#everybody who's ever attempted to hold a conversation with me and feels personally victimized by this owes me a like

[isalabells]

[shroomcult]

@soulxmakaweek

Day 4: Apologize

I fell way behind with Soma week because I got slammed with work and this monster of a fic took me too long to write.

Summary: 

Maka comes to realize that Soul had never felt fully comfortable around Crona, and in ignoring this entirely - she unknowingly hurt her closest friend.

Special thanks to Tori @chichirichick (she betas all of my dumpster fires, bless her) for proofreading this mess of emotions and also to Zi @azroazizah for coming up with the concept for this fic. 

**Disclaimer** This story is not about putting blame on Crona, but instead about acknowledging the fact that Soul went through trauma due to their actions and it was never taken into consideration by Maka before inviting them into their friend group. I'm not saying Crona didn't deserve support, but it's also completely valid for Soul - a victim of Crona - to not feel entirely safe around them regardless of their tragic background and circumstances. If Crona is a big comfort character for you and you feel you would likely be upset by this concept, then I recommend not reading it altogether. We all interpret things different and we're all entitled to our own opinions, and I'm not going to get in arguments with people over this.

It’d been a while since the Spartoi team was all together again.

After the fall of Asura, they really had no purpose to join forces as a team. No big baddie to unite them in ass-kickery. 

The skies were blue again. There were still Kishin eggs to take down, and a shaky new diplomatic relationship with the witches to maintain as well. 

Things were more or less … normal. Boring, even.

The only big difference Blackstar could discern was that nobody seemed to have time to just hang out and be friends anymore.

Kid was over his head with his new responsibilities, and while he was doing an admirable job filling his father’s shoes; there was a steep learning curve and his perfectionist tendencies only made it more challenging to overcome. He upheld a calm and collected demeanor in the public’s eyes, but Liz and Patty spent most of their time holding him together behind the scenes. 

Soul and Maka were a different situation entirely.

It was odd enough to adjust to the recent change in the nature of their relationship. They claimed to be the same as they’ve always been - just Soul & Maka. Only, they grew much closer after the hardships they had endured both in the book of Eibon and on the moon.

They had been close to begin with, but this was a different kind of close. Stolen glances, hands reaching for each other when they thought nobody was looking. Blushing for almost no damn reason. 

Something was going on between them - he could be sure of that.

More recently, however, Maka had been particularly obsessive about solving the dilemma of Crona’s entrapment on the moon. She was driving herself to a slow-burning insanity, considering every moment that she hadn’t rescued them yet to be a personal failure.

She’d been spending much of her time in the restricted section of the library, consuming every piece of relevant research for hours on end. Soul often stayed up there with her doing the same, or at the very least keeping her silent company when he was too burnt out to read anymore.

He’d also spent much of his extra time with Stein, training to perfect his sound-wave abilities into his own form of wavelength attack.

He’d been giving his all ever since making deathscythe status to hone his strength and better serve Maka. He’d even been able to hold his own for a surprising amount of time in the sparring ring against Blackstar, and that was a feat in and of itself.

All of the focus on Crona’s rescue had appeared to be wearing on him, though. 

Soul may have accepted Crona into his friend group for Maka’s sake, even empathized with them - but he had never fully trusted the demon sword meister. Although Soul was outwardly friendly towards them, Blackstar noticed the way his friend had watched them like a hawk before they turned back to Medusa. He was always ready for a scenario like that because he had never felt entirely safe around them to begin with.

Not that Maka had bothered to even take Soul’s feelings into consideration before forgiving Crona on his behalf.

She couldn’t have possibly been that dense. She had to have been actively ignoring the signs of Soul’s discomfort because she couldn’t handle acknowledging them.

And now she was doing the same thing all over again even with Crona as far away as the moon. It was obvious that Soul was doing what he always did - shoving his own feelings aside in favor of Maka’s. The loyal mutt of a boy valued her wellbeing far above his own, that was for certain.

He just seemed so exhausted of it all now. Searching tirelessly with Maka for a solution that may not even exist took up much of his time and energy.  

He never had the time to shoot hoops or play video games like he used to, and Blackstar was far above begging for his attention. He stopped even bothering to ask him.

Just for one night though, by some divine luck - everybody was willing to clear their schedule to have a late night dinner at the most beloved and heart-attack inducing burger joint in town. 

Every member of Spartoi was crammed into the largest booth in the restaurant and their chatter was loud enough to fill the whole section. 

There were multiple conversations happening at a time, but Blackstar was zeroing in on Soul who had his chin resting on his palm and that stupid, dopey look he got on his face when he was proud of Maka. Yuck. Keep it in your pants, loverboy.

Maka was next to Soul, his arm stretched out behind her on the booth, while Ox engaged her in a fiery debate over god knows what across the table from her. Judging by the redness in baldy’s face - Maka was on the winning side. He really couldn’t understand Soul’s hard-on for a bossy know-it-all personality, but whatever floats his boat he supposed.  

He decided he’d seen enough of that look on his best friend’s face and crumpled up a straw wrapper, dipping it in his soda and sticking it at the end of his straw.

He blew on the other end, sending the sticky wad of paper flying across the table. The projectile hit its target directly on the cheek.

“Fuck’s sake dude, how old are you?” he grumbled, reaching over the table to grab a handful of napkins to clean his face off with.

Maka snatched some of his napkins for herself, rubbing it vigorously into the flecks of cola that stained her uniform. “You got my shirt all wet, idiot.”

Blackstar simply threw his head back to cackle obnoxiously. “I just thought I should break up your lame little debate team fight before Ox over here pops a blood vessel. You know he can’t handle losing well.”

“I wasn’t losing!” Ox hissed under his breath.

Maka only met her opponent’s glare with a shit-eating grin.

“Hey, Maka! What had you stopped to talk with Professor Stein about earlier today?” Tsubaki cut in, obviously attempting to diffuse another argument between the two competitive brainiacs.

Maka’s expression relaxed into something a little more neutral, seemingly caught off guard by the question. Debate-mode successfully disarmed.

“Oh. Well… I just had some questions about my black blood research for him.” 

Blackstar didn’t miss the way Soul tensed up beside her at the mention of black blood. His face was void of any distinct emotion, but something was off in his body language. The way his shoulders squared as if he were instinctively bristling.

Anyone with a shred of social awareness could have deduced that black blood, Medusa, and Crona were not Soul’s favorite topics. It wasn’t unusual for him to shut down and discontinue any contributions to a conversation when any of these things were brought up. 

Unfortunately for Soul, all of those subjects were constantly on Maka’s mind since she began her obsessive pursuit for a solution to Crona’s ordeal.

“Oh? And what did he have to say?” Tsubaki pressed, completely oblivious to the tense situation she was potentially triggering.

“As you’re already aware, there’s not really any official research on the black blood that exists. We’ve been digging through countless books - gathering as much information about madness and Kishins as we can, but it can only get us so far. It would be so much more useful if we could get our hands on a physical sample of the substance itself.”

Soul’s eyes widened in concern, but only for a second before he slipped his usual poker face back on. His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously despite the veneer of calm he displayed.

“Anyways,” she continued, turning to look at Soul, “I was going to talk to you about this later, but maybe some of the black blood still remains in your system? I know we believed it was all gone, but surely there’s some residual amount of it lingering behind? Something we could maybe isolate, extract and create a concentrate of? Stein said it was unlikely, but technically possible. We have to try for Crona, right, Soul?”

He was no longer wearing his mask of apathy. Unmistakeable, visible discomfort was etched into his facial features and he was clenching his hands, knuckles whitening from the pressure. Everyone at the table was hushed and the tension was palpable.

“He doesn’t have to try anything,” Kid’s voice cut sharply through the silence, golden eyes flashing sternly at her.

A soft gasp escaped her and her eyebrows shot up, clearly taken-aback by the sudden burst of hostility from her boss and close friend. Her eyes darkened seconds later, determination setting in.

 “I think that’s his decision to make, and I’d like to hear what he has to say,” she turned her attention back to Soul, hope still shining in her eyes.

He fidgeted with his necktie, loosening it and clearing his throat. “Yeah, s’fine. Whatever you need, I guess.”

Maka’s face lit up into a bright smile that turned Blackstar’s stomach and she pulled Soul into a brief hug. “I knew we could count on you, Soul! You’re the best partner ever.”

“Whatever, it’s no problem. Just try not to drain me of all my blood, alright?” he chuckled weakly, avoiding her eyes in favor of staring a hole in the middle of the table.

She gave an easygoing laugh in response, and went back to conversing with Tsubaki as if she hadn’t just pressured her partner into volunteering himself as a guinea pig for the sake of someone who had literally sliced him open from shoulder to hip and infected him with black blood to begin with.

Is she fucking serious?

Blackstar was practically vibrating with fury from the interaction he’d just watched, and Tsubaki’s normally soothing hand on his shoulder did little to calm him down. When he glanced at Kid, he instantly knew the death god had shared his frustration with Maka’s obliviousness. 

It wasn’t long before Soul abruptly stood from his place at the end of the booth, pulling a twenty out of his wallet and placing it on the table in front of him.

“Soul? What are you doing? The food hasn’t even gotten here yet,” Maka blinked at him in confusion.

“I’m not feelin’ too great - gonna head out, sorry guys. Could you just bring my food back in a to-go box?” he said with an apologetic quirk of his lips. He squeezed her shoulder gently before turning on his heels and making his way out of the diner in long strides.

Why does she look so shocked? Does she really not understand that she’s been hurting him?

After that, the night passed by in a haze for Blackstar. He hardly spoke for the rest of the meal due to the fact that he was using all of his mental capacity to keep his impulse to stand up and loudly call his friend out in front of everybody in check. 

The only thing truly stopping him was the knowledge that Soul would likely be embarrassed and more than a little pissed off if he’d made a big scene over something that he wasn’t even willing to talk about.  

So he waited - held his tongue until he could lash out in private.

As everyone was saying their goodbyes, Blackstar watched her rise from her seat gathering her to-go boxes carefully and giving him a nod of acknowledgement before she headed out.

His eyes bore into the back of her head as she left, and Tsubaki’s hand clamped gently on him for the second time that night. Her eyes were crinkled with a gentle concern.

“I think you should leave this between them. If Soul wanted all of this out in the open, he would have had that conversation with her himself.”

A heavy sigh settled in his chest, “You know how he is. He’s the suffer in silence type and he always does her bidding. If nobody says anything, then nothing’ll change. I just want to talk to her - not like I’m gonna beat her ass or anything … unless she gives me a reason to.” 

“Blackstar,” she chided, fully aware that he would make good on that threat.

“I know, I know. I won’t be long, see ya at home,” he said, throwing up placating hands before stuffing them in his pockets and striding in the direction Maka had gone. 

            _______________________________________________

Maka set her walk home at a leisurely pace, dragging her feet slightly as she watched the sunset bleed into the sky above.

It wasn’t that she was trying to prolong seeing Soul, or that she wasn’t worried about the way he’d acted back in the diner - like something was eating at him. 

She was pretty positive that he wasn’t physically ill, which only left the option of it being an emotional issue. 

And getting Soul to talk about emotional issues was like trying to pull teeth from a temperamental bear. 

She had to figure out a way to go about this delicately, and she had to figure it out soon because their apartment block was fast approaching.

She stopped in her tracks when she felt the presence of a familiar soul behind her. His steps had been so quiet, she wouldn’t have even been aware he was stalking her from behind if it weren’t for her exceptional soul perception abilities.

“I know you’re following me, Blackstar.”

In moments, he was stepping out in front of her. “Wasn’t trying to hide. I need to talk to you,” his voice was uncharacteristically stern.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew Blackstar had some kind of problem with her since dinner. He was deathly quiet and glowering at her for most of the night; very unusual behavior from someone who never shuts up or hesitates to start a fight. 

“Okay, I’m listening,” she said, already preparing to defend herself against whatever absurd argument he wanted to pull her into.

“The whole situation with Crona - have you ever once thought about how Soul feels about it?”

Whatever she had been expecting to come out of his mouth - that wasn’t it.

“What? I mean, I know how Soul feels. He wants Crona to be safe, just like I do. What are you trying to get at?”

“I’m not talking about what he thinks about Crona being stuck in the deathdamned moon, Maka! I mean have you ever thought about how he felt when you forced Crona into his life to begin with? After being sliced open?” 

Maka’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline and her mouth opened and closed a few times, baffled by the question. 

“Soul understands why I welcomed Crona as a friend. He trusts me,” she answered, hoping her voice conveyed the confidence that she couldn’t find in this moment.

This entire conversation was throwing her off.

“Yeah, okay. He accepted your decision because he trusts you, or loves you or whatever the fuck. We all know that - but that doesn’t mean he was comfortable with it. It doesn’t mean he felt safe. He just stuffed his own feelings down, because he knew it made it easier for you.”

Her throat tightened as her own conflicting emotions overcame her. He had no idea what he was talking about. Soul was fine. He’s always been fine. 

“Did he say that to you? That he didn’t feel safe?” she choked out. 

“Soul? You think he tells people things? About his feelings?” he snorted. “No, he doesn’t have to tell me shit. It’s clear on his face every time you mention Crona, or Medusa, or that fucking blood.”

“Maybe you’re just making assumptions about how he feels!” she shouted back, gripping handfuls of the front of his shirt.

He leaned in, completely unfazed by the rage burning in her eyes. “You ever noticed how when Crona was around, he was always watching them out of the corner of his eye - twitching every time they made some sudden move. You ever noticed how quiet and withdrawn he’d get around them? Or any time they were brought up? You didn’t - because you didn’t want to.” 

“Shut up! Y-you’re making something out of nothing. Are you trying to tell me that I should just give up and forget about Crona? That they don’t deserve to have a friend?” 

Some of his aggression was fizzling out as he released a heavy sigh, placing his hands calmly over hers, still clenching in his shirt. “I’m not trying to say that you shouldn’t have helped Crona, or that you shouldn’t keep trying to help them now. I’m only telling you that even if Soul has forgiven and moved on - he’s still a victim of Crona’s actions. He suffered trauma from that, even if he’s too fucking stubborn to admit it. Just acknowledge that maybe he needs a break from thinking about them - all of that shit that happened - every now and then. Get your head out of Crona’s ass long enough to check if he’s okay too.”

She stumbled over wordless sounds as her hands went limp and released their vice-grip on his clothing. She was trying desperately to think of a way to refute the awful things he was saying, but Blackstar wouldn’t give her the chance. 

“If you gave him even half the thought you gave to Crona - maybe you would have noticed it like everybody else has. I just want you to think about it for a bit, that’s all,” his voice softened towards the end, shoulders sagging slightly as he turned away, leaving her to deal with the aftermath of his confrontation.

The heat of tears prickled behind her eyelids and she clenched her fists tightly to her sides. 

She wanted so badly to swing around and scream at Blackstar’s retreating figure that he was wrong, that he had no idea what he was talking about and of course she thinks about her weapon.

But the longer she allowed his harsh words to sink in; the more she could feel the sting of truth settling into her heart.

Had she really been so blind? 

             _______________________________________________

Soul had been laying on his back in bed, hands resting on his stomach and eyes pointed at the ceiling, unmoving for some time. He wasn’t entirely sure how many hours, but he knew his playlist had ended long ago - no music played from the earbuds that were still jammed in his ears.

He couldn’t explain the heaviness in his heart. The anxiety that often set in whenever Maka mentioned Crona or the black blood. It was all water under the bridge, wasn’t it? There was no point in allowing himself to wallow in all the negative emotions that punched him in the gut at the mention of their name. It was selfish to feel those things - it was his job to give Maka his full support. His own feelings were irrelevant.

It was just harder on this particular night. Sure, she droned on about those sore subjects often. Their research revolved around it anyways. He’d just hoped that it could have been different just for one night.

He’d secretly been ecstatic when Maka begrudgingly agreed to shelve her research just long enough to get a late dinner with all of their friends. A break had been long overdue. 

Things had been different between them, after all. They’d been sharing a bed, and they’d even shared a few kisses in the small, rare moments that they’d spent alone together - focused only on each other. They were chaste kisses, but he’d greedily take whatever he could get. 

As she became more frantic about her lack of results in helping Crona, he may as well have not even existed to her. 

He’d just needed that one dinner to pretend things were normal, to pretend as though he was on a date with her and she was willing to spend time with him and think about literally anything aside from her latest fixations. Instead, she’d asked him to play part in some unsound experiment - to prod for things that he hadn’t wanted to find again. It had only been made more uncomfortable by the scrutinizing presence of all of their friends. 

He’d felt used.

Soul perked up at the familiar sound of the front door creaking open and slamming shut. He was immediately ashamed of the pavlovian response he had to the sound of his meister returning - the little flip in his heart that made him feel like a stupid dog wagging its tail at the sound of its master.

Just keep to yourself. She doesn’t need to interact with you in this useless state of self pity. You don’t deserve her comfort.

Self-loathing curled in his gut and he kept his eyes stubbornly trained on a water stain in the ceiling.

Suddenly, light flooded into his dark room as his door was hesitantly opened. He reflexively brought himself to sit up on his elbows only to meet a teary-eyed Maka.

All self-indulgent angsty thoughts instantly evaporated from his head, and he was ripping his earbuds out and swinging his legs over the side of the bed to get up.

She made purposeful steps across his room, throwing her arms around his neck and forcing him back onto the bed with the motion.

“I’m so sorry, Soul,” she warbled mournfully into his sweater. 

“Huh? Sorry ‘bout what? What’s going on, Maka?” he tried to nudge her into looking up at him, but she adamantly refused.

She took a few shallow breaths before rubbing her wet cheek against the quickly-dampening fabric and looking up at him with dewy eyes.

“I haven’t been a good friend to you - have I? 

Was that a trick question?

“I-I don’t get what we’re talkin’ about here,” he stuttered uselessly, attempting to compensate for his lack of eloquence by brushing his fingers comfortingly through her soft hair.

“I never asked if you felt okay with Crona being around you. I never asked you if you forgave them at all - I just brought them into your space, your home. I just wanted them to have a chance at a normal life so badly - I ignored your pain, and I’m so sorry,” she rushed her confession out like it had been a breath she was holding in.

He had to fight the urge to bark out a laugh. It wasn’t that he found anything that she said humorous - it was just so strange that she was addressing this out of the blue. She’d seemed completely unaware as usual back at the diner, where had this even come from?

He was so lost in thought, he’d almost forgotten to respond and instantly regretted the prolonged silence he’d left her in. “Maka, it’s fine,” he insisted, “I get why you forgave Crona. I admire you for it.”

“But that doesn’t mean you were okay. I should have at least checked on you, or asked you about how you felt - or literally anything,’ she mumbled numbly from his chest.

“Hey. Look at me,” he said, lifting her cheek from its resting place against his sweater, “Sure, I didn’t feel the most comfortable around Crona. I think it was pretty awkward for both of us to be near each other. That doesn’t mean I dislike them, or didn’t want you to be their friend. You can’t beat yourself up over something I hadn’t bothered to tell you.”

His words hadn’t brought the comfort that he’d hoped they would, and her brows remained stubbornly crinkled. “If it had been me - if I was the one who’d been cut by that sword, would you still say that you don’t dislike them? That you’re okay with us being friends?”

It was a question that he instantly knew the answer to, but he was reluctant to say it out loud. He finally caved, bringing his eyes back to hers, “No. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive them if it was you.”

She closed her eyes tightly, nodding her head in grim acceptance of that truth. She had likely known that would be his answer already, but hearing it must have been difficult.

“But I love that about you. You have so much compassion. I only care for the few people that I’ve decided I love - I don’t have room in my heart for others like you do. I’d like to be more like you,” he whispered reverently, taking her cheeks in both of his hands and briskly wiping away all of the moisture he could reach with his thumbs.

“I should’ve had more compassion for you,” she lamented softly under her breath, eyes downcast.

“You’re not a fuckin’ mind reader, Maks. It was my choice not to bring anything up.”

She nodded slowly, but the way her grip tightened on him only confirmed his suspicion that she wasn’t going to forgive herself for it.

Minutes passed before a word was spoken, but Soul eventually cleared his throat. “You know, I don’t expect you to ever stop being friends with Crona, or to give up on rescuing them. I don’t want that. I don’t mind helping you like you’d asked earlier tonight, too. If that’s what you need from me, then I’m here.”

She brought herself to her elbows on top of him to get a better view of his face.

“I know. I’m not going to give up on them. But It matters to me that you’re happy too, and if that means you need a break from all that, then I want you to know that it’s okay to ask for that.”

“Right, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said in a hushed tone, distracting himself with a piece of her hair twirled between his fingers.

“And I don’t want to use your blood for research. It was wrong of me to even think of asking you that. We’ll find another way,” she assured him, voice tightening with emotion, “I definitely got carried away with all of this. It wasn’t healthy, and I really am sorry I’ve pushed you away in the process. We can’t solve this thing if we don’t have time to properly take care of ourselves. You’ve been working so hard with me, and I think we need more actual quality time together.”

“Yeah, I could get on board with that. I kinda walked out on dinner tonight, so how about we do something - just you and me tomorrow? Movies sound good?”

“Movies sounds great,” she hummed in agreement, hands idly playing with his hair.

As much as he would have preferred for her to continue her ministrations, he stopped her movements to grasp her hand, bringing it to his chest to rest above where she knew his scar was. He pressed down on her hand lightly.

“I’m glad it happened. I’m glad they gutted me, ‘cause I hadn’t understood what you meant to me till that moment,” he muttered, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head.

She only exhaled shakily, hand tightening against the evidence of his devotion.

“I just hate that it took a lecture from Blackstar of all people for me to realize that I’d been hurting you.”

His eyes widened a little at that new piece of information. Blackstar was the one that brought all of this on her mind? He could’ve sworn it would have been Kid if anyone. He couldn’t help but feel a little touched that Blackstar had been so concerned about him, but he was also somewhat irritated that his friend had distressed Maka as much as he had.

“Blackstar, huh? Remind me to have a conversation with him about mindin’ his own business,” he laughed half-heartedly.

“No, don’t. I’m glad that he said what he did - I needed to hear it,” she urged him.

“Doesn’t matter. He didn’t have to make my girlfriend cry from guilt over bein’ friends with someone,” he muttered, but his face immediately burned a bright red as soon as he’d caught what he’d called her.

She was a similar shade, holding her breath as well as his gaze with a tortuously difficult to decipher expression on her face.

“That is, uh- I mean… fuck.”  

Very articulate. Great job, Soul.

He hadn’t needed to agonize over whether or not he’d just fucked everything between them for long because her face soon melted into a warm, genuine smile.

“Girlfriend, huh?” she said with a glimmer of mischief in her eye.

“I’d like that. If that’s w-what you want,” he wanted to kick himself for the voice crack he just experienced. Not cool in the slightest. 

At least she got a good giggle out of it. The melodic sound squeezed something in his chest and he swallowed nervously as a response.

She brushed back his bangs, leaning in to place a soft kiss to his forehead. She peppered a trail of kisses down his cheek until she reached his lips. 

This kiss was far from chaste. She cradled his cheek and jaw as she slanted her mouth sweetly over his, pressing fervently, constantly moving against him and eliciting a breathy moan from him that he would never admit to making. 

When she tried to separate, he followed her, bumping noses for a moment and giving the corner of her mouth a few more enthusiastic pecks before backing up and allowing her room to look at his face. 

“Girlfriend sounds nice, actually,” she smiled broadly, letting her fingers brush against the back of his neck.

“Glad that’s settled, then,” he laughed easily, not even bothering to feel any embarrassment over the flush of his skin or the lightness of his breath.

He crushed her to his chest, and they stayed like that for a while, just listening to the other’s loudly beating hearts until they were lulled to sleep. 

He’d have to thank Blackstar with a game of basketball later.

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

May i request a hc or fic of Liora, Zhora and Vivienne finding out that their girlfriend has been psychologically/emotionally abused by their parents.

VIVIENNE WARNINGS APPLY: Mentions of Homophobia, external and internalized Mentions of Strict/Bullying parents. Mention of Conversion Camp -  Drugging, Negative association therapy, IMPLIED forced masturbation, illness and cane usage. Mention of controlling, forceful, cheating partner. Self Blaming. Spoilers for route. A writer trying a hand at serious Angst. WRITTEN BY @evoedBD +++++++++++++

How many times could she do this? How many times would she dash herself upon the rocks and drive Silvana to raise the shield between them? How many times would her own actions lead to that one-word spilling from gorgeous lips?

“Red.”

The word was safety. A shield. An absolute. It was the uncrossable line, a barrier reinforced by projected personas and deadly kisses. It was woven into a portrait of femininity, as delicate and deadly as any nightshade. It was warmth from the cold, comfort from leering eyes that aimed to feast just below the hemline of short black dresses, or dip beneath the shadowy garbs of lace. Now, safety was turned against her. Such a simple word suddenly tore at her heart, became the blood staining her hands as she attempted to understand how she had plunged the knife into the loving artist’s heart. Was this the price she had to pay to keep any form of happiness? Was she to continue to devastate those she cared for most just to feel a slither of comfort?

There was nothing she could do but freeze. She was rendered helpless in the face of Silvana’s tears; a net trying to hold the tide at bay. Silvana’s tears did not come with violent sobs and reaction, that was perhaps what was most terrifying of all. Silvana’s tears were fat, plummeting from her eyes, down her cheeks and off the point of her chin to mix with the paints laid out before her. They were so silent, so defeated that Vivienne felt as if she were struck. Vivienne trembled so violently long legs could no longer hold her. She dropped her rump to the floor, sliding down the wall until her knees were tucked protectively against her chest. Crushing her breast to her heart, as if the pressure could stop sorrow flooding her veins with every steady beat. Silently, she waited, watching Silvana simply mix the paints. Mix, and mix, and mix… lost in the simple action, as if her mind was elsewhere. The glaze to her chocolate eyes was not that glaze of looking into a world only she could see, was not the fogginess of an artist bringing a vision to life. This was darker, enough to shadow the vibrance usually seen across Silvana’s face.

“I was 14.” Silvana finally broke the silence. Vivienne lifted her head, body instantly on alert, ready to leap into the fray to battle off the demons haunting Silvana… except, she couldn’t. Memories had no physical form, nor consciousness to battle. To fight them would be to lay hands on Silvana; to play cruel mind games with Silvana. That was not something Vivienne was prepared to do, not again.

“I’m Cuban American, you know this.”

Vivienne could only nod. Of course she knew this, the information had not been difficult for a world class thieving gang to acquire when scouting for their forgery artist.

“Dad was born in the states, so he was a little less strict, but my family is religious. Highly religious. Old school, even. I was 14 when I made the mistake of talking about this girl I’d seen. I didn’t know I was bisexual then, or why I was so drawn to her, only that she was beautiful and funny, and her laugh made my stomach flutter and I couldn’t get her off my mind. My parents wanted to help, they were scared I would go to hell, that the Devil had me. My uncle and the pastors convinced them I was beyond prayer. That only the most faithful could save me… so my parents sent me to conversion camp.” Silvana stopped, lips quivering, breath laboured. She closed her eyes against the flood of memories, taking a deep breath to centre herself.

“Sil-” Vivienne never even got to finish that name before said woman cut her off.

“Vivi. Please. If you talk…” Silvana’s voice broke. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.

“I need to just get through this.” The artist pleaded; it was not the type of begging Vivienne would ever wish to hear fall from her lips. The seductress was once more robbed of her words when she gazed at Silvana’s face. The light was gone, as if trapped behind glistening layers of frosted glass which dulled chocolate eyes. Full lips fell into a frown, burdened by the weight of everything Silvana needed to say. It was enough to slice through Vivienne’s thick skin, to pierce her heart. At Vivienne’s meek nod, Silvana took another deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to reveal.

“Camp was… they drugged me. They deliberately made me ill as they showed me… or they forced me to… sin. Sin until I was sick. If I didn’t, the Nuns had canes and…” Silvana swallowed, shaking her head violently, as if she could dislodge the nightmares. Vivienne was almost sick. A hiccup of a sob escaped her. Her hand flew up to her mouth, covering her horrified expressions and stifling the wounded sounds about to escape on Silvana’s behalf. If only that was all Silvana had to say, all she’d endured. Unfortunately, Vivienne could already see, already knew that it was the iceberg in an ocean of abuse in the name of therapy.

“I can’t…” Silvana’s whisper was bittersweet. Selfishly, Vivienne was thankful. She hadn’t used her most waterproof makeup, and anymore was bound to turn her into a blubbering mess. Or a vengeful demon upon the church. The world was not ready for the vengeance she could plan, even without laying a finger on a single soul. Even if she had to charm and seduce every Priest, every Nun and even the Saints themselves. She would have them crooning their sins as ballads, confessing how many victims there were of their crimes… and if they did not? The Poppy had the power to make those crimes a reality, and to seize their treasures while they were at it.

“Once I got home, my parents kept treating me as if I was sick. If I mentioned any girls, Mom would make me spend hours praying to a painting of Jesus. Dad just… he blamed himself. Thought that all the stories he taught me to love took me from God. Everybody at school and Church knew. Lots of them made jokes about it all the time. I was so scared and disgusted and confused, but I couldn’t ask anybody for help. I couldn’t trust them. I prayed. Every day I prayed so hard for those feelings to go away. To not look at some women and… want them in the way I wanted some men. I kept looking for guys, the type of guys a good Godly woman should want, but there weren’t any. Until I got a summer job with one of my father’s friends, working with his son. We were both adults, but he was older and had a very, well, “strong” personality.” Silvana’s tone left little to the imagination. Vivienne, for all her twenty-six years of emotional and physical conditioning, couldn’t resist flinching. She didn’t want to hear it, hear what she already had her suspicions had happened. She knew Silvana had faced mistreatment, the artist had confessed as much after doubting Vivienne, arguing in the streets of Saint Petersburg. She’d confessed to small things which had damaged her trust, and those little things were enough for Vivienne to see red all over again. The Seductress bristled, pressing her back to the wall as she braved the storm Silvana was unleashing. It was better this way, that Silvana was not alone in the floods anymore. They were family, and Vivienne was all too willing to cast aside the sickly feeling in her gut to give Silvana a moment of peace.

“He saw how I looked at some of the boys my age, and some of the girls too. He was the first person aside form Claudia who wasn’t mean about it. He was really charming and kind, a little controlling, but it wasn’t like what I’d seen on TV. I didn’t realise it was so bad. He’d bring me flowers and wear this dapper suit to Sunday mass. He supported my arts, even would buy me these lovely paints. But it was always his way, you know? Every time he wanted something, we did it. I was too scared to ask for help, so it went unchecked. It just kept escalating. At first it was little things, like letting him pay or going where he wanted to on dates. Then it was what he wanted to eat, or the dress he wanted me to wear. Then it was he wanted me to… service him. Eventually, he wanted full blown sex. I kept saying I wasn’t ready, and he didn’t force me, but he kept trying to convince me. Kept pushing, until it was easier just to agree than come up with reasons not to. He wasn’t mean or rough, just pushy. I told my parents, but they wouldn’t listen to me. The devil had touched me, and I had to pray it away. His dad was so respected in the Church, he was too, and it wasn’t like he forced me, right? He just made some comments and I just caved. Whatever he wanted. He kept me on my knees like a good little girl, like a nun for God he used to say… until my mother caught us. Then I was tempting him, I was threatening to expose him if he didn’t do it. He was already going to marry me, so he agreed to fooling around out of wedlock to save me from the Devil.”

“He sounds positively charming.” Vivienne commented dryly. Her face contorted into a vicious frown, eyes almost firing lasers in her outrage on Silvana’s behalf.

“Yeah, well, not two weeks after we left for college, he was sleeping with other girls. He thanked me for being such a good girl for him, for getting him out of his home and taking the heat for him. Turns out, he had a flock of eager girls. They all kept quiet because they saw how the Church cast me out. I was just a scapegoat and a means to an end. I was easy.” The Cuban artist shrugged her shoulders, as if she could deflect her pain like water off a duck’s feathers. She couldn’t conceal how her lips shivered, parting around painful breaths she tried to keep silent. The flowing floral dress didn’t conceal how her sides heaved, nor how her shoulders caved. Accepting. Defeated. It was not a look Vivienne ever wanted to see again.

“Silvana. What he did was unacceptable.” There was nothing else Vivienne could say. She longed to. In every language she knew, she longed to cuss and spit until her voice left her and her throat was raw. Until she tasted blood for everything Silvana had endured. Perhaps she could ask Zoe to find this man, then pay him a visit. Be the worldly seductress of his dreams, only to cast him into deathly nightmares with her poisoned kiss. Members of the Poppy had built immunity to her poisons, to her charms and games, but the one who had hurt Silvana? Vivienne knew his type. He would be easy. Effortless.

“I didn’t know how to say no back then. I had so much catching up to do once I got away from the strict religious family. My first girlfriend dumped me after a few months. The Art Chic was adorable and sexy, but she wasn’t looking for a project. She didn’t want to deal with the religious guilt. She wasn’t in it for the long haul. That’s ok, I mean, I needed to learn more about myself too. But, I kept finding those types of partners. Pushy, looking for something casual and easy, not treating me respectfully. Maybe that’s why the Poppy didn’t bother me too much, it wasn’t personal or vindictive.”

“I’m sorry.” The words were careful and considered, gifted to the artist with the utmost sincerity. Vivienne’s manipulation had perhaps been the most personal of all, even if it was for different reasons. For weeks, months even, she had helped stalk the artist. Gathering information. Assessing her talents, her position, her life. Nausea struck Vivienne’s gut like a tsunami, rising like the tide up her throat. Every breath she claimed was like breathing through a hurricane in her lungs. She had probably seen those people. Ones who had hurt Silvana. Those who had convinced the artistic wonder that she was not good enough to succeed. Vivienne had been so close to them, close enough to have dealt with them. To have spared Silvana some of this pain, possibly, and she’d done nothing.

“Viv. You didn’t manipulate me like they did.” Silvana offered comfort, though Vivienne found it lacking. Weak. Dishonest. Vivienne Tang most certainly had manipulated. Everything was so beautifully orchestrated, the melodic notes in a lifelong melody, falling into place like aligned dominos. From their first meeting, Vivienne’s purred compliments, the touch of pearls. Vivienne had played the role to a fantasy, the worldly, older woman leading a young artist into a world of glamour, of crime and mystery. She’d played the role as if she were to be upon the silver screen. The mentor. The romantic interest. She’d let Silvana think her much older, let Silvana drown in the mysteries she wove. Any romance upon the screen needed to end with a kiss and a tragedy, and Vivienne had delivered to perfection. Poisoned lipstick, the whisper of an apology in her throat. How was this not like the others who’d used Silvana in the past?

“I played with your emotions, poisoned you, then abandoned you in a strange city.” Vivienne pointed out, guilt turning her tongue to led. She wished she could claim her guilt was because she was, somewhere, deep down, a good person. That she regretted using the Artist like she had because it was not the kind thing to do. However much she wished she could deflect that crime to her duties to the Poppy, she could not. Not fully. That had been her choice and hers alone. Her panic when someone had grazed the walls around her mind and heart. Someone had gotten under her scales. That was precisely it. Silvana had worked her way into the hearts of the tight knit Poppy, had earned her place amongst their little family. Vivienne only felt guilty because it was Silvana specifically. A girl she was attached to. Loyal to. Someone in her heart, nestled alongside Nikolai, Remy, Jett, Leon and Zoe. Had Silvana not infiltrated her heart, Vivienne would never even batter an eyelid. She was, after all, a selfish creature. A viper who took what she wanted and left the corpse to the vultures to pick over. Left her marks for lesser thieves to squabble over like starved wolves.

“Yeah, that hurt, I can’t lie. But Viv, we worked through everything. I chased you, The Poppy, half way around the continent to do it. And I won’t lie and say we had it easy, but we got there. We faced it. We’re ok. We’re a team, family. I don’t hold any of that against you. Just, your comment, this piece. The heist. It brings back memories.”

“You are so much bigger than all of them. Silvana Mendo, you have painted your name across the world. Your forgeries hang in some of the finest galleries, fooling the greatest critics and adoring eyes by the thousands, still undiscovered years later. All those people who doubted you are meaningless fools. Please, zaika, do not let them drag you from the stars.” Vivienne’s voice was gentle, her pleading sincere. She lowered her knees, shifting until she was kneeling close to the artist, a devotee at the feet of a deity. The way Silvana’s lips curled into a sad smile was lancing; left Vivienne’s emotions bleeding from her in the form of answering tears. Eyeliner ran like charcoal down ashen cheeks, mirroring what she was staring at. She longed to fix this, wished she had the answers to make everything better. All she had were pretty words. Pretty words and small gestures.

“I know, but it isn’t always easy to feel like I know it. You’ve helped me become a more confident version of myself. Taught me how to fend those people off. Just, some days it feels as if my insecurity will break me.”

Vivienne scarcely registered removing one of her long silken gloves, only that her fingers felt bare against her poisoned lips. Her deadly kiss, meant with the most pure of intentions. It was stupid. As if such a minor gesture could give anything back to Silvana. As if it could mend wounds. The best it could so was send her loopy once the poison soaked into her pores. Vivienne caught her hand half extended, reaching towards the light, trying to drag it back into the Artist’s soul. She froze. Was she truly worthy? She had acted just the same as people who’d hurt the Cuban, what gave HER the right to try to fix it. One look at Silvana gave her the answer. It was so simple, as sure as the sun rose and set. As sure as the ground was beneath their knees. Silvana gave her the right, even without uttering a single word. Deep brown eyes implored Vivienne to close the distance, to try to tend to these gaping wounds. Both women watched Vivienne’s hand tremble as she closed the distance. A gentle brush of fingertips, delivering intent without risking a lipstick stain. Then, Vivienne was lost, running long fingers through frizzy hair in an effort to pull it away from a damp face. To reveal the beauty it was currently concealing.

“Then I’ll do my best to piece you back together. As many times as I must.” Vivienne vowed, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her gloved hand lifted, gently curling around Silvana’s cheek. With her removed glove Vivienne dabbed at Silvana’s cheeks, wiped her runny nose, fretted over every smudge of paint. She remained there, dabbing delicately at the mess until Silvana’s tears ran dry. Until fussing earned soft laughter and playful comments. It was a far cry from Silvana’s most joyful, but it was a step. Vivienne already knew this would happen again. These dark memories would eat at the Artist, but Vivienne was determined to hold on. To keep the pieces together, even if it meant her own hands were sliced open. Even if it hurt. For all the treasures she had seen, all the riches she had stolen, nothing could compare to Silvana. The angel on her shoulder. The woman who embodied safety. The being who was her safe haven.

If Vivienne Tang had to bleed for something, she chose Silvana.

Every. Single. Time.

[c-ptsdrecovery]

Humiliation, negating, criticizing

These tactics are meant to undermine your self-esteem. The abuse is harsh and unrelenting in matters big and small.

Here are some examples:

Name-calling. They’ll blatantly call you “stupid,” “a loser,” or words too awful to repeat here.

Derogatory “pet names.” This is just more name-calling in not-so-subtle disguise. “My little knuckle dragger” or “My chubby pumpkin” aren’t terms of endearment.

Character assassination. This usually involves the word “always.” You’re always late, wrong, screwing up, disagreeable, and so on. Basically, they say you’re not a good person.

Yelling. Yelling, screaming, and swearing are meant to intimidate and make you feel small and inconsequential. It might be accompanied by fist-pounding or throwing things.

Patronizing. “Aw, sweetie, I know you try, but this is just beyond your understanding.”

Public embarrassment. They pick fights, expose your secrets, or make fun of your shortcomings in public.

Dismissiveness. You tell them about something that’s important to you and they say it’s nothing. Body language like eye-rolling, smirking, headshaking, and sighing help convey the same message.

“Joking.” The jokes might have a grain of truth to them or be a complete fabrication. Either way, they make you look foolish.

Sarcasm. Often just a dig in disguise. When you object, they claim to have been teasing and tell you to stop taking everything so seriously.

Insults of your appearance. They tell you, just before you go out, that your hair is ugly or your outfit is clownish.

Belittling your accomplishments. Your abuser might tell you that your achievements mean nothing, or they may even claim responsibility for your success. [Ignoring or refusing to celebrate your accomplishments may also be emotionally abusive/neglectful in a close relationship.]

Put-downs of your interests. They might tell you that your hobby is a childish waste of time or you’re out of your league when you play sports. Really, it’s that they’d rather you not participate in activities without them [or they’re jealous of your skill in this or some other area they don’t excel in].

Pushing your buttons. Once your abuser knows about something that annoys you, they’ll bring it up or do it every chance they get.

Control and shame

Trying to make you feel ashamed of your inadequacies is just another path to power. [These abusive behaviors can be harder to recognize in parents than in romantic partners, as parents generally exert some level of healthy control over young children’s lives. The issue is then with the degree of control, the age of the child, and the extent of the trauma caused.]

Tools of the shame and control game include:

Threats. Telling you they’ll take the kids and disappear, or saying “There’s no telling what I might do.” [From parents, threats that they’ll take your belongings or seriously and unjustly punish you]

Monitoring your whereabouts. They want to know where you are all the time and insist that you respond to calls or texts immediately. They might show up just to see if you’re where you’re supposed to be.

Digital spying. They might check your internet history, emails, texts, and call log. They might even demand your passwords.

Unilateral decision-making. They might close a joint bank account, cancel your doctor’s appointment, or speak with your boss without asking.

Financial control. They might keep bank accounts in their name only and make you ask for money. You might be expected to account for every penny you spend.

Lecturing. Belaboring your errors with long monologues makes it clear they think you’re beneath them.

Direct orders. From “Get my dinner on the table now” to “Stop taking the pill,” orders are expected to be followed despite your plans to the contrary.

Outbursts. You were told to cancel that outing with your friend or put the car in the garage, but didn’t, so now you have to put up with a red-faced tirade about how uncooperative you are.

Treating you like a child. They tell you what to wear, what and how much to eat, or which friends you can see.

Feigned helplessness. They may say they don’t know how to do something. Sometimes it’s easier to do it yourself than to explain it. They know this and take advantage of it.

Unpredictability. They’ll explode with rage out of nowhere, suddenly shower you with affection, or become dark and moody at the drop of a hat to keep you walking on eggshells.

They walk out. In a social situation, stomping out of the room leaves you holding the bag. At home, it’s a tool to keep the problem unresolved.

Using others. Abusers may tell you that “everybody” thinks you’re crazy or “they all say” you’re wrong.

Accusing, blaming, and denial

This behavior comes from an abuser’s insecurities. They want to create a hierarchy in which they’re at the top and you’re at the bottom.

Here are some examples:

Jealousy. They accuse you of flirting or cheating on them.

Turning the tables. They say you cause their rage and control issues by being such a pain.

Denying something you know is true. An abuser will deny that an argument or even an agreement took place. This is called gaslighting. It’s meant to make you question your own memory and sanity.

Using guilt. They might say something like, “You owe me this. Look at all I’ve done for you,” in an attempt to get their way.

Goading then blaming. Abusers know just how to upset you. But once the trouble starts, it’s your fault for creating it.

Denying their abuse. When you complain about their attacks, abusers will deny it, seemingly bewildered at the very thought of it.

Accusing you of abuse. They say you’re the one who has anger and control issues and they’re the helpless victim.

Trivializing. When you want to talk about your hurt feelings, they accuse you of overreacting and making mountains out of molehills.

Saying you have no sense of humor. Abusers make personal jokes about you. If you object, they’ll tell you to lighten up.

Blaming you for their problems. Whatever’s wrong in their life is all your fault. You’re not supportive enough, didn’t do enough, or stuck your nose where it didn’t belong.

Destroying and denying. They might crack your cell phone screen or “lose” your car keys, then deny it. [They also break your belongings when “in a rage” and “out of control”... and yet prove they ARE in control by never breaking THEIR belongings in similar circumstances.]

Emotional neglect and isolation

Abusers tend to place their own emotional needs ahead of yours. Many abusers will try to come between you and people who are supportive of you to make you more dependent on them.

They do this by:

Demanding respect. No perceived slight will go unpunished, and you’re expected to defer to them. But it’s a one-way street.

Shutting down communication. They’ll ignore your attempts at conversation in person, by text, or by phone.

Dehumanizing you. They’ll look away when you’re talking or stare at something else when they speak to you.

Keeping you from socializing. Whenever you have plans to go out, they come up with a distraction or beg you not to go.

Trying to come between you and your family. They’ll tell family members that you don’t want to see them or make excuses why you can’t attend family functions.

Withholding affection. They won’t touch you, not even to hold your hand or pat you on the shoulder. They may refuse sexual relations to punish you or to get you to do something.

Tuning you out. They’ll wave you off, change the subject, or just plain ignore you when you want to talk about your relationship.

Actively working to turn others against you. They’ll tell co-workers, friends, and even your family that you’re unstable and prone to hysterics.

Calling you needy. When you’re really down and out and reach out for support, they’ll tell you you’re too needy or the world can’t stop turning for your little problems.

Interrupting. You’re on the phone or texting and they get in your face to let you know your attention should be on them.

Indifference. They see you hurt or crying and do nothing.

Disputing your feelings. Whatever you feel, they’ll say you’re wrong to feel that way or that’s not really what you feel at all.

Codependence

A codependent relationship is when everything you do is in reaction to your abuser’s behavior. And they need you just as much to boost their own self-esteem. You’ve forgotten how to be any other way. It’s a vicious circle of unhealthy behavior. [It is generally caused by poor boundaries. The good news is that you can LEARN to create healthy boundaries!]

You might be codependent if you:

are unhappy in the relationship, but fear alternatives

consistently neglect your own needs for the sake of theirs

ditch friends and sideline your family to please your partner

frequently seek out your partner’s approval

critique yourself through your abuser’s eyes, ignoring your own instincts

make a lot of sacrifices to please the other person, but it’s not reciprocated

would rather live in the current state of chaos than be alone

bite your tongue and repress your feelings to keep the peace

feel responsible and take the blame for something they did

defend your abuser when others point out what’s happening

try to “rescue” them from themselves

feel guilty when you stand up for yourself

think you deserve this treatment

believe that nobody else could ever want to be with you

change your behavior in response to guilt; [for example,] your abuser says, “I can’t live without you,” so you stay

[arcticdementor]

Kayfabe is a treasured part of pro wrestling culture. Kayfabe refers to the commitment of everyone involved (the wrestlers, the refs, the announcers, and to a certain degree the fans) to maintaining the shared fiction that pro wrestling matches are unscripted. (Wrestling is real, in the sense that the athletes are taking real punishment and risk really getting hurt, and there is a degree of improvisation, but the outcomes are predetermined.) Kayfabe has had a kind of mythical importance to many in the pro wrestling community: you keep kayfabe no matter what, even in the event of serious injury, out of a sense of sacred commitment. Crucial to understanding kayfabe is that it is not an attempt to deceive the audience. Modern wrestling is in some ways perfectly open about the scripted nature of the matches. Fooling people is not the point. If every fan signed an affidavit saying they knew the outcomes were predetermined the wrestlers would still keep kayfabe, out of commitment to the culture. Kayfabe is a mutually-approved illusion. It is artifice, but it is mutually agreed upon artifice, a consensual fantasy.

Our current political culture is kayfabe.

The illusion that we pretend to believe is that we are in some sort of uniquely politically fertile moment for progressivism and social justice, that we are experiencing a social revolution or “Great Awokening.” Further, we keep kayfabe by acting as if we believe that certain policies like police abolition or abolishing border enforcement (or if you prefer utterly meaningless sloganeering, “abolishing ICE”) are tangibly viable in anything like the near future. I say that these are kayfabe to emphasize my belief that most people who endorse these beliefs are well aware that they are not true, and to underline the sense in which the commitment to unreality is mutual, an expression of a strange kind of social contract. Most thinking adults comprehend the current moment and understand that the hand of establishment power and the influence of social inertia are as strong as ever. (Why would you feel otherwise?) But because people have understandably been moved by recent righteous calls for justice, they feel they must accept the fiction of a new awakening to show solidarity with the victims of injustice. This is emotionally understandable, but strategically counterproductive. And indeed one thing that has defined these new social movements is their relentless commitment to the emotional over the strategic.

…

Living in a culture of political kayfabe is a strange experience. It feels the way that, I imagine, it feels to live under a truly authoritarian government, where you’re constantly having exchanges where everyone involved knows that what they’re saying is bogus but you push right through the cognitive dissonance with a smile on your face. Only you’re not compelled by the fear of torture or imprisonment but of vague-but-intense social dictates, of the crucial priority of appearing to be the right kind of person. So often political conversations today have this dual quality where you feel forced to constantly evaluate what your interlocutor actually believes even as propriety compels you to take seriously what’s coming out of their mouth.

A major negative consequence of our commitment to kayfabe lies in our acceptance of behaviors we would ordinarily never accept, under the theory that this is such a special time, we need to shut up and go along with it. Take our broken discourse, as frequently discussed in “cancel culture” debates. My experience and my intuition tell me that almost everyone in the progressive/left/socialist world knows that our discourse norms and culture are totally fucked up. Trust me: most people in liberal spaces, Black and white, male and female, trans and cis, most certainly including people in academia and media, are well aware that we’ve entered into a bizarre never-ending production of The Crucible we can’t get out of. They’re probably just as sick of Woko Haram as I am.

But they’re either empowered and enriched by this state of affairs, and don’t want the party to end, or they’re holding on for dear life trying not to get their lives ruined for speaking out of turn. Look past self-interest and self-preservation and you’ll find that everybody knows that the way left spaces work now is horribly broken and dysfunctional. The problem is that thinking people who would ordinarily object don’t because they’ve been convinced that this is some sort of special moment pregnant with progressive potential, and that is more important than rights, compassion, or fairness. So we maintain a shared pretense that things are cool the way you go through the motions on an awful date where you’re both aware you’ll never see each other again.

If I say “cancel culture,” normies indeed don’t know what I’m talking about, because they are healthy, adjusted people with a decent set of priorities who value their own time and lives too much to get caught up in all of this horseshit. But if I say “cancel culture” in front of a bunch of politics-obsessed professional-class shitlibs they will pretend to not know what I’m talking about. They’ll put on a rich fucking show. They do an impression of Cletus from The Simpsons and go “cancel culture?!? Hyuck hyuck what’re that? I’m not knowing cancel culture, I’m just a simple country lad!” These are people who have read more about cancel culture in thinkpieces than I read about any topic in a year. But pretending you don’t know what cancel culture is happens to be a key part of the performance, a naked in-group signifier, so they pretend. The “I don’t know what cancel culture is” bullshit performance is kayfabe at its most infuriating. I know you know what cancel culture is because you’re currently using it to demonstrate your culture positioning by pretending you don’t know what it is. You fucking simpleton.

People say and do weird shit and it’s all wrong but you just pretend like it isn’t. Who wants to be the one caught making waves? When you’re in a group of people and someone engages in something patently ridiculous - when, for example, someone says “AAVE” in an ordinary social situation with no academic or political reason to use jargon, even though everyone there knows the phrase “the way Black people talk” is more elegant, useful, and true - and the moment passes and there’s this inability to look each other in the eye, when everybody starts studying their drink and clearing their throat, that’s life under kayfabe.

Getting to this is not normal. It’s not a healthy state of affairs. It can only happen when people come to believe that self-preservation requires pretending things are OK.

…

It is at this point that people say that “defund” does not mean “abolish,” which is true, and Defund the Police indeed does not mean “abolish the police.” Defund the police means nothing, now, though I’m sure that the people who started using it had noble intentions. At this point it’s a floating signifier, an empty slogan that people rallied around with zero understanding of what semantic content it could possibly contain. If it’s meant to be a radical demand, why use the vocabulary of an actuary? If it’s meant to mean a meaningful but strategic drawdown of resources, why use it interchangeably with “abolish”? I cannot imagine a more comprehensive failure of basic political messaging than Defund the Police. Amateur hour from beginning to end.

I take the political concept of alternatives to policing seriously, in the same way I take many political ideas seriously that are not likely achievable in my lifetime. I know there are deeply serious people who are profoundly committed to these principles and who have thought them through responsibly. I appreciate their work and become better informed from what they say. But their ideas did not reign last year. A faddish embrace of a thoughtless caricature of police abolition reigned, pushed with maximum aggression and minimal introspection by the shock troops of contemporary progressive ideas, overeducated white people with more sarcasm than sense.

Policing will not end tomorrow or next month or next year. And whoever you are, reading this, you are well aware of that fact. The odds of police abolition in any substantial portion of this country are nil. Indeed, I would say that the likelihood of meaningful reduction in policing in any large region of this country, whether measured by patrolling or funding or manpower, is small. Individual cities may reduce their police forces by a substantial fraction, and I suspect that they will not suddenly devolve into Mega-City One as a result. (Though I can’t say initial data in this regard is encouraging.) I hope we learn important lessons about intelligent and effective police reform and more sensible resource allocation from those places. But the vast majority of cities will not meaningfully change their policing budgets, due to both the legitimate lack of political will for such a thing - including in communities of color - and broken municipal politics with bad incentives.

…

Living under kayfabe makes you yearn for plainspoken communication, for letting the mask fall. The professed inability of progressives to understand why woke-skeptical publications like this one keep succeeding financially is itself a slice of kayfabe. They know people are paying for Substacks and podcasts and subscribing to YouTubes and Patreons because it’s exhausting to constantly spend all of your time pretending things that don’t make sense make sense, pretending that you believe things you don’t to avoid the social consequences of telling the truth.

When you’re someone who spent the past several decades arguing that the American university system is not hostile to conservative students, that it doesn’t try to force extremely contentious leftist views onto students, and then you watch this video, how do you react? I think many people, most people, even most people committed to the BLM cause, see that video and wince. That is not how we get there. Browbeating 20 year olds for not parroting your politics back at you is not how racial justice gets advanced. But if you’re caught in this moment, how do you object? Acknowledge that, yes, in fact, it is now plainly the case that many professors see it as their job to forcefully insist on the truth of deeply controversial claims to their students, berating them until they acquiesce? Well that would be an unpleasant conversation with the other parents when you pick up your kid from Montessori school. So you just choose not to see, or keep you mouth shut, or speak in a way that maintains the illusion.

I mean there is the absurdity of what she’s saying to contend with - the now fairly common view that policing was literally invented in the antebellum South purely to enforce slavery, because in ancient Rome if someone came in your house and stole your stuff you’d just be like “oh damn, that sucks.” Is there a relationship between modern policing and slavery? Of course. Does the legacy of slavery and Jim Crow infect modern policing at every point? Sure. Should we make political and policy decisions that recognize that historical influence on policing, especially given the racist reality of policing right now? Yes. But what good does it do anyone to pretend that the concept of “the police” is 250 years old? Why on earth would we get the correct shit we do believe tangled up with this bizarre shit we don’t believe? (The professor in that video does not herself honestly believe the police were invented to support African slavery in 18th and 19th century America.) Because this utterly ahistorical idea is being promulgated by people who claim to speak from a position of justice, we are forced to assign seriousness to it that it hasn’t earned, seriousness that it could never deserve. Because we live in a world of mutual delusion. Because of kayfabe.

…

And the fact that some will wrinkle their noses about this piece and its arguments, go about their days of progressive performance art, and pretend they don’t believe every word they just read? That’s kayfabe, my friend. That’s kayfabe. And we’re trapped in it, all of us, you and I. You know it’s all bullshit. Will you keep the code anyway? I’m willing to bet that the answer is yes.

[opheliacassiopea]

CHAPTER 3.

TW: typical case briefing, mentions of missing person, a stalker, significant injury, blood, gore, weapon; guns and murder / death. Case based on 3x06.

Once everybody had regrouped at the station, the profile was delivered in it’s usual manner with each member of the team contributing various snippets of information to the local police department. Morgan addresses the room “He’s a white male, shoe prints put him at around 5’11-” and before he can continue an officer in the crowd sarcastically calls out

“So you’ve narrowed it down to anybody of average weight and height? Why bother getting the FBI in when we could have done that ourselves?” Morgan simply suppresses an eye roll and Emily senses that this is her time to take over.

“The unsub shows a level of sophistication and patience which suggests a level of maturity, and we are therefore putting his age between mid thirties to forties.”

Pushing himself off the desk, Reid continues with the stream of information “the first victim, Michelle Colucci was taken from the initial crime scene and then later disposed of at a separate location four days later, meaning that she was held elsewhere for at least three days. The unsub most likely has access to a house or shelter of some kind.”

Weaving your way forward you take over from Reid “It’s also worth noting that he’s fairly tech savvy, he made the posters on a computer and it’s probable that he used a device to intercept and listen to Enid White’s phone call” you tell the room of local police and as you turn to the others to indicate for somebody else to speak up, it is Hotch picks up from where you left off.

“These things tell us that this unsub is incredibly average, exceedingly so in fact and this is apparent in all aspects of his life; he blends in, he’s just another face in the crowd. The murders give him a sense of power, but this does not make him notable, it only makes him arrogant.”

“How are we supposed to catch him if he’s basically invisible?” Detective Yarbrough questions.

Hotch looks toward JJ, indicating for her to answer the detective “We think we can get this unsub to contact you, the crime scenes show that he wants the police to be involved and by leaking the image of the mask left at each crime scene, he’ll more than likely want to talk.” It’s Rossi who rounds the briefing up and you find yourself scanning the room, watching the officers disperse, wondering how long it will take for the plan to be put into action. 

Making yourself your third cup of tea that day, you hear JJ calling your name “Paisley he’s on line one, Hotch wants you to be the one to talk to him” upon hearing her words, you abandon your tea and follow after her, taking deep breaths as you go. 

Hotch acknowledges you as you enter “Come on Paisley, we need you on this, lets go”. You look around, taking in the room and give a small nod, taking a deep breath as you reach over and answer the call.

“This is FBI supervisory special agent Paisley Selwyn.” Keeping your voice neutral you begin, 

 unsure of what the response will be, but it doesn’t take long to find out.

“You called me impotent” he states “and I am not impotent, you lied” the volume of his voice alerts you to the fact that he might be in a public setting and decide to test the waters with him.

“Why are you whispering, are you at work? If you’re not happy with what we told the press, why don’t you come in and correct them yourself?” you ask, spurring the conversation on for a few more minutes, pushing him more and more until Garcia informs you all that Edin White drew up the plans for a remodel of a software company and continued to work there until two months ago. Shortly after this information is revealed, the phone call is promptly ended by the unsub disconnecting the call. 

Looking up from the table, you exchange looks with your team, all sharing the same thought; the unsub had previously worked at the software company which would explain not only his knowledge of technology, but also his connection to Edin White. Due to his behaviour on the phone, it was likely that he was still in that very same software building that Garcia had mentioned a few minutes prior. In what feels like no time at all, you arrive at the scene, the other SUV just seconds behind you. Hotch tasks you and Morgan with searching the seventh floor of the building, leaving Prentiss and Reid to search floors eight and nine, but insists that you don’t approach the target. You all agree and head off in separate directions and it is Reid who makes the breakthrough in finding the desk and the phone that called into the station beforehand, and most notably, a copy of Edin White’s missing person’s poster. Upon relaying this information to the rest of the team, you all regroup in the lobby and it is there that the case begins to draw to a close. Rossi notices the unsub first, Hotch right behind him “Max Pool, stop where you are and turn around slowly” his voice is straight laced, demanding.

Echoing Hotch’s attempt to calm the situation, Rossi coaxes him to do the same thing. “That’s it nice and slow-” Rossi stops short as the unsub reveals a gun from the inside of his waistband. 

It’s Hotch who takes over now, still using the same demanding tone “Put it down Max, slowly, put it down, there’s no way out of this.” Ignoring Hotch’s instructions, he raises the weapon toward the team and the crowd of workers behind you, and then it’s over in seconds; Rossi firing two shots to the unsub’s chest. After checking on everybody, Hotch’s focus changes from the team’s wellbeing to the case at hand “Enid White, we need a location, now.”

Your head whips around “I’m already on it” gesturing to the phone pressed against your ear. “Garcia is tracking Pool’s last known movements to give us an idea of where he would have been holding her'' you notice his tightly clenched jaw relax ever so slightly as Garica’s voice comes through the phone “I managed to track his movements using CCTV from the past few days and the only place he’s been other than work is his apartment” 

“You’re an angel, brilliant thanks Garcia” you disconnect from the call, aware that the team’s full attention is focused on you, “Pool’s apartment, Garcia said the only place he’s been is his apartment.” you tell them, turning toward the SUV’s and from behind you hear Hotch issuing instructions to the others. The team arrives at the apartment in record time, ambulance and medics on standby with each member of the team clearing a room and searching for Enid White. Entering through the backdoor into the kitchen with Morgan you hear Prentiss calling out that she had Edin and needed a medic to assist. Derek slings an arm over your shoulder as you exit the apartment, breathing a sigh of relief that Edin was mainly unharmed and would go on to make a full recovery.

Looking around the jet, you survey the team as they decompress from the case after a long two days. Predictably JJ is reading the next case file with one hand intertwined with Emily’s, who sits opposite her lost in her thoughts as she stares out the window. As per usual after a case, Spencer is sprawled out on the sofa fast asleep, meanwhile Derek’s music can be heard coming from his headphones. To nobody’s surprise, Dave can be found toward the back of the jet with a glass of scotch in his hand and presumably Hotch is in the small kitchen area. You revel in the silence, basking in the pages of your book and you’re so enthralled with reading that you don’t notice Hotch moving to sit in his usual seat opposite you. “I’m surprised you’re not working on your thesis” he says, with a soft smile, drawing your attention away from your book. Aaron Hotchner’s smile was a rare sight to see, but if you were lucky enough to witness it, it was a beautiful thing to behold. 

Looking up at him, you smile in return “I thought I’d wait till we got back home, there’s not much of a library on the jet unfortunately, though I’m starting to think the team is more excited about this doctorate than I am” you state, a smile present in your voice as you laugh softly. 

“Penelope was right you know, we should celebrate you.” your breath hitches in your throat as he continues “your one year anniversary isn’t something to overlook, Paisley.” He tells you and you can hear the sincerity in his voice. 

“God knows what she’s planned, I really don’t want anything extravagant” you tell him, closing your book and raking a hand through your hair.

He nods knowingly “I thought you’d say that, which is why I persuaded her to book a table at Riley’s”. Riley’s was your favourite bar, it was the first bar the team had taken you to after your first case with them one year ago and for this reason it held a special place in your heart. You weren’t shocked by Hotch’s knowledge of this - he was an amazing profiler after all, but the thing you were taken aback by was the fact that he was showing a softer side to himself, rather than his usual stoic demeanour. “Hotch wow, thankyou, I-“ 

“You don’t need to thank me Paisley, like I said, you’re worth celebrating”. Smiling at him once more, you let a comfortable silence wash over the both of you as you begin to read again, finding comfort in not only the pages of your book, but Hotch’s company too.

[waywardaardvark79]

Supernatural Rewrite: Season 1, Episode 7: Hook Man

Summary: Y/N Singer joins Sam and Dean on the road. A rewrite starring you. 

Pairing: eventual Dean X Reader, Sam X Reader (platonic)

Warnings: language, show level violence

Word Count: 8,910

A/N: I’ll try to do at least one episode a week. No set schedule. Tags are open. 

"What in the hell did you do, kid?" Bobby asked you. 

"Dad, just listen." you said, one hand holding the phone, the other running through your hair. 

"I'm listenin'." Bobby said, waiting for you to explain yourself. 

"It was a shifter, Dad. I didn't actually try to kill someone." you said, your attention on Dean, who was sitting at the outdoor table alone, Sam busy on the phone. 

" I know that, ya idjit. What I want to know is how it happened." Bobby said. 

"Well, it got the jump on us in the sewer, and then one thing just led to another. I may have pissed it off a little, but it wasn't my fault, Dad. It had Dean." you said. 

"Girl, how many times have I told you that your mouth would be your undoing?" Bobby asked. 

"Come on, Dad. I don't need another lecture. I get it, okay. I'll be more careful next time." you said. 

"And how many times have I heard that?" Bobby asked. 

"Probably as many times as I have." you said, the two of you falling silent for a moment. "Are you takin' care of yourself?" 

"Yeah, yeah." Bobby said. 

"Dad." you said. 

"I'm takin' care of myself, kid. I about had a damn heart attack when I saw that you were wanted for attempted murder, but other than that, I'm fine." Bobby said. 

"Nah, that was probably all the greasy food you eat, not me. Eat a salad or something, and quit stressing about everybody else's problems. I need your grumpy ass to stick around for awhile." you said. 

Bobby scoffed, "Yeah, ok...a salad. You take care of yourself, too, kid. Don't make me track you down, and try to stay out of trouble, will ya?" Bobby asked. 

"Yeah, I will, but you know me." you said, pausing for a moment, "Hey, Dad?" you asked, wanting to tell him about what was happening to you, thinking that if anyone would have an answer for you, he would. 

"Yeah." Bobby said, but you couldn't bring yourself to tell him, "Hey, you okay, kid?" Bobby asked, when you didn't say anything. 

"N-nothin', guess I just miss you, old man." you said, not wanting to worry him. 

"Miss you, too, kid." Bobby said. 

"Bye, Dad." you said before hanging up the phone and walking back over to Dean. 

"Got you a fresh cup." Dean said, sliding a cup of coffee  towards you once you sat down. 

"Thanks." you said before grabbing the coffee and taking a sip. 

"Bobby pissed?" Dean asked. 

"He wouldn't be Dad if he wasn't a little pissed, but I  think he was mostly just worried." you said, looking around for Sam. 

"He's still on the phone." Dean said. 

You nodded your head, "I did tell him that I'd try to stay out of trouble." you said, trying to keep the conversation going, things had been a little awkward between the two of you. 

Dean chuckled, "You stayin' out of trouble...now that would be something to see." Dean said. 

"Yeah, yeah, look who's talkin'." you said, a smile on your face. "Hey, uh-" you got out before Dean cut you off. 

"Your, uh, half-caf, double vanilla latte is gettin' cold over here, Francis." Dean said to Sam. 

"Bite me." Sam said as he sat down. 

"You get anything?" you asked, Sam shaking his head no. 

"I had 'em check the FBI's Missing Person Data Base. No John Doe's fitting Dad's description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations." Sam said. 

"Sam, I'm tellin' ya, I don't think Dad wants to be found." Dean said, Sam looking disappointed. "Check this out." he said, showing you and Sam an article he had been reading. "It's a news item out of Planes Courier. Ankeny, Iowa. It's only about a hundred miles from here." 

"The mutilated body was found near the victim's car, parked on 9 Mile Road." Sam read aloud. 

"Well, you had me at mutilated." you said, leaning back in your chair. 

Dean chuckled, "Keep reading." he said. 

"Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted as saying the attacker was invisible." Sam read. 

"Could be interesting." Dean said, you nodding your head in agreement. 

"Or it could be nothing at all. One freaked out witness who didn't see anything? Doesn't mean it's the invisible man." Sam argued. 

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me, Sam? You know it's something. I mean, mutilated body, come on." you said. 

"You got a feeling about it or something?" Sam asked, still a little mad that you hadn't explained to him what happened in the sewer. 

"No, I can just fucking read, and I know this is something." you shot back. 

"Dad would check it out." Dean said. 

The three of you were in the car, none of you speaking, all of you a little annoyed with each other. Sam and Dean were frustrated that you wouldn't tell them what was going on, and you were frustrated that they didn't seem to understand you when you told them that you would tell them when you were ready. 

Dean stopped the car in front of a fraternity house. The frat brothers that were outside were giving the three of you confused looks as you all got out of the car. 

"One more time, why are we here?" Sam asked. 

"Victim lived here." Dean said as the three of you walked up to some guys fixing a car, "Nice wheels." Dean said, the guys looking at him strangely. "We're your fraternity brothers, from Ohio. We're new in town, transfers, and we're looking for a place to stay." Dean said. 

The frat boy wiped his hands on a rag, "Who's she?" he asked, nodding his head in your direction. 

"Just a friend of theirs." you said, stepping forward. 

"Just a friend?" the guy asked, smiling at you. 

"That's right." you said, smiling back at him. 

"Well, see, we're not supposed to let you stay here, seein' as you're a girl and all." the frat boy said. 

"Well, Sugar, I won't tell if you don't." you said, the goofy smile he gave you letting you know that you had him on the hook. 

"Oh, I won't say anything. You know, maybe you could stay in my room." he said, a cocky grin on his face. 

"Maybe I will." you said before stepping around him and heading towards the door. 

"You guys can stay in here." the frat boy from outside said, pointing Sam and Dean to a room. "And, you." he said, looking at you. "Well, my room is right down here." 

You giggled, "Why don't you tell me your name and I'll meet up with you later." you said, Dean looking more annoyed the longer you talked to the guy. 

"Name's Kyle, Baby. I suggest you learn it cause you're gonna be screamin' it later." he said, and you had never wanted to punch someone more, but you held back, thinking you could get some information from him. 

"You know what, Kyle?" Dean asked, stepping forward. "I think you better forget that you ever fuckin' saw her." 

Kyle puffed out his chest, still no match for Dean, "I think she can decide that for herself." he said. 

Dean took another step forward, Kyle shrinking back, "If you don't get out of here I'll make sure that you don't see anything ever again." Dean threatened. 

"Whoa, calm down, buddy." Kyle said, his hands up, before turning to you, "Yeah, you're gonna have to leave. You can't stay here." he said before he quickly walked away. 

"Guess, I'll sleep in the fuckin' car." you said as Sam knocked on the door of their room. 

"Who are you?" another frat boy asked, momentarily stopping his body painting. 

"We're your new roommates." Dean said with a smile as he brushed passed you. 

"Do me a favor? Get my back. Big game today." the frat boy said, holding out a paint brush and paint can to Dean. 

Dean pointed to Sam, "He's the artist. Things he can do with a brush." he said, Sam looking at him mortified before taking the brush and can. 

"You're just on a roll today, aren't you?" you asked, sitting down on the arm of the chair Dean was sitting in. 

"So." Dean started, looking at the name printed on the address label of a magazine, "Murph, is it true?" Dean asked. 

"What?" Murph asked. 

"We heard one of the guys around here got killed last week." Dean said. 

"Yeah." Murph sadly said. 

"What happened?" you asked. 

"You know you're not supposed to be here, right?" Murph asked instead of answering your question. 

"Yeah, I got that Rainbow Brite." you said, Murph basically ignoring you. 

"What happened?" Sam asked. 

"They're saying some psycho with a knife, maybe a drifter passing through. Rich was a good guy." Murph said, you scoffing as you rolled your eyes. 

"Rich, he was with somebody?" Sam asked. 

"Not just somebody. Lori Sorensen." Murph said. 

"Who's Lori Sorensen?" Dean asked before looking at Sam, "You missed a spot." he said, Sam looking annoyed. 

"Lori's a freshman. She's a local, super hot, and get this...she's a reverend's daughter." Murph said. 

"You wouldn't happen to know which church, would ya?" Dean asked. 

Dean pulled into the parking lot of the church, and the three of you got out of the car. You were in an extra pissy mood ever since the frat house, and both boys seemed to be walking on egg shells around you. 

The three of you entered the church, the door slamming behind you, causing everyone to turn and look. 

"The loss of a young person is particularly tragic. A life unlived is the saddest of passings." the reverend said as the three of you sat down, a girl turning in her seat to smile at Sam. "So, please, let us pray, for peace, for guidance, and for the power to protect our children." the reverend said, everyone bowing their heads in prayer, except for you and Dean. 

The three of you were standing outside after the service had ended. 

"That one." you said, pointing out the girl you thought was Lori before the three of you walked up to her. "You do the talking, Sam. I think she likes you." you added right before you got to her. 

"Are you Lori?" Sam asked. 

"Yeah." she replied. 

"My name is Sam. This is my brother, Dean, and our f-" Sam got out before Dean interrupted. 

"MY, she's my girlfriend, Y/N." Dean said, throwing his arm around you. "Not gonna have another frat house situation on our hands." he whispered into your ear. 

You chuckled before raising up on your toes, "Yeah, cause I bet Lori is real concerned with me knowing her name just so I could scream it later." you whispered in his ear. 

"We just transferred here to the university." Sam said, giving you and Dean a strange look. 

"I saw you inside." Lori said. 

"See, now I can't pay attention because I'm picturing it." Dean quietly said to you. 

"Down boy. You wouldn't want to give all of these nice church going people a show." you said, Sam clearing his throat. 

"We don't wanna bother you. We just heard about what happened and..." Sam trailed off. 

"We wanted to say how sorry we were." you finished for him, Dean remaining silent, a far off look in his eyes. 

"For the love of God, quit fuckin' thinkin' about me naked." you whispered. 

"I kind of know what you're going through. I-I saw someone...get hurt once. It's something you don't forget." Sam said, you and Dean both paying full attention now. 

Lori nodded her head, her father walking over, "Dad, um, this is Sam and Dean, and this is Y/N, Dean's girlfriend. They're new students." Lori said, Dean reaching out to shake the reverend's hand. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say, that was an inspiring sermon." Dean said, you fighting the urge to laugh. 

"Thank you very much. It's so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord's message." Reverend Sorensen said. 

"Oh, reverend, you have no idea. Dean is one of the most open people I've ever met. I mean, he's the one that turned me onto the message. He is a true student of the Lord." you said, Dean's eyes widening at you. 

"Well, son, I may have to pick your brain." the reverend said, Dean nodding his head. 

"Well, lucky for you, reverend, we're looking for a church group." Dean said. 

"So, anything you could tell us about your flock would be really appreciated. We're hoping to become part of your church family after hearing that sermon." you said, both you an Dean leading the reverend away so that Sam could talk to Lori alone. 

"Thank you so much for your time, reverend." you said, Dean shaking his hand before the two of you walked away. 

Dean started to laugh once the two of you were a safe distance from the reverend, "You are so full of shit, Singer. He's a real student of the Lord." Dean laughed out. 

"Hey, he ate that shit up. I'm pretty sure I deserve an Oscar for that one." you joked. 

"And what about me? I was pretty convincing myself." Dean said. 

You shrugged your shoulders, "Eh, maybe you would get a best supporting actor one, at best." you teased. 

 "Y/N! Dean!" the reverend called out, stopping the two of you. 

"Shit, you think he heard that?" you asked. 

"No way he could have heard that." Dean said, the two of you plastering fake smiles on your faces as the reverend walked over. 

"I was hoping that the two of you might pray with me a moment before you left." the reverend said. 

"It would be our pleasure." you said. 

The reverend took on of your hands in his, and one of Dean's in his other hand before bringing both yours and Dean's hands together in front of him. The reverend placed Dean's hand on top of yours before placing one of his hands below your joined hands, and his other hand on top, basically locking your hands together.

You were internally panicking, so afraid that it was going to happen again, and you were honestly a little shocked when the only thing you heard was the reverend praying. You let out a slow breath, never more relieved to only be hearing a prayer, but you should have know better than to let your guard down. 

"Come on, man. How long is this guy gonna keep this up? Get to the amen part already. I can't wait to hear what Y/N has to say about this, "Dean thought, chuckling to himself, your hand tensing when you started to hear him. "Oh shit, she just tensed up. Maybe she sees something. Sorry, reverend, but I gotta look around, protectin' my girl is more important that your long ass, never ending prayer." Dean thought to himself as he looked around, not seeing anything unusual.

You tried to relax your hand, thinking that maybe if he wasn't worried about something attacking you, then maybe he would stop thinking, but of course, you would never be that lucky. 

"Ok, she relaxed, and I don't see anything. She's probably just uncomfortable. I know I am. I mean, how much longer can this guy keep going? It's like he's prayin' for everything that ever existed. Oh shit, she just tensed up again, but I still don't see anything. Maybe she doesn't like the guy touchin' her. I don't like it. Wait, the guys is a reverend. I need to calm down. He's probably not thinking about her, but then again, he might be. I know if I was a reverend I'd still think about her. Shit, Dean, don't start thinking about her, not here, not now. Fuck, her hands are so soft though. I wonder what they'd feel like-" Dean thought to himself before you interrupted, no longer able to take it. 

"Dean!" you yelled, jerking your hand from the reverend's grip, separating your hand from Dean's.

Both the reverend and Dean were staring at you in confusion, "Hey, you okay?" Dean asked. 

"Y-yeah, I, uh, I just remembered that, uh, that thing we needed to do. You know, that really important thing." you said to Dean before turning to the reverend, "I'm so sorry to cut you short, but I'm afraid we will be late if we don't leave right now." you said. 

"No need to apologize." the reverend said before you quickly walked off. 

"Hey." Dean called out, but you kept walking. "Hey!" he said again, grabbing your shoulder to stop you. 

You fought the urge to pull away from him, "Yeah?" you asked, trying to act as if nothing was wrong. 

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked. 

"Um, I was just tryin' to get us out of there. I mean, I didn't think the guy was ever gonna stop." you lied. 

Dean nodded his head, "You're right about that. We probably would have been there all day. Good thinkin', Singer." Dean said. 

"Let's, uh, let's go see if Sam got anything." you said before heading off in Sam's direction, your mind now a jumbled mess. 

The three of you were walking into the library, Sam had filled you and Dean in on the conversation he had with Lori. 

"So, you believe her?" Dean asked. 

"I do." Sam said. 

"Yeah, I think she's hot, too." Dean said. 

"Apparently, you think everyone is hot." you mumbled, Dean turning to you. 

"What?" he asked. 

"I said everyone thinks she's hot. You know, like all the guys at the frat house." you quickly lied. 

"There's something in her eyes, and listen to this, she heard scratching on the roof, found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car." Sam said. 

"Wait, the body suspended? That sounds like the-" Dean said before Sam interrupted. 

"Yeah, I know, the Hook Man legend." Sam said. 

"No fuckin' way." you said. 

Dean nodded his head, "That's one of the most famous urban legends ever. You don't think that we're dealing with the Hook Man." Dean said. 

"Every urban legend has a source. A place where it all began." Sam said. 

"Great, this is just like the Bloody Mary case all over again." you said. 

"Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches, and the tire punctures, and the invisible killer?" Dean asked. 

"Well, maybe it's like the Bloody Mary thing, and it doesn't follow the legend to a T." you said. 

"Well, maybe the Hook Man isn't a man at all. What if it's some kind of spirit?" Sam asked. 

"Well, if that's the case, then we're gonna have to track down where he's buried." you said. 

The three of you were sitting at one of the tables in the library, the librarian busy placing a few large boxes in front of each of you. 

"Here you go. Arrest records going back to 1851." the librarian said, Dean blowing some dust off of one of the boxes making himself and you cough.

"Thanks." Dean said. 

"Ok." the librarian replied before walking away. 

"So, this is how you spent four good years of your life, huh?" Dean asked Sam. 

"Welcome to higher education." Sam said. 

"Guys, it's been hours and I got absolutely nothing." you said, slamming the book you were reading closed. 

"Hey, check this out. 1862, a preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. Looks like he was so angry over the red light district in town that one night he killed thirteen prostitutes. Uh, right here it says, some deceased were found in their bed, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh." Sam read. 

"Great, so we got a religious nut job spirit  with a stick up his ass on the loose." you said. 

"Get this, the murder weapon? Looks like the preacher lost his hand in an accident, had it replaced with a silver hook." Dean said. 

"And just when I thought it couldn't get anymore fucked up." you said. 

"Look where all this happened." Sam said. 

"9 Mile Road." you and Dean said in unison. 

"Same place where the frat boy was killed." Sam said. 

"Nice job, Dr. Venkmen. Let's check it out." Dean said to Sam. 

Dean shut off the engine, the three of you getting out of the car at 9 Mile Road. 

Dean opened the trunk and handed Sam a rifle, "Here you go." he said. 

"If it is a spirit, buckshot won't do much good." Sam said. 

"Well, it's a good thing that it isn't buckshot, then." you said. 

"Yeah, rock salt." Dean added. 

"Huh, salt being a spirit deterrent." Sam said, Dean taking out a coil of rope before shutting the trunk. 

"It won't kill 'em." you said. 

"But it'll slow 'em down." Dean added, the three of you heading towards the trees. 

"That's pretty good. you and Dad think of this?" Sam asked. 

"Me and Y/N. I told you. You don't have to be a college graduate to be a genius." Dean said, all of you hearing noises among the trees. 

You pointed out a spot to Dean, "Over there. Over there." he whispered to Sam, Sam aiming the gun and cocking it before a sheriff walked out from behind the trees. 

"Put the gun down now! Now! Put your hands behind your head." the sheriff ordered. 

"W-w-wait, okay, okay!" Dean yelled, all three of you putting your hands behind your heads. 

"Now get down on your knees. Come on, do it! On your knees!" the sheriff yelled, the three of you dropping to your knees, "Now get down your bellies. Come on, do it!" 

"He had the gun!" Dean yelled as he laid down. 

"Can it, De." you warned, laying down next to him. 

The three of you were walking out of the Calumet County Sheriff's Department, "Saved your asses! Talked the sheriff down to a fine. Guys, I am Matlock." Dean excitedly said. 

"Careful, wouldn't want your head to get any bigger." you teased. 

"How?" Sam asked. 

"I told him you were a dumbass pledge and that we were hazing you." Dean said. 

"And he believed that?" you asked. 

"Sure did. I told him you were there as a witness. You know, just to make sure he did what he was supposed to do." Dean said. 

"What about the shotgun?" Sam asked. 

"I said that you were hunting ghosts and the spirits were repelled by rock salt. You know, typical Hell Week prank." Dean said. 

You laughed, "The one time telling the truth actually gets us out of trouble." you said. 

"And he believed you?" Sam asked. 

"Well, you look like a dumbass pledge." Dean said, several sheriffs running out of the building and speeding away in police cars. 

Dean parked the car one street over from Lori's sorority, and the three of you walked around to the back of the house. 

"Why would the Hook Man come here? This is a long way from 9 Mile Road." Sam said. 

"Maybe he's not haunting the scene of his crime. Maybe it's about something else." Dean said, as two girls came out of the side entrance of the building, the three of you leaning against the side of the house next to some bushes to keep out of sight. "Dude, sorority girls! Think we'll see a naked pillow fight?" Dean asked. 

"Jesus Christ, De, keep it in your fuckin' pants." you said as Sam was trying to climb onto the balcony of the house. 

Dean turned around and helped Sam up before climbing up himself, holding his hand out to help you up once he got up there, "Aw, you jealous, Singer? You know, I would totally be up for a naked pillow fight with you." Dean said, waiting for you to take his hand. 

"No." you gritted out, as you pulled yourself up without his help. "Not jealous at all." 

Sam had opened the window and stepped inside, Dean following after him, falling into him, "Oh, sorry." Dean said as you climbed through. 

"Be quiet." Sam scolded. 

"You be quiet." Dean said. 

"You be quiet." Sam shot back. 

"Both of you be fuckin' quiet." you said. 

The three of you were standing in Lori's walk-in closet, Sam opening the door to see another sheriff leaving the bedroom. 

The three of you waited until the sheriff went downstairs before opening the closet door and stepping into the bedroom, all three of you noticing the writing on the bedroom wall. 

"Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the light?" Sam read. 

"That's right out of the legend." you said. 

"Yeah, that's classic Hook Man all right." Dean said, tapping his nose, "It's definitely a spirit." 

"Yeah, I've never smelled ozone this strong before." Sam said, Dean moving over to the window. "Hey guys, come here." Sam said, you and Dean walking over to him, Sam pointing out a cross symbol beneath the writing, "Does that look familiar to you guys?" 

The three of you were standing next to the car, looking at a picture of the cross symbol, "It's the same symbol. Seems like it is the spirit of Jacob Karns." Sam said. 

"Well, I think you guys know what we have to do next." you said. 

Dean nodded his head, "All right, let's find the dude's grave, salt and burn the bones, and put him down." Dean said. 

"After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in Old North Cemetery. In an unmarked grave." Sam read, all of you looking annoyed. 

"Super." Dean said. 

"You've got to be fuckin' kiddin' me. It never can be easy." you said. 

"Ok. So, we know it's Jacob Karns, but we still don't know where he'll manifest next. Or why." Sam said. 

"I'll take a wild guess about why. I think your little friend Lori has something to do with this." Dean said before getting into the car. 

You and Dean walked up to Sam, the three of you at some big college party. 

"Hey." Sam said. 

"Man, you've been holding out on us. This college thing is awesome." Dean said, winking and smiling at a passing girl. 

"Tell me about it. They're doing body shots over there." you said, Dean's head whipping around. 

"What?" he asked. 

"Body shots!" you yelled, thinking he couldn't hear you over all of the noise. 

"Yeah, I heard you." he shot back, clearly annoyed. 

"Get your panties outta your ass, Winchester. I just took a couple shots, nobody touched me. No need to threaten or maim anyone." you said, referring to the Kyle incident. 

"This wasn't really my experience." Sam said, trying to get the two of you back on track. 

"Let me guess, libraries, studying, straight A's?" Dean asked, Sam nodding, "What a geek. Alright, you do your homework?" 

"Yeah, it was bugging me, right? So, how is the Hook Man tied up with Lori? So, I think I came up with something." Sam said, unraveling a piece of paper. 

"1932. Clergyman arrested for murder. 1967, Seminarian held in hippie rampage." Dean said. 

"There's a pattern." you said. 

Sam nodded, "In both cases, the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality, and then found himself wanted for killings he claimed were the work of an invisible force. Killings carried out...get this...with a sharp instrument." Sam said. 

"What's the connection to Lori?" Dean asked. 

"A man of religion? Who openly preaches against immorality?" Sam asked. 

"Her dad." you said. 

"Except maybe this time, instead of saving the whole town, he's just trying to save his only daughter." Sam said. 

"You think he's summoning the spirit?" Dean asked. 

"Maybe, or, you know how a poltergeist can haunt a person instead of a place?" Sam asked. 

"Yeah, the spirit latches onto the reverend's repressed emotions, feeds off them, yeah, okay." Dean said. 

"And the reverend might not even know it." you said. 

"Either way, you should keep an eye on Lori tonight." Dean said to Sam, Sam nodding. 

"What about you guys?" Sam asked. 

"We're gonna go see if we can find that unmarked grave." you said, Dean shaking his head in disappointment. 

"Ready?" you asked, climbing out of the car at the cemetery. 

"Not really. I'd much rather be back there." Dean grumbled as he walked to the trunk, popping it open to grab a bag and shovels. 

You chuckled, "Are you gonna be bitchin' all night?" you asked. 

"No." Dean said, tossing the bag over his shoulder before passing you a flashlight, and a shovel, picking up his own shovel after. 

The two of you were searching every headstone, Dean walking ahead of you, shining his light on the stones. 

"Here we go." he said, stopping in front of a headstone. 

"You find it?" you asked, making your way over to him. 

"Look at that." Dean said, shining his light on the stone. 

"The cross symbol." you said. "Looks like we found the asshole." 

"Yep." Dean said, dropping the bag he was carrying at his feet. 

The two of you had been digging at the unmarked grave for awhile, Dean dramatically sighing every few minutes. 

"Just say it!" you yelled. 

"Next time, I get to watch the cute girl's house." Dean said, you chuckling. 

"Sorry to tell you, but that cute girl only had eyes for Sam, and if you want cute girl duty you're gonna have to stop tellin' them that I'm your girlfriend." you said, your shovel coming into contact with something. 

Dean broke through the wood, "Hello preacher." he said, throwing his shovel aside before climbing out of the grave and holding his hand out to you to help you up. 

You started to grab his hand, but quickly pulled back, Dean sighing, hurt flashing across his face. Guilt immediately washed over you, and you grabbed his hand. 

"I'm such an idiot. I must have done something wrong. I fucked up again, and now she's gonna leave. She's gonna leave just like everybody else does because I can't do anything right." Dean thought to himself. 

"You didn't fuck anything up, and I'm not gonna leave you." you said, no longer able to stand him thinking that way about himself. 

"What?" Dean asked, shocked because he knew he didn't say that out loud. 

"I'm not gonna leave you." you said, Dean letting go of your hand. 

"How did you...what..." Dean trailed off, still looking at you in shock. 

You looked up at him, still standing in the grave while he looked down at you from the edge. 

"Dean, please just listen." you said. 

"How did you know that?" Dean asked. 

"I don't know." you said. 

"How the fuck did you know that?" Dean asked, again. 

"I don't fuckin' know, Dean!" you yelled. 

"You better start talkin', Singer. You're staying down there until you do." Dean said. 

"I don't know what's happening to me. I need you to know that I don't wanna leave, but I can't promise that you'll want me to stay after you hear this. I...I knew that because I heard you." you said, looking up at him. 

"You heard me?" Dean asked. "But I didn't say anything." 

"I know, but I still heard you. I...when...when I touched you, when I touch you, I can hear you. I can hear what you're fuckin' thinking, just like you were saying it out loud to me." you said. 

"You can what?" Dean asked. 

"When I touch you." you said, holding up your hand. "I can hear your fuckin' thoughts. I don't know how. I can't fuckin' explain it, but I can." you said. 

"You can hear my thoughts?" Dean asked, still looking at you in shock. 

"Yeah." you said. 

"How? When...How long?" he asked. 

"I guess it started when we were workin' the Bloody Mary case. I touched Sam when we were in that store and I saw what happened to Jess." you said, leaving out that it was a dream that he was having, after all, that wasn't your secret to tell. 

"Wait, so you're seeing shit, too?" Dean asked. 

"I did, then, but it hasn't happened again." you said, Dean nodding his head for you to continue, "And then, back in the sewer after you got hit, I touched your shoulder and I heard you. You hoped that you didn't hurt me, and you were glad that you got hit instead of me." you said, Dean's mouth falling open a little before he walked away, out of your line of sight. 

You pulled yourself out of the grave, "Dean." you said as you stood up, dusting yourself off. "Please talk to me." 

"Oh, please talk to you. Talk to you? Why didn't you tell me this when everything started happening? Y/N, something like this starts happening to you, you fuckin' tell me. Does Sam know?" Dean asked, pacing back and forth in front of  you. 

"Yeah, well, not all of it, but he knows about the vision." you said. 

"Oh, so you can tell, Sam, but not me. We are supposed to be partners! When something like this starts happening to you, I'm supposed to be the first person you turn to. I'm the one that's been there, Y/N, me not Sam. I didn't leave and cut you out of my life!" Dean yelled, so much hurt and anger in his voice. 

"I know that, De! Do you honestly think I don't know that? I...I wanted to tell you, but I was scared. I was so fuckin' scared, and I still am." you yelled back. 

"Scared? You were scared to tell me? Why?!" Dean screamed, raw emotion taking over. 

"Because something is wrong with me!! This is the kind of shit that happens to the things that we hunt, and I...I-" you said before Dean interrupted. 

"You thought I'd fuckin' hurt you?! Do you really think I would ever hurt you?" he asked, in disbelief. 

"I think that one day you might not have a choice." you said. 

"And what the fuck does that mean, Y/N?" Dean asked, stepping closer to you. 

"I've...I've been having this dream, this nightmare. That's why I haven't been sleeping. You confront me and ask me why I did it. I never find out what I did, but I know that it must have been something fucking awful because you hate me, De. It's like you can't even stand to look at me, and then you shoot me. The only thing I have been able to think about is that I'm gonna do something to make you hate me, and I'm so scared. I'm so fuckin' scared of that." you said. 

"Is that what you really think of me? After everything we've been through...you think I would do that?" Dean asked. 

You nodded your head, "I don't think I'm gonna give you a choice. I think you'll have to because part of me knows that I wont be Y/N anymore. I'll be just another monster." you said. 

Dean scoffed and shook his head before jerking the bag up from the ground. 

"Dean, please." you started, Dean interrupting you. 

"Go wait in the car. I'll finish the job." Dean coldly said. 

"Dean, I-" you said. 

"I said go wait in the God damn car, Y/N!" Dean roared, keeping his back to you, almost as if he couldn't stand to look at you. 

You nodded your head, even though he couldn't see you and turned to head for the car, wanting for the first time to touch him so that you could know what he was thinking. 

You were in the hospital, following behind Dean and two sheriffs. You and Dean had not said a single word to each other. 

"No, it's alright, we're with him. He's my brother." Dean said to the sheriff before catching Sam's attention, "Hey! Brother!" Dean yelled, smiling and waving at Sam. 

"Let them through." the sheriff said. 

"Thanks." Dean said, the two of you walking towards Sam, "You ok?" Dean asked him. 

"Yeah." Sam said, looking at you in concern, noticing that you looked so beaten down. 

"What the hell happened?" Dean asked. 

"Looks like I could ask you guys the same thing." Sam said. 

"It's ok, Sam." you said. 

Dean scoffed, "Another lie, and to Sam. I'm a little shocked, Singer. I thought you only lied to me." Dean said. 

"Dean." Sam barked out. 

"Listen, you can be mad at me all you want, but we have a job to do. What happened here, Sam?" you asked, wanting to focus on the case. 

"Hook Man." Sam said. 

"You saw him?" Dean asked. 

"Damn right. Why didn't you guys torch the bones?" Sam asked. 

"What are you talkin' about, I did. You sure it's the spirit of Jacob Karns?" Dean asked. 

"It sure as hell looked like him, and that's not all. I don't think the spirit is latching on to the reverend." Sam said. 

You nodded, "I think you're right." 

"Well, yeah, the guy wouldn't send the Hook Man after himself." Dean said. 

"I think it's latching onto Lori. Last night she found out her father is having an affair with a married woman." Sam said. 

"So what?" Dean asked. 

"So, she was upset about it. That's what." you said, Sam nodding. 

"Yeah, she's upset about the immorality of it. She told me she was raised to believe that if you do something wrong, you get punished," Sam said. 

"Ok, so she's conflicted, and the spirit of Preacher Karns is latching on to the repressed  emotions and maybe he's doing the punishing for her, huh?" Dean asked. 

"Right, Rich comes on too strong. Taylor tries to make her a party girl. Dad has an affair." Sam said. 

"Remind me not to piss this girl off, but I burned those bones. I buried them in salt. Why didn't that stop him?" Dean asked. 

"You must have missed something." you said. 

"No, I burned everything in that coffin." Dean clipped out, annoyed to even be speaking to you. 

"Did you get the hook?" Sam asked. 

"The hook? Fuck, I don't remember seeing the hook. I...I was a little distracted." Dean said. 

"Well, it was the murder weapon, and in a way, it was part of him." Sam said. 

"So, like the bones, the hook is a source of his power." Dean said. 

"So if we find the hook." you said. 

"We stop the Hook Man." Sam and Dean said in unison. 

The three of you were back in the library, reading through more papers, trying to find out what happened to the hook after Karns died. 

You slid the book you were reading over to Dean, pointing out the page to him. 

"Here's something, I think. Log book, Iowa State Penitentiary. Karns, Jacob, Personal affects: disposition thereof." Dean read. 

"Does it mention the hook?" Sam asked. 

"Yeah, maybe." you answered. 

"Upon execution, all earthly items shall be remanded to the prisoners house of worship, St. Barnabas Church." Dean read. 

"Isn't that where Lori's father preaches?" Sam asked. 

"Yeah." Dean replied. 

"Where Lori lives?" Sam asked. 

"Maybe that's why the Hook Man has been haunting reverends and reverends' daughters for the past two hundred years." Dean said. 

"It has to be there." you said. 

"Yeah, but if the hook were at the church or Lori's house, don't you guys think someone might've seen it? I mean, a bloodstained, silver-handled hook?" Sam asked. 

"Check the church records." you suggested. 

"St. Barnabus donations, 1862. Received silver-handled hook from state penitentiary. Reforged. They melted it down. Made it into something else." Sam said. 

"It never can be fuckin' easy, can it?" you asked. 

Dean parked the car at St. Barnabus Church, and the three of you got out. 

"Alright, we can't take any chances. Anything silver goes in the fire." Dean said. 

"I agree. So, Lori's still at the hospital. We'll have to break-in." Sam said. 

"That's never stopped us before." you said. 

"Alright, take your pick." Dean said. 

"I'll take the house." Sam said. 

"Ok." Dean said as Sam started walking towards the house, you staying put, thinking that you would stay with Dean like always. "Go." Dean said to you.

 "What?" you asked. 

"Go with Sam." he said. 

"But-" you tried to argue. 

"Go with Sam, Y/N. I don't need your help." Dean said before walking away. 

You and Sam were in the house, grabbing everything that could remotely be considered silver. 

"You gonna tell me what happened?" Sam asked. 

"Are you gonna give me a choice?" you asked, lookin at him over your shoulder. "I told him, Sam. I told him and it didn't go well." you said, turning back to search through the drawer in front of you. 

"What did you say? I...I didn't think he would be so upset." Sam said. 

You tossed a silver letter opener into the bag Sam was holding. "Well, he is." you said. 

"Is it because of the dream? You know, the one where he..." Sam trailed off. 

"I think it's everything." you said before looking up at him. "I haven't told you everything, and after the way Dean reacted...I don't know if I want to." you said. 

"You can tell me, Y/N. I promise I won't be mad." Sam said. 

"I want you to think of something that I wouldn't know about. Don't say it out loud, just think about it." you said. 

Sam looked at you confused, but nodded his head, "Okay." he said, completely unsure of where you were going with this. 

You gave him a few moments to think of something, "Ready?" you asked. 

"Yeah." Sam said, even though he didn't know if he was ready for what was about to happen. 

You raised your hand and placed it on his chest, Sam looking at you in confusion, "Your LSAT score was 174." you said, Sam jumping back a step. 

"How?" he asked. 

You shrugged your shoulders, "Guess, hearing thoughts is something I can do now. You know, as if the fucked up visions weren't enough." you said. 

"That's...that's what happened in the sewer, isn't it?" Sam asked, you nodding your head. 

"Yeah, and then I told him. I told him everything and now he can't even stand to look at me. I'm not Y/N to him anymore. I'm just a fuckin' freak, some monster that needs to be hunted." you said, turning to walk away. "Come on, we better get that stuff to the fire." 

You and Sam were walking downstairs with the bag of things you took from Lori's house, Dean busy throwing the things he found in the fire. 

"We got everything that even looked silver." Sam said. 

"Better safe than sorry." Dean said, throwing everything into the fire, footsteps stopping him. "Move. Move." he said, grabbing his gun and running upstairs with you and Sam. 

Once the three of you made it upstairs you noticed Lori sitting in one of the pews, crying. Dean lowered his gun and went back downstairs, leaving you and Sam alone with her. 

"Lori?" Sam asked. 

"What are you guys doin' here?" she asked. 

"Are you okay?" you asked, Lori shaking her head no. 

"What is it?" Sam asked. 

"I've been trying to understand what's been happening. Why? Now, I know. So, I'm praying for forgiveness." Lori said. 

"What do you know?" you asked. 

"Forgiveness for what?" Sam quickly added. 

"Don't you guys see? I'm to blame for all this. I've read in the Bible about avenging angels." Lori said. 

"Trust me, this guy...he's no angel." Sam said. 

"He's right, Lori." you said. 

"I was so angry at my father. Part of me wanted him punished, and then he came and he punished him." Lori said. 

"It's not your fault." Sam said. 

"Sam." you said,  a warning tone to your voice. 

"Yes, it is. I don't know how, but it is. I killed Rich, Taylor, too. I nearly killed my father." Lori said. 

"Sam." you said, a little louder this time, a bad feeling overtaking you. 

"Lori." Sam tried before she interrupted. 

"I can see it now. They didn't deserve to be punished. I do." Lori said, a noise sounding from the front of the church, the candles at the alter going out. 

"Fuck, Sam. He's here." you said. 

"Come on. We gotta go." Sam said, leading Lori away towards the basement door, Hook Man pushing his hook through the door instead. 

"Go!" you yelled, Sam grabbing Lori and running down the aisle to the back room, you following after them. 

The Hook Man followed after the three of you, smashing the glass of another door before swinging his hook at you a few times, barely missing you. He chased the three of you around the room, and was about to hit Sam when you pushed him out of the way, taking the hit for him, the hook planting itself into your shoulder. 

"Fuckin' asshole!" you screamed as an invisible force dragged Lori across the floor. "Go, Sam!" 

Sam ran over to her, "Come on. You okay?" he asked, the Hook Man appearing behind him, knocking him backwards into a wall. 

You maneuvered your way behind the Hook Man, who was standing over Lori. 

"Singer, drop." Dean yelled, his gun raised, and you quickly dropped down, Dean firing off a shot before the Hook Man vanished into dust. 

"I thought we got all the silver." Sam said. 

"So did I." Dean said. 

"Then why is he still here?" Sam asked. 

"Well, maybe we missed something." Dean said. 

You noticed the necklace Lori was wearing, "Lori, where did you get that chain?" you asked. 

"My father gave it to me." she said. 

"Where'd your dad get it?" Dean asked. 

"He said it was a church heirloom. He gave it to me when I started school." she said. 

You reached for the chain, all of Karns' crimes flashing through your head when you touched it. 

"Is it silver?" Sam asked. 

You ripped the chain from her neck. "That's it. It's his." you said, a long scratch appearing on the wall, the Hook Man remaining invisible. 

"Sam!" Dean yelled, throwing Sam the rifle. 

"Dean." you said, tossing him the necklace, "Go!" you yelled, Dean quickly taking off, heading back downstairs. 

Sam was holding the gun, the Hook Man appearing and knocking it from his hand. Sam grabbed you and Lori, the three of you crawling into the corner as the Hook Man towered over you. 

"Come on, De." you said. 

The Hook Man stopped with his hook in the air, the hook melting, the rest of his body burning to nothing before Dean ran back upstairs to make sure the Hook Man was gone. 

"And you saw him, too? The man with the hook?" the sheriff asked Dean, the four of you now outside the church with the authorities. 

"Yes, I told you. We all saw him. We fought him off and then he ran." Dean said. 

"And that's all?" the sheriff asked. 

"Yeah, that's all." Dean said. 

"Listen, you, your brother, and whoever she is to you-" the sheriff said before Dean cut in. 

"Oh, don't worry, we're leaving town." Dean said before walking over to the car. 

You were standing beside the car, your shoulder freshly bandaged. Dean glanced over at you, but didn't say anything, so you got into the car. Dean followed after you, the two of you waiting in silence as Sam finished talking with Lori. 

Sam climbed into the car a few minutes later, none of you speaking as Dean started the engine and pulled away. Dean had been driving for about an hour when he got off the highway and pulled into the parking lot of a motel.

"What are we doing?" Sam asked. 

"I need a few hours." Dean said before getting out of the car, you and Sam waiting by the car while he got a room. 

"Y/N." Sam said. 

"Sam, not tonight. I...I can't talk about it anymore." you said, the two of you slipping back into silence. 

Dean walked to the room, you and Sam following after him. He opened the door and stepped inside, taking his bag with him to the bathroom, the shower turning on not long after he entered. 

You and Sam didn't speak, and when Dean walked out of the bathroom you motioned for Sam to go next. You stayed put in the chair you were sitting in, your legs folded up under you as Dean got into bed, not even looking in your direction. 

Sam walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later and you quickly went inside, taking your time in the shower even though the hot water had run out long ago. 

When you walked out both boys were in their beds, the lights out. You grabbed a pillow from Dean's bed and tossed it on the floor before getting down on your knees, grabbing an old flannel from your bag and pulling it on before laying down. 

"Y/N, you can have my bed." Sam said, starting to get up. 

"If she wants to sleep down there...let her." Dean said. 

"Dean." Sam said. 

"It's fine, Sam. Go back to bed." you said, turning on your side, laying on your uninjured shoulder. 

You were right in the middle of that damn dream again, and no matter what you did you couldn't wake yourself up. Dean was just about to shoot you when everything changed. Instead of the normal panic you usually felt, you felt calm, safe. 

You forced open your eyes to see Dean lowering you into bed, "I couldn't sleep with the noises you were makin'." he said before going around to his side and climbing into bed. 

"Sorry." you said, turning away from him, pulling the covers up to your chin. 

You blinked open your eyes, the sunlight peeking through the curtains, waking you. You looked beside you to see Dean's side of the bed empty. 

 "He left. He said he had to do something." Sam said. 

You nodded your head and got out of bed, grabbing your bag before heading to the bathroom to get dressed for the day. 

You were walking out of the bathroom when Dean walked into the room, "Sam could you...could you give us a minute?" Dean asked. 

Sam glanced over at you before standing up, "Sure." he said before walking out of the room. 

Dean watched him go and waited for the door to close before turning to face you, "Here." he said, thrusting a small bag into your hands. 

You looked up at him before taking the bag, holding it in your hands, scared to look inside. 

"Go ahead." Dean said. 

You opened the bag and pulled out a pair of black leather gloves, "Gloves?" you asked, confused. 

"You...you said it happens when you touch things. I...I thought that maybe this would help." Dean said. 

You slipped the gloves on, they were a perfect fit, "Thanks." you said, looking down at you hands. 

"Um...you can...you can touch me. You know, see if it works." Dean said. 

You raised your hand, hesitant to touch him. Dean reached out and grabbed your hand and placed it on his chest. "Shit!" you exclaimed, a huge smile lighting up your face. 

"It works?" Dean asked. 

You furiously nodded your head, "It does! I...I can't hear you." you excitedly said. 

Dean grabbed your hand and pulled it back. "I'm...I'm not the best with words." he said as he started to take off the glove. 

"What are you doing?" you asked. 

"I just need you to know something, and I'm scared that if I try to say it out loud that I'll just fuck it up." Dean said before placing your bare hand on his chest. 

"Dean-" you tried to say before he interrupted. 

"Just listen." he said. 

"Okay." you said, closing your eyes, his thumb moving back and forth over your hand. 

"Y/N, I am so fuckin' sorry. I don't ever want you to think that I don't want you here. I need you here. I need you with me, and I know that I was a total fuckin' asshole, but I was scared. I'm still scared, and I was hurt. I was hurt that you didn't tell me and I took it out on you. I want you to know that I'm gonna be with you every step of the way. You, me, and Sammy are gonna figure this out. And as far as the dream goes...I would never hurt you. There isn't anything that you could do that would make me hurt you. I know you said that I didn't have a choice, but I do. I have a choice, and I'm making it right now. I will never hurt you, no matter what happens, and I'm gonna find a way to help you, a way to fix this. I just need to know that you're gonna stick with me even when I fuck up and say things I don't mean because I can't do this without you. Ok...that's kind of all I wanted to say. I don't know how to end this. We should probably figure that out too, so...uh...10-4...over and out." he thought to himself. 

You pulled your hand back, chuckling, and put your glove back on. "Over and out?" you asked before wrapping your arms around him. "I already told you that I wasn't leaving. I promise I'll never leave you." 

Tags: @miraclesoflove​ @22sarah08 @deans-baby-momma​  @spnae​ @karikatz12481​ @spngirl05​ @winchester-fantasies​ @freddiemermaytaydeac

@rainbowkisses31​ @in-deans-arms @scentedhoundshepherdmoney​ @hawkeyetrained​​

[soveryanon]

Reviewing time for MAG174!

- I absolutely ADORED how the sound effects were telling a story by themselves, giving a graduating sense of dread, with variations and quieter moments. With the wind blowing and occasionally howling, getting stronger, almost covering Jon’s voice at some points, it really felt like the sounds were competing with the words to give The Vast’s statement? (And in my mind, it felt like the team of editors competing against Jonny! It was so nice!)

I also loved how the steps of the colossus were adding a bit of pressure and gravitas, both to the statement and to the conversation: the distant low-pitched impact right after Martin’s “Do it.”, asking Jon to smite Simon? It was an easy trick, but it worked SO WELL to highlight the “Oh SHIT” moment! It was more subtle at other points of the arguments, but still reinforcing the feeling, that ideas were violent by themselves while the words were hammered in.

- I reaaaaally liked the tone Jon used in the statement, too, because it was very soft and rhythmic? There wasn’t the edge of cruelty that we had heard in other statements + combined with the fact that the focus wasn’t much on victims-hurting-other-victims-because-forced-by-the-Fear-system this time around, the statement felt more existentialist and overall a bit of a breather, which, ha. Fitting for The Vast, I guess. (Still people suffering, still people in pain, but one of the less upsetting statements this season, for me?)

- A bit surprised that Simon didn’t go for a space-related domain, but this one also made sense given what he had told Martin in season 4:

(MAG151) SIMON: I’ve actually been toying with the idea of trying to do something with the scale of humanity itself; you know, emphasise all that “overpopulation” nonsense, but… honestly, it just… doesn’t ring true for me. We’re all just so tiny and pointless, you see; it’s hard to really get past it. […] Do you know when the last ritual I attempted was? MARTIN: I… I don’t know, that space station? SIMON: Oh goodness no, that’s the future my boy!

Was this domain Ex Altiora made a reality, or it’s “just” that The Vast tends to be a bit less creative – big thing, too big for the human mind to compute, threatening you?

(MAG046, Herbert Knox) “It told the tale of a small, unnamed town high on a clifftop that sees a monstrous creature about to approach. The poem is unclear on whether it is a beast, a demon or a god, as it uses the words interchangeably. It is seen far-off, its head and body lost amongst the clouds. The majority of the story details the villagers’ attempts to prepare to do battle against this creature, but each time they devise a counter-measure, the thing gets closer and is shown to be far larger than previously suspected, rendering their preparation insignificant. At last, when it is almost upon them, its impossible vastness undeniable, the villagers surrendered to despairs, and hurled themselves off the clifftops onto the rocks far below.”

Still laughing a lot that Simon called this one “Junior” (I mean, he was proud of naming his last ritual “The Awful Deep”…).

- It was interesting how both statements dealt with the same situation from different perspectives, and how each related to The Vast? Edward was part of the colossus, Mehreen was watching it approach and threaten to crush her.

Edward was part of the colossus that we could hear since the very beginning (the impact followed by gusts of whistling wind marking the colossus’s footsteps, which were putting a strain on the bodies, including Edward’s, intertwined all through it): he was part of a whole, lost in the whole, in pain and faced with two alternatives (staying there, suffering and submitted to movements he didn’t control, or falling). It was very odd because it felt almost comforting that the other hands brought him back in when he was expelled from the whole since, at that moment, he feared the fall the most (“He is falling, and he is so small, and so afraid he wonders if he will ever hit the ground. He does not want to die smeared over that flat and hateful wasteland far below, and he flails, limbs throwing themselves violently around, trying to catch a hold of something, anything to save himself.”) – it felt like others were… saving him? Helping him? Still leaving him the choice (“Despite his dread, it takes only a moment for him to make his decision: he reaches out with his other arm, and feels it gripped by a dozen hands as, slowly, inexorably, Edward allows himself to be pulled back into the great, suffering colossus.”)? Though in the grand scheme of things, he was still stuck in an unpleasant, excruciating painful situation, but… compared to previous statements, it was still partially on his terms, instead of something that was absolutely inflicted to him with no way out? Amongst the small things that made me go “!”, the “every body” (“Every muscle in every body tenses all at once”): going back to the original meaning of the phrase, with the fact that “everybody” is, at the core of the word, “every body”. I felt like it was working well with the concept of The Vast: the fact that individuals aggregated together form something larger.

For Mehreen’s part: part of the horror, in her case, was that The Vast played on her sense of her responsibility/duty, not only on what would personally happen to her and her only. She was the only one able to take care of her “family” while they had various reactions to it: the daughter (who is helpless), the husband (who is in denial over what’s happening – this one sure hits differently with the current pandemic), and the mother (who is… only “berating” over wrong decisions). But what interests me the most is how she was dealing with memories: we’ve seen in previous statements that people’s memories are a fuzzy thing, twisted and rewritten to further feed the fears. It was obvious with Mehreen’s family (the fear “gave” her people to have to care for, further isolating and crushing her towards the threat), but I find it very interesting that compared to previous domains, she felt… on the verge of awareness about it?

(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: “Next to him, Charlie saw Ryan, who he’d known since childhood – though the other details were hazy. Ryan gave him a thumbs-up and an encouraging smile – before his face exploded inwards to a sniper’s bullet, peppering the boat with shards of bone and gore.”

(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: “There was never a time before the disease, no matter what the old bastards tell you. It has always been in the village, always festered in the dark corners where nobody could stomach to check, where good neighbours wouldn’t dream to speculate.”

(MAG165) ARCHIVIST: “Its pace remaining as it ever was, it does not care for coming pains as you are torn. Doesn’t it know who you are? No… And soon… neither will you. […] You will be someone again, someday. […] “I’m still Hannah!” you try to scream, but are you? No. Perhaps there’s some Veronica as fragments there, or Julian, or Anya, but… no. You feel the last of names and “who” you might have been be torn away and borne towards new bodies. New pages, blank; determined to be people.”

(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: “When had the crushing pressure in his chest become literal? When had the empty promise of the horizon finally vanished completely, replaced by the pitch darkness of this “forever wall of earth”? Sam did not know. Time had no meaning here. […] His existence was static, and eternal. Immutable. “Sleep” was only a memory, because even the prospect of unconsciousness might have made his present state slightly more bearable. Food as well, he knew, must be a thing, for he could feel the hunger, but his imagination failed to picture it. The only smell he knew was the damp, and the dirt.”

(MAG169) ARCHIVIST: “How long as she lived here? How long have these cramped, dingy rooms in the back of this sprawling rundown tenement been the place her heart calls home? She cannot recall, but long enough for her to grow into love for it, to cherish every rusted appliance, every crumbling piece of plasterboard, every – flickering – lightbulb. […] Sabina cannot… picture their faces, but knows that should they wake to see the state of the place… their anger would be blistering. […] What floor was her flat on again? Surely, it can’t be this high. […] Limping and desperate, she turns to see her furniture in flames, the bookshelves full of memories, that she can’t quite place [STATIC RISES] but knows are precious to her, curl and float away as ash. The photos on the wall of her family whose faces seem indistinct but she knows that she loves, begin to blacken, as the glass pops out of the frame.”

(MAG174) ARCHIVIST: “When it had first covered her home, bathing the street beyond her window in unexpected shade, she had thought it an eclipse. There wasn’t supposed to be one then, she is… sure of that – although if pressed, she could not have told you what day it is today. Before the shadow fell, she is sure that the sun was shining brightly – although, if pressed, she could not have pictured it. And the humid heat of a lingering summer had left the world sleepy, and unprepared – although, if pressed, she remembers the heat, but not the season. […] Mehreen cannot quite make out their faces as she bundles them into the car, old and shuddering as it coughs into life. Does she remember having a child? A spouse? Does she remember her mother having such a cruel sneer? It doesn’t matter. They are here now, and she has to save them.”

(+ Martin’s predicament in MAG170, when his memories were escaping him and he was mostly able to remember the painful parts only, or Francis’s “friends and families” being only brought in to deepen their pain. If Martin was any indication: it’s really upon remembering who he truly was and the bits of his life that weren’t unpleasant that he managed to free himself from the house’s influence, enough for Jon to find him and, it seems, give his protection again.)

It’s all very dream-logic: the rules are new, you just accept them as is, and you only go “… Wait” as an afterthought. What is interesting regarding Mehreen is that the interrogations felt like she was on the verge of waking up – or was that Jon, as a narrator, who was able to perceive that these bits of information were falsehoods created by the nightmare? Was that distancing just a special flavour in this domain, or something linked to the fact that they’re getting closer to the Panopticon / to The Eye’s domain?

- … Vast-typical, but I’m still !! that there are apparently domains without ground:

(MAG174) ARCHIVIST: I’m not entirely sure what you were expecting, it’s The Vast. The clue is in the name! MARTIN: Yes, alright…! ARCHIVIST: Just be glad that this is one of the domains that actually has ground to walk on.

Let them fly, Jonny!!

(… Though there are probably also Vast domains with only water. Deep, deep water.)

- NOT A SURPRISE but Everything About Simon This Episode Was Beautiful.

(MAG174) MARTIN: Fine! Fine. How about Simon. How close are we to him? [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: Hum… Close, [STATIC FADES] but he’s able to move a lot faster than we are in this place. MARTIN: Meaning…? ARCHIVIST: Meaning I know where he is, but… if he doesn’t want us to reach him, I don’t know if we’ll have much of a chance. MARTIN: … So… So what, we’re just going to trust him to… [CHUCKLING] show up to his own execut– [SIMON CRASHES ON THE GROUND] MARTIN: [SURPRISED SCREAM] ARCHIVIST: [TINY CHUCKLES] MARTIN: Jesus! ARCHIVIST: Uh… Apparently! [CLEARING AWAY RUBBLE] SIMON: [STRAINED] … Hello…! [BONES CRACKING] [GROAN] Hello. Dreadfully sorry. [SIGH] I only just noticed you were both here! That’s the problem with having such a big place, you know – [INHALE] you can miss things if you’re not careful.

* Simon was probably NYOOOOOM-ing in the sky until then. I’m only surprised that there wasn’t a direct “Enjoy Sky Blue” reference.

* The fact that Simon crash-landed. What an entrance.

* =D And the self-inflicted prophecy has been fulfilled: Jon met Simon Fairchild. (MAG124: “Fairchild seems to travel far and wide for his victims, with no motivation other than… variety. I do not think I ever wish to meet him.”) Though honestly, Jon took his meeting with the old man faaaar better than I would have thought – I was assuming that he would get on Jon’s nerves much more easily.

* Martin’s prophetic words AND Jon’s “Apparently!”: was it to answer Martin’s comment about Simon showing up, or Martin’s scream of “Jesus!”. (Peter called him a “grubby Jesus” behind his back, Jon is allowed to call other avatars the same!)

* Old man popping back bones and dusting off rubble. Simon, ilu.

* I’m still such a fan of Simon’s breathlessness and intonations! You can hear that he’s a Vast avatar from the way he talks and breathes!

* I am laughing so much:

(MAG174) SIMON: Good to see you again, Martin! And you must be the famous Archivist, Herald of the Ceaseless Watcher, Harbinger of the New Age, etcetera. Lovely to meet you at last. ARCHIVIST: [SHORT EXHALE] SIMON: Simon Fairchild, at your service.

Over that “etcetera”. SIMON…………………… (It was so dismissive while, at the same time, HE chose to give Jon honorifics and nobody had asked.)

Really love how he’s still so funny and amiable while being absolutely awful =D Someone is having a great time.

- That someone wasn’t Martin.

(MAG174) SIMON: And how are you, Martin? Still trying to save the world and all that? MARTIN: … Yes. SIMON: Pity. … Well. Armageddon… it’s not for everyone, I suppose. I’m quite enjoying it, of course. Although… Junior over there can be a little bit of a handful. [DISTANT LOW-PITCHED IMPACT, FOLLOWED BY GUSTS OF WIND] MARTIN: [AGGRAVATED INHALE] I might have guessed you’d be happy living in this nightmare. SIMON: I mean… not that it matters but… yes I am! Honestly, I think you could be too if you set your mind to it. But I’m not one to tell you how to live your eternity. MARTIN: … No. You’re not. Because I’m done listening to you! SIMON: I’m sorry? I’m not sure I follow. MARTIN: All those lies you told me… You helped to do this, you turned the world into your… your playground! SIMON: Hum… Not to be a pedant, but if you recall, I was actually doing a favour for Peter. And if Peter had won, none of this would have happened. Also, not to make excuses but they weren’t exactly lies, just… oversimplifications of complicated truths! And guesses. … A lot of guesses. [FOOTSTEPS] … A–almost all guesses really, now I come to think about it. MARTIN: Shut up! I don’t care.

… I would have loved to hear Simon and Elias interact, because “oversimplifications of complicated truths” as a new way to say “lie” is right up Elias’s alley (purposefully misleading, making guesses and presenting them with more certainty than you hold). It’s horrible that, technically, Peter was probably the most transparent avatar of the lot regarding his convictions? He was genuinely fearing The Extinction, he was genuinely hating Gertrude, he was genuinely trying to get Martin to join The Lonely for his own interests.

- Ooooh, how the tables have turned…

(MAG166) HELEN: Oh, hello! [FOOTSTEPS] In a better mood, are we? Feeling more secure now you’ve learned how to kill~? ARCHIVIST: [SHARP INHALE] Something like that. MARTIN: Will you tell me how he did it? ARCHIVIST: Martin… MARTIN: He just keeps going all vague about it! HELEN: Oh, goodness. You see what you’ve done to the poor boy, Jon? He’s coming to me for clear answers. [HELEN LAUGHS AND LAUGHS] ARCHIVIST: Shut up! HELEN: It’s very satisfying though, isn’t it? Teasing out vague information; you see why Elias got a kick out of it. ARCHIVIST: Shut up! MARTIN: Jon…! HELEN: You’re right, Martin. He is tetchy…! MARTIN: I didn’t say he was te– HELEN: So! So! An explanation.

(MAG174) SIMON: Goodness! We’re rather tetchy, aren’t we? ARCHIVIST: We’ve… [CHUCKLING] not been having an easy journey. MARTIN: Jon. ARCHIVIST: What – it’s true, we haven’t.

Jon&Simon vs. Martin, just like Helen&Martin vs. Jon (down to the “tetchy”).

- I’ll be laughing forever over Simon fleeing the heck out of the situation and saving his own life in the process:

(MAG174) MARTIN: That’s enough. Jon? ARCHIVIST: Uh… Yes? MARTIN: … Do it. [DISTANT LOW-PITCHED IMPACT, FOLLOWED BY GUSTS OF WIND] ARCHIVIST: Uh… SIMON: “Do” what? MARTIN: … Kill him. ARCHIVIST: Uh… SIMON: Han–hang on. Can he do that? MARTIN: He can, and he’s going to! [FOOTSTEPS] SIMON: Oh! ARCHIVIST: [STAMMERING] Oh, uh… SIMON: Right, just, hum… Seems a bit rude, to be honest! MARTIN: … Jon? ARCHIVIST: J–just give me a moment, I– SIMON: In fact, yes! You know what? I’ll, I’ll probably just be going, then! I–I–I’d prefer to keep existing, if it’s all the same to you, hum…! MARTIN: J–Jon?! ARCHIVIST: I– SIMON: Been lovely chatting to you! Good to see you guys! MARTIN: [STAMMERING] SIMON: Feel free to pop by again when you’re feeling less, uh. Murdery. MARTIN: Jon!! SIMON: Byeeeee! [SIMON DEPARTING / YEETING HIMSELF OUT] [WIND GENTLY HOWLING] [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] [FOOSTEP] MARTIN: You let him go. ARCHIVIST: … Yeah…

SIMON. Some have mentioned that Simon was a cartoon character and, yeah. Absolutely. The sudden stammering and amiability while he was behaving like a coward? The fact he really didn’t want to die despite his Grand Talks about the meaningless of one’s existence in The Vastness Of The Universe?

(MAG151) SIMON: It’s all a matter of perspective, you see. My patron has gifted me with… quite frankly, an absurdly long life. An appropriate gift, and one that serves to provide a certain distance from things. Of course, a paltry few centuries is nothing, really, but it’s more than most get. And even in that brief time, I’ve seen all sorts of ebbs and flows to balance off things. […] MARTIN: Assuming The Extinction doesn’t derail everything…! SIMON: Which is why… I’m happy helping Peter. But! If it does: then I’ll either be dead, which will be fine, or… I’ll adjust. […] Life has continued through dozens of apocalypses already. Ice ages; pandemics; calamities; extinctions… The only reason this one feels special is because, well… it’s happening to you. And that’s the sort of solipsism that tends to come with loneliness – in my experience. So. My feeling is that I’ll help out where I can; but ultimately, if this “Armageddon” comes off, then… so be it. Either billions suffer and life goes on; or billions suffer and life doesn’t. In the grand scheme of things, it’s all… much of a muchness.

Slightly hypocritical, uh? When it comes to himself, he’s ~insignificant~ but still ready to cling to his own life as long as he can enjoy things.

- Jon explained his reasons for stopping the Smiting Avatars quest, and they’re very sound arguments… but it’s still interesting that it confirms that the only avatars he killed (Not!Sasha, Jude, Jared) were the ones who marked him, while Jon was more lenient towards the ones who hadn’t (Arthur Nolan, Oliver, Simon, Helen if we assume that Michael marked Jon first, and that Michael!Distortion and Helen!Distortion are different enough). Helen has not been super threatening this season, but she has tried to upset him on purpose, making fun of him, and yet, Jon didn’t really raise the possibility of eradicating her (he only mentioned that it would hurt them both, but mostly Helen, if he were to use her corridors). I’m reassured that he’s not trying to mindlessly kill avatars but it’s still curious…

(And I still wonder how Jon would react in front of Daisy and Melanie, who marked him for the Hunt and Slaughter…)

- I’m still very curious about Helen trying to push so much for murder?

(MAG174) HELEN: I just wanted to add my vote to the disappointed side. MARTIN: Wait, really? HELEN: I was rather looking forward to watching an old man metaphysically explode. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] HELEN: Honestly, I feel a little bit cheated. The others were exceptional fun. ARCHIVIST: … Y–you were watching? HELEN: [CHUCKLING] Of course! As much fun as the new world is, I am not about to miss a real, honest-to-godless demigod murder spree! [LAUGHS AND LAUGHS, ECHOING] MARTIN: [SIGH] You’re really not helping. HELEN: I’m not trying to! ARCHIVIST: Look, it’s none of your business. Either of you. [DISTANT LOW-PITCHED IMPACT, FOLLOWED BY GUSTS OF WIND] MARTIN: Like hell it isn’t! ARCHIVIST: Martin. MARTIN: Don’t “Martin” me! Sure, he looks like a harmless old man, but if– ARCHIVIST: I know, Martin – I know all the things he’s done. HELEN: Fantastic…! So, rip him up! Pop him! Oh, oh, but, hum, just give me a bit of a head-start so I can find a good spot.

* Helen, absolutely proud that she’s “not helping”.

* … Helen, you REALLY sound like you have a death wish.

* Helen had already watched Not!Sasha’s smiting in MAG165 (since she commented about it in the following episode), and now acknowledged that she watched the others. It’s the third time she’s appeared in front of Jon&Martin. For someone who claimed to be enjoying the new world and be exceptionally busy… Helen has been spending a LOT of time looking at Jon&Martin’s journey. Why…? Is it because their conflicted feelings are feeding her? Is it because she’s monitoring them? Is she hiding someone (Annabelle, or Georgie&Melanie) inside of her corridors…? She had contributed to Jon getting his last mark (it’s still a bit unclear to me, but Peter&Martin were discussing about “the door” at the beginning of MAG158: she might have given Peter the tunnels’ map), but we still don’t know much about her intentions apart from “enjoying the chaos” (which… would be enough considering The Distortion). Why is she so encouraging of Jon’s murder spree, in a way that is so transparent…? Is it a remnant of the original Helen Richardson, trying to feel better about her own choices by having Jon succumb to the temptation of monsterhood like she has…?

* It’s… interesting that Jon couldn’t apparently tell that she had been “watching” when he smote the other avatars. I’d have thought he would be able to tell but, apparently, if he’s not focusing, he can’t know that she’s there.

- When it comes to the episode feeling like a “breather”: technically, it wasn’t hard after last week! But it was significantly less tense, and there was progress regarding Jon’s own boundaries and what he wants to do with his powers, and… cute bantering. Jon being a chirpy little SHIT from the start of the discussion segment:

(MAG174) MARTIN: [SIGH] … [BAG JOSTLING] Is it much further? ARCHIVIST: [SMALL CHUCKLE] Yes. MARTIN: Urgh…! ARCHIVIST: I’m not entirely sure what you were expecting, it’s The Vast. The clue is in the name! MARTIN: Yes, alright…! ARCHIVIST: Just be glad that this is one of the domains that actually has ground to walk on. MARTIN: Whatever. [DISTANT LOW-PITCHED IMPACT, FOLLOWED BY GUSTS OF WIND] S–so how far are we from the other side? And–and don’t say time and space don’t work here, that’s a cop-out and you know it. ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Fine! Three days. MARTIN: Thank you. [SILENCE] … Wait. Wait, what counts as a day? ARCHIVIST: [CHUCKLING] What an excellent question! MARTIN: Oh my go–! You can be infuriating sometimes, you know that? ARCHIVIST: [ANGELIC] … Yes!

… No static =D While on two other occasions, Jon used his powers to “know” about things:

(MAG174) MARTIN: Fine! Fine. How about Simon. How close are we to him? [STATIC RISES] ARCHIVIST: Hum… Close, [STATIC FADES] but he’s able to move a lot faster than we are in this place. […] MARTIN: … You’re removing evil from the world! ARCHIVIST: I, I’m not, though, am I? [STATIC RISES] The tenement fire is still burning; the mortal garden is growing wild; the carousel i– HELEN: Ugh! [STATIC FADES]

So Jon didn’t even try on that first one. I mean, Martin brought it onto himself – how could Jon describe distances without Objective Time And Space except by “far” and “close” (like in MAG167, where Jon confirmed that they could rest a bit since the next domain was still far from them)? Martin is the little kid on the car backseat, uh.

… But also: Martin closed the last episode saying that the kids from The Dark’s domain would “just need to hang on a little longer”, and that the faster they would reach the Panopticon, the faster they could put a stop to this. No wonder he was impatient to reach the end of this one, since he knows now what the kids’ nightmare looked like.

(I’m still REELING over Jon’s “Yes! :)” over knowing that he’s infuriating sometimes. He knows and he’s proud of it and knows that Martin is dating this infuriating prick =D)

- … So, once again: avatars know about Jon’s status and that the apocalypse happened through him.

(MAG164) HELEN: What would I have to gloat about? Much as I am delighted by this brave new world in which we find ourselves, I can take no credit for it. This was all… you!

(MAG165) NOT!SASHA: Well, of course you want to wallow in my shame like your voyeur master!

(MAG166) HELEN: We’re all here, Martin. The Stranger; The Buried; The Desolation; all of us. But The Eye still rules. All this fear is being performed for its benefit. And so, there are now exactly two roles available in this new world of ours: the watcher, and the watched. Subject, and object. Those who are feared, and those who are afraid. And Jon, well… he is part of The Eye; a very important part.

(MAG168) ARCHIVIST: “This report is being sent to: The Great Eye, that watches all who linger in terror, and gorges itself on the sufferings of those under its unrelenting, stuporous gaze! And its Archive, which draws knowledge of this suffering unto itself. […] Perhaps once it might have horrified me, or given me some sense of pursuing the ultimate release of the world that you have damned.”

(MAG169) JUDE: Fancy seeing you both here. To what, exactly, do I owe the pleasure, the honour, of being graced by the great and powerful Archivist, harbinger of this new world, and his, uh… valet…? […] Just messing around~! Wouldn’t want to keep you from your oh-so-special business, Your Holiness.

(MAG171) JARED: Mm. … So, is there any way this doesn’t end in me dead? I’m guessing that’s on the docket if you’re here. Unless you’re just here to smell the flowers.

(MAG172) ARCHIVIST: “THE SPIDER: Oh, Francis… It’s such a shame, but I couldn’t do such a thing even if I wanted to! The man in the audience saw to that!”

(MAG173) CALLUM: … You’re the Eye guy, right? ARCHIVIST: That’s right. CALLUM: So you’re like… real important. ARCHIVIST: [HUFF] I suppose I am!

(MAG174) SIMON: Good to see you again, Martin! And you must be the famous Archivist, Herald of the Ceaseless Watcher, Harbinger of the New Age, etcetera. Lovely to meet you at last. ARCHIVIST: [SHORT EXHALE] SIMON: Simon Fairchild, at your service. [FOOTSTEPS] ARCHIVIST: I know who you are. SIMON: [CHUCKLES] Of course you do! I imagine you know pretty much everything by this point. How is it? How does it feel? [SHUFFLING] ARCHIVIST: … Strange. SIMON: Yes! I can imagine. These gifts can feel very disconcerting at times. I’m sure you’ll get used to it eventually. […] We don’t get many visitors these days, and, well. You might be the closest thing the universe has ever had to an important person! ARCHIVIST: Uh… I, hum… SIMON: I mean, obviously you’re still ultimately finite and all that, but [INHALE] altering the very fabric of reality, that’s… [WHISTLE] That’s pretty good going, all things considered. […] HELEN: [CHUCKLING] Of course! As much fun as the new world is, I am not about to miss a real, honest-to-godless demigod murder spree! [LAUGHS AND LAUGHS, ECHOING] […] I honestly thought that actually ending the world would be enough to stop you whining, but no! You’re the most powerful person, in a world where the worst consequences imaginable have already happened! Absolute power, with zero responsibility! What more can you possibly need to just – enjoy – yourself – a tiny – bit!

So, nothing new, but still eternally laughing that Jon was apparently marked as harbinger-of-the-apocalypse and that nobody cares about Jonah.

- I’m squinting at what Simon said regarding Jon’s powers:

(MAG174) SIMON: Well, in that case, thank you for swinging by to my… huge corner of the apocalypse. We don’t get many visitors these days, and, well. You might be the closest thing the universe has ever had to an important person! ARCHIVIST: Uh… I, hum… SIMON: I mean, obviously you’re still ultimately finite and all that, but [INHALE] altering the very fabric of reality, that’s… [WHISTLE] That’s pretty good going, all things considered.

Because it reminds me of the wording used for Hill Top Road?

(MAG139, Eugene Vanderstock) “But it seems the fight scarred the place in a way far deeper than simple fire. A scar in reality, that I believe has since been compounded by the interferences of other powers.”

(MAG146) HELEN: There is… something wrong, with Hill Top Road. You know it as well as I do. Some strange “scar in reality” at the centre of… whatever it is the Spider is spinning.

(And it’s still interesting regarding Jon’s status: if he is the one who “altered the very fabric of reality”, can he alter it back? Can he alter it in another way again? It still feels like if someone can do anything about the new configuration, it will be him…)

- I’m suuuuuuuuuuuuper glad at Martin’s rant and anger towards Simon, because it’s… coming close to talking about his own feelings regarding the apocalypse – the fact that he was misled all through season 4 to believe that The Extinction was the most urgent threat, and the fact that he was used by Jonah to give Jon his last mark with The Lonely, and the fact that… Martin chose to not kill Jonah Magnus’s body, unaware that it was still playing the game (and making Elias win). Martin hadn’t mentioned his own guilt so far, the fact that he was used by Jonah (and by Peter, and that Simon played with him a bit) and that he could have technically prevented everything if he had just stabbed Jonah in the Panopticon. I wonder if he will talk about that at some point?

It’s also interesting that this episode ended with the awkwardness of Jon inviting Martin to “lead on” before remembering that he’s the one knowing about the direction and correcting himself (“Follow me, then”) while Martin had expressed some anguish over the fact that he was “following, al–always following, never leading; never leading” in MAG170: it feels like there could be some feeling brewing over his own uselessness and powerlessness right now? Or like someone (Annabelle, Helen, Jonah) could definitely try to use it against him – Annabelle already did (“Does he even need you at all?”), which Jon kind of appeased the following episode (“Yes, Martin, you are my reason.”), but it could still come into play.

- Overall I’m not surprised that Martin absolutely wanted Simon dead in these circumstances – and it might be why he embraced the smiting spree so easily, because it could allow him (through Jon) to hurt back the avatars and monsters who had toyed with people? Peter is already dead, and Jonah is still far away. I reaaaally didn’t like the smiting spree, but I can understand how Martin had wanted to embrace it as a short-term solution; that’s the closest thing he could have to get some power back. (Simon admitted that The Extinction and what he had told Martin had mostly been “guesses”, but I also still wonder if it’s not going to be relevant, though not exactly as defined by Adelard… Simon had told Martin, in MAG151, that cataclysms and end-of-the-worlds had technically always been a thing depending of the point of view – it doesn’t mean that everything was bollocks.)

- Once again, what is Martin’s status in the new world? Because Simon’s comment definitely sounded like he was seeing Martin as one-of-the-avatars:

(MAG174) MARTIN: [AGGRAVATED INHALE] I might have guessed you’d be happy living in this nightmare. SIMON: I mean… not that it matters but… yes I am! Honestly, I think you could be too if you set your mind to it. But I’m not one to tell you how to live your eternity.

We haven’t seen Martin use Lonely powers apart from the end of MAG149, and his status was ambiguous in the Lonely house from MAG170, but mmmm…

- I’m laughing so much over Martin still being petty over Jon sparing Simon, because it sounded ONCE AGAIN like jealousy and it makes Martin out to be so over-the-top:

(MAG174) MARTIN: Why did you let him go– ARCHIVIST: Uh… MARTIN: –Jon? ARCHIVIST: I don’t… know, I just–! [SIGH] I didn’t want to kill him. MARTIN: Why not? Because he was nice to you? [FOOTSTEP] Because he was charming, because he was fun? ARCHIVIST: No, I–I–I, I just…

Martin is a bitch and I LOVE HIM. (Also, that sounds like Martin himself found Simon charming&fun.)

I’m able to appreciate his over-the-topness because he also gave genuine reasons, was aware that it was a bit humiliating:

(MAG174) MARTIN: … Good point! [SMALL CHUCKLES] I’ll keep my apology, then. [RUSTLING OF CLOTHES] [BAG JOSTLING] [SMALL CHUCKLES] … I do kind of wish you’d waited until after Fairchild to have your crisis, though. ARCHIVIST: You really want that old man dead…! MARTIN: I mean, su–, yeah, sure, when you say it like that it sounds bad! ARCHIVIST: But what did he do to you? MARTIN: … He threatened to throw me off a rollercoaster. ARCHIVIST: Ah! MARTIN: … Okay, I, I know it sounds like a joke, but– ARCHIVIST: No, obviously, he’s an avatar of The Vast, I understand, it’s a scary threat coming from him. MARTIN: Yeah! ARCHIVIST: It just… doesn’t sound like a scary threat. MARTIN: Thanks for that.

Martin sounds INCREDIBLY PETTY, once again, but it’s also very valid: back in MAG151, I appreciated how his “How do you feel about… rollercoasters?” / “Uh… neutral” answer had protected him from both of the usual outcomes (getting recruited as a Vast avatar or fed to it as a victim), but it’s true that it was still a threat, thrown casually by a powerful avatar who was flexing that he could just kill him if he wanted to. It doesn’t feel good to be spared just because your potential tormentor decided that you were “no fun”.

It was cute of Jon to very awkwardly try to break it down, and kind of make it worse in the process – because yes, it sounded like a ridiculous threat said like this… but also, Simon would have done it, and it was a genuine threat.

- I’m absolutely delighted that Jon explained his feelings regarding the smiting – a mix of firmness and getting his points across, and that Martin apologised for pushing him in that direction ;w;

(MAG174) ARCHIVIST: I–I just–! … This whole… “avenging angel” thing, I–I’m not… It doesn’t feel right. MARTIN: … It seemed to feel right when we were avenging all the wrongs done against you! ARCHIVIST: I know. I–I–I know, alright? But, well, th–… [SIGH] That’s kind of the problem, I have all this… power and, and I, I want to use it to try and help, but I… I don’t know, I mean, I do. Uh… I’ve done so much damage, an–and anything that might help to balance that is–! [SOFT SIGH] … But killing other avatars, it, it’s not… I, I don’t think it makes anything better. I think it just makes me worse. MARTIN: … You’re removing evil from the world! ARCHIVIST: I, I’m not, though, am I? [STATIC RISES] The tenement fire is still burning; the mortal garden is growing wild; the carousel i– […] [SIGH] I, I, I… [SIGH] I’m sorry, Martin. After meeting the child, I thought… I’ve been… I really hoped things would be simpler, you know? A nice, straightforward apocalypse. MARTIN: [INHALE] No… [SIGH] No, I’m sorry. Cheerleading you when you’re on a magical murder spree probably… wasn’t a great idea. ARCHIVIST: I started it. MARTIN: … Good point! [SMALL CHUCKLES] I’ll keep my apology, then.

Sentence of the episode for me: “But killing other avatars, it, it’s not… I, I don’t think it makes anything better. I think it just makes me worse.”

I’m glad that Martin was able to keep (some of) his pettiness in check enough to hear him out, though, and that he apologised (I really didn’t hear the “I’ll keep my apology, then” as something serious, but as cute banter between a couple who are back on the same wavelength: Martin had already admitted that he behaved poorly – it’s not something he can exactly take back); and on the other hand, that Jon also explained how it didn’t work. It’s like Martin isolating himself during the statement: they’ve made a mistake, they’re ready to acknowledge it, and they decide to not make it again. (Though, where was Martin during the statement portion this episode? At least in MAG171 and (partially) MAG172, he had stayed close to Jon.)

Right now, the problem with Jon’s powers really isn’t whether he can but whether he should – and the fact that he feels like it might be negatively impacting him is a valid argument (+ the ethical concern, not mentioned, of being judge/jury/executioner all by himself). The season began with The Eye wanting Jon to leave the cabin, wanting for the cabin to be his “chrysalis”, and… that cannot be good.

- I still lovelovelove how, since the reveal in MAG158 that “Elias Bouchard” was actually Jonah Magnus, Jon&Martin… are still mostly sticking to “Elias”.

(MAG158) ARCHIVIST: Uh– yes. And I’d wager that Elias’s body, uh… BASIRA: Gotta be Jonah Magnus, right? ARCHIVIST: I’d say so. BASIRA: [SIGH] And he’s been body-hopping like whatever was in Rayner. […] PETER: … No. No! This isn’t fair, do you have any idea what you’ve done? You knew, he must have– MARTIN: Elias– … Jonah had nothing to do with it.

(MAG160) MARTIN: Are we… … Are we safe here? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Safe as anywhere else. If Elias wanted to find us, I imagine he could, but… I doubt the police will be able to. […] Does she know if they’ve found the old prison yet? The… Panopticon, Elia– … Magnus’s body.

(MAG161) MARTIN: [SIGH] Gloating, Jon. [CREAKING SOUND] Elias won, and there were some tapes he’d kept for himself, and he wanted to gloat. So, he sent them! ARCHIVIST: He’s not… MARTIN: I–I don’t see– ARCHIVIST: … “Elias”. MARTIN: Jonah, then. I don’t know, I find it hard to think of him as… I don’t really like to think of him!

(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: No, no, lo–look… I, I–I was listening, and I–I was filled with this… hatred. This anger; I–I wanted to leave, and hunt down Elias, a–and…! MARTIN: W–wow, okay… […] Do you think it’ll do anything? Confronting Elias? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] I… [SIGH] Maybe? MARTIN: No, I’m serious. Do we… [PAUSE IN THE PACKING SOUNDS] Is there a chance that we can undo this?

(MAG164) MARTIN: What about Elias? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: He’s inside the Panopticon; the tower, far above the world. MARTIN: That one? ARCHIVIST: Yes. [PAUSE] MARTIN: How is he? ARCHIVIST: Hard to say. The, the way this works, this… “new sight”, the knowledge is, is… [SIGH] It’s somehow wrapped up in the Panopticon? An eye can’t… see inside itself. MARTIN: Mm. ARCHIVIST: But I can feel him in there. MARTIN: Hm. That sounds… gross. ARCHIVIST: It is! [CHUCKLES]

(MAG167) ARCHIVIST: Help us with what? MARTIN: ‘xcuse me? ARCHIVIST: Annabelle, help us with “what”? Our–our, our journey, killing Elias, vanishing the Entities – what?

(MAG174) MARTIN: Thanks for that. … Hang on, you’re still down to kill Elias, right? Uh, oh, Jonah, whatever. ARCHIVIST: I’m still going to confront him. [INHALE] I don’t know if killing him is something I’m even… capable of, but if I can and I have to, I will. MARTIN: Yeeah? ARCHIVIST: Don’t worry. I won’t hesitate.

Because: same. He still doesn’t really register as “Jonah Magnus” to me.

I’m also laughing a lot at Martin, who began the season with “I don’t really like to think of Elias :/” and, since then, has most often been the one to breach the subject of Elias (+ we can add MAG170: “I mean, the interview was weird, I… I don’t really remember the man who talked to me. Just his eyes. They stared at me; th–through me, and… and, I–I knew that he knew what I’d done. God, I…! I was so scared, but… but then he smiled and shook my hand…! What was his name? [CREAKING] He said I “had the job”…! [CHUCKLE] That he “looked forward to working with me”! … I was still so scared I could barely move my arm…! I was so terrified I’d let him down…!” – even when he was losing his memories, still remembering Elias’s eyes, and THIS is how MartinElias can still w–)

I really wonder if they’ll even try to call him “Jonah” when face-to-face with him, or… will still stick to “Elias” out of habit.

- … Well. That is, if Elias still has a face. We know that some part of him still remains in the Panopticon-Institute (MAG164: “He’s inside the Panopticon; the tower, far above the world.”), that Jon can still “feel” him there, but the fact that Jon can’t know more about it (because “an eye can’t see inside itself”) combined with the fact that Jon’s anger towards him was a key point in making them leave the cabin and the confrontation with Elias is still their current goal… keeps making me think that Elias might not be in the same state as he was in MAG158. Stuck in layers and layers of spiderwebs? Merged with the Panopstitute (since his powers relied on Magnus’s body staying in the middle of it)? Stuck inside of his old body? What is the part of Jonah Magnus can feel inside the Panopstitute: is it Jonah Magnus’s body or his consciousness? Is it still both?

- Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm Jon.

(MAG174) MARTIN: Hang on, you’re still down to kill Elias, right? Uh, oh, Jonah, whatever. ARCHIVIST: I’m still going to confront him. [INHALE] I don’t know if killing him is something I’m even… capable of, but if I can and I have to, I will. MARTIN: Yeeah? ARCHIVIST: Don’t worry. I won’t hesitate. MARTIN: … Right. [DISTANT LOW-PITCHED IMPACT, FOLLOWED BY GUSTS OF WIND] [INHALE] Right, alright then. Good. … Let’s go, then. We don’t want to keep him waiting!

“I won’t hesitate,” he hesitated, hesitatingly.

Well. Not exactly: Jon’s tone was casually firm, but also felt a bit distracted and, most importantly… why the need to add so many conditions, Jon.

* “if I can”: true that, unlike other avatars until then, Elias is tied to Beholding. Can Beholding’s powers be used against another Beholding avatar? Elias resisted the compulsion in MAG092 (… or so he said, before spilling everything ~on his own terms uwu~ – he, at least, was able to delay the effects), so Jon’s cautiousness is understandable.

* “if I have to”: that one is a bit more unexpected, because that’s… a big condition. In what circumstances would Jon “have to” kill Elias? It’s good, though, because it implies that it’s not about plain revenge anymore, but whether it could help the situation.

Anyway: the shift to “confront Elias” is a good one! … And gives me the feeling that Elias either won’t be in a state to be confronted, either will have further contributions to make.

(- Martin’s “We don’t want to keep him waiting!” also brings to mind that Elias is probably aware that they’re coming, right now. He’s in the middle of the seeing-it-all tower: unless he’s already incapacitated, they won’t be taking him by surprise, and he might be prepared to welcome them.)

- … Welp, I was feeling like we were hitting rock bottom last week, hope-wise, but this episode felt… like a breather (ha)? Not exactly hopeful per se, but definitely lighter (Martin firm about wanting to save the world, Jon finally wording what was bothering him with the smiting, Martin apologising, Jon and Martin reaching an understanding, not playing Helen’s game and thinking about the Elias case). So, #BackToWorryingOverDaisy – Jon didn’t want to kill Simon, doesn’t want to kill avatars just for the sake of it, but there is still Daisy running wild…

(And I would still feel a bit (lot) miffed if Jon were to kill her, given that she’s part of Basira’s story, that Basira promised her and that Basira arguably got the worst of it when it came to being manipulated without achieving/“winning” anything in season 4? I think it’s more likely that Jon could have the power to incapacitate her and give the time for Basira to fulfil her promise, if there is no other way, but I don’t know, I keep hoping that there could be another way with the fact that Jon can change the rules (turning the feared into the afraid, changing the “fabric of reality”) and that Daisy had a connection to The Eye (she signed a contract in season 4)…)

   MAG175’s title is mysterioooous. If MAG174 hadn’t happened, I would have said “Vast” but… Mm. Only Spiral and Hunt left when it comes to domains, so I would wager Spiral, more specifically with digital fuckedupness, reminiscent of MAG065? (But I could also see how it could tie with Hunt if thinking about beginnings, and it could go very well with Extinction too… if this one ends up relevant again). In itself, the title feels perfect for lore about the new reality (tying in with a few meta considerations and comments which have been made by various avatars), so mmmmm: could also be a switch in perspective with Annabelle or Elias, I guess…

[lealina-scarsdale]

The Unexpected Scout (The Hobbit OC Story)

Chapter 03 - Don’t get distracted

Gwen opened one of the cupboards in Bilbo’s kitchen. “Alright. Could someone please pass me the plates?”, she asked without looking back to the dwarves. They all were currently busy cleaning up the mess that they had produced. Actually, it had been just the dwarves’ fault, but she didn’t mind helping.

At the next moment, she heard a few things hurtling right behind her. Without turning her head, she easily caught the objects with her hands and some even with her tail.

“Guys.”, she sighed. “I didn’t mean it literally. Please give them to me as every other person would.” Shooting them a chiding glimpse over her shoulder, Gwen shook her head and began to put away the “handed over” plates.

The dwarves just laughed at that and apologized. Then they started to help out normally just like she had asked them to. “Say, lass.”, Bofur suddenly asked as he gave her another pile of clean dishes to be placed back into the cupboard.

“How come that someone like you is wandering around like that instead of being settled down somewhere nice and living a peaceful life? Surely there must be a bunch of lads who would gladly spend the rest of their lives with you.” He gave her a smirk and raised one of his eyebrows in a knowing way.

Gwen just chuckled at that as she took one plate after another from his hands to put it back where it belonged. “Maybe there are. And it would be a lie to say that such thoughts never crossed my mind. But you know . . .” She paused for a moment, thinking carefully about her next words.

“Would you believe me if I would tell you that I don’t really have high hopes to live such a life?” He knitted his brows at her answer and stared at her in disbelief. “Don’t get me wrong. It really would be great. But . . . I just can’t imagine myself doing it.”

She closed the now filled cupboard and turned her head to look at him. On her lips, she had a smile, but there was a hint of sadness in it.

Now Bofur was even more confused, and so were the rest of the dwarves in the room, who had listened to their conversation as well. Everyone was silent and just gazed at her. Their faces spoke volumes. All of them wanted to know what made her think that way.

Cogitating how to explain it to them, Gwen slightly cocked her head, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. “There have been a lot of guys from other races and my own kin, who had asked me to stay with them, I can’t deny that. But as nice they all had been – most of them at least – I couldn’t say yes because I don’t share their feelings.”

She sighed and went over to the table to fetch the cutlery to put it away too. “Furthermore, there are a lot of people in my homeland, who wouldn’t approve if I would make such a decision frivolously. They would be highly disappointed.”

The dwarves looked among each other quietly. Her words had only raised even more questions. They all were curious but sensed that Gwen didn’t really want to go into any more detail than that. It must be a real tough situation for her at home. Maybe that was the reason why she was traveling?

“So . . . you have never really met someone, who made your heart go boom?”, Kili asked right beside her to help out by handing her the remaining cutlery that had still lain on the table.

Thankful for his assistance, Gwen took them and sorted them accurately back into the drawer. In doing so, she answered his question with a shake of her head.

“And that is why you already have given up on it?” Kili raised an eyebrow as he dug deeper. He couldn’t really believe that she didn’t think that she would ever be happy with someone.

She sighed and was about to explain it to him, but the sudden touch of a hand on her shoulder kept her from it. Turning her head to the other side, her red eyes met the blue ones of Fili. He just smiled at her hearteningly as his thumb gently stroked her shoulder.

“It sounds to me that you just haven’t found your One yet. Don’t say such awful things about your own future!” Encouragingly he patted her back. “Who knows? Maybe you will have your heart throwing a tantrum inside of your chest as soon as our quest starts?” He gave her a smirk so it was unmistakable what he had meant.

Gwen laughed at that. “That would be really nice, Master Dwarf. But may I remind you that our journey contains to take back your mountain from a dragon and not finding me a lover?” She flicked Fili’s forehead what made him laugh as well.

“I know, I know. But what exactly speaks against combining those two goals?” “Right. What does?”, Kili suddenly commented and rested his hand on her other shoulder. Both brothers leaned closer to her and gave her a cheeky grin.

She shook her head with a smile. “You better not tell your uncle about this. He is going get angry for sure.” Everyone in the room laughed, knowing that Gwen was right about that. Thorin wouldn’t be all too happy about them thinking of something else than getting back Erebor, everybody knew that.

“Come on now, guys. We still have a lot to do before we leave in the early morning. It’s the least we can do for our sudden intrusion and the mess.” Gwen clapped her hands as she reminded them on their current duty.

Before the dwarves could protest or ask any further questions, she shooed them out of the room, assigning each one of them to a task to make Bag End nice and clean again.

Thorin and Balin observed that. But while Balin couldn’t hold back a chuckle, Thorin just frowned at that. He didn’t like seeing his company being ordered around by her.

But there was nothing he could do about it. She was right after all. If they wanted to get at least a few hours of rest before sunrise, they had to be finished as soon as possible.

His eyes followed Gwen’s every movement. The idea of her being a part of them still didn’t appeal to him. There were so many things that argued against.

Danger was lurking at every corner on this journey. Death would be close on their heels. The risk of getting hurt any moment would haunt everyone in their sleep, reminding them that they had to be on alert.

Gandalf maybe had said that she had traveled all on her own so far and never had any problems staying alive, but it didn’t settle Thorin’s nerves. It didn’t change the fact that she was female after all.

Her body wasn’t built like a male dwarf’s. There were no hard muscles, no callused skin, and no chunky arms or legs – quite the contrary. Hers was graceful, slender, and smooth.

Such soft looking long hair, tied up into this elegant single braid, not like the coarse one of his kin. Those sparkling red eyes, more beautiful than any ruby he had ever seen before. Not even the royal treasury of Erebor provided such fantastic and fine looking gems like those ones on her face.

And then there were those cute animal ears and this fluffy tail that swayed lovely behind her. They looked a little strange at the first glimpse but really suited her. It was something that made her even more fascinating for others in the first place.

In short, she looked like a damsel in distress compared to all of them. Thorin didn’t want to say it out loud, but he was worried. Worried that the others could get distracted by her. He had noticed the way everyone was eying her with great interest, especially his nephews Fili and Kili.

The two were still young and had no one special in their lives yet. Their uncle was already afraid that they would hazard themselves in order to protect Gwen or would even try to impress her, what would be far worse. He didn’t want them to get killed because of something stupid like trying to win the affection of a woman.

It really bothered him that the rest seemed to be so into her too. Well, it wasn’t like he couldn’t understand them. Gwen was interesting and her appearance quite pleasing, but having his company idolizing her seriously annoyed him.

He didn’t like it. It sparked a fire inside of him. A fire that was fed by the fact that he couldn’t stand it how the others were looking at her with those moonily eyes.

This wasn’t alright at all! None of them should gaze at her like that. And if, then it should be only hi-

Suddenly Thorin flinched and blinked a few times in shock. It was like he had just awoken from a dream. He groaned quietly and pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes to clear his mind.

Talking about distraction. What had he been thinking? How could he let himself fall victim to it when he was already worried about the others? He couldn’t believe himself. How was this woman able to have such an effect on him already? They had just met! What kind of witchcraft was that?

  In the meantime, Gwen had just put away her cleaning supplies after she had gotten the last piece of her assigned share of the house done, as she suddenly walked past the room where she had left Bilbo after he had fainted.

Gandalf was talking to him right now, trying to convince him to join them on their journey. She hadn’t been able to hear the beginning of the conversation, but from what she caught now, it didn’t sound like he would be so easily persuaded.

The wizard gave him a speech of how he remembered him as a curious and adventurous child that had always run off in search of elves in the woods, who had stayed out late had come home after dark, trailing mud and twigs and fireflies. A young hobbit, who would have liked nothing better than to find out what was beyond the borders of the Shire.

Carefully, not wanting to startle them, Gwen snuck a peek into the room. There she saw both of them. Gandalf attempting to change Bilbo’s mind, who had a meditative expression on his face. Perhaps he was recollecting the memories of his childhood the wizard had spoken of?

Gwen knew that people changed when they grew up and the things that they had once done as a kid weren’t interesting nor fun any longer, but she also had to agree with Gandalf as he continued.

The world wasn’t in books and maps. It was out there. As soon as Bilbo would step outside and see it with his own eyes, he would surely be hooked for the quest, Gwen was sure about that.

But of course, the hobbit remained stubborn and expressed his displeasure about this idea once more. Saying, that he couldn’t just go running off into the blue, that he was a Baggins of Bag End, and that were his last words. For him, it was final that he won’t go with them.

Rolling her eyes, Gwen crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe as she continued to listen to the discussion. Gosh, this guy was a pighead. Not as obstinate as a dwarf, but he was close to it. Slowly but surely she doubted Gandalf’s knowledge about this hobbit’s nature.

And as the wizard yet started to talk about one of Bilbo’s ancestors, she knew that even he had given away to despair. But in the end, it didn’t work.

“Sorry, Gandalf, I can’t sign this.”, Bilbo apologized, put the tea that Gwen had especially brewed for him to make him a little more approachable after his blackout, and stood up. He faced the wizard and sighed. “You’ve got the wrong hobbit.” And with that, he left the room.

He noticed Gwen leaning at the doorframe and looking at him with a mixed expression of disappointment, but also understanding. But he brushed it off and went away. Silently she gazed after him until she saw him disappear into his bedroom.

Then her gaze turned to Gandalf, who sat onto one of the chairs in the middle of the room and let a deep sigh escape his lips. He was frustrated that all of his words had bounced off the hobbit just like the blow of a sword off a shield.

“You think he will change his mind?”, Gwen asked, knowing well that he had been aware of her presence ever since she had stopped by the room.

Quietly he took a few pulls of his pipe. He didn’t even look at her. His eyes were staring into space as if he was thinking about something. Then, after a few seconds of silence, he finally met her eyes and a weak smile began to show on his lips.

“That, my dear Gwen, is something we have to wait for. But I still have faith in him. He just needs some time to realize it for himself.” Gwen’s lips also curled up slightly at that. She nodded as a sign that she believed Gandalf’s words.

Sudden rustling noises caught the attention of the two. They glanced at the hallway and noticed that the dwarves began to meet in the living room at the other end of the house. The wizard and the young woman looked at each other for a moment and decided to join them as well.

As they entered the room they were greeted by a deep humming of male voices. Gwen let her eyes wander. The dwarves were gathered around the fireplace. Everyone was gazing at the lambency, how it danced in the chimney and harked to the crackle of burning wood as they crooned a little melody to themselves.

The low-pitched sounds, which were coming from their throats, echoed through the whole house. Gwen moved a little further into the room and leaned against the wall since there weren’t any available seats left.

She closed her eyes as she listened to the male choir. It sounded dulcet and gave her goosebumps. But she also noticed sadness being carried in it.

Then she heard it. A gruff, deep voice had started to sing the lyrics of the song. Gwen shivered at the pleasing sound and opened her eyes again to look at the dwarf, who had taken the lead vocal.

It was Thorin. He leaned against the mantelpiece, his pipe in his hand, and observed the restless movements of the fire. She stared at him, her ears twitching at the sound of his agreeable voice. Her skin tingled as if he was standing right in front of her so the sound waves would hit her directly.

She fought back heaving a sigh as he continued on. His voice was rough and low, but so fair and beautiful at the same time. Enraptured by it, her tail fawned. In order to dedicate her full attention to the wonderful sounds that left his mouth, she closed her eyes once again.

Her mind drifted off to some faraway place, but she still listened intently. It sounded inside of her head and caused her heart to throb strongly.

Never was she going to forget this singing – she didn’t want to. It made her whole body float in an ocean of ease and comfort, despite the sorrow that was in it as well.

Sadly the song ended soon, much to Gwen’s regret. She had wanted to listen to the dwarf king's voice a little longer – in fact, all night if it would be possible. Instantly her tail stopped moving due to the loss of joy.

Sighing softly, she opened her eyes again. She nearly flinched as she realized that there was a pair of azure eyes meeting her ruby ones. Thorin was staring at her.

Not knowing what else to do, she returned the look, her eyes not leaving his’. Both stayed quiet. None of them dared to speak. They were just looking at each other while the rest of the company was chatting or some of them even already excusing themselves for the night.

But after some time, Gwen grew a little nervous under his gaze. The tip of her tail slightly stirred from left to right. What was up with him? Why was he looking at her like that? Had she done something wrong? Or was it still because of her joining them? So many questions were whizzing around in her head.

She tried to find the answers by sensing his aura. But that only confused her even more. His aura . . . she wasn’t able to ascertain it. What was the meaning of this? That had never ever happened before. Was he hiding it from her? If so, he was really good at it. It was unmeaning just like his face.

A blank expression was all that he gave away and his splendid blue eyes rested on her. Gwen felt tingly inside of her stomach and felt her body heating up. A thick lump was stuck inside of her throat, keeping her from speaking and made it a little harder for her to breath. She felt uncomfortable.

But fortunately, it didn’t last long as she felt a hand on each of her arms. Surprised she blinked, snapping out of her trance, and looked at the persons who were touching her.

Her lips instantly formed into a smile as she saw Fili and Kili on each side of her, their hands gently holding onto her upper arms close to her elbows. They were also smiling.

“Hey, lass. How about we hit the hay now? There’s a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”, Kili suggested, looking up directly into her eyes. “Plus, don’t pretty lasses need their beauty sleep? Don’t worry. We will keep watch and wake you up when it’s time to leave.”, Fili declared and winked at her, a smirk dancing on his lips. His brother nodded in agreement, sharing the same expression.

Gwen couldn’t help but giggle. “That’s really nice of you, my dear princes. But I’m afraid that you also need to rest. After all, you are two handsome guys, and they also are entitled to get some shut-eye to regain the full capacity of their looks.” She winked back at them and grinned.

Both blushed immediately when she called them good-looking. They were stunned at how charming she was. Not knowing what to say about that, they shoot each other a quick glimpse in hope that the other one had an idea what to do now.

Realizing that none of them was able to find the right words, they decided to let their actions speak. Their cheeks still colored light pink, they gave her the biggest and most heartwarming smiles they had to offer.

Gwen wagged her tail as she saw that. They looked adorable. She really wanted to hug them but she repressed the urge. It wouldn’t be a good idea to do that to someone you had just met, especially in public.

So she just returned the same tender expression and let them lead her outside of the room to the place they had chosen to be their sleeping spot, wanting her to join them. Hence she missed two azure eyes following her.

A hushed growl escaped Thorin’s throat as he saw the three leave together. He took a deep pull of his pipe, letting the tobacco fill his lungs completely before he let it all out again with one big sigh.

Gnashing his teeth he still stared into the direction where his nephews and Gwen had taken off to. He had overheard their conversation. How not? His attention had been on this woman for the whole time.

During the song, he had caught her gazing at him. An abrupt feeling of excitement had washed through him at that time. He had felt nervous under her eyes, which had glanced at him captivated and filled with admiration.

Suddenly he had feared to mess up the singing and embarrassing himself in front of her. His nerves had been on the edge and his heart had pounded so very hard inside of his strong chest as he had given his very best and not letting his flurry show on the outside.

And when he had seen her fluffy tail starting to sway in happiness and that she had been closing her eyes to relax even more to take all of the song in, it hadn’t made it any better. He had struggled really hard to finally reach the end of this torture.

As the last note had left his lips, he had breathed a sigh of relief inside of his mind. And almost immediately his eyes had searched for her afterward.

Their gaze had met and he had already thought that his heart would burst his ribs, tear his skin apart, and jump right out of him. He had felt hot and cold at the same time. His eyes had gotten lost in hers and he had prayed to dear Mahal that this thunderstorm of emotions inside of him wouldn’t be visible on his face.

Everything about her had entranced him without him noticing, no matter how strictly he had told himself that he wouldn’t let it happen to him nor that the rest of the guys would get into trouble because of that.

He hadn’t been able to return to reality until he had seen Fili and Kili suddenly talking to her and taking her with them, both of them a hand on one of her arms. Snarling at this memory, Thorin took another long pull of his pipe until his lungs hurt from overfilling and the lack of oxygen.

One good example he was. Wanting the others to keep their focus and wasn’t even able to do it himself. That surely was mortifying. Their journey hadn’t even started yet and he was already exhausted and scatty because of the mere sight of a female.

What in Durin’s name had this woman done to him?

________________________________________________________________

<< Chapter 02

Chapter 04 >>

________________________________________________________________

Tags: @loushirley, @j25m18c24, @hellbull, @inumorph, @fizzyxcustard

[huntertales]

Part One: Don’t Say Something You’ll Regret. (Torn and Frayed S08E10)

Episode Summary: Castiel turns to Dean and the reader for help when an angel is being held captive and must rescue him. Meanwhile, Sam is given an ultimatum from Amelia; stay with her or leave and never make contact again. The decision grows complicated when Sam learns a secret the reader has been keeping from him, making him choose between the woman he loves or the family and lifestyle he’s only known. Word Count: 6,474. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

You knocked on the motel door of room number one-eighteen that was booked for the night by a man that matched the description of someone who was six-foot four, neck length brown hair and was probably wearing plaid. The person behind the desk instantly knew who you were talking about, he said something about how he used to work here a year or so ago and helped fix up the place with a dog that he accidentally hit. You helped fill in the gaps when he tried to think of the dog's name, you knew Sam had mentioned it was Riot. An Australian Shepard he left in Kermit, along with the woman he loved and a bit of happiness he spent his entire life trying to get. Only to come back when he thought his real life had caught up with the other one he spent such a short time enjoying, in a way that forced him back into all of this the first time he tried a go at leaving it.

You were honestly surprised that Sam opened up the door and only half attempted to slam it on your face when he saw it was you and his brother. You didn't smile, you didn't apologize right away for what you did. Instead you let Sam decide how he wanted things to go. Sam stood in the motel doorway for a moment, his infamous bitch face directed towards his older brother to show off how much he was pissed off at how things ended up here. Dean didn’t take much offense to it as he stepped inside the room, brushing past the both of you as he looked around to see if it had just been Sam. You walked into the room a second later with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Who did you expect?” Dean asked his little brother.

Sam didn’t responded to the question, he slammed the door behind you when he saw that it was the only two people he didn’t want to see. You wondered if he had seen Amelia being able to live a life without him. Maybe the both of them had met up again, and you reopened old wounds for the past couple. Sam stood where he was as Dean walked across the room. “Long drive?”

“Well, I wouldn’t had to make it if you hadn’t have hung up on me.” Dean responded.

“Yeah, well,” Sam said, defending himself for the actions he chose in the spur of the moment. “I heard all I needed to hear.”

“No, you heard what you wanted to hear.” Dean said, feeling the need to take it upon himself to correct his brother’s way of thinking and feeling. It was almost as if he could justify his choices to make them seem like it was the right thing to do. “I told you Benny wasn’t killing. Hell, Y/N watched him end the fangbanger that was.”

“How about Martin?” Sam questioned his brother. “How did he end that?”

“Stupid—just like I said it would. Crazy son of a bitch didn’t give Benny a choice.” Dean said. “It was self defense.”

"Seriously, Dean? That's the story you're going with?" Sam asked in almost a mocking tone from the excuse he was hearing and how ridiculous it sounded. "That the victim was the real victim here?"

"Hey, like it or not, that's the truth, okay?” You couldn’t help yourself but speak up, trying to help guide some direction into this conversation before it turned into an argument. But you knew that it was impossible with the two brothers when they were worked up like this there was no way of talking them down like you hoped for.

“And there was a time when that actually meant something.” Dean said, feeling the need to add that in. As if that was going to change his little brother’s mind.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam agreed for the most part with that line of thinking. “No kidding.”

Dean stared at his brother with a slightly confused expression at the muttered remark, knowing it meant something more. "What does that mean?"

"You think this is just about Benny?" Sam asked his brother.  

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"What the hell do you think I'm talking about?"

"Amelia?" Dean asked, suddenly catching onto the reason why his brother was so pissed off at him. It wasn't just because of the whole Benny situation, but because of a cheap trick he used to get him out of the way. "Oh, come on, man. I sent you that text 'cause I needed you to—"

“You needed me to what? To tear ass to Texas? To be afraid that what happened to Jessica, what happened to…” Sam trailed off for a second as he started to slowly pace around the room, telling you about his worst fear that haunted him like a bad dream for so many years and came right back after he read that text. “Everybody that we care about might have happened to her?”

"You were gonna kill Benny." Dean said. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Is that what we are?" Sam asked. He knew him and his brother were still on rocky terms, but he thought the man was better than to do something so low like this. It seemed that he was wrong to think so highly of his brother, because it seemed the man didn’t feel the same way about him. “You save a vampire by making me believe that the woman I love might be dead?"

“What do you want to hear, Sam? That I was wrong? Fine. I was wrong.” Dean said, apologizing in his own way that he thought was going to fix everything. But it didn’t take an idiot to hear how insincere the words sounded. You gave him a look of disbelief, Sam did everything in his power not to start punching his older brother. Because he really didn’t mean it. “But if you had just heard me out, if you had trusted me, all of this could have been avoided.”

“You didn’t want me to trust you. You wanted me to trust Benny, and I can’t do that.” Sam said, sticking to his morals of how he felt about monsters from his own past experience with them. “Not the way you got Y/N thinking he’s a good guy. Because I know what he is, and what he’s capable of.”

Every part of you wanted to speak up and defend yourself against what Sam said, but you remained silent, because it meant you sided with Dean. And if you mentioned the dangers that Benny brought along, it meant you were siding with Sam. So you remained silent. Because you saw no improvements for the near future. The both of them were so caught up in the past or trying so hard to be a good friend to the person who saved them from the afterlife, they forgot who really mattered the most here. You wandered over to the bed when you felt a dizzy spell hit you out of nowhere, but it went unnoticed by the brothers.

"Okay, well, then," Dean said, knowing for himself that this conversation was getting nowhere productive. Both of them had stated the grounds of how they felt, now it was time to figure out where they went from here. "What the hell do we do now?"

"That depends. It depends on you." Sam said. "On whether or not you're done with him."

“Well, honestly, I don’t know.” Dean mumbled, having the audacity to say such a thing after all that was said and done. Sam seemed genuinely surprised at his brother's decision, and even the slightest bit hurt that he was trying to hide. You couldn't take anymore of this argument if this was where it was going to lead.

Dean knew that Benny was the one person that was tearing the both of them apart, but he was still holding on, trying to be more of a brother to a vampire he spent one year with and saved his life from purgatory. Yes, you agreed to a certain point that Benny was a good guy who didn’t deserve to die again. But you wouldn’t choose him over Sam. And Dean should have known better. Sam was the only family he had left, his own flesh and blood who saved his life countless times on hunts. Who threw himself into the pit and suffered psychological damage and went a year soulless, who had been there pulling him back up to the surface every single time he dragged his feet, wanting to take the easy way out.

None of it mattered anymore to Dean because of what Sam had decided to do last year while you were gone. The younger man was overwhelmed with grief after seeing you die and then Bobby just a short time later, then seeing his brother and Cas disappear into thin air. All of his family he’s ever known was gone...just like that. But then he found Amelia by accident. Two broken people running from their past meet each other after he hit a dog and spend a year together, happy. But it was time to go back to the way things were. Sam made his selfish decisions by not looking for Dean, and the older Winchester had every right to be upset for a short while. But it was time to move on.

You wanted Sam to forget about Amelia, and you never wanted to see Benny’s face again for long as you lived. Because you realized the mistakes you made by feeding into the situation like you always did to make them happy. This was like Sam and Ruby being friends, and Dean wanting to run away to have a normal life. Now they were making the same mistakes both of them made in the past. And they never learned. You could take anymore of this argument.

“So, this is where we’ve ended up? Fighting over vampires and girls?” You asked the two brothers, even though you weren’t looking for an answer. You pushed yourself up to your feet as you stared at the both of them with a look of anger, and even the slightest bit of disappointment at how things were turning out. “After everything. You don’t learn. And you still won’t let it go.”

Sam let out a sigh as Dean rolled his eyes when you spoke up, putting yourself into an argument that he thought didn’t concern you. “Here we go.” “Yeah. Here we go again, Dean. Here we go again with the same freaking argument I’ve been having to hear for the past five months straight! Sammy’s stuck in the past and Dean trusts a vampire over his own brother.” You said, finally speaking the brutal truth that had been lingering between all of you since you got back. Neither one of the boys responded or tried to defend themselves, and it wasn’t like you were going to give them a chance if they tried. They spoke what they felt, now it was your turn.

“I’m not gonna sit around anymore and watch you two rip each other’s throats out for the same crap the both of you did. You want to know the problem is? It’s Amelia and Benny. Both of you need to cut ties with them. Or else we’re never going to see eye to eye anymore.” You said, trying to find some sort of solution that they would have to agree on eventually. "I'm not taking sides anymore. You two need to realize that there's two ways to fix this. Keep doing what you're doing...or realize that this—the three of us—is all we have left. If you want to destroy that for your own personal reasons. Fine. Just think about the future."

You knew it was a bit harsh for being so blunt like this and not giving them much of a choice in the matter of how you wanted them to handle things. But it was just your opinion, and at the end of it all, the boys were the one who were going to have to make the decisions on their own. You could only hope they were going to make the right one. Every part of you wanted to open your mouth and tell them the secret you had been keeping for the past two weeks, hoping it might somehow think about someone other than themselves. But it was always fear that held you back about how they were going to handle it. And you couldn't take anymore stress right now.

"Glad I made the drive." Dean muttered underneath his breath, responding to your advice by brushing it off like he didn't even hear it.

You scoffed from how unreasonable he could be when he got worked up like this, which meant it was going to be an awkward drive. You stood where you were, flinching only the slightest when you heard the door slam behind Dean, leaving you and Sam alone. You bit the inside of your cheek as you looked around the room, all before your gaze fell on the younger Winchester and his sullen expression from what you had done. And the actions you took part in that lead the three of you here.

“I thought you had my back, Y/N.” Sam said, speaking up now that it was the both of you. “How could you do this to me?”

"If it's worth anything, I'm sorry. I really am. I was angry at the time from what you said to me. I...I just don't like people thinking that I'm not capable of taking care of myself. You know what it's like for people to put you down." You said. You apologize to him for what you did, but you weren't going to tell him what he wanted to hear or walk on eggshells in order to make him feel better. Sam’s expression changed slightly. His shifting look of anger told you he thought your apology wasn't good enough. You rolled your eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. "What do you want me to do, Sam? Support you?”

“Well, it’s a start.” Sam said. You found yourself staring at him like he just grew a second head, making you wonder if you heard him correctly. “I told you how I felt about her and how much she means to be. And you want me to just walk away from her? You know I love Amelia—”

"I know. And I've supported you with every decision that you ever made. Right or wrong, I was right there beside you cheering you on. But...I can’t do it, Sammy. Not anymore.” You said, your voice growing quieter as you told him the truth about why you were forcing yourself not to agree with this. You crossed your arms over your chest as you stared at the man for a moment. In that moment you realized that you might not see Sam again, not in the way you were so used to. In a way that you had grew dependent on. "Because you were right about one thing."

Sam furrowed his brow slightly as his expression changed into confusion from what you meant by that. "Right about what?”

You opened your mouth to finally let out the secret you had been keeping from everyone that you were close to and try to give him some context to why you had been acting so off. But before the two words could slip out of your mouth, they were replaced with the honking of a horn right outside of the motel room. You shut your eyes as you winced, knowing that it was Dean, and he was growing impatient from how long you were taking. You thought that maybe it was the universe telling you to keep the secret you had just a little bit longer.

You started walking until you were at the motel room door with your grip on the handle about ready to open it u and head out, but Sam called out your name, making you stop and look over at him. Eventually he could catch on from what you were trying to say. If he didn't, then you had a feeling he made up on his mind on who he thought was more important to him. "Nevermind. It's not like it matters, anyway."

You opened up the door and headed out of the motel room alone to leave Sam in Texas so he could have his personal space to be with his thoughts. He needed some time to think about the future and what was important. So did Dean. You made your way to the Impala and slid yourself into the passenger seat again, a new arrangement that felt off each time you got into the car. You missed the backseat and its space, the obstructed view of two ginormous bodies occupying the front. Everything about this felt off. But you might have to get used to this. Everything felt like it was coming into perspective. You stared at the motel room door for a moment, resisting the urge to go back in there and drag Sam out of there.

Your concentration to the door was broken when you heard the Impala’s engine turn on, making you turn your head to now stare straight ahead, Dean’s outline in the corner of your eye. You watched as he shifted gears and got ready to pull out of the parking lot, but not before mumbling something underneath his breath he thought would go unnoticed. “About time.”

"I'll take as much time as I damn well please." You responded back to his remark in a cool tone. You turned your head to look at him and give him a dirty glare at his attitude he was projecting onto you. "Don't ever tell me what to do."

"I didn't tell you to do anything. I said it was 'about time.'" Dean corrected you. You responded to him by rolling your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest, moving your gaze back to the window to distract yourself for the long car ride. "Besides, it’s not like you listen to anyone half the time. You’re too busy talking over people and butting yourself in conversations where it doesn't concern you."

“I'm sorry, Dean. Next time you have anything to say I'll make sure to shut right up and listen to you.” You said to him in the most sarcastic voice you could give him to prove how annoyed you were starting to get with him. “Because your opinion is clearly the only one that matters.”

“What the hell is your problem?” Dean asked you, finding none of this amusing.

You narrowed your eyes on him from his question that only grew you more agitated. “If you took your head out of your ass for one second maybe you’d realize I’m a little stressed out.”

"We're all stressed out at the moment, Y/N." Dean said. You rolled your eyes again from his response that wasn’t exactly helpful, and he didn’t find your behavior all that amusing. “Are you capable of anything other than rolling your eyes?”

“I don’t know. Are you capable of anything other than being a dick and thinking about yourself?” You responded to his question with another. Dean fell silent for a moment as he stopped himself from lashing back at you from anger. You shook your head and adjusted yourself in your seat to get more comfortable for the long and silent drive ahead of you. “Lets just go.”

Dean was more than happy to listen to your command without backlash or another remark he tried to mutter underneath his breath. He switched gears and began pulling out of the parking spot, making you look at the motel room door one more time. You crossed your arms tighter around your body as you watched it soon become nothing more than a small object in the rear view mirror, making you wonder if this was how things were going to be. And if there was really no way of stopping the boys from making the biggest mistake of their lives.

+ + +

The both of you managed to spend most of the car ride in complete silence, the radio helping try and stop the awkward tension forming the farther you got away from Texas. Dean decided it was best to head to Rufus’ cabin to lay low for a while and for Sam to cool off. You didn't care where you ended up at this point, all you wanted to do was take a hot shower and get some rest that wasn't in the Impala. You still had every intention of not saying another word to Dean as you got out and started heading to the cabin so you could fulfill your need to unwind. But it seemed Dean had a few words lingering in the back of his mind on the drive back.

You made it halfway across the living room until Dean spoke up, the conversation starter he chose made you stop dead in your tracks. “If you were so against Benny this entire time, why did you help me out?”

“I never said I was against him.” You said, turning around to face the older Winchester to tell him how you felt. Even though you knew he wasn’t going to like it. “For the sake of everyone and my sanity, I think you should cut ties with him. The both of you are topside, go back to your lives.”

“Great idea. I’ll call Benny up right now and say never to talk to me again. Thanks for saving my life and pulling my ass out of purgatory, but my brother doesn’t like you. So we gotta end things.” Dean said. You clenched your jaw as you refrained from rolling your eyes again from how he was acting. “If Sam doesn’t like Benny, well, then that’s his problem. He never had good taste in friends. Like I’m gonna listen to him.”

You rubbed your face with your hands from how he was acting. “Do you ever sit down and think about the near future, Dean? About the possibility our family might not have Sam in it anymore because of your personal selfishness?”

“I’ll be lucky if I can even get to tomorrow, Y/N.” Dean said. “It’s not my problem if Sam doesn’t like Benny. That’s his choice he made. And I'm sure as hell not gonna change my life around to make him stick around."

You forced yourself to try and inhale a deep breath to refrain yourself from snapping at him and saying something you might regret. But it was at this point you couldn't take it anymore. Weeks and weeks of the pent up frustration you had been trying to keep at bay was too much for you to handle. You heard the boys argue and bicker over things that were small to end of the world big, but you weren't going to let them break this family up because of who they spent some time with while you were gone. Not with so much resting on your shoulders and things you had still yet to tell him. You turned around to face Dean, and without thinking, you suddenly snapped at him.

"Why are you so selfish?!" You questioned the man standing in front of you, feeling another mood swing hit you. You knew there was no breathing technique or self restraint from stopping you at this point. "What did Benny ever do that Sam never did to save your whiny ass?"

"Benny was there for me when I needed him the most! He never let me down the year I knew him, never gave up on trying to get us out of that hellhole!" Dean argued back with you, his voice rising to match yours. "Benny has been more of a brother to me than Sam had been in a long time. That's not family I want in my life, Y/N. It's on Sam if he doesn't want to be apart of it."

In that moment you were suddenly overcome with the urge to tell him the news you had been harboring in the back of your mind since you found out. You wanted to scream on the top of your lungs that the Winchester family wasn't going to be just the two of them anymore, it was going to have a new member in the next several months. You wanted to shake him and get Sam on the phone to tell the both of them to cut the crap and to forgive and forget. Much as you wanted to get this weight off your shoulders, the reality of things tugged at the back of your mind, making the scenarios you played out in your head come to haunt you.

The idea of Dean finding out that he was going to be a father always ended up tragic as it had for the Braden family when you thought about it. Maybe even worse. You thought about telling him, hoping that it might bring some happiness to him, a chance for him to realize that he could love someone and be a good father John never could for him. But he couldn’t. He dismissed all of it, because he was too scared to face reality. You pictured him storming out and leaving you, never to be seen again. Blaming it on how he wanted to keep you "safe." Maybe even having Cas erase him from your mind so you could live a normal life, as if all the years you spent together with him weren't good enough. His own self doubt and pity stopped him from facing responsibility he once would do anything to get.

Those thoughts and scenarios was when you were up late at night, lost in your own personal doubts about the future. And then there was the times you were in a conversation or doing some research for a hunt when your mind started drifting to a cute daydream of everyday life with the baby. Things that made you think that things might work out. But...then your mind started to drift to a dark place about what might happen in the upcoming hours during what you were doing. You were on the hunt, arrogant at the thought nothing could hurt you. But then the inevitable happens. You got hurt, you lost the baby. Dean hating your guts for what you had done.

You weren't sure if you would even make it to full term. You knew your own mother had complications getting pregnant with you. She had miscarriage after miscarriage until she got desperate and got down on her knees and begged for a child from a demon. And while you were human, the fear lingered in the back of your head of what might happen. What if the child came out like you had? What if you did something and it ended up with demon blood in its system like Sam had? You hoped that Dean wasn’t going to raise this child like he had. There were so many worst case scenarios running through your mind, you grew scared that all of this was going to end up badly like it had for your parents.

So you kept the secret buried in the back of your mind, deciding that it was better to store in there for a little longer until you were ready and things were looking a little less gloomy. You were barely at eight weeks. There was still so much going on from the boys to closing the gates of hell. And that's how you ended the argument, too. You just left Dean standing in the middle of the cabin, deciding you were too tired to fight anymore about this. If Dean wanted to make that decision, so be it. You walked into the bedroom and slammed the door shut, making sure to lock it when he realized what he had done. And how pissed off you still were at him.

+ + +

You remembered reading somewhere in a woman’s magazine that you should never go to bed feeling angry at your partner. You should try to resolve the problem and work out whatever was bothering you. But you brushed it off as some sort of cra that might work out for another couple that was facing issues that were more on a normal scale. You didn't think it necessarily applied to your situation. You were fighting about asking your boyfriend to stop being friends with a vampire and your best friend to abandon the life he spent a year ago being happy.

The next morning you woke up feeling worse as you had when you went to bed, only to toss and turn, hating how lumpy and empty it felt without Dean. You had no new texts from Sam after you sent one, hoping he might give you a chance to put out the fire burning the bridge between him and his brother. You rolled out of bed a short time after waking up and staring up at the ceiling, waiting to hear any sort of movement from outside in the cabin. When you deemed the place quiet, you unlocked the door and slipped yourself out to fix yourself a warm cup of tea and some breakfast if you could find any in the cabin. If not, you'd just make a run into town.

You expected Dean to be around here somewhere when you noticed the Impala was still parked out front before you made your way out into the other part of the cabin. You made your way to the kitchen and fixed yourself some hot water and fetched out a tea bag. And while you were waiting for the water to boil, you wandered over to the beat up couch when you heard soft snoring coming from there. You found Dean lying on the couch with a beer bottle tucked into his side as he peacefully slept. You crossed your arms over your chest as you found yourself standing over him, watching the man sleep without him realizing.

You suddenly found yourself growing agitated at him. Dean wasn’t doing anything and he still pissed you off...at how freaking handsome he looked at the moment. You were always a sucker for his way of looking good no matter the occasion. Sometimes all it took was one look and you were wondering why you were arguing with him in the first place, a wink or a smile to make you feel like your cheeks were on fire. You had been with him for almost five years and he still made you feel like you falling in love with him at times, like everything was still new. It was something so simple as watching him sleep made you realize all over again about how much you loved him. Switch out the beer bottle for a sleeping baby resting on his chest and that would be your future...if you only told him without chickening out.

You let out a sigh and walked away from the sleeping man and to the kettle whistling for your attention. You fixed yourself the cup of tea and had every intention of going back to the bedroom, however as you turned around, the sound of your shuffling around must have made Dean stir awake. You looked straight ahead to see a familiar face standing in the middle of the living room, making you jump slightly, only it was Dean who got a rude awakening.

Dean jumped a few inches off the couch at the sight of Cas standing over him, watching him sleep. He accidentally let go of the beer he was cradling, making some of the drink spill out onto the couch before he grabbed it. “Damn it, Cas! How many times I got to tell you,” Dean slammed the beer bottle down onto the coffee table as he started to calm down from the jump scare the angel made a habit out of. “It’s just creepy.”

"Good morning, Cas." You greeted the angel in a more friendlier tone as you approached the couch. You turned your head slightly to look at Dean from the corner of your eye before turning your attention back to Cas. "What are you doing here?"

"Dean, Y/N. I need your help." Cas said, giving you the reason why he was here. You raised your brow slightly in curiosity as you took a sip of your drink, watching as Dean tried to wipe away whatever beer might have spilled on him. "The angel Samandriel, he's been taken."

Your face scrunched up slightly at who the angel was talking about, but then you were reminded of the one you had seen Dean talking to at the auction in attempt to get the tablet back. He took the vessel of some kid, and bet almost everything valuable to get the word of God back. "You mean Alfie, the wiener-on-a-stick kid?"

“Yes. I heard his distress call this morning.” Cas informed the both of you.

“On, what angel radio?” You asked him, trying to keep your attention to Cas. You refrained from giving Dean an annoyed look as you watched him wipe away the sleep from his eyes. Either you were more hormonal than you realized, or he was doing everything in his power to make himself appear more...adorable.  “I thought you shut that down.”

"Well, my penance, it's going well, and I thought it was time to turn it back on." Cas said. You nodded your head slowly, not sure if that was a good idea, considering what he told you in secrecy. However if he felt it was time to make peace with his fellow siblings, so be it. "I've been helping people."

“Well, good for you.” Dean muttered underneath his breath. He got himself up from the couch to suddenly regret the decision when he felt his neck and back start to feel sore. He let out a sigh and attempted to relieve some of the pain to a bare minimum.

“Have fun sleeping on the couch?” You curiously asked the man, hiding your smirk behind the cup as you took another sip of your drink. He turned his gaze to you and replied with a tight smile, refraining from saying anything to piss you off even more to end up in the same predicament as last night. "So, who snatched Heaven's most adorable angel?"

The angel replied with a name that made you cringe, “Crowley.”

You and Dean looked over at one another for a moment, the feelings of last night faded away, knowing that it was time to get serious. Whenever the king of hell was involved, it always meant trouble for whoever was in the hot seat. “We’re listening.”

“Samandriel is being held in the general vicinity of Hastings, Nebraska.” Cas said.

“”The general vicinity’? That’s all you got?” You asked the angel. “It’s not much to go on.”

"Yes, which is why I need your help. It seems this is gonna involve..." Cas said, trailing off for a second as he spoke of the dreaded human interaction that he wasn't ever good with. "talking to people."

"Come on, Cas." You teased the angel as you walked over to the table where you had left your laptop last night for safekeeping. “I thought you were a hunter now."

“Well, I thought so, too,” Cas said. “but it seems I lack a certain—”

“Skill?” You finished the angel’s thought as you innocently opened up your laptop, expecting to be greeted by the black screen and the reflection of your disheveled appearance you made no effort in taming. However it seemed someone was on it and made no attempted to hide what they were doing. on the internet browser. “What the hell?

You made the realization that it was the infamous website of bustyasianbeauties, and someone had been enjoying the sight late last night. Before you could say anything else, Dean quickly slammed the laptop shut, managing to miss your fingers. You turned your head to look up at the man, your expression turning into a glare. He ignored your daggers as he turned the laptop around to try and cover his tracks like he should have last night.

You crossed your arms over your chest as you raised your brow, he fumbled to come up with an excuse that didn't sound terrible. He opened the laptop back up, and quick as possible, exited out of the browser while covering the screen with his hand, trying to shield you and the angel from the young woman on the screen greeting the visitors with her dazzling smile and nothing else. You rolled your eyes when he finished up and pushed the laptop back over to you.

"All right." You said, clearing your throat as you pulled up a new browser to get started on a bit of research to track this angel down. "What am I looking for?"

“Well, when you torture an angel, it screams, and that kind of pain, it creates a ripple effect of strange incidents.” Cas explained. You began typing in something into the search bar and waited for a moment until the results came up. While the angel patiently for you to do your own research, he noticed that something was off about the dynamics. "Where's Sam?"

"Sam's gone." Dean informed the angel about the change. You for a moment when you heard him deliver the news, which was only half of it. You refrained yourself from adding more to the story, knowing you had a feeling Cas would be able to pick up more along the way. This wasn't the first time the brothers went their separate ways. "It's all right. We'll find Alfie ourselves."

"Right." You mumbled. “Because the last time the three of us worked together it ended so well."

You decided that it wouldn't hurt to give the brothers some space to work out their differences and realize what kind of horrible mistake they were about to make. It worked like a charm last time. But it took you and Dean to be hurled five years into the future and the impending doom of the apocalypse to realize the three of you were a family that needed to stick together. You felt a wave of morning sickness hit you like it always did after you woke up. It made you wonder if the secret you were still keeping from them would help put their differences aside. Or tear the family apart for good.

[Next Part]

Rewrite Taglist:

@deansquirreljerkwinchester @everything-i-tried-was-taken@starswirlblitz @albot-e @supernaturalismydrug @we-are-band-sexuals@angiewinchestercas@kaylinfayezink @owhatshername1 @kgbrenner  @cleo-is-my-doggy@eeyore1988 @dakota-dream @lilylovelyxo@timetravelingginger@holahellohialoha  @quicksilver123456@natashacamillaus @lexi-anastasia @kaylinfayezink @deanwnchstr @albot-eh@yelloweyedwriter@rashinyx2002 @shellybeans @icantfindacreativeurl@becs-bunker @oreosatmidnight @bands-and-shietz @fabulousmustachesonapolarbear @clarewinchester@releasethekracko@alex-zeppelin @mega-mrs-dean-winchester@theskytraveler @1000roughdrafts @notmoose94 @assassinofmasyaf@caswinchester2000 @savannah-m-99 @sunlight-dean @mega-mrs-dean-winchester

Message me if you would like to be added!

[doux-ciel]

Personal Trainer CH.2

Tagged: @alinakerrin @erinisawriter @fannistwrites @riftversus @requiemdelune @lefttowritee @pazwrites @writing-in-the-margins @sauwrites @delphwrites @thewritertiffany @theouterdark @xanderswriteblr @youngdumbxlit @jess---writes @jadeswritinggarden @between--alleys @bzrtales @bonewrites @niva-writes @natalierosewrites @between--alleys @supersaiyansadie @velvet-moss @dolphin108 @blackandwhitesunsets @godxblooded

Masterlist: 🥊🥊🥊

I was back from a long weekend of ice packs and Tylenol tablets, I decided to stop by Donnie’s Gym.

Once I walked in I was greeted by my Uncle who is also my coach. “What are you doing here?” He had a look of concern when he saw my face, I could already tell he was staring my nose which was still swollen from the events prior.

I roll my eyes and walk past him, looking around the building. I can sense that he is following behind me; I turn around we are face to face now, that's when I start to speak. “Look I know you said I can’t compete again until I win a match but-”

I got interrupted by his laughter. Then his tone got serious. “You haven’t won in 2 months Azalea...No”

I scoff, I wasn't taking no for an answer. I continued. “Look we can try different cities...different countries-”

He motioned his hand back and forth between me and him. “We?”

I nodded my head.“Yeah I was thinking we-”

Again I was interrupted by him, he turns to me his eyes focused on mines, he grips both of my shoulders softly. “These girls come in here fighting for their life...kill or be killed. People actually die in the ring, I don't want you being the next victim….this isn't a game this is real life”

I brush him off, chuckling. “Your over exaggerating..I'm not gonna die, I'll never let another girl get the best of me anymore”

Now it's his turn to chuckle. “You real tough now huh?”

“You damn right”

“I'm not taking you on” he walks past me, walking towards the back where there were some girls practicing. I could already tell in his demeanor he was getting aggravated. He cups his hands over his mouth and starts to yell.

“WE AREN’T SOME PRISSY BALLERINAS THAT ARE GRACEFUL AND SOFT...WE ARE BOXERS WE ARE HARD, WE ARE MIGHTY, WE FIGHT FOR OUR RIGHT TO BE IN THE RING. WE ARE CHAMPIONS!”

After hearing that I got pumped all over again, I grabbed some gloves nearby that was sitting on the ground. I climb into the 20 foot square ring.  “Listen up”

“Get out the ring Azalea!” I hear my Uncle yell out.

Ignoring him I walk in the middle of the ring, I take off my necklace and hold it up. “This necklace my boyfriend gave me...worth $400 whoever can knock me out in under 10 seconds get its.”

“What I gotta put up for it” I hear someone say. I look to where the sound was coming from, I smirk at her. |Rachel Otis “The Cheetah”| 12-1-0 | 13 wins by knockout |

“Put up your hands” I start to put my gloves on, I feel someone tugging at my shirt. 

I look down and see My Uncle. “What are you doing?!”  

“I'm going to prove to you that I am a champion”

He shakes his head side to side,“You don't have to prove anything to me..you are going to get your shit rocked” He warns.

I move out the way so I can get in my stance. I hear my uncle again, “Put on your head gear”

“I don't need it” I skip back on the ring, I turn back around and touch gloves with her. I back up and throw a couple of punches to the body, I could tell she was losing her footing so I used that against her, moving to opposite side every time she moved. Eventually she got caught up and I got her, sending an uppercut, she falls down in the ring.

To say I was on a high was an understatement, I felt like I was on top of the world. I hop on the ropes of the ring and yell. “What did I tell you!! I still got it...send someone else in, I'm ready”

I see Uncle Don shaking his head, I know he didn't believe in me but now I'm showing him; I'm showing everybody i'm back and I'm better. I see someone step in front of the ring. Helena “The Firecracker” Kingsmith |29-0-0 | 20 wins by knockout |  “I’m next….I’ll knock you out in 4 seconds”

Uncle Don turns to Helena. “You need to warm-up?”

Helena cracking her neck staring directly at me, I can tell she’s out for blood. “No, I got it” She walks past him and hops into the ring. “You ready to rumble?”

“Less talking more fighting” I stare back at her, but before I start I take my uncle’s advice and put on some headgear. After I get situated I walk up to her, ready to touch gloves but she shook her head no. I proceed to back up in my corner and someone rings the bell.

It all felt like a blur, 4 seconds later I'm face down on the mat. One punch to my face and I was done. I lay on the floor struggling to breathe, I spit out my mouthpiece and I hear my uncle in my ear. 

 “I told you...you aren’t ready”

I finally get myself up, resting on my elbows. “No I am ready, just tell me what to do”

He sighs, he grabs my arm helping me back up on my feet. We both walk over to the front desk where he gets out the first aid kit. “That’s not my job to tell you what to do, I'm supposed to teach you and your supposed to know what to do.” He takes some cotton balls out and starts to press it on my now tender nose. “Look Azalea, I already told you I'm not working with you anymore”

Just then I hear Helena come from behind my snatching the necklace out of my hands, before she walks out she turns to me. “My mother will love this necklace”

Damn.

Griffin is going to be pissed.

                       ¤ ¤ ¤

I was on facetime with my mom who was telling me about how my dad was attempting to fix the garage door. When the conversation died down, she finally focused her attention on me. “How was your day?”

I move the camera closer to my bruises on my face, and then I bring the camera back out frowning. “How do I look mom?...I got my ass beat in front of everybody”

I hear her on the other end, probably laying in her bed watching her favorite t.v. show- The Discovery Channel. “What did your uncle say...is he going to take you on?”

“He dropped me”

“What? Isn't he family”

I set my phone down on my coffee table and I bring the now melted ice pack from my face, walking over to the kitchen. I mumble to myself. “Yeah….I guess family don't mean shit to him”

“Oh honey-bun, me and your father are here...Are you gonna continue fighting?” I hear her say.

I shouted back. “Of course I am...it’s in my DNA”

I think back to my birth father, he was one of the best boxers in the state of California, my birth mother left when I was 8. She went to go live with another man so that left me and my father, he took care of me. I remember going with him to the tournaments and my Uncle Don was right beside us, It was us against the world.

When I turned 12 my dad got into heavy drugs and drank a lot, he would come home and just start yelling and breaking all of the furniture and then when he would wake up the next morning he didn't know what had happened.

It just kept getting worse, to the point that CPS got involved and I got taken away, by the time I was 15 I had been in about 10 foster homes...hated all of them. I finally got adopted by my amazing mother and father who have treated me like the princess I am, they let me keep in contact with my Uncle so he has been training me for fighting in the ring ever since I was 16.

After having my flashback I got a new ice pack out from the freezer and walked back in the living room, grabbing my phone and sitting down on the couch, Indian style.

“What are you gonna do if you don't have a coach?”

“I don't know..” A bright flash of color caught my attention, it was coming from the t.v. I grabbed the remote and pressed unmute.

“Hi I'm Fiona Wescott, With my unique 5 point plan I will put you on the path to get the training you deserve.”

I start to remember the fight, then the fight after the fight. Her name, it rings a bell...I pause the tv. “Fiona...that name sounds familiar”

After a few seconds of me trying to relay back the memories of my previous match, I remember her face. “Mom I gotta call you back”

I fish out the woman's business card, from my purse.

Fiona Wescott

(362)-425-2526

Here for your boxing needs

I click on the phone icon on my phone and press the numbers, it rings for a few seconds before I hear her pick up. “Fiona Wescott….”

“Hi yes I was calling for an appointment to meet with you.”

She continues. “Ok, your name and what time?”

I start to walk over to the my fridge, checking my calendar for tomorrow. “Is 2 good? And I'm Azalea”

“Yeah….I'll see you then.”

Well I might as well give it a shot.

[treadmilltreats]

April is sexual awareness month 

Since this is near and dear to my heart and with the conviction of Bill Cosby, R Kelly, and many others lately, I wanted to give everybody some staggering facts about sexual abuse.

* Approximately OLNY 30% of sexual assault cases are reported to authorities.

* 962,939 cases of child sexual abuse were reported in 2012. 

* There was a 56% decline in physical abuse and a 62% decline in sexual abuse.

* On average, there are 321,500 victims (age 12 or older) of rape and sexual assault each year in the United States. 

*Ages 12-34 are the highest risk years for rape and sexual assault.

*As of 1998, an estimated 17.7 million American women had been victims of attempted or completed rape.

These are some chilling statistics and this is happening each and every day. This has or will happen to someone you know and love, how eye opening is that?

I have always been a huge advocate of speaking out about rape and I was even blessed to be part of a documentary called This is rape.

We were opening people's eyes about what the "victims" look like, what we go through and how years later, this still affects our lives.

With Bill Cosby, Harvey Weinstein, Kevin Spacey, R.Kelly and even Trump getting exposed we are finally seeing some type of conversation about this terrible crime.

While I was doing this documentary, I've come to realize that this does not only happen to women, it happens to children, to men, to everyone no matter of age, race, demographics, religion, it affects everyone.

I was also shocked to realize that most people don't tell until later on in their lives and only 30% of victims tell at all.

What?? We should be outraged at that fact alone.

I remember someone asking 

"Well, why didn't these women step up sooner? How can you believe them 30 years later?" 

I can tell you from personal experience I thought it was my fault, I thought because I knew him, took a ride with him, smoked a joint with him, it was somehow my fault. That when I said no, when I screamed no, when I kicked and scratched at him screaming NO! and he still raped me that even then it was somehow my fault.

Society makes us feel that way, well he didn't jump out from a dark alley, you must have dressed a certain way, said something for him to think it was okay, did something to turn him on? 

We don't think we will ever get justice and if we are lucky enough to get to court, we are then dragged through the mud, our sexual history, our lives are taken apart and analyzed to victimize us yet again.

Maybe it was a family member and you are afraid of what it will do to your family, it might be a father, uncle, grandfather and you're afraid of the things they told you they would do to you or your family. Maybe these women of Bill Cosby or R. Kelly didn't think anyone would believe them over a well loved celebrity.

There are so many reasons we are afraid to speak up but to victimize us again makes you as bad as the perpetrators. This is about having the courage to step forward knowing people will judge you for a crime you had nothing to do with. Letting the world into our pain, to rip off that band aid that is sometimes holding us together, to expose ourselves yet again.To relive the memories that haunt us when we sleep and bring them out into the daylight to haunt us there as well.

Yes, there are many reasons we keep silent but keeping silent only makes more victims, most abusers abuse over and over again to more than one person. If you don't tell, it will happen to another person, guaranteed.

We need to talk about this, we need to post about it on social media, we need to make more documentaries, talk about it in schools, in our churches, at the dinner table, it needs to come out of the dark and we need to shine a bright light on it.

Maybe just maybe with more and more  convictions of famous people, we will get the ball rolling not just on rich, famous, privileged men out there doing this but everyday Joe's who are praying on our children, destroying lives out here each and every day.

So today my friends please don't victim blame,don't judge us unless you have walked in our shoes, we are still hurting, still in pain even though many years have passed. We need to know who the victims are and clearly know who is the predator. 

Please check out our documentary, follow us on social media @thisisseries 

Speak out, get help, contact me and I will put you in contact with some amazing groups to help you heal. 

Let your voice be heard!

All of our voices together can and will change this...

"Be the change you want to see"

@treadmilltreats 

  Be the change you want to see"

"And just when the caterpillar thought his life over...he turned into a beautiful butterfly"

**Now released my latest book**

The Blessing in Disguise.... revealed

https://www.amazon.com/Blessing-Disguise-Revealed-story-faith/dp/1074340493/ref=sr_1_19?keywords=the+blessing+in+disguise&qid=1561392004&s=books&sr=1-19

***Now available***

My 1st book The blessing in Disguise 

Selling on my website:

Http://www.treadmilltreats.com

And on Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/0692437398/ref=mp_s_a_1_13?qid=1462358109&sr=1-13&pi=AC_SX236_SY340_FMwebp_QL65&keywords=the+blessing+in+Disguise

http://www.am6azon.com/gp/aw/d/0692437398/ref=mp_s_a_1_12?qid=1434452632&sr=8-12&pi=AC_SX110_SY165_QL70&keywords=the+Blessing+in+Disguise

My weekly Youtube page, please subscribe:

https://youtu.be/LDSXCFJVnzM

Http://www.treadmilltreats.com

Twitter: treadmill treats 

Instagram: treadmilltreats

Facebook :treadmill treats

#treadmilltreats 

#Theblessingindisguise 

#TheblessinginDisguiserevealed

#livinglifelarge 

#bethechangeyouwanttosee

#Thankyounext

#Garyvee

#Jayshetty

#newyearnewme 

#blogginglife

#write

#writer

#blogger

#NewYorktimesbestseller 

#womenoffaithtour 

#Motivationalspeaker

#OnOprahSupersoulSunday

#Oprah

#TylerPerry

#TylerPerryproducingmylifestory

#thisismypassion 

#livingmypurpose 

#blogging

#Newyork

#Florida

#internationalblogger

#francescavillardi

#francescavillardienterprise

[thesocialfables]

Outside of Heaven's Hideaway, Echo stared up at the large neon marquee from behind the wheel of her Lamborghini Urus. For a quick moment, she smiled, thinking about the owner of the club and his inconsistencies. He couldn't afford to fix the ceiling in the locker rooms, but he managed to get a big ass LCD screen to show pictures of the girls you'd find inside the janky strip club.

Before covering her puffy eyes with a pair of shades and grabbing her bags, Echo looked over her Snapchat once more. Rolling her eyes at Lola's basic floor work, she managed to catch herself on the obnoxious marquee once again. Which wasn't hard considering she was in the slideshow more than any other girl. With a quick and nasty dismissive thought towards the couple living rent-free in her head, Echo pulled out her keys and packed them away with her phone before she headed inside the club. She chose to go through the front because she wanted to avoid everybody until she made her money for the night.

After being buzzed in to travel towards the locker rooms from the club’s lobby, Echo's heart warmed up a little, hearing those waiting to get in question if that was her or not. Then she heard Venus’s voice, as they passed each other in the small hall, say, "You really think you run shit, huh?" Venus stopped walked, so she could continue to speak to Echo, but behind her oversized Chanel frames, she just kept walking. To the woman’s back, Venus continued her conversation, "Well, since September covered you, you covering her next dance. You go on in fifteen."

"I don’t cover for nobody. I go on at 2." Echo replied back as she reached down into her Dior backpack to pull out the key to her private dressing room. As she slid the key into the lock, she paused for a moment, pressing her ear against the door. On the other side, she could hear a low voice and a quiet shuffling. "Oh, hell nah, " she thought to herself, pushing the door open and yelling, "Bitch, you got a lot of fucking nerves!"

Her suspicions of someone being inside her room were confirmed. However, it was only Echo's best friend, and another stripper at the club, Rhapsody. The girl had her feet kicked up as she carried on a conversation with herself. Echo’s voice had startled her so, the popcorn she was was snacking on flew around the room before she jumped up and quickly pulled the girl inside, closing the door behind them. "Girl, Lonzo been looking for you. I came in here hoping he'd think it was you."

Echo sighed in relief. As a veteran at Heaven’s, and the club's featured dancer, she did run shit. She started dancing when she was 19 and has been going hard for Alonzo and his Hideaway for the last ten years. From the moment you walked inside the club, you saw Echo. Every newcomer would ask if the girl in the pictures really worked here, and they never left disappointed after she emptied their pockets in the private rooms.

"And why you got on them big ass shades?" The two met here at Heaven's. Echo hated when other girls would say they loved Rhap 'for her confidence', not that it wasn't true. Rhapsody was good at her job because she kept her clients smiling. Even if it was just because she said something funny instead of giving them a lap dance. Echo hated it because it was usually their light skin, skinny waist, pretty bitch bias showing. But she was the mean girl.

Checking to make sure the door was locked behind her, Echo removed her shades for her bestie to see what she was hiding. Seeing the girl’s puffy-eyes and running mascara, Rhapsody immediately pulled Echo's 5'2" frame into her chocolate bosom. "FUCK FARGO!" She yelled loudly. As Echo attempted to pull away from her best friend's twins, she sympathized with victims of drowning. From in between Rhapsody's exposed tits, Echo chuckled a little before her tears began to fall once more. Feeling her tears roll freely down her stomach, Rhapsody knew Echo would rather be alone. Freeing her from their embrace, she watched the girl move away and begin to unpack her things for what was left of the night.

"I don't even understand why I keep crying. Or I why I even started," Echo spoke open handedly.  Knowing her friend was listening to her oncoming ramble, even as she started to clean up the popcorn she wasn’t supposed to have in Echo’s dressing room. "Me and him never even fucked. I just- I thought it was going to be more.” Leaning against the marble vanity of her wall-sized mirror, Echo avoided Rhapsody’s gentle gaze as she admitted, “I didn't cry when my Momma died.” As the words cleared her lips, Echo turned back towards the girl. Fighting back her tears, she continued to speak. “But- I don't know if it’s because I'm jealous, or if I'm sad, or if I'm just angry. I just- I can't stop fucking crying." Reaching out to fall back into her friend's embrace, Rhapsody covered her boobs with a nearby t-shirt and hugged her back tightly. She knew Echo’s tears had nothing to do with Fargo, or his new private dancer - Lola.

To survive in this life for ten years was a testimony. So many girls picked up this art form for the quick cash, only to end up ruined by it. Echo knew the only thing that kept her from experiencing the casualties of stripping was her praying mother. Before she passed, her mother wanted nothing more but for her to stop dancing. Yet, in the beginning, they needed the money. They had been struggling all of Echo's young life, so she accepted her daughter’s job as they finally made it out of the projects. In her last moments, as all her friends questioned what her little Dominique was up to now, she proudly bragged about how Echo changed their lives.

Maybe that's why she was crying because she never asked for Fargo's help or sympathy.  When she naturally refused and tried to push him away, he would tell her he wasn't offering because he thought she needed him. It was because he really wanted to be there for her. Either way, that was then, and this was now. She had obviously taken his words too literal, as he had now replaced her with Lola.

"Hey," Rhapsody comforted her friend, as she rubbed her hands across Echo's back. "Fuck Fargo. Fuck that bitch,  fuck them niggas with him, fuck Alonzo punk ass. Fuck everybody. Besides me...I mean, unless, you wanna fuck me."

In a healing fit of laughter, thanks to the one person she knew she could always count on, Echo wiped away her tears and prepared to get on stage. She really didn't want to just to prove her point. But since Rhapsody had been acting like she had been inside the room all night, Alonzo would soon enough be using the only other copy to the room to come check on her.

  Dressed in Savage x Fenty lingerie, with a matching garter and over-the-knee Balenciaga boots, the two women parted the hall like Moses as they headed towards the main stage. “Oh yeah, I think blondie and her boyfriend may have broken up." Rhapsody informed Echo as an explanation to the more than the usual stares the two would get from the other dancers.

"I saw Buddy putting him out earlier. And you better give him his key back too."

"This Buddy key? I thought he took it from Alonzo. Hold up, how the fuck Buddy got a key, and I don’t?" Echo just chuckled as she approached Venus behind the main stage. She intended to apologize to the woman for her attitude earlier, that was until TK announced Lola was coming to the stage. Over the uproar of applause, whistles, and other vulgar obscenities, Venus passed Echo a defeated look that said, "Don't shoot the messenger."

Echo's response was just as expressive. Smirking a little before softly touching Venus's shoulder. Using it as leverage, to follow right behind Lola, and go out on stage. From behind the stage, Rhapsody and Venus stood still. Predictably, the crowd of horny drunks became wild, as TK attempted to narrate the scene and call for help all at the same time. Two girls had never been on the stage at the same time, let alone two girls who were both crowd favorites.

"You about to lose yo job." Rhapsody teased as Venus looked on in suspense. The money was pouring in, but who was to say who it was for as a club full of grown as men turned into starstruck teenage girls. Pushing and pulling on each other to get close enough to the stage for one of the two beauties to at least look in their direction. Soon enough, violence ensued as the men turned aggressive and territorial - but all Echo cared about was the money that was flying through the sky to land at her feet.

"She about to lose her job," Venus said, really unsure of what would happen. "I liked her too." But she knew after being so close to Alonzo, and Fargo, Echo wasn't going anywhere. She could set fire to this place, and she'd still be the only dancer to ever receive a paycheck and full benefits.

"What is Echo doing? Get her off the stage now." Alonzo ordered. After working inside the Hideaway for so long, Venus and Rhapsody no longer questioned where the hell he came from. Yet, they stood still in shock of him choosing to reprimand Echo for her behavior – for the first time in ten years. Climbing onto the stage to pull Echo off himself, TK continued to provide commentary in hopes of not starting a riot. "What the fuck, Dominique! How we suppose to control these niggas if you giving them a reason to act up?"

"Me?" Echo responded, shocked. "Venus told me it was my time on stage, not hers! Pull her off!"

"Pull her- she been here all night! Working. How about you?" Echo remained silent. Her, Alonzo, and Buddy may have felt like a family after all these years, but they weren't. This was her job, and she was probably about to lose it. "I'm sorry about your Moms, really. I told you to take the time you needed. And you still can. But if you here, you follow the rules. Show up on time and don't give these drunk ass niggas no reason to-" Start shooting was what he was going to say, but the gunshots from the front of the club finished his sentence for him.

While Rhapsody took off towards the dressing rooms, Alonzo pulled Venus close to him, getting her to safety before she began to freak out. All the while, Echo climbed back on the stage and began to sweep the money into a large pile. She watched Lola, as she crawled away from the stage full of cash, shaking her head and telling her mother's voice in her head, "Oh shut up, I earned this."

"That shit more important than your life?" She ignored the voice and continued to grab all the cash for herself. "So, you can't hear me now?" Echo knew Buddy, and the security guards had whoever fired the shots by now, or at least they were long gone. Either way, Alonzo wasn’t closing the club for nothing short of a murder investigation. With this much money left behind, the only thing she was risking was giving a broke motherfucker the chance to pick it up and throw it back at the next bitch to come to the stage.

"I know this ain't about my party?" Her head finally snapped in Fargo's direction as he sat seated right next to the main stage, as a man of the streets, gunshots only fazed him if they were flying in his direction. Echo had noticed him sitting there after she bum-rushed the stage, but she wasn’t surprised, TK had just called Lola's name.  Once Echo's mom passed, he was there for the girl – as a friend. He thought about asking Echo to come through last night, not afraid to admit he had become addicted to watching the way Echo’s body moved for him. Nonetheless, he chose to invite Lola instead. And unlike when Echo came to dance for him and his rowdy boys, his dick even thanked him for the switch up. "You so emotional."

"No, I'm not. It's called loyalty. Maybe you should try it." As she spoke, Echo never once broke eye contact with Fargo. Even as she began to drop armfuls of money into her custom gym bag Buddy had fetched from behind the stage for her. All without even checking to see if he was actually there. Once the stage was empty, Fargo stood from his seat and stretched out his hand for Echo to step off the stage and talk to him like a rational adult. However, she used Buddy's instead and stood toe-to-toe with the man. A lot of niggas feared Fargo, even Alonzo, but Echo saw right through him.

"Everyone always talmbout loyalty, and don't even understand what it means."

"I know what it means."

"No, you know the definition." Fargo could see right through her as well. It was no doubt that Echo's face pulled him inside Heaven’s Hideaway one night, but she wasn't the only reason why he kept coming back. He often threw private events of his own and in the past, he'd ask Echo to come through and dance for him. "Your loyalty is to an object. Not a person."

"So I don't deserve yours? Is that what you saying?"

"I'm saying, you emotional."

"Did you fuck her?" She asked, fighting back her tears. She could really care less about what happened between him and Lola. She just needed someone to take accountability for her sorrow, because AIDS sure the fuck wasn't going to feel sorry for her loss.

Starting into Dominique's soul, Fargo remained suave. He knew what it was between the two of them. Outside of the strip club, they had grown close. She was more than just Echo to him, and he saw no point to kick her while she was down. Her mother had only been gone from her now for two weeks now. "Is my answer gone change your loyalty?"

"No, but you better not lie to me."

Fargo smiled a little before he reached down in his pocket and pulled out a knot of fresh ones. He dropped the stack in the bag Buddy held from his position in the friend zone. With the thought couldn’t be me, Fargo whispered in Echo’s ear, "Yes,” and gave her a quick kiss to her cheek. He finished up by saying, “See you around then, I guess." Before slipping away towards the private rooms - with Lola right on his heels.

[donnerpartyofone]

*Jello Biafra voice* DON'T ASK ME WHY BUT due to circumstances beyond my control I have to look at tons and tons of romance novel material right now, just skimming it for certain boring technical issues, and it's starting to make me totally sick! Now, I enjoy a nasty old housewife spank book now and again--sometimes in high school or college my friends would pass around an especially gnarly one that somebody found, and if you didn't know, these "bodice rippers" can be surprisingly foul--but when you have to get a bird's eye view of thousands of pages of them at a time, without all the hilariously raunchy details, the main themes start to appear dangerously noxious. If you've spent more than about ten hours of your life watching popular movies and TV shows, you already know that the world’s main ideas about True Love are a) that being violently aroused by a complete stranger, about whom you have absolutely no personal facts, is True Love, and b) that being constantly frustrated and angry with someone to the point that you just have to bone them because you don’t know what else to do with your hateful nervous energy, is True Love. In third place is the one where two lifelong friends are destined to be with each other, but the lady is too big for her britches and needs to learn to settle for her friend, who she owes sex to because he’s so nice--that’s no good either, but at least in that version, you’re talking about two people who actually spend time together, and know and like each other on some level. That’s not what I’m getting out of these romance stories that I have to look at, where 99% of the time, a woman is forced into an uncomfortable or even scary situation--she’s a kidnapping victim, she’s a poor service person in a dude’s home, she’s trapped in an arranged marriage, etc--with a guy who threatens and degrades her until she realizes that she likes it so much she wants to be his wife. Setting aside the more outrageously violent or oppressive component to these stories, I started trying to compare them to real life, which really throws into relief how completely insane they are. Everyone I know who is in a stable relationship or a love-based marriage (which is the endgame for all of these books) does NOT have a long history of being ambiguous, withholding, and secretive about their feelings; does NOT habitually threaten their intended with emotional harm, blackmail, or abandonment in a cowardly attempt to encourage a breakup; does NOT embarrass or demean the person they’re courting in order to assert control; does NOT allow or encourage their crush to think the worst possible things about them, so as to challenge them to prove their love on a regular basis; does NOT hold this person responsible for imaginary ideas about ‘who they really are’ aka who they supposedly SHOULD be, instead of who they are in the real actual world; does NOT cling to insulting suspicions, or otherwise develop the belief that the object of their desire deserves to be punished for presumed crimes or personal flaws. It’s unimaginable that in real life, someone would turn to their beloved and say “Ah, remember the days when I was constantly afraid that you were going to leave me, or that you hated me, because you never told me what you were thinking, and I stuck around because that made me chronically insecure, and also I had developed totally mythological ideas about who ‘the real you’ was underneath it all, and I was just sort of afraid of what you were going to do? What a magnificent journey on the path to romance that was!” The only way this conversation would ever be possible is in cases where the more abusive partner had a legitimate behavioral problem or a substance abuse issue that they finally addressed professionally. Everybody I know who does these things to each other either predictably and irreparably broke up, or are in a ticking time bomb relationship that none of their friends respects or supports. And yet, it seems like in a vast majority of our popular, traditional romance media, all these symptoms of dysfunction and abuse are specifically signs of one’s romantic destiny. I can’t claim to know where this comes from, but I have this feeling it might be that the average human being experiences actual love so seldom that they just erroneously assign the name “love” to whatever their most powerful emotional experiences are, and those experiences are often anger, fear, and jealousy. And I guess that’s all I really have to say about that. Reblog if you are a sexually active adult who now realizes that they definitely got the absolute wrong message from Beauty and the Beast as a kid. P.S. REALITY BITES fucking sucks a fat one.

[disappolntment]

undeveloped thoughts until a new psych don’t crucify me

actually don’t even read this I’m venting and it’s probably victim playing because I don’t think I’m going through a hard time ever apparently

gd my mum bitches about my little sister like she isn’t in the room with us

I want to be supportive and validating to them both because I see both sides

It’s just a bad position to be in. I love them both a lot but it happens every day and instead of her dealing with it she just yells at me about it and then acts like it doesn’t exist and my little sister doesn’t have any consequences but honestly the only person my sister treats like this is my mum?

Regardless a kid doesn’t understand?? They’re just getting yelled at

but I’m trying to get into a new psych, deal with my eczema and get back into uni/life and friendship circles

I can’t fix ur parenting for you

or mediate for you anymore and I’m asking you to stop but you’re still taking and I’m still giving but I’m a fucking pushover for people I love

I’ve been doing it my whole life. I didn’t know I had emotions until the age of fucking 21 because the only time you’d give me any form of attention was when you were crying about my dad (fuck yeah toxic behaviour I probably mimicked but my dad was also a narcissist so :) :) :) I have self professed daddy issues don’t I just have a fucking target on my head)

(raised to think now feel later tbh which is why I was so fucking dumb when trusting the first boy I slipped into bed with YIKES IM A DUMBASS LMAO he was a complete stranger in hindsight but I trusted brea’s input and honestly I think I was just connected to her? Not her fault lovely human who went through a lot also even if she hates me lmao)

Find your own fucking voice of reason REGARDLESS MUM

She doesn’t even listen to advice and just talks over me all of the time? infuriating. I asked her yesterday if she was going through a difficult time lately and she told me no? She is having the best time everything is going really well for her etc she is really excited about life and the business

She genuinely is on top of the moon every single day. But the only things she speaks to me about: her emotional baggage. stress. this needs to be a double ended stick. to get support you need to give it. because The way Annabelle talks to you is the least of my issues when I have split personalities induced by psychosis. (My own fault. I’m an adult. I’m not blaming her).

When I black out for 3 days straight and don’t remember the last 3 years of my life...

I need a hospital.

I need a good psychiatrist and I’m in a position where I am PHYSICALLY unable to get it.

I don’t need to hear your emotional baggage.

I’m going through a hard time right now and I can’t give mundane support to people.

I’m so selfish though?

deal with your own shit IM BEING AN ACTIVE LISTENER and giving you decent support and you aren’t even asking me how my day is in return.

I do it because I love you but I fucking can’t even love myself right now please stop doing this if you don’t 100% need it? I’m only one person. This is just stupid.

everything is genuinely my fault coming down from losing reeya (especially because she heavily sided with my ex after validating the abuse but tbh I think I treated her like trash so I kinda understand and that genuinely is her decision I hope she is doing well now and we have both grown idk it was probably for the best I’m so self destructive all of the time which isn’t tight in friendships but ya girls first relationship her fucking dad died in it I’m not a miracle working despite putting on a brave face. Again not her fault she had no responsibility by me at all this is a general observation

I’m not a psychologist so I don’t know who did who wrong especially after reading the messages she and joe exchanged?? But I was always acting how I felt and being honest and he was just guilt tripping me and making me feel bad about my concerns and lack of support idk how fucked up are large groups of people heavily addicted to weed and in denial about it)

(Actually in hindsight she did side with him and: It’s just so unsettling that my ex never spoke to me about the way he was feeling only to my support networks lol? Narcissist. He would always SHIT talk everybody he had ever encountered he hates everybody except the friends sexually assaulting me on a regular basis and thinks everybody is doing him wrong and I was the only reason he probably still has friends or a brother and am currently in a position where he can make his own life. bet they all fucking dropped off the face of the earth when you stopped having a hot girlfriend they could actively fondle and you to deny it. But then again prolly not y’all all into younger girls anyway??? Actively pursuing 17 yos is still a fucking crime :) :) sex fuelled perverts )

And having to admit to myself my ex actually is trash and all of these people I was convinced were lovely and good for me weren’t actually. All of these little things are coming back and genuinely no friends should be hearing them when they do? Because it did happen two months ago and I should be over it.

fuck yeah the incredible anxiety in public (only around men) I physically can’t control HAS BEEN REAL AND SOMETHING I haven’t had to deal with in so long

I literally

Just

Shut down

I can’t breathe

But I’m fucking dealing with it in a healthy manner I don’t need anybody to act sorry for me I need long term support and I don’t get that from my family SO IM FUCKING DEALING WITH IT. IT ISNT MY FRIENDS ISSUE.

but here I am playing victim because my issues aren’t even that bad 👈👈😎 and I’m okay being alive when I’m tending to my plants dog and video games

this past year has been hell on earth (I didn’t even know I was going through a hard time honestly #gaslighting) and I have a hard time creating new support networks which is fine because we are also working on thaaaaat I’m just venting Rn. I’m pleased to report I have a lovely group of friends that took me out and dropped me off at a party during PEAK SOCIAL ANXIETY I COULDNT GO ANYWHERE WITHOUT HOLDING EITHER SAMS OR JAYDES HAND they’re fucking lovely and I forget I have mental issues around them they’re actually fucking phenomenal

REGARDLESS I needed to vent a little so that continues:

yes, I can help you

but no, you aren’t getting help

********* I shouldnt need to be having emotional outbursts 24/7 for people to acknowledge they’re effecting me or I’m going through a hard time. I’m not like that!!!! I should just be able to tell them my boundaries and conveye WHATS going on and them recognise and respect me *********

If I’m being a little bitch isn’t that the point of talking about it? fucking hurt my feelings I don’t care it’s PRODUCTIVE even if you fucking need time to like sit on them I’m so understanding WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU NEED I KNOW IT CAN BE ROUGH

“Sorry” just fucking guiltrips people without change

But it also prevents you from making meaningful connections with people if you refuse to change.

(Have fun being your dad dumbass xx)

DO WRONG? ITS GOING TO BE CONFRONTED IF I LOVE YOU BECAUSE I WANT THE BEST FOR YOU AND in turn us. Stop being a bitch about it.

But I can’t even say that with complete conviction nowadays especially in the company of people after my last relationship and my ex best friend because my reactions were mine in all of it and I did lose reeya. Objectively speaking I must have been shit because reeya isn’t a dumb person?

still haven’t told my shit psych about any of this because he is cracking onto my mum and me

And actively telling me I can’t pursue uni or any goals I bring to the table. Always cuts me off when I wish to vent.

Stress

all because I saw his face today and he acted happy to see me which is a fucking lie because that man does not have a single ounce of empathy and that’s still so apparent because all he does is fuck freshly 18-19 yo’s and bitch to my loved ones how much he misses me like lmao you never even established a bond with me I was just a trophy. but anyway he has never actually apologised or attempted to rectify any of his mistakes the only thing he has ever said to me was shit like “*fake tear* you hate me” “you just want to fuck him” (I HAVE SUCH A LOW SEX DRIVE IM ALMOST POSITIVE IM ASEXUAL I DONT WANT TO FUCK ANYBODY UNLESS IM OBSESSED WITH THEM AND I WOULD TELL HIM THIS AND HE WOULD ALWAYS TELL ME IM LYING OR IMPLY IT IM JUST TRYING TO FUCKING ACCURATELY EXPRESS MYSELF AND YOURE GUILT TRIPPING ME) “I look shit (my dad literally just died and the entire Italian family is downstairs arguing about the funeral and shit talking me to my face and I’m crying about it and the only things he says is that. I yelled at him constructive things like: it probably wasn’t the time for that I just needed support for a little while?? I felt bad and started comforting him because I loved him and him being happy made me feel better.)”

Occasionally when he was drunk “I’m the best” NARCISSISTS

Such a fucking victim playing narcissist (and his brother does it too to this poor girl named Phoenix??? But she is leaving soon if Mitch doesn’t decide following in his big brothers footsteps, fucking people younger than his little brother, is detrimental. I hope they get off drugs and spend time away from mitchs family. I’m always torn between sending her a message to establish an “sos” contact in the area but Sam still lives there so that’s comforting? But also not really because that environment is not good for Sam to be in. Torn.)

You weren’t the one cheated on buddy. You weren’t the one gaslit. You weren’t the one who lost their dad and family and had no support other than “I hate myself”.

You got an angry reaction. You did something shit.

Also;

Yes, that man in public is interesting.

Yes, I am having human conversation with him and am learning things.

Yes, I am denying his advances.

No, I clearly don’t want to fuck him. He knows I have a boyfriend. You are POSSESSIVE AND TOXIC AND IN COMPLETE DENIAL ABOUT IT. I DONT CHEAT ON PEOPLE AND IVE NEVER CHEATED ON ANYBODY. I GREW UP WITNESSING THE EFFECTS IT HAD ON MY FUCKING MUM. STOP TAKING A MALE HAVING A CONVERSATION WITH YOUR HOT GIRLFRIEND AS AN EGO JAB. FUCKWIT.

YOURE EXACTLY LIKE YOUR FUCKING DAD THAT EVEN TRIED THE EMOTIONAL ABUSE ON ME IN HINDSIGHT

You. Are. Definition of shit buddy.

I told you everything and was made to feel emotionless? I literally gave you all of my emotions. Im so dumbbbb.

You had them.

Fuck you.

My emotional responses were so skewed because you GASLIT ME.

Trash is the human that gaslights a girl losing; her dad to cancer and entire family to the ordeal.

Trash is the human that says he wants to love and support a girl going through shit like that, and believes his victim playing/self deprecating ‘issues’ are bigger than hers.

You aren’t caring because you financially supported bringing me along for your life style so you can show me off?

Closure is just something I have to live without in both regards though. Which is shit because I genuinely want to grow from fucking up that friendship with reeya?? But also I’m so mad she took my ex’s side. Like... take no side at all if you can’t make a decision.

Both people could be equal parts the problem. It’s a fucking breakup.

I think I’m mad and guilty because I let joe use all of my support networks to validate himself.... but only after they validated me.

“Do better than your parents”

But I don’t understand if I should be angry or guilty over that entire ordeal?? Because I understand clouded judgement during that time and going through your own shit and hating me during that time I was a fucking DUMBASS and a sympathiser to somebody negatively effecting me “because he has done so much for me” (it should be a thankless fucking task I gave him the opportunity to leave before this entire thing I sat him down in his dorm room and said stuff in my home life is about to get rough I don’t know how I’m going to react. I’m prepared to break things off for the time being are you positive you’re prepared to do this with me it’s genuinely okay if you aren’t.)

(All in all: acknowledging so many mistakes I made like not reacting to a lot of things and giving people the benefit of the doubt; anyway I’m actively trying to correct them and it’s difficult in this environment because my families issues are mineeeeeeee B) B) B) BUT ALSO GIVING MYSELF TO PEOPLE STRAIGHT AWAY and now I have to relearn boundaries which is fucking TIGHT)

I wish them both the best regardless.

I probably did fuck it all up.

But like they’d ever tell me? Like I’ll ever get their side.

I genuinely didn’t mean to hurt anybody and was only trying to keep the peace in every regard because that’s genuinely how I was raised

But I just didn’t know that’s actually detrimental? Like people pleasing and shit (I’m growing all over again and realigning my moral compass)

So confusing because I never used to be a people pleaser with my friendship groups or anything like that.

I feel like I just unlearnt all of the information and dialogue I worked really hard trying to secure in a relationship :) I can’t even cope with my mum bitching about my little sister without having a mental breakdown now.

it’s all coming up milhouse-

my dog is fat (he got into the giant food bag like twice and almost flipped his stomach but instead put on about 50kgs so now I’m the owner of a fat Labrador) and dog aggressive now when other dogs try and hump him (it’s very weird for renny he is usually very patient but there’s a new puppy in the family so he is kinda over being the rest dummy I think)

I’m just going to invest my time into fatass and see what happens

I don’t know what I need or who to get advice from but I’m sick of joe always being in my environment nd if people don’t let me run anyway soon prolly gna neck because everybody I love sympathises with him so much which is so confusing for me it’s like people are going to fucking validate my emotions (which means fuck all now???) and also sympathise with my fucking abuser (which also needs to be validated by a psych because this is just beyond my support networks and me anyway)

👈👈😎

but alas here covid is so I can’t run away which isn’t an answer anyway but at least then maybe I can focus on myself for a day without everybody I love abandoning me

I’m a massive victim have pitty on me I hope things look up with this new psych and they don’t just convince me I’m playing victim too but invalidating everything I say. but it’s for the best because I think I get greedy when people give me a platform when I need intense emotional support (sorry you had to deal with any of this reeya)

fuck yeah

cant even blame my mum for guilt tripping me into accepting help from my ex while on holidays it’s my fault I was in that position!!!! because I’m a shit person who genuinely deserves to be alone for the shit she has done!!!! and her mother’s issues have always been hers!!!! But I just wanted to make everybody happy and you kept reassuring me it was okay!!!!!

so fuck everybody that thinks I’m a horrible person right off the bat when men are capable of making their own decisions especially when I’m giving them all of the facts???? Fuck victim players!!!!

AGAIN DONT CRUCIFY ME THESE ARE ALL UNDERDEVELOPED BECAUSE IVE HAD NO GUIDANCE AND STRUGGLE WITH INTENSE MEMORY LOSS THE PAST 3 YEARS ALL I CAN DOCUMENT IS THE WAY I FEEL AND IM SEEing A PSYCH SOON ALL I Can do in the meantime is treat the people in my current circle with respect but I’m struggling and need my family to support me emotionally a little without invalidating me? But I can’t dump all of my shit on them consistently because fuck this level of emotional baggage on anybody other than a psych or myself lmao

But that’s okay because people will never understand how the individual feels and it genuinely is up to me to deal with my own shit.

[katsuragi-yako]

majin tantei nougami neuro week day five: justice

notes: This one gave me trouble at the end, because it ended up a little different than I had originally planned. I think I’m still... mostly okay with it, but I might try to rework it at some point in the future so It doesn’t bother me as much as it does now. SHRUGS. Also, if this is too hard to read on my blog and you don’t have “Read More Now” for x-kit, all of my drabbles are getting posted onto AO3 as well!

    When she opens the door to the office, her expression is a strange combination of both suspicion and exasperation.

        “Is there any particular reason a woman shouted at me and told me I'm terrible when I got out of the elevator today?” she asks, closing the door behind her and hanging her purse on one of the hooks on the wall. “Did you turn someone's case away again, or did you spread some new rumor about me online that went viral since I checked the news when I woke up?”

    Her tone is sarcastic, but also filled with genuine curiosity when she turns to face the demon sitting behind Troy. It isn't exactly unheard of for him to spread false information about her for a laugh. Though most people usually write it off as gossip unless there's some way to back it up somehow, there's still a decent amount of the public that will take it at face value and pounce. It doesn't usually faze her all that much—she's gained thick skin since being forced into the spotlight during her teen years. Even articles that get published about her outrageous eating habits don't bother her nearly as much as they used to. But the particularly hostile tongue thrashing she'd gotten from the woman on her way into the building does make Yako rather suspicious of what the her partner had done, if not decline a case because there was no puzzle.

    Neuro remains blank-faced for a few moments, almost as though he's trying to draw out any suspense and keep her wondering simply because he wants her to sweat. But, after she nonchalantly expels a puff of air out of her mouth to blow a stray piece of hair out of her eyes, he finally relents with a shrug.

        “There was no puzzle to be had from her nor anyone involved in her case. As I've told you before, the police have likely overlooked something simple,” he explains before throwing a book at her head as though it is a perfectly normal thing to do during conversation ( to be fair, with him, it often is ). She tilts to the right to dodge before taking a few steps forward and leaning against the back of one of the couches. She'll pick the book up later.

        “That may be true, but it's possible I could have helped her. You know I sometimes take cases of my own if I think there's anything I can do,” she says, shaking her head a little and giving him a pointed look. Of course, the work she usually does separate from Neuro more often than not involves negotiation or criminal profiling of some sort. But there is still the occasional exception.

    He raises an eyebrow at her in response before throwing another book. She ducks, once again avoiding being hit.

        “The case did not fit your usual work and would have been a waste of both my time and yours,” he says, green eyes flashing and a slight smirk twitching at his lips. “There is a puzzle nearby that has been ripening for about a week, and I expect that today it will come to fruition. So, be ready to move at any moment, top-slug.”

        “—Well, I'd still appreciate it if you'd let me decide that for myself next time,” Yako shoots back with both an irritated sigh and a resigned shrug. “But I guess it can't be helped if we're chasing a puzzle today. Even if I went after her now, she likely wouldn't want to talk to me anyway with how upset she seemed. What did you say to her?”

        “The exact same thing that I have said to all of the others,” Neuro replies absently, waving his hand vaguely in the air as though he's attempting to bat the conversation away like an annoying fly. He's already swiveled his chair around to look out the window and seems entirely uninterested in talking about the woman with no puzzle any longer. Which she can't exactly hold against him with the knowledge that there's a mystery just on the horizon; it's been a few days since they've had a case and she's sure he's hungry.

    Deciding to let the topic drop, she retraces her steps towards the door to pick up the books that her partner had hurled her way during their conversation. Though, just because she's no longer speaking to the demon about it doesn't mean that she's stopping thinking about it yet. Which, if she's being honest, in and of itself is a bit odd.

    Normally when someone decides to make a big scene to her face, she's quickly moved on and within a few minutes has her focus set on something else. There's been more people than she could possibly keep track of that they've turned away over the years, and the backlash that comes along with it is, sadly, something she's grown rather numb to most of the time. She's sure that within a few hours, there will be a post from the woman or someone she knows popping up on a forum to slam her for not accepting the case. With how worked up she'd seemed, it's likely that it will be a particularly nasty one, too, and spark either a bashing session from other people who still hold a grudge, or an argument if any of her fans try to defend her. It's nothing she ever gets involved with, and has only ever watched from the sidelines if she happens to stumble upon it; she tries to keep her presence on the internet very limited. It will all blow over in a few days, anyway. It always does.

    Of course, the harsh words and assumptions about her can occasionally be a little scathing, even with her aforementioned thick skin. Neuro throws insults at her constantly so she's rarely ever bothered by digs at her intelligence or appearance. But what can actually bother her even just a little bit is when people claim that she has no heart, no compassion, no sense of justice.

    She's been the scared and sad victim that lost someone close to them to an unjust death. More than once she's been in those shoes. She knows what it's like, and knows how desperately those people want results, want any semblance of peace that they can get their hands on. And if it were actually up to her heart, her compassion, and her sense of justice, she'd take on almost every case that comes through her door. But it's not up to those things. She knows she can't take on more than she can carry; it will only hurt both the work she does on her own, and the the work she does with Neuro. If she tries to help everybody, in the long run she'll end up helping nobody. So, unless she thinks there's a special element to a case that fits her niche, she lets her partner send people out the door time and time again, regardless of how it can sadden her to do so. Because she is only one person.

    And Neuro is the same way. Of course, unlike Yako, he cares very little about the emotions of the clients that come through the door and how they feel when they get turned away. He does not solve cases because of a twinge in his heart, compassion, or any sense of justice—he solves them to survive. It is easier for him to turn people down because not only is he not human, but if he does not, it will literally be a detriment to his health. Even though he's a demon and is stronger, faster, and more capable than she is in many areas, he is not invincible. If a case does not have a puzzle big enough for him to gain anything from, he cannot afford to pursue it lest he risk exhausting his demonic energy. He isn't truly meant to live on her plane of existence and therefore needs to be mindful of what his energy will be put towards. Because he can only spare so much.

    Neither of them can afford to stretch themselves too thin.

    And that does not make them heartless, without compassion, or without a sense of justice ( yes, even Neuro possesses some sort of demonic equivalent to those very human qualities—she's seen them herself first hand ). It means they have limits, just like everyone else, and that they know what they are. It means they know how to not be swallowed whole by the desire to do more than they are capable of doing.

    She's been standing stationary with the books the demon had thrown in her arms for a few minutes, lost in her thoughts. But she's snapped free now, and begins to cross the room, so she can put them back in their proper place. Her heels click against the floor of their office, and are soon joined by the sound of a desk chair creaking as it turns. Brown eyes flick to her left, and her gaze meets with her partner's briefly. A soft smile starts to tug at her lips, but she quickly notices that he's wearing a smirk on his face and holding another book in his hand. And he starts to raise it up...!

    Instinctively, she ducks and raises the ones she has in her own grasp up to protect her face from another onslaught. But even after a moment of waiting, it never comes. Instead, when she risks taking a peek back at Troy, she suddenly feels gloved talons latching onto her head from behind, and yanking her violently across the room.

        “It is time,” Neuro says, before she's even had a chance to let out a soft yelp of pain. There's a smile evident in his voice, even though she cannot see his face.

        “All right, all right,” she answers, wriggling in his grasp in an attempt to stand up. “Let me grab my purse, at least?”

    He drops her to the ground unceremoniously, prompting a loud grunt to fall out of her mouth. And not a few minutes later, they're already out the door, hurrying towards a puzzle that will hopefully help keep the demon's hunger at bay. There's anticipation coming off of him in waves, and Yako almost chuckles at how much he's been apparently looking forward to this case. And when they arrive, both bystanders and those related to the victim alike look at them with such relief and sudden confidence that the murder will soon be resolved, that she is instantly determined to prove them right.

    She does all that she can, and it is worth it.