#im so normal :] <- (face of normalcy)

[ardienothesieno]

i might be developing a mild star wars hyperfixation. oh no

[kroosluvr]

temptation

i lowkey have too many notes to write down properly KDFHKDS but ill write them down for Future Cele so i can read it later and be like omggg past cele ur so fun and interesting

in general, the more "color" the scenes have, the closer it is to "real life" as opposed to the muted/hushed winter blues of maruki's reality

i.e. the dark frames w akira smiling and the very last panel are when reality sinks in: first for akira, then for goro

by the way this is long winter au but sumire is still brainwashed. this also works for canonverse but i just had long winter au in mind:o

youve heard of laundry and taxes now get ready for coffee and pastries

in every panel, akira is smiling! :) and goro is very much not smiling.

intentionally his face is hidden in the last 2 pages so its unclear whether it's the "ideal reality" already (akira/goro's daydreams/wants/desires), or if goro is still fighting akira on making sure he picks the right choice

the smoke from the first page kinda leads into the 3rd page omfg COMPLETELY UNINTENTIONAL BUT REALLY COOL LMAOOO

that's nameless and belladonna in jazz jin!!! i love them. I LOVETHEM. i miss them so bad is it obvious

the cafe is loosely based off of caffe strada @ uc berkeley LMAO. my parents used to take me there a lot as a little kid so that's the first cafe i think of when i imagine one. its like right on the streetside, basically on the sidewalk, so its very bustling and people are always walking by... probably a little disconcerting to see everyones summery bright smiles despite the bitter cold and snow

in long winter AU, the Ideal Reality starts before 1/1 so yeah they get to see the new years fireworks together (or something)

also intentional that they wear the same winter outfits in the whole comic although it Probably does not take place at the same time. in maruki's snowglobe, time seems frozen in place... but akira and goro are both acutely aware that the sands are running thru QUICK

goro's frustrated expression on page 3 is one also of disdain: "don't speak FOR me you fucking imbecile" type of expression.

goro, who's never lived a normal life and therefore doesn't know much abt "normalcy" nor really actively seeks it. this 3rd semester is basically purgatory for him and he doesn't care to try and go through the motions the way akira does. akira what do YOU know about the type of "normalcy" i deserve? how do YOU know if i "deserve" that?

im thinking that this is a naive akira who is mostly set on taking the deal because he feels hopeless... seeing all his friends with good happy lives while goro and himself are alive and miserable and shouldering the weight of the world during the horror of long winter......

oh but if he takes the deal they could all be good and alive and happy!!!.... and goro knows this. i feel like in any other universe (i.e. akira is 100% certain on not taking the deal and goro knows this) then goro would be happy and carefree to do these little indulgences for himself and akira's sake, to just enjoy the snowglobe world while it exists.

but this goro is discontent. he sees how akira is enjoying the snowglobe and knows maruki is depending on this. goro has to be the one to remind akira that none of this is his to keep........ in this fucked up world, routine is dangerous. becoming comfortable is dangerous. they cannot keep any of this.

on that note, goro says "i hate you" in a halfhearted sort of way (it's not true and akira knows that.) but he's trying to think of a way that he can dissuade akira from picking the wrong choice.....

and i think the thing is, goro thinks all of this, but he still falls into the rhythm of routine with akira anyway. in a way, goro feels hopeless too.

all of this is maruki's doing........ paralyzed by the inability to choose... whatever you do, you lose. goro needs to hold akira at arm's length so the stupid sentimental fool doesn't get too attached and falls into the wrong universe. akira needs to make a concentrated effort to detach himself from goro even though he wants the simplest thing in the world: just one more unremarkable day with him. it's lose-lose..........,

also i liked drawing the tentacles in the last pic the freaking blue lines on them were SO satisfying to draw

edit: also the last page: the blood flooding the panel….. the idea of the ideal world being built off of the blood and sweat and tears and bodies of the people who could have been. of those lost in the actualization, of those destroyed, of those stitched together and brought back to life. all just for a little false happiness. goro sees it but akira doesn’t, and it’s a grim sight.

[tobesolnelyx]

— achilles come down || shauna shipman x reader. (post crash) 🌊

a/n: im a massive greek mythology freak so enjoy. tell jesus that the bitch is back

summary: person you loved the most returned but she's more of a ghost than anything. hurt/comfort. angst.

warnings: standard yellowjackets warnings

word count: around 2k

Shauna stood in the middle of her room, completely at a loss for what to do with herself. Everything around her felt unnaturally quiet, a silence so sharp it made acid rise in her throat — only this time, it had nothing to do with months of starvation.

The floorboards creaked as you stepped up behind her, your gaze fixed on the back of her head. She didn’t turn around. Her eyes moved slowly, cautiously, across the room — first the bed, then the posters, and finally landing on the desk and mirror. Her jaw tightened visibly. For a moment, she just stood there, staring at the likeness of a saint and the photos of you and Jackie.

She didn’t understand why. Didn’t understand how. Or what she was supposed to do now that she was back in this world. Once, she had been a queen. For one brief moment, she’d had them all under her control, held fast in the grip of her will. How was she supposed to return to normalcy? And what was normal, anyway?

Shauna, still staring at the photo of the two of you, absentmindedly ran her hand across her hip, instinctively reaching for her hunting knife. But they’d taken it away at the hospital. Someone had fed her some hollow excuse about it being for her own safety. She would’ve felt far safer with cold steel in her hand.

Finally, unable to hold back, she turned toward you. Her sad eyes met yours — but without their usual brightness. Shauna wasn’t trying to read you this time. Now, she looked more like someone calculating how dangerous you might be, how fast she might need to run.

You met her gaze with something softer, something raw and honest — but not pity. Shauna wouldn’t have endured another drop of pity, not about what had happened, and certainly not about Jackie. Her fingernails dug into her palms, and you couldn’t stop staring. Maybe because she had changed so much. Maybe because, over the past nineteen months, she had started to fade into something more ghost than girl, more memory than person.

And even though it was she who turned to face you, it was you who couldn’t look away — like a selfish Orpheus casting one final glance at Eurydice. As if Shauna, too, might vanish at any moment, but now only your eyes could hold her here.

"I don’t want to be here," she finally confessed. Quietly, like the ancients pleading with their gods for forgiveness. As if she were begging you to do something, anything, to send her back. It struck you then that there was a kind of selfishness in that wish — but at the time, you thought you were doing it for her. You wanted her to come back to the world more than she did herself.

You stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder, fingers pressing in — trying to say everything words couldn’t. At the hospital, just days earlier, someone had changed her clothes. Someone had forced her into a shower. They’d burned her old clothes. Now, Shauna squirmed in these clean ones like they were a second, intolerably itchy skin. Like nothing fit anymore. Like everything was wrong.

“We’ll get through this together,” you whispered.

Your thumb brushed over the rough skin of her arm — skin hardened by months of brutal temperatures and gods only knows what else. You didn’t want to imagine it. And Shauna wasn’t sure she wanted to get through anything at all. Or to get through it with you. Her lifeless eyes were fixed on the soft bedsheets, as if even touching something that gentle, something cleaner than dirt and worn-out blankets, might undo her.

She only nodded.

In the days that followed, Shauna committed herself to a quiet rebellion. She spoke to no one. Refused all forms of social interaction. You couldn't spend every hour with her, but Shauna couldn't seem to find a place for herself. The next time you stepped into her room, photographs lay shredded on the floor, books strewn in every direction. The entire space was drowned in a chaos so raw and disordered, you doubted you could ever get closer to the landscape of her thoughts.

The bed was neatly made — untouched, as if no one had dared disturb it. And Shauna was nowhere to be found. Neither was her mother, who couldn’t afford to take more time off to watch over her.

You left behind the echo of that silent fury to find her outside, curled beneath a tree. Her fingers clenched and unclenched, restless, as though missing the familiar weight of something between them. The comforting steel of a blade, perhaps — that gave her a sense of control. A notebook rested open on her lap, alongside an ordinary pencil. She hadn’t changed her clothes since the last time you’d seen her. Judging by the state of her hair, she was still refusing to bathe.

Her skin was pale — the kind of pale that didn’t speak of delicacy but of absence, of death. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ground, her throat bobbing slightly with each breath. Her wrists looked thinner than they ought to be. Shauna looked, all at once, far too old and far too young. But you suspected her age had stopped the moment the plane crashed into the earth.

She had never told anyone what happened out there. Sometimes you’d glance toward the journals buried deep inside her wardrobe and wonder what truths they held.

"Have you eaten anything?" you asked, standing over her. A simple, practical question — one she could endure. She shook her head.

"Everything tastes too… vivid," she said at last, her voice roughened from disuse. Speaking seemed to cost her something now — perhaps because words had long since lost their meaning for her.

So, you learned to make meals that were deliberately bland. Shauna seemed to trust you more than anyone else when it came to food, and from that point on, you were in her kitchen daily, her wary brown eyes tracking your every movement.

Her relationship with meat was particularly strange. At first, she grimaced, chewing cautiously, tearing the fibers apart with a strange sort of reverence — or fear. You didn’t ask why. You didn’t need to. The reason was too close, too raw. At least she was eating. That alone was enough. You weren’t about to push her into confessions she wasn’t ready to make.

Then, as if in some Promethean act of defiance, Shauna began sleeping outside. It seemed, to her, a matter of utmost importance — only instead of stealing fire from Olympus for the betterment of mankind, she was fulfilling some unspoken mission crafted entirely in her own mind. For her, it was something that helped her survive — something as sacred and immutable as divine law.

At first, you tried to understand. You were willing to give her space, to occupy yourself with other things. You prepared her meals, cleaned her room — a space that, without fail, would always return to a chaos worthy of the dawn of creation itself.

But when the nights began to turn cold and Shauna’s breath fogged the air, and still she refused to sleep indoors, your patience began to fray. Though you tried not to show it, your jaw clenched when you stepped outside one chilly evening into the Shipmans’ yard. Shauna was in the same spot, with the same things, clinging stubbornly to her quiet rebellion.

"You'll freeze," you said, sitting beside her on the ground, pulling your hoodie tighter around yourself. You wrapped a blanket around her shoulders — she didn’t move.

"I’m used to it," she replied simply, though the way she stared at her trembling hands betrayed her. It wasn’t acceptance — it was punishment. She looked more like someone willingly chained to the Caucasus than someone merely enduring the cold.

"I can stay with you," you murmured, your hand moving toward hers before pausing midway, uncertain. Shauna’s dark curls fell across her forehead as she looked at you like she was seeing you for the first time. "If you want."

Before everything, sleepovers had been routine. You’d fall asleep in her bed on Friday nights and wake up to her cold nose pressed against your neck, her arm wrapped so tightly around your waist it nearly cracked your ribs.

Shauna had never seemed like someone who needed touch — but she always sought yours. You never quite understood why. At first, you thought it was because something had existed between you before the crash. And “something” felt like the only accurate word. Friends didn’t steal kisses, didn’t hold hands like that, didn’t dance too close at parties.

Or maybe they did. Maybe Shauna had done all of that with Jackie, and you were only a substitute — a poor imitation. Either way, you both lost to Jeff. You found out first, and though you should have told Jackie, something stopped you. Loyalty to Shauna — or maybe that sick, quiet competition that had always played out between you and Jackie.

Still, Jackie was gone now. Shauna didn’t look like anyone — not even Jeff — crossed her mind anymore. That made you her only option. The only trace of the life she'd had before.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked eventually. Her voice wasn’t sharp. it didn’t come laced with blame. There was something so unguarded in her curiosity that your heart clenched.

"You know why," you answered, because the words I love you wouldn’t come. That was enough, apparently, because Shauna let you rest your head against her shoulder. She tensed, but didn’t pull away. That was already a victory.

"I’m not sleeping in a bed," she said after a moment — a quiet compromise, one that didn’t name itself. A gesture that hinted at release, as though she’d just shooed away the bird pecking at her entrails.

So you let her keep her rebellion, in some small way. You cleared her room of most unnecessary things, the emptiness seemed to soothe her. The window remained open most days, as if the outside world tethered her to sanity. You laid down blankets on the floor, and for the first time since her return, you fell asleep side by side. Shauna’s hand rested between you — a fragile truce.

Everything could have started to come together. You saw a glimpse of hope, a chance for improvement—Shauna began to give in more often, whether because the arrow had started to chafe her heel or simply because she was getting better. Either way, at least she was willing to compromise.

Then you discovered Shauna’s problem with anger.

The girl you knew before the plane crash would never have hurt anyone—not physically, and probably not purposefully emotionally either. She simply wasn’t good at handling feelings. Which included sleeping with Jeff. At least you were telling yourself this.

You’d suspected something was off back when you’d walk into her room and find it engulfed in chaos. Still, she had always seemed more withdrawn than aggressive.

Until something inside her exploded.

She fell into pure rage, screaming so fiercely it was as if she hoped some god might finally hear and recognize her pain. You prayed you wouldn’t share Hector’s fate. All you could do was watch as her fury built, as she shouted, smashed things, bloodied her knuckles—circling around you like a starving dog, cursing you to every demon imaginable.

And just as quickly as her anger rose, it burned out. She flared like a match—intense and brief—before collapsing at your feet like a fallen hero in battered armor, begging for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she clutched at you, her fingers digging painfully into your skin. “I’m sorry, forgive me, I’m sorry...”

She buried her face in the hollow of your neck. She hadn’t meant to get attached. She knew she could lose you too. One wrong glance, and you’d vanish like the others—just another cruel hallucination, a rotting piece of flesh buried deep beneath the ground. All she’d have left would be flowers to lay on a grave.

“Don’t go, don’t go—I swear I’ll change, do you hear me?” she begged, after she’d pushed you by accident in her fury.

“Don’t leave me, don’t leave me...” she pleaded, even after she struck you for the first time.

She didn’t want to hurt you. But she couldn’t place you above her rage or her pride, no matter how much she wanted to. She simply couldn’t. And yet she knew she would tear heaven and earth apart to win you back.

“I love you,” she said. “I promise I love you. I never stopped—please...”

[xjulixred45x]

sowwy but im absolutely in love with your concept of Yuu!Parent and the Yuus from the manga being siblings, so if you dont mind me i would love to share some random thoughts i have about it <333

Is just, i was thinking that the Yuu siblings after reuniting with Yuu!Parent everyone would be like extra caring because of all the time they have been separated and how Yuu!Parent would be wanting to care of their childs, but would be the Yuu siblings the one taking care and teaching Yuu!Parent everything about Twisted wonderland

And just imagine that now that they parent is in Twisted Wonderland too they would end up showing them up A LOT! But, like, they didn't even mean to bragg about their parent so much, they are just too excited

Alsoooo since Grim refuses to be treaten like the cat he is the he becomes an unoficial son >:3c

OH MY GOD I LOVE YOUR WRITING WORK FOR SEVERAL OF MY FAVORITE FANDOMS😍. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR IDEAS.

They mean this work here

And yes! Totally! I already have this mental image that when a new sibling arrived in Twisted Wonderland, the other previous Yuus would stick to them like glue (either worried about how to adapt the new Yuu to this world, knowing why specific family members kept appearing, if their mom/dad was okay, if they were looking for them in their world, etc.), so when Yuu! Parent enters the mix, the kids stick to him like ticks.

Yuu!Parent is so confused about so many things in the world of Twisted Wonderland. What do you mean the coin is different? What is Magicam? WHY IS THERE A TALKING CAT WITH FIRE EARS IN THE HOUSE?!

Yuu!Parent is definitely scared of several things at first (Lilia tried to greet them in her typical head-first way and got hit in the face with a frying pan). As much as Yuu!Parent wants to protect their children now that they has them within reach again, they'll have to accept that they's not even qualified to be in that world. They do, they have the experience, so the children will have to guide them little by little.

The first thing Yuu!Parent becomes familiar with is money, laws, etc. Things to be able to be a "normal" citizen within TWST, and at least give their children a hand in academics. Speaking of which, the Yuus can't stop talking about their parent, so much so that it's almost exhausting, whether it's about how the dormitory has never been cleaner, or when one of them gets a good grade after a study session with Yuu!Parent, or bringing homemade bento boxes to the cafeteria that Yuu!Parent clearly made. They're just so happy to have a sense of normalcy back.

Grim definitely scared Yuu!Parent a lot the first time. Afterward, they thought he was a house cat (much to his outrage), and now he's officially getting the son treatment—no more tuna after 11, he must be in bed before 12, he must wear a sweater in the winter to avoid catching a cold, and in return, he'll get their homemade food. Grim may act tough, but he loves the attention and cuddles.

Yuuken still tries to be the man of the house, but he's relaxed considerably, on the one hand, not being as strict with himself, and on the other hand, being much more protective of Yuu!Parent due to the context. This is an even more dangerous world than the ones they come from. Not only that, but Yuu!Parent has no idea where they stand, so Yuuken is quite vigilant in case anyone tries to take advantage of that.

Yuuka, similar to Yuuken, relaxes considerably when Yuu!Parent is around; it's almost like a switch. When Yuu!Parent isn't around, she reverts to her almost intimidating self, but it's never like that when her parent is around for some reason. She definitely tries to help with errands and teaches Yuu!Parent a few things about TWST culture.

Yuuta is so happy to be cooking with Yuu!Parent again after so many months of heartache that the first time they do it while in TWST, they probably both cry, simply overwhelmed by the joy of being together again. Yuuta probably tells Yuu!Parent about several of the adventures they had (with Yuuna), even if he tries to leave out the scariest details so as not to scare Yuu!Parent shitless (or make them kill Crowley too soon...).

Yuuna bursts into tears as soon as she sees Yuu!Parent at NRC. She's so happy to see them, but on the other hand, she feels it's unfair that whatever brought them to TWST also stole her parent, but she's quickly comforted by Yuu!Parent. They usually spend their time wandering around NRC/Twisted Wonderland in general, shopping for clothes, trying food, practicing tricks with Grim, and trying to catch up on their lives.

When they first arrived at Twisted Wonderland, the shabby dorm had never felt so homey, even after all the siblings arrived, but now it does, filled with laughter, jokes, and noise. NOW IT'S A HOME.

_______

(ESPAÑOL)

OH POR DIOS AMO TUS TRABAJOS DE ESCRITURA DE VARIOS DE MIS FANDOMS FAVORITOS MUCHAS GRACIAS POR TUS IDEAS

¡Y si! ¡Totalmente! De por si tengo esta imagen mental de que cuando llegaba un nuevo hermano a Twisted Wonderland, los otros Yuus anteriores se le pegaban como pegamento (ya sea preocupados sobre cómo adaptar al nuevo Yuu a este mundo, saber porque seguían apareciendo miembros de su familia en específico, si su mama/papa estaba bien, si los estaban buscando en su mundo, etc.), por lo que cuando llega Yuu! Parent a la mezcla, los niños se le pegan como garrapatas.

Yuu!Parent esta tan confundido sobre tantas cosas del mundo de Twisted Wonderland ¿Cómo que la moneda es diferente? ¿Qué es Magicam? ¡¿PORQUE HAY UN GATO CON OREJAS DE FUEGO QUE HABLA EN LA CASA?!

Definitivamente Yuu!Parent se asusta de varias cosas al principio (Lilia quiso ir a saludarlos de su forma típica, de cabeza, y recibió un golpe de sarten en toda la cara), por más que Yuu!Parent quiera proteger a sus hijos ahora que los vuelve a tener al alcance, tendrá que aceptar que no está capacitado para siquiera estar en ese mundo, ellos si, tienen la experiencia, por lo que los niños tendrán que guiarle de poquito a poquito.

El primer aspecto con el que Yuu!Parent se hace familiar es con el dinero, las leyes, etc. Cosas para poder ser un ciudadano “normal” dentro de TWST, y por lo menos darle una mano a sus hijos en aspectos académicos. Hablando de eso, los Yuus no dejan de hablar de su padre/madre, tanto que es casi agotador, ya sea de como el dormitorio nunca había estado tan limpio, o cuando uno de ellos saca una buena nota después de una sesión de estudio con Yuu!Parent, o trayendo a la cafetería bentos caseros que claramente Yuu!Parent hizo. Simplemente están tan felices de volver a tener un sentido de normalidad.

Grim definitivamente asusto mucho la primera vez a Yuu!Parent. Después pensaron que era un gato doméstico (para su indignación), y ahora oficialmente está recibiendo el tratamiento de hijo, ósea, no mas atún después de las 11, debe estar en su cama antes de las 12, debe ponerse un suéter en temporada de invierno para no resfriarse, y a cambio recibirá su comida casera. Grim actuara rudo, pero ama la atención y los mimos.

Yuuken sigue tratando de ser el hombre de la casa, pero se ha relajado considerablemente en un extremo, no siendo tan estricto consigo mismo, y por otro lado siendo mucho mas protector con Yuu!Parent debido al contexto. Este es un mundo aun mas peligroso del que vienen, no solo eso, sino que Yuu!Parent no tiene idea de donde están parados, por lo que Yuuken es bastante atento en caso de que alguien intente aprovecharse de eso.

Yuuka, de forma similar a Yuuken, se relaja considerablemente cuando Yuu!Parent esta cerca, es casi como un interruptor, cuando Yuu!Parent no esta, vuelve a su yo casi intimidante, pero nunca es asi cuando su padre/madre esta cerca por alguna razón. Definitivamente quien trata de ayudar con los mandados y le enseña a Yuu!Parent algunas cosas de la cultura de TWST.

Yuuta esta tan feliz de volver a cocinar con Yuu!Parent después de tantos meses de angustia, que probablemente la primera vez que lo hacen estando en TWST ambos lloran, simplemente muy abrumados por la felicidad de estar todos juntos otra vez. Yuuta probablemente le cuenta a Yuu!Parent varias de las aventuras que tuvieron (junto a Yuuna), aun si trata de quitar los detalles mas aterradores para no espantar a Yuu!Parent (o hacer que mate a Crowley tan pronto…).

Yuuna directamente llora en cuanto ve a Yuu!Parent en NRC, esta tan feliz de verle, pero por otra parte siente que es injusto que lo que sea que los haya traído a TWST también haya robado a su padre/madre, pero es consolada rápidamente por Yuu!Parent. Suelen pasar el tiempo paseándose por NRC/Twisted Wonderland en general, comprando ropa, probando comida, practicando trucos con Grim y tratando de ponerse al día con sus vidas.

Cuando llegaron a Twisted Wonderland, el dormitorio destartalado nunca se había sentido tan hogareño, incluso cuando legaron todos los hermanos, pero ahora sí, lleno de risas, chistes, ruido. AHORA SI es un hogar.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[edenl0vesu]

I feel like each different version of bucky fucks different

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!reader.

Warnings: mentions of Bdsm, spanking, overstimulation, errmm if i missed lmk.!

40s!Bucky is the perfect gentleman, hes probably actually one of the roughest of all the bucky variants. Praise, probably the occasional smacking (whether it be pussy, ass, face, whatever you want), his favorite is either cowgirl or missionary- he loves to be able to look at you.

Catws!Bucky/the winter soldier is the literal opposite, while i genuinely believe during this time he would not have been with anyone. I genuinely believe his trauma alone would not allow him to be with anyone. Sorry if this part disappoints.

Cw!bucky is a fucking menace dude, i genuinely believe he would be a menace to fucking society. He needs that control back- for the past 70+ years he hasnt had any control. Gagging, biting, he would probably use toys on you, manhandling, marking hes real big on that one- thighs, chest, neck, stomach. Anywhere he can get his mouth on- i feel like he would be big on you marking him too. Overstimulation, would tie you up if youre into that, hair pulling, orgasm control/denying, cumplay. Pretty softer on the bdsm side but definitely would. The man isnt known as BEEFY bucky for no reason. I think he would absolutely manhandle you into submission. But he would also still be very cautious of not wanting to hurting you for real so he has a very established safeword and light system with you. His aftercare is the best, ordering takeout, running a bath, washing you and himself up, making sure you both eat and drink something then cuddling with a movie on until you both fall asleep. Very cutesy.

BP/IW/Endgame!bucky i dont really thing too much of. I think specifically after everything thats happened for him he just wants normal, i think during this era he would be really vanilla, hes gentle, he wants normalcy, missionary becoming his favorite so he can bury his face in your neck as he fucks you.

Tfatws!bucky would be a cross of the last two tbh, i think he would be gentler than Cw!bucky but more aggresssive than BP/IW/Endgame!bucky. I feel like hes more trying ti distract himself when it comes to sex. Trying to use you as his lifeline in a way. His favorite position is probably missionary still if im being true to my soul.

My mind is so full of ideas and im currently writing an Oc fic and im still on the fence on if ill ever post it. AGHHHH, blurb of that is coming soon for you guys.!

[mononijikayu]

together — gojo satoru.

“You already noticed I’m here, so why aren’t you saying anything?” you asked, breaking the silence. Satoru’s laughter filled the room, light and familiar, though he didn’t look up from his work. “If I make a mistake on the budget suggestion for this year, I’ll be paying for it.” You couldn’t help but snicker at his response. “You have too much money to be complaining about budget mistakes you can replace.” you shot back, your voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and fondness. “But I like getting it right.” he replied, his tone casual, as if he were talking about something as simple as picking the right dessert. “I like winning.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence

WARNING/S: angst, romance, break up, hurt/comfort, divorce, separation, hurt, humor, depictions of failing marriage, depiction of post-divorce grief, depiction of sexual content, usage of pet names and endearments, depiction of grief, mention of grief, mention of sexual content, mention of loneliness;

WORD COUNT: 5.5k words

NOTE: the poll winner from recently!!! this took a while. i wanted to write more but you might get bored of me doing longer stories. i should learn how to stop yapping and get straight to the point too,,,,, but im grateful you come and read it at all. i love you all so much!!! i'll be focusing on writing future projects to keep you entertained too <3 oh~ also the japanese text above is the ending text of the story <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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LIVING ALONE AGAIN WAS STRANGE. You would think that after spending most of your life living alone, solitude would have become a familiar companion, a constant that you’d grown accustomed to. Yet, the nearly decade-long interlude of marriage had fundamentally shifted your sense of normalcy. Your normal wasn’t your normal years ago. That normal was gone long ago. 

The absence of Satoru, though frequent, had always been counterbalanced by his presence at other times—his laughter, his warmth, the shared moments that punctuated the quiet of your home. Memories reverberated in your head often, almost like a broken record repeating over and over again. 

Even with his unpredictable schedule and the long stretches of time he spent away on missions, his mere existence had woven a thread of companionship into the fabric of your daily life. His absence, when it occurred, was never complete. It was always lingering, almost the feeling of the wind on your cheeks. Like the sunlight that doesn’t know where else to go. 

There was always a lingering echo of his presence in the small things: the way he left his favorite hot cocoa mug on the counter, the occasional stray articles of clothing, or the faint scent of his cologne that lingered in the air. You existed alone and yet never truly alone. You were stuck in the pandemonium of him. And you can’t escape it, not him. Not even if you wanted to. You loved him too much, you think to yourself. And perhaps that was the most dangerous, most painful reality. 

Now, facing the reality of your solitude once again, you felt a shift that was more profound than you had anticipated. The house was quieter, emptier, in a way that was starkly different from your pre-marriage solitude. The echoes of his laughter were replaced by a silence that felt heavier, more pronounced. The space that was once filled with the shared rituals and routines was now hollow, resonating with the absence of the life you had once built together.

You found yourself unexpectedly disoriented by this new kind of loneliness. It wasn’t just the absence of a physical presence; it was the loss of the rhythm of life that had come with living with someone else—the cadence of shared moments, the comfort of knowing someone would always be there to fill the void. You realized that nearly a decade of marriage had redefined what it meant to be alone. The silence you faced now was a different kind of solitude, one that bore the weight of change and loss.

As you adjusted to this new reality, you were confronted with a truth you hadn’t fully grasped before: the difference between being alone and being alone together. The former was an old friend that knows you too well. And the latter had become an ingrained part of your existence, transforming how you experienced and understood solitude. Even in his absence, the presence of Gojo Satoru had left a mark that made the return to your solitary life feel like a disorienting shift. It was a constant reminder, like an afterthought — that you were drowning in both of it. And you wish you weren’t.

The first few weeks after the divorce felt like wading through an endless fog, each step heavier than the last. You’d packed up your life and moved into a smaller apartment, a place devoid of the memories that once filled every corner of your shared space with Gojo Satoru. The silence was a constant reminder of what was lost, and you couldn’t help but notice the emptiness where his laughter once echoed. 

The day you took off your wedding ring, it felt like a final, quiet resignation to a reality you hadn’t fully accepted. You set it aside in a drawer, out of sight but never truly out of mind. And you cried, on and on, for hours that seemed to go on to infinity. Yet, the last name remained, a silent tribute to what once was, even if you weren’t entirely sure why you held on to it. Maybe it was the familiarity, maybe it was a part of you that couldn’t fully let go. But it remained. 

You know he’s changed too since the divorce. At least that’s what you’ve heard from people you know. He moved to a different apartment, a place that probably lacks the warmth you tried to bring into your home together. And you can’t blame him. It was filled with ghosts, your old home. Ghosts of you and him that he didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to relive. 

He still keeps his wedding ring, that’s what the whispers say. At times, you imagine him, still as tall and proud as ever, his uniform impeccable, with that wedding ring you thought he’d discard hanging around his neck, hidden beneath layers of fabric and bravado. It’s not that you expected him to wear it forever, but knowing he does fills you with a strange mix of pain and comfort. 

He deleted your contact from his phone, yet you’re certain he could still dial your number from memory, just as you’ve failed to erase him from yours. It was too bad, you can’t help but think. How silly it was for both of you, to still be this attached to ten numbers on your phone screen. That it is now etched in your heads. One way or another, still listed as the emergency number on the first listing of the contact list.

It’s ironic, you think. Almost a decade of marriage, years filled with love, laughter, and moments that felt like they could never end, all reduced to this—two people who still love each other deeply but grew too tired to fight for what they had. Not tired of each other, no. You’re sure he’ll always love you, just as you know that you’ll always love him. But the weight of it all became too much. You couldn’t carry it anymore, and neither could he.

And so here you are, in your separate spaces, living lives that feel incomplete without the other. It’s a strange kind of heartbreak, one where the love is still there, lingering like a ghost, but the life you once shared is gone. The divorce papers were just a formality, a first step made by a child born into this world; the real loss, the real step to living again is something neither of you has figured out how to let go of yet. And perhaps, you will never truly find it.

But at times, love wasn’t enough. Love couldn’t bridge the gaps that grew between you and Satoru. Keeping each other alive wasn’t enough either. Knowing that the other was out there, somewhere, breathing, wasn’t enough to fill the void that settled in your heart. Sometimes, you need more than that. And you certainly did.

You felt alone for most of your marriage to Satoru. Not unloved, but alone. There was a difference, you’re sure of it. Satoru loved you, a lot. You knew he did. If you could see it, you would think it would have been large enough to create a bigger sea than the Pacific Ocean. Perhaps it would engulf the whole planet too.

He chose you, above everything. At least at one point, when duty didn’t matter as much as it did now. When the world still spun in the way that made sense. You still remember how his eyes were as they bore against his family members, standing in front of you. He went against tradition, defying the expectations of those who believed he should marry someone with powerful connections, someone from a clan as prestigious as his own. 

Instead, he chose you, a sorcerer without ties to power or influence. Just you. Plain and ordinary you. He carved out Sundays to be with you, Megumi, and Tsumiki, a precious day reserved for just the four of you, away from the demands of the world you were all trapped in. He tried to be there, he really did. You knew that he did his best. Because he loved you.

Yet, despite all that, most days you didn’t see him as much. Duty outweighed that devotion, that love, that defiance.  He was always somewhere else, pulled in too many directions at once. His duties as the strongest, as a teacher, as a protector—those came first. And while you understood, while you knew that he was out there saving lives, it didn’t make the loneliness any easier to bear. Understanding doesn’t make it hurt any less. And he knew that too.

You were surrounded by love, yet it felt like you were living parallel lives, close but never truly touching. The days blurred together, filled with brief moments of connection followed by long stretches of absence. You grew used to missing him, to waiting for the rare moments when he’d be fully present, but it wore on you. The love you shared was real, but it wasn’t enough to keep the loneliness at bay.

That loneliness, the growing chasm between you, led to fights—fights that started small, sparked by little things but quickly ignited into full-blown arguments. Screaming matches that echoed through the apartment, tears that blurred your vision, and words that cut deep, words that should never have been said. 

You tried to make sure you never did that in front of Megumi or Tsumiki. But you think they knew. How could they not, when the silence was so loud? And you would rather stay in silence than let them see the tears, let Satoru see the tears. There were moments when the hurt became too much, and the pain spilled over into everything you did, even the intimacy that once brought you closer.

There were nights when the sex was intense, a desperate attempt to reconnect, to remember the love that once held you together. To feel something other than this emptiness, this grief, this pain. But even in those moments, pleasure was tinged with an ache so deep it brought you to tears. Tears that spilled from the heart of someone already grieving, someone who saw the end coming long before the final goodbye. You grieved for the marriage you had, the marriage that you didn’t have. The one that shouldn’t have ended this way but was unraveling regardless.

He lay on top of you, his body pressing you into the mattress as his lips traced a desperate path along your neck, each kiss laden with a quiet urgency, as if this was the last time he’d ever taste your skin. His breath was warm against your throat, and you could feel the tension in his muscles as he held you close, unwilling to let go just yet.

Your arms locked around the small of his back, pulling him even closer as you moaned against him, the sound trembling with the tears gathering in your eyes. The pressure of his body, the way he rocked against your core, flesh to flesh, was both comforting and excruciatingly bittersweet. Each movement, each whispered breath, felt like a silent plea for more time, a way to hold on to what was slipping through your fingers.

You didn’t want to let go, your heart clinging to the connection between you, desperate to keep him close for just a little longer. But even as you wrapped yourself around him, feeling the pulse of his heart against yours, you knew the truth. You knew that this would end, that this was just another fleeting moment before you’d have to let go, before the final goodbye.

Your tears mingled with the sweat on your skin, a physical manifestation of the heartbreak you were both too afraid to voice. He kissed your neck as if he could somehow imprint his love into your very soul, but deep down, you both knew it wouldn’t be enough. No matter how tightly you held on, no matter how deeply he loved you, this was a chapter that was closing, and nothing could stop that.

You felt both raw and exposed, you lay there beside him, your body still trembling from the aftermath, your heart feeling like it had been shattered into a thousand pieces. The air between you was thick with the unspoken, a silence so heavy it pressed down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. The ceiling above you blurred as tears welled up, but the words that clawed their way up your throat demanded to be spoken, even if they tore you both apart in the process.

“This isn’t working out anymore, Satoru.” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the quiet like a knife. The moment the words left your lips, you could feel the shift in the bed, his body tensing beside you as if bracing for a blow that had already landed. “You know it as much as I do.”

He didn’t respond right away, the silence between you stretching out into something almost unbearable. When he finally turned to look at you, his expression was a mixture of shock and guilt, as if he hadn’t expected to hear what you both knew was inevitable. 

His eyes, those vibrant blue eyes that once held so much joy and love, were now clouded, searching yours for something—anything—that could change what you had just said. Because he knew. He knew it even before you did, with those six eyes. That it was over. That there was nothing left to find. 

The love was still there, burning bright, but it wasn’t enough to hold together what had been breaking for so long. You watched as the realization settled over him, as the weight of your words began to sink in, and in that moment, you saw a part of him crumble. It was as if the strongest man you’d ever known had been brought to his knees, not by any curse or enemy, but by the simple truth that he couldn’t fix what was broken between you.

“I’m sorry, babe.” he whispered, the words trembling in the space between you, as if they carried the weight of all the things he couldn’t say. His voice cracked, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he looked vulnerable, lost in a way you had never seen before. “I’m really sorry.”

His apology hung in the air, a single thread connecting you to a past that had once been so full of promise, now unraveling before your eyes. You wanted to reach out, to hold him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that you both tried, but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you lay there, the distance between your bodies feeling like a chasm that neither of you could cross anymore, the reality of your situation settling in like a cold, unrelenting truth.

And in that moment, you knew it was over. Not just the marriage, but the fight to keep it alive. The love you had for each other was still there, but it had been worn down by the loneliness, the missed connections, the time spent apart. And now, as you lay beside him, you realized that love alone wasn’t enough to save what you had lost. And you were tired. You were tired of it all.

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ALL YOU WANTED TO DO WAS CRAWL INTO BED AND SLEEP. That mission really did a number on your energy, you think. But you were just desperate to get it done with. With the rise of cursed spirits doubling, you had to do more than what you usually do. And now that you were home, you wished for nothing more than to take a nice long shower and drink some beer before going off to bed. 

You yawned as you opened the door and took your keys away, the exhaustion settling into your bones as you slipped off your shoes and dropped your bag by the door.The familiar hum of your apartment greeted you, a moment of quiet before you could finally relax. You turned on your AC and put your coat away. But before you could even take a breath, your phone rang, its sharp tone cutting through the silence.

You glanced at the screen and saw Shoko’s name flashing. A small smile tugged at your lips as you answered, “Hey, Shoko—”

She didn’t let you finish. “You need to get to Jujutsu High. Immediately.”

Her voice was brisk, but there was an underlying edge to it that made your heart skip a beat. Your eyes shot a glance at the clock on the wall, noting the late hour with a sigh. You didn’t have to ask, but the question slipped out anyway, “Is it Satoru?”

Shoko’s snicker crackled through the phone, and you could almost see her rolling her eyes. “Who else would it be?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, rubbing the bridge of your nose as a wave of weariness washed over you. It always seemed to be him. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, Sho.” you replied, your voice resigned but determined. “Just let me have a shower first.”

There was a pause, and then Shoko’s tone softened just slightly. “Thanks.”

“Keep him entertained until I get there, okay?”

“I don’t really think I can keep promises like that.”

You hung up, the familiar mixture of concern and frustration stirring in your chest. You knew Satoru—how he pushed himself, how he always danced on the edge of danger, how he made everyone worry without ever seeming to care about the toll it took on those who loved him. And now, once again, you found yourself rushing to his side, the weight of your shared history pressing down on you as you prepared to face whatever mess he’d gotten himself into this time.

When you arrived at the familiar room, the sight that greeted you was almost surreal in its familiarity. It was exactly as you had left it weeks and weeks ago, as if time had frozen in this one small corner of the world. But you think in a way, that’s how sentimental your ex–husband was. You sighed. It was still something you have to get used to, thinking of Satoru as your ex–husband. But slowly but little, maybe you would.

Papers were stacked precariously on every available surface, threatening to topple over at any moment. Food containers were haphazardly piled in a corner, one after the other, all empty. Sweet soda cans lay scattered around, rolling slightly with each step you took. Dust had begun to settle on the scrolls and books that were abandoned on the desk and floor, evidence of a mind too occupied to care about the mess surrounding it.

And there, in the far corner of the room, was Gojo Satoru. His cerulean blue eyes, as bright and intense as ever, were glued to a pile of administrative paperwork, his brow furrowed in concentration. Concentration that you rarely see in him when you are at home. Well, when you still lived together. You stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in, before letting out a long, quiet sigh.

“You already noticed I’m here, so why aren’t you saying anything?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Satoru’s laughter filled the room, light and familiar, though he didn’t look up from his work. “If I make a mistake on the budget suggestion for this year, I’ll be paying for it.”

You couldn’t help but snicker at his response. “You have too much money to be complaining about budget mistakes you can replace.” you shot back, your voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and fondness.

“But I like getting it right.” he replied, his tone casual, as if he were talking about something as simple as picking the right dessert. “I like winning.”

You watched him for a moment longer, a twinge of something bittersweet tugging at your heart. Satoru had always been like this, meticulous in certain things, striving for perfection in the most mundane tasks. And for a fleeting second, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he had wanted to get more than just the budget right. Maybe he had wanted to get your marriage right, too. But like the paperwork in front of him, it had slipped through the cracks, and no amount of precision could fix what had already fallen apart.

You shook the thought from your mind, leaning against the doorframe. “So, what’s the crisis this time? Or did you just need me to come clean up your mess again?”

Satoru finally looked up, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. “Isn’t that why you’re here?” 

And as much as you wanted to deny it, to tell him you were done cleaning up after him, you couldn’t. Because deep down, you knew that some part of you would always show up for him, even now, even after everything.

“You haven’t slept yet, have you?”

He says nothing for a moment and smiles. “Is it that obvious?”

“I was your wife at one point, Satoru.” You smiled back at him. “I would know it all.”

You moved further into the room, your steps unhurried but purposeful as you waltzed toward him. Without a word, you took the seat directly in front of him, the old familiarity of the space wrapping around you like a well-worn coat. The paper bag in your hand crinkled softly as you set it down on the cluttered table between you. 

Finally, Satoru looked up from his paperwork, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes, always so piercing, softened just slightly as he took you in. “You getting worried for me, babes?” he teased, the nickname slipping out as naturally as ever.

You sighed, the weight of years shared between you pressing down on your shoulders. “When have I never been worried?” you replied, the words tinged with a quiet resignation. “Eat up before you die from hunger, you idiot.”

He chuckled, that easy, careless laugh of his that used to make your heart flutter. “I’ll be fine, you know?” he said, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. “I would have been home before 4 am.”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to the table for a moment. “I know… but I still worry.”

There was a pause, a beat where the air between you grew heavy with the things left unsaid. When you looked back up, his smile had shifted—still there, but tinged with something almost unbearably sad. 

“I hope you stop.” he murmured, the honesty in his voice cutting deeper than any argument or harsh word could have. “It’s not good for you. To worry about me.”

You knew he meant it. Satoru didn’t want you to be weighed down by him, didn’t want you caged like some delicate bird in a gilded cage. He had set you free so that you wouldn’t be in pain anymore, so that you could breathe without the constant worry that had come to define so much of your life together. And in his own way, he was just being honest, just trying to do right by you, even if it meant asking for something that neither of you really wanted. 

But the truth of it hurt all the same, a constant nagging that no matter how much love there was, sometimes that love wasn’t enough to hold you together. And as you sat there, watching him, you knew that letting go of that worry was going to be one of the hardest things you’d ever have to do.

"I heard you got the job at Fukuoka in a few weeks." Satoru whispered, his pearless blue gaze heavy on you. "Congratulations."

You don't know how he heard it, who he heard it from. But your ex-husband always had his six eyes on everything. He has ways. But maybe it didn't matter. You don't think it would have been easy to tell him anyway. You didn't have the heart to. In a way, you feel like you're leaving him behind. And you didn't want to. That was your biggest fear.

That your Satoru would truly be alone. That he would suffer everything the world gave him on his own. As he always has. Because when you think about Satoru, he wasn't the strongest. He was just the boy you fell in love with all those years ago. And now he's the man you loved—still do love. Yet he won't have your shoulder. Now more so than ever that you're leaving.

"Yaga recommended me." You whisper back at him with a tender, broken look. "He thought I would do well as a teacher there. And well, there was a spot opened since Inumaki-sensei retired."

"Inumaki's uncle, wasn't it?" He says, leaning against the back rest. "No, he's definitely older. He's the great-uncle."

"I think so, I'm not very sure." You confess. "I'm not into the clan matters."

He chuckles. "That's okay. Clan matters have always been boring."

Silence befell the two of you as you looked at your fumbling nails. You didn't know what to do now, you didn't think you can meet his eyes. Your grandmother told you that the window to the soul was the eyes. And so, you were hesitant. You were hesistant to see how much damage you could bring to his soul. How much grief you can inflict upon him by leaving.

You cleared your throat, shifting slightly in your seat, and decided to steer the conversation in a safer direction. “How’s Megumi?” you asked, your voice soft but steady, focusing on something you both still cared about.

You blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill over, refusing to let him see how much his words had shaken you. This was supposed to be a simple visit, just dropping off food, checking in on him like you always did. But nothing about being around Satoru was ever simple, not even now. 

"It's a five hour train ride." You whispered, your eyes still darted to your hands. "Thirteen hours by car and...and I'll stop by for reports and administrative meetings."

"You want me to visit you?" Satoru teased, crossing his arms.

You looked at him, finally. Your lips pursed tightly. "If you want. You know....you know my house is open to you. Wherever it is."

"And you're my home. You always will be." He mumbles lowly, a ghostly smile on his lips. "I'll come and see you, hm? Teleport even."

You could feel a lump gather at your throat. You didn't know what to say. It was overwhelming to hear. But maybe, just maybe — it would hurt less had he said it more often. Maybe it would have been common place. And maybe, your heart wouldn't be breaking over and over again.

"Just don't go on days you have work. Your kids need you too."

He smiles. "No promises."

Satoru’s expression softened further, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “He’s doing well, I suppose.” he said, leaning back in his chair as if the mere mention of Megumi eased some of the tension between you. “He’s been training hard, getting stronger every day. You know how he is—always pushing himself.”

You nodded, picturing the serious young boy who had become such a central part of both your lives. For a moment, your mind also crosses to Tsumiki. You dare not ask about Tsumiki. Not just yet. You weren’t prepared for the same answer he’d given you a while ago. 

“That sounds like him.” you murmured, a small smile finding its way to your lips despite everything. “He’s always been so determined, even when he was little. Likes proving himself and getting better.”

Satoru’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes searching your face as if he could read your thoughts. “He misses you, you know?” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something almost like regret. “He doesn’t say it, but I can tell.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, a fresh wave of emotion swelling in your chest. You swallowed hard, looking away for a moment to compose yourself. “I miss him too.” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Every day.”

Satoru reached out then, his hand hesitating for just a second before he placed it gently over yours, a rare moment of contact that spoke volumes. He gave you a small squeeze and then a faint smile, a smile that you wished wasn’t this broken, this sad.

“You should come see him. He’s already lodging here in the school.” he suggested, his thumb brushing against your skin in a soothing motion. “He’d like that, having a visit from you.”

You glanced down at his hand, the warmth of his touch both familiar and foreign at the same time. The simplicity of his suggestion made it all the more heartbreaking. As much as you wanted to see Megumi, to be there for him, it was the reminder of what you had lost—what you both had lost—that made it so difficult.

“I will.” you finally said, your voice thick with the emotion you were trying so hard to keep at bay. “I’ll see him soon.”

Satoru nodded, the understanding passing between you in the quiet that followed. It was a fragile peace, held together by shared memories and the unspoken love that still lingered between you. But it was enough for now, even if just for this moment.

You blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill over, refusing to let him see how much his words had shaken you. This was supposed to be a simple visit, just dropping off food, checking in on him like you always did. But nothing about being around Satoru was ever simple, not even now. 

As you prepared to leave, the weight of the moment pressed heavily on you, and you turned back toward Satoru, unable to shake the feeling of seeing him so sad. “It’s hard to see you like this, you know?” you said, your voice tinged with concern. “It hurts knowing how much you’re struggling.”

Satoru sighed, his gaze dropping to the papers strewn across his desk. “I have no one to blame but myself, babe.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a resignation that seemed almost like acceptance. “And that’s okay. I’ll figure it out. I always will. I have to.”

You shook your head, frustration and sadness mixing in your voice. “It’s not okay, Satoru. I don’t want you to keep punishing yourself over this. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to anyone.”

He looked up at you, his cerulean eyes reflecting a depth of emotion that he rarely showed. He squeezed your hand again, his grip firm but gentle. You feel like at any moment, you are going to break. He was so gentle, he always was.  When it came to you? He could never be someone that would let Infinity be between you. Gentleness, it's what you deserved. To be loved well, that too. That’s what you deserved most in the world.

“I want you to think of yourself first. You were and always will be my first priority.” he said softly. “You deserve to have a life too, one that isn’t just about me. You need to take care of yourself.”

The simple sincerity of his words broke the dam you had been trying so hard to hold back. The tears you had been fighting to keep at bay finally spilled over, streaming down your cheeks. He lets out a small breath as he takes his free hand and lets his fingers wipe them too. Just as gently as his other hand touches your own.

“I… I don’t know how to do that.” you admitted through your tears, your voice breaking. You bit your lower lip. “It’s hard to just walk away from everything we’ve been through. I keep thinking about how things could have been different.”

Satoru’s expression softened, and he reached out to gently brush away a tear from your cheek. “You don’t have to have all the answers, okay?” he said quietly. “Just take it one step at a time. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling, and it’s okay to not have it all figured out right now.”

The tenderness in his touch, the care in his voice, only made the tears flow more freely. You nodded, trying to steady your breath. “I just want you to be okay.” you said, your voice choked with emotion. “I want us both to be okay, even if it’s apart.”

Satoru nodded, his eyes reflecting a mixture of sadness and understanding. “We will be,” he said softly. “It’s just going to take time. But I believe we’ll find our way. You’ll find yours, and I’ll find mine. And we’ll both be okay.”

“Satoru,” you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of all the years you had shared. “You were… you still are the love of my life.”

The words hung in the air, and you could see them hit him like a tidal wave. His eyes widened as the realization crashed over him—memories of youth, of laughter, of love that once felt unbreakable. The years you had spent together, now mere dried ink on the pages of the book of your life, flashed before his eyes. You could almost see the emotional flood pouring over him, washing away the veneer of his usually unshakeable composure.

His laughter broke the silence, a harsh, choking sound that was as close to tears as he would allow himself to show. He takes a deep breath, trying to still himself. Trying to not let this hurt you even more than it already was.

“You already know the answer to that.” he managed, his voice thick with emotion. His laughter turned into a soft, almost pained smile, as if the truth of your words had cracked something open inside him. “Always. No matter what.”

You nodded, tears blurring your vision. “I do.” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “And I always will. I’ll always love you.”

The room felt colder now, the space between you feeling like an insurmountable distance. But there was a strange sense of peace in acknowledging what had been and what could never be again. As you turned back toward the door, you took one last look at him, holding on to the bittersweet memory of a love that had been both beautiful and painful. 

And with that, you stepped out into the world that awaited you, the horizon stretching out with possibilities as you carried with you the love that had once defined your past. Even as you embarked on this new beginning, the echoes of what you shared with Satoru would forever remain a part of you, an indelible mark on the canvas of your life.

As you moved away, Gojo Satoru watched you with a mix of sadness and resolve. He knew that this separation was not just a physical distance but a necessary step for both of you to find peace and stability. The sight of you walking toward your new life in Fukuoka, away from the familiar chaos and dangers of what's to come; it filled him with hope. It filled him with relief.

In his heart, Satoru found solace in the thought that you would be safe, shielded from the perilous world that had often intruded upon your lives together. The distance between you was painful, but it was for the best. You can’t be together anymore. He’d only hurt you. And no amount of love can bury that hurt. He knew that too well.

As you vanished from view, Satoru took a deep breath, accepting the weight of the decision and the emotions it carried. His eyes looked down at the picture of you and him, back in your wedding. He lets his finger linger against the glass, against the memory of your smiling face. It was better this way. He sighs and puts his blindfold against his eyes again. He takes a seat again. He looks at the meal you made him and he starts to eat again. Little by little, savoring the warmth that remained.

“You made it too spicy again.” He whispers into the empty room, smiling to himself. "That's cruel."

[eliciana]

Reverse SAGAU: The Weird Door At My Café

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Hello everyone, pls don't expect much from this chapter,which is going to be part of a series, will be that good. I may have grammatical errors and wrong spellings so please don't hesitate to tell me in the comments about it. English is not my main language. Also, I write some very descriptive and long scenes about what the reader does because i got used to writing descriptive essays so please bear with the long paragraphs and sentences. Thank you.

And yes, I'm back. Also the Misunderstanding series will be updated after my exams this is just in my drafts and I wanted to just upload it.

-Eli

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Tw: Reverse!Isekai!Sagau, Normal Au, Café Au, a bit of cussing like this bit 🤏.

Reader: Gn!Reader, Adult!Reader, Café Owner!Reader

Characters: Reader

Note: Restaurant to Another World animanga inspired au. You can slide into my dms (😝 im joking bro) if you ever want to be tagged in my works just tell me what series you want to be tagged in or all of them. thank you <3.

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You close your eyes and think back to that very fateful day — the day that entirely altered your life's course and shatter any semblance of normalcy you once knew. The memory is etched in your mind, clear and vivid. The secret your café had.

You had always dreamed of owning your very own café when you get older. It had always consumed your thoughts and fueled your ambitions. Doing everything you can to be able to make your dream come true. It was a dream that guided you through your highs and lows, the setbacks and triumphs, and now, your very own cafe is now right infront of your eyes. You stand awe, gazing upon your newly built dream café that represents your years of hard work and dedication. It almost feels surreal. The weight of such an accomplishment settles in your shoulders, filling with a sense of pride that it threatens to burst out of your chest.

The obstacles and challenges you faced along the way have not gone unnoticed. The countless hours of planning, the sacrifices made, the hurdles overcome—each scar and battle wound a testament to your unwavering determination. They have shaped you into the person you are today, a person who is standing on the precipice of their own extraordinary creation. In this moment, you can't help but reflect on how far you have come. You just want to curl up into a ball and cry for how proud you are for yourself.

As you approach the door to your café, your hand trembles with anticipation. You grasp the smooth handle, feeling the coolness of the metal against your palm, and slowly turn it. The door swung open, emitting a soft creak that pierced the silence. Above it, a small, quaint bell dangled delicately, waiting to be disturbed. The cascade of delicate notes wove together seamlessly, announcing your presence, like a whispered greeting to anyone who would listen.

You stare in awe and wonder at the interior design of your cafe , captivated by it's beauty. The space exceeds your imagination and sketches, each detail meticulously brought to life. You explore every corner, your eyes eager to take in every detail. The plants you selected with great care breathe life into the space, their vibrant green leaves adding a touch of freshness and enhancing the cozy, warm aura you envisioned. Sunlight steams through the windows, casting a golden glow that illuminates upon your carefully handpicked furniture, adding a touch of charm. Every detail, from the placement of tables and chairs to the color palette and textures and to the shelf placed at the wall behind the counter with small sized standees of genshin impact, comes together harmoniously, painting a reality that is more beautiful than it was in your imagination.

You took one last look at your own café, only to catch sight of a door that had seemingly materialized out of thin air. It wasn't in your sketches, nor was it part of the layout you had memorized. How could something so out of place suddenly appear in your beloved café? How weird. You were sure that when you went inside this café it was never there. It was on the opposite side of the front entrance door of your café. It had a very different kind of design from the doors you had. How weird . Were you perhaps hallucinating? Was your stress and sleep deprivation finally getting to you? You resort to pinching and slapping your cheeks in an attempt to jolt yourself back to reality. Nope. You can still see it. You rushed to go outside of your café. As you step out into the open, your eyes scanning the exterior, you're met with a surprising revelation—the door you saw inside your café is nowhere to be found. It's as if it had vanished into thin air, leaving you bewildered and questioning your senses.

Nonetheless, you breathed a heavy sigh of relief and once again went inside of your café, blaming your hallucination to your stress. However, as your eyes scanned the interior again, you saw the door still there.

'Oh, hell no.' You thought and quickly opened the front door again, took a look at the exterior, look at the door inside, and continued doing that action for a minute. Yup, you're officialy hallucinating.

You looked at the strange door and felt a nagging feeling of curiousity wanting to try and open that door. Maybe it was actually a big ass sticker that one of the builders placed as a prank. You never know. Steeling yourself, you went closer to the door on your tippy toes. Carefully trying to be quiet. Why? You don't know. You just knew you had to. Maybe it was an instinct of yours. You were now infront of the door and you tried reaching for the door knob still thinking it was a sticker but the coolness feeling in your hands said uno reverse. You abruptly took back your hand in shock. You stared down at the atrocity in front of you. You quickly raised your foot and took off your shoes/heel/slipper and held onto it tightly. Preparing yourself to open the door, you took in a deep breath and reached for the door knob once more. Twisting it open, a ray of sunlight shone through the small crack as you pushed the door open gently.

Your eyes widen at the sight infront of you as you had fully opened the door. The grip your hand had on your lethal weapon widened and it slipped from your hands. The sight infront of you was so surreal. 'This can't be true, right?' your head was going to so many places, unable to comprehend what was going on. You felt kinda dizzy.

You would be a fool not to recognize this place that you had seen so many times throughout your life. A few kilometers infront of you was the City of Mondstadt in view. You could even see the knights guarding the gate and Timmie with his pigeons at the bridge.

The weird door from your cafe was actually a door to the Genshin Impact world. Wow... wtf.

____________________________________

also pls take a look at my poorly drawn drawing of what your view looks like cause for the love of god I can't seem to explain it:

Also you're in a cliff or something. so yeah

Taglist:

None

[shortbcofkoffee]

Somewhere That's Green

Word Count: 912 | CW: Implied Child Abuse, Burns

Harley Quinn & Joker Jr | Joker/Harley Quinn

Ao3 Link

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Summary:

“Mama?” Junior tapped her knee, bringing her back to reality. Harley startled a little, earning a giggle from her little guy. “You just keep being a good boy, JJ.” She ran a thumb over his cheek. “I will, mama.” Harley kissed him on the forehead. “Let’s go play with Bud and Lou, okay?”

-or-

Harley just wants to have a sense of normalcy

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Harley, get him down,” Joker waved as he walked out of the room.

Harely perked up from her chair. “Alright, puddin’! Have a good rest!”

She hopped up and bounced over to the table JJ was restrained to. He was slumped, panting, and giggling through his breaths. Harley pouted at him and pressed the button to lower the table until it was even with the ground. She unsealed the metal restrains revealing the fresh burns under there.

She tsked. “Aw, JJ, sweetie.” She pulled her son up into a hug. “You are so good at making your daddy mad.”

JJ weakly hugged back. “M’ sorry, mama,” he giggled.

“You betta be. You’re such a good kid most of the time, these slip-ups are so sad.” She pulled away and held his tear-stained cheeks in her palms. His smile and eyes were wide, his face was pale. He was adorable. “Oh, I can’t stay mad at you, Sonny! You look just like your daddy, it’s too cute!”

She tugged at his cheeks. “I can see it now, my two boys runnin’ around, fightin’ the bat together, aw! It’s too damn sweet!” She hugged his head to her chest, swinging him around a little.

“Me and Daddy?” He asked excitedly. 

Harley nodded. “You just gotta stop actin’ up so much.” She looked at JJ’s wrist. A burn wrapped around it where the restraint had dug into his skin. It was nasty, his skin was peeling and red. There was a small twist in her stomach. “JJ, baby? Can mommy tell you a secret?”

Junior nodded.

“And you can’t tell Daddy, not yet.”

Junior’s eyes widened more than they already were. “Keep a secret from Daddy?”

Harley pursed her lips. “Yeah.. Just think of it as a surprise, we can’t tell him quite yet.”

Junior perked up. “Yeah! I love surprises!”

Harley tussled JJ’s hair and led him to the dining table. There was aloe vera in the fridge, good for cooling burns. She grabbed bandages too. “Good boy.” She sat with him, spreading the gel over his injuries. “You know I love our little family and our little house.”

“Mm-hm!”

Harley frowned a bit. “But I kinda want a real house. Ya’ know, a yard big enough for Bud and Lou, a finished kitchen full ‘a Tupperware. I want Mr. Jay to come home and hang up his coat, and I’d kiss ‘im on the cheek and ask about work. I could help you with homework and make you dinner. I’d wear poodle skirts, I’d curl my hair… Doesn’t that sound nice?”

JJ’s head tilted, he stared at her for a moment. “That doesn’t sound very funny.”

Harley chuckled. “You’re right, it’s not. But a girl can dream.” She finished wrapping her son's wounds in bandages and smiled at him. He couldn’t stop smiling, Harley knew how much that started to hurt. “But I guess it’s not necessary. I got all I could want here!” 

She gestured around the room at the fake house. Joker did this for her, the model house, keeping JJ. She knew part of this was just for Batman, but the parts that were for her gave her a little hope. Maybe after this, they could really settle down. Just Mr. and Mrs. Joker and their son Junior. Just a normal family from the suburbs. Not fighting, no pain, just love and laughter. Somewhere that’s green. She could have all of that, she was so close if any of this was proof. All she needed now was to stay on his good side, he was easier to convince when he was in a good mood.

Junior had told them about Bruce Wayne, and oh, was Harley jealous. Bruce Wayne got a break from being Batman; he got to have fun with his kids, at least until the Joker got to them. Being Harley Quinn was a full-time job; there were no breaks. She never got to keep friends, she couldn’t have family. She was happy The Bat decided to donate Junior, he really was the best thing to ever happen to her. It was her first taste of family in a long time, and she wouldn’t change anything. Her family felt almost complete. 

She could picture it now, mid-day on a Saturday, she’s cleaning the kitchen. She looked out the window and Joker was mowing the lawn. Junior sat in the TV room, Lou’s head on his lap while he leaned on Bud’s side. He fell asleep there after playing outside and she didn’t have it in her to move him. She’d wake him up for lunch though. But right now, she had to keep the kitchen clean. After church tomorrow some of the girls were coming over for book club.

“Mama?” Junior tapped her knee, bringing her back to reality.

Harley startled a little, earning a giggle from her little guy. “You just keep being a good boy, JJ.” She ran a thumb over his cheek.

“I will, mama.”

Harley kissed him on the forehead. “Let’s go play with Bud and Lou, okay?”

Junior excitedly jumped out of his chair and pulled her up by the arm. She followed his lead to where their puppies slept. When she looked at him like this, he really looked happy. Bouncing and excited, just to be with his mama, just to play with the hyenas. It’d be okay for now, Harley decided. Once this Bat business was over, it’d all be okay. 

[dreaming-of-barbi]

That's so fucked up that people are romantizing Franco, because even Red Barrels are showing him as a total creep and disgusting person. In Outlast Tag I have a feeling that some artists are making him completly different character, making him charming/safe/lovely. I even have seen some people who were drawing him with normal face (without big forehead) and you couldn't tell them that it's the right character design! I feel like Franco enjoyers are more agressive than fans of other Outlast character. Even with Coyle/Eddie simps they seem to understand that they are evil and they murder others, but with Franco I feel like they can take it when someone tell them that he's grown up, murder people in very brutal way and his voice lines are just disgusting... it really seems that people are getting agressive only because someone tell some shit about 🎀✨️Franco🎀✨️. I know his fans isn't the only one that have stick in their ass (cause I seen a lot of shit bout Coyle/Big Grunts/Easterman etc.) but yall need to understand that FRANCO IS A GROWN ASS MAN and you would run for your life if you'd meet someone in irl as 1% fucked up as he is. Saying that he's just a Baby and he made nothing wrong is just 🤮 and problem is in yall if you justificate him and things he made.

idk how to tell you this ,,,, but this game is fictional. The characters are fictional. You're free to feel however you want about them, just like I and anyone else is.

I partially agree with the part about changing his appearance to make him look more "normal" or whatever, but at the same time people are allowed to interpret their favs however they want to. They can draw / write for him however they want to. I don't like "fixing" his face, just because it (personally) feels like saying "he's too ugly", but again, that's just me. As an artist, I know that people are going to have different interpretations of a character I like. It's just part of other people existing in the world. Not everyone thinks like you do, and that's okay.

Do you know how many posts I saw (and STILL see) about Eddie Gluskin, doing essentially the same thing as what you said people do with Franco?? That man would cut you open to "make a baby in you" no hesitation and people still ""romanticize"" him (me fuckin included I LOVE YOU EDDIE). Its just part of liking fucked up characters, some people are going to want to make them more "normal".

Personally, I see the normalization as more like wanting to give him some normalcy in his life, because of his past / lore. I love the idea of letting Franco have a normal life, be a normal person. A life where he never had to deal with the stupid Mafia stuff, had a decent father and never ran into Murkoff, having a normal, happy life. But, I also seriously adore his original, fucked up character.

Honestly, who actually cares if people are "justifying" his actions??? None of them are real. He is not real. I have never understood the sentiment that you have to make sure people know you don't justify a fictional characters actions... they are not real. It's not a real person. None of the things he did happened.

Maybe it's just me, but I would not run from someone like him. That's not some edge lord "im so evil and dark" bs but because of my real life experiences. Been with and around people in my life / family who are quite like him and I didn't run.

I imagine some of us are using it as a sort of coping mechanism, because (at least for me) some of us dealt with people who treated us like he would. Though, that's getting into personal territory, and I won't try and speak for others.

All I can really say is either learn that not everybody's going to have the same ideas as you or block the tag. Sorry if that's too harsh a response, but life is too short to really give that much of a fuck about someone /something other people like.

And I've said this before but this is literally Outlast, all of the characters are this fucked up, it's not just him.

Like does no one remember Outlast 2??? Does no one remember the pile of dead burnt babies, or the hundreds of other fucked up things in that game?? I really feel like Franco does not compare.

So, can we please just be over with this now? I mean, drama is totally fun and I love it, but I can imagine others don't.

[chiefpapermuffinpasta]

a deadly calm inside - 5

pairing: dean winchester x oc!witch!reader

chapter summary: After reluctantly seeking refuge at Cordelia’s, Sam and Dean begin to suspect there’s more to her past with Marjorie than she’s letting on. As Marjorie battles her own demons, both literal and personal, she sets a trap for the wraith that has been haunting her, forcing herself to face the pain it thrives on. But when Marjorie finally enacts the ritual, she is left with no choice but to destroy the wraith and walk away from the only mother figure she’s ever known. Now, wounded but resolute, she joins the Winchesters in hunting down Meg, setting the stage for a new, volatile alliance.

word count: 14.0k

marjorie outfit inspo 2 3

marjorie get behind me! i really loved writing this chapter and building marjorie's relationship with the winchesters. i know there still isn't any smooching, but it's a slow burn for a reason lol. also, i know this is a dean fic, but how would we feel about a sam fic? im actually a sam girl and i don’t think he gets enough love on tumblr, but u guys can let me know. enjoy!!!!!

*****

The scent of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air as Marjorie slid into the diner booth, stretching her legs across the seat. The place had a charming, old-school feel- faded red vinyl booths, a jukebox humming in the background, and the faint clatter of plates in the kitchen. It was the kind of place that felt untouched by time, a perfect slice of normalcy. 

Dean grabbed the toe of her boots, shoving her legs to the floor, and dropping into the seat across from her. His eyes looked over the menu, scanning to see shock on her face. She couldn’t see the rest of his face, but she knew he was smiling. Sam slid next to him, giving him a pointed look. 

Sam looked over at Dean’s menu. “You’re really gonna order that much grease this early?” Dean looked down at his watch- 8 am. 

“It’s never too early for a bacon cheeseburger.”

A waitress walked over, her name tag showing ‘Becca.’

“What can I get started for you guys?” Her deep brown hair was tied loosely into a side braid and she had a pretty shade of red painted on her lips. Dean definitely noticed. 

He flashed her a toothy grin, giving her his order. 

Sam rolled his eyes, Marjorie mirroring the movement. 

“I’ll just get some eggs and whole wheat toast, thanks.” Sam gave her a nod, handing his menu to the woman. 

Marjorie followed, Becca not even making eye contact with her as she ordered a short stack of their chocolate chip pancakes. Becca gave her a small smile, though it didn’t really reach her eyes. 

“Coming right up,” she said as she her teeth found her bottom lip and she gave Dean the same eyes the main character of a rom-com gives the love interest. 

“That happen a lot?” Marjorie asked Sam, pointing to Dean.

“Why? You jealous, carrot top?”

Dean's smirk quickly turned to a grimace as one of Marjorie’s heels jammed into the top of his foot. 

“You wish.” Marjorie huffed.

The three fell into a comfortable silence, and Marjorie leaned back in her seat , soaking in the moment- the warmth of the diner, the smell of sticky syrup, the rare, fleeting sense of ease. It felt normal.

Normal never lasted.

Sam cleared his throat, eyes flicking back and forth from Marjorie to the salt shaker in front of him. “Do you ever talk about it?”, he asked, his voice so soft she almost didn’t hear him.

Becca sauntered over to their table, carrying three plates gratefully. 

Impressive, Marjorie thought. 

The woman placed the three plates in front of the trio, the smell overwhelming Marjorie’s nostrils. She was hungry, genuinely hungry. She smiled at the feeling. 

But then she remembered Sam’s question.

With fake confusion, she shoved a forkfull of pancake in her mouth. “Talk about what?” 

Dean watched her cheeks double in size as she ate, a fluttering in his stomach appeared. Just hungry, he thought to himself. 

Sam hesitated before clarifying. “The night you died.”

Marjorie froze mid chew. Her fingers tightened around her fork and knife, swallowing thickly. She glanced between them- Dean was quiet, watching her carefully, and Sam, ever the empathetic one, looked like he already regretted bringing it up. 

She let out a dry laugh. “Really? We’re doing trauma talk over pancakes?” 

Sam started to backpedal. “You don’t have to-”

“No, it’s fine,” Marjorie exhaled, pouring a mountain of syrup over her already soaked pancakes. “I mean… you guys already know the basics, right? Might as well go all in.”

Dean shifted. “You really don’t have to.”

She nodded to him as a thanks. She considered brushing it off but Cordelia was right- she need to talk about it. Exposure therapy or something. If this brought her closer to killing the wraith, then she was willing to do it. 

“I remember it being cold. The kind of cold you feel in your bones, you know? Eleanor and I… we were inside by the fire. I was reading her a story.” Her voice wavered slightly.

“Then the door busted open.” She remembered the way to wood cracked and flew around them by the force. 

“There were so many of them. Neighbors, people I’d helped, people I thought were my friends. They dragged me outside before I could register what was happening.” She let out a hollow laugh. “I was kicking. Screaming. Fighting. They used a witchcatcher.”

Dean raised a brow. 

“It’s a collar used on witches. Once its on, we’re completely restrained. I had no control of my powers.”

His jaw tightened, his hands clenched under the table. 

“None of them could look me in the eye. I was nothing to them anymore.”

Sam’s expression was unreadbale, but she could sense the pity.

“They called me unnatural,” she spat. “That I was cursed. That I was dangerous.” Her throat tightened and her eyes looked to the window next to the booth. “And then they took Eleanor.”

Silence. Sam stiffened and Dean let out a heavy exhale. 

Marjorie continued, pushing through the lump in her throat, resting her head on her hand. “She was only six,” she whispered. “She didn’t understand what was happening. She just kept calling for me, kept crying-” she sucked in a breath. “I begged them to let her go. Swore I’d leave too, do whatever they wanted, but they didn’t listen.”

The room felt smaller. Heavier. 

“They tied us up,” she said. “Strapped us to the stake.”

Sam’s lips parted, but no words came out.

Marjorie’s gaze was far away now, lost in memories she couldn’t escape. “I told her to close her eyes,” she murmered. “Told her that everything was going to be okay.” A bitter smile twisted on her face. “I lied to her.” 

Deans voice, when it came, was hoarse. “Jesus, Marjorie.”

She blinked rapidly, willing herself not to cry. “She was so scared,” her lip trembled. “And I couldn’t do a damn thing.” 

Silence again.

Marjorie took a deep breath, then another. “The flames caught so fast,” she continued, voice steadier now, colder. “I remember the pain- you don’t forget something like that. How it felt like my skin was peeling away, like my insides were boiling.” Her fingers twitched as if she could still feel it. “But I didn’t scream. Not at first.” 

Dean’s head dropped slightly, like he physically couldn’t take it. Sam didn’t take his eyes off her.

“Her screams were terrible. Such a small thing, subjected to so much pain. And then she stopped- there was nothing.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. 

“That’s when I cried. I tried so hard to soothe her, but it did nothing. How could it, you know? And then, she died.” 

For a moment, no one spoke.

The Marjorie let out a shaky laugh, bitter and humorless. “And then I woke up. The air wasn’t cold anymore. I had been gone a while. ”

Dean muttered, “You said you killed them. The ones who did that to you.”

Marjorie snorted, though there was no real amusement in it. “I did. I hunted them for months- I wanted them to know I was coming. I wanted them to be scared.”

Dean met her gaze, and something shifted. 

Not fear. Not wariness.

Understanding. 

He might not have known what is was like to be burnt alive, to lose a child, but her understood vengeance. Understood the kind of pain that carved out a piece of you and left something rotten in its place. 

Sam exhaled slowly. “Marjorie, I’m so sor-”

“Dont,” she cut in. “No ‘I’m sorrys.’ That’s not why I told you.” 

Sam nodded, understanding her boundary. 

Marjorie forced a smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “So. That’s my super fun backstory. Now you know why I’m such a delight to be around.” 

Dean shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “You were definitely a pain in the ass way before that.” 

A genuine laugh bubbled in her throat, surprising even her. Sam rolled his eyes, but the heaviness in his expression had eased, just a little. 

“What was she like?” Dean asked, shoveling a fry into his mouth.

Marjorie stuffed a pancake into her own as her eyes lit up. 

“Eleanor?” 

Dean nodded in confirmation. 

Marjorie stared at him. No one had really bothered to ask her that before. The people who knew about Eleanor didn’t care much to know about the girl. Just that she was Marjorie’s daughter, and that she was dead. 

For a second, she didn’t know what to say.

“She was…” a small, distant smile ghosted her lips. “She was sunshine.” 

Sam and Dean both listened, the weight of her words settling over the table. 

Becca had made her way back to the table, starting ask them, Dean mostly, if they needed anything else at the moment.

“We’re fine,” he told her, his eyes not leaving Marjorie. 

Marjorie’s fingers traced the rim of her coffee cup absentmindenly. “She had the biggest laugh. You know the kind- too big for her tiny little body. It would just burst out of her, completely uncontained.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “She used to laugh so hard she’d get hiccups.”

Dean’s lips twitched upward. “She sounds like a handful.” 

“Oh, she was,” Marjorie said, her smiling growing. “I was sixteen when I had her, so we were basically just two kids trying to figure everything out together.” 

It was Sam’s turn to raise and eyebrow. 

“It was the 1800s Sam, not a nunnery. Though my father wasn’t very happy about it.” Sam laughed at this.

Marjorie continued, leaning back again, placing her palm against her chest. “She was stubborn as hell. Always asking questions, always pushing limits. If she wanted something, she wasn’t gonna stop until she got it.”

“She sounds like you,” Sam told her. 

Marjorie huffed. “She was better than me.” 

Something flickered in her expression then- grief, love, something deeper than either of them could name. 

“She used to bring home stray animals,” Marjorie laughed. “Birds wth broken wings, half-drowned kittens, even a damn fox once. She’d look at me with these big, wide, brown eyes and say ‘Mama, we gotta help them.’” She huffed a breath through her nose. “I could never say no.”

Dean swallowed hard, breaking his gaze from Marjorie to look down at his hands. 

Marjorie didn’t notice. “She loved flowers,” she added. “Would spend hours in the yard, picking them just to give them away. She’d shove them into people’s hands, tell them they needed to smile more. Hers was my favorite. Her front teeth were bigger than the rest so they poke out everytime she smiled. She was a beautiful little girl- she had this long brown hair and when she was in the sun for too long, she’d get a couple freckles that scattered across her cheeks. I don’t know where she got that beauty from.” Marjorie brought a hand up to her own face. 

A confused look spread across Dean’s face, but he shook it away quickly. His voice was low. “She sounds like a good kid.”

Marjorie nodded. “She was the best.”

The weight in the room was different now. Not just grief, but warmth. Love. A memory that wasn’t just pain, but something worth holding on to. 

Marjorie stretched her arms over her head. “Anyway,” she said, forcing herself back to the present. “That’s enough tragedy for one morning. “Who’s paying for my breakfast?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m too young to be a sugar daddy, sweetheart.” 

Marjorie smirked. “Scared of a little philantropy?” 

Sam sighed, already reaching for his wallet. 

Marjorie and Dean met eachother eyes again. They could feel the shift.

Niether of them minded. 

It was nice to be understood. 

*****

The Impala rumbled to a stop in front of Cordelia’s house, the engine ticking as Dean threw it into park. Marjorie sighed, already reaching for the door handle.

“Well,” she said, forcing a lightness into her voice, “it’s been fun. Thanks for the food, the riveting conversation, and the ride home.” She popped the door open and slid out, turning back with a half-smile. “Drive safe.”

She expected them to nod, maybe toss out a keep in touch before peeling off into the horizon.

Instead, both brothers got out of the car.

Marjorie’s stomach dropped. “What are you doing?” she asked, brows knitting together.

Dean shut his door with an easy shrug. “Walking you to the door.”

Sam shut his a second later. “And letting you know we’re staying.”

Marjorie blinked. “Come again?”

Dean stretched, like the answer was the most natural thing in the world. “Look, you told us everything you know about Meg, which means we’re dealing with her. But first, we’re handling this wraith situation. Might even get us closer to her.”

“What about your dad?” she challenged.

“He’ll be fine. Right now, we’d just be in his way,” Sam said simply.

Marjorie stared. “You—what—no, that’s not—” She exhaled sharply, raking a hand through her hair. “That’s not how this works.”

Dean tilted his head. “Says who?”

“Says me!” She threw up her hands. “I told you what I know, so you can go do your whole heroic martyr routine and deal with Meg. I’ll take care of the wraith.”

Sam arched a brow. “And if you die?”

Marjorie faltered.

Dean sighed, planting his hands on his hips. “Look, sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but we’re in this now. I know you don’t need help, but it wouldn’t hurt.”

Before she could fire back, the front door swung open.

“And where exactly do you two plan on staying?”

Dean grinned up at Cordelia, still standing in the doorway. “We were just getting to that part.”

Cordelia snorted. “Let me guess. You two decided to be knights in shining Carhartt and refuse to leave until Marjorie stops being self-destructive.”

Dean’s grin widened. “See? You get us.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes, but Marjorie caught the flicker of relief beneath her usual dry amusement.

Cordelia pinched the bridge of her nose. “Come inside.”

Dean clapped his hands together. “Not you.”

Dean blinked. “Uh—”

“I was talking to Marjorie.”

Cordelia leaned against the doorframe, extending an arm in invitation. Marjorie didn’t hesitate, bounding up the steps, a quiet sense of security settling over her the moment she reached Cordelia’s side. She didn’t leave the house much these days. Standing out here, on the open lawn, she felt exposed—like a raw nerve waiting to be struck. The wraith could be watching. Could be waiting.

Instinct told her to go where she felt safest.

Sam cleared his throat. “Look, we’re not trying to overstep. But we’ve got strength in numbers. If we handle the wraith first, we don’t have to worry about it getting in the way when we go after Meg.”

Marjorie hesitated. Damn it. He had a point.

She turned to Cordelia, their eyes meeting in a silent conversation.

Cordelia, for all her posturing, sighed like she was already regretting this decision. “Fine. But don’t touch my stuff.”

Dean let out a triumphant laugh. “Define stuff.”

She pointed a warning finger at him. “If anything in this house explodes, goes missing, or turns up broken, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair,” Dean said, strolling past her. “So, you got a guest room?”

Cordelia shut the door behind them with a long-suffering sigh. “You’re staying wherever you annoy me the least.”

Dean beamed. “Your couch is pretty comfy.”

Cordelia muttered something under her breath, but Marjorie caught the ghost of a smile before she turned away.

Maybe—just maybe—this wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

*****

A week passed. Somehow—against all odds—they hadn’t killed each other yet.

If anything, it was almost… nice.

Mornings settled into a rhythm. Cordelia staked her claim over the kitchen like a queen defending her throne, muttering hexes under her breath if anyone so much as glanced at her coffee before she’d taken her first sip. Marjorie quickly took over cooking after the first morning when Dean’s attempt at making bacon nearly set the entire house on fire. (No one knew how it happened. The bacon was fine one second, then whoosh.)

Sam, unsurprisingly, was the easiest housemate. Up at the crack of dawn, he spent his mornings buried in whatever lore books he could scrounge up, helping Cordelia research while sipping black coffee like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the mortal plane.

Dean, on the other hand, had a talent for making himself very present.

And Cordelia?

Cordelia had made it her personal mission to make Dean Winchester’s life as inconvenient as humanly (or magically) possible.

It started small.

Dean would reach for his coffee, only for the mug to slide an inch out of reach at the last second.

Then his knife and fork would flip out of his hands every time he picked them up.

At first, he thought he was losing his mind—until he caught Cordelia smirking over the rim of her cup.

“Oh, you think you’re funny,” he muttered.

“Kid, I know I’m funny,” she shot back.

The next day, his beer mysteriously turned into chamomile tea the second he took a sip.

The day after that, every time he put on his boots, something inside them squished unpleasantly—like Jell-O had been melted into them overnight.

“You’re a menace,” Dean grumbled after discovering his leather jacket had inexplicably shrunk two sizes.

Cordelia patted his cheek with faux sympathy. “Don’t test me, hunter.”

Meanwhile, Sam was treated like a prince.

“Oh, Sam,” Cordelia cooed one morning. “I made you some tea for your headache.”

Dean, mid-bite of toast, nearly choked. “Wait, what?”

Sam, amused but wary, accepted the cup. “Uh… thanks?”

“Oh, and I found an old book in my collection.” Cordelia placed a massive, ancient tome in front of him, dust curling up from its worn leather cover. “It has some theories on dream-walking that might help with your research.”

Dean stared at the scene in utter betrayal. “Where’s my book?”

Cordelia didn’t even look up. “I gave you a book.”

“No, you gave me The Beginner’s Guide to Knitting and You.”

Cordelia sipped her coffee with a slow, smug smile. “Exactly.”

Dean groaned, shoving the book away like it personally offended him. “Unbelievable.”

Marjorie snorted into her tea, and Sam barely hid a smirk.

*****

Marjorie wasn’t sure why she was awake.

It wasn’t a nightmare, for once. It wasn’t some lingering shadow of her past creeping in. She just…wasn’t tired. 

So, she wandered to the living room, where the fire had burned down to embers and the whole house was quiet. She expected to be alone. 

The brothers had been sleeping in a room off the back porch on a small, cramped pull out couch. Dean had offered he and Marjorie share a bed as he was too big to share with his brother, but Marjorie, obviously, turned him down. 

She wasn’t alone. 

Dean was sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over his chest, the other loosely gripping a bottle of whiskey. His eyes flicked up to her when she entered, and instead of the usual smirk or snarky remark, he just tilted the bottle slightly.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Marjorie shook her head, sitting on the armrest of the couch. “You neither?”

Dean shrugged. “Whiskey helps.” He took another sip then glanced at her. “You want some?”

Marjorie considered it for a moment. She could’ve made a joke about how carrying around a bottle of whiskey is usually a tell-tale sign you should go to AA, but she didn’t. She just nodded. Dean leaned forward, offering the bottle, and she took a long sip before handing it back. 

For a few minutes, they just sat there, passing the bottle back and forth in comfortable silence. 

Then, Dean glanced up at her, something amused in his expression. “So, be honest with me- how much of Cordelia’s magic is just to mess with me specifically?”

Marjorie laughed. “Oh, at least seventy percent. The other thirty is just Delia’s sass.”

Dean groaned. “I knew it. She turned my beer into tea.”

“That one was actually my idea,” Marjorie admitted, smirking. 

Dean turned to stare at her. “You’re evil.”

She grinned, stretching her legs out to sit atop the coffe table in front of them.

Dean noticed her socks had tiny witch hats and brooms on them. Cute, he thought. 

“Not evil, just…magically gifted in the art of pettiness.” 

Dean shook his head, but he was laughing. “Alright, I’ll admit, it’s kinda cool. You’re magic, I mean. I’ve never really spent this much time around a witch.”

Marjorie raised a brow. “You, really?”

“Whatever.” Dean lifted the bottle to his lips again.

Marjorie bit the skin on her lower lip shyly. “You wanna see something cool?”

Dean sat up a little. “Hell yeah, I do.”

Marjorie help up a hand, finger curling slightly. The air in the room shifted, warm and electric. Then, suddenly, tiny glowing embers- like fireflies made of pure blue light- flickered into existence between her fingertips, dancing through the air like they had a mind of their own. 

Dean’s eyes widened slightly. “Damn.”

Marjorie flicked her wrist slightly, and the embers swirled upward, shifting into different shapes- first a bird, then a flute, then a car that looked suspicously like the Impala. 

Dean let out a low whistle. “Awesome.”

Marjorie smirked. “I know, right?”

Dean reached out, as if trying to touch one. Embers curled around his fingers gracefully, then flickered away softly. “So, what else can you do?”

Marjorie thought for a second. The, grinning, she lifted her other hand and snapped her fingers. The fireplace roared back to life in an instant, sending warm golden light soaring around the room.

Dean raised an impressed brow. “That’s useful.”

“Sure is,” Marjorie said. “Especially in winter. Or when I want a dramatic exit.”

Dean snorted. “I knew you were the type to make your own dramatic lighting.”

Marjorie rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it. 

The pair sat there, the fire crackling , the half-empty whiskey bottle between them. 

Dean watched the tiny glowing shapes fade into the air. “You know…you’re alright Marjorie.”

She glanced at him, rasing an eyebrow. “Was I not alright before?”

“Jury was still out.”

“Well, thanks, I guess.”

Dean tipped the bottle toward her. “To magic, whiskey, and not murdering each other in our sleep.” 

Marjorie tinked a knuckle against the bottle. “Cheers to that.”

The air around them continued to warm. Marjorie smiled to herself.

She liked Dean Winchester.

*****

Dean was two bites into his sandwich when his phone buzzed against the worn wooden table, rattling slightly.

Marjorie leaned beside him against the counter, idly flipping through one of Cordelia’s old spellbooks, though Dean doubted she was actually reading it. Sam stood at the sink, rinsing out his coffee mug with the methodical precision of someone pretending not to eavesdrop.

Across the room, Cordelia sat cross-legged on the couch, lazily flipping through TV channels. To the untrained eye, she looked disinterested. But Dean knew better. She was watching. Analyzing. Measuring the space—no, the tension—between him and Marjorie. And maybe, just maybe, pretending she couldn’t smell the desperation coming off both of them. Clueless.

The phone buzzed again.

Dean ignored it.

It stopped.

Then immediately started ringing again.

“Just answer it,” Sam sighed, shaking water from his hands as he reached for a dish towel.

Dean scowled and snatched the phone up, barely glancing at the caller ID. “Yeah?”

The voice on the other end was unmistakable.

“Where are you?” John Winchester’s tone had a way of filling a room, even over the phone.

Dean’s jaw tightened. His grip on the sandwich went slack. “Still working that case.”

“The case should be closed by now,” John snapped, his irritation cutting through the static. “I told you boys to track Meg, not play house with some—”

Dean shoved back from the table so abruptly that his chair scraped against the floor with a sharp screech. Marjorie’s fingers stilled against the pages of her book.

“We got a situation, alright? We’re handling it.”

Silence. Heavy. Tense.

On the couch, Cordelia finally stopped flipping channels. Even Sam, who had been making a valiant effort to appear disinterested, turned slightly, his back going rigid.

John exhaled, the sound crackling over the line. “What kind of situation?”

Dean hesitated. His eyes flicked to Marjorie, who kept her gaze stubbornly fixed on the book in her hands, though he knew damn well she was listening.

He wasn’t going to rat her out. The wraith was her fight.

“Just some complications,” he said finally, choosing his words carefully. “It’s nothing we can’t handle.”

John’s sigh was sharp and unimpressed. “We don’t have time for complications, Dean. We’ve got a demon on the loose, and she’s dangerous. I need you two back on the road.”

Dean clenched his jaw. “Dad, we’ve got something dangerous here too. Once we finish this, we’re back on Meg. I promise.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

Then John spoke again, his voice lower, laced with something heavier than before.

“You’re getting attached.”

The words landed like a blow to the ribs.

Dean stilled.

Cordelia finally looked up from the TV. Sam abandoned the pretense of not listening, his fingers curling into the dish towel.

Dean forced a hollow chuckle. “What?”

“You know what,” John said, voice cold and clipped. “I warned you about her, boy, and now look at you. You think I don’t know what you’ve been up to? When did some crush become more important than your mother?”

Dean’s fingers tightened around the phone, his knuckles turning white.

John sighed, a sound weighted with finality. “Do what you want. But don’t forget why you’re out there.”

Then the line went dead.

Dean exhaled sharply and set his phone down—harder than necessary.

Cordelia, ever unfazed, flipped another channel. “Well,” she drawled, stretching her legs out on the couch, “that was tense.”

Marjorie moved toward Dean, reaching for his arm in a small, hesitant attempt at comfort.

“You alri—”

Dean jerked away, shrugging her off with a roughness that wasn’t entirely intentional. “I’m fine.” His voice was sharp. Clipped. He turned on his heel. “I gotta go get some stuff. Be back in twenty.”

He grabbed his jacket off the couch in one fluid motion and stomped toward the door, slamming it behind him with enough force to make the walls rattle.

Marjorie scowled, throwing her hands up in exasperation before flopping onto the couch beside Cordelia.

“Men.”

They said it in unison.

From the sink, Sam let out a barely contained snicker.

*****

The air outside was thick with the scent of pine and earth, the evening still humming with the remnants of the summer heat. The back porch creaked under Marjorie’s weight as she stepped outside, a glass of wine perched inbetween her fingertips. Dean was already there, lounging on the old wooden swing, one foot braced against the railing to make it sway in a steady rhythm. He was still in the same clothes as earlier; hadn’t even taken off his boots when he got back to Cordelia’s. He didn’t look up when she approached, but there was a tension set in his shoulders that told her she knew she was there. 

Sam was perched on the porch railing, leaning back with his arms crossed against his chest, his face lit only by the soft glow of the setting sun and the illuminating porch light. He hadn’t said much since Dean got back, but his posture was relaxed, which for Sam, was probably the closest he got to being at ease. 

Marjorie hesitated for a moment, looking between the two men. The weight of John’s call earlier, hell the few weeks, was pressing on her chest, and she could feel exhaustion in every muscle. But there was something about the quiet of the night, the low chirping of cicadas, being here with them, that made it a bit easier to breathe. 

Dean shifted slightly on the swing, and the motion pulled her out of the spot. He patted the spot beside him without saying a word. 

It wasn’t much, but it was an invitation. 

She sat down in the free space next to him, her eyes darting over to Sam briefly. Her gave her a small, almost knowing smile before leaning back against the railing again, staring out at the backyard. 

Marjorie could feel Dean’s presence next to her, and for a moment, she let herself enjoy the silence, the only sounds being the creaking of the swing and the distant rustle of leaves.

The arm Dean had hanging over the back of the swing knocked against her shoulder with every sway of the seat. The warmth she felt was definitely just the wine. His fingers twitched a couple times, brushing against her skin lightly, almost featherlike. Neither of them did anything about it. 

It was a peaceful kind of tension. She didn’t know how long it would last, but she knew she didn’t want to be the one to break it. 

After a long moment, Sam broke the silence. “So, about Cordelia…” His voice was casual, but there was something about the way he phrased it that made it clear he had questions. 

Marjorie’s lips curved into a faint smirk. She leaned a bit more into Dean, the small swing not giving them much room for personal space. “What about her?”

Dean snorted, reaching for the beer bottle resting beside him on the swing’s armrest. “You mean, why does she hate me?”

Sam tilted his head, his eyes narrowing in amusement. “I wasn’t gonna put it like that but, sure. Seems like you two have a special connection.” 

Dean groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hand. “I don’t get her. She’s got that vibe like she’s too cool for school. Hell, she thinks I’m the enemy.” His voice softened slightly, and Marjorie caught the hint of frustration in it. “I don’t know. Can’t seem to break that woman’s guard.”

Marjorie tilted her head, studying Deans profile for a moment. “She’s been through a lot,” she said quietly, her voice softer than intended. “Trust isn’t something that she just hands out.” Her fingers traced the rim of her cup, eyes unfocused as she thought about Cordelia’s hard exterior. 

“She loves Sam,” Dean complained, his fingers now grazing against the red strands of hair sitting next to him.

“Sam’s…nice,” Marjorie saw the way Dean’s face contorted as if he couldn’t believe she didn’t think he was sunshine and rainbows. “He’s not as rugged as you- he didn’t come barging in here like he owned the place. Plus, she has a thing for pretty brown hair.” She winked at Sam.

“Gross, Marj. She’s old enough to be our mom.”

Marjorie shrugged. She’d seen stranger things.

Sam’s gaze studied Marjorie’s relaxed attitude. The scene in front him him looking almost domestic.

“Maybe that’s why you two get along so well.” The words hung in the air, and Marjorie blinked, unsure of what Sam was getting at. 

Before she could ask, Dean shifted beside her, the action causing her to sink deeper into his side. 

“Don’t you start,” Dean muttered. 

Sam threw his head back, looking up at the sky, his voice taking on a teasing tone. “What? I’m just saying. You two have a thing for doing things the hard way.”

Dean’s lips twitched, but he didn’t laugh. “I don’t have thing, Sammy.”

Marjorie glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, catching the way his lips turned into a tight, almost pained smile.

Something about it made her want to reach out, even if she didn’t know how. 

And then the moment passed, just as quickly as it had come. 

“You definitely have a thing.” Marjorie tilted her glass toward Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh, but it was obvious he wasn’t mad. He was the little brother, the one who always played the peacekeeper, and tonight, it felt like that role was written into the lines of his face. “I think we’ve both figured that out by now,” Sam said, then added with a grin.

Dean scowled at Sam but didn’t argue.

The evening stretched on, and for once, Marjorie didn’t feel like she was standing on the edge of something dark. She didn’t feel the weight of the past or the unrelenting pull of the wraith chasing her. Instead, she felt normal- like the kind of person who could laugh and joke with two brothers who had somehow become her allies in a world of chaos.

Dean shifted again, his thigh brushing against hers. They sat there, side by side, the easy warmth of the night wrapping around them like a blanket.

They existed in the same space, content to share the silence and the quiet rhythm of the swing creaking beneath them.

At some point, Dean nudged her with his shoulder, the playful grin creeping back into his voice. “So, you think Cordelia has a friend for me? S’ not fair that Sam gets all the fun.”

She arched an eyebrow, leaning just a little closer. “You’re a dog.”

He chuckled softly, the sound more real than it had been all day. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Her lips parted with a small, teasing smile. “It wasn’t meant as one.”

The evening stretched on, and the trio continued their stay on the porch, their voices mingling with quiet sounds of the night. 

Dean was mid-sentence, telling some old hunting story when Marjorie’s words cut through the comfortable banter with a sharp edge. 

“You guys can leave if you want.” 

Sam snapped his head over to her. He glanced at Dean, who was suddenly still beside her, a slight tension creeping into his posture. 

Dean, who’d been so lost in the conversation just moments before, now gave her his full attention, his brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?” His voice was low, the playful tone from earlier gone.

Marjorie shifted slightly on the swing, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She finally met Dean’s eyes, and there was a vulnerability there that she didn’t usually show. "You’re not really stuck here with me. This is your job- hunting down Meg. I know you’ve got bigger things to do. I wouldn’t blame you for leaving. You’ve got a lot on your plate, and I'm not some…side quest."

Sam’s gaze softened as he jumped down from the railing, his large frame blocking her view of the night sky. “Marjorie, no,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. He crossed the space between them and stopped a few feet away, as if he wasn’t sure how to approach her. “You’re not just some side quest.” He shot a glance at Dean before focusing on her again, his words sincere. “We don’t just leave people behind. That’s not how this works.”

Dean’s jaw tightened at Sam’s words, and for a moment, there was an awkward silence. Marjorie could see the flash of frustration in Dean’s eyes- he was tired, she knew that. But there was something more there, something that wasn’t just about their situation.

After a long pause, Dean finally spoke, his voice gruff. “You think we’d just walk away now? We’re a part of this, Marjorie.” He gave a short, dry laugh, as if he didn’t even believe what he was saying, but there was no denying the sincerity behind it. He ran a hand over his face, rubbing his tired eyes before turning to face her fully. “This thing with the wraith…it’s your fight, yeah, but that doesn’t mean we’re just gonna pack up and leave. We’re here. We finish it.”

Marjorie felt a strange weight lift from her chest, but there was still an ache there, a tightness she hadn’t realized was lingering.

Sam gave her a small, reassuring smile. “It’s not about the wraith. It’s about you. We’re not going anywhere until you’re safe. That’s the deal.” His voice was calm, a little like the brother Marjorie never asked for.

Her eyes softened at Sam’s words, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She swallowed hard and leaned back against the swing’s edge, letting out a quiet sigh.

Dean watched her carefully, his gaze more intense than usual, the weight of everything that had happened hanging between them. Finally, he spoke again, quieter this time. “Look, Marjorie… You think we don’t want to be here? You think this is some kind of burden? Nah, it’s not. We’re doing this because we want to. Yeah sure, at first we thought you and Meg were in kahoots, and honestly I was coming here to kill you,” He took a deep breath, his voice rough. “But obviously, I was wrong. We’re gonna help you.”

Marjorie looked away for a moment, her chest tight with something she couldn’t quite name. She felt a strange mix of gratitude and guilt- a nagging feeling that she shouldn’t be relying so much on them. But the warmth of their words, their concern, melted some of that doubt. She could feel the sincerity in every glance, every word.

"I’m just saying," she said, her voice quieter now. "You’ve been here for over a week and we’re only a bit closer to being able to kill this thing. You guys have to go save the world or something."

Dean cut her off with a shake of his head, the stubbornness in his voice as unmistakable as the set of his jaw. "We’re not going anywhere."

Sam nodded firmly, his smile softening as he glanced between them. "We’re gonna take care of it. After that, we’ll go find Meg."

Marjorie swallowed her words, a lump forming in her throat. She didn’t expect this level of care- not from them, not from anyone but Delia anymore. Just months ago Dean couldn’t be in the same room as her. It was overwhelming, in a way that made her feel like she might break, or maybe- just maybe- she might let herself believe in the possibility of something more.

She turned to Dean, her gaze softening, and allowed herself to breathe a little easier. “Thanks,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “I-I wasn’t sure where I stood with you two. We don’t have the greatest history.”

Dean leaned back against the swing, the motion easy, casual, but his eyes never left hers. “That’s old news. Don’t sweat it.” he said simply, his voice quiet but certain. 

The words hung in the air for a long beat before Sam cleared his throat. “Well, if you two are done being all sentimental, I’m pretty sure there’s a stash of candy bars in the kitchen, and Cordelia isn’t awake to tell me they’re gonna rot my teeth.”

Dean snorted, breaking the tension with a laugh. “Sam’s right. We don’t want to exhaust ourselves on all this emotional crap.” He nudged Marjorie with his elbow. “Besides, there’s no way I’m letting you sit there and feel sorry for yourself.”

Marjorie chuckled softly,“Who says I’m feeling sorry for myself?” She raised an eyebrow teasingly at Dean.

Sam smiled, stepping back toward the door. “Oh, you’re definitely feeling something.”

Dean stood up, offering her a hand as he did. “You coming? I’m not letting Sam eat all of them. I need my chocolate too.”

Marjorie hesitated for a moment, looking up at him with a faint, teasing smile. “Are you sure you want to share with me?”

Dean’s lips twitched. “I’m a generous guy.”

“Generous? I’ve never seen you share anything willingly,” Sam chimed in from the doorway, shaking his head with a knowing grin.

The three of them shared a quiet laugh before heading inside. For now, Marjorie knew she didn’t have to do this alone. 

*****

It had been days since the phone call with John, and Marjorie hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something was wrong. The wraith’s presence was like a shadow, always lurking just beyond the edge of her perception. At first, it had been whispers- a faint voice barely audible, like a soft breeze brushing against her ear. But now, it was louder, clearer, and it seemed to be coming from everywhere.

She sat alone in the kitchen, the flickering light above her casting odd shadows on the walls. Sam and Dean were in the next room, likely discussing their next move, but Marjorie couldn’t bring herself to focus on anything. The wraith’s voice was too loud. It had been for the past few days.

“You’re weak,” the voice crooned from the corners of her mind, the words curling like smoke around her thoughts. “You think they’ll save you? They won’t. You’re just a liability.”

Her hands shook as she set the coffee mug down on the counter, the sound of it clinking sharply in the quiet room. Her gaze flitted to the doorway, where Dean had been standing earlier, and for a moment, she saw him again- only it wasn’t Dean. The figure that filled the frame of the door had hollow eyes, a twisted grin, and an unmistakable air of malevolence.

“They’re just waiting for you to break,” the wraith whispered, its voice wrapping around her like chains. “You’re nothing but a ticking time bomb. They’ll leave you. They’ll all leave you in the end.”

Marjorie blinked rapidly, pushing the image away. Her pulse hammered in her ears, and she had to remind herself that it was just the wraith. It was not real.

She stood quickly, wiping her face as if to rid herself of the unwanted visions. The last few days had been a blur of hallucinations and taunts, each worse than the last. At times, she felt like she wasn’t even in control of her own body. The wraith had gotten inside her head, and it was starting to feel like the walls were closing in on her.

Dean moved to where she sat in the kitchen, his expression unreadable, but there was concern in his eyes. “You good?” His voice was steady, but there was a slight tightness to it, as if he could feel the shift in the air.

Marjorie didn’t trust her own voice. She nodded curtly, unable to shake the feeling that the wraith’s whispers were still echoing in her mind.

Dean’s gaze softened, and for a moment, she saw something flicker there- something more than just concern. “Don’t let it get to you.”

But Marjorie didn’t hear him. The wraith’s mocking voice came back, louder this time.

“They’re just lying to you. They don’t care. You’re nothing but a tool to them.”

Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she thought she might crumble. But she didn’t. Not yet.

“I need some air,” she muttered, forcing herself past Dean and out the door before he could stop her.

Dean’s voice trailed after her, low and urgent. “Marjorie-”

But she was already outside, pacing on the porch, trying to drown out the wraith’s voice with the cool night air.

Behind her, Cordelia stood by the door, watching with a careful, measured gaze. She’d seen it all- the way Marjorie began to flinch and cower, the way the wraith’s taunts had started to chip away at her. Cordelia watched the slow descent, seemingly out of nowhere, knowing exactly what it was like to feel the weight of something haunting you, pushing you to the edge. But she couldn’t let Marjorie see her own fears. Not now. Not when the girl needed her. 

Her chest tightened, but she shoved the feelings down, forcing a calm exterior. She should have known this would happen. The wraith was a curse, not just a creature. It would latch on, find a weakness, and exploit it- exactly what it had done to Marjorie. Her own secret crawled up her spine like a cockroach, suffocating her. Meg was back and she led the Winchester’s here. She had taunted Cordelia the same way the wraith was taunting Marjorie. If Marjorie found out- Cordelia didn’t believe the girl of cold murder, but she didn’t do well with betrayal.

But still, watching Marjorie like this, it felt wrong. Cordelia wasn’t someone to wear her emotions on her sleeve, even with Marjorie, but now as she saw the toll that the wraith was taking on the younger girl, she couldn’t help the bile that rumbled in her gut. She should be helping her more. She should be doing more than standing back. Selfishly, her fear of Meg interfering the second Cordelia made too much of an effort stopped her from giving Marjorie the comfort she deserved. If she did too much, Meg would find them and expose Cordelia to all of them. That she had once worked with Meg on deals just like Marjorie’s. That, deep down, she knew the wraith would be back one day- no one escapes a deal with a BloodWraith. That she could find Meg’s location in minutes, and the Winchester’s could have a shot at ending her. But that was uncertain, and Cordelia wasn’t one for wishful thinking.

She glanced at Sam, who was silently observing, his concern for Marjorie clear. Dean had gone silent, the tension in his body palpable. The unspoken bond between the three of them was tangible, and Cordelia knew she was the outsider here, unable to be part of that. But still, the guilt gnawed at her.

Marjorie was fading quickly and despite everything, Cordelia couldn’t ignore the pang of fear that she might lose her. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the thoughts. She loved Marjorie, truly. Looked at the girl like she had hung the stars in the sky. That’s why she was terrified. Terrified of seeing hate in Marjorie’s eyes and knowing it was directed at her. She couldn’t bear it. 

"I don’t know how much longer she can take this," Sam muttered, as though reading her mind. He was standing next to her now, his hand resting on the back of the porch railing, his eyes focused on Marjorie.

Cordelia’s gaze flickered to him before she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “She’s strong. She’ll push through it. But…”

Her voice faltered, and Sam’s brow furrowed in concern. "But what?"

But I’m scared, she thought. She couldn’t say it. Not now. Not when Marjorie needed every ounce of strength she had left to fight this. Cordelia bit her lip, staring at the woman she had known for so long, seen so many versions of, and cared for each of them. But still, she kept her secrets locked away.

“I just hope she can,” Cordelia said, her words edged with something more than just concern. It was fear. Fear that the wraith would break Marjorie. Fear that Marjorie would break them- and maybe it wasn’t just the wraith she was afraid of.

The air grew heavier, the tension building between them as they watched Marjorie move through the haze of the wraith’s influence. Dean stepped forward, his hand gently landing on her shoulder as he joined her on the porch. The others followed suit, standing in a quiet solidarity.

But Cordelia couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. Whatever the wraith was doing to Marjorie, it was far from over.

*****

The wraith’s taunts were becoming more frequent, more aggressive. Every time she closed her eyes, it was there, twisting her thoughts, feeding on her doubts. Marjorie barely slept, knowing that even when she closed her eyes, the wraith would find a way in.

The silence in the room was oppressive, suffocating even. The air itself felt thick, as if the wraith had somehow infected every corner of the space, bending it to its will. Marjorie felt the walls closing in around her, her breath shallow as the taunts continued to echo in her mind.

"You don’t belong here," the wraith whispered again, its voice cold and biting. "They’ll all leave you eventually. You’re nothing to them, just a tool. Once they get what they need, they’ll cast you aside. Just like everyone else."

She shook her head, pressing her palms harder against her temples, trying to force the voice out, trying to push the suffocating weight of its words away. She didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t.

"You're worthless," the wraith’s voice came again, louder now, more insistent. "They’re already starting to see it. The cracks are already showing. They’ll know you’re weak. And then they’ll abandon you."

The world around her blurred, her vision swimming as the wraith’s words dug into her like sharp needles. She stumbled backward, the edge of the table digging into her ribs as she tried to steady herself. But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

Except, in her heart, a tiny part of her wondered if it was. What if it was right? What if everyone else really would leave her? What if the wraith’s voice had seen the truth before she could? What if she was already a burden to them, already a failure?

"Marjorie?" Dean’s voice was soft now, more tentative. "We need to talk."

The sound of his voice snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in her chest. She could feel him standing outside the door, waiting, probably wondering why she hadn’t answered. But she couldn’t bring herself to respond, couldn’t let him hear how far gone she felt, how much the wraith had already taken from her.

"Yeah," she finally said, her voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. "I’m fine. No need to get all soft."

The words felt like they were scraping against her throat, but they were the only ones she could force out.

A heavy silence followed, stretching between them like a chasm. She could almost feel Dean’s hesitation on the other side of the door, his concern mixing with something else- frustration, maybe. Was he angry with her? Did he think she was hiding something?

"We both know you’re not," Dean said quietly after a beat, his tone softer now, but still holding that edge of worry.

Marjorie didn’t respond. She couldn’t. If she did, she feared the crack in her composure would widen even further, and she’d be lost. She didn’t know how to explain it to him- how to make him understand the way the wraith had invaded her mind, how the darkness felt like it was eating her from the inside out. She couldn’t tell him how it whispered to her when no one else could hear it, how it twisted her every thought, every feeling.

She pressed her back into the wall, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to push the images and voices away. She could feel it all closing in again, the suffocating grip of the wraith creeping up on her, and the fear that it might be right- maybe she was weak, maybe she was just a failure.

But she wasn’t ready to let that truth- if it even was the truth- consume her. Not yet.

She opened her eyes slowly, and for a moment, just a moment, she could hear Dean on the other side, waiting, still unsure. His presence, even from behind the door, felt grounding, a reminder that maybe she wasn’t as alone in this as the wraith wanted her to think.

But still, she couldn’t let him in- not yet. Not until she could hold herself together, at least enough to face him without falling apart.

"Just give me a second," she finally whispered, so softly that she wasn’t sure he would hear it.

And for a long while, there was nothing. No answer, no footsteps retreating. Just silence. The kind of silence that left her trapped between her own thoughts and the wraith’s relentless whispers.

*****

The wraith didn’t let up. Not for a second.

Marjorie had barely slept in days, the taunts digging into her mind like claws, twisting her thoughts until she couldn’t tell what was real anymore. But tonight—it was worse.

She had been lulled into sleep, exhaustion finally winning out, but rest never came. Instead, she was there again. The house smelled of burning wood and blood, just as it had all those years ago.

And then, she saw her.

Eleanor.

Her daughter stood at the edge of the bed, small and fragile, just as she had been the last time Marjorie had seen her. Her dark curls were messy, her nightgown torn. But it was her eyes that made Marjorie’s stomach twist with terror- because they were filled with fear.

“Mama?” Eleanor’s voice wavered, tiny and afraid.

Marjorie couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Then she saw what stood behind her.

The wraith loomed over Eleanor, its skeletal fingers curling around the girl’s small shoulders. It grinned, wide and monstrous, its yellowed teeth glistening in the dim light.

“You let me have her once,” it cooed, its voice echoing through the house. “You’ll let me have her again.”

“No,” Marjorie choked, finally finding her voice.

“Oh, but you will.”

The wraith’s grip tightened on Eleanor, and the little girl screamed- a heart-wrenching, piercing cry that shook the foundation of the dream itself.

Marjorie lunged forward, but the second she reached for her daughter, the image shattered.

She gasped awake, her body drenched in sweat, her heart slamming against her ribs. She was in her room at Cordelia’s, but it still felt like she was there, trapped in the nightmare.

The wraith’s laughter echoed in her skull.

Marjorie sat up, breathing hard. The truth hit her like a slap to the face.

This was never going to stop.

It would keep tormenting her, keep whispering in her ear, keep dragging her daughter into her nightmares. It would never stop unless she ended it herself.

Her hands trembled as she pushed the blankets aside. She wouldn’t let it win.

She wouldn’t let it take anything else from her.

Not now. Not ever.

She stood and crossed the room, grabbing the small bag she had packed earlier that day- just in case. Her fingers curled around the leather strap, and she took one last look at the room before slipping out the door.

She was doing this alone.

Because it had to be her.

*****

The stillness of the house was off.

It wasn’t the typical quiet of the night, where the wind rustled the leaves outside, and the world seemed to hum with secrets whispered just beyond reach. This silence felt wrong, sharp- a quiet that pressed on Dean’s chest like a weight, making him uneasy for reasons he couldn’t quite place.

He hadn’t been able to sleep, the tension from the last week still eating at him. They had now been at Cordelia’s for two weeks, and each day Marjorie seemed to get worse and worse. After hours of tossing and turning, he’d given up on rest. Coffee was the only thing that could numb the gnawing discomfort that had taken root. As he passed Marjorie’s door on the way to the kitchen, a fleeting thought stopped him in his tracks.

Her door was cracked open.

A thread of anxiety coiled tight in his gut.

"Marjorie?" Dean called softly, his voice cutting through the oppressive stillness. His feet carried him closer to the door before he even realized it.

There was no answer.

He pushed the door open, his heart rate picking up, eyes scanning the dark room. The moonlight streamed across the bed, empty but for tangled blankets. The missing bag from the corner, the one she’d packed earlier, was gone.

And then it hit him.

She was gone.

Dean muttered a curse under his breath, his body already moving in the direction of the stairs, a cold, familiar panic curling at the edges of his mind.

“Son of a bitch.”

He stormed down the hallway, intent on finding her, his thoughts running wild. The wraith. She was going after the wraith. And she was doing it alone. Damn it, she was reckless, always so damn reckless.

Sam was already awake when he appeared at the door of the backporch, rubbing his face and trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. “What’s wrong?” he asked, blinking at his brother.

“She’s gone.” Dean didn’t stop to explain, barely slowing his pace as he strode past Sam.

Sam frowned, confusion still clouding his features. “Wait, what?”

“She took off. Packed a bag. No sign of her anywhere.” Dean reached for his jacket, frustration mounting with every second that passed.

Cordelia appeared then, emerging from the shadows like a shadow herself, her sharp eyes immediately landing on Dean. “What’s all the noise?”

“Marjorie’s missing,” Dean snapped, feeling the weight of the situation pressing in on him.

Cordelia’s face darkened, a storm brewing in her expression. “Damn it.”

Dean’s frustration bubbled over. “You knew she’d do this?”

“I suspected she might,” Cordelia admitted, her voice tight with a mixture of anger and fear. She grabbed her coat, her movements precise. “But I was hoping she'd have enough sense to wait.”

Sam, ever the detective, was already putting the pieces together. “She’s going after the wraith.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair, the words coming out in a tight, exasperated breath. “Yeah. Thanks, Sherlock.”

Cordelia’s jaw tightened, her eyes flickering with a mix of concern and something darker, something she couldn’t quite hide. “Then we’d better move.”

Dean and Sam exchanged a look, that silent agreement passing between them like a spark. No hesitation. No second thoughts. They couldn’t let Marjorie go face the wraith alone. Not now. Not after everything she’d been through.

Dean grabbed his keys, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “Let’s go.”

As they rushed out of the house, Cordelia’s thoughts churned, a storm she struggled to contain. She was terrified for Marjorie, of course. But that wasn’t the only thing keeping her up at night. If Marjorie went after the wraith, if she confronted it—there was a real chance that Cordelia’s secret, the one she’d buried so deep inside for so long, could come to light. And if it did—if the brothers found out what she was hiding—there was no telling what would happen next.

She could feel it closing in on her, that dark fear that she might lose everything she’d worked so hard to protect.

And maybe, just maybe, that was what scared her more than anything else.

*****

The abandoned warehouse loomed out before Marjorie like a hollow, forgotten shell. The air inside was thick with decay, the once strong structure now bowing under years of neglect. The cieling, lined with rusted beams, creaked and groaned in protest as the wind outside clawed at the walls, but in here, it was dead quiet. The scent of damp earth and rotting wood mingled with the sharp, pungent tang of incense, creating a strange tension that clung to the air, making every breath feel heavy.

The candlelight flickered, casting long, distorted shadows that stretched across the cracked concrete floor. Marjorie moved carefully, each step deliberate as she centered herself within the sigil-marked containment circle. The symbols were intricate and glowing faintly- a brilliant blue- barely visible in the dark, but they had been drawn with precision, each stroke of chalk and blood a calculated effort to trap the wraith. 

An incessant drip fell to the floor, the thick, crimson liquid draining from her now cut wrist and plummeting to the floor with each step she took. The pain from the cut did not phase her- one, insignificant injury was helping her end this. 

Her fingers tightened around the relic she had brought- the locket. It was small, fragile, and twisted from the fire that had destroyed everything she had once known. No one knew she had kept the jewelery- she was scared it would be taken from her. The delicate metal had been burned, the glass cracked, but it was still there, the remnants of her daughters life. A life lost. A past that haunted her.

She had allowed Eleanor to occupy her thoughts more in the past two weeks than she had since the day she lost her. Perhaps it was Cordelia’s warmth and admiration, or maybe it was the way Sam looked at her with those soulful, puppy-dog eyes when he asked about what happened. Or maybe it was how Dean gazed at her, as if they were the only two people in that diner, while she rambled on and on about her little girl. She wasn’t sure what it was. But one thing was clear: she had stopped avoiding it, letting the brothers slip past the walls she’d worked so hard to fortify.

Her heart hammered in her chest, as she knelt before the circle, placing the locket directly in the center. This was the final step. The wraith would come for her, of course. It had been lurking in the shadows, feeding off her fear, her grief. But this time, it wouldn’t win. This time, she would take back control.

The chanting started, the words flowing from her lips, ancient and familiar, yet foreign at the same time. Latin. Or perhaps something older. Something her grandmother had once spoken, something that had been passed down through generations of women who had carried their power in silence. She didn’t understand all of it, but she didn’t need to. She knew the intent. She knew what needed to be done.

The air around her vibrated with energy as she spoke the incantation, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. The sigils around the circle flared to life, glowing brighter as the ritual took hold.

For a moment, everything was still.

And then, the wraith answered.

A gust of wind, sharp and sudden, whipped through the space, though the windows were shattered long ago. The candles flickered wildly, casting strange, erratic shadows against the walls. Marjorie felt the shift in the air, the temperature plummeting, the weight of it pressing against her skin like a heavy hand.

It was here.

Her breath hitched as the whispering started, faint at first, like the rustling of leaves on a distant breeze. But then it grew louder- closer. A sound that slid under her skin, into her bones.

“Marjorie…”

The voice was soft at first, almost tender, like a memory. But there was a dark edge to it, a twist that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

She gritted her teeth, trying to keep her focus. This was it. This was the moment she had been preparing for. The wraith would show itself, and she would confront it. She had no choice.

“Mama…”

Her heart stopped, and for a moment, she felt the ground beneath her shift. She could hear it so clearly- Eleanor’s voice, sweet and innocent, calling to her from the depths of the memory she had worked so hard to bury. It was different than her dream. Eleanor was here. The same voice that had echoed in her ears the night of the fire. The same voice that haunted her dreams, her waking hours.

The memory hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her with the force of something she couldn’t outrun. She was back there, back in that horrible place. The heat of the flames licking at her skin. The smoke that had suffocated her. The crackle of fire eating away at everything she had ever loved.

“No…” Marjorie whispered. She couldn’t. She couldn’t let herself go back there. Not again. Not now.

But the wraith was relentless. It wasn’t just a shadow. It was a memory made flesh, a cruel manipulation of everything Marjorie had ever feared.

The temperature dropped further, the air thickening with a cold that bit into her skin. The warehouse seemed to darken, the walls stretching and shifting as though the very space itself was warping under the wraith’s influence.

And then she heard it- the scream.

It was so real, so visceral, that Marjorie felt her chest tighten, her breath catching in her throat. She could see it now- Elanor’s face, pale and twisted with pain, her small body writhing as the flames consumed her. The smoke choked her, and the heat was unbearable. The vision was vivid, too vivid, like it was happening all over again.

“Eleanor…” The name slipped from her lips, a cry of agony that she couldn’t hold back.

The wraith was feeding on her grief, on the weakness it had always known was there.

But Marjorie fought to stay grounded. She could feel the ritual pulling at her, the energy of the sigils battling against the wraith’s pull. She had to stay strong. She had to let go.

“Mamma… Help me…”

Eleanor stood before her. Barefoot. Soot-stained. Brown eyes hollowed by death. 

“Why didn’t you save me?”

The words dug in like barbs. Marjorie’s entire body went rigid, the knife in her hand growing impossibly heavy.

“You let me burn.”

The words twisted, warping into something grotesque, the voice no longer her child’s, but something ancient and cruel. The girl’s lips turned into a sneer, her small hands flexing as nails blackened and sharpened into talons.

“You let me die, screaming for you.”

Marjorie staggered back, nausea curling in her stomach.

“No, El, I swear. I tried everything. Baby, there were too many of them.”

“You were supposed to be powerful, mama. You left me alone. I have no one.”

“You’re not real.” Marjorie jammed her fists into the side of her head, over and over again, trying to rid the image of her dead daughter standing in front of her.

The wraith was a parasite, feeding on the worst parts of her. It was using her love for Eleanor as a weapon, twisting it into something ugly.

Eleanor was gone. The child she couldn’t save was lost to the flames.

The wraith wasn’t her. It wasn’t Eleanor. It was just an echo, a twisted thing that had been feeding off her pain.

Marjorie’s eyes snapped open, and she stood taller, her hands clutching the blade. “You cant control me anymore,” she hissed, her voice steady, almost cold.

The wraith’s form flickered and shuddered, its distorted figure contorting as it reached out toward her. The air around them seemed to scream with a deafening roar, the force of the wraith’s power shaking the very foundation of the warehouse.

But Marjorie didn’t flinch. The fire in her veins wasn’t just from the ritual-it was from the anger. She wasn’t just fighting the wraith. She was fighting her own weakness.

The sigils around her flared with light as the wraith fought to maintain its form. The more Marjorie accepted the truth, the more it shrank, its ethereal body weakening.

“I’m not scared of you.”

And then, just as it seemed the wraith was about to snap into full corporeal form, the door to the warehouse crashed open.

Cordelia stepped into the room, her eyes wide with shock at the sight of the writhing shadow in front of Marjorie. She hesitated, fear flashing across her face as she watched the battle unfold.

“Marjorie, you-” she started, but Marjorie didn’t listen. Her focus was fixed entirely on the wraith, her grip tightening on the blade she had drawn earlier- a consecrated weapon soaked in blood. The ritual was almost complete. The wraith was vulnerable.

Suddenly, the air felt alive, buzzing with malignant energy, and a whisper cut though the stillness. 

“Cordelia, how nice of you to join us.”

Marjorie stiffened. Her eyes flickered toward Cordelia, who had stepped back slightly, her expression panicked. Marjorie’s pulse quickened- what was going on?

A soft laugh echoed, cruel and guttual, from somewhere deep in the shadows. The sound twisted, warping, and then the wraiths form expanded- larger and stronger than before. It was using Cordelia’s fear. 

It’s eyes, dark and glistening with malicious intent were fixed on Cordelia.

“Oh this one,” the wraith hissed, stretching its words like a snake, mockery evident in its words. “She’s so good at pretending, isn’t she? At hiding her true nature… her secrets…”

Marjorie’s heart stopped for a moment, but her stance stayed firm and her eyes didn’t leave the wraith. She could feel Cordelia stiffen, but her hands rattled against her sides. 

“You think you’re so clever, Cordelia… you think you’ve hidden it all so well… but I see you… I know you…” The wraith’s form flickered and rippled, growing more solid with each passing second. Its voice grew louder, more distorted, like the scraping of nails on a chalkboard. “How many times have you danced with darkness, hmm? How many times have you betrayed those you claimed to love?”

Cordelia’s breath caught. Marjorie’s eyes widened as she saw the flicker of panic in Cordelia’s eyes- the subtle tremble of her shoulders. It was the same look Marjorie had seen in her own reflection, the same terror of being exposed, of being known for something terrible. The wraith was feeding on that fear, twisting it into something sharp, something deadly.

The wraith’s laugh echoed, guttural and sharp. “Poor, poor Cordelia… how many times did you think you could lie to her?” It was a sickening mockery of sympathy. “You think you’ve escaped your past, but I know what you did.”

Marjorie’s mind spun, and suddenly the pieces started clicking into place. The way Cordelia had always been so protective, so careful with Marjorie. The unspoken tension. The guarded glances. The secrets she’d kept hidden beneath the surface.

The wraith’s shadowy form grew bolder, twisting into something almost human now, a grotesque, sneering parody of a person. The voice that came from it was now low and slithering. “What was it you offered to get all of this? To live this lie? Tell her, Cordelia… tell her what you’ve done.”

Cordelia’s hand tightened at her side, her knuckles white. “No- stop,” she hissed, stepping back. But the wraith’s voice only grew louder.

“You don’t have to hide anymore, Cordelia. I know. I see you. How much blood has stained your hands? How many people have you thrown away to keep yourself safe?” The wraith took a step forward, its eyes glowing with cruel delight. “How you led me right to your precious Marjorie. You and Meg. Does she know that you were one of my best soldiers? How you found all those sad, innococent people and tricked them into deals? How you’re the reason I am here in the first place.”

Marjorie’s pulse thundered in her ears, her stomach twisting as she watched Cordelia’s mask crack, just a little. Just enough for her to see it- the fear. The guilt. The truth.

“I- I didn’t-” Cordelia’s voice was shaky, her lips pressing together as if she were struggling to keep herself from breaking down. But the wraith didn’t give her the space to explain. It wasn’t interested in explanations. It was interested in torment.

You think I didn’t see the way you looked at her? How you tried to control everything around you?” The wraith’s sneering face moved closer to Cordelia, its shadow darkening her features. “You were never just her ally, were you, Cordelia? You were her jailer. You thought you could hold her down, keep her from realizing the truth about herself. About you.”

The air was thick with tension, a mixture of guilt, betrayal, and suffocating fear. Marjorie could feel it pulling at her, tightening around her chest, but she didn’t look away. She couldn’t. Not now. She had to see it. She had to know.

The wraith wasn’t done. It turned its attention back to Marjorie, its mocking grin widening.

“You think she’s your ally? Your friend? Your savior?” It twisted the words, each syllable laden with contempt. “What happens when you find out she’s been playing you all along? Without her, you would’ve never made that deal with me. Would’ve never had the false hope of a daughter reborn- would’ve never had to see sweet Eleanor die for a second time.”

Marjorie’s blood ran cold as the wraith’s form flickered and twisted. Its laughter echoed one last time before it finally evaporated, leaving only the cold, suffocating silence that remained between them.

For a moment, no one spoke. No one moved.

Cordelia stood frozen, her face pale, her eyes wide with something that was a mix of shame and terror. The breath left her in a shaky exhale, as though the wraith’s words had carved deep into her, leaving marks that would never fully fade.

Marjorie’s heart pounded, a cold rage beginning to grow in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t just confronted the wraith tonight- she’d confronted her own darkest memories. But Cordelia had betrayed her, too. The truth was undeniable now.

Cordelia had known. She had known the wraith’s true power, and she had been hiding it all along, playing a dangerous game with both Marjorie and herself.

Marorie turned to Cordelia now, blazing tendrils of blue surging down her arms and curling around her hands. “You knew.” Her voice was tight, controlled. “You did this to me.”

Cordelia opened her mouth, but the words came out weak, barely a whisper. “My girl, I didn’t-”

“You brought that thing to me. You knew I would say yes- that I would die.”

Marjorie’s voice cracked. Cordelia had been just as much part ofthis as the wraith. 

“I left that life behind,” Cordelia’s voice was choked, full of something that could’ve been regret. Probably fear. “I chose you. I protected you for years, Marjorie. Everything I did- it was to keep you safe.”

“You lied to me.”

“I had to.”

“No, you didn’t!” Marjorie’s entire being was shaking now. The ground beneath them rumbled slightly, shaking the old building like the wind in a thunderstorm. 

Cordelia, her Cordelia, the woman who had raised her, cared for her, loved her- had been hiding this from her the entire time. 

The wraiths form flickered again, its mocking laughter filling the room with the worst kind of poison. “It’s too late now, Cordelia. She’s got you all figured out.”

Marjorie barely heard it. 

Her eyes were locked on Cordelia’s, searching for something, anything that would make this hurt less. 

“Do you have any regrets?” she whispered. “Doing this to me?”

Cordelia swallowed hard. “Every day.”

The wraith laughed again. 

"Tell me, Marjorie-if I let you hear her voice again, if I let you see her little face just one more time-would you let me in? Would you let me crawl inside your head, take all that grief, all that guilt, and make it stop?"

It stopped in front of her, right in her face, breath like spoiled meat.

"You want that, don’t you? To be free of this?"

Her throat was so tight she could barely breathe.

For a terrifying, shameful second-she did want that.

No more waking up gasping for air.

No more hearing screams in her dreams.

No more guilt sinking its claws into her ribs.

Just… nothing.

But then she thought of Cordelia’s voice, steady even in her betrayal.

She thought of Dean’s concern, of Sam’s quiet faith in her, of the life she had built-however fragile.

She thought of everything this thing had taken from her.

She would not let it win.

"No."

The wraith’s grin twisted into something monstrous.

"Liar."

It lunged.

Marjorie barely had time to react before it was on her, knocking the knife from her grasp. She hit the ground hard, the impact rattling her bones.

Cold fingers wrapped around her throat.

Her vision blurred, the air squeezed from her lungs.

The wraith hovered over her, its face shifting-Eleanor, Cordelia, Meg, even herself.

It wanted to break her.

To own her.

Her fingers scraped against the floor, desperate, searching-until they curled around something familiar.

Cold metal.

The locket.

The last thing she had of Eleanor.

The offering she had used to summon this monster.

Marjorie gritted her teeth.

With the last of her strength, she slammed the locket against the wraith’s forehead.

The sigils in the containment circle flared to life, blinding-bright.

The wraith let out a shriek of agony, its grip loosening just enough for Marjorie to throw it off. She scrambled to her feet, gasping, reaching for the knife-

And then it was just her and the wraith, both on their knees, facing each other.

Marjorie lifted the blade.

The wraith smiled.

"Do it, then."

Marjorie’s breath was ragged.

The wraith wanted her to kill it in anger. It thrived on rage, on suffering.

But it wouldn’t get that.

Not from her.

"Shut. Up," she whispered.

She drove the blade into its heart.

The wraith screamed, its form twisting, breaking. Its body blackened, its flesh curling away in wisps of ash as the containment circle erupted in light.

For a brief, agonizing moment, its shifting form locked onto Eleanor’s face one last time.

Marjorie clenched her jaw.

"Go to Hell."

With a final, piercing shriek—

The wraith was gone.

Ashes scattered to the warehouse floor.

But the silence that followed felt different. Empty. Marjorie stood there, panting, the blade still in her hand, staring at the spot where the wraith had once been.

Cordelia stepped forward hesitantly, her face pale, eyes full of something Marjorie didn’t recognize-fear, regret, and guilt all mixed into one fragile expression.

Marjorie turned her back on her, unable to face her any longer. Her heart was still pounding in her chest, but there was something else now. Something cold.

She turned to leave.

“I trusted you,” Marjorie said , her voice low, almost calm now. “I trusted you and you didn’t care. One-hundred and fourteen years, Cordelia. That’s how long you’ve had to tell me. ”

“Marjorie-”

“The worst part about all of it, is that if you asked me now, I would probably forgive you.”

Cordelia flinched as though struck, her mouth opening and closing, desperate to find words that could undo the weight of what had just happened. But there was nothing. No excuse, no justification that could erase the truth.

Marjorie stopped at the threshold of the warehouse, her back still to Cordelia. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of burned wax and old blood, remnants of the ritual that had bound and killed the wraith. But the betrayal, the realization that Cordelia had been playing her all along- that was what suffocated her now.

Slowly, she turned her head, her voice barely above a whisper, but sharp enough to cut like a blade.

“If I ever see you again…” She let the words hang in the air, thick with unspoken threat. “I will kill you.”

Cordelia sucked in a breath, but she didn’t move, didn’t try to stop her.

Marjorie didn’t wait for a reply. She turned and stepped out into the night, her boots crunching against the gravel outside the warehouse. The air was cold against her skin, but inside, she was burning.

She didn’t look back.

*****

Marjorie didn’t stop walking until she reached the edge of the warehouse lot, where the Imapala was parked haphazardly, its doors already open. Sam and Dean stood by the car, tense, weapons in hand. Deans face was a storm of emotion- anger, concern, something deeper he couldn’t put a name to. Sam looked exhausted, eyes flickering between her and the warehouse like he was still piecing everything together.

She barely registered them. Her body felt like it was moving on auto-pilot, her hands shaking as the adrenaline wore off. The night was still, unnervingly so, after everything that had just happened. 

Dean was the first to speak. “Marjorie.”

She didn’t stop. Didn’t acknowledge him.

He took a step forward, cutting off her path before she could get any further. “What the hell happened in there?”

Marjorie didn’t look at him, her eyes somewhere else, far away from any of them. She was breathing hard, the taste of ash and blood lingered on her tongue. “It’s dead,” she said flatly.

Dean searched her face. “Cordelia?”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Gone.”

Sam stepped forward, cautious. “Gone?”

“I told her I’d kill her if I saw her again, so for her sake. I hope she’s long gone.”

Silence. The weight of her words hung heavy between them.

Deans mouth pressed into a tight line, but he didn’t argue. He just watched her, eyes scanning every inch of her like he was trying to make sure she was still standing, still her. 

Sam, however, frowned. “Marj…”

“Don’t.” She shook her head, her voice raw. “Don’t make this into something it’s not.”

Sam backed off, knowing better than to push her right now. 

Dean took a second step forward. “You’re bleeding.”

Marjorie finally blinked, looking down at her hands. Her knuckles were raw, her nails still lined with the remnants of the ritual. The deeper wound on her arm, a thin angry cut from where she bled to summon the raise pulsed quickly.

She swallowed. “It’s a paper cut.”

“Yeah, well, your ‘paper cut’ needs stitches,” Dean muttered, already moving toward the trunk of the Impala to grab their make-shift first aid kit. 

Marjorie watched him for a second, some of the ice in her chest cracking, just barely. Then she let out a slow breath and sat down on the open passenger seat of the car, her body finally succumbing to the exhaustion she had been pushing back.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Dean said after a moment. “Not now.”

Marjorie gave a short, bitter laugh. “Good.”

Dean retuned with the first aid kit and knelt beside her. “This is gonna sting.”

Marjorie met his gaze and sighed, “Go ahead.”

As Dean cleaned her arm, his hands careful but firm. Marjorie leaned her head against the door, her eyes fluttering shut. Sam stood next to her, giving her shoulder a squeeze everytime she would wince. 

Dean finished wrapping the gauze around her arm, his mouth set in that gruff, focused line. Marjorie watched the muscle in his jaw ticked, the way he worked through his emotions by doing something. She wanted to say something- maybe to ground herself, maybe to pull the concern off his face- but nothing same.

“We should go,” Dean spoke, rising from his kneeling position.

Marjorie blinked, her gaze stuck to him. He wasn’t looking at her, but his tone was pointed.

Sam looked down at his brother. “Go where?”

“Meg.” Dean exhaled. “She’s still out there, and after everything tonight…” He hesitated, then finally locked eyes with Marjorie. “She’s numero dos, isn’t she?”

Sam scoffed. “Hold on, you’re telling me we’re going into this with no rest, no plan- just full-speed ahead to whatever the hell Meg’s got waiting for us?”

“Yes,” Marjorie’s voice was steady. “And I’m coming with.”

Sam’s eyes snapped to her. “You just took on the wraith alone, and now you want to go hunt a demon?”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not sitting around while she’s still out there.”

Sam shifted, like he agreed but didn’t quite want to say it aloud. 

Dean let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. “I swear to God, you two are gonna kill me.”

Marjorie smirked, just a little. “You’d be bored otherwise.”

Dean shot her a look, but there wasn’t real heat behind it.

Sam cleared his throat, pushing off the car. “We need to figure out where she is. I’ll dig into possible leads, but she’s smart- she’s not gonna make it easy.”

“Perfect,” Marjorie muttered, rubbing her now bandaged arm.

Dean pointed at her. “You are getting rest first.”

She opened her mouth to argue. 

“Not negotiable,” he added.

Marjorie huffed, but didn’t push. 

Sam pulled out his phone, already scanning for anything that might give them a lead. “Marjorie, get some sleep.”

She nodded, moving to crawl into the back seat. Dean moved toward’s the drivers side, but before he climbed in he shot her another glance.

“You’re with us now, huh?”

Marjorie tilted her head back against the worn leather. “Guess so.”

Dean shook his head, but a faint smile made its way to his face. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Sam snorted.

Marjorie gave him a wink, allowing herself to relax into the seats, eyes falling shut once again. 

Despite the exhaustion, despite everything, they were a trio now. And now matter what came next, they were in it together. 

*****

[pumpkinsy0]

Need pony doing really bad at something and his perfectionist ass getting really upset

EXTRA POINTS!! if a few tears are shed RIGHT AFTER in front if the people who r judging him at whatever he did bad at

Cause I just did HORRENDOUS at a callback for a show I really really wanna play an ACTUAL character in because everyone else who was called back got assigned the material last night and IIIII just learned it in 45 minutes! 😝😝😝😝😝 couldn't remember timing, what even is a note??? I apperently do not know???

as im writing this im watching the most embarrassing speedrun in halo history and remembering all the embarrassing moments ive had im rlly getting into character here

i dont think we talk enough about the things that happened like right after in school when pony was done w that essay so lets surround this post around that

•now i will tell everyone rn, the version pony showed the teacher vs the version written in the book r twi very different things, this context is important!!!

•pony thought his essay was good, but as good as his lit teacher was saying??? gooodddd no, when his teacher pulled him aside to talk about it he was very happy but panicking cause he rlly just wanted to write this and not think about it for a while, that whole thing took a week to finish. his teacher was giving him praise and pony wanted to rio his hair out

•look believe it or not pony was already having issues w his essay. yes in a way its his way of honoring johnny but he feels like it wasnt perfect and that eats up at him. the essay wasnt written in a way pony usually writes his essays, he was writing and writing without double checking like he usually would, personally he thinks he was a too messy and real but thats the only way he could get it out and he hates that, its embarrassing putting himself out there

•annyyways, the teacher liked it so much, he told pony he was gonna show it to this publisher he was good buddies!! buttt he wants pony to read it to em cause hes he only one who could perfect captualize the emotion behing all of it”. pony felt like he was gonna throw up out of excitement and nervousness. HIS essay??? to a reallll publisher??? u gotta b kidding

•pony told darry and soda the knew and they were so happy for him, obviously🙄🙄they told two and steve, eventually that led to the shepars finding out, then ponys school friends, then OTHER PPL he didnt know, that made the stress worse. pony feels like hes gotta represent greasers and his own family well, he has to make sure he properly tells johnnys story, keep the respect dally had when he died, hes gotta do a lot rn😭

•ponys practicing reading it, could probably even repeat a chunk of it without looking at the paper, he even ignored eating for this😒😒😒so pony thought he had this down. day of meeting the publisher starts and pony was fine, he rlly wasnt stressing about it bad till it got closer and closer💔💔he had to meet em in the middle of the day and pony comforted himself saying after this he can just pretend like it didnt happen for some ounce of normalcy

•when pony started reading, u could tell he was a bit disheveled and shakey, but it was fine, just looked like normal teen nerves its cool, its just as he went on into more of his personal lifes issues where pony started tearing up cause my goddd is this fucking embarrassing😭like i said, the way he wrote this essay throws him off and its in front of ppl who he doesnt know will get his struggles or make fun of him for it. his face is red and YEA he’s damn near tearing up a bit (he can hide this part tho thank god, if a tear fell onto his paper its so up)

•soon as he realized how he mustve looked, he got more red, PLUS it was quiet, he could hear everytime he strugglef getting through a sentence and every shuffle he did w his body, he was so sick to his stomach. finished reading, looked up, and they looked like they felt bad for pony, pony hates pity so honestly wouldve preferred them just staring at each other basically asking “did that rlly just happen” but nooo

•he basically ran out that place into the bathroom to throw cold water on his face and he totally ditched the rest of the day to avoid speaking to anyone about how it went, even locked himself in his old room to avoid speaking to anyone who did come home, its like hiding in plain sight, nobody rlly expects him to b in there

[sambi-bambi]

alright guys, im here to talk wincest songs again today and today im doing a DEEP dive into:

so buckle up because i have a lotttt to say about this song <3 im gonna put it below the cut because i feel like its gonna be long and i'd hate to clutter your feed if this isn't something you're interested in reading :)

WORD COUNT: 1,234 words

<3

"I heard that you're settled down That you found a girl and you're married now"

-> starting off suuuuper strong with this one right off the bat because, cmon, s5 dean/lisa? sam watching him with her sometimes from a distance? and settling down,, sam and dean together never settled down because they were always on the move hunting but once one of them is out of the equation (well maybe this doesnt exactly apply to dean, more to sam - see amelia) they tend to shift a little into the normal life,, and then that 'i heard' is again the fact that sam only saw it from a distance because he wasn't involved anymore

"I heard that your dreams came true Guess she gave you things, I didn't give to you"

-> so continuing with that dean/lisa (because thats what this song feels like to me: dean/lisa from sam's POV), the dreams came true could be that dean always deep down wanted that apple pie life (remember the djinn ep!!) and the life with lisa was the apple pie life,, and then like before, when the brothers are together, normalcy is impossible because there is just something so depraved and fucked up and wrong about their relationship that it could never exist in the same space of them - so lisa gave dean normalcy that sam didn't,, but also, this could mean that lisa gave dean an easy way out (pretending he wasn't attracted to a man who was also his brother) that sam couldn't give dean because sam was that man

"Old friend, why are you so shy? Ain't like you to hold back or hide from the light"

-> these next few lyrics are all going to be pretty similar so i'll try my very best to stick to the unique parts of the lines (IMO),, so in the ep sam comes back, dean is reluctant to go back to hunting because of the life he has with lisa and ben, which is entirely unlike the dean who dragged stanford sam back into hunting and devoted his entire life to hunting - and also, when has reluctance or hesitancy ever been dean's thing when it came to literally anything regarding sam?

"I hate to turn up out of the blue, uninvited But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it"

-> again, kind of similar, but what i find interesting about this part is that the attacks or wtv dean was feeling that day did feel really sudden (at least to me), and then he gets introduced to the fact that sam is alive and back, but also, sam stayed away for what? a year? and of course dean thought he couldn't get his brother back from the cage so he wasn't actively doing it ('uninvited') and eventually sam came back to his brother like an addict falling back into their drug habits <3 and no idc that that is not why he came back in my head it is

"I had hoped you'd see my face And that you'd be reminded that for me, it isn't over"

-> sam showing up and trying to convince dean to come back to hunting because sam is still doing it (and how could he do it without his brother?) but yeah, kind of repetitive from the last few lyrics but its whatevs

"Never mind, I'll find someone like you I wish nothing but the best for you, too"

-> so this one might sound like a stretch and it kind of does to me too, but think about this with me for a moment: samuel campell. rough, tough, leader, family. dean winchester. rough, tough, leader, family. this makes me think of sam finding someone who is similar to dean to hunt with after first coming back and seeing dean living with lisa and ben, because sam wanted dean to be happy (at least he did when he had a soul)

""Don't forget me, " I beg I remember you said"

-> i don't have much to say but i have enough to not skip it: basically... this is sam before he goes into the cage. sam didn't want dean to forget about him obviously, but sam also remembered telling dean to not try to free him <3

""Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead" "Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead""

-> the repeat of this line feels different to me when viewing it through this lens i am. so the first one is dean losing sam: he goes back to lisa ('lasts' a year) but he loses sam to do it ('hurts'). second is dean going back to sam. he has sam back ('lasts', his lifelong love tbh) but he loses lisa for it ('hurts', because i believe he truly loved her and ben... just not as much as he loves sammy)

"You know how the time flies Only yesterday was the time of our lives"

-> this feels really flashback-y to me, so im taking it as the time flies being how all of a sudden it felt like sam and dean were wrapped up in all these apocalypse stuff and then the time of our lives part being how just before everything crazy (before angels and seals and blahblahblah) they were just... brothers (lovers) hunting together, saving people, living out their 20s in the hunter life

"We were born and raised in a summer haze Bound by the surprise of our glory days"

-> yeah basically same thing here with the born and raised being how john raised his boys to be hunters and then the glory days being when sam wasn't an open freak (psychic, demon blood addiction) and dean wasn't a desperate man trying to pick up the pieces of his brother and instead they were just two immature fools in the front bench of the impala riding around together and ignoring the elephant of their stifled feelings for each other

[chorus repeat here that im skipping <//3]

"Nothing compares, no worries or cares Regrets and mistakes, they're memories made"

-> again, flashback-y,, but basically im seeing this as that nothing compares to the ease in which dean falls back into sam - its like he was born to be in love with this boy, sinking in so easily even after ignoring it for a year to love some beautiful woman and her son. regrets and mistakes demon blood and breaking seals and all that yada yada but they remember them together,, or maybe this is the memories from soulless sam that re-souled sam remembers briefly and dean is trying to get him to not because he just got his baby brother back and he cant stand to be without him again and he especially wouldn't be able to stand it if sammy went vegetable mode because the soul dean insisted be put back in killed him

"Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?"

-> final lyric!! so, im taking this two ways: first, is the bitter (losing lisa) to get the sweet (baby brother back safely in his arms) but aaaalso!!! dean getting his sammy back only to realize its not his sammy. realizing something is wrong. he's got his brother back, but he doesnt have the thing that makes sam sam. he got his brother's fucking meat suit back, but no soul keeping him human inside.

---

and then the end is just 2nd verse of the chorus repeating so :) i hope, if you made it to the end, that you enjoyed!! i adore doing these little song things

[antirepurp]

i can't stop jotaro from living in my head rent-free his character has so many goddamn layers to it. like you're telling me that the shonen protagonist learns about the value of teamwork, makes allies and befriends them, relies on their unique abilities, and immediately recesses on that development after his best friend and important mentor died because they were involved in a fight that was not theirs to face and revolved around jotaro and his family. you give us an edgelord teenager with very few friends and a ton of age appropriate angst. you give him people who accept him and appreciate him and cherish them the way he is, people who help with a terrifying new ability he's gained that they're more familiar with, people who Want To Help Him just because they care about him. you give him two or so months of ups and downs during which he can bond with these people, get to know them, face horrors and terrors and the unknown over and over again and make it out somehow, make sure that everyone makes it out somehow.

and at the very end jotaro is not able to save everyone. he can't repay that care and kindness in the moment where it matters the most.

it doesn't end there either, because he survives and he lives and has to continue living, move on with his life after everything he went through. he has to go on with the knowledge that his stand is terrifyingly similar to that of the man he killed with his own hands, the man who murdered his friends. he has to move on and has barely anyone to talk to about these things because his best friend is gone and his grandfather lives in the states and his mother wasn't there and the one friend who made it lives very far away as well. he pursues a normal career to the extend he can and lets his own stand rot and rust because he wants to go back to the normalcy he was robbed of when he was 17, normalcy he's never going to have for as long as he lives.

for whatever reason he winds up with a daughter. a child he runs away from when he realizes the kinds of things that haunt the blood that flows in her veins, the kind of hurt his presence could bring into her life, unaware of the pain he caused by leaving her behind. a twisted sense of caring that demands he removes himself from the lives of anyone who means anything to him, because all he does is spread a plague he never asked to deal with.

and the one thing that really gets to me atm is that despite everything, despite everything they went through during stone ocean, jolyne and jotaro never truly reconcile. they never get to talk through the problems jotaro himself piled onto their relationship with his actions. jolyne may not be as angry at him in the end, and jotaro does come to her aid obviously, but the end is wrapped up in emotions and feelings and adrenaline and everything-fucking-else that's going on. there's no time to truly address the complicated hurt in their relationship, and that hurt is erased along with the universe. i think there's even a possibility that when everything ended, jotaro wasn't certain if jolyne had forgiven him. and it's very possible that she hadn't, not truly, not in a sound mindset that wasn't clouded by bloodloss and a violent survival instinct.

god i love characters that are so fucking complicated and have such fucking complex relationship dynamics with other equally complex characters im losing my mind

[manari-archives]

how many things | LS18

I wonder how many things you think about before you get to me I wonder how many things you wanna do you think I'm in-between I feel myself falling further down your priorities And I still make excuses for you constantly

pairing: Lance Stroll x Reader

warnings: angst and alot more angst

word count: 1.4k

note: again this isn't based on the entire song, just a couple of lines mentioned. this took longer than expected to write and ive realised im not the best at writing depressing stuff which is ironic cause the entire eics album is mainly just sad songs. also english isn't my first language so any corrections feel free to let me know and any feedback is welcome :)

masterlist

Lance slept on the other side of the bed while you sat up reading your favourite book, a frown present on your face as you watched him. Over the last few weeks, he had abruptly become distant. Initially, you attributed it to a tough race but this strange and unusual behaviour persisted far too long. When you questioned his engineers and friends, they claimed everything was normal at work. However, you knew something had changed when he stopped doing the little things that made you fall in love with him in the first place, yet you waited for things to return to normalcy and for him to stop treating you like you were not even a second thought

The next morning, you woke up beside him and watched him sleep, realizing that the intimacy you once had faded. You no longer sat on the roof talking until the sun came up, he no longer held you close at night. You wondered the possible reasons for his sudden detachment, perhaps he felt you were too needy. You also considered the possibility that something had happened at work that he didn’t want to burden you.

Lance used to let you know when he was returning home after the race but he stopped doing that as well. You used to eagerly wait for him at the door, but those days had passed

In a vain attempt to salvage the relationship, you had put in extra effort to spend time with him, but he brushed it off, claiming he ate at work and showing no gratitude for your gestures. His cold demeanour and passive-aggressive remarks during everyday tasks made it difficult for you to express your feeling. The lack of appreciation and affection left you feeling neglected and unseen.

As time passed, you tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, making excuses for him constantly instead of confronting him directly. The emotional distance between you had grown, leaving you feeling unloved. You couldn't even remember the last time he said he loved you.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you confronted Lance about his distant behaviour. You expressed your frustrations, pointing out how patient and understanding you had been for months, yet he remained closed off and dismissive. 

You couldn't hold back your emotions any longer. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you faced Lance, feeling a mix of frustration, sadness, and love. His eyes welled up too, but he seemed to be struggling to find the right words.

"I can't do this anymore, Lance," you said, your voice shaking with emotion. "I've tried my best to be patient, to understand what you're going through, but you keep shutting me out. I feel like I'm living with a stranger, not the man I fell in love with.

Lance looked pained, his brow furrowed as he tried to respond, but you couldn't bear to make more excuses for him, it's become a habit at this point. You continued, your words gaining strength.

"When was the last time you told me you loved me?" you asked, your voice wavering. "It's been months, Lance. I deserve better than this."

As tears streamed down your cheeks, you couldn't help but wonder, "Am I not even a second thought in your mind?" The realization hit hard, and you felt yourself falling further down his priorities with each passing moment. 

You questioned, Your voice trembling with emotion, "How many things do you think about before you even get to me? It feels like I'm lost in the background of your thoughts." The weight of your words hung heavily in the air, reflecting the growing distance between you and Lance.

"I can't help but wonder how many things you want to do, and I feel like I'm just in between, an afterthought," you added, voicing the uncertainty and doubt that had been plaguing your mind. The sense of being unimportant and overshadowed in his life continued to haunt you.

Amidst the turmoil of emotions, you realised that his corner in your mind is well established, but you're starting to fear that you don't have a prominent place in his anymore. The contrast between your feelings of devotion and his apparent detachment became increasingly evident, leaving you with a sense of insecurity and sadness.

Despite your heartfelt plea, Lance remained resolute in his emotional distance. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, but he couldn't find the words to express what he was going through. You could sense that he was grappling with his demons, but his inability to share them left you feeling helpless and rejected.

"I can't do this anymore," you said, your voice trembling as you stepped back from him. "I love you, but I can't keep waiting for you to let me in. I need more than this."

Lance looked at you, his face a mix of pain and regret. "I'm sorry," he whispered, but it felt like an empty apology.

"I deserve more than this," you repeated, trying to steady your voice, but it cracked with emotion. "I deserve someone who will communicate with me, who will love me, who will let me be a part of their life. I can't be with someone who keeps shutting me out."

He reached out as if to touch you, but you flinched away, the hurt too fresh and raw. "Please," he pleaded, "give me more time. I'll figure this out."

But the well of patience had run dry, and you shook your head sadly. "I've given you enough time," you said, your heart breaking with every word. "I can't keep sacrificing my happiness for someone who won't let me in."

With that, you turned away, unable to bear the pain in his eyes. The weight of your decision settled heavily on your shoulders as you grabbed your belongings and left the apartment, the echoes of his apologies lingering in the air.

As you walked away, tears streamed down your cheeks, and you couldn't help but glance back one last time. But you knew deep down that you had made the right choice, as difficult as it was. You deserved to be with someone who would cherish and communicate with you, and staying with Lance would only prolong the heartache.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and the ache of loss remained, but Lance's silence remained. He never reached out, and you found yourself trying to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart. It hurt to think that the love you once shared had slipped through your fingers, lost in the abyss of his silence.

You tried to move on, to fill the void he left in your life, but the pain of losing him lingered. Every little thing reminding you of him, there was hiding from the thought of him and you got ways to find him in every corner. You cherished the memories of your time together, but they became bittersweet reminders of what once was.

And in the quiet moments, you couldn't help but wonder what went wrong, how the love that once burned so brightly had fizzled out into nothingness. You would find yourself looking back, wondering if Lance had ever found the strength to open up, to let someone in. But that chapter of your life had closed, leaving you with the poignant lesson that sometimes, love isn't enough to heal someone else's wounds. 

In the end, all that remained were the fragments of a shattered heart and the bittersweet memories of a love that had been lost. And as you gazed into the night sky, you wondered if time could ever truly heal the wounds it had caused, or if some scars were destined to linger forever.

[mako-neexu]

smth smth rambles that are entirely my opinion and i could be wrong (so dont attack me) you know this chapter made guda, fuijmaru ritsuka with already Many Issues worse is because of "mash" or rather kyrie's death but ultimately comes back to mash...that dantes did for them.

we even see a while back how guda was already shaken by not knowing whether mash is safe during lb6 after that fog like their priority is mash. mash.

they were already frantic as soon as they remembered mash almost questioning everyone about her whereabouts and immediately got reckless just trying to reach her at norwich. and when only when they were together did the "narrator" emphasize on the sheer relief guda felt like-- wow the obvious signs in OC chapter 2 makes you realize furthermore that guda's sanity hangs on a thin thread named 'mash' asdfgh

yes guda loves mash!! yes they care about her!!! but look and read at how guda tells absolutely nothing to mash- and that applied the same to kyrie!

(more below)

kyrie wanted to know and ask her senpai about the situation like we see her really wanting it but ultimately backtracking in the end because she trusts guda and she's even supportive. and guda was grateful/relieved that she stays innocent about the weird things going on in their tokyo.

they do compromise at one point that if kyrie really demands on explanations, guda would tell her but...

guda doesnt tell her anything, (kyrie believes in her senpai so even when faced with death, kyrie didnt break under pressure) keeps her in the dark so no one comes after her. for her to be ultimately safe. so she remains...innocent, normal who stands alongside "mama" and "little sister" as they arent involved in the first place about whats been happening. and guda wants to keep it that way for their family. not a real family, but a family nonetheless that cared about guda. an epitome of normal- which mash kyrielight has attained.

and now you see guda, who, upon waking up asks mash kyrielight if she was okay. if she was alright. guda doesnt stop their questions until mash answered. and so mash answered.

"I'm okay, Senpai. My vital signs are normal... so I'm completely okay."

all the while guda had just dismissed being in pain literally one minute ago and just hugged her tight. they "save mash the trouble" to tell her about the pains they went through in the singularity so as not to burden mash. so they stuff their pain inside the corner of their heart again, completely satisfied with mash's safety and disregarding their own health. (you also see in section 23 that theyre cherishing the normal and small moments with mash.)

mash is normal. mash looks pure to guda, her heart filled with "color" in comparison to guda whose heart has become "transparent". an inverse character development which will ultimately destroy them both.

for mash, who sees her Senpai as strong and unwavering, the image of kindness and strength when they held her hand during part 1 crushed by a coffin which she continues to believe them to be that way until now.

for guda, who sees mash as someone who's become normal. one last remnant that reminds them of a past life lost, mash with that purity and normalcy becoming an ideal to protect (as if she was glass) because they no longer have their own. (and mash is also literally the only one left close to guda, who remembers all the events of part 1. which... adds more to how losing mash would break guda even further.)

(also we see guda say 'tadaima' coming home to an empty house, the loss of kyrie and their family still in mind, and a little later, the Avenger mindset comes back and settles in as they're plagued by bloodlust. then when guda comes back to mash, their home, mash is their home. do you realize that? do you realize what im saying? mash says: "welcome home, senpai." and that was enough for guda. that eased everything in guda's tumultuous heart.)

i remembered guda avoiding on telling "mom" that they and kyrie were near the "gas leak site" / britoalter's battleground so like.....of course their lying to medical staff about getting back to the battlefield would carry over here.

deliberately making sure the "normal" components of their fake high school life remain untainted is what we see guda do. they shouldered everything, terrifying as it is, just to protect them but ended up inevitably losing them in the process.

there's also that contrast in seeing a dead body between kyrie and guda. kyrie still stood strong against dantes and remained rational and calm while telling "ojisama" that this wasnt good for guda. meanwhile guda, while still able to think about calling the ambulance after seeing the da vincis absolutely lost their mind when it came to kyrie which their mind thought of mash- and i think guda thought of both as 'one' person so they went absolutely insane right then and there

during the conversation with amatsuka, thats the part where guda became finally stable. because its implied guda's mental state really broke at kyrie's death which their mind automatically thought it to be "=mash is dead". but ukelele-senpai saved the day by reminding guda where they are, if mash and kyrie were the same person, and helping guda calm down and think of seeing that blue sky with mash during the part 1 epilogue.

and augh guda you shit!!! you need therapy!! dont put mash in a pedestal!! dont treat her as if she's fragile!! dont treat her like porcelain meant to be protected while you take on everything for the sake of keeping mash safe because she is the only remnant of your past left, because she is the only "normal" person you have left!!! guda you need to understand that if ever mash gets hurt someday or dies and its out of your control, you need to understand that it wont be your fault!! you need to understand that because someday you will part ways with her as well and you need to be able to be ready to lose again. if you lose mash once and for all, what will you do!?!?!? this is not healthy guda!! gudaaa you hear me!!?? gudaaaaaaa

[lunart-06]

im full of hinaegi thoughts and i really need to share them rn ..

FIRST, people don't talk nearly enough about the natural connection hajime and makoto have with each other, like in the 6th trial, where junko puts that fake makoto here, the others seem to be weirded out by makoto but they don't really know what, and even then they still refer to him by makoto, like sonia saying "makoto? what has happened to you?" but hajime literally says "I knew it.." and "Just as i thought.. There's something wrong with you!" he never says like, this guy is crazy, or that they shouldnt trust him, he clearly says a lot of times that there IS something wrong with him! at some point he even stops refering to junko's 'makoto' by name, it's funny, he only talked to the real makoto for some seconds before the class trial, but he still chose to believe that makoto over the fake one junko literally put in front of them, and it's because of that he discovered his contradictions.

there's also how they both bond a lot in some side events about both being really "common" and i honestly think they would serve as big comfort to one another, i believe even tho hajime would often feel like makoto is way better than him, he would also try to believe how makoto comforts him and says that he is capable of everything. and makoto, i believe he would really look up to hajime without a single ounce of shame now that he saw the real hajime and how much he has grown, but at the same time he would try to be a nice inspiration for hajime after everything that happened in the neo world.

NOW DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THEIR ULTIMATE HOPE PARALLELS, makoto getting his title for defeating junko enoshima, for being himself, for being so so optimistic in a broken world and in the middle of so much chaos, he was a simple dude that became the ultimate hope for being himself, makoto naegi. while hajime got his ultimate hope title when he became izuru, when he stopped being himself.

ALSO, OFFICIAL ARTS, WHY THEY SO DAMN CLOSE ALL THE TIME 🙄 and that wheres just the two of them, YOU CANT TELL ME HAJIME IS NOT PETTING MAKOTO'S HEAD . LOOK AT RHAT

also, hajime in the 6th class trial saying "To prove whether that Makoto Naegi is real or not.... I'm gonna shove *that* in his face!" wdym by that hajime?

SORRY FOR THE LONG ASK HINAEGI SOLDIERS

WAAHDHSH I LOVE THIS SM I am eating so good rn.

The part where he recognised instantly that there's something wrong with the fake Makoto instantly made me kicks my feet. I think despite Hajime's skepticalism on the real Makoto he talked to before the last trial, he just instantly knew how Makoto is from then, Makoto's way of speech is just so.. normal and he just radiates that harmless, safe aura. No matter how skilled Junko is in acting she can't really completely copy the real Makoto.

And the "common" part is so true!!! It's cause both used to be ordinary people, that they feel more comfortable despite not knowing eachother as much from before. Again, one missed and one regreted of the lost of normalcy they have before. Perhaps together, Hajime could finally appriciated and grateful of the normal life he could have had, while Makoto can still have the normalcy in his life (aside from komaru) despite the condition and his responsibility, not all was lost.

And the official art!!!! I have them in my grasp irl, that 512 pages DR1.2 reload book where half of them filled with DR1 and 2 official arts, I have them in my grasp, the way they look at eachother head in hands, they were so very close and when I first opened it I wonder if they have that in the book and there they are!!! I was so estatic!!!