#also I do wonder if any one sees this and just wonders what the hell is going on in the Merc electro au because only like 2 moots known abt
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jinwoosbabyboo · 1 day ago
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I Object!
How I imagine the lads men would object at your wedding. A/N: I don't like cheating tropes so we're gonna say this was an arranged marriage that you didn't want to be in anyway. Also these men are built so different this practically wrote itself. [Requested by: aethercoreria]
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Zayne
Type: Silently objects
I don’t think Zayne would be on his Shrek tip running in yelling “I objeeeeccct!” He’d try his best to respect the fact that you’re marrying another man when he knows for a fact that you’re in love with him. He’d plan to work the day of your wedding, but you (unfortunately?) hand delivered an invite so now he has to show up. He’d sit quietly through the ceremony, but the minute the officiant asks to speak now or forever hold your peace he's springing up from his seat with a hand slightly raised.
No thoughts. Just standing. Body moved on it’s own.
He’d stand frozen until he sees that radiant smile on your face when you make eye contact with him. He watches you lean in and whisper something to your fiancé before rushing towards him and dragging him out the door. So he did understand your plan and he didn’t even have to say a word.
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Rafayel
Type: Manipulative ; doesn't have to object
Rafayel would object to your wedding behind close doors. Starts by begging you not to go through with it. Begging turns to telling you why you shouldn’t do it. Reasoning turns to silent ‘acceptance’. He would let you think he doesn’t care anymore. Meanwhile those seeds of doubt in the back of your mind are being nurtured and watered by every sly word that comes out his mouth.
“If you’re fine with settling for him then do you” He said tilting his head with a smile. He’d get you to the point where you start wondering are you trying to convince him or are you just trying to convince yourself? Rafayel was in control the entire time and you’d realize that on the day of your wedding. You’re sitting in your bridal suite alone trying to steel your nerves, but nothing is working. Fuck it you’ll just have to settle and maybe learn to be okay with your arranged husband.
You’d walk down the aisle everyone is suspiciously rigid as they ooouu and aww at you. You’re too busy scanning the crowd at first wondering if Raf crashed to focus on what's ahead of you. Your heart sinking deeper into the pit of your stomach when you don’t spot him. You’d focus back ahead and that’s when you finally spot him.
At the front.
Standing in the grooms spot.
Dressed in a dark navy blue suit.
He’d watch you stumble over yourself hoping no one noticed, but he did. You glance at your parents in the front row as you pass and see your mom with a tight smile followed by your dads curt nod and sweaty brow. “What did you do?” You scream-whisper to Rafayel when you get to the altar. He gives you a boyish grin and caresses the back of your hand with his thumb. “Your fiancé went missing and I happened to be a better prospect” He shrugged
“He just … went missing …?” You narrowed your eyes.
“Yup” He wouldn’t clarify any further. "Alright let's get to the I Do's"
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Xavier
Type: Doesn't object ; Sabotages
Xavier is ‘I'll be damned!’ personified. What do you mean you love him, but you’re marrying someone else? Hell no. He’s not okay with this and he lets it be known that he is not okay with this arranged marriage. “There isn’t someone you’d prefer marrying?”
“Of course, but I don’t have a say in it”
“….ok” He’d look like a kicked puppy in front of you, but don’t be fooled this man is moving in the shadows. Everything that can go wrong is going to go wrong on your wedding day. Your fiancé is allergic to raspberries? What a shame every dessert catered has raspberry's in it including the wedding cake. Your wedding shoes? Missing. Venue lights? Somehow not working even though they were just fine yesterday during the wedding rehearsal. So much shit is hitting the fan that your head is spinning.
Watching your fiancé get carted off in an ambulance after he managed to fall down the stairs and break his leg in three places was the last straw. You convinced your parents it’s just not meant to happen. Xavier would call you to ask how the day is going and after you tell him everything he’s suspiciously calm even though you’re distraught. “I have a chest for you to lay on if you need a moment away from the chaos” He offered and you could practically hear the smile in his voice.
You had a feeling he was behind all of this, but you didn’t care.
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Sylus
Type: Doesn't object ; makes you do it
Sylus would want you badly and he knows you want him just as much, but you keep telling him you can’t call off the wedding. He’d eventually shrug and nod in acceptance. “Alright I guess this is the part where I disappear from your life” You’d be taken aback by his words, but he stayed true to it.
Two weeks before the wedding …. nothing.
One week before the wedding …. radio silence.
The silence was killing you and unbeknownst to you it was killing Sylus as well, but as you said there's nothing he can do. The day of the wedding while you’re standing hand in hand with your fiancé your skin is buzzing with anxiety. Your heartbeat pounding so loud in your ears you could barely hear the officiant. Your mind drifted to red eyes, white hair and that deep rich laugh. ‘I wish you were Sylus’ you directed your thought at your fiancé who looked bored in this moment. You glanced out to the crowd and latched onto a pair of red eyes staring you down from the back of the room.
Sylus.
He’d watch your eyes go wide when you notice him and tip his chin as if to say ‘Focus sweetie’ You did just that and zoned back in on your fiancé.
“Speak now or forever hold your peace” It was now or never and before you could actually process what you were doing you snatched your hands from his and stepped back. Sylus chuckled at the deafening gasps that filled the room. “I can’t do this” Sylus would perk up watching you dart from the altar heading straight toward him. He’d wrap gentle ribbons of black and red mist around you when you stumble over your long wedding dress trying to get to him as fast possible. He’d meet you halfway with open arms ready to catch you when you jump, wrapping your arms around his neck burying your face in his neck.
“I knew you’d come to your senses Princess” He’d whisper directly in your ear.
“Can we just leave” Your words were muffled since you refused to lift your head from his neck. Sylus chuckled as he swept your legs up with one arm and carried you out of the venue ignoring the chaos following close behind.
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Caleb
Type: Doesn't object ; gets rid of him
Caleb would unfortunately try to play it cool. He’d act like everything was fine like he understands that you have no say in it. He’d be so cool he’d be like mint gum with a glass of ice cold water. Unfortunately for him he’s a terrible actor when it comes to you so he’s actually in fact not playing it cool at all.
Not even in the slightest.
Right off the bat you know he is beside himself at the fact that he’s about to lose you to someone you don’t even like. Even though he’s losing his mind he still asks to share meals and see you as much as possible before you officially get married.
Somehow a week before the wedding though you’re having a funeral for your fiancé. Nobody knows what happened to him. He went to work one day and was found unresponsive within a few hours of being there. You question Caleb if he knows anything and he would tell you over and over again. “I was on a routine patrol”
Suspicious.
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sameergaza · 2 days ago
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Hello friends, I am Samir Al-Kilani. My family consists of 7 members. Maybe some of you know who I am, but I will explain my story differently this time. I will summarize my life in war from the beginning to this moment in this post. I will not take much of your time, guys, but it is very important.
The war began on 07/10/2023. Let's go back in time a little, just one month before the war.
During this period, my father received his savings, and we got a certain amount of money. My father thought of buying us a new house, instead of our small house that we were living in, and that is what happened. We bought a piece of land and built a beautiful and wonderful house on it, and we bought a lot of furniture and necessary items. We consumed about 80% of our money and we did not regret doing that. On the contrary, we were very happy to get a comfortable and secure house. Then my father thought of establishing a small project.My father established a beautiful small supermarket, that was on 05/10/2023 just two days before the war. And the world started to get more and more beautiful, we got our dream house and got a very beautiful project, and we started to settle down, these days were truly the most beautiful moments of my life.
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But in just two days, this devastating war began, then we were displaced from our home and left everything we owned behind us, a day or two, or maybe a week, and the war would end and everything would return to the way it was, but the enemy began with his brutality and began to destroy and burn homes and kill children, women and men, no one could see in front of him,Our home, which we didn't enjoy even for a few months, was destroyed, our beautiful project was burned, not to mention the house was stolen with all its furniture, they deprived us of everything we owned, we lost all of this in a few days, the fatigue of years goes away so suddenly
Then it started to get tighter and tighter on us, missiles, tanks, displacement and starvation policy, imagine that we were eating tree leaves? It was and still is the worst days of my life, there was no place we didn’t go to, it didn’t leave us a chance to stay in our land, we didn’t even sleep at night, imagine, you don’t find anything to eat and you don’t find a place to sleep, you don’t have any money, we became homeless, we don’t know where to go
Then my father decided to go to the south of the Gaza Strip, where he ordered the army to go, as he claimed and claimed that it was a safe area. We went and lived in tents, homeless and hungry, drowned by the rain, burned by the sun. There was nothing to do, no shelter, no food, not to mention displacement and bombing. We were exposed to death at all times. It was hell instead of a safe area. 💔 This period was the worst ever.
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I also will never forget the day I was seriously injured. A house that was only about 20 meters away from us was targeted. I was 80% at risk of dying, but I escaped with answers. That situation is still stuck in my mind. I saw death.
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After a whole year of killing, displacement and starvation, a truce was reached and we were able to return to our land, which the occupation had forced us to leave. They told us that the war was over. People were extremely happy as if it was a holy holiday. Finally, we would return to our country, and the war was over. It was a temporary joy.
💔 We returned to our country. We did not see a single house in the entire country that was not damaged. The buildings and health facilities were destroyed, and the streets were closed.Is this our country? Are these the places we used to live in? What happened to this country? The scenes were very painful. People started going to their homes, each one to check on his home. There were those who saw their homes destroyed in front of them and started crying, and there were those who did not find any trace of their homes. It was bulldozed. What is this? This was not what we had hoped to return to after a year and a half of displacement.The joy turned into very, very severe sadness. Some lost their families and some lost their homes. We have become truly pitiable.
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This is what our house looked like when we first saw it after the war ended.
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We never imagined that this would happen. We lost everything and no longer had the money to rebuild it. Despite everything that happened, we built a small tent next to our destroyed house and began to settle down again. 💔 With the hope of reconstruction and starting a new life.
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But the occupation began to violate the agreement, closed the crossings, and on a quiet night, the barbaric occupation began to launch very large-scale attacks in all parts of the Gaza Strip, and the war returned again, we left in the middle of the night, on foot, the screams of children, the sound of artillery, this day was worse than the horrors of war over the course of a whole year, what is the next destination, where do we go? There is no place, we remained displaced like this in the streets until morning.
The destroyed houses left us no room to build a tent, you couldn't set foot there because of the crowd, my father saw a man, he had a destroyed house but it was fit to live in, it was dangerous but almost better than a tent, at least it had some walls, my father rented one apartment from him for $500 a month, we rented this apartment hoping that the war would end soon, but it seems that this war will never end, we no longer have the money to pay the monthly rent.We have been working to save some money and collect it to pay the rent, but the crossing is closed and there is no kind of work, no source of income now, not to mention the famine we are living in, the price of a bag of flour is about 400 dollars, there is no kind of food, no money to buy a little of it, we are suffering from hunger, fear and displacement,
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Help me guys we really need help badly we have rent costs and need to buy some food we desperately need $900 per month before rent is due please guys you are our only hope thank you so much 🤍
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chriscolfxr · 2 days ago
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i don’t usually post on tumblr but i need to vent for a second. first of all, let me take my buddie goggles off for a second, okay? okay. what happened this season was atrocious. it was sad. it was a lot. cause i felt like i was on such a high. even the episodes/things people complained the most (hotshots/brad) i decided to put it past me. gave them a pat on the shoulder saying “we can’t ALWAYS be perfect. still, you’re doing a good job”. and i mean, considering they’re on their EIGHTH season, they really were. they had so many people tuning in, tweets that would blow up occasionally would get 3k likes at most and now they were getting 15/20k. so yeah, i’d say that even if most episodes since s7 haven’t really felt like og 911, they were doing a good job.
and then it all fell apart.
so many inconsistencies and choices i don’t think i’ll ever understand. let’s start with henren. and mara. cause even back in s7, i got mad that 911 didn’t show mara’s ever evolving relationship with the wilsons. one day she was catatonic and wouldn’t talk to anyone, the next she was talking, smiling and happy hen was winning a medal. and then she was taken away. i was like “okay, we only had 10 episodes to tackle this issue, maybe we’ll see more of that next season”. episode 4 is focused on hen and karen trying to win mara back, i thought it was great. okay, now we have time to explore mara and her feelings. nada again. we see her getting officially adopted in the season finale, which was sweet, but also bittersweet, cause we just don’t get to see her and denny a lot of the time, if not in the background with one or two lines. i actually had a lot of fun w the episode where they forget it’s hen’s birthday, i know a lot of people got mad and said it was ooc, but i do think this kind of stuff happens sometimes, and it was at least a silly storyline they had that didn’t involve family drama.
now… bobby nash. i could write so many things about this storyline. WHY????? this is something i’ll never understand. “to move the plot forward” you can’t think of anything else? and okay, you did that. at least write an emmy worthy farewell episode. what the hell was episode 16? so disrespectful to his legacy and the work peter krause put into playing him for 8 years. you wasted what could be an incredible tribute episode into almost making a mockery of the people who still believed he was alive. and mind you, i didn’t think he was, but i understood people who still had faith in it. the show will never be the same and i mean that in the most negative way. this doesn’t feel like any other departure. i watched 18 seasons of grey’s, i know how to say goodbye to a character. to be quite honest, i think killing meredith grey back then wouldn’t leave the same bitter taste on my tongue as killing bobby did, and her name is in the title of her show. episode 18 showed the 118 showing up for each other, and that was beautiful, but there was something missing. i don’t think time will make this feeling disappear. you can’t live without a heart and that was what bobby was in the body of work that is 911. why did athena sell their dream house? where is she going? what’s gonna happen to her? why make her lose another man? how is that gonna move the plot forward? how are you gonna keep the GA invested if they watched it for them?
eddie. oh god. i can’t even say everything i want to say about him here. it just boggles me that his life got blown up at the end of s7, he was given the most ridiculous and outrageously bad storyline that have ever been given to anyone on the show (besides maybe… bobby death) and you’d THINK s8 would be dedicated to addressing the elephant that decided to enter and stay in the room. but it wasn’t. his relationship with chris got increasingly better from what we saw in 8x01 to 8x08. not great, but better. but we don’t know how that happened. we didn’t see it. then eddie decides to move to texas, i wonder how chris feels about it since he decided to move there to get away from him essentially. oh. he’s happy? he’s proud and loves his dad? that’s so great. except we didn’t get to see how that change in his heart happened. well, what about the elephant? kim? shannon? well, that was also resolved offscreen. WHAT? WHY? i wanna know too!!! we don’t know why!!! he’s miserable in texas but he’s there for chris. he comes back for bobby. he gets an offer from el paso fire station and now he needs to choose: stay with the 118 or go back there? we don’t get to see him making this decision, he accepts the job offscreen. he decides to help the 118. but then, as they’re getting back to the station, he’s looking up flights back to texas. “you’re not going anywhere” says chim. so he stays. and chris? stays too! but how was this conversation? we don’t know, we didn’t get to see it. but they’re moving back. what about him choosing his family? THE MUSTACHE??? THE JUICE OF IT ALL??? WHAT WAS THE POINT OF IT ALL??? let me not even go there.
and buck? well, he’s back at the hamster wheel. the one he’s been stuck since maybe season 2. i don’t think he ever left actually, his wheel just got changed to a pink, purple and blue one. and good for him, that wheel is bigger, more beautiful. but it’s still a wheel. what the hell was happening with him this season? he got dumped, overbaked, went crazy cause his best friend was moving to texas, started living in his house, got accused by two people including his ugly ex that he was in love with said best friend, fought with his best friend a little, lost his father figure, seemed to be doing “okay” about it - but he wasn’t at all - asked for a transfer cause “the 118 was just a number now” as if he also didn’t have other family there also going through grief (and okay, maybe that was his grief manifesting itself but still…) and ended up moving out cause he was “just subletting. that was never really my place” okay.
madney baby… jesus. storyline completely sidelined and then out of nowhere the baby was born. robert nash han. lol. okay?
i like the idea of captain han but it’s still odd to me that they’ve built for years that hen was bobby’s substitute (and that chim was not… the best leader hdjsjdjs) and then not follow through. traumatizing chim the way they did is also so cruel. how can he ever move forward knowing bobby sacrificed himself for him. just so so so cruel.
and now… putting the goggles back on. look. i don’t fucking care whatever it is the reason you decided to not follow through with buddie, you shouldn’t have written episodes 9 and 11. don’t put the IDEA of buddie in the show if you’re not gonna do anything with it. what happens outside of the show, it’s our own fault. what happens inside of it, it’s tim minear’s. maybe one could argue “there’s still season 9” but it’s season NINE. people are tired. just say it with your full chest tim. “it’s never gonna happen”, “it’ll happen but it’ll take time”. stop giving vague answers. queerbait isn’t cute. queerbait isn’t nice. especially in the year of 2025. stop stringing queer people along, we’re already going through a lot as it is. DON’T WRITE EPISODES LIKE 8x11 AND THEN DECIDE TO DO NOTHING ABOUT IT. OR WORSE, KILL A CHARACTER IN THE PROCESS TO DERAIL THE DEVELOPMENT OF OTHER TWO CHARACTERS. the buddie press tour is also something if nothing’s ever gonna happen… i knew from the beginning they were trying to do damage control after everything with bobby but wow. that’s gonna be a new low. no conversation between them in 8x18 even if the longing looks. eddie doesn’t decide to stay for buck, buck moves out. the only thing i was certain of was that they were gonna be roommates. and maybe that might still happen. maybe season 9 will start with buck still not finding a new place, who knows. i doubt it, but let’s see.
in short, this season could’ve been amazing. hell, episode 17 was pretty good compared to 15, 16 and 18. we needed that type of energy. i don’t know what’s gonna happen to this show. this is sad. this is CRAZY. i’ve never seen a downfall quite like this, because like i said, they started off good. loved the beenado, the plane thing, the new cinematography. would even dare to say that bobby alive and buddie canon all in the last episode would’ve been DIVINE. actual masterpiece. but what do i know. let’s see where they’re going in s9, but god, i’m terrified of it rather than excited for it.
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kitnwing · 2 days ago
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What if Red Hood had taken the cowl instead of Nightwing?
Crazy, I know. Unspeakable. Completely out of character. But I’m just a girl (I was rewatching Bing Bang Theory and Stuart and Sheldon were arguing about who should be taking the cowl when Bruce was presumed dead in the Black Mirror run iirc… correct me if I’m wrong)
I was just thinking what could lead up to that. I haven’t read that run but I roughly know the events, which is also how people got the dad Dick and son Damien dynamic; now imagine that but JASON!
Would he have done it as a way to prove to himself he could have been a better Batman than Bruce was? Would he start killing people like the Joker first for revenge and then finally realize Bruce’s point of view with the no kill rule? Would he have stepped up to protect Damien, because he lost his dad and Jason knows what it’s like to have your father “leave” you, even if the situation is different? Would Dick even let him take the cowl?
(I know he was Batman in some other universes and even the Crisis series but… THINK ABOUT IT)
Becoming Batman would also mean he might’ve become the new center of Batfam which might make for interesting dynamics. Like I said, I haven’t read these runs, so I don’t know if this has happened already.
Just seemed interesting. Also, for those wondering, Stuart backed up Jason and Sheldon backed up Dick. As the number one Nightwing fan, I’m also with Dick as the one taking the cowl, not that I think he should be taking it permanently. The next Batman is a whole other discussion (CASS. BUT IF U WANT A GUY THEN TIM. I can elaborate if you ask)
elaboration under cut :3
okay hello
The next Batman in my most honest opinion should be either Cassandra Cain or Tim Drake. I’ve always thought of cass and Bruce to be very similar, in the sense that they think and act in similar ways, aside from cass crashing out a lil every so often. She’s the perfect candidate and embodiment of justice, like Bruce, but in her own cass way. I still love her as batgirl though
As for Tim…… we all know he’s been fucking 17 for like a bazillion years at this point and he is STILL Red Robin. Guys…. Please…..
Tim wasn’t offered the mantle but he TOOK it after Jason’s death. He’s an amazing detective, ambitious, zealous, and confident enough to be bossing around THE dark knight when he’s 14. Nice vro
All I’m saying is they need to do something with this guy. NOT to say I think he should become Batman BECAUSE they haven’t done anything, he just has good traits and would make for good potential storylines and dynamics within batfam. Hell, I’d even like if they introduced a completely new character as the next robin if this happened.
Also, I’ve seen some people mention that they’re tired of Batman plots where he’s chasing down new villains and doing multiverse shit, and instead would rather see plot lines where we see more of his detective side and the actual problem solving that goes into finding these guys. That would definitely fit for Tim, I think.
Anyway, if this is bad reasoning then so be it. But I honestly don’t see any other person in batfam taking up the mantle if Bruce ACTUALLY dies or retires. Plus, it would be a crazy plot twist if the reason they’ve pushed Tim aside is to wait for Damien to become a doctor, then have something happen to Bruce, and make Tim Batman. I would cheer and gloat forever
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flightyalrighty · 3 days ago
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Heyo, I just binged read your comic and I have QUITE the mouthful to say:
1- The art.
Absolutely magnificent. I love the way you use colors that fit the scene perfectly and how it looks similar to the official comics while maintaining its own style. It looks simple yet super detailed at the same time. One thing that I’d like to poont out when I was reading the comic was the shaky speech bubble when Shadow fell into The Hole™️ and made those bold and quivery speech bubble lines. The characters’ emotions within the comic are really well done as I have never seen a Shadow be as expressive as that before. I’d love to eventually sit down and study the colors in your art when I have the time to (and with permission). I also enjoy how you incorporate horror elements while keeping a smooth art style within the comic.
2- The Story
I love the way that there is flashbacks and the key phrase that I have no clue what it even means. The story is currently sitting on my top shelf as one of my favorite Sonic horror comics/stories and if not my number one. It gave me a sense of dread when I was reading the random phrase that Shadow kept muttering and immediately getting shoved into a different scene (which I briefly interpreted as a dream sequence until Sonic got confused). I really enjoy the lore even though it seems like we (the audience/readers) are traveling through the perspective of various characters who are also discovering things. This is an excellent way of “Show don’t tell.”
3- Summary
I love this comic series and I cannot wait to see what happens next. I am a Sonic horror fanatic and really enjoy this so far. I do wonder if you are working with a team? If not then holy shit you put a lot of dedication into the comic
Hey, big thank you for this ask!!
To answer:
You absolutely have my permission to study the colors in my art, and I also don't think you need permission to do this in the first place. I think gatekeeping things like art styles and colors and stuff is super sucks and people who do that go right to christian hell. It's one of the major ways for artists to learn. No one ever needs my permission to use my art as a learning tool.
I work on this comic solo! It's why the pages take a full week to complete! I do hope to someday hire an assistant so I'm not breaking my back over Infested, but I REFUSE to accept any sort of volunteer work. If anyone works for me as an assistant, they need to be paid for that work. This is a labor-intensive project and it wouldn't be fair to ask anyone to help me on this for free.
Anyway! I hope Infested continues to be neato burrito for you!
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What do you think of the salt fic idea that Adrien's a bad hero cause he never takes anything seriously while Marinette is the perfect hero cause she always professional? Personally like always I think that the authors crank everything up to eleven and make Marinette a humorless stick in the mud and exagerate Adrien's propensity to joke around.
I don't read most salt fics because they're all about leaning into the worst things canon had to offer us. The only time I find that cathartic is when it's aimed at Lila and even there I'm picky. At the same time, salt fics are pulling from canon. They're also not doing anything all that odd when it comes to fandom interpretations of canon. They're just a more extreme version of a very common fandom phenomena. There's an old Tumblr post that accurately describes this phenomena:
character: says "I like bread" that one time fandom: character has an obsession with bread. bread is character's true love. draws character as bread. every meta joke in fanfic is about bread. the character's room is wallpapered with bread
This bread post was an example of the benign version of the phenomena. For a Miraculous-specific benign version, I give you this one, single line from The Evillustrator:
Chloé: Ugh, my brain hurts... Huh? Hey! Cat Noir, Are you any good at particle physics? Cat Noir: Oh, this cat's got particle physics in the bag.
To my knowledge, this is the only time Adrien has ever referenced physics and it wasn't even him saying that he liked the subject. He just said that he was good at it. Edit: minor correction, in French he does say it's his favorite subject, but this is still the only time he references physics and a favorite subject isn't the same as being obsessed with physics or wanting a career in physics.
In spite of that, a ton of fanfics see him pursue a career in physics or have a physics obsession because of course it does. This is just how fandom's work. For better or for worse, many fans imprint on random lines, episodes, and characters like baby ducklings.
Salt fics are doing this same thing just with less benign moments from canon. They take questionable behavior from canon and exaggerate it to be the character's whole personality usually as a means of venting their frustration at canon's terrible writing by taking it out on the bad writing's main avatars: the characters.
That's not my particular cup of tea. When I read and write fanfic, I want to embrace the best canon had to offer, not lean into the worst elements of the writing. At the same time, I can't say that these fics are just making things up. That brings us back to your ask. We'll also be discussing my oft mentioned core character concept.
What do you think of the salt fic idea that Adrien's a bad hero cause he never takes anything seriously while Marinette is the perfect hero cause she always professional?
While I don't like this fact, I'd be lying if I said that canon has made Adrien a wonderful flawless hero. There are multiple episodes where he acts in wildly unprofessional ways, leading to all sorts of trouble. This has been going on since season one with moments like this one from Dark Cupid where he decided that an akuma attack was the perfect time to confess his love:
Cat Noir: Falling for me already, my lady? (pulls Ladybug down next to him) I need to talk to you. Ladybug: It’s gotta wait. Dark Cupi- Cat Noir: (hushes her) I swore to myself that I'd tell you as soon as I saw you. Ladybug, I-I... Look out! (Cat Noir spins around to shield Ladybug, and is struck by one of Dark Cupid's arrows.) Ladybug: (gasps) Cat Noir!
Not a great look for a hero, but this is where I get a little defensive of Adrien and blame the writers instead because they're the puppet masters here. Everything Adrien does is controlled by them and so you can't judge him like a real person. You have to judge him as a character in a story which means relying on story telling language to try to unravel what the hell the writers are trying to do here.
When you look at the way canon approaches Adrien's character, you'll find that these questionable moments are never taken all that seriously by the cast. Ladybug may get annoyed at Chat Noir, but she never asks him to quit or treats his goofing off like a deeply concerning problem. When Chat Noir does quit, Marinette is always devastated and wants him back. When the story gets serious, Chat Noir is often used to get Ladybug through her darkest hours without a hint of goofiness. When you look at these high-level story beats and choices, you quickly come to realize that the writers aren't trying to make Chat Noir a bad hero. They just seem to really suck at writing a goofy romantic character who is also heroic! Or, at least, that's my read when I look at scenes like the one above. In my eyes, this isn't the writers telling us Adrien is a bad hero. It's the writers having no clue what they're doing.
I don't know why they decided to have Chat Noir confess when he knew that an akuma was on the loose. It's so easy to rewrite this scene so that he and Ladybug are just casually meeting up for patrol and don't see the akuma until it's too late. That's all that it would take to fix this moment! It would even have better tension if the audience knew that an akuma was around and the heroes didn't, but no! We go this wacky route and make Chat Noir look like a lackluster hero for no good reason. It's aggravating and I get why someone would want to vent about it by writing a fic where Chat Noir got kicked off the team, but I don't find that fun because Chat Noir is so clearly not intended to be a bad hero. I would much rather read a fic that lets him be his best self than a fic that leans into the worst parts of canon and reminds me why this show gets under my skin.
I haven't seen as much of the serious approach to Marinette, but I've definitely seen her exaggerated, too. Either way, it's the same principle at work. People take the legitimately terrible choices canon has made and exaggerate them to be a character's whole personality, ignoring anything in canon that might mitigate the questionable moments. When fics do this, they usually apply the exact opposite treatment to the characters that the person isn't salting on. If Adrien's worst moments are embraced, then Marinette is exaggerated into a saint and vise versa.
If we're being fair, sugar fics have to do some similar trimming of the fat because the bad writing choices are pervasive for many of these character. It's just that sugar fics tend to focus on the best for every character instead of selectively sugaring and salting. For example, I basically ignore everything after season three when writing Nino and I have to pretend that the Lila plot never happened if I want to make Alya work because the writing did her so dirty there. If I tried to make my version of these characters work in the full context of canon, then they'd feel as hypocritical and aggravating as canon has made them.
In summary, I get why this happens and even understand the catharsis that comes from writing salt fics, I just rarely find it fun. The only salt fic I was ever tempted to write was a Lila takedown where the class believed her lies, but she accidentally lied herself into a corner and got Adrinette together. Never actually wrote it, but imaging it was cathartic because she gets under my skin to an absurd degree and canon is giving me no satisfaction with her.
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riddle-me-ri · 1 day ago
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Hi!
First of all, I've been reading and LOVING all your jealousy prompts for the batman villains right now, especially Hatter ❤️.
But now I can't help but wonder if the tables were turned. Like, what if instead, the READER (most likely, another Rogue! Reader who is already has an established relationship with Hatter) was jealous of someone giving some sort of attention to him. How would he react to noticing readers feelings on the matter. (I know, somewhat unlikely 😂 but, I think it'd be a little interesting to see him in that position, reacting to reader getting jealous over him)
Preferably the Mad Lads, but if that's too much, mostly BTAS, TNBA, Arkhamverse, and/or Gotham Mad Hatter
Also you don't have to do this if you want to or if your too busy 🥺
a/n: thank you so much I'm glad you're loving my writing! And nah it's not too much I can do some wee general headcanons for all of them! hope you guys enjoy! and honestly may or may not make a ficlet out of some of these, I got inspired doing these headcanons lol
Reader Getting Jealous Over The Mad Hatters 
Arkhamverse Mad Hatter
- While the last thing he wants is for you to be upset in any capacity…
- Jervis is absolutely tickled at the fact you get jealous. 
- He's always wanted to be, well, wanted, but to the point of possessiveness, yes please!
- It's one of the many things he loves about you!
- It's proof you love him just as much as he does you!
- No one would ever dare try to get in between you two
- Well, unless they want to lose their head anyway 
BTAS Mad Hatter 
- Jervis begins reassuring you that you have nothing to be jealous about–
- You know he belongs to you and vice versa. 
- However, he can't deny that he relishes it. 
- Jervis could never have imagined someone loving him this much–
- He is somewhat self aware of his own envious tendencies…somewhat, he knows it isn't gentleman-like…
- But never witnessed it in someone else…over him.
- It makes him terribly giddy, more than he'd care to admit…
TNBA Mad Hatter
- Gobsmacked, where the hell did that envy of yours come from?
- Protective, sure…jealous? 
- Like his BTAS counterpart his first instinct is to comfort you and reassure you…
- Please, isn't it painfully obvious how lonely he was without you? 
- Why would he risk such a precious thing? 
- He's still just so surprised by your reaction, he isn’t too keen on seeing you like this often. 
Gotham Mad Hatter
- Oohhh this is an interesting development.
- I mean, he did want you head over heels for him–your only thoughts being of him..
- But to the point of envy?
- You're turning out to be everything he wanted and more…
- There's a fire in you that's stoked whenever he's even near the vicinity of Lee or Barbara or really anyone actually.
- A fire Jervis is all too enticed by..
HQTAS Mad Hatter
- Gobsmacked 2.0
- He never imagined even in his wildest fantasies that not only would he date someone but that person would get jealous over him!
- But that isn't to say he doesn't love it. 
- Jervis is guilty of trying to make you jealous occasionally–
- It rarely works, only working when he least expects it. 
- Jervis loves anything you do that tells the world you're his.
Joker’s Asylum Mad Hatter 
- Jervis really doesn't like seeing you upset in any capacity–
- He doesn't quite understand why on earth you get so envious. 
- He has you, and will always have you, he'd never look for another…
- Jervis does appreciate the gesture in the sense that it shows how deep your love goes.
- It makes him feel wanted and loved to see the lengths you'd go to keep him yours–
- Still he wishes you wouldn't get so upset!
Secret Six Mad Hatter 
- Oh this little shit knew what he was doing–
- He adores it when you get jealous over him.
- You're well aware of his past partners sending him letters and proposals while he was in Arkham…
- And it takes everything in you to not tear those letters to tiny shreds..
- Jervis just finds you adorable, the way your face scrunches in anger–the daggers you're shooting at the person in question or him…
- But Jervis isn't stupid. He would never commit fully, he would never cheat on you, you mean far too much to him…
- Yet neither of you can deny the great deal of tension it builds that leads up to adult activities. 
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numberonetacostan · 3 days ago
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I've been thinking about fankids because even though I don't think a lot of my ships are suited to be parents it's a fun thing to think about.
I think PayJay might be good parents even if they'd be busy with things like the hotel polylights (this includes the pairings that make them up too) maybe and everyone else I don't know
Thinking about object biology how would they have kids is an interesting to me though because I really doubt they actually have reproductive organs.
No matter how they do though I don't think Mephone knows, I imagine most of the contestants biology is even stranger than regular objects (in gijinka form also their biology would still be weird) because he doesn't know much about any of that.
Honestly I've gone with the explanation that when objects love eachother, as well want kids, said kid will just kinda pop into existence. I've seen things where Mephone creates the kids but to me, even if Mephone was still able to make people, he wouldn't do it anymore after the finale.
I want to bring up bfdi here for literally one reason.
How would Object/Algebralien fankids look, like I've seen some but I don't know.
Admittedly I've always just kinda assumed there's an Algebralien for every number (and other math things I'm not gonna list) so they aren't really born.
From the ships that of them I have I think Gaty x Two has been brought up before on this blog I think? Again I wouldn't really see them as parents, maybe at least and also FourClockX which I don't think has been brought up yet, correct me if I'm wrong but none of them seem like they'd be parents, Four & X for obvious reasons and Clock has his own issues to sort out.
But as for what it'd look like, it'd probably either be something like it's time for the clock (Algebralien body but looks like an object if I'm explaining that right) or a very weird mix of both number and object in one.
Anyway this is honestly less about fankids and more about wondering how the hell their biology works, sorry if it sounds weird but I wanted to talk about it.
-🪼
Hello Jello!!^^ Welcome back, and thank you for sending in an ask and for your patience!! :]
I'd agree with you on that, payjay could be good parents if they weren't so busy. Maybe they won't be, with whatever the new version of the hotel ends up being.
As for how they reproduce, I like to go by what this post says!!
YES!! Weird biology!!! Their biology is so weird!! And it only gets weirder as the seasons go on!!!!! Sorry I am the greatest supporter of the ii-characters-have-weird-biology movement. It's not even a movement but I'm still the greatest supporter, that's how much I love the idea.
Yeah, algebralien x object kids are an interesting thought. I'd jump to the kids having bodies made of object-y materials, like wood or plastic, but being in the shape of numbers/integers. Like a Twogaty kid could be a little 2 carved out of wood, or something?
No need to apologize!!! Object biology is a neat subject!!! :D
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youdontknowe · 3 days ago
Text
Happy Thursday everyone!!
1. Rufus!!
2. Ehehe Bobby reading parenting books and rufus doing the classic uncle thing of don’t tell your parent I did that
3. Well I guess the winchesters can’t find you if it’s gonna take a plane to get to you 🤷🏻
4. I hope that last little bit of Jo can just stay a part of her (pls I’m begging I can’t do that again that HURT)
5. Ohhh I’m thinking the way this demons talking very accented is making me think Crowley
6. Awh no it’s just this prick again
7. I swear it’s the worst demons that just won’t die. Like damn cockroaches
8. Rattling the bars of my enclosure cus what does the sky want???? It’s happy she’s a lil crazy???
9. Holy crap also lil blue flowers for jo?
10. The silver reminds me kinda of like anger with depression? I find personally if I’m in a lower mood or grieving I get angry easier (too personal?)
11. “Every soul spilled on the ground around you is a little dented and tainted, but it’s beautiful.” She’d make a good god just cus of how appreciative she is of people
12. Oh how the irony of fate works
13. After that one shot yesterday I’m glad you mentioned Sam sending emails atleast (that boy is going through ANOTHER forced divorce era 😔 ) also in a reality where Dean and princess for whatever reason make Sam pick a parent I wonder would he pick mum or dad?
14. “they will bow at your feet for all of time to come, and you will never be a toy to those vile fucking animals again-“ oooooo I hope this is foreshadowing cus I cannot wait for her to start kicking some serious ass and making everyone scared 🥰
15. Ohhh lil theory time. she’s right tho cus it’s stated from the start they just can’t seem to stay angry at each other or even avoid each other without being miserable
16. And maybe deans different because he’s eventually micheals vessel which maybe be a mix of the righteous man and there aren’t really any other people born to be vessels (I think?)
17. lol cowboy obsessed Dean is so cute like that man is hyper fixated as fuck on them
18. Girl is HORNY
19. I can’t blame her about getting all hot n bothered by him literally talking about the wholesome version of a cream pie
20. Oh fuck not this guy again (where are these guys getting the funds to trail her over goddamn europe??)
21. Ugh she’s too damn good I would have left that assholes soul decorating the cement
22. John Winchester when I catch you.
23. “He mutters into your skin. “‘M your cowboy.” Im going feral
24. I can’t wait for them to figure out the dreams are them actually seeing each other (they should have figured that out from the hell situation but they’re already whipped without banging)
25. Bad feeling people bad feeling
26. I’m gonna get scared every time I read the words bad feeling just cus there’s never a bad feeling without something bad happening
27. I lowkey forgot about lucifer for a solid minute. But his description is so cool for a evil fucker
28. Quite the way to word it Dean “Some bullshit about Michael wanting to use me as a condom-“
29. This HAS to be Gabriel only that little freak(affectionate I find him funny) talks in riddles and flirts
30. I wonder if most angels (the nicer ones in the show) just have a soft spot and they seem to feel bad about her position especially cas and now gabe (?)
31. End note : yeah I’m definitely confused in a good way cus I get to ✨theorise ✨
32. Also how far ahead to you plan/write chapters before posting? Genuinely curious. And I loved this chapter as always both heartbreaking and thought provoking! I also really liked the whole creation thing she has going this chapter, which is leaning me more into the angels are waiting for her because she’s the new god. also that whole a little more self love comment from the archangel is dragging me further into once her and Dean can properly love each other, she’s gonna light up like the new year in the supernatural world.
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Chapter 21 - If You Want To Survive
Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist
Author's Note: This week on Babylon - long distance relationships!
Chapter Title from Dog Days by Florence + the Machine
Word Count: 18.5k
Chapter Summary/Warnings: You run, and Dean waits. Usual Warnings.
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action
Chapter 20 - Chapter 22
Read on A03!
“You’re doing it wrong.”
You know you’re doing it wrong. Your feet are dangling off the edge of the bench, and your fingers are still a little swollen from when you slammed them into the door, and you’re trying but you don’t know how to do it right-
“Hey. Breathe.” Rufus grunts your name, prying your hand from the strings of the guitar. “Nothin’ bad about to kill us right now. This ain’t life and death, it’s a fuckin’ guitar-“ 
He cuts himself off, scanning over your open face with a long sigh.
“Don’t tell Bobby I swore at ya. He’s been reading a bunch of parenting books. They’re all sayin’ swearing is bad for kids.”
“I’m not a kid-“
“Yeah, you are. Or at least he’s tryin’ to let you be.”
“That’s why he won’t let me do hunts, isn’t it.”
Rufus snorts, shaking his head. “No, you’re not allowed to hunts cause no kid should be doin’ hunts.”
“What about the boys staying at home?” You raise your chin, narrowing your eyes. “John’s sons. The older one hunts. I heard Bobby complaining to you about it.”
“You eavesdroppin’ on us now?”
“I- No-“ You get a pointed look, and bow your head to frown at your feet.
You’d liked these socks. They were fuzzy and covered in little rainbows, and you’d always kept them at Rufus’ because they made you feel better. You show up at his doorstep covered in a bit of dirt, with everything prying apart in your body and something dark in your body trying to seep out of your skin into the world, but it’ll be okay. Rufus will help you inside and make you some food, you’ll get a long bath, as much chocolate as you want, and your fuzzy socks.
But it doesn’t stop hurting.
It’s never fucking stopped hurting.
“I- I was.” You swallow, grinding your fingers further into the strings of the guitar. “I’m sorry.”
Rufus only laughs. “I don’t give fu- crap. Good you got away with it, too. Doin’ better than a lot of other hunters already.”
Your eyes widen. “Other-“
“Your family is hunters. You’ve got hunter in your blood.” Rufus sighs, running a hand over his face. “If we get say in it, you’re not gonna need to hunt. But Bobby don’t listen when I tell him that might not be his choice. But-“ Rufus’ voice turns firm, his eyes locking onto yours. “Don’t try nothin’ when you still can’t touch the fu- freakin’ ground.”
He bumps your feet with a small grin, and you return it, even if it’s toothless and nervous. 
And you don’t have hunter in your blood. Rufus knows that you don’t have anything but insanity in your blood. But he’s never treated you like you’re anything less than Bobby’s daughter.
You wish you were. That you’d come from him rather than the darker, twisted horror you were born into, with too clean floors, never enough food—despite the sheets being silk and the floor being marble, you’d never had enough food—and no fuzzy socks.
Still, you didn’t know how to just wait. How to just sit in the fucking pain like it had to be a given—it might be—and wait for your feet to hit the ground. You don’t think they understand how much it hurts. And how if it doesn’t hurt, you’ll make everything else hurt instead. How you can’t be trusted anywhere, and you might not deserve this kindness, and you still have nightmares about big and smooth hands wrapping around your throat and telling you it’s time.
“John Winchester’s sons have hunting blood.” You mumble, glaring back to the carpet, and Rufus sighs, giving you an almost amused look.
“You ain’t droppin’ this, are you?”
“It’s not fair-“
“Nothin’ is fair. And those boys shouldn’t be huntin’ at all.”
“But they do-“
“Only when their Daddy’s got no one better.” Rufus mutters, and you frown at him. “John drops ‘em with Bobby when he’s not looking for company on a hunt. And if he is, he takes Dean like the boy ain’t thirteen.”
Dean. The big one is named Dean.
And somewhere through the swirling fog of the world, there’s an iridescent light that whining and howling and aching. It’s hurts almost as much as the Darkness does. 
Did. 
You’re a little dizzy, and you know that when this happened, Dean was nothing more than a name. You think he was nothing more than a name. You might have felt the White rolling and humming for him, even then. 
“I’m not that much younger-“
“That ain’t the point-“
“And John takes both of them hunting all the time! And I’d know more! I have all the lore memorized, and I- I could fight-“
“You can’t shoot.”
“I could try-“
“No, ya couldn’t. I remember when you just saw Bobby’s gun, kid.”
“But I’d get over it- And if the Winchester’s can do it-“
“It don’t matter what those boys can do. You’re not like ‘em.” Rufus mutters your name, the look on his face almost sad. “And John- You know Bobby don’t want you near him for a reason. And I agree. Even if we were pro baby-hunters, you know you can’t be out there.”
“But- I- I can’t- I don’t-“ You take a shaking breath, the dark thing starts to twist around in your body, all your skin itching with the pain of keeping it down. “It hurts-“
“I know it hurts.” Rufus sighs, guiding your fingers back to the guitar strings. “That’s why we’re doin’ this.”
You shake your head, trying to curl back into your body. “I don’t wanna-“
Rufus grunts your name, giving you a firm look. “We keep doin’ this, or I tell Bobby ‘bout the door.”
You’d swallow, your eyes wide on his and he lets out a long sigh.
“There are ways to deal with it that don’t hurt, kid. I’m just tryin’ to find you some.”
“Ways like drinking?” You wrinkle your nose at him, and Rufus lets out a dry chuckle.
“Nah. I’m not a preacher, I don’t gotta practice what I’m sellin’. Go back to g-cord.”
You shift your fingers, but pause, staring ahead as the light turns in your body. 
It still hurts. Everything always hurts, and you feel small, and you’re safe here but it still feel like you’re being ripped in half. And you love staying at Rufus’, but it hurts, and it doesn’t matter that if you go back home you might get more hurt. You’re already hurting, and you- You don’t know what to do with all this fucking pain-
“I wanna go home.” You whisper, your eyes starting to sting, and Rufus only sighs.
He’s used to the swings. To the way it becomes too much, and you grow small.
You wish you could control it. Be better. Be more than a sick fucking problem, but it’s all you are. All you’ve ever been. And you want to go home.
“I know,” Rufus mutters, squeezing your shoulder carefully. “But you can’t, kid. Not until it’s safe.”
The world starts to shift, the fog around you glowing and bathing everything in a softer light, and your feet can touch the ground again. 
When this had happened, Rufus meant safe for you. That you could go home when it wouldn’t end with John Winchester putting a bullet through your brain. 
Now John was long dead, and you- 
You were still so fucking sick. There wasn’t hunter in your blood, there was power. Power and a long, long line of horrible, wrong creatures that even Heaven hated. You may be holy, but it might be the way the plagues of Egypt were holy. Wrathful and awful and vengeful. Sick and destructive and wrong.
You’re so fucking wrong, so home isn’t safe from you.
Nothing is safe from you, and the horror you bring. 
And you want your feet to go back to being too small. To having little blisters on your fingers from holding the guitar, instead of whatever put them there now. You’d only read books because it passed the time, and you didn’t think twice about the notes you were writing, and home was somewhere you could return to.
You want to go home. 
To return to not knowing that John would’ve been right. Being afraid of him was always so much easier than being afraid of yourself. It would be so nice to go back to this. It was lonely but simple. You were filled with sickness, but it poisoned only yourself.
But Rufus would’ve always said Dean, and you would’ve always felt the White howl.
You miss him most of all. 
“Where are we?”
You sigh, dropping your head to the side on his shoulder. It’s always a little like you summon him, and then he’s there. Warm and Golden and almost real.
Almost.
“I’m learning how to play guitar.” You mumble, strumming a smooth key that comes out twangy and weak, because that’s how it had sounded when this actually happened. 
Dean chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Wow. You’re kind of shit at it.”
“That’s the learning part, Deano.” You twist to prop your chin on his shoulder, and his grin is wide. Strong. Happy. “Hi.”
His grin grows, a hand rising up to hold your face. “Hi, Princess. You look good.”
“You always say I look good.”
“Well that’s cause I’m not a liar, sweetheart.”
You snort. “Shut up.”
“So bossy,” he hums, tracing his thumb over your cheekbones, and everything but Dean is fading into the background. Even your memory of Rufus is being painted in Gold. Just to remind you.
Dean isn’t here. Not really. But you still love him. And it’s still all the way down.
“How do I look?”
You scan over his face, with heavy bags until his eyes and a slightly swollen cheek. 
When you reach up to trace a hand over it, he doesn’t flinch. Dean just lets out a soft sigh, and leans into your touch.
“Tired, De.” You whisper, and he chuckles.
“Haven’t been sleeping good. Fighting with Sammy again.” He pauses, his voice growing a little hoarse. “Miss you. Wish Cas would tell me where he dropped you, so I could come carry you home.”
“I know. I- I do too.” 
And you do. 
Because if Dean tracked you down and tried to carry you home, you’d never fight it. You’d always just go, because you love him, and it’s not indulging or making it about you if Dean’s demanding it. 
“I miss you.” You mumble, and everything is starting to wash away. Leaking with a light that hurts to look at, the bench and Rufus flickering in and out like a mirage on water.
There’s a loud, blaring sound, coming from far, far away, and you have to go. 
Dean must know it too, because his grip tightens. “Come home. I- So much shit is happening and it’s all freakin’ insane, and you’d know what to do. You always know and I fuckin’ miss you, baby, please come ho-“
The alarm rips through the world, crashing through everything you can see, and Dean vanishes.
You shoot up in your bed and let out a loud groan. The frame is so fucking small, and your legs are cramping, and the sound is still fucking going-
“Fuck.”
Your mumble is mostly to yourself.
There’s no one else to hear it anyway.
The month since you left hasn’t exactly been spent making friends. It’s been research and moving and finding ways to keep yourself afloat.
Cas had dropped you in Rome, and apparently didn’t stop to consider that you don’t fucking speak Italian. It had helped that most people here spoke English, but after about a week you’d gotten sick of not being able to read anything, and gotten—technically stolen, with Dean’s voice in your head humming I thought you weren’t a criminal, Princess—an Italian for Beginners book.
It’s mostly been tourist phrases. Where is the bathroom. How do you say taxi. I do not speak Italian.
You’ve used that last one liberally. 
And you don’t talk that much, all together. There seems to be a drastic shortage of monsters to hunt and a beautiful plenty of books to read, so you’ve focus all your energy there.
On looking for answers.
About anything. Lilith. The seals. Heaven. The Magdalenes. Witches.
You.
Everything you learn about yourself is something you had to teach. You can’t feel anything holy, but you can’t really feel a lot right now. It’s all just a lot of fucking pain. And as you force yourself out of bed for the day, your gaze falls to your hands, and you can still see it. 
Pastel blue. Glistening and crystallized on your fingers. The Gold has faded slightly, but the Blue is still clinging to you. Whenever you wash your hands, you’re afraid it’s going to run away with the water. When you wake up, there’s a dread in the pit of your stomach that you’ll glance down, it will fall off like an icicle from a roof. Maybe it will have been wiped away in your sleep, stained on the sheets, never to be returned. 
And then it’s there, and the dread shifts to just more fucking pain. Your eyes sting, and you freeze on the edge of the bed as you stare at it. The last bit of Jo, bled onto you when she-
Bile rises in your throat, and you swallow it back down. 
You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve to be sad when you did this to her. Made Jo nothing more than a little bit of a mark on your fingers that no one else can see. Ellen didn’t get a little bit of Jo to carry all the time. 
Ellen didn’t even get to be there when it happened.
Jo wants you to tell Ellen something. And you’d cut her off, because you’re a fucking parasite, and you’d been so sure you could fix it. You would’ve done anything to fix it, but the Sky wouldn’t let you, and now she was gone-
A weak, sniffling noise escapes your throat, and this time there’s no bile. It’s only a heavy, crushing weight around your skull, and a searing feeling as your nails dig into your skin.
You need to move.
Most mornings, it takes too long to remember how.
And it’s never anything spurring you into action. You’re numb and hollow and breathing only because you have to, and then it all settles down and you move.
It’s mechanical. Sleep shirt off and in the backpack. Top. Bottoms. Socks and shoes and jacket. Your knife, spin it once in your hands just to move, then tuck it against your body. 
Go. 
You have to move and go, because you promised you’d be okay, and turning to stone is no way to be okay.
You don’t remember how to be okay either. 
But you’ll get through it. 
You always do.
You’d had to leave the city within a few days. There were too many people, too many colors, all of it bleeding together like a kaleidoscope or supernova and making you dizzy. Too many not-smells, giving you a migraine. The countryside was better. Quieter. Sometimes there was golden light reflecting in the rivers, and you got to pretend you could grab it and keep it. 
And there are less people to hurt, if something goes wrong. 
Because something always goes wrong. 
Even when your day is just reading and scratching notes in the corner of a library, something will find a way to go wrong.
Maybe that’s part of the Magdalene curse. Maybe angels and demons can’t kill you, but the world just shifts and rots around you from your presence. You are made of the same thing as Lilith, and she made things as wrong as they could possibly be. Maybe this ends with you either destroying the world, or imploding onto yourself. 
You’re closer to the second. You’re tired, and your teeth hurt, and every shadow is longer than you thought possible. The pencil is heavier than it should be in your hand, and you can’t tell if there’s something in the air or if your lungs simply can’t figure out how to breathe anything but iron. Your skin feels wrong on your body, but you can’t remove it or that final bit of Jo in the world will vanish.
You miss Dean. You miss him all the time. There’s no one here to hold you until you sleep, no one to calm you down when the souls start to swarm around you, and it’s like you’re being drowned. Nobody is making you drink water or eat through the grief, and some days you’ve just been forgetting until you stand up and almost fall over.
Then you have to steady yourself, but no one is as good at steadying you as Dean is. 
You love him. And every time you wake up from a dream—just like this morning—you could swear you could fucking smell him. On the air around you, stronger than the cotton and dry wood of your room. You’ve stopped wearing perfume, so that it can linger on the edge of the air through the day. 
But you’ve stopped doing a lot of things.
It’s why, when something goes wrong, nothing riots in your body to warn you. The most you get is a faint tug from the right of your chest, and then it’s too late.
“Look at what we have here.” A taunting, male voice crows over your shoulder, and your blood goes cold. 
You don’t have to turn to know that it’s something evil. You can hear it in the drawl of his words. Fucking smell it, metallic and rotten on the air, like blood and-
Sulfur.
Fuck-
Two hands close over your shoulders, pinning you down to the chair, and a cold breath fans over your neck.
“Took me so long to find you. Don’t move an inch, darling. We’re just here to have a conversation, and I might not be able to kill ya’, but I don’t think you can kill me either, can you.” The demon laughs. “I think you might be havin’ some performance issues.”
You swallow, trying to force your voice to stay even. “Would you want to bet on that?”
The demon laughs. “Why don’t we find out? I’ve been dyin’ to get my hands on you, princess.”
There’s a prickling, burning, white-hot feeling on wrong over your heart. 
Only Dean calls you that. Only Dean is allowed to call you that, because he says it with a teasing voice, but there’s always something under it that makes your body relax and the Spiderweb glow. It’s made of something soft and a little intoxicating. He says it as if he believes it. As if it’s not just a joking nickname that stuck, but a title. 
The demon says it like he knows how wrong it is. Like he’s slicing you open and driving a poker right into the Spiderweb, then laughing as it whines for something you both know it can’t have. Dean’s across the ocean, and you’re not a princess. Dean might look at you and see more than a monster, but the demon isn’t fooled. 
He knows what you are.
Like him.
Worse than him.
Demons are turned from years of torture. Demons are evil, but at least they were once human. 
You’ve never been anything but sick. You were born twisted. And you’d never asked Cas if Lilith’s daughters were born before or after she became a demon.
You don’t really want to find out.
“Calm down, sweetheart. Can fuckin’ taste your fear.” The demon sneer in your ear. “And there’s no need to get hysterical. You get to be special again. For once, I ain’t here looking for that delicious panic and pain.”
You don’t want to be special. You just want to go home. 
You just want Dean.
“What- Why are you-“
“I just thought I’d come see what all the fuss is about.” The demon hums, rising back up. “I’ve heard so much about you. And darlin’, the stories aren’t doing you justice.”
The demon rounds the table, and your nails dig into the scar on your palm. 
He’s like Lilith.
A little darker of a gray, but smooth. Refined. Nothing bursting out of where he wants it to be, and he’s fucking hideous and hateful and wearing it like a badge. Every shift of him is like a raised chin and a sneer.
You recognize him. You can’t place how, but you do.
“Dean needs to get better at tellin’ stories.” The demon hums, and even his vessel is twisted in a horrible, crude smirk. “Even all his fawnin’ and whinin’ didn’t manage to capture just how perfect you are.”
It’s so fucking wrong. In a way worse than Lilith, every fiber of your existence knows this demon is fucking wrong. And the Spiderweb hates him. It’s crawling and twisting in your body like it’s trying to fucking hide, stinging and whining as if just the demon’s presence makes it feel sick.
And he’d said Dean. 
He knows Dean. 
You do know him. 
The pieces snap together in a second, and you’re moving the next. Grabbing your knife out of your jacket and flying across the table, driving the blade right into the Alistair’s chest. 
Nothing happens. Alistair just laughs, pulling the knife out of his chest and examining it with a smirk.
“This that knife Dean got you, isn’t it.” Alistair raises his brows at you, and sighs when you only glare at him. “I’m tryin’ to have a conversation with you, you know-“
“I don’t want to have a conversation with you.” Your words are spat, and Alistair just rolls his eyes.
“There’s those dramatics I’ve heard about you havin’. Always so emotional,” he hums your name, sliding the knife back across the table. “I was building up to a compliment, sweetheart. Dean had good taste. I can feel a lot of anger and fear on that thing.”
The bile is back. It’s spilling into your voice. “What the fuck are you here for. I’ve stopped interfering-“
Alistair scoffs. “I don’t care about that. I woulda preferred you stick around, but Lilith said it wouldn’t work out in our favor if ya did. Shame. I was really lookin’ forward to killing Dean in front of you, then seeing what type of pain you’re really capable of causin’.”
“I-“ There’s something tight and horrible around your throat. “I’m not-“
“Yeah, you are.” Alistair smirks, scanning you over once more. “You want to know Dean’s worst nightmare?”
You really don’t. You’re only clinging to your knife like maybe it will summon Dean to your side, trying to wait Alistair out. 
The only other option is stirring deep, deep in your body. Starting to pick up and roll around. Shining bright enough to split through that gaping, infinite void of too much and nothing at all that seems to follow you with death.
And you can’t use the other option. So you just have to fucking hold on, and last through this new, awful thing.
“That boy has always been a little more creative than is good for him.” Alistair smiles, almost fondly, and you want to punch out his teeth. “Made him a beautiful subject, and a perfect student. But sometimes he’d get cold feet. All sad and whiny ‘bout hurtin’ people. But all I’d have to do is show him that nightmare of his. Dragged it from his head after about a year, and- Well, why don’t we just look together. Brace yourself, sweetheart. It’s a good one.”
Alistair reaches up, and before you can stop him, his hand is pressed to your brow.
You’re back in Hell. The screams and heat and colors running below your feet.
Not your feet. 
Lower than your feet. 
You’re suspend, on the same rack that you’ve seen before. And Dean’s right there. Golden, but tattered and mauled and frozen. Just staring at you, as something gray and horrible runs over your body, and you want to scream but you can’t breathe, and Dean’s still not moving.
The Gold is rioting, but Dean’s not moving.
Alistair laughs in your ear, and the Gold seems to be trying to press out, to get to you, but then it hits an invisible barrier, and Dean doesn’t move. 
You don’t think he can.
When the library comes back into focus, you’re panting. Every breath is too fast and short, your grip on the table driving splinters into your hands, and you can’t fucking breathe-
“Warned you.” Alistair hums, and his voice is driving right into your fucking brain. 
All you can see is Dean. Frozen, watching you with fear.
Dean was never afraid. He was angry and worried and stressed, but you’d never seen him look only afraid.
The Spiderweb is almost whimpering, shimmering with a soft light and still trying to bury itself deeper than Alistair can hurt it.
But the Silver-
It’s starting to move. To wake up.
Fuck.
“I’m gonna tell you a secret, darlin’. That little nightmare? It always was fun to feed, but it’s never gonna be the plan. I’m thinking, when we win and I get to take you home, we’ll find wherever the reapers stored sweet little Jo, and pull her out. To join the party, you know?”
The Silver rears its head. And you’re drawing blood on your skin, but your nails are short and chipped, and you still can’t really breathe-
“And then I’ll give Dean a choice. He can either torture Jo while you watch, or I’ll make his nightmare come true.” Alistair laughs to himself, and the Silver is starting to climb up. 
Or curve in. Building up by caving in. Like a fucking black hole, crushing down so it can-
“And he’ll choose you. He’ll hate himself for it, but you’re his girl. His Princess. He ain’t gonna do anythin’ that’ll hurt you. Not on purpose.”
The Silver is so close. But there are people here. People and animals, and a- You saw a fucking teenager, and she had a walk that kind of reminded you of Sam’s-
“But here’s the kicker,” Alistair says your name like you’re old friends. “After he finished chopping up Jo, I’d freeze him just like in his nightmare. And I wouldn’t touch you. That’s boring. If I’m makin’ art like this, I’m making it the right way.”
It’s going to fall out of your mouth. You can’t fucking control it, and all the Silver can feel is the pain of the Spiderweb, so all it knows is something’s wrong and you can’t stop it-
“No, here’s what I’ve got lined up instead. Good ol’ Sammy will be walkin’ around up here, well,” Alistair laughs. “His body will be. But point is, can’t use him. And I think what I’m left with will work better anyway.” Alistair’s smoke moves back into that ugly fucking smile, and the Silver reaches a stasis. A silence.
A split second before the storm.
“I’ll drag good ol’ Daddy Winchester out to play. Let him do whatever he wants, while Dean’s watchin’. And maybe it’ll just be what Dean did to Jo, but you never know.” Alistair smirks. “Those men of god never could resist a Magdalene.”
Everything stills. Moves to match the stasis of the Silver, and it’s almost serene. You’re everything, and it’s all waiting for you. The walls will fall to shield you. The wind will turn to a hurricane to protect you. The grass outside will grow and flourish to protect you.
And the Sky is smiling at you. You can feel it, and not just watching.
Over you. Shining with praise, because this, this is that holy wrath you’re supposed to have all the time. 
You don’t fucking want it.
You just want to go home.
Alistair smiles at you again, a second before you lose control.
“There you are.” 
You don’t know how he gets away in time. You can’t tell through how you’re everything, and you can’t see anything but the blur.
All you know is that you explode.
Detonate.
Destroy.
The Silver razes through all it can reach.The building turns to ruin, rivers of blood run under your feet—although, as far as you can see, there are no bodies—and the forests and walls start to bloom with flowers and plants you’ve never seen before. 
They’re beautiful. Strangely shaped and delicate, glowing softly and filled with an iridescent light. 
But it’s all beautiful. 
The apples hanging from the ceiling are beautiful. The small, condensed bits of life floating through the room are beautiful. The countryside, now littered with pastel blue roses, is beautiful. 
And the souls stained on the walls are beautiful, too. 
And you have to go.
The angels will be here soon.
That must be the real reason Alistair was looking for you. He’d taunted you right to the fucking edge, then pushed you over. Forced you to lose control, and send up that loud, neon signal telling Heaven I’m here! Come and get me!
And you’ve been so fucking careful not to draw attention, but it’s not really up to you anymore.
Because the Silver’s been like this since Jo. Dormant and silent until it’s forced to move, and then reactionary. Worse than a live wire, worse than a sickness, worse than a monster.
Damnation. 
That must be why the angels are still after you, even though you did what they asked. Even though you left.
Zachariah had said to muzzle you.
And you weren’t muzzled.
You were feral.
And now you have to run again.
But you don’t want to be the sickness. You don’t want to be what the Sky keeps demanding of you. Blinking down over you and asking doesn’t it feel good, to have this kind of might in your body, to not be burdened by things lower than you are?
Nothing is lower than you are. They might not be talking to the Sky, but it’s lonely. Higher than anything else, but that seems to be more of a curse than a gift. And all the things it keeps telling you are lower are made of more than the Sky is. Every soul spilled on the ground around you is a little dented and tainted, but it’s beautiful.
It’s all so beautiful. 
You need to go. It’s not safe for you to stay. 
But you do. For longer than you should allow, you grab every soul you can and shove it back into its body. And you can’t heal them. Can’t fix whatever damage the Silver has done, because you can’t call it forward to mend what it broke. They’ll be alive, but maybe different. Maybe completely morphed, maybe just a little cracked, maybe shattered beyond repair. But they’ll be alive. And even if you could fix them, the Sky might decide you were overstepping again, and rip them right back out. 
It never stops you from cleaning, though. From finishing your little ritual. It shines in warning, but you flip it off.
“You’ve got something you want from me,” you hiss, narrowing your eyes. “Come and get it your fucking self.”
It doesn’t.
It just keeps watching.
So you run.
You don’t stop until dusk. Until you’re sure you’re far enough away that whatever angels Heaven sent won’t find you. 
And this is how it is now. You move from town to town like some sort of phantom. You miss Dean every second, but you can’t go home. You dodge angels and read in the dead of night, staring at your phone and willing it to-
You jump out of your skin a little, when the screen lights up. 
Possible Spam.
You’ve never picked up the phone faster.
Dean’s shouting your name through the speaker, when the call connects. There’s something strained in his voice. Almost distressed.
You raise your voice, just enough to get through to him. “De-“
“Oh, thank fucking- Son of a bitch, sweetheart, I- Are you good? Safe?”
“I’m fine.” You draw your knees up to your chest, trying to make your voice sound light. “It’s just- Long day-“
“I know about Alistair.” 
You freeze, and Dean’s voice grows a little hoarse. 
“He admitted it. Told me he’s seen you. It’s- We’re working one of the seals and he’s here, and I- He said-“
“He didn’t hurt me.” You whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. “He was just taunting me. Trying to make me- You know. Do the thing.”
Dean’s silent for a long, heavy second. “Happened again, huh.”
“Yeah.”
“Any progress on-“
“No.”
Dean lets out a dry laugh. “You didn’t even let me finish talking.”
“I-“ You swallow, a heavy lump starting to form in your throat. “I’m sorry-“
“Hey, wait, don’t- I’m teasing you, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice is so gentle. You can almost see the slightly panicked look on his face. “Don’t cry, it’s okay, you’re good-“
You’d been trying not to cry.
You really had. 
But you miss him. And you’re so fucking tired.
It’s impossible to swallow the choked sounds or whimpers. The sniffling as you wipe your nose with your sleeve, or the heavy breathing as a weight pressed onto your chest. You don’t want Dean to hear. You know he’s still dealing with the seals, and an angry Bobby—although Dean won’t admit they’re fighting about you, you know they are—and a Sam that’s still working with Ruby. He doesn’t need to hear you cry when you’re the one who fucking left. You’re the one who wouldn’t stay. 
You’d hated Dean so long for leaving you, so many years ago.
But then you fucking left him.
And he’s staying on the phone with you. Not speaking, but humming low and deep as your head drops to your knees, and your breathing evens out.
It’s steady.
Ragged and impossible, but steady. 
“De- I-“ You swallow, wiping your cheeks with your palm. “I wanna go home. I miss Bobby and Sam and I- I don’t know what to do. I miss you, and I can’t sleep, and I-“
I love you.
You’re not allowed to say it.
So you just strangle yourself on the sound, and hold the phone as close to your ear as you can.
“I know.” Dean’s voice is a rasp through the speaker, and it makes a new wave of tears fall. “Just come home, Princess- I- Fuck, I’ll call Cas and he’ll come get you right now-“
“I can’t.” You whisper. “You know I can’t.”
“But-“
“Please. Don’t.”
Dean can’t beg you to come home. 
If he does, just as always, you’d listen.
“Did-“ Dean clears his throat, and you’re grateful. He listened. “What did Alistair say to you? To set it off?”
You can’t tell Dean what Alistair really said. He’d drive himself mad about it. Doing something reckless, get himself hurt. And all of this is always just so Dean doesn’t get hurt.
But you can’t lie to him either. 
“Jo.” You mumble, leaning back and rubbing at your wrists. “You. Sam. Just- What he’d do, if they win.”
“Fucking bastard.” Dean mutters, and you smile into the air. 
You miss his glare. The firm one that he’s always aim at you, but never hurt you. It was always a glare that wrapped around you. Told you he was angry because he cared, and didn’t know how to do anything with it.
He still cares.
Dean knows what the past month has been for you. Nightmares and explosions, souls staining the ground and painted over your hands—although they always fade fast, as nothing but Jo seems to be clinging to you longer than it has to—and never getting more control or answers.
You only find more questions. More reasons to stay away. And Dean should give up on you, but that’s not what he does. You know how pissed he is at Sam, but he’s not giving up on dragging him away from Ruby. He wouldn’t.
Just like how he’s only ever held you when everything became too much. Only ever gone to help, whenever Sammy called. Had held you and tried to make you stay, after Jo.
And he still picks up the phone. Still calls you, even when you know that—wherever he is in America—it’s an unreasonable hour. Talks to you like nothing has ever gone wrong at all. Asks you to come home like it’s not ripping out and healing your heart all at once. 
“You know I’d never let that happen, right?”
You blink, frowning at the wall. “What?”
“Alistair.” Dean mutters. “No matter what happens. He’s never gonna touch you.”
I’ll drag good ol’ Daddy Winchester out to play.
You know. You know I love you, baby.
“I know.” You whisper, even though you both know that’s not really up to Dean. “How was your day?”
“Kinda shit. You?”
You let out a soft laugh. “Kinda shit, too.”
“You could come home, and our days could be shit together-“
“Dean.”
“Yeah, yeah. Alright. Had to try.”
He did. He always does. And he’s nothing more than a voice in a box, but the Spiderweb still lights up under his attention. Still thrives from just to sound of Dean saying your name and telling you about astral projection, and you could fucking swear you smell spice-
“It felt fuckin’ weird,” Dean mutters your name, and you can hear something moving in the background. “I was solid, but it was soupy.”
You smile into the air. “Soupy?”
“Yeah, like chowder-“
“Those are two different feelings, De.”
“No they’re both globby.”
“Globby-“
“It works- Sammy!” 
You hear Sam’s voice grumble something in the background, and wait patiently.
“Being all ghost-like felt globby, right?”
“You sound insane, Dean.”
That breaks through, and you giggle.
“Hey.” Dean’s voice is a little firmer. He’s talking to you. “I heard that. It’s not my fault Sammy isn’t a poet like me-“
Sam snorts in the background. “I heard you say soupy before. Are you talking to-“
“Yes.” Dean snaps. “She’s mine, Sammy. You can’t have her.”
He means the phone. You know he means the phone. 
It still makes the Spiderweb fucking shine.
“I just wanna ask her about a seal-“
“Call her later.”
“But-“
“No. Back off, or I’ll shit on your bed.”
“That’s so gross- Dean-“
A door slams on Dean’s end, and Sam’s voice goes muffled.
“Sorry about that, Princess. Don’t know who let Bigfoot into my hotel room like that.”
You hum, smiling like an idiot at your knees. “You know, one day he’s really gonna get sick of you doing that. It’s the third time this week.”
“Nah.” There’s a pause. “Are you getting sick of me, Princess?”
Sam’s right. He’s insane. “No.”
“You sure? Not finding some other guy with a sweet ride-“
“I’m not looking, De.” You whisper before you can stop yourself. “And nobody’s got a better ride than you, car boy.”
"Thanks.” Dean mumbles, clearing his throat. “I’m taking care of the Firebird. Drive her once a week-“
“He.”
"What?”
“My car. It’s a he.”
Dean pauses. “You, uh- You named him?”
“Not yet.” You shrug. “I’m brainstorming.”
“How about Dean Junior-“
“No.”
You only get a laugh in response, and this night doesn’t hurt as much as the others. You talk to Dean until the sun rises, and he mutters that his phone is about to die, and Sam will kill him if they’re not on the road early tomorrow. You don’t say goodbye, when you hang up. You never say goodbye. 
Instead the line goes dead, you shuffle out to find coffee, and return to your room for the rest of the day. You’re in no rush. You’re safe—for now—and all your work lives in reading and researching. Going over the emails Sam has sent you and responding with what you find. Combing through your own books for some sort of fucking clue. How many other Magdalenes there were. What they brought. How they controlled it, if it was something that could be controlled. So far all you have are a big do not attempt warnings on burnt pages,  a bunch of fake Magdalene spells—like plastic knockoffs of what you’ve found in the book, and made yourself—and the Sky watching you.
Nothing ever mentions the Sky. And it’s not like you’ve found anything explicit about Magdalenes. But you’ve learned to spot patterns. Clues. Draw timelines and pour over history books until you passed out, Dean called you, or something went wrong.
It would be lovely and simple, if you’d taught yourself that.
But it isn’t. And you didn’t.
“I heard you killed an angel.”
You’d spun around, and there she’d been. Standing in the corner of your room, smiling at you with that awful affection.
“That’s impressive, little one.” Lilith had hummed, her smiling growing. “Even I could never have done that, even at my brightest.”
“Cool.” You’d mumbled, rubbing at your wrists as you watched her. “How did you find me?”
“We are the same.” Lilith had shrugged. “You might be more, and but I can still know. You’d know too, if you just thought about it. And it took a little extra effort to find you, but I had to. You put on quite a show, almost locking all the seals. If those fucking uptight featherdicks hadn’t interfered, you might have succeeded. I mean, maybe if I’d sent the cavalry, too. But Ruby was begging me not to send Alistair himself. You did quite a number on her.”
“Ruby-“
“That’s not for you to worry about.” Lilith had waved you off like it was nothing. “I’d be concerned with yourself, little one. The angels are starting to look for their master, and mine- He will be here soon. And you should be ready. And I am reaching my purpose, but I can’t wait to learn, one day, what you do”
“I-“ You’d shaken your head, walking back to the wall. The Sky had flashed out the window.
If Lilith could see or feel it, she didn’t show it.
“I don’t- I’m not going to serve-“
“No, you won’t.” Lilith had hummed. “If you’re smart, they will bow at your feet for all of time to come, and you will never be a toy to those vile fucking animals again-“
“I-“ Your voice had been so small. You’d pushed through. “I’m not a toy-“
“Not now, little one. But you’re still attached to Dean Winchester. I can see him all over you.” She’d shivered. “You’ll get through it. We all have. Even I had a Dean, but- It doesn’t matter. Men of God. Doesn’t matter which one you chose, they are all the same in the end.”
And there it is again. Your hand freezes over your notes—a mindless scribble of Dean’s name in Enochian half-written—as the memory echoes, and you put it together.
Men of God.
Alistair had said it. So had Anna, before you crushed her like some sort of bug. 
And Anna had been an angel. She knew enough to know your name was written in places in Heaven that Castiel has never seen.
Lilith had spoken of them like they were everywhere. She’s said that all of you had one. That yours was another case of being special—more complicated—but you still needed to be stronger. That they always promise freedom, only to try and cut you up and morph you and put you in a cage.
Dean would never do that. He’d set you free. 
He was waiting for you.
You’d worry about that later. Right now, for the first time since you left, you had something.
It’s a good thing Europe is full of churches.
The months start to blur together, the longer you’re away. You didn’t expect it to be immediate, but it has to be something. Lilith, Alistair, and Anna wouldn’t all say Men of God only for it to just be some kind of weird Heaven and Hell phase. It’ll only take time. And you’ll comb through every library and visit every church and do whatever the fuck you need for just one answer.
And it does seem to be a marker. Every Magdalene you’ve found—Lilith had been right, you’d just had to try, and it would call to you like some distorted song—has had someone in their orbit. And there has to be a reason. Even if no one can place what the Magdalenes are outside of danger and change, even if there’s no idea for how you were made or why you exist, it can’t just be a coincidence.
Dean says there are no coincidences in this life. 
He’s usually right about this kind of stuff. He’s usually right about most stuff. 
And whatever Men of God are, Dean isn’t one. Not the way Lilith says, at least. He’s yours, but the Magdalenes you’ve found always ended up betrayed or abandoned by theirs. Dean would never do that. Even if he doesn’t love you, he just wouldn’t. That’s another thing he doesn’t do. 
Run away.
He’s stronger than you are. It’s why, whenever you run, he really has been always so good at catching you. At wrapping you up and keeping you safe, when he should’ve put you down. 
And Lilith had said the one you chose.
Dean’s never been a choice. He just is. You love him because he’s Dean, and that’s better than anything. He’s never been just one star you picked from the sky. 
He’s been full of gravity, like a planet. Not a flower from a garden, but a strong, unbreakable tree that could be split with lightning and still be the prettiest thing you’d ever seen. Not a rock from the ocean, but an island that you’d always returned to, because there’s nowhere better to rest.
And there are more differences—between you and the other Magdalenes—the longer you look. Some of them have been labelled as crazy or hysterical, but none of them are ever mentioned talking about all the colors. None of them ever claim to see demons and angels. 
Not one mentions the Sky. 
That seems to be another horrible, awful, exhausting thing that’s just for you. 
And time keeps passing. You keep reading and reading and finding something that’s really nothing, and nothing that looks like something, but it’s just a trick of the light. Things keep going wrong—a woman grabs your wrist in a coffee shop, you walk into a church and the stained glass begins to glow, you see an angel on the street and wipe them out with the whole block—and the Sky keeps watching. 
It doesn’t seem to mind you looking for answers. It almost seems to hum whenever you find something. A tattered page in a church catacomb, that’s a similar—but less detailed—to your own notebook. Colors and names scribbled in a French, like a personal guide. And then there’s the half-burnt, Portuguese version of the Book, and another Magdalene buried Florence, Italy.
You can go to Florence. 
You can raid a grave, to see if her bones are made of anything that tells you how she controlled it. If she left you anything. She must have. 
She did.
Maps of Heaven and Hell. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do with them, or how she got them, but you know the Sky is happy you have them. 
Lately, the Sky only ever seems angry when Dean calls. 
You always pick up anyway.
“Hi, De.”
“Hey, Princess. You still in-“
“Nope. Nice try, though.”
He sighs. “Had to take the shot. How was your day?”
You smile into the air. “It was… long.”
“Did you eat?”
You’re silent for a second too long, and Dean snaps your name.
“Goddamnit, you need to-“
“I know.” You sigh. “I just- I got distracted, I promise. I got a new book, and it’s just regular witchcraft, but maybe Cas could use it-“
“Actually, uh-“ Dean clears his throat. “We kinda lost Cas.”
“You- How?”
“He’s a human again. We’re working on it, but Sammy-“ Dean lets out a long, heavy breath, and you sigh.
“Is Ruby still-“
“Yeah.”
“Did you tell him-“
“He won’t listen.” Dean mutters. “Thinks you must have misunderstood, or that Lilith was just messing with you.”
“But-“
“I know, Princess. But- I- Can you talk? Please?”
You swallow, staring up at the ceiling. You’d told Dean, what Lilith had mentioned about Ruby begging her. You’d hoped it would be some sort of evidence, to prove to Sam that Ruby can’t be trusted.
But Dean says he went a little off the deep end, after you left. That he thinks he should’ve been stronger and not gotten knocked out, or been more cautious about the ritual, or done more so you didn’t lose Jo. So you didn’t leave.
Whenever you talk to him, he never mentions it. That you left. And it’s not in the way Dean does, where he just knows you’ll come back. It’s a little hollow. His voice sounds heavier all the time, but more determined all at once.
Dean just sounds tired.
And it rips the Spiderweb in half.
“What do you wanna talk about, De?”
He lets out what might be a long breath of relief. “I, uh- I don’t know. What did you do today?”
“Read. A lot. I started looking at a map-“
“A map?” You can hear Dean’s frown in his voice. It’s adorable. “What, you hunting for treasure without me?”
“It’s a map of heaven. And,” you smile into the air, and you hope he can hear it. “I’d never hunt for treasure without you. There is no one else I’d rather treasure hunt with.”
“Damn. Not even Bobby?”
“I don’t think Bobby would be all that good at treasure hunting.” You shrug. “He’d get bored, and say that this kinda shit is pointless anyway.”
“Yeah,” Dean’s soft laugh is a little muffled through the phone. “You’re right about that. How about Sammy?”
“He’d be fine. Do you not want to go treasure hunting with me, Deano?”
He snorts. “Princess, if I ever go treasure hunting with anyone, I’d want it to you.”
“Thanks.” You mumble. “Why?”
“Cause you’re smart, and you’ve seen a billion of those freakin’ treasure movies. You’ve studied, sweetheart. You’re a nerd.”
You scoff. “Well, if I ever need to commit crimes for the good of the community, I’ll call you, Cowboy.”
“Aw, you think I’m a Cowboy-“
“Dean-“
Dean cuts you off with a tsk, and suddenly you can see him. It’s just in your head, but it’s so close to real. Standing in front of you with a boyish, cocky smirk, his eyes alight on yours, every bit of him so fucking Golden, and all focused on you. Handsome. Always handsome. His hair a little spiky and out of place, his nose a little more crooked than the last time you saw him, but his body just as broad, and-
You can feel an ache between your legs, and it only deepens when he drawls your name.
Shit.
“I gotta tell you a secret, Princess.” Dean hums, and you swallow. “Our job is doing crimes for the good of the community. And you’re the best damn criminal I know.”
You flush, and the ache gets worse. “Shut up.”
“Bossy-“
“And I’m not a criminal-“
“Yeah, you are.” Dean laughs. “But it’s okay, we’re all criminals. You and me would’ve run the wild west, sweetheart, I’ll tell you that much.”
Your ditzy, slightly stupid smile is back. “Really?”
“Hell, yeah. Sammy would be the sheriff, and Bobby would run the bar, and I’d be the awesome, lone cowboy passing through the town. I’d stop at the bar look for a drink but instead I’d find you-“ Dean cuts himself off with a cough. “And Bobby. And instead of just passin’ through, I’d plant my roots, and team up with the sheriff to take care of the town.”
He might be the most adorable person on the planet. “You’ve thought about it. Sam might be right about that cowboy fetish, De-“
“It’s not-“ He groans, and the sound doesn’t help your situation. “They’re cool. They’re really freakin’ cool, and they’ve got awesome hats. Is it so wrong to like something?”
“No.” You hum. “But that’s a fantasy, Winchester. You have a cowboy fantasy. And you call me a nerd.”
Dean’s silent. For a little too long, Dean’s silent. And right when you’re about to ask if he’s still there, he mutters your name. “’S nice to have a fantasy, Princess. Something to want. Bet you have them too.”
You do. 
You have two. 
The first one you think of is the one that always slams into you like a blow to your gut. It’s made of Jo. Of what you’d told her, the last night she was alive. Of a world where her fantasy was reality. And that’s what you think of there, and you break down on the phone with Dean—again—and he stays on the line through it. 
The second one makes you feel like a piece of fucking shit. Because you sob to Dean about how you miss Jo, and you want to come home, and you’re still looking for answers but everything still fucking hurts—it always fucking hurts, it never stops hurting, the only way to stop hurting is to stop being and you’ve never figured out how to do that—and then he goes. With a soft reminder to call him tomorrow, or text if you can’t, Dean has to leave and deal with human Cas.
And you’re worse than a monster. 
Because when you’re done sniffling into your pillow, your head wanders back to Dean’s words.
Bet you have them too.
His voice had been so deep—and it’s always been deep, but it only seems to get deeper—and a little like a lullaby. A low, soothing promise that’s vibrated in your bones when he’s held you, and still sparks in your blood whenever you hear it.
And you can still see him, in your head. Broad and strong, soft in all the right places and grinning at you. Always grinning at you, and touching you. Dean’s touched you. He’s had hands skimming right under your shirt and resting on your hips, and he’s held you by your lower back so often, but never on bare skin. 
It lights you on fire. 
And you have fantasies.
You might have a lot of fantasies.
They’re all made of the memory of Dean’s lips on yours, and his taste on your tongue, and the warmth and Gold of him being everywhere. It would feel better than heaven, if he’d hold you right against him, his palm splayed over your lower back, his voice moving right through your body as you grind down onto his thigh. Calling you Princess and his and teasing you until you’re scratching at his back, and he’s just chuckling.
C’mon, baby girl. Just a little more, I’ve got you, you’re doing so good. That’s it, scream my name-
“Dean!”
You cum with a shaking body, and short, shallow gasp.
When your eyes fly open, you realize that scream wasn’t a part of the fantasy. That was loud, for anyone to hear as you’d orgasmed, grinding onto the sheets and pretending your hands on your breast were Dean’s.
The pricking, sickening shame hits you so fast. Jo’s still gone. Dean’s not even here, and you’re turning him into something he might not even want to be. Not for you. He’d been looking for comfort, and you’d made him your fantasy.
But he is your fantasy. 
No matter how you try to push it down, now that the idea has crossed your mind, before you sleep you think of Dean.
Something must be wrong with you. Your days are spent staring at books and rubbing at your wrists, looking over your shoulder to make sure there’s no one behind you. No one to try and hurt you, only for their soul to end up splattered all over the ground. Someone tries to get your attention on the street again, and a redwood shoots out of the ground in Germany. You see a man that looks an awful lot like Ketch in a cafe—already putting you on edge—and then a little blonde girl with the same eyes Jo has starts crying, and a Javan tiger is seen running through Austria.
You don’t know how you’re doing it. Only that the Silver detonates, and everything is destroyed and remade all at once. You can’t find any records of that happening to other Magdalenes—or, really, at all—but you’re still looking.
You’ve found that Men of God is seeming to be a loose term—maybe a title—more than a solid rule. And when the trail runs dry on Magdalenes, you shift back to witchcraft. It’s easy, even without the Silver, and it makes you feel like maybe you’re being useful.
Not just running and destroying and sitting in the dirt near a river, staring at the blue on your hands.
Jo would like it here. She would like all the sun and beer, and she would like how the hotel shampoo smells, and she would love all the stray animals and stupid, fancy wines. She would drawl that all wine is wine, but this tastes like rippin’ off rich idiots. 
You stole a bottle for her, and poured it into the river. Then you just sit there. Ignoring the Sky over you, pretending that when you stand up things will be better.
They won’t.
Jo’s still gone, and it’s still so fucking hollow. You’re trying to eat more, for her. Trying to sleep more too. You’re getting better at it, as the time passes. At not dying from self-neglect.
And she would’ve wanted you to talk to Dean. To let him convince you to come home, so he could hold you until it hurt a little less.
You don’t want it to hurt less. When it hurts it means you’re thinking about her, and if you stop thinking about her—sobbing on the riverbank, watching your fingers because one day the blue will fade and you don’t know what you’ll do—then who will. Someone has to be in pain for this. Someone has to pay, you’d already killed Anna, and Zachariah seems pretty fucking occupied with Sam and Dean. 
Pain, numb and hollow and vast and fucking crushing—pressing on your lungs and head, faint in the background until it slams into you and breathing becomes a labor—is a price you deserve to pay. 
So the days pass, and they’re lonely and repetitive, as the Sky keeps watching.
But your nights are spent collapsing on the bed, and calling Dean.
“Are the souls different? Wherever you are?”
You smile at the ceiling. “I mean, they’re different soul to soul.”
“You know that’s not what I meant, sweetheart-“
“They’re the same as home, De. All souls are the same.”
“Huh. You, uh,” he clears his throat. “You see any other golden souls?”
You can’t stop your laugh. You’ve never seen another golden soul. Not like Dean’s. And even if you did, no soul is made of the same primal, pure thing his and Sam’s are. 
“What’s funny-“
“Nothing, it’s-“ You shake your head. “No. I haven’t seen any other souls like yours.”
Dean grunts, and you can picture his pouting scowl. “Alright. Good. But- I still don’t get why you were laughing, Princess.”
“It’s a soul joke. You wouldn’t get it.”
“Can you help me get it?”
“Dean-“
“C’mon. I show you stuff all the time. Taught you to drive stick, showed you how to clean a gun even though you never use them, explained all the work I did on the Firebird-“
“I didn’t ask you to do that one.”
“Yeah, but you were listening. You liked it.”
You had liked it. But that had been more to do with how—when he’d been talking—he’d been covered in grease and wearing a really tight shirt, smiling at you like there was never anything else to do and bouncing around like there’s never been any pain at all. 
Dean doesn’t need to know that.
“I- Souls are really complicated-“
“I don’t care. Just-“ Dean pauses, sighing into the speaker. “I wanna hear you talk, Princess. It’s been a long fuckin’ week, and I- How about this. If you tell me about souls, I’ll teach you whatever you want, when you get home. Pinky promise.”
You swallow, and suddenly there’s a very clear image of Dean above you, his hand in your hair and his lips curved in a wide smirk as he guides you up and down his-
Fuck.
“I, um,” You pause, trying to regain control over your voice. “What do you wanna know?”
“I dunno. Explain the joke?”
“It’s- It’s not really that funny, I’m just tired-“
“You been sleeping?”
No. You’ve been talking to Dean and drinking coffee and you’re pretty sure you can feel every single nerve in your body, but that’s not the point. “Yes.”
“Lie. You need to fuckin’ sleep-“
You cut of Dean’s snap of your name with a sigh. “Are you sleeping?”
There’s a beat, and his response is so low you almost don’t hear it. “No.”
“Then shut up and stop telling me what to do.”
Dean chuckles. “So bossy, b- Princess-“
“Do you want to hear about the souls or not?”
“Yeah, alright. Go.”
You don’t explain it all. You tell him more about how souls tend to move and blend together, twining with other souls and staining each other in more and more colors until it’s almost kaleidoscopic. You mention the elements, but you’re vague—only that they all made of different things, not that you know what those different things are—because if you explain too much, Dean will ask what element he’s made of, and you’re not even sure what an honest answer would be.
To be fair, you never explain it all. You tell Dean you’re getting more leads on Magdalenes, but not a word about the Men of God, because he’ll freak out. You’ve explained all your outbursts, but never told him about the Sky. You never tell anyone about the Sky, because it makes you sound fucking crazy. Even in this life, saying the Sky is watching me and it hates when I talk to you, Deano would end with a strange look. Just like when you were a kid, telling your mother that the Sky is watching me, and making me promises, and I don’t want them. I don’t. I’m scared and I want to go home.
“Is it ever- Can you turn it off?” You can hear Dean’s frown through the phone. “I mean, that sounds like you’re being shoved into one of the carnival funhouses all the damn time.”
“That’s… Not far off.”
“But it’s gotta hurt your eyes or some shit-“
“I’m used to it,” you mumble, running your thumb over your palm. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”
“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to-“
“Dean. It is what it is.”
“Yeah, but- It shouldn’t be.” He lets out a long breath, and tears start to prick at your eyes. “There’s gotta be something that helps.”
You. You help, Dean. You’re so Golden it’s impossible to think about anything else.
“Maybe start looking for that?” Dean hums, and the lump starts to form in your throat. “How to control the soul-vision shit?”
“Soul vision?” You smile, even though it’s crushing over your ribs. “Creative, De.”
“Shut up. You love it.”
I love you. “I don’t hate it.”
“Good. Maybe work on-“
“But I don’t want to turn it off.” You glance down at your hands, and your voice is far too soft. Dean with be able to hear. “I- I can’t turn it off, Dean.”
He mutters your name, and you shake your head. 
“I- I can’t. She’s still on me, her soul is still on me, and if I stop seeing it, she’s gone.” You’re breathing too shallow. You can’t stop. “I can’t let her be gone like this too, I couldn’t- It’s all I’ve got left, it’s the only piece of her left and only I can see it- And if- I- She can’t be gone, Dean, I can’t let her be gone-“
“I know.” Dean mutters, his voice so low and soothing, even through the choppy speaker. “I know sweetheart, I’m sorry-“
“I wanna come home.” You whisper, and Dean goes silent. “I miss you, and I don’t-“ I’m scared. I’m scared and I want to go home. “Dean, I don’t know- Please.”
You don’t know exactly what you’re asking for. But somehow, Dean does. 
“It’s gonna be okay. I promise it’s gonna be okay. I’ll send Cas out for you right now, if you want-“
You make a strangled noise, and Dean’s voice gets stronger. Firmer.
“Or we can just keep talking. You wanna keep talking, ba- Sweetheart?”
You nod, and even though he can’t see you, Dean still knows. Still understands. It rips another small, weak sound from your throat.
“I ate some pie, yesterday.” Dean hums, his voice still low and careful, and you let out a soft laugh.
“You eat pie every day, De.”
“Yeah, but this was cream pie. You’d like it, it had a bunch of chocolate on the top, and it was fucking full of that stuff they put in the donuts-“
“Cream?” You smile at the ceiling, and you don’t know how he does this. Every single time, even when he’s just a voice, Dean brings you back down. “I think it’s just cream, De.”
“Alright, whatever. Point is this thing is stuffed with cream-“
He can’t be doing this on purpose. You wouldn’t put it past Dean to do it on purpose, but this is the kind of thing he would talk about to see Sam get uncomfortable. But all you can think about is how even his voice is fucking pretty, and he keeps saying stuffed and cream and filled, and your skin is prickling with an aching, pleasant warmth, your thighs starting to press back together.
And Dean does eventually have to go. Once he’s satisfied with your lack of hyperventilation and the steadiness of your voice, he mutters that he has to go deal with Sam.
“Get some rest,” He mutters your name, and you swallow. “Or I’ll track you down and make you.”
The line cuts off before you can respond, and this is the part where something is wrong with you. You’re a fucking mess. Your cheeks are still stained with tears, and you’d been sobbing less than half an hour ago, but now you’re wet. Dripping. Your fingers trail between your legs, and over and over the sound of Dean saying you’d like the cream pie, Princess, replays in your head. The one time in his life that Dean wasn’t making an innuendo, you’re losing your mind with hunger for him.
And there are the fantasies. 
Dean over you in bed—you don’t really care which one, as long as Dean is there—and his fingers shoved into your cunt as he kisses all over your face. And you’re breathless and clinging to him, but he’s holding you just as tight, and when he buries himself fully inside of you, he lets out a low groan right in your ear-
I’ve got you. I love you, baby. You know I love you.
You don’t. Dean’s never said that. But Dean’s voice has. And it spoke with a long drawl and soft affection. Your mind is taking that and running with it. 
You cum with another gasp of Dean, your back arching off the bed, and you try not to think about it when you roll over and gather the blankets until they’re in a vague shape of Dean for you to hold all night.
And the Sky doesn’t get to see it. You always close the curtains when Dean calls, because you’re going to keep picking up the phone.
You’ll keeping missing him, too. And loving him.
And dreaming of him. 
You never stop dreaming of Dean.
“No wanderin’ off.” Bobby grunts, scanning around the room. 
It’s big. Almost as big as the rooms in your family’s house. There’s something different about it, though. Even though the air is colder, there’s a warmth to the walls and a comfort to the floor. 
You don’t tell Bobby that. Not because he wouldn’t want to know, but because he already has enough to worry about. 
“I’m not gonna wander.” You mumble, picking at the skin of your nails. “Promise.”
Bobby snorts. “I wish I believed you, kiddo.”
“Bobby-“
“I trust you.” He says your name carefully, holding your gaze. “But you like exploring and testin’ my fuckin’ blood pressure. I told you not to get distracted by the house, and what did you do?”
You pout at your shoes. “I sang on the staircase.”
“And why don’t we wanna do that.”
“Cause there’s an ubume running around.”
“Cause there’s a-“ Bobby pauses, frowning at you. “A what?”
“Ubume.”
“I ain’t sure what that is-“
“It’s the spirit of a woman who died in childbirth.” You mumble. “They’re not usually violent, but sometimes they try to steal children. And they like rocks, and there are all those rocks outside.”
Bobby blinks down at you, and shakes his has. “Fuckin’-“
“I’m sorry-“
“You’re righ-“ He cuts himself off, frowning down at you. “The hell are you sorry for?”
“I- I don’t-“ You swallow, the Darkness starting to turn out and press under your skin. “I don’t know.”
“Wel, ya shouldn’t be.” Bobby shrugs. “You’re right. The kids have been gettin’ the worst of it, so- They’re called ubumes?”
You nod, and Bobby sighs. 
“You’re not in trouble, kiddo. You can relax.”
“But I- I wasn’t supposed to get involved with the hunt-“
Bobby runs a hand over his face. “I told ya that cause I didn’t want you tryin’ to take on this shit yourself. But if you know somethin’ I might not, always say it. Deal?”
You nod nervously, and Bobby extends his hand.
“C’mon, kiddo. If we can wrap this up by the afternoon, I’ll let ya go back to the staircase.”
Your eyes widen, even as you take his hand. “But the family-“
“They ain’t home. What they don’t know ain’t gonna hurt them.”
“Who aren’t we hurting?”
You blink, and turn to see Dean next to you. 
Once again, you’re a little taller than before. And Bobby seems completely unaware of Dean’s presence, still running through the script of the memory as you walk through the house. 
“A rich family from California,” you explain, Dean trailing behind you. “Bobby heard about their haunting, and he decided to take care of it while they were out of town. I got to come because Rufus was busy, and I’d been having a lot of freak outs, so he didn’t want to leave me alone.”
“Huh.” Dean nods slowly. “Why are you holding his hand?”
“Because right now, I’m eleven.” You pause, and extend your free hand to Dean. 
He takes it without question, falling right into pace at your side and leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Where are we going?”
“To kill the ubume.”
“What the fuck is an abummy-“
“Oo-BU-me.” You hum, and when Bobby settles in the families kitchen—where you’d been keeping all the books and weapons—your hand doesn’t leave Dean’s. “Dead pregnant lady ghost.”
“Huh. And you killed it?”
“Bobby killed it.” You shrug, watching the younger version of Bobby shuffle around the room, asking you questions that in real life you’d answered, but in the dream are only met with an echo of your words as you keep talking to Dean. “I wasn’t allowed to leave the salt circle.”
“Why-“
“She was napping kids. I was a kid.” You sigh, resting your head on Dean’s shoulder. “And if he tried to take me, I would’ve lost it. And if I lost it, I probably would’ve had an even bigger freak out about losing it.”
Dean hums, keeping your hands interlocked as he slings an arm over your shoulder, pulling you right into his side. “Did you? Lose it?”
“Not today, no. This hunt ends with the ubume ganked-“
Dean smirks. “You said ganked.”
“Shut up-“
“Bossy-“
“You gonna listen, Winchester?”
“Sorry, baby.” He’s still grinning, leaning down to press a kiss to your brow. “Keep goin’.”
Baby. I love you, baby.
Fuck.
“It’s not important.” You mumble. “I get to sing the Goodnight song from the Sound of Music on the stairs.”
“Oh, I remember that.”
You frown at him. “You-“
“You told me about it. When we worked that mall case. You said you wouldn’t sing for me, cause you wouldn’t kill for me.” Dean leans down, his lips brushing over your ear, his voice sending a shiver up your spine. “Would you kill for me now, Princess?”
“I-“ You swallow, turning your head to meet his gaze.
Mistake.
He’s so close. And even though you know this is a dream, he still looks so fucking real. Golden and pretty. All you’ve ever wanted. 
All you ever could want. 
“I think I would’ve killed for you then.” You whisper, and he blinks.
“And now?”
“I’d do anything.” You can tell him that. This isn’t real, so you’re not breaking any rules by telling him. “You’re- I-“
“I know.” He mutters, and he doesn’t kiss you on the lips. Dean just wraps his arms fully around your body, pulling you right into his chest and combing his fingers through your hair. “Me too. I- I miss you, Princess. I need you to come home.”
Your fingers curl in his shirt. “I want to, De. I- I’m so tired. And it hurts. It always hurts. This fucking sucks.”
He lets out a dry laugh. “It really fucking does. But life’s a bitch, sweetheart. Always gonna hurt. Better to have each other for it.”
“Alright.” You giggle into his body. “When did you get so wise?”
“When I started missing my girl all the time.”
You sigh. “She misses you too.”
“I know. But I hope she knows-“
There’s a bang on your door, and it rips you away from your dream. Away from Dean.
And the Silver is stirring. Nothing has happened but another loud, almost violent knock, but the Silver is already starting to hum and writhe.
That can’t be anything good.
You lay flat on your back, holding your breath until you’re a little light-headed. If it’s nothing, and the Silver is just going haywire, the knocking will stop. Whoever’s on the other side of the door will give up and move on.
But you’ve never been that lucky.
A bored, taunting voice says your name, and the sound is muffled through the door, but you still recognized the fancy, stupid accent.
Fuck.
“We know you’re in there, darling.” Ketch hums from outside. “It’ll so much easier for everyone if we cut to the chase, and you let us take you in.”
You stay silent, but your hands move to your wrists. You’ve been rubbing them until your skin was a little red and raw, and it stings to the touch, and the Silver is starting to turn and turn. It might not be the worst thing to explode on Ketch and whoever else he’s brought. But you’re in a cheap inn, and you’d passed a family when you were checking in. You won’t be in enough control to stop the damage from hitting them too. 
But if Ketch tries to grab you, you’re not going to be able to stop yourself, either. 
If you were a little better of a person, you’d let Ketch take you. You should be locked up. Contained. Kept where you’ll never hurt anyone, ever again.
But you’d never see Dean again, either. And you’d vanish, and he’s think you’d abandoned him. That you’d given up, or really run away, when it was supposed to be all the way down.
You’d promised Dean all the way down.
You’d promised Jo you’d be okay.
So you can’t go without a little some sort of fight. You’ll try and keep the Silver down, but if Ketch thinks this is going to go in his favor, he’s disgustingly wrong.
God, this is still going to suck.
Ketch repeats your name, and you take a long, steadying breath.
You can do this.
“You’re just dragging it out,” he calls. “We’ve got you surrounded, and we’re well prepared. You won’t be getting away this time. I promise, darling, it will be better if you come quietly.”
You almost laugh.
He has no fucking idea what he’s in for.
“I’m busy!” You call, slowing pushing up out of bed, your knife already in your hand. You’ve been sleeping with it. Just in case.
Plus, it reminds you of Dean.
“Can you come back later?”
Ketch laughs, and Jesus, it’s not a pretty sound. “I’m afraid we’re quite busy later. And you are not the type of girl one wants to take a rain check on. You might lose her after.”
You roll your eyes, spinning your knife in your hands. “I think you’ll find that you’re going to lose me anyway.”
“Wrong. We lost you last time because you left our jurisdiction. But now? You’re in our territory. And we’ve been watching you.”
“Of course you have,” you mutter. Your jacket is on, your bag is packed, now you just need to get out.
“You’re quite the fascinating little creature,” Ketch drawls your name, and you wonder—if you punch him hard enough—if you could make all his teeth fall out. “If we can figure out how to tame you, I think Mick would be right. You’d be quite the addition to our organization.”
Organization. You’d guessed they weren’t just a team of fancy fuck hunters, but that confirms it. “I think I’ll pass. But thanks for the offer.”
“I’m afraid it’s not an offer, darling-“
“Oh, well in that case,” you swing the door open, and give Ketch a wide, mocking smile. “I’ll just say suck my dick.”
It’s good to see that he hasn’t fully recovered from the ceiling you dropped on him. He’s holding his gun differently than before, and there’s a slight, forced slump to his shoulders.
He’ll probably get better eventually. But you hope it’s a long, grueling journey until he can fully throw his shoulders back again.
“You always have been so vulgar.” Ketch sighs. “We’ll work on that.”
“No.” You shrug, keeping your smile plastered on your face, even as the Silver grows. “I’m going to recommend you let me past, Ketch. It’ll be easier for all of us.”
He laughs. “Always so overconfident, too. I told you, we’re ready. I’ve got snipers trained on you, in case you try to use that cute little blade. This place is warded, darling. Your magic tricks are useless.”
“Oh no.” You drawl. “It’s warded. What am I going to do.”
“Well, you-“ Ketch’s eyes narrow. “You are being sarcastic.”
“I have never been sarcastic in my life-“
Ketch snaps your name. “You are not working this in your favor, by being uncooperative.”
“I think you’ll find I’m being incredibly cooperative.” You shrug. “I’m trying really hard not to kill you all.”
“Oh, are you-“
“Yep.” Your eyes narrow. “Stand down. Now.”
“I think I’ll pass.” Ketch says, his voice bored, and you sigh. 
“Alright,” you swallow, glancing up to the Sky. 
Silent. Uncaring. To it, Ketch is nothing more than a firefly. More than just a bug, but still disposable. 
“Your funeral.” You give Ketch a grimacing smile. “Let’s dance.”
There’s a moment—as you watch the men behind Ketch raise their guns to your head and your spin your knife in your hands—where you think you might be able to get out of this the normal way.
Then Ketch grabs your wrist, and you’re gone. Tearing through the world once more, growing out and out and out until the Silver is satiated, and the ground doesn’t want to move up and protect you. 
It crashes back into you, the blur clears, and it’s such a fucking mess. Another building in ruin. A fucking jackalope hopping around in the strange, black and golden flowers, and a white stag prancing on the high way. 
When you sweep the damage, it looks like you got lucky. Most people were out for the day. There’s only a rose-pink receptionist to hold and push back into her body, all of Ketch’s men—they might have had guns aimed at you, but they’re still people—and Ketch himself.
A muddied orange on the pavement. And you could leave him. Dean would tell you to leave him, that he’d tried to kill you and kidnap you, and he has tortured you, so it’s not unjustifiable to just leave him for the angels to find. And they will find him. You’ve already lingered too long, and the angels will be here soon.
But you can’t stop thinking about Jo, draining of all her blue. Growing hollow, just like how Ketch’s body is passed out on the ground.
Before you can think about it too hard, you’re grabbing Ketch’s soul, and shoving it back where it belongs.
You might regret that. You know you’ll regret that.
But it’s done. You aren’t going to take it back.
And you have to go, and not look back.
You’re getting better at not looking back.
Except with Dean.
You’ll always look back for Dean.
He hasn’t seen you yet. Dean’s attention is all focused on John. Shouting at him and raising his hands, high enough that Dean flinches, but never landing a hit.
Dean looks young. Younger than you remember knowing him. His face is softer, and his nose is still crooked but his hair is a lot lighter. While John yells, he’s bowing his head in a way you’ve rarely seen before. There’s no fight in him. He seems to be absorbing every verbal blow John throws at him, only fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves as he waits for it finish. 
“He could be hurt, you fuckin’ dumbass- He could be goddamn dead and it would be your fault. I give you one fuckin’ job, and it ain’t makin' him happy-“ John groans, running a hand over his face. “If you don’t tell me where the hell your brother ran off to, Dean, it’s gonna be your fuckin’ head-“
“Why is he mad?” You whisper in Dean’s ear, and he starts slightly.
“Son a bitch, Princess. You scared the shit out of me.”
You grin at him. “Aw, are you jumpy-“
“I don’t get jumpy.” He grumbles, and before you know what’s happening, Dean’s arm is looped around your waist and his face is buried in your neck. “I’m tough, sweetheart. Just didn’t think you’d be here.”
“Right.” You let your fingers wander up to his hair, glaring as John just keeps shouting like nothing’s different at all. “Of course you’re tough, Deano. You’re a cowboy.”
“I know.” He mutters into your skin. “‘M your cowboy.”
“Yeah. You are.” You sigh, glaring at John over his head. “Why is he yelling at you?”
“I let Sammy have a sleepover, while Dad was on a hunt. He got back early. He wasn’t happy I let Sam out of my sight at all, but then I refused to say where he went. That made him pissed.”
“You lied to your dad?”
“Sometimes, yeah. When I had to.”
“This was a have to?”
Dean grunts into you. “Was a sleepover with a girl. Sammy had just turned sixteen.”
You laugh. “Right. Obviously.”
“And I lied to Dad for you, too.” He grumbles, his arms tightening around you. “Never told him about our hunts.”
“I- Why?” You ask before you can stop yourself, and Dean just shrugs.
“He woulda stopped me seeing you. Never wanted to stop seein’ you.” He takes a long breath. “You always smell so good. Drives me fucking insane.”
Jesus. “I don’t smell like anything, De-“
“Wrong. Smell like fucking heaven, I don’t even- Wish I could figure out what it was. Spent so much time trying to figure it out.”
“You lied to John to smell me?”
“Kinda.”
“Oh.“ You swallow. “Did you ever lie so you could have a sleepover?”
“A sleep- You mean to fuck someone?”
He’s so all around you. It’s just a dream, but Dean’s still Golden and surrounding you and almost folded over your body, and you’re not sure how you remember to speak. “Yeah.”
“Never needed to. Only to see you. And I didn’t get laid for that.”
“You didn’t ask to get laid.” You mumble, and Dean chuckles.
“Would you have said yes, baby?”
Baby. I love you, Baby.
“Don’t answer that.” Dean mutters before you can even open your mouth, pulling back with an almost sheepish grin. “Already know the answer.”
You don’t think he does. Even the Dean in your head doesn’t seem to know that you love him. That you’d do anything for him. But he’s holding your gaze, and he’s your Dean again. A little taller, small scars littered on his face that make him look even more like that Cowboy, skin more tanned and eyes far heavier. When his hand lifts up to trace over your features, it’s calloused and rough, and his lips have gone chapped, but he’s still so pretty. And his Gold is still strong.
“I think I woulda run away with you.” He murmurs, and his voice is like a spell. You couldn’t move away if you tried. “Met you a year after this, and- Son of a bitch, Princess, I wish I’d stayed, that night. Pushed my luck with the smartest, prettiest girl I’d ever seen. Missed you then, too. Always missed you. Shouldn’t have listened to Dad. He- I knew he didn’t like me, but I never thought he’d hate me that much. Taking you away from me.”
You let out a slow breath, and shake your head. And you hate John. You hate him more than anything, for what he’s done to you, and Sam, and Dean. But you never want Dean to think anyone hates him. If Dean thinks John did all this because he hated him, Dean will make it his own fault. Make himself a failure, when it was John who failed him. And John—in his own, horrible, selfish, fucked up way—had cared about Dean. You wish he hadn’t.
But he did.
“He didn’t hate you, Dean.” You whisper. “He was just a piece of shit, and he hated me. There’s a difference.”
“Yeah, well, hating you is hating me. You the awesomest part of me.”
You flush, and Dean’s grin widens. “Awesomest isn’t a word.”
“Could be.”
“No-“
“There’s no a better word for you, Princess.” Dean swoops down, kissing your cheek and squeezing your hips until you giggle. “And I don’t care if Dad hated me. You like me.”
“I do.” You whisper, your stupid, ditzy smile returning. “I really do.”
You wake up slowly. Blinking as light seeps through the windows, your blanket still wrapped in your arms as a crude mockery of Dean.
And the better days are like this. Moving slowly through your gathered books—often finding nothing, but sometimes coming across a new spell or ritual or empty clue—and picking at your food, Dean’s voice in the back of your head humming eat, Princess. You need to eat.
You really have gotten better at it, over the months. You register when you need to go to the bathroom, and don’t fight it until it’s unavoidable. You eat less than you maybe should, but enough to not grow dizzy when you stand up. You keep water next to you all the time, and when your hand starts to cramp, you let it rest a little longer than one flex. You’d promised Jo you’d be okay.
And you’re not. You’re still tired, and breaking down, and you want to go home. But at least nobody will look at you, and see a girl that’s really more of a ghost. 
Today is one of those better days. Good might be too far a stretch, but it’s better. Simple. Read and eat and drink, go for a walk because fresh air is good for the pain over your skull, take a shower because it’s nice not to feel grime on your skin.
And you could swear the Sky is growing brighter. 
All day, it seems to be somehow building brighter and brighter. 
And growing. It seems insane, but the Sky seems to be fucking growing until it’s wrapped around more than you. Like it’s bracing you for something you don’t understand.
But everything is peaceful. No demons crashing into your motel room. Nothing from Ketch or his organization since your last detonation. The grass shifts easily in the wind, but the flowers seem to be holding their bloom. You haven’t seen a bird all day. You’ve seen people, nothing else. No bugs, no rabbits, no spiders.
Only a snake in the flower bed, and a dog who whines as he passes you.
It’s strange. Eerie.
Wrong.
Something is, in a way you don’t know how to articulate—but sits and shifts deep in your bones and intestines—wrong.
The Sky is so big. It’s still only watching, but it still seems to be reaching for you.
Not to swallow you.
To veil you. 
Hide you.
When the sun sets, the Sky is still shining. Nobody can see it but you, and it’s not making the world luminated, but the Sky is pure white and glaring with danger.
You don’t know from what.
But you know that the Silver is waking up. Nothing has even happened, but the Silver is rolling around inside of you. And you know Dean’s not picking up the phone. You try him, when you can’t sleep under the white of the Sky, but he doesn’t pick up.
He always picks up.
You’ve called him when it was the dead of night for him, and he’s answered with a muffled grumble and sleepy grunts. You’ve called him in the middle of a hunt, and he’s picked up just to tell you he’ll call you back. Once you called him during a movie, and he turned it off to talk.
Dean always picks up. 
Something is really fucking wrong.
You try Sam, and you know he’s been put in the panic room for demon blood reasons—although you’re still worried about how long the infection will take to clear his soul—but maybe he has phone privileges-
Nothing. 
Bobby. He always picks up after three rings, but this goes all the way to voicemail. You’ve never heard Bobby’s voicemail before. It’s brisk and says nothing more than if you’ve got this number, you know what to do, but Bobby has never been anything if not efficient.
You didn’t leave Sam a message. 
You leave one for Bobby.
“Hey, It- It’s me.” You mumble your name, drawing your knees up to your chest. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been calling more, but I thought you’d be mad at me for leaving. I know you’re mad at Dean about it, but he was just trying to- Please don’t be mad at him. I miss you, and-“ You swallow down a sob. The point. You need to get to the point. “I think something’s really wrong, Bobby. It’s- It’s just a feeling, but somethings wrong. And Dean’s not picking up the phone, and I’m really worried, so please just call me back and tell me everything’s okay. I need to know you’re okay, and I- I’m sorry-“
“Fifteen seconds left.” A cool, automated voice hums, and you take a sharp breath. You’re going to fucking cry again.
“I’m sorry. I miss you and I’m sorry and please tell me you’re okay. Something is really wrong, Dad, and I need to know you’re okay, I’m so-“
The machine beeps. You wipe your nose with your sleeve as the message sends, and the feeling of wrong only grows, the Silver pushing up with it. It’s shrinking, like it’s trying to hide in the darker corners of your body, but still gnashing with sharp teeth for when things go wrong.
Things are going to go wrong. Something so fucking primal is rolling over your every nerve, telling you something is wrong. And the wind is howling a warning, and the earth is pressing up to try and guard you like the Sky, and when you turn on the tap water, it’s singing you a soft song. It’s almost soothing. Not like a sedation, but a comfort. 
You hole up in your motel room, closing the curtain to try and block the Sky. You pray to Cas and he doesn’t answer, and you try Dean two more times with no luck. Your knife is clutched in your hands, and you’re curled right against the wall, and the water is still singing in all the pipes through the building, and it hurts but the comfort seems to be an anesthetic, and-
You’re not sure where you are. Only that its’s dark and cold and lonely. And high. You’re so fucking high up. 
Or low.
You can’t actually tell. 
The whole word seems like it’s folded into itself. The sky is at your feet but it’s also above you and at your side. Like an illusion, keeping you contained with smoke and mirrors and light.
There are shadows, creeping forward and trying to touch you. But something always makes them recoil, as if you’re a toxic or poison or feral or-
Silver
It’s the Silver.
You’re only the Silver, and the shadows can’t stand it. They hiss and sneer at the feeling of it, but still try to touch you. Then after they retreat, they try again, Like maybe this time, they’ll be strong enough.
Or you’ll be weaker.
But you’re not growing weaker. The more the Silver is poked at, the bigger it gets. 
The bigger you get. 
You are the Silver, and you’re more than glowing. You’re bioluminescent and blinding, but still filled with every space between the starts and all the colors colliding and shimmering through you. 
Somewhere in the shadows, there’s something red. Bloody, electric red and shining like a black light. 
It has more eyes than you can count, and a billion fists, and a million wings. But it’s not made of fire.
It’s made of the same gleaming, wrathful light as Sam and Dean.
And when it smiles at you, the earth shakes.
“Wow. You’re prettier than he deserves.” It hums. “Don’t worry. I can help you fix that.”
You swallow, but before you can respond, everything splits open. All of it. A crack leaking through the mirage, filling with light.
The light of the Sky.
“This is me.” The Red smirk at you. “I’ll see you soon. Don’t worry. We’ll have a lot of fun.”
The Red bursts up, and then it’s gone.
But you don’t move. You’re not trapped. You could follow the Red thing through the crack, but you don’t know how to move. You’re all Silver, and it’s too much. There’s nothing to tether too. Nothing to shrink back into. You just everything and nothing all at once, and it’s as if you’ve been turned into mist and filled with iron all at once, then told to run. 
You don’t know how to do anything but sit here. The Sky is watching you, through the crack, and you can’t tell if it’s urging you to move or demanding that you wait for it to grab you by the scruff of your neck-
It yanks you out of the paralyzing sleep. The blaring sound of some screaming part in a Led Zeppelin song. 
Sam and Dean don’t to ringtone, but they’re also both legally dead and criminals. You’re a ghost. You don’t run scams, and as far as the government is concerned, you’re a stale missing persons case. 
So you get to do ringtone. 
And you’ve never been more grateful for that than now. 
You grab the phone and answer without checking who it is. You already get to know.
“Dean, fucking- God I was so worried-“
“You were worried about me, Princess?” Dean rasps, and you don’t miss the exhaustion leaking through his voice.
“Of course I was worried about you.” I love you. “Are you okay?”
He sighs. “I’m in one piece. So is Sammy, and Bobby- He will be.”
Will be.
Your stomach twists.
“Something happened, didn’t it.” Your voice is barely a breath, and leaving was a horrible idea. You know something’s wrong, and breathing is starting to become a labor as your skin itches off your body, but there’s no one here to hold you.
Dean’s not here to hold you. 
“I-“ You take a shaking, unsteady breath. “I don’t know what’s going on, but something’s wrong. I know something’s wrong, Dean, I can feel it-“
“I know.” Dean whispers, and your hand moves up to hold your throat. 
The Silver is dormant. But it’s still too much, and old habits don’t decay when you don’t know how to plant anything new.
“It’s- We- Son of a bitch.” Dean clears his throat. “We kinda fucked up.”
You can’t breathe. “What?”
“We failed.”
“Dean-“
“The cage.” Dean mumbles. “It’s open. He’s out. Shit it- It’s bad, sweetheart.”
“Oh.” You whisper. “Fuck.”
“Yeah. It’s- Son of a bitch, you were right,” he mutters your name, his voice almost hushed. “It was Ruby. She’d been working with Lilith the whole time, and she tricked Sammy, and he’s such a fuckin’ idiot but I’m worried about him-“
“Dean.” You whisper, and you wish you could touch him. Move his face into your neck, like in your dream. Maybe fold yourself around him and be that damnation for him. “Are you okay?”
“I- Yeah. We got out, everything intact. Something sent us away. We lost Cas for a minute, but turned out something wanted him to stick around. Some demons went for us in Bobby, and he got hurt-“
“Bobby-“
“He’s fine, Princess. Gonna be fine. Stable. We’re actually about to go see him right now. And Sam’s fine too. Detoxing. He’s angry, and we’re- We’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” You take a shaking breath, keeping your eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Dean?”
He grunts, and try not to let the strain in your whole body grow audible.
“Are you okay?”
“I told you-“
“You told me Cas and Bobby and Sam are fine. I’m asking about you.”
There’s a long moment of silent static, and you know by now to wait. The line’s not dead. Dean’s just thinking. 
And when he speaks, his voice is barely a rasp.
“I- I need you to come back.” He mutters your name, and it’s too soft. “Son of a bitch, I- I can’t keep worrying about you and doing this.”
“Dean.” You sigh. “You know I can’t, they’ll-“
“I don’t give a shit what they do. Heaven or Hell or any of them. Demons rip me up and the angels will just pull me right back out. They need me. Some bullshit about Michael wanting to use me as a condom-“
“What-“
“Long story.” He mutters. “But I don’t fuckin’ care what consequences there are, Princess. Come home.”
There’s another silence as a lump forms in your throat, and you need to speak but words feel far away-
“Please.” Dean’s voice is so low and exhausted. “I need you.”
There it is. What you’ve been asking him not to do for months. 
He needs you.
Dean needs you.
And you don’t think you could say no if you tried.
“Okay.” You whisper. “Is Cas- Will he hear me?”
“Think so. Are you-“
“I’m coming home.”
You can hear Dean’s sigh, and it’s filled with relief. 
You’re really don’t think there’s anything you wouldn’t do for him.
“See you soon, Princess.”
“I- Yeah. Bye, De.”
It’s quick, to pack up. Most of your possession now are old, fragile books that better fucking survive angel travel, or you’ll punch Cas in the face. You don’t pray immediately, though. While there was no destruction, whatever had happened last night—Lucifer escaping, you’d been responding to Lucifer escaping, and you don’t know what the fuck that means—the wall are covered in vines and a little waterfall has formed from the window edge, falling down on to the floor-
Ground. You’re standing on the ground. Grass and flowers and tiny trees, and it’s buzzing with life below your feet. Like a little ecosystem, confined to your room.
That’s something the angels will probably be able to track. 
You can’t call Cas here. 
It’s a short walk than usual, and you stop at a Church. If the angels are sweeping the area, they probably won’t think to find you here. It’s hiding in plain sight.
You close your eyes, and pray. 
Cas. Help. Please.
There’s a whoosh, almost immediately. 
But it’s not Cas’ low, gravelly voice that comes from behind you.
“You should be careful, sweetheart. Praying in a church.” The bright, almost cheery voice laughs. “You might attract some unwanted attention.”
When you turn, the voice belongs to a shorter man, with longer, blond hair and bright eyes. 
But that’s not what makes you stumble back a step. 
He’s blue. 
He’s so fucking blue. 
Like the blue of Cas, turned up to a million. And he has an uncountable amount of eyes shoved into two, a billion fists curled into the same, and a million wings pressed to his back-
“You’re an archangel.” You whisper, and the Blue laughs. 
“Wow. That was fast. You know, everything I’ve ever heard about you said you’d be pretty, but smart? Don’t think he planned for that. In for a big surprise.”
You swallow. He can’t smite you. Or hurt you. Zachariah said nothing was allowed to hurt you. 
So you raise your chin, and hold the Blue’s gaze.
“What do you want?”
It doesn’t seem to faze him at all. “Damn. Moxie, too? They don’t know what they’re getting with you! A little spitfire.”
You frown. “Moxie?”
“Sorry, forgot you’re only what, thirty?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Shit. Even younger. Basically a fetus.” He shrugs. “Well, kid, moxie means you’re headstrong, little bit sassy-“
“I know what moxie means.” You mutter, rubbing the scar on your palm. “And that’s not correct. I just haven’t heard anyone use the word seriously.”
“Who says I’m serious?” The Blue winks. “I’m the fun one. I’d ask if you wanted to see, but I don’t think that would end in my favor. Already pushing it just by bein’ here.”
“I-“
The Blue cuts you off with a tsk. “I’ve got something to say, sweetheart. Something you’re gonna wanna here, before you do anything stupid.”
Your eyes narrow. “I’m not doing anything-“
“You’re trying to go home.” The Blue shrugs. “And it is stupid. I know what tree you’ve been barking up, sister, and it’s not the right one.”
“Sister-“
“No.” The Blue cuts you off quickly, shaking his head. “Just a nickname. You’re not my sister. That would be…” He wrinkles his nose. “So fucking gross. Like, we’re a fucked-up family, but not that fucked up. There’s gotta be a line, y’know? I think it’s there.”
The Blue speaks in circles and riddles, and it’s worse than Cas. At least Cas is amusing, and simply doesn’t know better. This guy just seems to be trying to set you off-
“That won’t work.”
You blink at him. “Wha-“
“Your little magic trick. The bam.” He makes a crushing gesture, raising his brows. “Afraid you need to have a little more control and self-love than you’ve got now, to take me out. I mean, the other thing you’ve got, the boom-“ Another gesture. “That might work, actually. Not sure. Let’s not find out.”
Now you’re just too confused, and you’ll hand it to him. The Blue’s vagueness seems to keep the Silver only brimming in your body.
“Look, I’d love to talk with you forever, but we’re kinda on a timer.” The Blue sighs, his tone suddenly falling into something serious. “That tree? The one where you’re trying to work out what you are and how to control it? Stop it. Stop barking.”
“I-“
“You don’t understand what you’re doing.” The Blue says your name, and it’s a little distorted. Louder. Musical.
Enochian.
“You’re changing things. Things that shouldn’t be tampered with, let alone moved around and rearranged however you want.”
“No- I-“ You shake your head, your hands drifting up to rub at your wrists. “I left. I stopped interfering, I promise-“
“You already interfered.” The Blue sighs, giving you an almost sympathetic expression. “Just your existence, just by letting them into your orbit, you’ve done more than you can-“
“But I stopped.” You’re almost pleading. You’d left to stop. To make sure nothing you did hurt anyone you loved. That was the fucking point, you’d stopped-
“Look.” The Blue run a hand—hands?—over his face. “We’re behind schedule, because of you! Little Sammy Winchester actually held on longer against Ruby and the blood, because you planted a little extra doubt in his head! Because he and Dean were fighting, but they fought all the time! He just knew you’d always end up with Dean, and he didn’t want to lose you with his brother, so he held on!”
“I- I don’t-“
“They’re ahead, too! Sam and Dean aren’t fighting as much because of Sam trying longer, and Dean’s thinking about what you would do! And you turned sweet, hopeful Castiel over to their side too soon, and now they’ve got some extra steps on everyone, which is going make this drag. People are gone that should’ve stuck around, and some of them are early, and you’ve made a mess that’s going to take forever to get in order!”
The Silver is still silent, as the Blue throws his hands in the air. 
You wish it would turn in, and rip you to shreds.
“I didn’t mean to.” You whisper, your hand returning to your throat. “I promise I didn’t mean to-“
“I know you didn’t.” The Blue shakes his head, and there’s that fucking sympathy again. “But you’ve gotta stop, kid. You’re making this even more complicated than those chuckleheads ever could.”
“But I- I want to go home.” You sound like a child. You don’t care. “I’ll just lock myself in my room, I promise, I but I- I need to go home-“
“Sorry,” The Blue says your name, in Enochian once more. “No dice. He’s looking for you, and that’ll make this all worse-“
“He-“
“My brother.”
“Oh.”
The Sky flashes over you.
The Blue doesn’t seem to see it.
“It’s better if you get some sleep, I think.” The Blue frowns, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “Yeah. Sleep will be good for you.”
You don’t want to sleep. You need to get home. Back to Dean. You’d told him you’d come home, so you need to come home-
“Probably won’t hold, but it’s better than the other option.” The Blue raises one of his bursting, electric hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it feel good. Send you someone nice.”
You want to scream, to run, to fight, but the Silver hasn’t built itself up, and you’re frozen. 
And before you can call for Dean, the Blue presses to your brow, and the world goes dark. 
“What don’t you think is real?”
You blink at Dean in the dark of the Impala, and a little bit of chocolate milk is smeared on his upper lip.
He’d grabbed a beer, insisting that he didn’t want anything else. But you’d grabbed two chocolate milks, because you know him.
Love him.
Miss him. 
You know this is a dream faster than usual. The whole world—even in the dark of midnight—is bathed in gold, just like when you dream about Dean without you. You remember what’s supposed to happen here.
You don’t really want to stray from the script, though.
You love this one.
“What do you mean?” You reach up to wipe the milk off Dean’s face, and he grins at you.
“Y’know. Some of this shit has to be fake.”
You hum, watching him carefully. “Like what?”
“Unicorns.”
“Unicorns are real-“
“I- No they’re not-“
“I’ve seen one.”
“Ah.” Dean grumble, taking another large drink of his chocolate milk. “Of course you have.”
You giggle, scooting a little close to his side to grab the jerky from his lap. His arm goes around the bench. Your shoulders. Casually keeping you pressed against him. 
It had never even crossed your mind to move.
“What don’t you think is real?” You ask, and he shrugs. 
“I believe what I can see. What I can kill. Monsters, ghosts, me, you-“
“Me? Should I be worried you’re going to kill me?”
“No.” He scowls. “You know that’s not what I meant. And I’m being serious-“
“I know you are, Deano.” You give him an amused look, reaching up to wipe the milk off again. “Do you believe in me?”
“Course I believe in you-“
“Do you believe in Sam?
“I-“ He sighs. “Just say it, sweetheart.”
Okay. You’re being dramatic.”
He’s almost pouting. “No, I’m not-“
“Yes, you are.” You sigh. “It doesn’t matter what might be real or not. I’m real. You’re real. This,” you poke him, and his gaze never leaves yours. “Is real. And I know it.”
“You know it?” Dean shakes his head. “How-“
“I just do. Do you know I’m real?”
He sighs, and nods. “Yeah. Guess I do.”
“Oh, you guess-“
“Shut up.”
You giggle, and Dean grins at you again.
“I’m glad you’re real, Princess. Would suck if you weren’t.”
You smile up at him, and you look stupid, and nothing has ever felt better. “I’m glad you’re real too, De.”
What you want to say—what you always want to say—is I love you. Dean Winchester, you perfect, Golden idiot, I could never love anyone but you.
But you can’t be allowed to. Not even in a dream.
So instead you just lean press your face into his chest, breathe him in, and hope that this moment lasts forever.
End Note: introducing new lore mechanics is always very special to me because I get to share about something I’ve been keeping secret for MONTHS and also you guys get to be confused.
Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
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icewindandboringhorror · 30 days ago
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Recent life photos
#photo diary#image 1 & 2 - of course these are just cloud images. But a cool pattern of them :0#3 - another word count of game writing... aargh... Still debating about like allowing other people into the game discord or how early#in the process one should do that.. but social things are just so difficult for me lol.. I shall always suffer for my lack of networking an#self promotion skills. 4 - I was forced to get a new phone a few months ago because my beloved phone of like 10 years finally#broke too much. and I always like to go through the emojis and make a little memo with all my favorites. yaay little pictures of things.#5 - I FINALLY finished all the dictionary entries for the game (which has a little dictionary feature in the player's journal to note#any specific terms and keep track of them (like what 'jhevona' or 'avirre'thel' means. or to remember that the world is called Nanyevimi#and the country they're in is Asen. etc. etc.)). There are 75 defined terms so far and it took me a while to do so out of curiosity I put#all the text into a wordcounter thing and lol.. 8000 words isnt that much I guess but the 30 minute reading time is funny to me. 30 minutes#for my little tiny dictionary panel in my quaint little casual visual novel which is not even lore heavy at all. hee hee (though that's mor#like a minute here and there since obv people are not unlocking every term all at once. you complete the dictionary as you talk to people#and hear them mention new concepts over time.).. ANYWAY..#6 - a very soft and beautiful stuffed animal that I did not buy but wanted to at least document their charm.#7 - stimky boye waiting in front of his favorite straw meowring screaming for someone to play with him (he likes to chase the#straw around). 8 - matcha bubble tea my beloved. 9 & 10 & 11 - some cool flowers I saw. also featuring one of my favorites (columbines!)#Anyhow.. as mentioned in the other photo diary post.. I have just been packing and writing mostly.. The evil summer is coming of course#which me and my health issues always dread. Good news though is I finally got my passport in the mail! >:3 huzzah. Now I just need to find#some fellow aromantic asexual living outside the US willing to take one for the team and fake a marriage with me so I can get the#hell out of the country UwU (<joking) (...mostly... as in - definitely NOT my main goal. but if a viable opportunity presented itself I#would of course give it consideration lol). I know that's already highly regulated but I wonder if it's something that will become even mor#locked down as people hunt for any opportunity to flee. People are out here searching for any loophole. Frantically researching their#entire family tree seeing if there's any chance for a citizenship by descent in whatever place will take them. etc. etc. lol#So I wonder if such marriages are a thing that will come up more often. hmm.. ANYWAY..#I have almost all of my stuff packed even though I don't move until another 1-2 months. But that's the point is to have it all sorted early#in the last remaining scraps of ''cooler'' weather so that then I can just relax up until then. I'm going to try doing another scrapbook#/sketchbook this summer as a Mood Boosting effort. Just to find little things to help with the situational political existential dread and#climate woes. So on days it's too hot to function I can just glue little things to pages and doodle lol.. hopefully.. slowly getting things#off my to do list.. I reaaaaaally want to get back to playing games as it's so fun and realxing to me but..rghgh.. 500 other things..
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wiseabsol · 4 months ago
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Potentially heartwarming Dracula: The Danse Macabre thought: Dracula will now get to experience the sunrise and the day-lit world again for the first time in centuries, thanks to his connection with Mina. Also, if she saw him in her mirror, staring back at her, does that mean he too gets to see himself for the first time in centuries through her eyes?
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jrueships · 10 months ago
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guess whos not going in at all this week, actually
#MY MANAGER EMAILED LIKE 2 HOURS B4 I HAD TO GO IN#she finally changed my schedule (1 day) to the night shift today#(i emailed her to be safe just kinda casually reaffirming im going in at the new time & then asking if any other shifts wanted 2 be changed#bcs that sounds great to me whstever option she goes with#she ignored that question & i get a new email from her asking if i completed a training. lets called it DOC#basically a long time ago she said 'i will send you DOC instructions soon' .. a few days pass and i get three 50 paged packets#one is called NAVIGATING DOC#im like oh ok cool that must be the DOC training shes talking abt bcs the other 2 packets were abt various trainings#NAH BRUH. APPARENTLY THE DAY IM SUPPOSED TO GO IN. SHE MESSAGES ME SOME ENTIRELY ALIEN PROGRAM#and is like 'u completed this right? cus if u didnt u cant come in today.'#LIKE?? MAYBE I WOULDA IF U SENT THE SHIT#but it's also like. dam i shouldve emailed prompting her to send what she said she would n clarifying BUT FUCK#WHY DO I GOTTA?? IM NOT THE MANAGER#she literally told me the name of the program rn thru email so i type it in and see like four hour long modules to complete#mind u i aint never even been informed a WHISPER abt this new program. nothings even labeled DOC TRAINING#but my struggle is. was i notified this?? and i just didnt see??? was i supposed to clarify with her what the DOC training was exactly??#the only thing ive heard abt doc training b4 this is 'i need to send u DOC training soon' in EMAIL. so i expected an alert#abt THE DOC TRAINING... in an EMAIL notification. WHAT THE HELL IS THIS#idk man#i dont even care bro like im busy as hell & the work is just to build clinic hours so i dont care abt the money factor#it's just like. can we get this first day jitters thing over with already?? im so over this bro#yaddayadda i emailed her an apology n ill be on that ASAP shit. but i did let her know i am basically justnnow seeing this site#n if there was any email or notif that couldve/tried to inform me of its existence 2 pls let me know / figure out how to find it#so the issue doesnt occur again & i dont have to keep botherinher which im so srry of bcs med is stress n shes just trying to get by#but still bro im a lil miffed bcs she probably thinks im stupid now and now im wondering if i AM#bcs WDYM ONLINE MODULES. AINT NOBODY SAID SH IT EVEN ABT THE EXISTENCE OF THEM!!! i wouldve pressed harder 4 clarification#if i knew it was an ONLINE MODULE i had to look out for on some randomass site i didnt even know the name of until now#instead of the EMAIL UVE BEEN 'COMMUNICATING' WITH ME ON#ARREGHHHHHHHH IM NOT STUPID. I SWEAR IM NOT STUPID FUCCK MY BAKA LIFE
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akpaleyreblogs · 1 month ago
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I love having roleplayed my way into putting a stupid fucked up love triangle into a game that didn't have one
#Ash and I are playing DOS2#and we have generated#a situation#me not knowing what's going to happen: I don't really connect with any of these guys maybe I try to romance the other PC#Ash: hell yeah what if I made this situation interminably messy and refused to clean it up?#anyway the Fane/Lohse Lohse/Sebille drama is mounting and we're kind of wishing there was a way for the NPC in this situation to react to it#anyway DOS2 good game#love Ifan#also love watching how it plots out its bespoke character interactions#we're doing a big party run so we get to see everyone but it's neat how it's set up important encounters to hook multiple guys#so if in a normal run you don't have one of them another of them will get you invested#also interesting how much DOS2 seems to want and expect you to play an origin character#compared to BG3 where custom was default#Ash is playing Lohse and I'm playing Fane and Ive been very impressed with my bespoke interactions#it is kinda weird that only the character you are inhabiting at the moment gets banter#like banter between multiple characters EXISTS but you only see it when both characters are actively being played by the player#weird system#wonder if there's a mod for that#if it exists I recommend using it.#we're#if I had to guess halfway through the final act?#so both the actual plot and our player generated subplot are going to have to come to a head pretty imminently#and I would comment more but the things that I'm thinking about in relation to the game are giant spoilers right now#I guess my unrelated comment is that it's interesting thinking Kaijja was mostly monogamous and then feeling what a character#ACTUALLY being monogamous feels like. Kaijja isn't monogamous she's just more than I am. Fane as experienced by me is actually there. It is.#Very different feeling as a set of emotions.#And I finally kinda feel like I get it. As a function of something other than fear. Couldn't be me but I get it.#So that's been interesting.#Anyway this has been my comments on. A video game? A roleplaying experience? One of thems.#divinity original sin 2
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voltrixz · 9 months ago
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Always very funny to poke fun (coping so hard ) at shocker moping during the breakup arc in the merc electro au but tbh if I fumbled electro I think I would kill myself because WOW
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waywardsalt · 21 days ago
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completed fe conquest on hard mode :)
#endgame map was abt 6 turns for me bc i didnt bother fucking with any of the popular meta strategies for it#i just tried to bumrush takumi with little regard for losing units that werent corrin#funny enough his having 5 active skills didnt do much for the takumi fight beyond an astra proc#the finishing blow was a back-to-back vengeance proc with corrin at full hp so it did nothing lol#but that corrin build really did do wonders for me in a few of those later maps- the iago and hans one in particular#funny to have the credits rolling and seeing all of the child units with 0 battles 0 victories bc i did their maps soley for exp n shit#nina was a clear mvp as well as niles ending up with 10 mov most of the time#tho they were along the lines of general squishy so they went down in the final two maps to clear the way pretty much#xander real mvp tho but i think thats just like. a normal conquest experience. the other royals kinda lagged behind frustratingly#anyways uhhh yeah fuckin hell im not used to realllly taking fe seriously in the long term and this was really fun to pull off#probably going to do hard mode engage next bc its difficult enough for me to have real interest in doing so#i did awakening hard mode but thats like. eh. fates and engage have more going on in terms of tools given to the player#as well as just like. interesting map design lmao#salty talks#im not doing this on lunatic holy fuck i scraped through by the skin of my teeth a few times im not trying this on lunatic#im vaguely aware of some meta stuff (like a common rescue staff-centric endgame strat) but i just think it would be unfun#i had fun with hard mode and figuring out what i wanted to do based on how things were going and what i knew was coming up#i kinda frontloaded handling hinoka and ryoma's maps so it was a little bit awkward for the final few maps#but it wanst a stumbling thing more just like i lost my specific advantage#also forgot i gave xander both a beast killer lance and an armorslayer which is funny to me but also like. come on salty#i was going to try using elise to silence that one hexing rod guy in the final map but she went down easy (strategist class)#so i just had 9 mov corrin get danced for by azura and just kill him before he could do anything#i think astra is probably a really good skill for the final boss with how quickly the shield gauge builds up#skipped the last invasion. fuck that thing
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apatheticsunday · 1 month ago
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Single Dad Dead on Main
AKA "Danny is the ghost-equivalent of a foster parent for de-aged Dani and Dan. Jason's just wondering who the hell these two feral meta children are." prompt idea!
Danny thinks he's doing an okay job at being a single dad of two. They're living in a quaint two bedroom apartment in Park Row, he's managing his Ghost King money well, and the kids haven't died (again). (He's definitely not getting a "World's Greatest Dad" mug anytime soon, but, hey, at least the house hasn't burned down yet!)
...Until he wakes up from his nap to an eerily silent apartment.
If there's one thing he's learned over the last few months, it's that silence is not good. He's scrambling off the couch fast enough to give himself a headache, practically flying down the hallway so he can get to the kids' room. Ellie is wedged halfway under her bunk bed. Dan's also squished under the bed but quickly squirms out when he realizes Danny's standing in the door way. He's holding... a socket wrench??
"...do I want to know what you two are doing?" Danny deadpans.
Ellie scrambles out as well, smears of something oily on her cheek. For a seven and eight year old, they have surprisingly convincing I'm innocent! expressions.
"I dunno," Ellie singsongs while Dan simultaneously barks, "Nothing!"
Danny squints. The kids squint back. Yeah, there's definitely something under the bed that's not supposed to be there. Since Dan's holding a wrench (and where the hell did he get that?? Danny doesn't even own any tools aside from maybe a little rubber mallet he found in the hallway closet), Danny hopes thinks it's not an animal.
It takes a minute of arguing in which Danny promises not to be mad, let them eat ice cream, and let them stay up an hour later than curfew for the kids to even let him near the bed without biting him. (Jokes on them, the ice cream is sugar free and Danny's going to reset the clocks to an hour before. Check and mate, bitch! Parenting is so easy.)
And then Danny pulls out... a tire. No, a rim. Two tire rims. Oh, Ancients. Engraved on the tire rim is a red Bat symbol. His stomach nearly drops to the floor; everybody in Crime Alley knows what the Red Hood's symbol looks like. "Eight Heads in a Duffle Bag," Crime Prince of Gotham with a gang big enough to take over all of Park Row. And yeah, Danny could easily beat the guy, but that doesn't mean he wants to. He doesn't want to uproot Dan and Ellie from their schools, move cities, run from yet another organization that wants them dead.
"How did you get this?" Danny asks, utterly dumbfounded.
"I dunno," Ellie says, just as Dan's saying, "Nowhere."
(Danny takes it back. Parenting is definitely not easy.)
"Danielle. Daniel. Where did you get these tire rims?" Danny asks again, more stern this time, to which he only gets shrugs. And that's when he notices the window is open and the screen his missing. "You're kidding me. Did you climb out the window? We're on the third floor!"
"We flew, duh." Ellie rolls her eyes, only shooting a wide-eyed, guilty look to Dan when he elbows her with a vicious shuddup!
"I-okay. Here's what we're going to do. We'll... just return the rims. It's not like the Red Hood saw you two steal them-," Danny stops when Ellie and Dan give each other a side-eye. He knows that look. It's the same look he and Jazz used to give each other when they had a silent agreement about something. Oh, no. No, no, no.
"...he didn't see you, did he?"
Another side-eye look. Oh, Ancients. At least there's no way the Red Hood knows where they are, right?
(Jason stares at the kids playing with his bike. He's not stupid enough to think they couldn't have been paid to sabotage it, but the way the little girl hikes herself up onto the seat and pretends to rev the engine makes him think otherwise. It's cute. The boy mostly seems interested in the engraved bat symbol on his tire rims, scraping at it like it's a 3D decal.
"I wanna be a bicycle-rider when I get bigger. I'll wear the jacket and everything!" The little girl laughs, deepening her voice before saying, "I'm a bicycle-rider! I'll beat you up!"
Jason snorts. He's leaning against the fire escape balcony overhead and it's dark enough for them not to see him, but they both freeze at the soft sound. When nothing happens, the kids relax again.
"It's a motorist, stupid. C'mon, help me take this off and I'll build you one."
"You wanna take the tire? Why?"
"'Cus of the symbol! It's the Batman symbol, do you know how scared people are of 'em? Show 'em this and nobody'll mess with us."
The kid's got a point. Crime Alley knows Red Hood's symbol like the back of their hand, but somehow Jason doesn't think rolling around a tire rim is going to have the same effect. Jason's about to step in when the kid bends the fucking metal with his bare hand. His fucking bike. It looks like the kid barely broke a sweat, too; just wiped his hands on his jeans and started prying apart front of his motorcycle.
Jason's voice is more biting than he means for it to when he shouts, "Hey!" He swings over the fire escape, landing with a heavy thud, before hauling ass towards the kids. Almost immediately the boy yanks the girl behind him and snarls... and his eyes go Lazarus-green. Jason stops abruptly. His voice is softer, gentler, when he tries again.
"Hey, kid. Don't you know not to go tearing apart people's bikes? C'mon, at least do it the right way."
That makes the boy pause, looking momentarily baffled and the green turning into bright blue. Jason takes that as an in and says, "Y'know, it's a lot faster when you use tools. I've got a wrench in my bag. If you use it like this..."
Jason spends the next thirty-five minutes helping the kids steal his own damn rims. He shouldn't. But he's curious about who these meta kids are and they're almost painfully easy to talk with, they just blabber like they've never heard of keeping a secret before in their lives. They talk about their dad, school, their favorite tv show. And then they talk about "the bad men" and Jason's stomach drops. "The bad men" who drive white vans, capture people, and experiment on them. And that sounds an awful lot like a meta-trafficking ring in his city, dead set on coming after the kids and their dad.
Then he's very, very grateful he's letting the kids take his rims home. After all, what Bat doesn't put GPS trackers in their symbols?)
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