#<- like emotionally. mentally. where are we

[butchpeace]

1. You’re right, the 80% figure was from an old study that didn’t differentiate between those two things. But if you really think they’re correctly differentiating between “true trans” and gender nonconforming kids now, you’re way too naive.

2. If trans people have “literally always been here”, and being trans isn’t influenced by the way cultural norms affect psychology, why have we seen a massive increase in trans identification in young females? Why do I repeatedly hear from young people that they have tons of other kids (mostly girls) identifying as trans in their school class?

Are you of the opinion that there are “fake trans people” and “true trans people”? Interesting if so, considering implying that anyone isn’t “valid” would get you labeled instantly as a terf.

3. Of course every medication has risks. But in a responsible medical system, those risks are constantly being assessed, and treatment with the drug in question is always subject to reassessment and the entire use of that drug could be discontinued when the harm outweighs the benefit. I can see that happening within a few years for testosterone use in females, because there’s new research coming out, and none of it looks good.

But really l’m done with trying to convince people this is bad for us. It’s just common fucking sense that a woman shooting up high doses of testosterone for years on end isn’t going to have good health over the long run.

And can you think of any other case where medications that are understood to be very obviously harmful (to anyone with a developed adult brain) are used on people with a mental illness? Is there any other situation that’s even remotely similar to attempting to physically change someone’s sex in response to them being psychologically distressed? And in situations where the reason for the distress isn’t properly diagnosed and treated?

4. Are you not aware of the informed consent system in the US? For about a decade now, the situation has been that anyone can walk into a gender clinic, have a short meeting with a therapist, and be put on hormones within 2 weeks.

Puberty blockers and hormones for minors have had slightly more obstacles to access, but don’t you think that’s necessary considering the fact that we’re talking about children?

Kids don’t even remember what they ate for dinner the previous week, they’re extremely suggestible because they’re still making sense of the world, and they’re not mentally or emotionally mature enough to process what they’re feeling the way an adult does.

If an adult tells a kid that if they like pink and princesses and wearing dresses, maybe they’re a girl, and starts treating the kid like a girl, what do you think is going to happen in that kid’s brain?

You’ve studied psychology — Do you genuinely think the kid would say “No I’m a boy, I just like feminine things because I’m gay!” We’re talking about pre-pubertal children here. Kids believe what their parents tell them.

If you think it should be easy for any kid to go to a doctor and get put on blockers…I hope you never have children, because you have no idea what children even are, let alone what’s best for their health and happiness.

And in fact, it has been shown that the vast majority of kids who are going through those treatments are same-sex attracted. They quite literally are shooting up gay kids with blockers and hormones, over a supposed condition that no one can scientifically prove even exists.

Even if being “true trans” is real, there are still kids who aren’t trans who are being transitioned at young ages. I know because I’m friends with them. Most consider what happened to them to be a form of child abuse, or medical abuse of a minor that should be illegal. Many of them have lasting health issues caused by blockers and hormones, and the psychological trauma they go through from having these changes happen to them at such a young age is typically immense.

This is a major fucking catastrophe, and if you don’t think something needs to change in order to mitigate that harm, I have nothing else to say to you.

[chillinwithbyler]

Something that I truly believe the GA just won't understand is how much Stranger Things can actually teach you.

Like, we have a plethora of diverse characters and no two people are the same.

Will is a sensitive person, more so than ANY other character in the show. He cries, he likes to paint, and he loves EVERYONE even when they've hurt him. He's one of the characters who bears a lot of trauma, but he doesn't let it shape who he is. Will is DIAGNOSED with PTSD. God forbid he lets himself cry. He never gets angry at people because of what happened to him, and he always dismisses it if he's going through something. And his biggest problem is Mike 'We're friends. We're friends!' Wheeler.

Joyce is a baddie. She doesn't need no man on her shoulder to be a good mother. When Will went missing, she fought tooth and nail to bring him home even when EVERYONE, even her eldest son, was calling her crazy. She's a leader and she's a character who has so much willpower and doesn't let anything stand in her way.

At first glance, Jim is a fucking asshole. I didn't like him when the series was just starting out. But that's what makes it so good, because he wasn't an asshole for no reason. He lost his KID. And he was given a second chance with El. He can do it better this time and he's going to be there for her as long as he can help it. In season five, I'll expect them to be a separate team from the others. Which is what she deserves. She doesn't need to be with Mike to be an amazing character.

Nancy, Joyce, Robin, and Max are all GREAT examples of women who can lead without some MAN telling them what to do. El can be the same. What she needs is the chance to be independent and learn about herself. Mike can't give her that. She needs to figure that out for herself.

Billy was an asshole. Through and through. There was no excuse for him to be racist towards Lucas, even if he had a bad childhood. Just look at what Will went through, and he's still a fucking angel, so Billy literally has no excuse.

The amount of feminism that Nancy projects is INSANE. She doesn't listen to anybody and when she has an idea she GOES FOR IT. When something bad happens? SHE GRABS A GUN. When someone says she should do something this specific way, it's BULLSHIT and she does it her own way. When the kids are in danger, she puts herself directly in the path of danger.

Mike is one of the most complex characters in the show. He's a natural born leader and goes out of his way to save people. When he first met El, he didn't save her out of LOVE. He did it because he's a protector. Originally, he was going to send her back to the asylum and only let her stick around because she knew where WILL was. And that's what was important. Will. He was hellbent on finding him. In season five, I can GUARANTEE he won't be leaving Will's side. And the only time they'll be separated will probably be because Will is off his rocker this season and too busy fighting internal demons and disappearing all the time.

Because he's been reminded of what's important. And it's not El. She can protect herself. But we know Will can be vulnerable. He doesn't believe he's loved, and that's a good opportunity for Vecna to go after him. Only when he truly starts believing that he is loved will he find the courage to come into his own.

We have so many characters all with different backgrounds. We have mental health, domestic abuse, sexual assault, eating disorders, bullying, homophobia, anger issues, neglect, internalized homophobia, racism, and literal DEMONS FROM HELL.

But you're telling me the GA can't grasp something as simple as two boys falling in love? How emotionally dense do you have to be to be so ignorant?

If you're going to DNF the show just because of Byler, then I'm sorry but you smell like hotdog water and you've missed the entire point of the show. This is about not fitting in. Instead of the protagonists being some..chiseled jocks who are heroric and attractive, we instead have four weirdo nerds obsessed with a game. Four people who are smart as fuck and have been cast out from society and bullied for being different. Especially Will.

And the whole show centers around him. BECAUSE he's different. Growing up and feeling like you don't belong is one of the most difficult things I've ever had to go through. And as a fan of the show since the EARLY days of season one, I can't even begin to describe the happiness I feel when I see Will Byers.

He was not made for you. Will Byers belongs to the people who grew up as a misfit. He belongs to us who feel like mistakes in our own bodies and struggle keeping up with social norms.

Will Byers belongs to US. Not you.

If you have a problem with him because of Noah then I assume you're either a 12 year old who has spent too much time on a screen and not enough time touching grass or you're a 47 year old bald man who doesn't know what common courtesy is.

If you hate on Will just because he's gay then I'm sorry but Stranger Things is not the show for you. Try Riverdale instead. We do not want you here.

Stranger Things is not afraid to put homophobes and racists in their place. Troy pissed himself and suffered a broken arm. Steve got his face ruined and got a redemption arc. Billy literally fucking died. And they aren't afraid to put queers on a pedestal either. To make THEM the important characters. Instead of being sidelined, it's often the queers and the nerds and the people who don't fit in who are given the important roles.

And that's what Stranger Things is all about.

Like it or not, Will is an important character. He deserves this time in the spotlight. When Byler is canon in season five, don't say we didn't warn you. We've been trying to open your eyes since season two.

Byler is the perfect representation of what a HEALTHY and ROMANTIC relationship looks like. Two people are so alike and are quite literally color coded through the whole series and are just so painfully gay for each other it HURTS.

Mil*ven is the perfect representation of what an UNHEALTHY and TOXIC relationship looks like. It's full of arguments, no heart to hearts, NO mutual respect, gaslighting, lying, and literally just zero chemistry.

Over and out.

[thealchemistbae]

Composite Asteroid House (4950) | The "HOME" Your Relationship Builds - Signs Edition 🏘️

Disclaimer: This post is for entertainment purposes only.

thealchemistbae © do not copy, redistribute, or edit my content.

If you enjoyed this post, you can leave me a tip via PayPal at goddessguapa@gmail.com or via Venmo @goddessguapa. Thank you.

Asteroid House in a composite chart tells a story of the emotional architecture you and your person are building. It's how your connection feels behind closed doors, what "home" you create together, and what emotional legacy you two are forming. It's not just where you live ... it's the energy that lives with you.

This isn't just "how the house looks," this is the energetic flavor of the emotional home you two build together. Whether it's a fairy cottage, a sexy lair, or a quiet sanctuary. The sign of Asteroid House tells us the vibe of your relationship's safe space.

🥀 Aries -> You two build a bold, passionate, high energy home. It's giving "ride or die, but we argue loudly first." This relationship thrives on motion, spontaneity, and fiery emotional expression. Your home is filled with excitement, drive, and possibly gym equipment or gaming setups. Independent, hot, protective love.

🥀 Taurus -> Welcome to your soft life space. This love builds a cozy, grounded home; candles lit, fridge stocked, bed soft AF. You're the couple that slow cooks dinner, takes bubble baths, and invests in a good couch. This is emotionally luxurious energy. Financial security + physical affection = everything. Your love says "stay a while."

🥀 Gemini -> Your emotional home is mental stimulation and laughter. Talkative, curious, and always evolving. The two of you probably talk in bed until 2AM. You bond through conversation, ideas, and shared memes. Your place might look like a creative studio meets a podcast corner. Emotionally, this love feels light, witty, and bestie coded.

🥀 Cancer -> This is the ultimate emotional nesting placement. You feel deeply "at home" with each other; soft blankets, deep talks, cooking for each other, and crying on the kitchen floor if needed. This love is protective, nurturing, and can bring out parental instincts. You probably both call each other "babe" and mean it from the soul.

🥀 Leo -> Your home is your kingdom. Together, you build a bold, beautiful, show stopping energy that feels like main character romance. Think velvet pillows, luxury touches, dramatic declarations of love. You host well. You pose together. You shine together. Emotionally, this is a love that wants to be seen and celebrated.

🥀 Virgo -> You two create an emotionally healing space. Together, you're organized, intentional, and possibly obsessed with routines, wellness, or spirituality. You probably deep clean when you fight and meal prep to show love. Emotionally, this love is humble, helpful, and built on mutual acts of service. It's the cozy routine couple.

🥀 Libra -> This is a romantic, aesthetic, harmonious home. You probably decorate together, flirt in the kitchen, and hold hands while doing chores. Conflict is lowkey avoided, but love is curated like art. Emotionally, you two reflect each other; balancing yin and yang. It's peaceful, pretty, and maybe even a little codependent (in a cute way).

🥀 Scorpio -> Intense. Deep. Sexy. Private. Together you build a love lair, not a house. Your connection feels like a secret pact, with emotional undercurrents of obsession, loyalty, and transformation. Your home might be dimly lit, witchy, or full of hidden compartments. Emotionally, this is powerful AF. You both either heal each other or consume each other.

🥀 Sagittarius -> Your home is the world. You're not here to settle; you're here to explore, grow, and laugh. You might be digital nomads, or your house has art, maps, and books everywhere. Emotionally, this love feels like freedom and expansion. You might live together but always be planning the next escape. Fun, fire, and endless philosophy.

🥀 Capricorn -> This is power couple palace. Together you're structured, reliable, and legacy minded. Your home is impressive and secure; maybe even part of your business or brand. You show love through stability, effort, and building. Emotionally, this love says "I've got you ..long term." Mature, goal oriented, and a little bossy.

🥀 Aquarius -> Your home is unconventional, techy, and futuristic. Maybe you live together but have separate rooms. Maybe your love is long distance or super open minded. Emotionally, this is a friendship first connection. You support each other's freedom and individuality, but still create a weird little sanctuary full of LED lights, random art, and shared ideas.

🥀 Pisces -> Your emotional home is a dream world. Together you escape into your own bubble; soft music, shared fantasies, spiritual bonding. You might decorate with altars, incense, and ethereal energy. Emotionally, this love is psychic, deep, and unspoken at times. It can be healing or delusional if not grounded but always poetic.

thealchemistbae © do not copy, redistribute, or edit my content.

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Asteroid House in the Houses & Degrees will be posted on my Patreon 🥀

[fangirlmermaid]

Spellbound

Summary: Practicing some hair magic

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Witch!fem!reader

Warning: Fluff, Witchcraft, Grammar, and Punctuation mistakes

You can see the smug smile he was trying to hide when he curled his finger! I'm just being a delusional whore

I also don't know why I'm always writing Quinn with a protection Witch

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You noticed the negative energy that latched onto your Quinny as the season was coming to an end. A piece of your heart broke each time you saw the light slowly fading in Quinn’s eyes. He was giving everything to his team. You knew you had to do something before Quinn burned himself out.

You had to cleanse him every time he came home from work for a week straight because of all the bad energy.

So you did your research and learned that braiding hair is great for protecting your energy. You’ve been practicing on yourself and making sure you understand everything about hair magic, specifically braid magic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You quickly ran to the bathroom to grab his hairbrush, a single black thin hair tie. You entered the living room, where you found Quinn tying his sneakers. You knew he didn’t have to leave for practice for another fifteen minutes. 

Quinn plastered on a smile. “Hi, pretty girl.” He’s always trying to reassure you that he’s fine or he’s just tired, as if you don’t know him like the back of your hand, you're a witch.

“Hi, Gem!” You smiled, sitting next to him, Quinn pressed a loving kiss to your forehead. Gem’s eyebrow knitted together when he noticed his hairbrush in your hand. “What’s on your mind, pretty girl?” Quinn's fake smile turned into a real one. You gaze into his eyes. “Can I braid your hair? It’ll be a small one, promise” You assure, you knew he was going to ask you why and what the fuck were you going to say?!

“Sure,” Quinn answered, turning his back towards you so you could have full access to his long, soft hair. You grabbed a chunk of his hair that sat behind his mid helix part of his ear, and you decided to give him a simple three-strand braid.

“Quinn repels any negative energy that comes his way physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually,” You mumbled, twisting the chunk of hair in your right hand over the middle piece.

“Quinn is divinely protected,”  You whispered, twisting the piece of hair in your left hand over the middle piece.

“Quinn released any negative energy stored within his physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual being.” You smiled, seeing Quinn’s tensed shoulders relax as you twisted the hair on the right side over the middle.

“Quinn is grounded.” You twist the left strand.

“Quinn is safe.” You twist the right strand.

“Quinn’s aura is strong and filled with light,” You mumbled, twisting the left strand.

“Quinn stands in his truth,” You whispered, twisting the right strand. 

“Quinn surrounds himself with peace and pleasant emotions,”  You murmured, twisting the left strand.

You finished securing the tiny braid with the black thin hair tie. You smiled at it, thinking it kind of looked like a Padawan braid.

Quinn never asked why you were braiding his hair or what you were mumbling. He completely and fully trusts you.

“All done, Gem.” Your smile widened as you stared at the braid. Quinn faced you. “Thank you, pretty girl,” Quinn smiled before pulling you into a sensual kiss. You felt butterflies flutter around in your stomach. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the time. “Quinn,” you mumbled, pulling away. Quinn hummed before capturing your lips once again, and you began to lose yourself in the kiss. 

Then you noticed the time again, you hated that he had to go. You wanted nothing more than to cuddle up with Quinn, a random movie playing while the two of you just enjoy each other's company.

“Gem,” You turned your head, Quinn’s nose brushed up against your cheek. 

“You’re gonna be late.” 

“Don’t care”

“Gem, we can kiss when you get home.”

Quinn sighed, lowering his head. You placed a hand on his cheek. “You're almost at the end, Gem… a few more weeks, you’ll be back in the lake house with your brothers.” You smiled, Quinn nodded, leaning into your touch. “You better visit. I would miss my girl too much,” Quinn mumbled, a small smile made its way to your lips. “Of course, Gem.” You smiled, and your heart skipped a beat.    

You pressed a gentle kiss onto Quinn’s forehead “I love you, now hurry up! The faster you get there the sooner you can leave” you smiled, Quinn chuckled “I’m already counting the seconds till we’re together again” Quinn assured before you can joke about how corny he was, Quinn was already pressing a sweet kiss onto your lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were washing the dishes when you heard the door open. You looked over your shoulder, where you saw Quinn looking confused. You knit your eyebrows together. “You okay?” you wondered, turning off the water before walking towards your boyfriend.

Quinn wrapped his strong arms around your waist and pulled you in close “Yeah, yeah…just weird practice” Quinn explained, maybe the spell didn’t work “Shit was usual but it didn’t effect me…” Quinn trailed off trying to figure out what the fuck was happening. You softly laughed, gaining Quinn’s attention. “Gem, the braid! It’s a form of protection!” You explained twirling the braid around your fingers. Quinn looked at you, “What?” he wondered, knitting his eyebrows together. “I know you’ve been stressing out, so I did some research and I learned that when you are braiding hair, you can put protective intentions…If that makes sense,” You explained, Quinn gazed at you, and you swear his eyes turned into hearts. 

Quinn pressed his soft lips onto your forehead, pouring all his love and fondness into the kiss. “How soon can I marry you?” Quinn mumbled, gazing back into your eyes, “When the universe gives us a sign, gem.” You assured, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend's neck, Quinn threw his head back, “Can’t wait. I want to call you my wife” Quinn whined, You shoved your face into his neck, his body soap bring you comfort “Just gotta be patience” You mumbled, Quinn brushed his lips against your temple “Mrs.Hughes” Quinn mumbled before pressing a delicatte kiss onto your temple as if he that was his way of sealing his promise.

[the-indigo-symphony]

I really think we do a disservice to people when we place dissociation on this pedestal, making it out to be this big thing that no one is allowed to talk about except in the context of specific disorders. I'm pulling this particular quote from a random article I came across today, but seriously, dissociation is not only an everyday thing, but it's not an uncommon response to trauma.

Emotional numbness is a form of a mental health condition called dissociation. By itself, dissociation isn’t uncommon. Remember the last time you drove to the grocery store and couldn’t remember getting there? That’s a form of dissociation. In fact, if you’ve ever zoned out, lost track of time while reading a good book or daydreamed during your afternoon walk, you’ve experienced a form of dissociation. Similar to when you zone out, emotional numbness happens unconsciously. It’s the result of our minds disconnecting from our thoughts, actions, sense of self and sensory experience of the world around us.

[...]

Trauma, prolonged stress, anxiety, depression and grief all contribute to feeling emotionally shut down. Nemmers says medication, while lifesaving for many, can also trigger a side effect of emotional numbness.

Dissociation is not one specific thing caused by the worst of the worst. It can come from horrible things like prolonged abuse and neglect– you don't need to tell me that, I lived through it and came out of it with DID – but it's also just something just about everyone can expect to experience at one time or another, whether that's because we lost a loved one or because we get overwhelmed by shit going on in the world.

Even when talking about dissociation in the context of trauma, there's forms like this, where people go "emotionally numb" after a loss, because that loss was traumatic and so their brain is trying to protect them. So many people feel ashamed because of this perfectly normal and natural response to loss. Taking the word for what is going on in their head and saying it is being "misused" and "watered down" when it is not, or making it out to be this tragic condition that should never be spoken of... do you think that's going to help them? Or do you think more education on what dissociation actually is will help them?

Dissociation is just a thing that happens. Objecting to any use of the term that isn't somber discussion of a horrible experience that only originates from severe abuse doesn't help anyone.

I would rather more people "misuse" dissociation and actually understand it than have to walk on eggshells to talk about my system or how I respond to bereavement because using an accurate term sets off people's internal alarm bells of "this should not be talked about".

"Dissociation" as a term is kind of in a weird position compared to a lot of other medical terms that slowly enter public knowledge, because people expect it to be misused like OCD and delusions and so on; they assume people are using it for situations where it doesn't apply, that they are "watering down" an important concept. But the thing with dissociation is no, all these people who are using the term "dissociation" lightly are also using it correctly.

Zoning out is a form of dissociation. Daydreaming is a form of dissociation. Dissociation covers a lot of different things, from complex disorders to everyday behavior. People aren't "misusing a serious term" when they describe these experiences as dissociation, and they aren't hurting anyone who experiences more severe forms of dissociation by doing so. I'm not offended when people without DID describe their daydreams as dissociation, I'm happy that they can recognize there are healthy and everyday forms of dissociation, and so when they encounter dissociation in the context of trauma or a disorder, it hopefully won't be as scary to them.

This is a "yes and" situation, not a "no but" situation. Yes, zoning out is a form of dissociation! And this is how I experience "zoning out" as someone with a dissociative disorder! I'm glad you now have a better understanding of medical terminology and will hopefully be able to better understand any medical texts you come across in the future

If you're looking for people misusing "dissociation", I assure you there are still plenty of people who associate any mention of it with senseless violence. How about we tackle that first before deciding the word for a spectrum can only be used to describe the most extreme forms of it

[cozmicnymph]

You're not crazy for admiring Ian and Mickey

People don’t admire Ian and Mickey because their relationship was healthy. Because let’s be real: it wasn’t. It was chaotic, it was violent, it was toxic at times. These are not healthy people. They’re not models for romantic stability. But the reason people still root for them, the reason they hit so hard, is because no matter what, they were equals.

They grew up in hell. They were raised in violence. That doesn’t excuse anything, but it explains a lot. They learned love through survival, through fists and silence and fear. And when you grow up like that, you don’t just magically learn to say “I love you” and communicate with emotional maturity. That’s not real life.

They didn’t start off soft. They hated each other. The Gallaghers and Milkoviches were basically the Hatfields and McCoys. Remember when Mandy ran out of the Gallagher house in Season 1 and it was “who did what to Mandy Milkovich?” Everyone knew what that meant. You didn’t mess with the Milkoviches.

And yet... there was something. There was tension—sexual, emotional, dangerous. They weren’t dating, they were fighting, sleeping together, avoiding feelings, and hurting each other. It was messy. But that’s how it started. Their love wasn’t rushed. It grew out of violence, confusion, denial, and real-life trauma.

And then, slowly, they actually started dating. And that’s when the shift happened. That’s when the love started blooming. And no, the abuse didn’t disappear overnight. And yes, we can admit it was abuse. But little by little, they grew. Together. Ian gets admitted to a hospital, and Mickey—who originally tried to stop it because he was scared of losing him—eventually becomes the one who makes sure it happens. Because Mickey realized that loving Ian meant doing the hard thing, even if it hurt.

That’s huge. Especially in the time Shameless aired, when mental health stigma was brutal. This wasn’t a world where people were casually open about bipolar disorder. And yet Mickey, a gangbanger who was raised by a monster, put his fears aside and got Ian the help he needed. That’s growth.

And here’s the part that a lot of people don’t pick up on, but it matters:

The softest we ever see either of them—especially Mickey—is with each other.

In the outside world, Mickey is dominant. Violent. Aggressive. He leads with rage because that’s what kept him alive. But with Ian, he lets go. He lets himself be held. And that is not a small thing.

Watch them closely. Mickey is almost always the one being held. He’s the little spoon. Ian’s the one with his arm around him, the one kissing his temple, brushing his hair back, holding him like he matters. Like he’s not just useful when he’s angry. That’s safety. That’s softness. Mickey’s never had that, but Ian gives it to him. And Mickey accepts it.

You don’t let someone hold you like that if you don’t trust them. Especially not when you grew up like they did. That kind of vulnerability is massive.

And yes—even in the bedroom, that dynamic continues. This might go over some people’s heads, but when we see them together, Mickey is often the one receiving. And no, this isn’t about “bedroom roles = personality traits.” That’s not the point. (Also look at his smile).

The point is that Shameless chose to show that side of Mickey specifically with Ian. It adds to the vulnerability. It adds to the trust. Especially in that dugout scene where Mickey initiates, but still gives the power over to Ian. He’s literally and emotionally putting himself in Ian’s hands. That isn’t just about sex. That’s about trust.

This isn’t something we see with Mickey and anyone else. It’s not something we see from him in public. This is sacred, private, and honest. And again, it’s soft. That softness is only for Ian.

Also no, this is not me saying “stay with your abuser.” Don’t romanticize the pain. That’s not what this is.

The point is that Ian and Mickey were on level ground. They both hit, they both bled, they both loved. They weren’t a healthy relationship, but they were a powerful one. The growth, the loyalty, the raw adoration—that’s why people root for them. Not because it was perfect. But because they earned it. Every inch of it.

They started off enemies. Then came the tension. Then came fear. Then came love—raw, stubborn, blinding love. They didn’t run. And because they didn’t run, they got the chance to actually heal. Together.

So yeah. I’m only on Season 7, and I’ve been spoiled to hell and back. But I don’t care.

They earned that ending.

Because in the end, they were each other’s home.

[emersonpierce]

Wilbur has said that if he were to fully explain the situation, it would involve doxxing both himself and Shelby. So why is it okay when Dream makes his statements, but not when Wilbur does?

The constant hate directed at Wilbur needs to stop. This situation was never something the public should have been involved in to begin with, and everyone needs to recognize that.

People are demanding answers as if they’re entitled to them. Wilbur did his best to explain, but when the answer didn’t satisfy some, they just jumped back on the hate train. That’s not just immature; it’s a refusal to move on.

Let’s talk about Shelby for a second. It’s been over a year, and she still hasn’t provided any concrete proof, only statements that are essentially a “trust me, bro” defense, backed up by people she wasn’t even close with. Yet somehow it’s okay for her to make those claims without evidence just because she’s considered a “victim” and a woman?

People need to take a step back and see the bigger picture. Wilbur did everything he could to keep both himself and Shelby safe, and just because you don’t like the way it turned out doesn’t give anyone the right to keep attacking him.

This situation should never have been public in the first place, and deep down, everyone knows that. You can lie to yourself all you want, but it’s the truth.

It's time to move on.

Wilbur's statement that fully explaining the situation would require doxxing both himself and Shelby is not just a cop-out or an excuse — it's a real boundary rooted in privacy and safety. Doxxing isn���t just the release of addresses or phone numbers; it includes exposing deeply personal details or past histories that could place people at risk mentally, emotionally, socially, or even physically.

If Wilbur is withholding information to avoid exposing sensitive details about another person — especially someone he had a personal relationship with — then that is not only valid, but commendable. It's respecting someone’s boundaries, even if that person has chosen a public-facing narrative.

Meanwhile, when Dream speaks, the public seems far more willing to entertain nuance, to say, "Well, we don’t know everything," or "He’s doing his best." Why does that courtesy not extend to Wilbur? It raises questions about selective empathy and inconsistent standards of accountability.

From the outset, this situation was steeped in parasocial dynamics. Fans want transparency from creators, which is understandable to a point — but there’s a difference between being a supporter and being entitled to someone’s private trauma, explanations, or personal life.

The truth is: no one is owed an answer — not beyond what Wilbur has already said. He did make a statement, despite the potential personal cost. And because that statement didn’t align with what some people wanted to hear, they dismissed it entirely. That’s not a search for truth; that’s confirmation bias in action.

Shelby’s narrative has often been accepted at face value, largely because of the public’s instinct to "believe victims" — especially women — in any dispute involving a man. While that instinct is important and rooted in a history of survivors being ignored, it cannot override basic principles of fairness, especially when evidence is lacking.

Let’s be clear: Shelby has not provided concrete evidence. Most of what exists are vague, indirect statements and anecdotes from people who weren’t directly involved. And yet she’s treated as if the burden of proof lies entirely on Wilbur, who cannot respond in detail without crossing serious ethical and legal boundaries.

That imbalance is stark. It suggests a public climate where one party is presumed guilty until proven innocent, and the other is granted the benefit of the doubt without having to prove anything.

What more do people want? Wilbur has said his piece. He’s been silent, likely on the advice of legal counsel or out of concern for emotional wellbeing — his and hers. Still, critics keep demanding answers. But what would satisfy them? A tell-all that invades someone’s privacy? A thread full of screenshots that drag a private relationship into the public eye?

The refusal to move on says more about the audience than the people involved. It's easier for some to continue cycling outrage than to accept an unsatisfying resolution. That’s not just immature — it's dangerous. It contributes to a culture where real-life mental health is collateral damage in a public drama people consume like a Netflix series.

This never should have become public. The audience has conflated their investment in a content creator's work with entitlement to their personal life. That’s not fandom — that’s voyeurism.

Both Wilbur and Shelby are real people. Real people don’t owe strangers their trauma breakdown. The expectation that they must publicly litigate a complex personal history is absurd and harmful.

Wilbur tried to navigate this situation with as much care and privacy as possible. He didn’t retaliate. He didn’t release compromising details. He chose silence where it would’ve been easy to clap back. That’s not guilt — that’s maturity.

And Shelby, regardless of what anyone believes, deserves privacy too. That’s why people need to stop using her identity as a rhetorical shield while using Wilbur’s as a punching bag.

It’s time to step back. Respect both parties. Stop pretending we’re owed anything here.

Anyone still dragging his name through the mud is in the headspace of entitlement because they can’t accept the fact people need to move, and he gave a mature response that they didn’t want.

[ncsdlr]

Misclick (Or: How I Accidentally Called My Ex While Looking for Emotional Closure)

Ex!Billie Eilish x Ex!Reader

A/N: the first section is based on real life😃🔫 the following sections are entirely made up

A/N: also, to the person i was talking to in the first section, I'm sorry for immortalizing this painfully embarrassing moment in our life and turning it into fanfic💀

A/N: also the last section is what I wish we did- what I wish we could have discussed. only SOME of that section is fiction.

A/N: idk if she's seeing this, but if you are, hi, Im over our break up, but the love is still here

Warning: ANGST

---------------

In your defense, you weren’t stalking. You were researching. There’s a difference.

The breakup was still fresh—like, cry-while-brushing-your-teeth fresh. You and Billie hadn’t spoken since the split a couple days ago. Not out of malice, just... mutually assured emotional destruction. You were both going through it. Both pretending not to look at each other’s Instagram stories with your brightness turned all the way down like that made it morally neutral.

And yet, here you were. Two days post-breakup. Alone. Unhinged. Emotionally backed up.

You were doing something extremely healthy and productive—scrolling through your old messages with Billie to find the last time she said she loved you. For closure. Obviously. Not to screenshot it and zoom in on the punctuation like it held some secret code. Definitely not that.

You were wrist-deep in the chat archive—somewhere between “I miss you” and that cursed selfie where you looked like a malnourished Victorian child—when a notification from her friend popped up.

You tried to swipe it away. Really, you tried.

Instead… your thumb slipped. You tapped.

And suddenly, your phone was dialing Billie. Billie. Fucking Billie. The Billie you were actively mourning like a recently deceased houseplant. The Billie you had just been virtually ghost-digging up like you were the gay Indiana Jones of emotional trauma.

The screen rang once. Twice.

Your soul left your body at Mach 5. Your heart physically detached and crawled under the bed.

You panic-slammed the red button like your life depended on it. Which, emotionally speaking, it absolutely did.

Call ended. Damage? Irreversible.

You stared at the screen, breathing like you’d just sprinted through the airport in a romcom, only instead of stopping her from boarding the plane, you just committed social suicide.

In your panicked state, you type down an explanation for the accidental call. It makes you type faster when you see that Billie has your chat open. This is the fastest you've ever typed anything.

You: "Dude im so sorry i didnt mean to wtfff" "Notifications made my phone lad and I clicked your chat the hell"

When chat indicators popped up, you swiped you thumb frantically to exit the chat. For what? You have no idea.

Billie: "its okay lol"

You opened the chat again, continuing your frantic explanation: "Bro😭" "Screaming crying rn tf" "lemme just go omg💀"

Billie: "hahaha you're fine"

And then... somehow, you just kept talking.

No more explanations. No “wtf was that.” No tension. No ice to break. The texts just kept coming—back and forth, casual, like nothing happened. Like you hadn’t just accidentally FaceTimed your ex mid-mental breakdown. Like this wasn’t the first time you’d spoken since the breakup. Like things were fine.

You kept expecting it to stop. For her to say “anyway” and vanish. Or for you to remember your dignity and put your phone down.

But neither of you did.

It wasn’t deep. Nothing emotional. Just… small things. Dumb things. Things that didn’t make sense to say, but somehow did.

And the strangest part? It didn’t feel weird until you realized it should’ve felt weird.

You sat there, blinking at the screen like: “Are we just gonna ignore the fact that I tried to speedrun dying of embarrassment five minutes ago?”

But Billie didn’t mention the call again. You didn’t bring it up either. The silence around it is somehow louder than if you had.

And now you were just… texting her. Casually. Effortlessly. Like muscle memory. Like your thumbs had been waiting for this the whole time since the breakup. Like no time had passed at all.

You kept rereading the last message she sent. Not because it meant anything. But because it existed. Because it happened. And that was somehow enough.

****

It’s not a date. It’s not closure. It’s not even emotional masochism.

It’s just two people deciding—very casually, very “sure why not”—to go out.

You meet Billie at some middle ground neither of you suggest but both somehow agree on. It’s not your place. It’s not hers. The location is symbolic in its neutralness. A coffee shop, a bookstore, maybe a quiet park. Somewhere with enough noise to fill the silence.

She’s already there when you arrive, sitting with her hood up like she’s trying not to be seen, even though you’re pretty sure she wants you to see her first. You sit. You don’t hug. You don’t talk about the call.

It’s not awkward. It’s just… quiet.

You talk about stupid things. Music. A dog walking by in a sweater. Some viral video you both saw. It feels normal in a way that feels fake, but not painful.

You both laugh at something neither of you will remember tomorrow.

And there’s a moment—brief, barely-there—when she says something and looks at you too long. The kind of look that, a few weeks ago, would’ve meant everything. Now it just lingers between you like fog. Present, but untouchable.

There’s nothing romantic about this. Nothing tender. Just two people, trying.

Not exes. Not friends. Not what you were, or what you almost were.

Just people.

The coffee Billie ordered looked like it could kill someone. Triple shot, something with oat milk, and a dangerous amount of cinnamon on top like she's daring her heart to keep up.

“You drink that, you’re gonna astral project,” you say, squinting at it.

She grins over the rim. “Perfect. Maybe I’ll finally leave this hellish plane of existence and become someone’s sleep paralysis demon.”

“You already are.”

“Ouch,” she says, mock-offended. “That’s crazy coming from someone who called me mid-scroll spiral just to breathe into the mic like a haunted voicemail.”

You groan, dramatic and long. “We said we weren’t bringing that up.”

“Correction,” she says, stirring her murder latte. “You said that. I made no such promise.”

You flick a sugar packet at her. She dodges it like a gremlin, proud.

It’s easy. Too easy. You’re both sitting there, bouncing off each other like nothing’s weird. Like the weight of your history isn’t pressed between the two coffee cups, trying to stay relevant.

“Remember when you said I looked like a ‘very fashionable Muppet’ that one time?”

She snorts. “You did. That fuzzy green sweater? Be fr. Miss Piggy would’ve worn it to the Met Gala.”

“It was chartreuse!”

“Chartreuse is not a personality.”

“Okay, says the girl who once wore leather pants to a picnic.”

“You mean the leather pants?” she asks, looking entirely too proud of herself. “The ones that made your friend text you, ‘damn I didn’t know Billie was packing like that’?”

Your soul tries to exit your body again.

“God, why do you still remember that?”

“Because it haunts me. And because I live for your humiliation.”

She’s leaning back now, one leg hooked under her on the bench, sipping her drink like this is the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it is. Maybe it always was.

You stretch out your legs and sigh like someone twice your age. “This is weird.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You mean... this?”

You wave vaguely between the two of you. “This. Us. Not being anything. But also not being not-anything. Just... people.”

Billie considers that. Then shrugs.

“Yeah,” she says. “But like... funny people.”

You squint at her, unimpressed. “You think you’re funny?”

She pauses mid-sip like she’s been personally insulted. “Babe. I’m hilarious.”

You snort. “You are so not.”

“Excuse me?” she gasps, clutching her chest like you just called her untalented and unvaccinated. “Are you forgetting the time I made your cousin laugh so hard she snorted rice out of her nose?”

“She was laughing at me, actually. Because you tried to do a British accent and somehow ended up sounding like a French minion.”

“Okay wow,” she says, shaking her head. “Fake news. I was doing Shakespearean Cockney. It was a bit.”

“You sounded like a Victorian chimney sweep possessed by Lumière.”

She sets her cup down, tilts her head, and grins in that way she used to when she was plotting something. “You’re just mad because you know I’m funnier than you.”

You scoff. "You wish,” you fire back.

“You laugh at everything I say.”

“Because I’m nice and polite.”

She leans forward, eyes glittering. “You laugh like you’re trying to impress me.”

You open your mouth to respond—and realize you don’t have one. Not a real one, anyway. Not one that doesn’t give something away.

She sees it. Of course she does. And she smirks.

“See?” she says softly, smug. “Told you.”

You look away, pretending to be exasperated, and roll your eyes. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling because she's right. “Shut up.”

She just shrugs, takes another sip of her drink, and says nothing else.

But her grin stays, stifling what could turn into a full-blown laugh. And so does yours.

****

You’re walking side by side down the street now, Billie’s iced coffee long gone and your stomach sore from laughing at nothing. It feels almost stupid how natural it is, like your body forgot you’re not supposed to move in rhythm with hers anymore.

At one point, she bumps your shoulder with hers and says, “I’m still funnier than you.”

You scoff. “Delusional.”

“Charming and funny,” she says, with a mock-bow. “A full package.”

“Oh my god.”

“You didn’t seem to think that when you were—”

You whip your head toward her so fast she actually flinches from the wind. “Nope. No, ma’am. Do not finish that sentence.”

Her grin is wicked. “Why not? I was just going to say crying at my stand-up set. Obviously.”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s not where you were going and you know it.”

She shrugs. “I’m just saying. You were very… vocal with your compliments.”

“I will literally throw myself into oncoming traffic.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m ashamed.”

She laughs—loud, head back, real. And god. You forgot how much you missed that sound. How safe it made everything feel.

You don’t say anything. She doesn’t either. But something shifts in the silence that follows. Neither of you name it.

****

You’re on Billie’s couch, legs tucked under yourself, a half-eaten bag of chips between you. She’s scrolling through some streaming app like it’s a life-or-death decision.

“This one has a 98% on Rotten Tomatoes,” she says.

“It also looks like it was made for sad white men who write film essays on Tumblr.”

She clicks it anyway.

It’s not a good movie. It's barely even a movie. It’s one of those indie slow-burns where nothing really happens, but everything’s a metaphor for loneliness. Of course it’s the one you’re watching.

About thirty minutes in, your knees are touching. Then your shoulder. Then Billie shifts just enough that your thighs are lined up. She doesn’t move away.

Neither do you.

You don’t look at her. You don’t say anything.

But a few minutes later, her hand is resting against your calf—soft, light, like she forgot it was there.

And then, slowly, her fingers find your hair. She starts playing with it absently. Familiar. Absent-minded. Like this is just what you do.

Your breath catches, just slightly. Not enough for her to notice. You don’t move.

She keeps twirling a strand.

You don’t look at each other. The movie plays on, pretending you aren’t unraveling.

She shifts slightly, but her hand stays on you.

“You used to say I was too blunt,” she murmurs.

“You were.”

“You said I made you feel small, sometimes.”

You pause. “You did.”

There’s a quiet beat. Not defensive. Just still.

“You’d call me dramatic whenever I brought something up. Or overthinking. Or too sensitive.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” you say. And you do. But that doesn’t erase the sting. “But you still said it.”

She nods, almost to herself. “You always wanted to talk about things. Everything had layers with you.”

You look at her then. “Everything has layers. You just didn’t like looking at them.”

Billie goes quiet. Her fingers still, just for a moment, in your hair.

“I didn’t get it,” she admits. “Half the stuff you brought up—gender, labels, politics… it just felt like too much. Like everything had to be a cause.”

You smile. It's not unkind. But it isn't soft either. “It was too much—for you.”

She meets your eyes then, and there’s something like apology in her face. But not regret. Not quite.

“I felt like I had to shrink to be next to you,” you continue. “Like I had to sand down the sharp parts so I didn’t set you off. I was always editing myself.”

Billie doesn’t argue. She doesn’t explain.

She just says, “I know.”

And that somehow hurts more.

You still love her. Deeply. Undeniably. But you love yourself now too. And you know exactly which love you're not willing to compromise again.

You don’t know why you’re still talking. Maybe because it’s finally quiet enough to. Maybe because your body still remembers how to confess things in her presence.

You shift on the couch, turning toward her just slightly—just enough to see her face without really looking at it.

“I knew,” you say quietly. “Back then. I knew you didn’t really get it. Any of it.”

Billie doesn’t argue. She just watches you.

“You didn’t try to understand things that mattered to me. Or when you did, it was only after I broke down trying to explain why it mattered in the first place.”

You laugh a little, but it’s brittle. “And I still stayed.”

She looks down.

“I stayed because I loved you enough to overlook it. Or I thought I did. I thought that if I just loved you harder, louder, more patiently, eventually it’d be enough to… I don’t know. Make the other stuff not matter.”

You feel the words coming before you say them. The shape of them. The weight.

“Because I love—” Your voice catches. Just for a second. Just long enough to break.

You clear your throat, and correct yourself mid-sentence, too quickly.

“Because I loved you. Enough to ignore the parts of myself that didn’t sit right next to you.”

There it is again. That reflex. That instinct to swallow yourself whole before anyone else can do it for you.

Billie hears it. Of course she does. But she says nothing.

And somehow, the silence confirms everything.

You didn’t stop loving her. You just started loving yourself more. Or maybe for the first time at all.

Billie’s still looking at you. Or maybe through you. Like she’s watching something that already happened.

“You know what’s messed up?” she says after a moment. “I didn’t even get it at the time. Like—I knew you were hurting. I could see it. But I thought it was just... you being sensitive. You always felt things so deeply, and I thought I was allowed to stay the same and let you carry all the weight.”

You don’t respond. You don’t need to.

“I kept thinking I’d grow into it,” she continues. “Into being what you needed. That one day I’d just… wake up and suddenly know how to hold space for things I didn’t understand.”

You swallow.

“But I didn’t,” she says. “I couldn’t. I was too wrapped up in already knowing who I was and what I'm worth. And you were still only getting there. And I hated that I couldn’t meet you there. That I couldn’t give you the version of me you deserved. That I couldn't bend myself like you were bending yourself for me.”

Her voice is steady. Matter-of-fact. But you can hear the ache in the way she chooses her words.

“And by the time I realized how much I’d let slip through my hands,” she says, softer now, “you’d already started holding on to yourself instead.”

Your chest tightens.

And in that moment, everything in her expression says what she won’t say out loud:

That if she'd met you later, maybe she would’ve been ready. That if the timing had been different, maybe it would’ve worked. That maybe it wasn’t about not loving you enough. It was about not knowing how to love you right.

You want to scream. Or cry. Or laugh.

Instead, you nod.

Slow. Small. Knowing.

“I wanted you to see things from my eyes,” you say quietly. “But I let you not do that because you seemed so sure of your mind and your thoughts. And I didn't want to make you question things the way I do.”

Billie doesn’t flinch.

She just looks at you like she’s finally seeing what she missed. And this time, she doesn’t reach for your hand. She just lets you hold your own.

The silence stretches so long it stops feeling awkward and just becomes part of the furniture. Like grief, or old air.

Her hand is still in your hair. Yours is curled into the blanket, nails digging in like it might hold you together.

And then Billie says, voice low but clear:

“I loved you more when you stopped needing me.”

You don’t react at first. Because what the fuck is that even supposed to mean.

But then you get it. You know exactly what she means.

She loved the version of you who didn’t beg for her to show up. Who stopped asking for softness. Who learned to be their own safe place because she couldn’t be one.

She loved you more when it didn’t cost her anything.

And maybe that hurts her, too.

You stare straight ahead, eyes fixed on nothing.

Then, just as calmly, you say:

“And I loved you most when I realized the break-up felt like freedom."

She flinches. Not big. But enough. Enough for you to feel it.

And neither of you says another word after that.

You sit there—two people who once loved each other in all the wrong ways at all the wrong times—quiet, breathing, broken in a way that finally makes sense.

No one leaves. No one moves.

And somehow, that’s the ending.

---------------------- y'all tears were shed writing this. Also, I'm so sorry for the way I wrote billies beliefs. I know that's not how she is in real life at all, i just did it for the story to work out the way i wanted and to relate it to what happened to me and what I went through😔

[shallowseeker]

Last one.

Some other things I like:

I like that Cas digs his heels in and emphasizes, “There’s a bigger picture here,” because, well—he is a big-picture kind of guy. But besides that, pulling back from humanity is his default when his emotions start to rise, even when that emotion is anger. (Cas likes to think he’s above it all, especially at this junction.)

It’s easier for him to retreat into the idea of being detached—above the pettiness, the feelings, the mess.

And his gaze has this quiet, sharp threat to it. Dean looks away, totally cowed by how intense it is. I think it hits right at that old sense of despair in Dean, too—this sense that Dean himself doesn’t matter, not truly. That little guys like him never do.

(I think of what he says in The End, all heartbroken and crying: “You’re the same thing (as always), only bigger.”)

Cas doesn’t just pull away—he pushes back.

Visually, Dean keeps flicking his eyes away, like he’s shrinking back into the shadows—pushed out of brazenly showing himself. Till now, Cas's prodded Dean’s vulnerability in gentler ways, like in their first meeting—but now he wants Dean to know that he can use that to HURT him too. Because Cas can SEE things about Dean, he ALSO knows where to press to wound.

("I see you AND I can HURT you.")

Cas’s anger lands like a rubber stamp on the whole argument, and Dean is nervous because it's suddenly obvious that he pushed a little too hard.

Yet... Dean's eyes wander back back up to hold the gaze until Cas blips away. And despite himself, Dean spins around looking for Cas.

Then Dean’s left alone, and we get such a perfect ending shot—one that mirrors the first shot so well, you could almost superimpose them together.

I love mated shots. :-)

Throughout the interaction, there’s this strong sense of them mirroring each other’s body language, almost like they’re silently demanding the other to meet them on the same emotional wavelength. It's like they're, completely by accident, each other's emotional riptide.

(Like: Get over here and stand next to me, you son of a bitch!)

///

Anyway, I also love that when Dean wakes the next morning, he’s still looking for Cas—despite the heavy threat Cas just dropped. Like, wait—there’s more I need to ask, more I need to say.

Remarkably, they still saw more of each other than they meant to show—were emotionally naked in a way neither probably intended.

Despite all that aggression, the vibe when Dean meets Cas again isn’t really hostile.

In fact, in 4x03, there’s a strange, subtle connection between them.

It might seem odd—except that the exchange in 4x02 was a huge, accidental icebreaker that paved the way for their future interactions… and revealed a great deal of emotional honesty, even when they were trying not to.

///

I love how the previous shot is repeated: Dean’s head whipping around to look. Only this time, when Dean whips his head up, Cas is there.

And THIS time, Cas mostly makes sure not to dilly-dally or get drawn into emotional conversations. His explanations are down to one or two words... like he seems properly mentally prepared this time.

Yanno.

"Professional."

Nevertheless, we get moments like this, them wanting to know how the other FEELS about things:

(Do you care do you care do you CARE?)

what were you dreaming about / what do you care about etc etc

(i care about so many things i can't change)

(do you as well?)

I do love the first "shop-talk" scene in 4x02:

and not just because it effortlessly, primally occurs in THE KITCHEN MY SPECIAL INTEREST (and it's a late-night kitchen-talk at that... how intimate!) There's just... so much more to this scene that I want to ramble about!

First, there's something so adorably "big brother" about Dean taking the floor while Sam gets the couch:

But in terms of symbols...

In this dreamscape, the living room represents a known place. It’s a familiar territory, a space shaped by childhood and the daily rhythms of a little brother Dean knows like his own heartbeat.

In this shot with Sam, we see "an open window" and the clearly lit figure of the kid Dean grew up with—(well raised, really).

Here, Dean knows the rules. He knows how to move, how to deflect, how to care. He knows his mission. His role. His scripted lines.

BUT

Here, the kitchen is different. Murkier. It’s not representing the known rhythms of childhood. It's an emerging, liminal, domestic space.

The windows are flanked by shutters, filtering the light. There’s no clear view to be had... only silhouettes and suggestion. (This is the space of adulthood. Of individuation. Rawness, fear, and confusion abound!)

Unlike their first meeting, Cas doesn’t burst in with wings and thunder. He stands still. Quiet. Mysterious. Secretive? A stranger, yes—but one who already sees Dean in ways that unsettle him.

And ofc, this isn’t just a conversation. It’s a visitation—a mythic moment that happens while Dean is vulnerably caught between states: sleep and waking, safety and fear, childhood and transformation.

Cas is imposing, a low-level threat presence, but he waits for Dean to approach.

Aaaaaaaaaand

CAS: Excellent job with the witnesses.

Cas opens with shop talk. It’s clinical. Detached. The tone is 10000% at odds with the intimate motif of the dark kitchen. We've somehow launched straight into the "We raised you out of Hell for work," vibes, like Dean is a mission parameter, not a person.

But it’s not cruelty—it’s just his angelic default. It’s how Cas knows how to speak. Orders. Objectives.

War room briefings.

And Dean seems… strangely betrayed by this.

Not because Cas has done something obviously cruel, but because of what’s missing—human warmth, care, acknowledgment. (You were hip to all this? You did nothing? You?)

Dean is offended, even affronted—but beneath that, he’s clearly craving some kind of warmth.

Who knows why he expects it?

And then—Cas fidgets. Just barely. A shift. A pause.

There's this little "uh" that slips out in his answer. It's such a small thing, but in context, it's HUGE. Dean asked something direct—accusatory, maybe even vulnerable—and Cas can't seem to give a clean answer:

CAS: I was, uh, made aware.

Dean reacts bigly.

What’s endlessly fascinating about this moment to me is that his sense of betrayal seems soooo genuinely emotional. His pivot to sarcasm—"Well, thanks a lot for the angelic assistance"—quickly escalates into something almost childlike: "I almost got my heart ripped out of my chest!"

First, the line reads like an appeal: "Don’t you care that I was in danger? *I* was in danger!" It reads like he's low-key fishing for a reaction, testing whether Cas felt any way about that fact.

Second, his body language zeroes in on his own chest—his heart. He gestures forcefully, repeatedly. It’s not just verbal—it’s visceral, almost like his body is trying to say what his words can’t: Don't you care? Don’t you feel? I'm hurt. Worry about me!!!!

And Cas?

Cas answers with a flat, "But you didn't."

It’s even. Unbothered. It lands like a brush-off, like he’s reducing Dean’s very real, very human fear to a statistical non-event.

You’re overreacting. That’s the subtext Dean picks up here.

Which of course causes Dean to get even more huffy:

DEAN: "I thought angels were supposed to be guardians—fluffy wings, halos—you know, Michael Landon. Not dicks."

And well. It's another appeal, really. Dean's saying, "I thought you were supposed to protect us. Protect me."

But also it's so funny because Dean is low-key insulting him. He's of course testing Cas—feeling him out, trying to see if Cas even CARES, but it's so hilarious, too. They're already sniping!

Cas remains stubbornly even. Stoic. Hard.

CAS: "Read the bible. I'm a soldier."

(It reads like: "So what if I AM a dick, Dean? What then? Beware. I'm cruel. I'm warning you. THIS is what I am.")

But I love how Dean remains obstinate nevertheless. ("Yeah? A soldier, huh? Why didn’t you fight?") And Cas doesn't give. ("I’m not here to perch on your shoulder.")

Their attitudes clash, beat for fucking beat!!!! Cas sways forward aggressively, squaring up like he's starting to get a bit ruffled by Dean’s testing: "We had larger concerns."

Excuses, excuses.

It spirals further as Dean starts mining for more—emotional—information. "Concerns? There were people getting torn to shreds down here!”

Again, he's in a coded way feeling out if Cas cares about PEOPLE: "Don't you care?"

(Don't you care don't you care don't you CARE?)

Because here's the kicker: There’s something about Cas that makes Dean suspect he does.

Maybe it’s the way Cas holds himself. Or when he chooses to look away—shame, maybe?—or maybe just how Cas settles his breathing when challenged. (Cas stiffens and digests things in ways that read like guilt.)

Whatever it is, Dean picks up on those small signs and it TOTALLY emboldens him to keep hurling his emotions at him!

The conversation goes even deeper after that, lurching into dangerous territory for both, territory about values and Faith.

DEAN: “And by the way, while all this is going on, where the hell is your boss, huh? If there is a God? ... I’m not convinced. Because if there is a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh?”

And throughout this entire exchange, Cas’s doubts are visible in his body language.

Frankly, I think that’s what gives Dean the courage to push so hard. It’s like he sees through the armor, maybe thinking to himself: "Jeez, maybe this angel doubts all this bullshit, too."

Unfortunately for Dean, when Dean breaks, he breaks wide open.

DEAN: "What the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the earth?" This is very raw. "The freaking apocalypse? At what point does he lift a damn finger? And help the poor bastards that are stuck down here?"

For some reason—some maddening, magnetic reason, whether it’s the nonverbal cues or recently dying and going to Hell or whatever—it just cracks Dean apart. Even as he’s trying to get Cas to break, to flinch, to feel, it’s Dean who’s unraveling.

Of course it’s also: At what point do YOU lift a finger? Why didn’t you help ME? I almost died. Other people DID. That’s the real question pulsing underneath Dean’s rant. He’s not just condemning Heaven. He’s confronting Cas the individual as much as his own crisis of faith and disappointment.

And Cas... Cas breaks eye contact. He has to.

Not arguing. Just… withdrawing. Retreating into formality. He defaults to a scripted line... doctrine:

At that—Dean explodes.

Why won’t Cas meet him halfway? They’re not on the same emotional wavelength at all. Dean is so frustrated!

And yet, with Dean's "So help me, I will kick your ass!" comes a turning point. Cas literally throws up his hands, and it’s beautiful because it also shows a yielding.

It's a small, rare sign that Cas is finally letting Dean’s truth reach him.

An "Okay, fine."

Dean breathes a beautiful little sigh of relief at that yielding. His shoulders relax. It felt good to get all that out.

Like maybe he feels like—oh my God, hey—maybe they actually got somewhere. Maybe now they can finally really talk.ey can finally really talk. His shoulders relax. It felt good to get all that out...

But then!

Then, adorably, Dean’s eyes dart around in a panic.

Because Dean’s brave to a fault—but even he’s thinking, WHAT THE FUUUUUCK AM I DOING? WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST SAY????

When Dean peeks at Cas again, it’s different.

The air between them has cleared a little bit. There’s a new kind of honesty between them now: raw, foundational, and open.

Dean feels it, and he tentatively broaches that new space. (Because Cas yields—softening just a bit, nonverbally—Dean feels comfortable enough to try.)

So he moves a little closer to Cas, mirrors his body language, and speaks to him like a fellow soldier...

This shoptalk too is yet another coded appeal. It's a: "Please talk to me. Tell me something."

Cas shifts uneasily, throwing out another clipped company line: "big things afoot."

But then!!!!

Then Cas decides to tell him... what he can.

"But you need to know," is code for, "I'll tell you what I can." It functions as a bit of rationalized logic. You NEED to know, so it's okay if I tell you.

And so, they fall easily into what will become their infamous rhythm. As Dean moves forward to tentatively join Cas by the sink, Cas can’t help but lean in just a little—another subtle fidget.

They're swaying into each other's space.

As they inch closer, testing one another, the light from the blinds slices across their faces, casting all these sharp lines and shadows.

And as they test each other and throw their frustrations and emotions at one another, they see each other a little more clearly.

[dh-dd-hivemind]

Played through chapter 3&4 pacifist route, but didn't get the eggs or the secret bosses in it. So we're planning on replaying that

Now we are playing through 3&4 Snowgrave route, and are currently in the middle of chapter 3. We are getting the secret bosses first time around here, cuz we'd rather complete Snowgrave all in one go if possible

And let us just say...we may not know everything that happens in pacifist OR Snowgrave quite yet...but...

Holy. Shit.

We'll update again once we've actually COMPLETED both routes.

So glad chapter 6 is coming out next year...

[tangledinink]

How did Swanatello react when Mikey told him they didn’t have a mother? How does he react after being told his memories are false? Does his family ever have to play along so as not to upset him?

[ prev ]

it depends on what kind of a day donnie is having, and they've definitely gotten better at handling things as they've gone along... while they usually try not to lie to him or 'play along,' per se, a lot of the time it's better to redirect the conversation rather than just... tell him no. his reactions vary, but straight up rejecting a memory or perception of his can be upsetting or disorientating. they usually try to ask questions to guide him back to 'reality' and gently correct or change the topic of conversation.

[faceonatrain]

Not very basketball knowledgeable, but I do have some thoughts on option a.

To be honest, I don't think much would come of it from the teammate angle. I don't think the animorphs could be sure about any of them being infested or not for the same reasons that they couldn't be sure about most people being infested. And considering most high schools have practice 5 days a week after school plus extra, I doubt Jake would be able to maintain it at a certain point in the war for pretty much the same reason all of the animorphs' lives went down to the tubes.

I think the biggest function would honestly be extra angst for Jake:

1- He would've, of course, told Tom immediately, and "Tom" would not give a shit. I honestly think Jake would still probably end up at the mall, commiserating with Marco over his older brother not caring he made the team.

2- Was Tom still varsity at the time, or had he already quit the team? He would be surrounded by people who were Tom's friends, reminders of Tom's life. This could go in any number of painful directions, really, between people asking about Tom, being the disappointing JV benchwarmer copy of his older brother, lots of lying, and either getting kicked off the team for missing practice or games or quitting of his own violition, just like big bro. Or Tom's still on the team and he just can't be around his brother even more of the time, so he quits eventually.

3- The most interesting thing I think could come of it is, like, Jake stays for a while to not arouse suspicion and Tom's best friend catches a clue that something is off based on the way that Tom and Jake act, talk, and think around each other while both are on the team. Tom just doesn't seem to care about Jake, when he was talking all about how his brother would definitely bomb joining the team last year, and he makes some genuinely thoughtlessly cruel jabs at Jake behind his back. Jake ignores Tom, flinches sometimes when he speaks, looks like he's miles away whenever he's in the room

Does he go to Tom and get the "boy's on drugs, help convince me to get him to the sharing where we can help him, and by the way wanna come too" routine? Does he go to Jake, and get a lot of stonewalling and assurances his brothers just been in a bit of a mood lately? I think the most emotionally rich route would be for him to go to the coach, who pulls Tom and Jake into a room after getting nowhere talking to them separately and tries to force them to talk about whatever weirdness or nasty older siblings bullying is going on.

Option B? I spent a while chasing this in circles,but there is simply so much room for variation depending on when they form the team and how you coax the shorter or less athletic members to do it that I ended up throwing up my hands.

I think it's basically either a "they were already friends au," a "here's some way they destress during the war au" that either segments into a "slightly better mental health au" or "these kids always hanging out together draws some attention and they get caught just like they worried they might" au, or finally, a "one of them cajoles the rest into hanging out post canon au."

All the basketball jake stuff is making me wonder- what if Jake had actually gotten on the team? How would the Animorphs balance fighting a secret war with basketball practice, and would the other team members make for good allies, since we can reasonably assume they aren’t controllers as of book 1?

Alternatively, au where the animorphs are a basketball team.

My knowledge of basketball is much spottier than my knowledge of baseball, I must confess. Does anyone who does know basketball have thoughts to add?

[soullessjack]

the more I think about s15 jack the more I’m convinced his god ending was a big fat fucking farce because literally what else could it be .

I mean jack for the entirety of s15 is just: “every day I wanted to come home but I couldn’t because I don’t think I belong here anymore after what I did to Mary. now that I am back and in my room with all my stuff everything reminds me of how it used to be and how it will never be that way again. I have 3 dads and I feel like I’m constantly disappointing them because I can’t do anything right. they’re trying to forgive me but it’s still not going to be the same. I think the nice wood nymph lady is right to lock me up and try to kill me because I’m still afraid of losing control and hurting people again. Im so horrified and haunted by the damage I’ve caused to so many people that I’m going to nobly sacrifice myself to make up for all of it. But don’t tell them my noble sacrifice is actually a suicide attempt because I still hate myself for everything I did and I know it will always be different from now on”

and ur telling me he’s just randomly normal and fine after squeezing chuck’s face a little too hard. After an entireeee season of him being suicidal and traumatized and so depressed he doesn’t leave his room for days on end. LOL okay

[loverboybrightsideghost]

the will to practice leaving my soul after i get good jury comments

[redrosecarnage]

anyone feel like even tho the pandemic's over there's still something important missing that will likely never come back? idk if its really related to the pandemic but i just feel like i lost something in 2020 and i've been stuck there emotionally ever since

[indelicateink]

confused. are the screeners out or not? reports conflict.

because if so, journalistic integrity is kinda dogshit for some folks? did social media on this topic just become unusable for the next FOUR WEEKS while people in the know make reveals like the character spoiler today?