing to label them.

♋️ Cancer Moon → Emotional Nurturing

Create a cozy home sanctuary with soft blankets & candles. Cook a comforting meal or drink warm tea. Write about your feelings or spend time with loved ones.It’s about holding space for your feelings without rushing to fix them. Self-care becomes a cocoon: cozy blankets, home-cooked meals filled with love, time alone to feel and come back to yourself. It’s memories, music that touches your heart, old letters, familiar scents. It’s taking care of your inner child, letting yourself rest deeply, creating emotional safety.

♌️ Leo Moon → Self-Love & Creativity

Express yourself through art, dance, or fashion. Bask in sunlight or do mirror affirmations. Treat yourself like royalty—luxury skincare, a photoshoot, or a self-love ritual. It’s care that celebrates rather than hides: dressing up even when you’re staying in, dancing like you’re on stage, affirming your worth out loud. It’s giving yourself the attention and admiration you often give others, choosing joy as medicine, and creating moments that feel golden. Self-care is expression — through art, movement, play, drama, and presence.

♍️ Virgo Moon → Order & Healing

Declutter your space for mental clarity. Focus on holistic wellness—herbal teas, breathwork, or clean eating.  Write a to-do list to ease stress & bring structure. It’s cleansing your space to clear your mind, making lists to soothe anxiety, preparing nourishing meals with care. It’s tending to your body like a sacred ritual, tracking your cycles, simplifying your surroundings, creating routines that bring calm. Self-care is in the details: the right tea, the perfect playlist, the satisfaction of things in their place.

♎️ Libra Moon → Harmony & Beauty

Pamper yourself with skincare or a beauty ritual. Listen to soothing music & create a peaceful ambiance.Spend quality time with people who bring you balance. It’s lighting candles just because it feels good, curating your surroundings to reflect calm, connecting with others who bring softness to your soul. Self-care is aesthetic, relational, thoughtful — writing love letters to yourself, finding the perfect blend of music and mood, creating time for stillness and companionship alike. It’s about giving yourself the same grace you give others, learning that your own needs matter too.

♏️ Scorpio Moon → Deep Healing & Transformation

Do shadow work or meditate on your emotions. Engage in deep self-reflection through journaling or tarot. Take a ritual bath with candles & essential oils for emotional release. It’s diving into your emotional underworld, feeling it all, and coming back stronger. Self-care here is about privacy, protection, and power — taking time alone to recharge, practicing emotional alchemy through journaling, shadow work, or silence. It’s long baths in the dark, rituals under the moon, music that touches your depth, and safe spaces where your intensity is honored.

♐️ Sagittarius Moon → Adventure & Freedom

Go on a spontaneous trip or long walk. Read about philosophy, spirituality, or cultures. Spend time under the stars to connect with something bigger. It’s giving yourself space to roam, whether through travel, ideas, or dreams. Self-care means saying yes to adventure, learning something new, chasing sunsets, or journaling in the sun with your favorite book by your side. It’s releasing emotional weight through movement — hiking, dancing, wandering — and trusting that joy is a compass. It’s being honest with yourself, even if it shakes things up.

♑️ Capricorn Moon → Grounding & Stability

Set personal goals & structure your self-care routine. Practice mindfulness or yoga for inner stability.  Spend time in nature—hiking, mountains, or a peaceful retreat. It’s finding peace in routine, safety in solitude, and pride in all you’ve endured. Self-care here is practical, grounded, and earned: making plans, setting boundaries, building a life that holds you with stability. It’s long walks alone, slow sips of coffee before the world wakes, tending to goals that matter deeply. But it’s also learning to rest without guilt, to feel without controlling, to soften without losing your edge.

♒️Aquarius Moon → Unconventional & Inspired

Explore astrology, energy healing, or humanitarian causes. Try an innovative self-care ritual like sound healing. Engage in brainstorming or vision boarding for future dreams. Self-care here is unconventional, intellectual, and liberating. It’s retreating into thought-provoking books, exploring new ideas, or connecting with like-minded souls who spark your curiosity. It’s finding joy in creating space to think differently, allowing your emotions to flow freely without judgement. Healing is found in progressive change, detaching when needed to gain perspective, and giving yourself the freedom to be uniquely, wonderfully you.

♓️ Pisces Moon → Dreamy & Spiritual

Take a bath with salts, flowers, or essential oils. Channel emotions into poetry, music, or painting. Prioritize deep rest—lucid dreaming, guided meditation, or soft music. Self-care here is fluid, soulful, and spiritual. It’s surrendering to the ebb and flow of your feelings, allowing yourself to rest deeply, dream freely, and connect to a higher sense of purpose. It’s healing through art, music, or nature, creating a sanctuary where your emotions can drift like clouds without needing to control them. Self-care is about softness, compassion, and releasing what no longer serves you. It’s tuning into your intuition, trusting your inner voice, and letting yourself flow — knowing that in stillness and surrender, you find peace.

-Rebekah⭐️

[winchestergirl2]

Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: You are working with Sam, Dean, and Bobby to stop the apocalypse and are there to offer Sam support when he needs it.

Word Count: 934

A/N: This is my first time writing for Sam. It was inspired by a scene in 5x01. Every time I watch it, I just want to give Sam a big hug! Quotes from the episode are in italics.

Warnings/Tags: Angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of starting the apocalypse.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Huddled together around the motel room table, you and Sam are studying the open book Bobby has placed in front of you.

“That's Michael. Toughest son of a bitch they got.” Bobby tells you pointing at the painting.

Dean walks around, peering at it over your shoulder, coffee in hand.

“You kidding me? Tough? That guy looks like Cate Blanchett.”

You try and suppress a grin at that.

“He's the one who cast Lucifer out of Heaven and into the basement… with THAT sword.” Pointing at the picture “so if we can find it…” Bobby trails off

“We can kick the devil's ass all over again”, Sam says.

“Guess we'd better get reading then”, you sigh, looking at the large pile of books, “try and make some kind of sense of Chuck's message”.

Starting towards the stack of books, Sam stops just short of them, hesitation evident, standing there with a pensive look on his face, as if having an internal debate with himself over something.

Bobby notices Sam's hesitation “kid? You all right?”

You lift your head and look over between the two men as Sam turns to look at him.

“No, actually. Bobby, this is all my fault. I'm sorry.”

“Sam…” Dean warns.

“Lilith didn’t break the final seal. Lilith was the final seal.”

“Sam, stop it.” Dean warns again, a little more firmly this time.

“I killed her”, he finished, ignoring Dean “and I set Lucifer free."

“You what?”

“You guys warned me about Ruby, the demon blood, but I didn't listen. I brought this on.”

Dean says nothing now, silently standing in the middle of the motel room, watching the scene unfold in front of him. Bobby gets up and walks closer to Sam.

“You're damn right you didn't listen. You were reckless, selfish and arrogant.”

"Bobby," you say in an attempt to stop whatever is about to happen here.

“I'm sorry.” Sam says again, voice wavering slightly, eyes pleading for forgiveness.

“Oh, yeah? You're sorry you started Armageddon? This kind of thing don't get forgiven, boy. If, by some miracle, we pull this off... I want you to lose my number. You understand me?”

“Bobby!!” You exclaim shocked to hear those words come out of his mouth.

You look over at Sam, who lowers his head and nods as if this response is what he was expecting, like he deserves it. You sneak a glance over at Dean, who doesn't protest, no argument in defence of his brother, or any reaction to Bobby's words. A part of you begins to wonder if he actually agrees with Bobby on this.

Sam nods again, swallowing hard,“there's an old church nearby. Maybe I'll go read some of the lore books there.”

“Yeah. You do that, boy.”

Ducking his head, he walks out of the room, Bobby then turns back to you and Dean, who had been observing the exchange.

You watch Sam leave and turn to look at Bobby with a disapproving glare, followed by a disappointed glance at Dean, at his lack of reaction.

“Unbelievable” you mutter under your breath before turning and rushing out of the motel room after Sam.

You see him ahead of you on the street

“Sam hold up!”

Hearing you shout, he stops and turns around. As you catch up to him, you notice his body language. It has always amazed you how such a large person can make themselves so small. Taking in the sight in front of you makes your heart hurt for him, the pain and guilt over it all clear to see in his eyes.

"You ok? I'm sure Bobby didn't mean what he said. He’s just… Actually, you know what? I'm not going to try and justify that. He shouldn't have said it. "

"No, he's right," Sam says, hanging his head “it's my fault I started the apocalypse. You should head back to the motel room, help Bobby and Dean”.

You study him for a second before responding firmly “I'm staying with you.” He opens his mouth, no doubt, to protest further, but you jump in before he has the chance to get anything out. “Sam, you didn't know killing Lilith would jump start the apocalypse. I mean, who knew killing her would be a bad thing”.

“You guys all warned me about Ruby, the demon blood, all of it, you told me not to trust her, and I didn’t listen”.

“Look” you begin, glancing over your shoulder as a couple walk past “I'm not going to pretend it doesn't hurt knowing that someone you care about chose a demon and demon blood over you,” Sam glances down, avoiding eye contact. You grab his hand “but I get it. You were being manipulated, and you thought you were doing the right thing. Again, who would've thought it would be a bad thing to kill Lilith?”

You pull Sam into a hug, and he allows himself to melt into it. The two of you standing there in the street like that, for as long as Sam needed.

Eventually, the two of you separate, and as you do, Sam clears his throat in an attempt to regain some composure. “Uh we should probably…” he begins gesturing in the direction of the Church.

“Yeah right” you agree “let's go learn everything we can about the Michael sword and where we can find a castle on a hill of 42 dogs or whatever it was Chuck said.” Linking your arm through his as you start to walk down the street again in the direction of the old church, “although I think I might need a drink first”.

A/N: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this little fic!

Reblog banner by: @cafekitsune

[perachel-heretic]

the protestant reformation being real in solangelo's relationship makes me Think so much, mostly about silly little disagreements it would cause (beef over the eucharist, weirdly strong opinions about different books in the Bible, Nico going to bat for Mary) but also about how those backgrounds would impact their thought process when they're introduced to camp and the Gods.

I honestly cannot remember for the life of me if its canon that Will has a bookshelf with mythology texts or if its just a long held fanon belief but regardless I do think his approach would be text based. Will knows the Bible and how to read it (remembers his grandma's worn copy covered in pink highlighter and sticky notes, knows the passages his youth pastor pointed him to when he admitted to having a crush on a boy, can recite the exact verses that taught him shame) and his first reaction is to get his hands on Homer and Hesiod and Ovid and pull out his own pink highlighter to draw his own conclusions. Being a son of Apollo but also brought up to read and interpret religious text, that sort of poetry would just click in his brain. It would seem very natural to him for each camper to have a personal relationship with their godly parent, which would of course make it sting even more when it turns out Apollo doesn't really touch base all that often and he was actually lucky to even be claimed in the first place.

Nico, on the other hand, would probably not even consider that meeting a God was remotely possible even if they were real if he wasn't introduced to three of them within his first 24 hours as a demigod. It makes perfect sense that he would align himself with the minor Gods because what is a Catholic Saint if not functionally a minor God and therefore the logical first point of contact in Nico's mind. And on that note of course he's obsessed with mythomagic!! That shit is like Catholic prayer cards with stats!! He probably doesn't know much about the Bible itself, but coming from a very old and established religious culture, he knows all about art and ritual. Will probably grew up with some Kinkade-esque illustrations hung around a prayer hall, but Nico's memories of mass consist of zoning out and looking at mosaics and paintings, and then when he had those memorized moving on to architectural sculpture and endless gilded decorations. He can't name a Bible verse, but he can remember that St Lawrence is associated with the grill and a winged lion means he's looking at St Mark. When he sees the blue Will's eyes for the first time he thinks not of the sky, but of the blue of Mary's cloak, the blue of purity, virtue, and devotion. He takes to Greek art and architecture before he processes the written mythology, and after appreciating the number of male nudes he's allowed to look at, it also occurs to him that much of it is actually very, very familiar. He thinks the first statue of Apollo he sees is Christ at first before he notices the lyre. Will might be weirded out at first by the little rituals he's introduced to around camp, something buried deep in his brain yelling about demons when he incinerates his leftovers for the first time, but Nico adjusts a little easier. Incense and wine smell like his childhood, and his general creepiness might stem more from his comfort level with death and martyrdom than the underworld.

At some level I also think Nico associates divinity with sacrifice and suffering, leading him down a hero's path and contributing to a bit of self martyrdom, while Will associates it with salvation and teaching. He also feels a sort of personal responsibility for that salvation which could manifest as an evangelizing instinct but mostly urges him to heal as many people as possible.

[greenwriterplaidbow]

Human Connection

Part IV

Last part, next part

Logan Howlett x Reader with injury related memory loss

Word count: 2.5K

A/N: This one is shorter and maybe the weakest section in my opinion but its part 4/6 so it is what it is I guess. IDK tension is definitely a weak area for me, I just want everyone to be happy and get alongggg. Anyways hope you enjoy it all the same. Now I have to actually commit to deciding if I want to end this series with smut or not! I’m leaning towards yes but it feels cringe. Or I’ll give up and write two endings. Decisions are hard and advice is welcomed.

Warnings: a combination of angst and fluff, suggested feminine reader (called Logan’s wife and she/her pronouns)

You stretch and sigh. There is a soft glow coming in through the bottom of the curtains. You feel the heat still radiating off Logan from a few inches away. His arm lays across your midsection. You rub your eyes and move to get up.

His hand on your waist applies more force when you make your attempt to move. He makes a noise. “Come on, stay in bed a little longer. You should be resting anyway. It was nice sleeping in yesterday.”

He lightens up when he feels your muscles relax and stop straining against his arm.

“Relax, I was going to come back. I was just getting up to pee and brush my teeth.”

“I guess that’s okay then. But if you’re not back in 15- I’m finding you and carrying you back to bed.”

“Yeah yeah, okay. I get it, I'll come right back”

He lets his hand slide onto the bed as you get up.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

The minute you're back in bed, Logan is pulling you into himself.

“You act like I was gone for a month, it was literally 5 minutes.” You laugh as he wraps both of his arms around your back and nuzzles his head against you. You slowly run your fingers through his hair and you swear you heard him purring for a second.

“I think it was closer to 6.”

“In that case, how did you make it that long by yourself?!” You try and say without laughing.

“I don't know” his voice was muffled as he pressed his face into your skin.

The two of you sit, enjoying the soft scene together until you break the silence again.

“Did we ever meet in the library? I mean when we first started teaching together.”

“Yes,” Logan nodded and murmured. "Spent a lot of long nights down there.”

“I remember that a little bit. I didn't know if it was a real memory or dreamed memory. They're weirdly hard to tell apart.”

“Tell me what you remember, I can tell you if it's real.”

You thought back to the unorganized segments of memories. Trying to make sense of them as you explained them aloud.

Your own heavy breathing is the only sound in the dark room as you scramble to flick on the lamp and examine the room. It's not the bedroom you've been sleeping in current-day with Logan. This room looks older. After calming yourself, you rub your face and sign into your hands. After throwing on a soft zip-up sweatshirt over your pajamas and sliding your slippers you head out of the room. It's dark and quiet in the long hallways that lead you to a large library. You feel the weight of a messenger bag that holds your laptop, a textbook, and student worksheets. You are surprised that there is already a fire in the fireplace. It isn't until you get closer that you see him. Logan laying on a sofa. Reading a book by the glow of the fire. His eyes only leave the page to look towards you, wordlessly questioning your presence.

“Sorry, I didn't know anyone else would be down here- I'll go,”

“Stay if you want to stay. I’m not fuckin king of the library, you have as much of a right to be here as I do. And I'm not sure how much I trust you to start a fire anywhere else.”

You stand there a second, taking in the positives and negatives of his comments. You make the decision to sit down anyways. You're in a chair right next to the sofa, on the side away from his head. You open your bag and pull out worksheets to start grading. You remember staying there a long time. Neither of you spoke. The ambient crackling of the fireplace and the occasional rustling papers fill the silence. Then your mind flicks to another scene. Same place, same seats, roughly the same time, but now you're rereading a textbook section and you don't have your sweatshirt. Logan is sitting up and a newspaper has replaced his book. You still don’t speak but there seems to be less tension between the two of you. Another scene but now you're both on the sofa. Papers placed on the coffee table, long abandoned in favor of conversation. It changes again. This time you're quietly fighting. Keeping your voices down to respect the rest of the school who could manage to keep a regular sleep schedule while still getting your point across. Logan is in a distinctive red shirt that catches your eye and letting you know that the next skip is the same night. Although now you're not fighting anymore. Now you're leaning against him with your legs over his lap, your knees gently against his chest, all but sitting in his lap; while his arms are loosely around you. Logan holding you soothingly. Your eyes feel wet like you had been crying but looking back into your patchwork memories, you can't remember why. It felt like looking into a broken mirror with missing pieces. You remember other disjointed scenes but they're all similar. The same people, the same place, the same time. You and Logan, in the old library, late nights or early mornings. Most were just calm studying where you both ignored the other but then a jump to another memory and you're cuddled up watching a movie together.

In the present moment, Logan’s fingers rub circular patterns against your leg while he listens.

“Yeah that happened. We met up there a lot. It wasn’t on purpose, not at first. It's a place we both liked to go when we couldn't sleep. When it started, we would just work but you kept coming back. And the longer you stuck around, the more we got to talking.”

“Mmm.” You hummed in understanding even if his explanation didn’t do more than confirm what you could gather from your remembered fragments.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

The rest of the day was generally unremarkable. Logan liked how comfortable you were getting with him. You weren't your old self yet but this was the closest you'd been. The day was mostly divided between Logan using the opportunity to clean while you read your books and went through your teaching material. You went on a walk after supper again, although this time you were more careful about your limits. When you came back, the two of you just planned to rest and have an uneventful evening.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

Logan and you sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch. Your knees were just folded against his manspreaded lap. You flipped through a folder of your class material while Logan read a book. You closed the folder and slid it off your lap, onto the open spot next to you.

“Can I try grading some of my own stuff?”

“You don't have to, I can handle it for you.” He responded without looking up from his novel.

“I want to. I want to feel productive” Logan closed his book and met your eyes.

“Ok. If it’s too much, you don't have to do it all. I’ll go find your answer key on your computer for these two worksheets. Do you want me to print them out?”

“Yes please. Thank you.”

He nods as he sets down his book. His hand lands on your thigh as he stands and you watch him walk down the hall. You're half tempted to follow him for a minute until you hear a soft knock at the door. You look towards the office then back at the front door. ‘Probably just a package or a neighbor or something.’ You think to yourself.

You travel the short distance down to the door and open it cautiously. A nervous-looking young man stands on the other side. His eyes look almost guilty or shameful, but you don't have enough time to analyze him before he speaks.

“Hello. This is the Howletts residence, right?”

“Hello! Yes, it is. You'll have to wait here just a moment for my husband- If we know each other I'm not trying to be rude, I was just recently in an accident, I have a brain injury. I mean they say my memories should come back, it just takes time and-”

“That's what I want to talk to you about actually,”

When Logan emerges from the office, the papers he was carrying back got tossed onto the table. He rushed over to your side.

“Logan Howlett, who are you?”

He thrust one hand towards the stranger while the other one went defensively to your back.

“May I come in?” He takes a step inside the house before either of you answer. “I'd like to speak with you.”

“That's fine, you can speak to us fine right here. Who are you?”

“I'm Dustin, Dustin Steele.. I was drunk last week. I did something stupid, I didn't even know I hurt anyone until I woke up the next morning in a cell. The officers said it was pretty bad but you look fine. I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to make it up to you. See how you were doing, you know?”

Long metal claws shot out of his clenched fists in the moment it took Logan to close the distance between himself and the driver, slamming him against the front door. You take several small, quick steps back in surprise. You hear Logan yelling at the man against the door but in your panic, it's like you're hearing it from the bottom of a well. It takes you a moment to snap yourself out of it and take action.

“Logan! Hey, hey. Stop-” You grab his shoulders and pull his arms back at his sides. Obviously, you couldn't hold him back if you tried, you're just trying to make him think before he joins the driver in the 'did something stupid' club.

He took several heavy, angry, uneven breaths. Your hand pushed at his chest to make him take one more step back. The driver was too scared to move.

You let out a quick sigh and answered the driver’s initial question. “Uh yeah I'm fine. My chances of survival are pretty solid at this point. I mean I have no memories because of a traumatic brain injury but I'll be fine.. Logan? Is there anything he can do to make it up to us?”

“I should take your life for what you've taken from me-” Logan takes a step forward causing the driver to slide back against the door while taking a step outside.

Your hand moves up to grip his arm. “Please stop” He sighs but complies with your plea.

“No. I don't think there's anything you can do outside of what you're legally required to do.”

“I-I see. Well you have a nice day.. again, I'm sorry”

“Yeah.” As soon as he gets a reply, he darts away from the door, almost sprinting away from the house.

Logan slams the door and you make your way upstairs. When you got to the top you still feel the adrenaline running through you and reach out for the kitchen counter for support. You struggle to catch your breath as your composure crumbles and you try to keep from slipping into a panic attack. Your brain tortures you by showing the image of Logan yelling on repeat. Your heart felt like it could stop beating at any moment. It was going so fast you felt like it might start skipping beats. You’re brought back to reality when you feel Logan's hand touch your arm. You jumped back a bit without thinking.

He repeated the question you hadn't heard him ask. "Are you alright?"

“Yeah, yeah. I'm- I'm fine.” You’re still struggling to control your breathing.

Logan softly says your name before he asks, “Are you.. scared of me?”

“Yes!” You say louder than you mean as you turn your body to face him. “Right now, I kind of have a reason to be! I just saw you yell at that guy, you got up in his face. You were trying to intimidate him, it was kind of scary. You were so loud. And you're a big guy, it really doesn't take much,”

“I wasn't trying to intimidate him- I was going to hurt him-”

“Not helping your case.” You cut him off, not wanting to hear the rest of his statement.

“For what he did to you? He deserves to rot in hell.”

“No he does not! He's young, plenty old enough to know better but still, he doesn't even look like he's out of college. This shouldn't ruin his life.” Your panic starting to be replaced by frustration.

“Like hell it shouldn't, he could've killed you. What if it wasn't you, what if it was a little kid, anyone in that backseat wouldn't have lived.“ Logan carefully stepped closer to you as he made his point, you stepped back.

“Yes, it could've been worse but let's just be thankful it wasn't. It was a stupid mistake. He shouldn't have been doing it of course but his punishment is not death.”

“You're right, death would be too easy.”

“No! What's wrong with you?? The justice system will handle him. I can admit, it's far from a great system but that's not a choice we get to make. If you want to see change, you don't start with things that are personal. You would-”

“I don't want to see change, I'm just pissed at that guy” He motioned towards the door as he spoke.

“You'll get over it”

“But-”

“Stop being pissed at him when you could be happy with me.”

Logan shrugged. “I can do both.”

Your hand goes to your forehead as you try to decide the best way to handle the situation.

“Logan..” With a sigh you determine there isn't much more you can do to reiterate your point. “I’m.. I’m going to go to bed. I'll grade that stuff in the morning.”

His jaw clenched. “Okay.. I’m going to read out here a bit longer, then I'll be in too. You don't need to keep a lamp on for me though.”

You nod and step around him to walk to your bedroom.

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It was cold in the dark room without him. The feeling of loneliness you felt the first day back in your own bed was creeping in again. Your mind circled around your argument with Logan, the way he treated the driver, your few memories of earlier fights. Round and around, keeping you awake.

It was two hours before Logan quietly entered the room. When he climbed into bed you were surprised that he didn't move to touch you. That was the routine the two of you had gotten into and you had hoped his comforting warmth would drown out your thoughts. But he stayed back. Still close to you but never closing the gap. You wordlessly took matters into your own hands, sliding back and moving his arm around you.

“You're still awake? I thou-”

“Shut up.”

Your lingering frustration combined with your lack of sleep made you snap at him more than you intended. Logan got the message; this isn't an olive branch, you’re still upset. He still found some peace knowing that even when you're upset, he still provided you a sense of safety and comfort.

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[melrosing]

What is your theory for the end of Jon Snow’s story?

basically that he returns to the NW, becomes the 1000th lord commander (like look I think it’s conspicuous we’re on the 998th w Jon currently so I believe he returns to the role after the 999th lol). I think his story very clearly points to the fact that no he can never be Jon Stark and no he will also never be Jon Targaryen, his people are the brothers of the NW and the wildlings. the wall will no longer exist so I think he’ll rebuild the NW to in turn rebuild beyond the wall. and yeah I think w his arc having been about being torn between his loyalty to his NW brothers and his love for the people and cultures beyond the wall, he will ultimately complete his existing work in uniting them as a microcosm of a more united Westeros.

the difference I imagine from the show ending is ofc that Jon will not be exiled to this position - it will be his choice. I think it was ‘exile’ in the show bc they were trying to marry his book ending w some kind of ‘consequence’ for his show action of murdering Dany, whereas in reality as I say I think Jon was meant to choose to return to the wall and beyond it, that’s what he truly wants. I think Jon’s arc is kind of about not trying to find an identity in your name but in your people and so yeah this makes perfect sense to me as his ending

edit: also to account for the fact that Jon will literally be some undead guy. I think this could mean that he ends up living an unnaturally long life??? the alternative is that he chooses ‘rest’ at the end of asoiaf and dies a final time but that just. doesn’t really seem like a fitting end to Jon’s story lol idk.

and also re 1000th commander, it occurs to me also that perhaps there never is a 1000th commander - perhaps the NW disintegrates and Jon simply takes up Mance’s position. but basically what I mean to say is that it’s Jon or no one bc the wall, around which the NW once revolved, will no longer exist