#i could hear idiot wind and if you see her say hello

[mackmp3]

remembering that time i woke up in the middle of the night and auditory-hallucinated a considerable part of blood on the tracks

[thehomophobe]

You and the Human! FNAF SB cast as told by incorrect quotes

(Y/N): Monty, we tried things your way.

Monty: No, we didn't.

(Y/N): I did it in my head and it didn't work.

Moon: I eat Cheerios because they’re heart healthy. And my heart has been severely damaged.

Roxy: Are you sure (Y/N)'s even gay? They barely even looked at me.

Monty: Which way did they go?

Moon: Well, based on the direction of the wind, the broken sticks in the corner, and the slight disturbance in the dirt, I’d guess they went left.

Monty: You could really figure it out from that?

Moon: No you idiot, they sent me text. See?

(Y/N): How much did you spend on this date?

Roxy: $1400. But all of it’s on credit cards, so it’s like $5 a month for the next 2,000 years.

Lorelei: You look like a corpse that was just pulled out of the river.

Monty: Wrong. I look like a cool rock star who just OD’d in his own pool. Big difference.

(Y/N): I find it very unseemly of Claire to start dating again. Isn’t the customary period of mourning 10 years?

Lorelei: Die. Let’s find out. 

Monty: I don’t want to be cool anymore!

Monty takes off his sunglasses and throws them at the wall. The glasses hit the wall, but ricochet back and land perfectly on Monty’s face.

Monty: Well I guess I don’t have a choice!

Benison is dropping Claire off at a movie theater.

Benison: Enjoy your movie!

Claire: Thanks you too! [In Claire’s head] What? He’s not seeing the movie why did I say that? Just kidding!

(Y/N): *Answers her phone* Hello?

Monty: It’s Monty.

(Y/N): What did he do this time?

Monty: No it’s me, Cher. It’s actually me.

(Y/N): What did you this time?

(Y/N) and Moon cuddle in bed together.

(Y/N): How do tall people possibly sleep at night when the blanket can’t possibly cover you?

Moon: (Y/N), it’s four o’clock in the morning.

(Y/N): So, you can’t sleep, huh? Is it because of the blanket?

Sun: Seriously, I have no idea what to do.

Sun: Oh wait! Yahoo! Answers.

(Y/N): Are you trying to seduce me?

Bonnie: Why, are you seducible?

Chica: Sylvester is right. You can’t run around like a footless chicken.

Sylvester: Headless chicken Chica.

Chica: Uh… No. How’s the chicken supposed to run around without a head?

Sylvester: How’s it run around without feet?

Chica: I'M NOT A CHICKEN SYLVIE, WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME ALL THESE QUESTIONS??!

(Y/N): Know why I called you in here?

Monty: Because I accidentally sent you a dick pic.

(Y/N): *Stop pouring two glasses of wine* Accidentally?

Monty: Who the fuck—

Sun: Language!

Monty: Whom the fuck—

Sun: No.

Freddy just found out where Bonnie’s corpse was.

(Y/N): So, uh, what up, Fredbear?

Freddy: Oh, hello, my friends. I did not hear you come in.

Claire: Is everything ok?

Freddy: If by “ok” you mean that my life is a meaningless black cauldron of swirling failure, then yes, everything is groovy

Claire: So what do you have planned for the future?

Chica: Lunch 

Claire: No, like long term.

Chica: Oh…um…dinner?

Monty: I thought I had my anger under control, turns out, I didn’t! But now I do! Seriously!

(Y/N): He means, for now. I give him ten more seconds. 9, 8, 7…

Lorelei: What are you saying Monty? I-it’s not that, you’re angry, but we make you angry?

(Y/N): …6, 5, 4,

Monty: I never said that!

(Y/N): …3, 2…1

Monty: SHUT UP!

(Y/N): Bing, bing, bing, we have a winner!

Benison, texting Claire: a theif

Claire: A thief?

Benison: theif 

Claire: I before E except after C.

Benison: thceif 

Claire: No. 

Moon: Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on in here?!

Sun: Well it’s kind of complicated, but Monty—

Moon: Got it. Forget I asked.

(Y/N): If you were Freddy right now, where would you go?

Chica: Is it possible to enter the color beige?

Foxy: Just be yourself. Say something nice.

Roxy: Which one? I can’t do both.

Lorelei, on the loud speaker: Will the owner of the lime green Honda please come to the front desk?

Benison: Are my lights on?

Lorelei: Oh no, I just wanted to see what you looked like. Dude your car’s ugly.

Sun: Depression? This isn’t my depression. This is just my ADHD. You know, makes me forgetful. I just-like I set down my will to live one time. I turn around, it’s gone I can’t figure out where I put the thing.

Vanessa: I am at a loss for words!

(Y/N), narrating: Despite being at a loss for words, Vanessa proceeded to yell at me for the next 10 minutes.

Chica: My name is Chica. I’m here to kick butt and chew gum… and I’m all out of butt!

Roxy: Chica- For Pete’s sake, it’s out of GUM. Not butt!

Chica: But I still have half a pack! You want some?

*Pre-Glitchtrap Virus*

Vanny: I want you to kill him but make it look like an accident.

Moon: Say no more.

[Later]

News reporter at the crime scene: Looks like the killer beat him to death with a crowbar and placed a banana peel by his feet.

Roxy: This is actually really good garlic bread.

Chica: Garlic bread is my favorite food. I could honestly eat it for every meal or just eat it all the time without even stopping.

Roxy: You’d get fat.

Chica: No, why would I get fat?

Roxy: Bread makes you fat.

Chica: BREAD MAKES YOU FAT??

(Y/N): Claire, I thought you said you were smart?

Claire, trying to push a door that says pull: Listen, I said I was smart, not bright.

Sun: I made a marshmallow Monty. His arms are crossed because he’s mad at all the other marshmallows for annoying him. Do you like it?

Monty, visibly choked up: It’s fine.

[creative-kny-fics]

Hello friend! I was wondering if requests are open? If not ignore this-

Id they are, could you do Lee! Genya and Ler! Sanemi? Maybe Sanemi feels a bit bad about how he’s been treating Genya so he does it to cheer him up? In an inconspicuous way, of course 👀

Thank you ❤️

I think I've made a fic similar to this before... But I don't remember if it was on my previous account or on this one ;-;... I'll do it anyway!

Ler: Sanemi Shinazugawa

Lee: Genya Shinazugawa

Sanemi was being scolded by Himejima, the reason? Let's find out... 'Shinazugawa, I've received some complaints saying that you threatened several slayers today. May I know the reason?'

'Tsk... Those idiots are just exaggerating...'

'So, you didn't threaten them with your katana and made them run for almost 9 minutes without stopping?', Sanemi frowned, those idiots had now gotten him into trouble.

He analyzed his options, and none of them seemed to come out of it unscathed, apparently he had no choice but to tell Gyomei what had happened.

'So... You heard a group of slayers murmuring about how useless Genya is for not being able to use breaths and thus yearns to become a hashira?', Sanemi nodded. 'It's a bit hypocritical of you... You treat Genya that way too, did you forget?'

Sanemi's anger subsided, looking at the ground sadly, Gyomei was right, he didn't treat Genya well either.

The only thing that differentiated him was that he acted like that with him because he wanted to protect him, while they did it to make fun of him. 'I'll talk to him about it... Does Oyakata-Sama know what I did?'

'No, but I will try to explain the situation to you. The only condition I ask for doing this is that you treat Genya better, do you think you can fulfill it?', Sanemi nodded, said goodbye and headed off determined to look for his little brother.

It didn't take long, he found him also frustrated, could it be that he had also heard what everyone was saying about him?

'Genya...', that voice... 'Huh? Aniki-! Sorry... Wind Hashira...'

'You can call me Sanemi, there is no one here who is seeing or hearing us...', Genya's eyes widened, but he agreed to call him that. 'Sanemi, what do you want? I'm busy...'

'I want to talk to you, stop what you're doing and come here... NOW', Genya nodded and approached him.

Perhaps this has been the closest he has had with him without being treated badly or trying to hit him, he was happy. 'Genya, you know what they say is not true, right?'

'It is not? So why do you always repeat it to me...? Why are you always telling me to abandon everything...? Why it always seems like I let you down...?!', he covered his eyes and turned his back on him.

Sanemi controlled the tears that wanted to come out and approached him, turning him around so that he could stare at him and after a few seconds of looking at him, hug him.

It was too much for Genya, he hugged him tightly, thinking that perhaps it would be the last time Sanemi would hug him or treat him that way.

'It's complicated to explain... But I want you to be clear about something...', Sanemi grabbed Genya's cheeks, squeezing them while forcing him to stare at him.

'... I don't hate you, I just want the best for you... And if I ever hear someone talk shit about you again, I'll make them eat dirt and I'll make them apologize to you. You understand me?' 'I-Ius!', he replied, or at least he tried.

He let go of his cheeks, smiling internally as he watched his brother laugh and rub his cheeks. He slowly approached him from behind, hugging him again but this time falling to the floor while still hugging him.

'You're smiling?' 'N-no...', Genya isn't good at lying either.

Sanemi also smiled, taking advantage of the fact that he was hugging him to begin caressing his sides, putting more strength into his embrace when Genya seemed to begin to squirm and free himself.

'Hey, where are you planning to go?! I thought you wanted me to show you affection!', he laughed as Genya threw her head back to try and hit him. 'Y-yohohou aharehe tihicklihing mehehe!!'

'Me?! I have no idea what you're talking about! I'm just hugging you... Don't blame me for your sensitivity~'

Genya's face blushed, which encouraged Sanemi to continue, raising his hands, tickling his armpits, knowing perfectly well that Genya would catch his hands to make him leave him. Sanemi knew his brother perfectly. 'O-OKAHAHAHAY!! SAHANEHEMIHIHI!! NOHOHOT THEHEREHEHE!!'

'Where~? Come on Genya, are you going to tell me you don't like this? You trapped my hands under your armpits, so I can assume you want me to continue~'

'THAHAHAT'S NOHOHOT THE REHEAHASON!! DOHOHON'T TEHEASEHEHE ME!!', nah, Genya was too adorable to even think about stopping.

Sanemi was having fun, when was the last time he tickled his brother? Maybe years would have passed and yet, he was still that ticklish baby who always enjoyed tickling.

'Genyaaaa~' he sang, adjusting his grip so Genya wouldn't escape.

'WAHAHAIHIT!! NOHOHOT THAHAHAT!!'

'Mmmmm? What thing? THIS?!'

A raspberry was blown on Genya's neck, making him arch his back and making the blush only worse from the embarrassment he felt.

Genya's strength was not the same, he no longer even tried to escape, he knew that any attempt to do so would be useless, so he decided to conserve his strength to laugh until Sanemi considers it was enough for him. 'Awwww, have you given up yet? What's up Genya? Come on, fight me! Try to earn your freedom or else I'll keep making fun of you~ do you want that?'

'NOOOO!! I GIHIVEHEHE!! I CAHAHAHAN'T!! I'M TOHOHO TIHICKLIHIHISH!!!'

'I already knew that! Gosh is this really too much for you?',. Genya nodded and gasped when Sanemi stopped dead.

Sanemi laughed when he saw his brother curled up in a ball while trying to catch his breath, he couldn't even get close to hug him because Genya rolled over to get him away. 'D-don't do that again...'

'Are you sure you want that?', earning a small kick from Genya.

Realizing what he had done, he immediately stood up from where he was and started running away from him. Sanemi gave him a small advantage, but one thing was for sure, he had to run and catch him before Genya told Gyomei about what he had done.

Maybe Genya has achieved it... Just as maybe not, what do you think?

[uncouth-the-fifth]

pythia, a supernatural rewrite. phantom traveler, p.3

read it on ao3.

words: 14k notes: hello!!! on the wings of an absolute ARMY of betas, here is a fresh new chapter for you!! since the last one was a little short i took the time to really flesh this one out. I'm a shy idiot who is SO bad at responding, but i see your comments and they mean the world to me. i literally have a folder on my computer full of the sweet words this fic has been given, and i think i've re-read the comments in that folder at least a million times over by now. ty so much for reading, and i hope you enjoy!! bloody mary is next! a very special thank you to my beta readers, bear, M, venice, feeb, and daff, who easily made this my best chapter yet. thank you specifically for keeping me coherent and sane lol <3

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 4th.

You don’t have to be psychic to know precisely what your mother is going to say when she answers the phone. She’ll pick up on the fourth ring with an occupied, scathing drawl and say, Look who finally has cell service.

Alright. So you’re not the best, most communicative daughter in the world. You call when you can, you honestly do, but there’s not exactly loads of emotional bandwidth to spare on the road. Peeling off all the layers of case anxiety and Winchester grief takes a while, dammit!

Maybe you’d feel less guilty if you vented to Sam or Dean, but it’s kind of lousy to bitch about Mom-stuff to, uh. Yeah. The boys. You could use a simple, uncomplicated statement like, talking to my Mom reminds me of how much of a disappointment I must be to her, and Dean would hear matricide instead. Sam’s blank, uncomprehending look wouldn’t be much better. Looks like you’re alone on this one.

When there’s a natural break in the day’s long research-fest the three of you are riding, you slip away, pace beside the Impala for a while, then finally bite the bullet and call her. Cars whisk through the slurry of snow on the road. Your phone charms rattle in the icy breeze. One ring, two rings… She knew you were going to call, she could sense it, but of course she has to torture you… three rings, four.

“I didn’t know cell service was so hard to come by in Pittsburg,” Beth greets you, sounding preoccupied. Damn, do you know her well or what?

“Hey, Mom,” you sigh. The wind is loud, so you pull your phone further down your face and try to come up with an excuse that is even halfway reasonable. “Sorry I haven’t called. It’s been ages since I’ve been around the boys, and I guess I get a little caught up with them sometimes.”

This is objectively true. She used to have a rule about you getting your homework done before they came over, purely because you forgot about everything and anything else the second Sam and Dean entered the house.

“Forget those losers. You’re my baby, I love you most,” Beth gushes, and you understand that this is her way of saying that you’re forgiven. Both of you have fallen victim to the Winchester spell before, so she can’t exactly blame you.

You’re a little embarrassed by her mushiness, but a relieved, bubbly laugh jumps out of you. “Alright, consider them forgotten. Now… I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m gonna ask you a question, and I need you not to freak out or overthink it, kay?”

Beth snorts. “You mean my two jobs as a mother? Go ahead, shoot.”

This is not the kind of question that you just “shoot,” though. It takes you a moment to string together how you’re going to ask this, and of course, you’re nothing but graceful and delicate about it. “...What do you know about demons?”

Your mother doesn’t say anything for a long, yawning second. Still, you can sense her rising swarm of questions and outrage all the way from Pennsylvania, and you try to stop her onslaught before it starts. “Hey! No questions! Just answers. I promise I would tell you if this was outrageously dangerous.”

“Then you’ve already broken your promise,” Beth utters, slipping into her Sage Grandmaster Psychic voice. Just hearing it makes you deflate. She predicts, “...Let me guess. You’ve felt nauseous. Suffocated. Hungry, but everything you eat comes right back up again.”

You toe a chunk of ice on the asphalt with your boot, grumbling, “...Yeah.”

“Then you’re lucky,” she reveals, her words still ringing with the same crystal ball clarity from your childhood. “That means you haven’t come into direct contact with it yet. I’d hope you never would, but… you are your father’s daughter…”

You know your mom. You know that’s just her way of warning you about the kind of danger you’re in, here, but all the comment does is bolster your resolve. Damn right. You are his motherfuckin’ daughter.

“Tell me,” you push.

Beth sighs through her nose. There’s a squeak on the other line, and you can imagine her at home, dropping heavily into the massive, millennia-old armchair she always took her readings in.

“Demons… well, I won’t explain to you what you can already guess. They’re unlike most legends we know of, because everything that’s written about them is utterly true. Most spirits that walk the natural earth are here to feed—vampires, werewolves—or to take care of unfinished business. But demons… they come to earth to steal, kill, and destroy.”

Welp. Your mother is truly a pillar of optimism. You’d been hoping she’d say something along the lines of, don’t worry, sweetheart, they’re just really messed up ghosts. Instead of, y’know. The most evil creatures man encountered in the bible. Bible, capital B. An uncomfortable, existential shiver rolls down your spine. Now this was something you could bitch to Dean and Sam about.

You’d grown up surrounded by the idea of demons. Even before you’d fully understood that monsters were real, sometimes you’d slip into your mother’s reading parlor while she was gone and play a game with the strange, segmented star pattern on the giant worn-smooth carpet. Don’t hop on any of the lines! Only step in the points of the star! Or, jump from sigil to sigil!

The one time you’d gotten carried away and played for too long, your mother had appeared through the beaded curtain with a stiff frown on her face. Don’t play on the devil’s trap. It’s not a toy.

There was the fraying devil’s trap in your mother’s parlor room, which was one of the hundreds of sigils burned into your mind at a young age. You’d shaken hands with demon hunters before. Most of the rituals your family practiced were in Latin; and the list went on and on into oblivion. You’d always known demons existed, but as you pace the parking lot and take in what Beth is telling you, the ramifications start to stack. Demons. Actual, literal demons. The thing that took down flight 2485—the suffocating, unimaginable presence from your vision—was a real-life demon. When you’d stood in the skeletal remains of the plane and reached out with your Gift, you’d been sensing the lingering presence of a fucking creation of Lucifer. What the actual fuck.

In a strange, backward way, you’re kind of relieved. Anyone would be fainting all over the place in the presence of an actual, real-life demon. Especially somebody like you, with all their senses turned up to 100. It makes sense that you were having such intense reactions before.

What the fucking fuck. You’re suddenly grateful to be on the phone with your mom.

You wandered toward the Impala, (checked first that you weren’t wearing the kind of jeans with the little studs that would scrape the paint), then leaned against it. “...Um. Okay. That’s just… awesome… How do they get… up here, then?”

“I’m not sure,” your mother hums, thinking. “Your great-great-aunt Miriam wrote in her records that they find their way top-side on their own. Bugs through cracks, that sort of thing. Apparently, there used to be a whole lot more of em’—in Miriam’s day it was a Proctor’s job to shove them back where they belonged, but… I dunno.” Beth helpfully jokes, “Maybe we got most of them.”

You huff out a laugh, but it’s not the most sincere. “Maybe we did,” you cough. “But, um, do we have any Proctor family secrets that could help me out here? Did great-great-aunt Miriam have a trunk somewhere full of demon-killing grenades or something?”

Beth smirks. “Great-great-aunt Miriam turned the house into a brothel and carved terrifying sigils in all the ceilings. That’s all we got from her.”

Of course. How could you possibly forget? “Oh, huh. I was wondering why we have old chains and whips in the basement. That fills in a lot more for me, thank you.”

Your mom barks out a laugh at your joke, which gets you laughing too. The sound trails off. There’s that funny pause where you both remember what you just said, then start giggling all over again—and man, does it feel good to just have a moment with your mom. The boys both have an unforgiving radar for “bonding,” and the second they realize that you love them and they’re your friends, they creep right back into their shells. Neither of them were very good at absorbing that sort of thing.

Your mom is just as skilled at spoiling the moment.

“But, seriously…” She stresses. “Please be careful. Avoid contact with these things at all costs, especially with your Gift. It’s made to find the truth, and demons are made of lies. Not a good mix. They’ll rip into your mind… take you apart if they have to. This is a lot more hands-on than you should ever be with your Gift, ____.”

“...Right,” you say through your teeth.

This is the part where you start awkwardly shoving in a goodbye without coming across as an asshole. You open your mouth, about to say something stiff and unsure, when you sense a spike of alarm ripple out from where the boys are still researching in your motel room.

Phone call forgotten, you jolt off the Impala and whip towards the door. Not a second later, Dean’s slipping out onto the stoop and sweeping the parking lot with a calm, guarded stare. He doesn’t look at you—just gestures you inside, holding the door open. Even from the parking lot, you can make out the insane amount of notes and papers Sam has coated your motel room with.

“Jerry just called,” Dean utters. “The surviving pilot from 2485? Chuck Lambert? …He just went down in a plane crash.”

You snap your phone shut and follow him inside.

-

The three of you head to the site of the next crash as fast as you can. But first, you have the pleasure of watching the boys play Winchester Telepathy when you insist on coming along. They’re still worried. You would be too, in their position. (In fact, if the roles were reversed, you’d probably chain Sam to a radiator and call it a day.) But Chuck went down in a twin plane, not a massive, two-hundred-person graveyard, so your Gift should have the legs to handle it.

…And knowing what you’re dealing with has steeled your confidence. You weren’t slashing at the dark anymore, even if what was in the dark was, um. Proof that hell exists. After days of being totally screwed over by this thing, you finally had even the slightest leg up on what was going on. You were going to take that win and run with it.

Chuck’s twin plane was hardly a twin anymore; both the engines had been shredded, the white body of the cockpit twisted like a wrung-out washcloth. The plane had dove so hard into the farmland that the snow around it had melted. You still kind of felt like tossing your lunch, but more out of sympathy than psychic backlash. People had been in that plane. The thought made you taste bile.

Sam and Dean only hover a little bit (a lot) while you open your Gift to the wreckage. You take your glove off with your teeth and touch your right hand to the ashen, snow-soaked remains of the pilot’s chair… and there it was again, the leeching, seeping, violating presence from the vision that’d brought all of you to Pittsburg. A demon.

Your Gift wrings out another scraggly, disconnected vision for you. Chuck was beyond anxious to get back in the saddle after 2485. The co-pilot, Lou, had pep-talked him like any good friend would, reassuring him that the flight would go smoothly. After that, everything—gassing up the engine, takeoff, and the brutal, horrific crash—was blotted with poison ink. Every time you tried to steer towards Chuck with your senses, it was as if the strip of film playing your vision had been burned away. His face had been scratched out of every frame. He had become something else; something terribly familiar.

The research Sam had compiled began to link with what you’re seeing. You could feel, even through the leftover wisp of the demon’s presence on the plane, that it had done this many times before.

You jolted to your feet, scrubbing the palm with the eye tattoo off on your slacks. Dean and Sam reeled back, since they’d both been looming an inch behind you as you worked.

“What’s the verdict, doc?” Dean said, bracing himself.

You turn from the wreckage and bee-line straight for the road, eager to avoid a repeat of last time. The boys follow your lead. They fall into step on either side of you, and for once you feel like the specialist Sam always said you were, complete with stern-faced bodyguards.

“Full-on Pazuzu, just like last time,” you confirm, cursing. You shove your glove back on and stomp through the snow. “I-I get it now. God, it feels so fucking obvious. It’s—it’s playing. It finds these disasters, or it makes them, and then it picks off all the survivors one by one. Chuck Lambert, George Phelps. It possessed them. Like some sort of twisted cosmic-order thing.”

Sam pulls a face. “Final Destination style?”

“Minus the hot girls and the tanning beds, apparently,” Dean pouts.

“It’s trying to finish them off, boys,” you say, swallowing hard. “That’s something we can work with. If it’s only using disasters to do the job, then…”

“...then we need to see if any of the survivors are flying soon,” Sam realizes, finishing your thought.

The second the Impala’s on the road again, Sam is fishing out the passenger manifests from the first flight and chasing down any phone numbers he can find. There is a part of every hunt where your run is forced to become a sprint, and this is that turn-over moment, tensions ramping high. What once was seven people is now five.

As Dean hauls ass back to Pittsburg, you and Sam get to calling. You thank the Mother Goddess above for shitty, awful customer service, because posing as some lousy Delta Airlines representative has Dennis Holloway sitting in seat 21A and Kathleen Willard (seat 25E) swearing off flying for good. Sam uses a similar tactic on Blaine Sanderson (seat 14D). The two of you take the safe bet that the parents of Ava Struder (seat 1C), an unaccompanied minor, aren’t fucking idiots dumping their kid on another flight the second she survives one. That leaves you with Amanda Walker. A flight attendant on 2485… because of course, this job can never be easy.

Sam tries her phone. While it rings, you cross your fingers and hope that she has quit her job and started a new life as a dedicated couch potato. Sam’s forced to leave a message. He snaps his flip phone shut with a curse and throws it into the footwell, where it clatters against his boots.

You curl a cold hand around Sam’s shoulder, soothing, “Gimme the list, baby. I’ll try her emergency contact, at least find out where she is.”

Sam sulkily passes it to you, never once shifting under your hand. You do get a small, grateful look from him over his shoulder, and the urgency and anxiety there makes your gut twist. It would be more than easy to comfort him, to stroke your fingers through his hair, to rub his collar and tell him everything’s going to be fine.

But you’re a shit liar, so you open up your phone and make the next call. Sam’s lingering gaze ducks back down into his lap.

-

Of course, your luck continues to flourish. Amanda doesn’t answer her phone. But her sister does, and she informs you that Amanda, being a flight attendant, is in fucking Indianapolis for a flight. Indianapolis. As in, a good five-hour drive from Philly—and in the complete opposite direction of where you were going. Dean barely waits until the road is wide enough to turn the Impala around. The u-ey he hits sends you, and all your stuff, careening from the right end of the bench all the way to the left.

The drive is not fast. Staring ahead and silently revving yourself up can only waste so much time, so you pull out the mini sewing kit from under the seat and do your best to patch a rip in Dean’s jeans, struggling to thread the needle even more than usual. You feel a bit like a bad hunter distracting yourself from what’s ahead, but just one of you stuffing the car with anxious brooding is enough. Sam passes back a sudoku booklet for you and then goes straight back to his thousand-yard stare.

He used to be excellent when things came down to the wire like this. After years spent in empty motel rooms, counting pennies and waiting for John and Dean to come home, Sam’s patience was unimaginable. But losing Jess… had tilted his axis. These last few hunts, you’ve noticed how crazed he gets on the last couple steps to the finish line—when none of you are sure if there’ll be anybody to save. It happens. But you’re scared of what another round of it could do to Sam, even with a stranger like Amanda; he cared so much…

Dean isn’t happy, either, but he at least has something to do. He alternates between playing brain-melting Metallica or forgetting to reload the tape, so the drive is a strange mix of music you can feel in your eardrums and silence that’s just as loud. The first piece of levity you get is thirty straight minutes of Dean over-explaining the album to you. And, thank god you ask, because Dean rattling on about the “bass and drums feeding off each other” and the “musical integrity of a locked-in rhythms section” bring Sam out of his trance. He pries his eyes away from the rolling fields of snow, scrunches up his face, and sighs, “Can we at least listen to ‘...And Justice for All?’”

You’re an excellent tactician, so you use this opening to nudge them both toward the most surefire argument starter in the Winchester handbook: What’s the best album of all time? It would’ve been harder to lure flies into honey. Dean argues more with himself than he argues with the two of you, dancing indecisively between Zeppelin II, Dark Side of the Moon, and at least twenty other albums that you are vaguely aware exist. Sam outlines that there is a difference between someone’s favorite album (Californication in Sam’s case) and the best album objectively by sales (Thriller).

All three of you play into the argument more than usual. Guess you’re not the only one desperate to think about something other than the two hundred other people who might die tonight. By the time there’s enough of a break in the conversation for you to throw your hat into the distraction-ring, you’re thirty minutes from the Indianapolis International Airport.

“Both of you are wrong,” you decide. “There’s only one reasonable answer to that question, and it’s Rumours.”

Dean audibly grumbles, and when the Impala jams to a stop in front of a red light, he dramatically points at you in the rear-view mirrors and declares: “You are obligated by hippie, witchy-girl bullshit to love that album, Proctor. And it’s good, but it’s not the best. It’s mostly…” he flashes you a mean, big-brother smile, “girly music.”

You know you’re right, so his comment rolls right over you. Cooly, you remind him, “Nuh-uh. Sam loves Fleetwood Mac, too.”

You’d figured that was a good counter-point, since Sam was hardly girly. The hand he was using to keep his notepad on his knee was all kinds of veiny and calloused, and on top of being taller than Dean, he was a lot more comfortable with his masculinity. He didn’t have mile-long lashes or glazed donut cheekbones, either.

Sam hums in agreement, like you knew he would; the two of you listened to Go Your Own Way and The Chain endlessly before he left for school. Sometimes he’d even dance around the attic at home with you.

Dean side-eyes his brother, then barks out a hearty laugh. “Case in point.”

Sam elects to pretend he didn’t hear that, and instead turns around to talk straight to you: “I mean, the end of Silver Springs alone…”

…Maybe if Dean listened to more “girly music,” he’d have more women melting over him the way you melt when Sam says that. Even though you’ve gotten used to having him in front of you again, there are moments like these where you’re stunned by how similar the two of you still are. Dreams would play in your attic and Sam would already be offering you his hands, gangly and shy and bright red for you and only you…

You listened to Silver Springs a lot after Sam started dating Jessica.

INDIANAPOLIS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - Dec. 4th, night.

All three of you must’ve been hyper-planning what to do the second the Impala parked, because you fan out as soon as Dean jams the break.

Sam uncaps the travel-sized hand sanitizer from your purse and empties it out onto the pavement. You’re a little sad to say goodbye to pumpkin cupcake, but then he starts pouring as much holy water as he can into the teeny bottle, and you’re reminded how clever he is. When Dean gives him a weird look, Sam explains, “3.4 ounces or less per liquid item, dude.”

“Shit,” Dean curses. Right. Travel size restrictions. That cuts your only physical weapon against the demon in half—or into a fucking fifth, I guess. But it’s something. “At least he’ll fuckin’ smell good when we send him to hell. Great.”

You give Sam the marshmallow pumpkin latte sanitizer, too. You’re going to look painfully suspicious walking into an airport with nothing but hand sanitizer and an occult journal, but there’s nothing you can do. There’s no time to check bags or trudge through security lines. Hopefully you won’t have to board, but knowing your luck…

You’re about to go peeling out of the parking lot at top speed, when you turn your boot and feel the warm piece of metal pressed against your ankle. Shit. “God, this is stupid,” you curse, and drop onto a knee. You lose the pocket knife in your boot, then dig around for the loose rock salt shells rolling around in your pockets. There’s a visible pout on your face when you abandon your iron knuckles. Anything that’d be caught by security or picked up on a metal detector goes straight into the trunk.

When you pull your butterfly knife out of your bra, Sam is suddenly very interested in the color of the sky.

The boys follow suit. By the time you’re through the doors and among the harried, criss-crossing crowd of travelers, you’ve lost ten pounds in weapons each. Dean grumbles the whole way about feeling naked. Everything in the airport is overstimulating, even at this time of night. The long, endless squares of glass looking out over the runway reflect the too-bright lights in big glossy spots, and the air is flooded with a constant stream of intercom updates and civilian chatter. You duck and weave all the way to the departure schedule, which is just the right font size to make you anxious.

Sam scans the chart. “They’re boarding in thirty minutes.”

Shit. You wrack your mind for something that could coax Amanda off her flight. But the gears in your head are suddenly muddy, and Dean’s faster than you, anyway. His eyes dart around the floor of the airport. “Okay… we still got some cards to play. We need to find a phone.”

Sam and Dean dart off like twin bomb-sniffing dogs. You move to follow them, but something tethers you in place. The buzzing, bustling commotion in the air pitches up, and then your ears are ringing, and your whole body is stinging with the ugly leeching feelings from before. The demon. It’s close.

You blindly walk in the direction your internal Winchester compass gives you, and just when Dean’s about to take a courtesy phone off its hook, your body extracts the phone from his hand on autopilot. For a brief flickering moment, you’re not yourself. Your powers talk through you.

Your Gift foresees, “That won’t work. Your only option is to board the plane.”

The boys exchange an unsettled look. For a second you’re confused why they’re giving you their Freaked Out faces, then you feel the hollow plastic of the phone in your hand, and you realize you’re a whole twenty feet from where you started. Man… you hate the whole psychic-possession thing. Just for fun, your Gift loves to take over and course-correct you when it thinks you’re being stupid. You drop the phone back on its hook with a heavy click. It takes Dean a second to answer, and he’s still giving you that look. After a long pause, he knocks up his chin and not-so-happily mutters, “...Uh, okay.”

Sam, at least, has learned to roll with your weird psychic bullshit. His voice is soft with conviction. “Fine. Plan B, then. We gotta get on that plane.”

You run your palms down your face, then steel yourself. There’s no other way, and no time to second-guess. Even your Gift has decided it’s your best plan. “Okay. Fuck it.”

The usual authority in Dean’s voice hikes up with a note of panic. “Uh, woah. Let’s just hold on a second–”

“Dean,” you wince, and your hands drop heavily at your sides. “We gotta. I’m sorry.”

Sam, per usual, reads Dean’s hesitance as something else. “That plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board. And if we’re right, it’s gonna crash. We have to–”

You watch as they have their usual back and forth; Sam, eager to throw himself at this, and Dean gnawing on the inside of his cheek. It’s easy for you to sense the steam of real, nail-biting terror radiating off your best friend. You feel Dean’s fear all the time–and even then it’s hard for you to picture him being afraid of much of anything, much less planes. It’s even harder for Sam to look past his little brother glasses.

“...Flying?” Sam puts it together. His voice is understanding, but super confused. “You’re joking, right?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Dean flails. He fists his hands as he talks, swaying back and forth to try and work up the nerve. He glances at you, the only other witness to his weakness, just once. “Why do you think I fuckin’ drive everywhere, Sam?”

Sam is genuinely stunned. Slapped-in-the-face stunned. But he takes it in stride, and, also glancing at you only once, he blurts out: “Alright. Uh, I’ll go.”

The anticipation of boarding the flight is making your skin prickle with anxiety, and you can’t help but inch back toward the ticket counter as they talk. But when Sam says this, without question or complaint, you’re instantly stepping up to his side and demanding, “Then I’m going with you.”

You brace yourself to shut down the argument you know is coming, but this Sam continues to be different from the guy you knew four years ago. This answer is just as easy for him, too. “Okay.”

Not, you’re staying here, or even, I won’t let you risk yourself like this. Just a plain and simple, okay. It bugs you. You don’t even have time to dwell on it, though, because Sam’s blatant courage tugs Dean over his fear.

“Man…” Dean utters, face twisted with nervousness. He gives in with a helpless scrunch of his shoulders, and taking that as permission, Sam twists around to buy your tickets not two seconds later.

You both watch him rush off, neither of you over the moon about this situation. Dean’s so anxious that his hands are clammy, and you can tell because he clutches at the sleeve of your jacket like a little kid. He knocks his forehead down on your shoulder with a groan, and your palm automatically loops around to give his back a soothing rub.

“This is fucking… awesome,” Dean gripes. “No guns. Can’t even bring a damn bottle of holy water. Is there some kind of psychic Xanax you can give me?”

Maybe some of your Gift drains into your voice when you promise, “We won’t have to worry about that. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Dean doesn’t make his Freaked Out face this time. He does, however, bump his forehead against your shoulder again, and sink into your touch with a rough sigh.

FLIGHT 424 - Dec. 4th.

You’d felt bad for Dean the whole time he’d struggled to get on the plane. Now, you kind of felt like choking him with your bare hands.

So many people crammed into one space was enough to flatten your Gift with the weight. Adding Dean to the mix, shoved shoulder-to-shoulder against you with his jitters ramped up to eleven, made you feel like picking your brain out with a fork. Your Gift ping-ponged between Dean and Sam, making you bounce between chattering your teeth with fear and thinking things like, wow, I just love the Dewey decimal system.

Maybe it was a good thing. You’d much rather be in one of their heads than yours.

All day, you’d done a pretty good job not obsessing over the things your mom had said over the phone. It was hard with so much time to marinate in the car, but the massive weight of the existence of demons only slammed on top of you once or twice. Boarding had managed to keep you occupied, but then the colossal body of the plane had shuddered and heaved its weight off the tarmac, leaving all chances for escape behind on the ground.

A part of you was resigned to it; it is a simple fact of your life that evil things are real. So what’s one more, right? But at the same time, you thought about the cross Sam wore under his shirt… you thought about being one of those things, being “made of lies,” like Mom had said. That, too, had been gnawing at you—what had she seen to learn all that? How did she know that a demon would “tear into your mind?” The Vague Psychic Thing is fun, until you’re on the receiving end.

“Can you sense who it’s possessing?” Sam’s smooth, calculating voice interrupted your thoughts.

…Oh, right. You’d gotten so swept up in your own head, no doubt influenced by Dean’s incessant foot-tapping, that you’d totally forgotten to scan the plane. Tilting away from Dean and his panic, you subconsciously shifted toward eerily calm, level-headed Sam. Just catching a wisp of the clean cologne he wears cools you down a little bit. Okay. No more freaking out—it’s game time.

You’d hoped that the white noise of the flight would settle your nerves, but the air tasted painfully sterile, dry, and cottony against the back of your throat. Everything felt like cold metal touching an open nerve. If the demon’s influence wasn’t making your powers touchy, then the woman across the aisle definitely was, oozing with homesickness as she watched Indianapolis shrink far below—or maybe it was the guy two rows back, replaying an argument again and again in his head—or maybe the other two hundred fucking people stuffing the plane with their boredom and their tiredness.

You push your knee into Sam’s. He pushes back.

After a tense beat, you whisper to him over the chatter of passengers, “Too many people. There’s no way I can narrow it down to one person—not unless they’re right in front of me.” Sam’s gaze turns expectantly to Dean, who’s still in full-on dissociation mode. He’d spent the whole boarding process humming tracks from St. Anger, and you knew he was really going through it, purely because he’d stopped and restarted Some Kind of Monster three different times now. Poor guy.

One of the things that made the three of you such a natural team was your ability to rotate leadership. In moments like these, with Dean way too wigged out to take charge, you’d usually step into his shoes without much trouble. But Sam has fielded your fainting spells and panic attacks all week, so he’s already got a pep-talk prepared for the two of you.

“...Okay.” Sam checks his watch. His voice still has that touch of classic Sam softness, probably because he knows how hard this is going to sound: “Stay focused. We got thirty-two minutes and counting to track this thing down, figure out who it’s possessing, and perform a full-on exorcism.” You’re about to make a comment about how blissfully easy he makes things seem, but Dean beats you to it. He snipes, “Yeah, on a crowded plane. That’s gonna be easy.”

You snap one of your bracelets against your wrist a few times, thinking. “Who would it want to possess?”

This gets Dean’s head in the game. Easily, he recites: “It’s usually somebody with some sort’a weakness, y’know, a chink in the armor that the demon can worm through. Somebody with an addiction or emotional distress.”

As he explains this, you unlatch Dean’s claws from their death-grip on your arm and give the top of his hand a little soothing pat. Your gaze remains fixed on the pattern of the seat in front of you. “For a regular demon, maybe. This thing might not even need a chink. It wants maximum damage here—so maybe it’d go for the pilot?”

This is not a soothing thought. Checking his watch again, Sam suggests, “Or Amanda… Surviving a crash like that? I’d be pretty messed up if I was her. We should check both.”

You’re happy to spend the little time you have left wisely, so you’re quick to push out of your seat and get moving. Dean puts on a brave face and follows your lead. There are only two ends of the plane to check—this thing can’t hide forever. Just when you start to do an awkward side-shuffle to nudge Dean out into the aisle with your hip, the whole plane thrashes top to bottom, and there he goes, dropping like a rock back into his seat. His spike of panic is so genuine that you end up dropping with him.

“Come on!” Dean hisses through his teeth. “That can’t be normal!”

You and Sam immediately get to shushing and soothing him, and suddenly you understand how married couples feel when their kid starts crying on a flight. Shifty eyes in other seats pretend they’re not glaring at you. Summoning as much strength as you can to share with him, you drop a hand on Dean’s shoulder and order: “Breathe, dude. You’re okay.”

“I’m not fuckin’ four,” Dean whisper-shouts, sulking flat back into his seat.

“She’s right,” Sam whispers back. Should it be worrying you how much he’s been agreeing with you lately? Stern, he says, “Listen—if you’re panicked, you’re wide open to possession. So you need to calm yourself down. Right now.”

A weird part of you is grateful that Dean is having a rough go of it, because it’s giving you something to focus on. You’re usually pretty good with planes. But for a minute there, when the turbulence had hit, your mind had defaulted to oh shit, this is real, we’re all going to die. A slideshow of the last crash had blitzed through your thoughts. Thoughts that had nothing to do with the anxiety you were picking up from Dean.

You know you despise it when Dean uses his Parent Voice on you, so you try not to use it on him when you urge, “C’mon. I think Amanda’s in the back of the plane. I’ll check up front.”

Dean gives an unconvinced, “I’ll go talk to her,” then makes grabby hands at Sam’s pockets, “pass me one of the hand-sanitizers. Fuckin’ uh, pumpkin latte—don’t gimme that face, _____, not all of us can tell with just a look. What if it’s in her?”

“It’s a bit more than a look—” you begin to clarify, but Sam stops your back and forth with a shake of his head. He pulls out the little orange plastic container of your pumpkin cupcake holy water and passes it to Dean.

“We should try to conserve what we got,” he warns, passing you the only other weapon against the demon (marshmallow pumpkin latte). “Go more subtle—if she’s possessed, she’ll flinch at the name of god.”

Now that you’re running out of both time and options, the second Dean unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out into the aisle on coltish legs, you take the opening and bolt out of your cramped middle seat. Anything you can do to get closer to finding this thing will make you feel loads better.

You start down the aisle. As the chatter of the boys fades into the all-encompassing thrum of the plane behind you, you take slow unhurried steps past each row of seats, soaking up what you can get. A girl listens to music in her headphones. A businessman clicks away at his laptop. Each of them you comb over with your powers, and each pass feels like scooping your hand into a bowl of tacks and waiting to get stabbed.

They’ll rip into your mind… take you apart if they have to, Mom had said. You waited for that moment, steeling your nerves the closer you came to the cockpit. If the demon’s on this side of the plane, and it sensed you, would it immediately press into your mind? Would just being near you snap its presence to you like a magnet? You didn’t like the mental feeling that gave you; the stark secret-seeking white of your Gift clashing with the black choking smoke that’d been chasing you all week. When you spoke to a spirit through your Gift, it felt like you were touching fingertips through a curtain. Would it be like that? Would this demon press its claws through the veil and dig around for something to tear, to grab?

The other flight attendant on board pushes past you with her cart, leaving no barrier between you and the cockpit. Behind you, bobbing in a sea of blurry people, your Gift could distinctly make out Sam (practicing the exorcism) and Dean (talking to Amanda). You’re just a few paces from the front exit of the plane when a man emerges from the bathroom cabin, and—

He twists to meet eyes with you. Expecting you.

You’re flashed a clever, haunting smile, then—a set of glossy void-black eyes.

You wait for it. And in its own way, the presence of the demon does overpower you, bringing the heavy-as-the-sky, parasitic feeling from your visions into the real world. For a long ringing moment, you are blasted with dark leeching power hot enough to singe the entire front of your body—like a nuclear bomb had dropped down just a few steps from you. It is spidery and vicious and knowing and awful—

…but the conquering sensation never comes. Beth had said that it would root into your mind, that just feeling it with your Gift, as you are right now, would tear you to pieces. Yet all that really happens is you staring at it and it staring at you, before it shoulders its way through the cockpit door and disappears inside. The only thing you really experience is the shock of seeing it in somebody, puppeting around a person with dreams and thoughts and memories.

For a few moments, you suck down heaving breaths through your nose and stare at the closed door.

Something about it nagged at you. Besides the obvious—how different it felt compared to what your mother had described—you swear you felt something else, some ringing sense of strangeness that you just couldn’t put your finger on. Maybe it was the fact that you’d just made eye contact with a real creature of hell, an evil spirit, whatever. But you made eye contact with evil spirits all the time. This was… closer to home than that. Underneath the writhing mass of bloody, black ink that made up the demon, your Gift had recognized something unimaginably familiar.

Sensing the demon in person had reminded you of… of a sensory memory, almost. It smelled like… warm static. The old staticy TV in your house, the ancient one that sat square and unattractively on your Mom’s slanting sideboard in the living room. You remembered her crystal ashtray propped up on the top, the fizzy sound the TV made when you’d shut it off…

On the nights when it was just you and Sam home, and the house felt so big and empty that the silence throbbed in your ears, the two of you would set up a fort in front of that TV and watch old horror movies well past your bedtime. The silly effects and the dated acting were easy to tease together. You’d much rather watch movies on the newer screen in your Mom’s room, but for whatever reason, Sam insisted on the clunker in your living room.

Y’wanna know somethin’ cool? He’d asked you once, running a finger through the film of static bubbling on the surface of the glass. A little bit of the static in TVs is actually radiation leftover from the Big Bang. How weird is that? Something so old and powerful, picked up by this random piece of junk.

Sam always crashed first, leaving you alone with the white static the TV defaulted to when the movie ended. You could vividly remember how your shoulders bumped against the hard floor through the thin sleeping bag the two of you had shared—how Sam’s warmth had seeped into your shirt where he was curled up behind you, his soft sleepy breaths tickling your hair.

When you’d pulled his arm around your waist to snuggle, a spark of static had shocked you through his touch. When you’d closed your eyes and tried to go to sleep, you swore that the ancient, cosmic hum of the static in the TV ebbed and flowed at the same exact time as Sam’s breath.

In. Bzzzsh. Out. Bzzzsh. Crackling as he breathed.

It wasn’t the demon you were scared of anymore. The ancient, ever-present sting of static you’d felt deep down inside it… that scared you a million, a billion times more, because—

You felt that static every time you felt Sam.

_

It’s like trying to describe the smell of your childhood home.

Logically, you know your house must smell like something. But when you’re in one place long enough your brain filters it out as background noise, and it becomes something you can only notice after a long time away.

You’d known Sam since you were in diapers. Back then, the meager threads of your Gift were already taking him in and absorbing him into your memory. Eventually, you felt him so often that all the pain and optimism in his core, all the stuff that made Sam himself, had smoothed out into warm, familiar background noise to your Gift.

Then he’d left for Stanford. Four years passed, and the only exposure your Gift had to him was the flimsy thread stretched two thousand miles down to California. Because it’d been so long since you’d sensed him in person, hugging him outside his apartment had been like stepping into your home after a long time away—for a brief moment, the filter over your psychic perceptions of him had lifted. You’d sensed for the first time what had always been there, buried deep. The Static.

At the time, you’d gotten so swept up in Sam, Dean, and the adventure of finding their Dad, that it was easy to get sidetracked. Things came up. You got used to Sam again, and his Static faded to background noise.

Until you’d felt that demon with your Gift.

A demon. A creation of Lucifer. You’d always remember what Sam felt like—you’d never forget the smell of home—but in one of them?

Your mind whirls with so many questions that it flat-out pops, failing you. Pulled along on a cloud of white noise, you somehow manage to turn away from the cockpit and start back down the aisle. The demon is possessing the pilot. You have forty minutes, less than, to exorcize it and save the two hundred people on this flight. These are all truths floating around in your head, but no matter how much you try to circle back to one, the static of the demon overcomes you again.

Static. You think of Sam, the crackle of his soft raspy voice through the phone. Your heart is pounding in your ears, thudding away in your chest like a piston. The static had burned in the demon, burned like busted speakers and smoking plane wreckage. Little pins all over your skin pressing in. The space you have until you make it to Sam’s seat seems to yawn, your footfalls sluggish and shivery. Why do they feel the same? Why does he feel the same? The static of the demon worms under your fizzing skin, bubbling, boiling—

You stop in front of Sam’s row, and he’s already looking at you when you get close. He asks you a question. You stare at him, the whole world filled with that awful roaring buzzing, the air tight and dessert dry in the back of your throat. Even though he’s right in front of you, you feel like you barely see him—just the vague burning outline of him in your powers.

Sam reaches out to grab your wrist, tugging it away from the long marks you’re viciously scratching into the flesh of your arm. The touch of his hand causes a literal static shock to jolt from his fingers to yours. You yelp in surprise, but it’s—

It’s different. There’s a similarity, definitely, between what you sensed in the demon and what’s always been in Sam… but his Static is hot chocolate warm and fuzzy and so good. Melt-in-your-mouth good. Your surroundings filter back in, and there are his soft, worried eyes looking up at you under his brow, and his big hand soothing over the irritated skin you’ve scratched raw. Sam. The same Sam he’s always been.

…Whatever it is, whatever weird connection you’ve just made, you’re sure there’s a lot more to it than Sam having something in common with a demon. Right?

Sam takes one look at you, your insane reaction, and your mysterious reappearance, then easily puts two and two together: “One of the pilots?”

“Co-pilot,” you tell him, and one of your absent-minded hands drifts up to scratch at your arm again.

And again, Sam fishes his fingers around your wrist and pulls it away. Now that you’ve noticed it, you can’t un-notice it. His touch makes your fingertips and the ends of your ears tingle, and not completely in the boy-crush way. In the psychic way.

He asks, “You gonna be okay? We got twenty-two minutes.”

That jolts you back to life. Twenty-two minutes until this plane is smoking ashes in a Pennsylvania cornfield. Though the last ten minutes have easily overcomplicated all twenty-four years of your life, you won’t have a life period if you don’t see this job through. When Dean returns from investigating a very un-possessed Amanda, he feels the exact same way.

Your resolve hardens, and you manage to give Sam an absent-minded smile. “I’ll be fine.”

There’s no time for arguing. Dean and Sam unanimously agree that the only possible place to exorcize the demon would be in the back, where Amanda is, since you can’t exactly jump the guy in the middle of economy. You don’t exactly like the idea of roping her into this, but Amanda’s the only one who could potentially lure that—thing to the rear of the plane. It is the world’s shittiest ambush. But by the time the three of you decide what to do, you’ve burned ten whole minutes on anxious chatter. A shitty ambush is the only plan you’ve got.

Dean starts down the aisle for the back of the plane. You stare at nothing for a beat, and only remember to get out of your seat when Sam nudges your elbow. He presses his lips together like he wants to ask you the million-dollar question (“Are you sure you’re okay?”), but there is literally no time. In a haze, you shuffle out of your seat after Dean and make a feeble attempt to get your head into gear. Sam does not make it easy. One of his broad hands brushes against the small of your back as you both squeeze out of the row, and you feel like you’ve just gone down one of those static-charged plastic playground slides.

Your Gift is exaggerating it. It has to be, right? Making big connections out of little things, picking at a fresh bruise. For weeks, you’ve been crammed into a little car with Sam, into teeny motel beds with him with no room between you. Why hadn’t you felt it? Why now? Not when you were four, napping in the same bed after playtime—not when you were twelve, and Sam was the first person outside your family that your Gift had connected with. Had it always been there, living inside him? Had you missed it?

You reach the back of the plane. Amanda is there, a pale, blonde flight attendant straight out of a commercial. You are dully aware that you have twelve minutes left before the demon makes its move, always on the forty-minute mark (...and you don’t like the line suddenly drawn between Sam and such an old, biblically evil thing).

The boys talk. A familiar conversation occurs over your head, which might be why it’s easy for you to tune out. Your mind returns again to thoughts of Sam, so intense and loud in your head that it all fizzles out to nothing, and you’re left standing there with the air pressure making your ears ring. Sam. The demon. It’s stupid and intangible and you’d have no fucking clue how to explain it out loud, but your Gift is made to find the truth. Something inside that demon exists in Sam, too. Something.

You try to reassure yourself that maybe, just this once, your Gift is wrong. Maybe this is the demon getting into your mind—learning your deepest fears and bringing them to life.

Sure enough, Dean’s charm and Sam’s earnest face must win Amanda over, because she flits out of the back room like a frightened bird. The boys peer through the curtain to watch her go, the two of them as still and sharp-eared as twin watchdogs. You’re slapped back to life by the sudden tension in the room, and quickly scuttle up behind them. Right. Amanda’s getting the co-pilot. These next ten minutes will determine the rest of your life.

In the same beat, you and Dean ready your holy water, and Sam gets the written exorcism from their dad’s journal out in front of him. There’s no need for the three of you to say a word. An understanding passes between each of you, hammered in from years of hunting as a team. Sam slides up next to you and Dean gives you a firm nod, squashing your last wisps of fear. You’re here to do a damn job.

A man’s voice floats toward the closed curtain to the back room, followed not-so-closely by Amanda’s. You’re glad she’s not the first one into the room—because Dean instantly slams a fist into their face.

The co-pilot—or really, the thing inside him—goes sprawling. You’ve got a strip of duct tape bridled over his mouth before he even fully collides with you, and for the blissful moment you have him pinned, Dean gets another fierce hit in.

While he’s still stunned, you whip the co-pilot to the grated metal floor. Dean clambers on top of him and keeps him there with a firm fist twisted in his rumpled button-up.

Amanda panics, “W-what are you doing? Y-you said you we-were gonna talk to him—!”

“We are gonna talk to him,” Dean grits.

Then, you’re hosing him down with holy water, splashing it brutally in the man’s pain-twisted face. Your gut clenches with empathy. Did the demon leave his body already? You’re terrified for a moment that you got the wrong guy… until you smell the smoke. It’s not just sulfur, but full-on dead body bloat, steaming up from the big black boils that spring up where the holy water hits skin. You get a mouth and noseful vile enough to make you gag. This thing fighting you? This is definitely not a man.

Amanda watches the demon’s skin sizzle, the usual terror and confusion on her face. “O-oh my god, what’s wrong with him?”

You pour all the psychic clarity and calmness into your voice when you whip around and tell her: “It’s going to be okay. Be calm, go outside the curtain, and don’t let anybody in. Can you do that, Amanda?”

You don’t stop to listen to her answer. Sam’s already tearing through the opening to the exorcism at ninety miles an hour, his pronunciation punchy and fatally clear. That had been one of the less exciting parts of the five-hour drive here; when Sam had run through it over and over, re-training himself. One misspoken word could get everyone on this plane killed.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”

The demon thrashes viciously in your grip, twisting and contorting under Dean in ways the human body can’t bend. Bile rises in your throat as you hear a snap, then two, as the demon does everything it can to buck Dean off. By the time you go to stun it with another splash of holy water, it’s more of a dribble. That’s your first mistake.

Two people are not nearly enough to keep this thing down. It gets a hand loose that instantly sends Dean flying, and before you even see where he lands, it cranks your head all the way to the left in one vicious slap.

Your whole face is blasted with red, stinging pain. You go down hard, smashed sideways into the cramped wall.

The pain stuns you out of the headspace you built to distract yourself, and all at once the presence of the demon is thrust upon you. The black, molten psychic power of it crackles through your body, filling your nose and mouth with the same terror hanging in your visions all week. Until you realize— It fucking backhanded you.

Trying to see past the dots swimming in your vision, you mindlessly shove off the wall, snarling with rage. No fucking way.

And then it speaks (to Sam?), and in the fizzing noise of pressure in your ears you hear it promise, “I know what happened to your girlfriend!” The constant stream of Sam’s exorcism stops cold.

When the demon speaks again, its voice, a spectral twist of the co-pilot’s and something older, drooled with pleasure. “She died screaming,” it rasped, “Even now, she's burning.”

A lot happens in the next precious seconds. First, the little circular light flushed flat to the back cabin’s ceiling explodes. Just—bursts, in shock, spraying sparks and glass all over the little room. You’re stunned enough as it is getting hit in the face, so one more thing to fuck up your vision doesn’t help. But you heard what the demon said to Sam. Through the suffocating evil flooding your mind, you feel the sharp spike of hurt and rage and grief in your best friend—and that’s the precise moment when you decide that you’ve had e-fucking-nough.

These last few days have not been winners. And though you live a pretty shitty life with an impressive amount of shitty days, even before you got to Pennsylvania, your streak of bad luck had only just gotten started. This demon has screwed with your Gift on an unimaginable level. Your last few nights have been plagued with nightmares straight from hell, and your days haven’t been much better, riddled with useless visions that get more and more disconnected every time you faint. It made it even more obvious than usual that you’re deadweight for Sam and Dean. They had to handle your boiling water burns and your freakouts, not to mention your mood swings and your unhelpful visions.

The demon hurt Dean, which is enough to get your teeth grinding. And Sam—it had cut him much deeper.

You wanted to tear it apart. You wanted to reach into it the same way it had reached into you, dig in with your nails, and rip something out. Your mom’s words buzz in your head: contact, truth, lies, rip, apart. Rationally, you know you should listen to her warning. If just looking into its eyes has forever changed your view of the man you’ve loved since you were little, then looking deeper could kill you—scramble your mind. You know that. But beside the rage and exhaustion fizzing under your skin is this desperate need to know.

Demons are made of lies. What if it was lying about Sam? What if it had screwed with your Gift in some new way, tweaking the image of him in your mind? It had to be lying. The Static in him, as warm and as good as you swore it was—it came from something evil. Sam. The man you love, the boy you’d fallen in love with, his soft sleepy breaths as he lays on the floor beside your bed, his freckly arms swimming in his too-big sleeves. How could any part of him be evil? He couldn’t be. N-not your Sam. How could he ever have something like that inside him?

You need to be sure. Consequences be damned.

As the demon rears up to keep snarling in Sam’s face, you slap a hand over its forehead—reach in—and start ripping.

_

She died screaming.

Sam can’t pull a full breath in. The words burn through his body like a syringe of poison, spreading from limb to limb. The demon snarls up at him, its foamy spit hitting Sam’s face and its teeth snapping around Jess’s name—until.

_____’s hand seals over the demon’s face. The demon’s jaw snaps shut. There is a terrible hanging moment where Sam’s brain struggles to connect the touch to what she’s doing; she never, ever psychically connected with the full face of her palm tattoo. Even with her mom Sam knew she put up a barrier, reading Beth with the smooth back of her knuckles instead.

Shit. Another fresh shot of horror lances through him. What the hell is she doing to it?

The effect is instant. Whatever button _____ had just hit, it activates every horror-movie, Exorcist-level instinct in the demon’s body. Surprised yelps echo down the back of the plane as the lights violently flicker. In electrified, strobing flashes, Sam sees it. The co-pilot’s body is diagonal on the floor one moment, and then it’s arching its back three feet in the air, lurching up into ______’s palm like she’d hit it with a defibrillator. The demon floats up and stays up.

…Until Dean brings it smashing back to the floor again, throwing his weight on top of the co-pilot. He barks, “Sam!” Right. Whatever she’s doing to it, it’s the only working distraction they’ve got. Slapped back to focus, Sam stutters out where he left off: “...O-omnis congregatio et secta diabolica—” It’s a blessing that he makes it through the next lines of the exorcism. Sam pours all of his willpower into keeping his eyes on the stained notebook page it’s written on, no matter how many times his gut begs him to check on her. All he can do is have faith. This is what she does—when Dean’s not strong enough and Sam’s too weak, she finds a damn way, come hell or high water. Sam has always had endless faith in that. So when the whole plane gives that terrible shudder that he was expecting, and then tips, and tips, and tips into a full pitch forward, Sam grips that faith with both hands. The demon’s power ripples through the rest of the plane. Everything descends into chaos. Past the curtain, the lights go out in one silent burst, followed by the explosive, concussive screams of the passengers as the oxygen masks drop. Movies are unfortunately good at capturing this precise moment, but nothing could ever replicate the way Sam’s belly swoops as all five hundred tons of the plane heads straight for the ground. Sam and Dean both go flying, crashing sideways into the walls of the back cabin. The turbulence rips the journal from his hands, and of course, with their fucking luck, it goes skidding through the curtain and down the aisle to ricochet under the seats. “Grab it!” Dean screams.

Sam can’t hear him. He staggers into the open doorway of the back cabin, clutching the frame for dear life. A terrifying, unnatural howl whistles through the cabin, even louder than the wails of the passengers. Its wind flutters his hair around his face and sends luggage toppling out of the overhead bins. For a moment, Sam wonders if the plane’s been hit or the demon has done something—but no. It’s her. He flattens himself to the floor—or rather, gravity flattens him—crawling on his belly towards the shadow of the journal under the seats. The passengers sob and shriek. The air is singed with smoky fear, and riding that same fear, Sam surges ahead, lunging for the book where it’s lodged between tossed luggage. He has to twist to get his hands on it, and it’s then that he feels it.

Down the aisle behind him, the wind drags luggage and loose papers into the void-like darkness of the back cabin—where the great, cleansing, sweeping power of her is fighting the demon. Sam believes in what he’s seen; Sam believes in angels.

She’ll buy him enough time. He knows she will.

Sam’s hands don’t shake as he pries the journal open to the right page.

“Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus,” he shouts, and the words ring as clear and clean as a bell. The plane tries to toss him again, but Sam grits his teeth and persists, “audi nos!”

He waits. Sam sees it more than he hears it. Deep in the blackhole darkness of the plane’s cabin, something red and fiery flashes to life… flickers… and dies.

Maybe he’s imagining it, but he swears he feels the demon fizzle out. The heaviness in the air melts away. The lights, which Sam realizes had been snapping on and off, turn on for good. The hissing of the turbines spins to its normal hum. The plane swooshes back up with a slow coasting motion, then sets itself back on its peaceful forward track.

Gasps and sobs of relief chorus all around Sam, and sprawled in the middle of the aisle, he finds himself doing the same. Overhead, the pilot’s voice crackles reassurances over the intercom. As big wuffs of air cycle in and out of Sam, he waits for the moment for his heart to stop thumping, for the big “we won” moment to wash over him—but it never really does. It sits with him. For a long terrible moment, he is on the bed in his apartment in Palo Alto, Jessica’s blood boiling holes in his neck.

Even now, she’s still burning.

INDIANAPOLIS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - Dec. 5th, early morning.

Somehow, amid all the noise of swarming paramedics, feds, airline authorities, and stunned 424 passengers, Sam manages to remain lost in his own head. He clenches his jaw til’ his ears pop. How had it known about Jess?

The terminal is quickly packed. He’s not in airports often enough to know whether they should be packed at one in the morning, but he’s gonna guess not. It is all background noise for him. Passengers whirl past, getting cleared by cops to go home, and Dean subtly nudges the three of them into the leaving crowd. Sam has a vague notion that he’s putting one foot in front of the other, but everything feels distant and hazy. His neck blazes with that terrible tingling feeling, and he digs into it with his nails until Dean stops him.

“Sam,” Dean orders, dipping his head towards the direction of the parking lot. Apparently Sam isn’t cooperating well. “Let’s get the hell outta’ here.” For a brief moment, the awful burning feeling covering him in a fog parts long enough for him to think, and Sam realizes that he doesn’t know where _____ is. Panic lances through his chest so fast that he sobers all at once, and he opens his mouth to panic more—until he sees her, scrunched up behind Dean.

Well, clutching Dean. Left shameless by whatever she saw in that demon’s head, she’s got Dean’s hand and wrist in a deathgrip, trailing him so close that her shoes catch the heels of his boots. She does not look good. Her eyes are big and wide and she looks straight through everyone and everything, still tethered to the other dimension her powers live in. She’s got her elbows pressed into her ribs and her body bunched up so tight that Sam can almost feel her psychic overstimulation from where he’s standing.

“S’okay, sweetheart, ” Dean hushes, the first in a long, quiet string of reassurances.

Sam stares at her. Even if she’s in her own world, she must be able to feel it, ‘cause she physically leans out of his way. That should hurt him—should make him burn with sympathy—but instead, all he can think is, she would know. She would know if the demon was lying. Sam’s connected with her like that—there’s absolutely nothing to hide, even if you wanted to, so there’s no way she couldn’t see if the demon had been telling the truth.

The line of people seeping through security to get out of the airport slows to a stop, making way for the pack of paramedics hauling 424’s copilot away on a stretcher. The black boils from the holy water have left his body entirely.

He’ll ask her once. He has to try. Sam lets the two of them in front of him, Dean, then _____, almost pressing her face into Dean’s back. When they’re stopped in line, Sam lifts a hand to touch her—but stops himself, not wanting her to feel any worse. “_____,” Sam swallows, trying to keep his voice even. “What did you see? H-How did it know about Jessica?”

Before she even has the opportunity to answer, (if she can even hear him), Dean swings around to shoot Sam a pained look. “Dude, look at her. Now is not the fuckin’ time. Let her get a full breath in before you start with the interrogations, okay?”

Sam recoils. The gnashing, rebellious fire he usually saves for Dad pours out here, instead, and before Sam knows it he’s snarling back, “I can’t ask one question about my dead girlfriend?”

It lasts only for an instant, but Sam gets to watch in real time the way that hit lands. He’s aware that it’s deeply fucked up of him to enjoy throwing Jess in Dean’s face, but it is his backward, comforting reminder that she was a real person; not a four-year-long fever dream he invented to escape. No one says her name but him anymore. At least, when he talks about her, someone else is forced to feel something too.

Dean sets his jaw. He makes the mistake of trying to turn towards Sam, which _____ thinks is an attempt to shake her off—and she lets out this awful, hoarse sob sound that stops them both cold.

Sam feels like a rail spike has been driven through his chest. Dean gives him a look, then mercifully drops it.

Immediately, Dean’s wheeling her back in and soothing her. The angle at which she’s clinging to him is awkward for all three of them, so he endures her trembling and hitching little sobs as he peels off her hands and re-arranges them. Dean loops an arm around her back so he can stroke her shuddering shoulders, uttering, “S’okay, kiddo, s’ all over… ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you…”

And of course, because Sam can never exist in peace, he watches the way ______ drops all her weight onto Dean and feels his chest squeeze. Suddenly, he’s very aware of what four years have changed between her and his brother.

The rush back to the car is silent, but for _____’s little sniffling breathes. After making it out of the blistering lights of the chattering airport and out into the peaceful snowy parking lot, things calm down.

Four separate times Sam thinks about reaching out to comfort her. The Gift always leaves her freezing cold, and early December in Indiana on top of that has her making audible little shivering sounds as they walk. Sam’s boiling under his coat. He unzips it, then zips it up again, unsure if she’d even want it. Dean gets her in the car and puts a warm blanket around her before Sam can get over his indecision.

They just saved two hundred people. In hindsight, that’s a massive win. Maybe if the demon hadn’t said what it’d said, and maybe if it hadn’t reduced her to this, Sam could celebrate. Seeing her so messed up always throws him. Less than an hour ago, she was the powerful psychic that used to have Dad clutching his telepathy-blocking charm under his shirt.

Sam scrubs his hand down his face, staring blankly at the trembling lump of blanket lying across the backseat. Now, she’s… whatever she saw in that demon.

Dean tucks her feet up onto the seat, then nudges the door closed with his hip. Sam stares past him, through him, at her silhouette in the Impala’s dark glass, because that’s somehow easier than looking at Dean.

The smattering of snow growing on the asphalt makes the whole world sound muffled. Sam feels like he’s talking to empty air when he croaks, “It knew about Jessica.”

“Sam,” Dean calls, softer this time. Asking for Sam to look at him. When he manages to heave his head up, Dean’s face is firm and reassuring. “These things—they read minds. They lie, just like Beth said. That’s all it was. Don’t let that thing get into your head, okay?”

Sam forces himself to nod. They both spare the shaking shape in the backseat one more look, then Dean’s rounding the car for the driver’s seat, and Sam’s sliding in next to him without another word.

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 5th, night.

Green. It had to be the ugliest color a motel room could be, Sam thought as he stared at the empty room. The walls were this sad limey green color that managed to look awful even in the dark, some parts made even limey-er by the huge neon green vacancy sign right outside their window. Their room was parked right next to it, so there was no escaping the sign even with the curtains pulled shut.

You and Dean, who were positioned right under the ugly green light, had somehow managed to fall asleep anyway. The only sound in the whole world was your soft breathing across the room and the crackle of the ancient TV.

Right now, it was playing a rerun of some televangelist in a big shiny white suit. He paced the screen on mute as Sam watched, curled on his side, laying diagonal to face the screen. Nightmares were so common for him now that the hardest part of the battle was getting to sleep in the first place. His strategy was to get so bored and so tired that his body would simply have nothing else to do but crash. Bored was the key word—Sam had tried reading, sudoku, and counting cars as they whisked by, but all of that occupied his mind too much to work. Tonight was another night where his mind was just too full to sleep.

He hoped Dean was right. He prayed that the demon had just been lying, lips pressed to the cross he kept under his shirt. Most days, Sam dropped into bed and sent off a brief prayer before the fight for sleep began. Tonight, though—tonight was one of those nights where he clasped his cross in both hands and poured his heart out. Sam prayed for his brother, his Dad, and for you, like usual, pleading for protection and strength. Sam prayed for Jessica, too.

(But never for her forgiveness—he knew he didn’t deserve that).

When Sam had first started getting comfortable with prayer, he’d always worried that he was being greedy or selfish by asking for so much. Health, food, lunch money, for Dad and Dean to get home okay. Now, it’s a natural comfort to him. To open yourself up to something higher than you, to give up your pride and ask for help—that is a mark of holiness. Goodness. Sam closes out his prayers and feels clean.

Across the room, Sam hears the covers in the opposite bed shift. He squints sleepy eyes at your silhouette, and even sluggish and drained, the shifting colors from the TV and the vacancy sign illuminate you like something not entirely from this world.

You pad over to his bedside. A soft, ice-cold hand shakes his arm. When you get up close and realize Sam’s awake, you scuttle back in surprise. “Uh.”

Sam shoves his face into his pillow. With his mind still on Jess, it’s hard for him to look at you right now. “What is it?”

It’s funny. From the moment you got off flight 424, you’d been glued to Dean’s side. Sam had kept his teeth pressed together through the entire thing, watching from a distance as you reached for Dean, spoke to Dean, took the food Dean gave you. If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d figure you were avoiding him. Now you’ve decided you want something from him?

The second you touch his arm, every wisp of jealousy in Sam dries up. Not at all in the mood to be touched, he squirms out from under your hand and hoarsely repeats, “What?” You speak to him for the first time in hours. You sound rough and broken, and the edge of that awful sob from earlier today threatens to tip into your voice. “Can I…?”

Sam keeps his face planted in the pillow. At first he’s unsure what you’re even asking for—until you drop a hand on the mattress and he feels your weight tilt closer, wanting to… to lay with him. Like when you were little. When you share beds on the road, there’s often space left between you. That’s not what you’re asking for. If that’s what you wanted right now, you’d be in Dean’s bed.

The soft, choked little voice he can’t resist begs, “I just need to feel you.”

The last sliver of guilt and self-loathing that Sam has been holding onto instantly slips out of his grasp, hearing that. For the millionth time since this morning, he’s reminded of how awful he was to you. You’d been brought to the brink with your powers in a way they hadn’t seen in years, and Sam chose that precise moment to freak out. He wished he’d been better to you. Maybe he can’t pray for Jess’s forgiveness, but he can work to earn yours now.

Sam shuffles back on the mattress and opens the covers for you. “C’mere.”

As quiet as a mouse, you duck under his arm and slip under the covers. Sam immediately realizes that he should’ve fucking braced himself or something, because holy shit, you are so close. He accidentally gave you very little room in the already small bed. To keep from tumbling off the mattress and onto the questionable carpet, you reasonably and logically slot right up against him, your back against his chest and your heads on the same pillow. Holy shit, he did not think this through. Sam has very few gentlemanly places to lay his arm. And even if he found one, your icy cold hand picks up his warm one and—right, okay, you take it and wrap it right around your middle. That’s fine too. Cool. Awesome.

Okay. Forgetting every way he could sabotage this for himself for just a moment, Sam realizes that he missed this. God, he missed it so much. You wiggle back into his body and Sam gives you a big, indulgent squeeze around the tummy, earning this watery little sigh that makes his already racing heart zing out into orbit. Friendly snuggling became a lot less friendly when you were pushing seventeen instead of nine, so Sam hasn’t allowed himself to properly, um… cuddle you… in ages.

That isn’t even the best part. That little squeeze makes him realize just how pleasantly cold you are, a wonderful ice cube in blazing hot soup. Sam’s practically cooking under the covers—and that must be perfect for you and your chilly hands, because you make the same pitiful happy noise that Sam does as you get comfortable against each other.

Maybe if this were any other moment, after any other day, that would be something you might laugh about together. Instead, Sam’s prayers are filled with you and your incredible burden. He hesitates to go all in and hold you like he wants to… until your breath makes that tight, hitching sound again, and Sam’s sure you’re holding back tears. Screw it, Sam thinks. He’ll take care of you this time. Sam presses his face into your hair and entwines your hands on your belly, unsure of what to say and yet wanting to say so much. Dean can’t hold you like this—this is something you only want from Sam.

You both go still. Sam feels you hold your breath. His legs are itching to shift under the covers and your hand awkwardly holds his, the two of you afraid to disturb the magic.

Your thumb slowly caresses along the flat side of his hand. His heart leaps into his throat, and he squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to relax. You need this. Finally, it’s his turn to comfort you.

Sam swallows hard. There’s no way you can’t feel his heart thudding away, inches from popping clean out of his chest. Neither of you are stupid. If Dean were to wake up, you know exactly what this would look like to him—to the cleaning lady, to the strangers out on the street. But right now, in this frozen moment, there’s no one awake in the world but the two of you and the TV. It is so, so wrong. But when you touch him, Sam feels clean.

Bit by bit, you adjust to one another. Your breath syncs up. The whole time, your eyes never move from the TV, but if Sam focusses he swears something washes over him—that same great, sweeping, cleansing power from the plane, as light as moth wings on his skin. He has to bite back his smile. If you did that to anyone else, they’d find you creepy as hell.

After what feels like forever, you plainly croak, “It was lying about her. It was made of lies.”

That hits Sam like a slap to the face. That’s… yeah. That sounds right. He absorbs the impact as best he can, because although his faith was thin, Sam trusted Dean’s word and he trusts yours, too. There’s—so much that he feels about that, but he doesn’t want any more of his grief to overwhelm your Gift. Sam’s not naive. No matter how good of a person you are, no matter how considerate and understanding and empathetic you can be, Sam knows that talking about Jessica brings you some level of pain. It hurts him, too. And he has zero clue where that conversation would even begin, so he stores his shame and his loss and gives a shaky nod.

Instead, Sam asks, “...What did you see? When you looked into its head?”

Right. Cause’ that was such a better question to ask her, Sam.

You go silent. It’s a weighty, knowing silence, one that chokes the whole room. Sam readies himself for whatever you’re about to share with him. Admittedly, he’s curious. When the Gift was something new in your life, Sam used to pile on question after question about what the world felt like to you. ‘What does it feel like when Dean’s happy?’ A car motor turning on. ‘What does my happiness feel like?’ Dimples and a mystery being solved. ‘You’re joking.’ Not even a little. It fascinated Sam—how does a demon feel in comparison to a regular spirit?

“...It was just an evil spirit, Sammy,” you dismiss. “That’s all.”

Sam highly doubts that’s true. If it was just a spirit, then why did it screw with you so deeply? What had you seen in its head that had scared you? You, of all people, who was built for this? He knows there’s something more here, but after this week and all the ways you’ve fought to avoid being a burden, the fact that you’d crawl to Sam for comfort is a sign of surrender. You’ve given up. Clearly, you don’t want to talk about it. Sam isn’t going to push you. God knows he’s done that enough.

When Sam doesn’t push you, you shudder out a wet sigh and pick up his hand. At this point, Sam expects you in this state to do something weird—and sure enough, you do. You pick up Sam’s hand and you just stare at it. Just stare. Your thumb presses into the meat of his palm, almost like you’re looking for something. Feeling him. Sam’s heart gives another pathetic, noticeable throb. Feeling him and being close to him is, after everything, still a source of comfort for you. His cheeks burn.

Just to fill the silence, Sam whispers, “I’ve lost a lot of my calluses.”

Per usual, his little creep says nothing. You’re still feeling him. Your other hand comes up to investigate too, adding even more soft gentle touching to Sam’s already overloaded system. Your thumbs press into the center of his palm (reading it, maybe?), then over each bump, confirming for yourself that Sam’s real.

Maybe he’d be a bit more resilient if you were doing this to him in a crowded diner or a rowdy college party. Instead, Sam can feel the rise and fall of your breath through your thin shirt, and it’s the only sound in the dead world besides the buzzing static on the TV.

Your gaze turns to the TV. The fingers caressing his hand stop cold.

Sam says your name. He can feel your heart thud thud thudding deep in your chest, like rabbit’s feet hitting snow.

Again, absorbed completely in your own task, you don’t answer him. You roll over very suddenly under the covers. Sam hopes for a minute that being face to face with you will give him some answers, but the flash of your face he sees only serves to scare the shit out of him. You give him no time to process before you’re full-body hugging him, shoving a hand between his side and the mattress and fisting one in his shirt to bodily haul him against you. Sam sputters out a sharp noise and awkwardly slopes his hands down your back. The sudden intimacy gives him a whole world of shameful butterflies and freaks him out enough, but…

You looked terrified. The same bone-deep horror you had on your face after you saw the demon in person—when you trudged up to Sam with those haunting Proctor eyes, staring straight through him and right at his future. What had you seen in that demon?

Sam tries to speak, but you talk over him, just as haunted as you’d been on that plane.

“I love you. So much, Sam. You know that?”

It’s not a sweet, reminiscent kind of question. It is a genuine, unironic, please-tell-me-the-truth, You know that?

Sam’s brain stalls. “...Yeah. O-Of course.”

In case that wasn’t worrying enough, your hands needily grasp at his back, refusing to let Sam go as you duck your face into his shoulder. Sam can feel your entire body trembling from head to toe, can feel your hot breath on his neck choking back tears. “You’re a good person,” you tell him, insisting. “The best to me.”

“That’s—”

“I can feel it, okay?” You snap. One of your hands slips up his chest to smooth over Sam’s heart, and you squeeze him against you, promising, “Here. Right here.”

…Okay. Consider him officially freaked out. Sam manages an unconvinced, “...Thank you.”

You’re so wound up that you’re gritting your teeth, digging your nails into his shirt and clawing him as close as possible. This has to be an effect of what you saw. Which is strange, because that… whatever that was, did not feel like psychic possession or a psychic panic attack or any kind of psychic anything. It felt like you, trying to convince Sam that he’s a good person. It strikes a cold, dark chord somewhere deep within him that he doesn’t like. You’re just… you’re just reacting to what the demon showed you. You’re overwhelmed from stretching your Gift so thin. T-that’s. Yeah. Regardless, you’re scared. You need him. That, at least, is something he can work with.

“Shh,” Sam coos. He rubs a warm hand from the base of your scalp all the way down your back, then up, and back again, repeating the soothing motion until his arm goes numb. “You’re tired. Let’s go to sleep.”

You mumble something non-committal under your breath.

Sam hushes you, blindly reaching for comforting things to say. “S’ okay. You’re okay, baby. You can fall asleep on me.”

Maybe the demon showed you visions of Sam getting hurt. Something. That would explain this, maybe. He fixates on it, purely because it’s a problem in front of him that is much easier to think about than how scared he is for you, and worse, how much he loves this. Being your person. It’s a stupid, selfish thought to have in a moment like this, but—Sam wishes he could take care of you like this all the time.

As your frantic breathing smooths out into a clear, easy in-and-out, Sam wonders, wherever Jess is, what she would think if she saw this.

He closes his eyes and tries to steady his own breathing, the TV still crackling away on the dresser.

In. Bzzzsh. Out. Bzzzsh.

- tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydennyy @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1 @pplanetcaravan

[call-me-a-simp]

No one hates you more than I do!

Locked Up (Part 1)

Enemies to lovers (Rhea Ripley x fem. Reader):

You're a well known wrestler in WWE and Rhea is your worst enemy. You hate each other in and outside of the ring. Rhea always flirts with you, not that she means it, she just knows it makes you furious and wants to annoy you. But one day everything changes and you start to feel like all of this isn't a joke anymore and that there might actually be something between you two.

You're walking backstage, just wanting to find the next best sink to wash your face. You challenged Asuka for her Women's Championship title and lost because she used her poison mist attack and you couldn't see well for the rest of the match.

"Hey y/l/n" you hear a familiar voice shout in your direction. Of course it had to be her, you think to yourself. "Leave me alone idiot" you snap back. You hated her, you were sworn enemies and she never missed an opportunity to let you know that.

"Aw someone's mad" she mocks you. "Argh Rhea please, I just want to go to the fucking bathroom to wash my fucking face" you say and try to push past her.

"Ye ye, let me help you" she says and picks you up in one swift motion. "Hey!" you yell. "Rhea Ripley, you're letting me down right now or we're gonna have a serious problem!" you try to wind free from her grip, hitting your fists against her back and kicking with your legs but to no avail.

Rhea chuckles at your efforts, she knew how much you hated getting picked up, especially if it was from her. You try to open your eyes a little to see if there's someone who could help you and spot a tall man in black ring gear.

"Hey Damian! Tell your stupid friend to let me the fuck down!" you shout over to him. "Sorry Bae, gotta go" he winks and walks over to the gorilla. You mutter something inaudible and eventually just accept that Rhea is carrying you over her shoulder now.

As you reach the bathroom she let's you down roughly and you stumble backwards, hitting a sink. "Thanks for nothing" you grumble, not realising that Ripley already closed the door and locked it from the outside, making it impossible for you to get out again on your own.

You try to wash off the poison mist from your face and out of your eyes. It burns heavily and tears are streaming down your cheeks but you had to get it out, not wanting to risk any long term injuries.

Several minutes later you finally had a somewhat clear vision again. Your face was still green and black from the mist Asuka used on you. Your make up everywhere but where it used to be and your eyes red from crying and rubbing.

You just wanted to get out of here, change into some comfortable clothes and get home into bed. You walk over to the door, just to find it locked. You try to open it, rattling the lock and throwing yourself against the door but it doesn't move even a bit.

"God damn it" you curse under your breath. "Rhea! RHEA! LET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" you scream. "took you longer to notice than I expected" you hear her laugh outside. "sorry sweety but I can't do anything, I lost the key. Well, see ya!" she chirms and walks away.

"What?! No, NO LET ME OUT! HELP!" you scream on top of your lungs. You hated being locked in some tiny room. Not only that, but your claustrophobia didn't exactly make it any better.

You kept screaming but no one seemed to hear you, nor walk past the door. You wondered where she put you, in which part of the building you where and eventually just gave up, sitting down on the floor crying until no more tears were left and you sat in silence.

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

You didn't know how long you stayed in that room but it must have been hours. The sounds of the people in the arena had stopped since the show probably ended. You hear footsteps approaching the door and get new hope.

"Hello? Can anybody hear me? I need help, I'm locked in here!" you shout and bang against the door with your hands. The person outside stops, probably confused until you hear them knock on the door. "Hello? You in there?" you hear the janitor outside. His voice rusty and old, probably because he was smoking so much.

"Yes, yes please, can you open the door?" you plead, glad someone finally found you. The janitor was a very nice man in his late 60's, you liked him, he always brought a smile on your face as he knew exactly what to say to cheer you up.

The lock clicks and he opens the door." Oh my god thank you!" you sigh and hug him. "Woah Woah, how long have you been in there kid, it's almost two in the morning!" he chuckles, but you can still see the concern written in his face in the dimly lit hallway of the basement.

So that's where she took me, you think before explaining to your savior how you ended up there. "Thank you so much again, good night Joe" you say as you leave to find your locker room.

You're glad Joe found you, you don't even want to imagine having to spend the whole night in there without food or anything to change, having to lay on that uncomfortable, dirty floor. Oh Rhea is gonna regret this, this time she won't come away with it.

Maybe you could report her to Triple H, your boss. But on the other hand, what if everybody thinks you're weak then, reporting your coworker for a little incident which can be seen as an accident. No, you weren't going to take that risk, there has to be another way.

You enter your locker room, quickly change into comfortable clothing and wipe off your makeup and the remains of Asuka's poison mist. You grab your bag and keys and head out to at least get a little rest before tomorrow.

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Part one of my new series No One Hates You More Than I Do, hope you like it. I'm planning on making longer chapters than in the last story. Again, comment if you wanna be added to the taglist, as I deleted the last one, not knowing who wants to be tagged in this one too.

And also, look at that picture I found of Mami 😍

Taglist: @specialinterestshows

[bellekawata-san]

𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍

EP.03

"Nights are when I can finally let loose," you think as you grab the key necklace and lock your room, picking up your phone to check the messaging app where you can clearly see messages from your parents. Each message explains how they'll be away as usual, which you don't mind much. Walking to the balcony, you open the luxurious doors. Sass, the snake kwami, emerges from his small hiding place, moving to stand in front of you, illuminated by the moonlight, the only light in the dark room.

"Another night... Sass, scales slither..." the kwami is pulled into your bracelet, and soon your body is adorned in that costume. Turning around, you begin to move towards the balcony, climbing onto the small wall before finally jumping to your semi-freedom.

"I hope I get to tear the wings off that butterfly pest," you think as you stand atop a building, already looking at your miraculous on your wrist."Second Chance!" you activate the miraculous power before leaping across rooftops, searching for any sign of Hisperia. Hearing a noise, you jump onto a roof and look down, only to see Claw Noir and Shadybug arguing as usual.

"Sucuri!" You feel someone approaching from behind and, already recognizing the voice, you don't even need to turn around. "Hello to you too, Queenbee~" you say, dragging out the words like a snake. The girl just scoffs as she stands beside you, watching the two arguing below."Those two are always fighting. That's why they never manage to catch that annoying butterfly idiot. They're—" Queenbee falls silent when you raise a hand to stop her from continuing.

"Leave them be. After all... if the Supreme entrusted them with Miraculouses, it's because they're useful. As my right hand, you should know that~" you say, dragging your words like a snake again. Lowering your hand and letting it rest at your side, Queenbee can only sigh as she watches the two below, each grabbing their weapons and heading after one of the akumatized villains now destroying posters of the Supreme or anything related to him.

"I could easily go down there and just finish off that insect," you say, shaking your head in disapproval as you watch the two arguing and attempting to take down the butterfly holder from a distance. You hum in disapproval, observing their chaotic efforts.

Before turning and walking to the other side of the rooftop, you say, "You can go back and rest, Queenbee~. It seems you won't need to get your paws dirty~" dragging out the last word like a snake. Queenbee sighs."Alright, Sucuri. When you need my excellent skills to eliminate that insect, just call me. Goodbye, dear," she says, leaping off the building and disappearing from view, leaving you staring at the moon above.

Sighing, you start jumping across the rooftops, following Ladybug and Black Cat from a distance. You watch as they seem to lose track of Butterfly once again. The argument between them begins before they each go their separate ways, perhaps to rest. Now finally "alone," you step out of the shadows, fully illuminated by the moonlight."It's on calm and empty nights like these that I feel good," you think as you look over the dark Paris, feeling the cold and comforting wind. You are about to head home when a leaf drifts past you.

Catching the leaf before it flies further, you notice scribbled lyrics on it. The person seemed to be trying to create a song, but the remaining words suggest they didn't have a solid idea. Looking confused, you turn to where the paper came from. The street is empty, illuminated only by the moonlight and streetlights. Even with your night vision, you still see the emptiness of the place. Sighing, you jump off the rooftop, letting the leaf in progress drift slowly to the ground. You couldn't care less about the owner or about carrying something so useless.

Leaping onto the balcony and detransforming, the night now comes to an end. Closing the balcony door and drawing the curtains, you observe Sass floating beside you. Raising your hand, you let him sit calmly on it. You then head to your bed, placing the kwami on the pillow next to yours."Rest..." you say before turning to go to the bathroom.

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Spirit Fanfic

[fritextramole]

a hidden gem, my own goldmine

part 1 of a Vanessa Abrams playlist - best heard in order

tracklist and quotes under the cut

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised ~ Gil Scott-Heron

The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal The revolution will not get rid of the nubs The revolution will not make you look five pounds thinner Because the revolution will not be televised, brother

Chain Gang ~ Sam Cooke

Can't you hear them singing I'm going home one of these days

The Rebel Girl ~ Hazel Dickens

There are blue blood queens and princesses Who have charms made of diamonds and pearl But the only and thoroughbred lady Is the Rebel Girl

The Mesopotamians ~ They Might Be Giants

In Mesopotamia (No one's ever seen us) The kingdom where we secretly reign (And no one's ever heard of our band) The land where we invisibly rule As the Mesopotamians

Myriad Harbour ~ The New Pornographers

(Ah, who cares, you always end up in the city) Stranded at Bleecker and Broadway Looking for something to do

Which Side Are You On? ~ Work O’ The Weavers

Which side are you on, boys? Which side are you on?

Thus Always To Tyrants ~ The Oh Hellos

Over hill, over dale, through the valley and vale Do not weep, do not wail, I am coming home to you Every tomb, every sea, spit the bones from your teeth Let the ransomed be free as the revel meets the day Let the valleys awake, let them rattle and shake

Twenty Five Miles ~ Edwin Starr

Now I'll be so glad to see my baby And hold her in my arms one more time, huh Now when I kiss her lips, I turn a back over flip And I forget about these feet of mine I got to keep on walking, hey

THE FRIEND SPACE ~ Ryan Woods

I really hope I don’t throw it away But you couldn’t imagine the way I feel And now I can’t see why You wouldn’t wanna be my baby I got all you need

Comin’ Down ~ Jackie Shane

What's wrong with me? I said it's a simple fact I don't believe you're ever comin' back

Even The Losers ~ Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

Well, it was nearly summer we sat on your roof Yeah, we smoked cigarettes and we stared at the moon And I showed you stars you never could see Babe, it couldn't have been that easy to forget about me

Sylvias Mother ~ The Refreshments

Sylvia's mother says Sylvia's packin' She's gonna be leavin' today Sylvia's mother says Sylvia is marrying A fella down Galveston way

Hot & Heavy ~ Lucy Dacus

When I went away it was the only option Couldn't trust myself to proceed with caution The most that I could give to you is nothing at all The best that I could offer was to miss your calls

I Can’t Stand the Rain ~ Ann Peebles

I know you got some sweet memory But like the wind, ah, you ain't got nothing to say

Radio, Radio ~ Elvis Costello & The Attractions

They say you better listen to the voice of reason But they don't give you any choice 'cause they think that it's treason So you had better do as you are told You better listen to the radio I wanna bite the hand that feeds me

Stairway to Heaven ~ Led Zeppelin

There's a lady who's sure All that glitters is gold And she's buying a stairway to heaven When she gets there she knows If the stores are all closed With a word she can get what she came for

Solidarity Forever ~ Pete Seeger, The Song Swappers

We can break their haughty power, gain our freedom when we learn That the union makes us strong

American Idiot ~ Green Day

Welcome to a new kind of tension All across the alien nation Where everything isn't meant to be okay In television dreams of tomorrow

9 to 5 ~ Dolly Parton

There's a better life And you think about it, don't you? It's a rich man's game No matter what they call it And you spend your life Putting money in his wallet

Stop! In The Name Of Love ~ The Supremes

I watch you walk down the street Knowing your other love you'll meet But this time before you run to her Leaving me alone and hurt (Think it over) After I've been good to you

5AM ~ Amber Run

We run into a dark room And we spasm to the sounds Of a copy of Morrissey Or the blues of the Deep South

Val Kilmer ~ Bowling For Soup

So when you walk down that red carpet I hope you trip and fall I hope someone squirts you with a water gun A super soaker filled with pee

There’s A Ghost In My House ~ R. Dean Taylor

I can't hide (Ghost in my house) From the ghost of your love that's inside You're still such a part of me (Ghost in my house) Still so deep in the heart of me (Ghost in my house)

[laalaaisqueen]

It's too bad I had the most fun writing the Mountains one

Laa-Laa tightly wraps her arms around her body, her pajamas doing very little to protect her from the cold wind and snow. But she certainly wasn't going back home. She only could go forward.

Though it was dark, she could see well in the dark. Which is how she spotted something pink and frozen. She moves closer and maybe it was custard? But why would there be custard in the mountains?

She shakes her head and forces herself to move on.

A bit later she's startled to hear a young voice speaking. Her first thought was to wonder if there's a lost child.

But a gut feeling told her to not risk looking for anyone.

The yellow Teletubby covers her ears when she heard a loud roar and froze when she saw something rush towards her. By the time she remembered she should be running instead of staying here like an idiot…

She already lost consciousness.

For a moment Laa-Laa manages to force her eyes partly open, her sight was blurry but the creature from earlier was…carrying her? She didn't think he had good intentions considering how her face was badly stinging…he probably punched her unconscious.

She wanted to at least demand to be put down, but she couldn't get the words out properly and besides he ignored her.

Laa-Laa had no time to be annoyed at this since her vision blacked out.

Ugh why is it so cold? Did Dipsy open her window again?

And possibly leave something rotten in her room?

And somehow made her bed uncomfortable without waking her.

Her yellow fingers felt around for her yellow pillow to place over her head. But touched something…

Her green eyes fly open and she sits up as previous events fill her head.

What the hell was she sitting in?!

It smells like blood?!

Laa-Laa stands up and for once wishes she couldn't see so well.

Because she clearly could see the blood, some bones, and…eyeballs.

Tears sting her eyes as well as something stings in her throat. She better not throw up. She stumbles away from the bloody remains. Did that creature intend on eating her? Why keep her alive there?

She loses her balance and face plants into the cold snow. She desperately drags herself away, trying to remember how to breathe properly. She clutches at her throat as she curls into a ball.

Dear god why is it so hard to breathe? Is she going to die?

Laa-Laa wanted to jerk away when she felt someone touch her shoulders but it felt like she had lost control of her body. They forced her up and steered her towards…a fire?

She almost fell over onto it but managed to catch herself to kneel in front of it.

While her heart continued to pound, the warmth of the fire felt nice. She shuts her eyes and tries to calm her breathing by counting to 5 on repeat.

1.. 2.. 3.. 4.. 5..

Inhale.

1.. 2.. 3.. 4.. 5..

Exhale slowly.

She repeated this until she slightly relaxed.

Her green eyes glance at what she could only call raw meat.

Laa-Laa shakes her head.

She needed to fucking get out of here before she became raw meat.

She glances over at someone cutting at a tree with a long sharp object. It'd be rude if she left without thanking them for helping her over to the fire.

As Laa-Laa got closer, they seemed to be half robot and had a star antenna.

"Um, hello?"

They turn around and nod to her maybe in acknowledgement? Maybe they weren't talkative.

"Who are you? I have to thank you for helping me…while…I was doing THAT." She felt slightly embarrassed for having a panic attack like that.

They started moving their fingers instead of speaking.

Laa-Laa raises her brows.

They sigh, it sounded barely audible over the wind and a bit raspy. They moved their black fingers again but this time it looked like they were tracing words in the air.

U N I T

"Unit?"

They nod.

"…Why did that guy carry me here?"

Unit points at her then at the fire and then at the sharp object he's holding.

Laa-Laa's silent as she works out what they're trying to say.

"Hold on! I'm not food!" While she had guessed it in her panic, she didn't actually expect that to be the answer.

They emitted a raspy tired sigh. Then went back to cutting at the tree.

Laa-Laa huffs as she leaves the warmth of the fire behind, it's now uncomfortable since that's most likely how that creature wanted her cooked in.

The poor souls that been killed.

They strangely didn't stop her from leaving.

It felt like she was walking into just whiteness for hours until she found a black gate. Getting closer she muttered a curse under her breath when she saw it was locked. She'd consider climbing it but she didn't want to hurt herself on those sharp things.

She would have to find something to break it.

Laa-Laa looks around in a spinning circle and to her surprise there was a small wooden shack nearby. This had to be too good to be true. She speed walks to it, never know when that meat eater will come find you, and walks through the doorway. A iron object sticks out to her, she has no idea what it is, but it might help break the lock.

She races back over and finally something was going her way when it did indeed break the lock. She doesn't waste further time and runs past the now open gate.

[thebunniwagon]

Hello again second time asking um so can you do j or n (or just both im ok with both mostly both) with a gn worker drone who is just a very happy and can’t stop smiling for some reason and is very interested by them and why they are smiling like a dumb idiot

(Sorry for asking for both I just love them both I hope you going to have an amazing day in the morning :D)

Ok, let’s see!

N and J with a friendly and joyous worker drone reader (platonic)

Loading… Loading… Loading Backstory.Exe (Yay color)

When the murder drones broke into the bunker, you and your family retreated to the evacuation spot that khan designated, you weren’t surprised when they made their way in. It was a dumb spot really, but you held out hope that maybe the murder drones wouldn’t find you.

Just as one of the drones was about to begin slaughtering you all, Uzi and another murder drone had appeared, gaining the attention of the murder drones. You made your family go hide, your parents taking your younger sibling with them, while you stayed behind to help fight the murder drones.

You grabbed an axe off the wall, rushing into battle against the murder drones. You figure the drone that Uzi brought with her could handle himself, so you rush over to the murder drone with pigtails, hoping to aid Uzi.

“Y/n?! What are you doing here?!” Uzi spat out, who just kicked a pen into pigtails, pigtails was busy cursing the durability of the pen.

“Uzi I live here!” You yelled at Uzi, before charging at pigtails with the axe you found, the murder drone kicked you down to buy herself some time to regroup.

Uzi went to pick you up, her gun pointed at the murder drone, she chastised you for being so reckless. You thank her for helping you up, but she is quickly whisked away by pigtails before she can say you’re welcome. You grab your axe, winding up a powerful throw, and chuck it at pigtails. Pigtails yells out in pain as the axe hits her left wing, causing her to fall down and Uzi managing to escape her grasp. You rush to grab the axe off the drone’s wing, as Uzi goes for her gun.

The murder drone sliced your abdomen, causing you to fall down from the pain, she pulls out the axe from her wing. Uzi pointed her gun at the murder drone, ready to fire.

“Y/n MOVE!” You held your wound and rolled out of the way, Uzi opened fire at the drone, a green beam annihilating a large portion of the evacuation spot’s wall. You got up from the floor, looking at what appears to be remains of the murder drone. Uzi was about to celebrate but quickly screamed at you to look out, pigtails held you by the throat and pointed a gun at your friend.

Uzi couldn’t do anything, she missed her shot and her weapon had to recharge, she couldn’t do anything.

“Let them go!” Uzi pointed her gun, opting to try distracting the murder drone, at least until she could figure out a plan.

The murder drones tail floats in front of your face, looking at Uzi. The tail is infused with acid that could melt anything, maybe it could work on the user as well. You grab the tail and shove it into her hand, causing her to scream and let go of you.

You kick her calf as hard as you can, causing her to fall down, Uzi picks up the axe and rushes forwards. Pigtails turns her uninjured hand into a sub machine gun, Uzi threw the axe at you before a bullet hit her shoulder, you caught the axe. You swing at her wings, slicing one them off while the other remains, the drone’s tail strikes your hand.

The murder drone that Uzi brought with her tackled pigtails, pulling her towards the open wall. She tries to fight back with a blade in her arm, slicing the friendly drone in his cheek, you reached for the axe. Picking it up, you throw it in a arch, hearing a scream from Pigtails. The friendly drone dragged Pigtails to some rebar and tied her up, she was missing her other wing.

As you collected yourself, everyone started cheering for their saviors, but stopped when they saw the friendly drone. The drone introduced himself as an angsty rebellious drone called N, which calmed down many of the survivors. Uzi then lambasted her father for abandoning her, claiming that he always didn’t believe in her, and “doing him the favor” of banishing herself. N picked up their fellow drones, while Uzi climbed onto his shoulder, together they flew out of the open wall.

You had to get yourself patched up, much to the surprise and horror of your family. Your mother made you swore to never try anything like that ever again, you promised her that you wouldn’t, but Uzi is surrounding herself with plenty of enemies.

Those murder drones know where you live, no worry, you already clipped the wings of one. Murdering the murder drones, very ironic.

Wearing a green jacket, you leave the comforts of your home, axe in hand.

You didn’t know where to look, so you look for the mountain of corpses, hoping that you’ll find traces of Uzi.

Following the trail, more corpses are present, something that you’d began to worry about.

Entering the cavern where the mountain begins, the pillar of corpses stationed as if it was a panopticon.

Creepy…

Backstory over (Yay color)

“Y/n?” Uzi spoke, surprisingly not startling you.

“Hey Uzi, came to check up on you guys” You sat as you softly grip your axe.

Uzi made you give her the axe before you could do anything stupid with it, much to your dismay. But now that you think about it, maybe a axe to their skull won’t be the best introduction to potential friends, it especially won’t go well with N.

So no killing for Uzi’s sake, wouldn’t want N to revert back into a murder drone.

You follow Uzi back into her temporary little base, it’s a spaceship that’s terribly banged up with barely any space to fit in. It’s quiet and not operational at all, but it is under repairs, or at least Uzi said so. The prisoners were under tight watch by N to ensure safety, Uzi asks you to help N keep an eye, giving a small punch on your arm as she welcomes you to the murder crew.

“Oh, Uzi made you keep watch too?” N asked, you nodded in response. N is rather strange guy, his yellow eye-things are activated, but he’s still being friendly to you. You sat by him and smiled at your tied up prisoners, pigtails and another murder drone.

N was trying to talk to V, but he was struggling to come up with words. V was either ignoring him or playing some games in her interface, you had noticed that J was look at you, looking rather agitated if you say so.

“Why are you smiling, don’t you have someplace to be?” J scoffs, a sour frown on her interface. You’re surprised, you never knew that they could talk, much less converse without murder. You continue smiling at her, before responding to her.

“I’m keeping watch, with N” She looks closely at you, still scowling.

“You’re very dumb if you think you could keep me tied up forever” You shrug, figuring that you will try to reform these drones like Uzi did to N, but you will have to help take care of these two.

“We won’t, but as long as you help us, we’ll feed you” She frowned even more, you kept up your smile, your comment definitely made her upset.

“Whoa Y/n, we can’t just starve them!” N interjected, V sighed in relief as N no longer tried to talk to her. You sighed then nodded while smiling, he returned the smile, happy to see you being cooperative.

“Fine… if you promise to do as Uzi says, I’ll let you take a bite~” you showed J your palm, maintaining your smile throughout. J’s mouth started to water, she was alright when it came to oil reserves, thanks to her slaughter back at your home. But she couldn’t resist the offer of more oil, especially if it make you squeal and wipe that stupid smirk off your face.

“Fine, but we’re still murder drones! We need oil to live, besides, I know your fragile body doesn’t hold enough for us both” J replied while giving you a slasher smile, you were surprised by her threat and how easily she agreed to your deal.

You figured that she wasn’t really going to change, but if N could change, you guess that there a slight slimmer of hope. You take a deep breath, continue your smile, and present J your hand.

She’s surprised by your eagerness to trust her, so she opens her mouth, teeth bare. She bites down on your palm, drawing oil, but you keep your smile throughout it all. She bites harder, wanting to make you at least squeal, you gruff and keep up your smile.

N was equally surprised to see you not reacting to the pain, he was happy to see you and J had come to an agreement, but was a little worried about what it took for J to agree to the price. J was never known to be very diplomatic with her victims, only promising death and suffering to those who were brave enough to face her.

Here you were, smiling against the most murderer murder drone that he knows. N’s interface displayed his pride, smiling as if he was a proud father. On the inside you were screaming from the pain, but they shouldn’t know that, your pride wouldn’t let it go. J let go of your hand, oil dripping onto the floor, licking her teeth.

“So, what’s your deal smiles? Think being friendly with us will spare you?” Said V, who was swinging her legs from the seat she was tied to.

“Maybe, maybe we could be friends one day” You look upon of your wound, the bite mark starting to sting more as the seconds pass.

“Soo… what now?” J asked, giving you a suspicious face while waiting.

“You both help Uzi! That was the deal” You replied to V, J groans out load, clearly upset with this arrangement.

J rolled her eyes, handicapped by the lack of wings, she wouldn’t be much help.

A few weeks pass by…

Somehow, V had been reformed by Uzi and her companion N. She’s more friendly to you and especially to N, but J was still rude to everyone, at least she tolerated you more than the others. J’s wounds have healed a long time ago, her wings gone thanks to your attack. She’s still tied up, but she has her own room thanks to N’s kindness.

Ever since you were able to implant J with a chip that could put her to sleep, the murder crew had given her more freedoms, although she isn’t very cooperative with anybody. Especially with you, she must really hate you the most, but she hasn’t tried to hurt you.

She often insults anything about you, trying to gauge a reaction. You don’t indulge her, preferring to continue smiling, but you appreciated her company anyhow.

J decided to accompany you and N one time, unsurprisingly hijinks ensued.

“You can practically do anything these days, the cops don’t care” N said, signaling to a corpse with a blue shirt. You wanted to correct him and specify that cops wear blue hats instead of blue shirts, but you weren’t sure and forgot about it.

J points to another corpse which was posing in a rather embarrassing manner, it’s hands trying to block something, maybe the blast of doom that killed everyone. She laughs as she pushes it over, disintegrating when it touched the floor.

“That’s nothing worry about Y/n, it’s actually pretty tame compared to what she claims she’ll do to us” N said as J began to push over other brittle skeletons, but you were confident that J wouldn’t be able to hurt you both.

A rock hit N’s head and plopped on the ground “You’re next! After I get this stupid thing off of me!!!”

You giggled as J tried to desperately claw the chip off, she growls at you for smiling at him. N giggled alongside you, gaining more ire from J as she starts to bash the chip with a rock.

“Stop J, you’re gonna hurt yourself” You scolded as she finally managed to start bleeding from her desperate attempt of escape. She hissed from the pain, clenching her hands.

You barely manage to dodge the rock that J threw in her anguish, N made sure you were ok before putting himself in front of you.

You decide that J deserves a chance to be free, even if she will tries to kill you both. You make N move out of the way, asking him to trust you.

“Look J, I know you probably don’t like me or anyone else, but I need you to trust me this once” You give her your most sincere smile, hoping that she would consider your offer. She holds out her arm, bleeding oil from the wound, small tears showing on her interface.

You carefully take out the inhibitor chip, making sure to not be too rough. J hisses from the pain, you give her a gentle smile to keep her calm and prevent her from freaking out.

“There, it doesn’t look good on you anyway. Sorry I put that thing on you”

J looks at her wound, small trickles of oil falling upon the floor. She stares at you, still suspicious of your intentions.

“Stop smiling Y/n, it doesn’t look good on you anyways” J begins to walk away from you, smiling while doing so.

N envelops you in a spine crushing hug, telling you how proud he is.

You return his hug, still smiling.

[beezleberry-breakie]

Holy shit I made another one ║ ಡ ͜ ʖ ಡ ║. I'm either very depressed or very bored...probably both.

Disclaimer: I do not own Friend, Keagan, or STNAF, they belong to @stnaf-vn

You enter through the door, the soft hum of the overhead lights reflecting off the large meeting room table that stood between you and this young woman. God you weren't getting paid enough for this. Without even glancing from your clipboard you sat down in the chair across from her, fingers pressing the buttons to start the tape recording. Your temples were already throbbing due to the stress induced headache.

"Hello, Aofie", you gave your name, "I'm Keagan's lawyer and I'm just here to ask you some questions about the night of his accident. First question is, Who are you?"

The woman was taken aback.

"What do you mean 'wHo aRe yOU', you literally just said my name gobshite"

You grinded your teeth, this bitch, she was just as sarcastic as the other one. Why was your client messing with these types of people?

You sighed, "I'm sorry, I should've clarified, for legality reasons I need to know who you are and what your occupation is".

That seemed to calm her down.

"Oh well then. My name is Aofie Kelly, or Mango, and I work in the business office down the road as a junior accountant".

You stopped listening after hearing her nickname.

"Mango?"

"Yea!" her eyes seemed to sparkle at mention, "I got the nickname after Friend and I had a Mango eating contest", she crossed her arms triumphantly, "Guess who ended up being the winner", she haughtily chuckled making you concerned if she could even be a valid witness as Keagan said.

"Though, five tubs of mangos does seem excessive".

Oh dear God you were dealing with an idiot.

You sighed, rereading the sheet on your clipboard. You needed to wind her down before asking about her relationship with Keagan.

"What are you hobbies, interests, relationship with family?

Aofie squinted her eyes at you.

"What is this, are you trying to reunite Kellogg's and I?", she gave an exasperated gasp, "I'll have you know I am now in a committed relationship with the Lort, and he frowns upon those who try to steer his sheep away!".

You had never in your life wanted to clock out and go home to cry. This child was on another level.

"No, Aofie. It's just protocol to ask these questions before we hit the big stuff. I'm trying to be your pal here".

She nodded, looks like things finally clicked in her brain for once. Thank whatever deity was on your side today.

"Well" She started ticking things off her fingers, "Hobbies really center around baking. Got a gift for it somehow, Friend and dah said my cooking could even make the slumbering Gods wake".

...You didn't think was anyway a good thing.

"Naming a few my interests are baking obvs, watching trashy reality tv, metal core, dance, and tending to me cows when I go back home to Ireland".

"Ireland?"

"Yup my mum and dah are both from there, though we think mum may have originated from Nigeria".

"So you're close with your parents?"

She nodded furiously, a sugar coated smile sketched her face.

"Of course and they love to come down to visit Friend and I. Said he's the sweetest thing next to butter pudding".

That checked out. You scanned the sheet for the next question.

"It says here you know both Friend and Keagan at the time of the incident? Can you tell me what happaned"

Aofie seemed to have lost any happiness that she was radiating earlier.

"Uh, aye. See," she cleared her throat, "I guess he thought it would be a funny joke to drive out to the middle of no where, and push me out at midnight no less".

"He, you mean Keagan? Your ex-boyfriend"

"Yes, that's what I said, Kendrick"

Oh my God.

"He and his friends just pushed me out and then drove away laughing", she was sniffing now, tears threatening to fall. You pushed a tissue box towards her, having some wane of sympathy for the young woman.

You knew Keagan had a past but it wasn't fair to bring someone innocent into his chaos. Your interview with Friend earlier in the week, you could understand his anger towards Keagan.

"What happened next, Ms. Aofie?"

She took a tissue to wipe the tears from her eyes, "Well, I was just so scared. We'd been drinking and I was just so lost and cold. I wasn't sure what to do, so I called the only person who I knew that was always there for me".

"Friend?"

Her radiant smile returned to her face. "Yup, he came to get me hauling ass on their motorcycle in the rain!", A few tears seemed to have slipped out, but they seemed more to be from happiness than anger, "I've never had anyone outside family care for me so much. Friend even stayed over for the night after rescuing me so I wouldn't feel alone".

You smiled softly, jotting down extra notes that you deemed the tape recorder wouldn't capture. "That's good to hear, it seems you have someone well into your corner".

"Aye! I couldn't ask for someone better".

"Last question". Seriousness grafted back into your words as you sat up in your chair. Eyes boring into Aofie's curios emerald eyes. "My client indicated that the reason he crashed, wasn't because he was drunk-".

She snorted, you raised a brow at the sound, but continued.

"-but because Friend threw his helmet at the driver's side window as he went to pick you up. Did Friend ever tell you this?".

A look of shock planted on Aofie's face, it almost seemed like she was confused at the idea that her friend could even do something as awful as that and ruin someone else's life.

"N-no. They're not like that at all", she gave a look of frustration, "As long as I've known Friend they've been nothing but the best to me even when I deserted them. I've never known them as anything but caring".

You tilted your head. "How do you know that their anger is a side that you've never seen? What if it's all a ploy to keep you closer?".

Aofie slammed her hands on the table before she stood up. "Look here gobshite, I've already taken more than enough abuse from Keagan when it came to Friend. All the wasted years I stayed with that useless drunk, are days I wish I could've spent with Friend and", her fingers ran through her auburn brown curls, seems you hit a nerve, "and I look back and see that Friend has been loving me from beginning to end and I've closed the door on my life with Keagan for good".

Before you could even stop her, Aofie had picked up her purse and left the meeting room, door slammed behind her departure.

You flinched, this wasn't going to end well for your client and his future. Turning back around, you flicked off the tape recorder then picked your cell phone. Fingers swiping the screen to tap on a certain contact.

A few rings then a pick up, "Yea, what? Is she going to have my back?"

Zeus help you in these trying times, you rubbed your eyes before sighing loudly.

"No. Aofie Kelly will not testify to your good character".

You moved the phone away from your ear as Keagan screamed on the other side. Serves this brat right.

[joonslfttiddie]

Home

Chapter 31: Seven...

💜Fic Pairing: OT7 x OFC

💜AU/Genre: Reverse Harem/Polyfidelity/Ghosts/AMBW

💜Warnings: Mentions of Arson/Fire/Anxiety Attacks/Death of Main Characters/Murder/Adult Language/Sexual Activity/Stalking/Cancer/Loss of Parent/Ghosts/Explicit Smut/Ejaculation/Oral Sex/Nipple Play/Death of Main Characters/Unprotected Sex/Hate Crime/Blackouts/Orgy/Mention of Gun

*Warnings are for entire work; not chapter specific*

💜Rating: MA

💜Word Count: 3108

Chapter 31

Jungkook’s POV

Tia has been on my mind since I left her this morning. There’s something about that woman that is pulling me, like a moth to a flame, I just want to be near her even if that means I’ll be burned. I know that this is fucking insane…I’ve known her for less than 24 hours but the space she’s settled into within my heart is apparent. This is all happening so quickly and I’m not sure how to handle this feeling. A fellow officer noticed the way I looked at her this morning when I introduced myself and warned that I shouldn’t get involved.

“Bro, I’m telling you not to get caught up in this shit. It’s not like you to act so emotionally or even consider a mark as a love interest. She’s just someone that needed help and you’ve done that. Let it go, man. This ain’t no fucking rom-com where the damsel in distress falls for the big, strong hero. What is this, some type of Stockholm Syndrome type shit?”

“No, dumbass, that’s when a victim falls for their captor. You’re thinking of the Nightingale Effect and this ain’t that. You don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about. And, I’m telling you, there’s something there…this is different. We just vibed, you know, and talked until the sun rose. She’s my type for sure…she’s beautiful, funny, witty, and so sweet. And yeah, before I met her, I wouldn’t think twice about falling for someone I met on duty, but they weren’t her.”

“Aye, man…I’m just saying.”

“I get it, I hear you, and I know you mean well…Just drop it, okay?”

Even though he’s annoying the shit out of me, I understand where he’s coming from. I met Tia when I was on duty and me wanting to develop a relationship with her could be seen as inappropriate or unethical, like I’m taking advantage of her while she’s vulnerable. I’m sitting here trying to self reflect and distinguish whether these feelings I’m having are real or just sympathy for her. I’m staring off into space, in my own world when my phone rings and it’s Tia. I damn near drop it, grabbing at it in midair like a hot potato before I finally answer the call.

“Hello?”

Taehyung’s POV

When I walk into the kitchen to meet the homeowner, I’m unprepared to see her. She is so beautiful, just sitting there not doing anything special, palming a mug in her hands. My heart skips several beats as I take in all that is her. Having to verify that she is the customer, I call her name which tastes sweet as honey on my tongue. When I shake her hand, it’s like a current is surging through my veins, warming me from within. I can’t seem to avert my eyes or let go of her hand and I just stare at her with a goofy smile on my face. She must think I’m such an idiot.

I can’t hide the way that I’m blushing, listening to her friend picking on her and seeing her reaction. I am, however, curious as to why she would need the police to come over until she mentions something about a text. Maybe she has a crazy ex or something. I hang back, giving her the time and space to say her goodbyes and see her friends off. Outside, we make small talk for a bit before she tells me what happened in the early hours of the morning.

As she’s speaking, I’m taking her in, standing next to me looking angelic as the wind plays in her curls. I’m noticing a green and blue bruise on the inside of her index finger when she pushes locks from her face, and another one on the inside of her right leg, just above her ankle. I have never felt this comfortable to be touching a stranger in such an intimate way. Is this love at first sight? Placing her hand over my heart, it feels like I’ve just slid a puzzle piece into its perfect spot. I feel strange, like I will do anything to protect this woman. This can’t be love, right? I literally just met this woman but I’m completely entranced, under her spell, and willing to do anything to make sure she’s safe and happy.

I’m not sure what has made her suddenly uncomfortable, but as I go to rush her into the house, a police officer pulls up…I assume this is the Officer Jeon she spoke about. It’s weird, the vibes I get from him are akin to comradery and a mutual desire to care for Tia. We sit with her, patiently trying to calm her. Glancing at Jungkook, I see that he’s already looking at me, his eyes look a bit misty as if he wants to cry for her. It breaks my heart to see them like this and makes me want to kill the motherfucker that’s tormenting Tia. After a while, there is a stillness that comes over her.

“Are you guys hungry? I just feel like I need to be doing something, anything to occupy myself. I can make one of my favorite comfort meals.”

Even during this situation they are going through, I feel so happy at this moment, with her and Officer Jeon. It feels safe, authentic, inviting, and loving…like home. Is it wrong of me to feel this way at this moment?

Once Tia is done cooking, I wash up and go to join them at the dinner table. The food smells heavenly and looks amazing. We chat and steal glances from each other as we eat, the hardy meal is perfectly seasoned with just a touch of spiciness. It is delicious, warming my belly, and filling us quickly. The glow of the ‘on’ switch on the coffee maker catches my attention out of my peripheral, causing me to notice something small and square just under the lip of the countertop. When we’ve all had our fill, I collect the dishes to wash, wanting to help Tia in any way that I can and to show gratitude for the meal.

“Would you like for me to turn the coffee maker off?” I’m running dish water and placing our dishes in when she answers.

“Fuck…yes, please. I don’t know what is going on with my brain lately, I completely forgot about that. Thank you, Tae.”

Jesus, hearing the new nickname coming out of her mouth has me about to melt into a puddle. My heart is racing and my mind is thinking of ways to hear it everyday for the rest of my life. What is wrong with me?

After I reach over to turn the coffee off, I feel under the counter for the mysterious object and after looking at it, realize that someone has planted a bug. Not wanting to cause Tia to panic, I drop the device into the water with a bloop.

I know that it’s time for me to leave being that I have another job to get to, but I really don’t want to leave her…to leave them. Going to say goodbye to Tia, I react off of impulse, touching her cheek then pulling her up to hold her and kiss her full lips. I’m not understanding why I feel this way and why I’m so bold to act this way with a stranger, but she feels nothing like that…she feels like I’ve known her forever.

When I hesitantly release her, I make sure to give her my number so that she can reach me at any time. At this point, I’ll do anything to make sure she’s okay. I go to show Jungkook some love before I go, and make sure to slip the now defective device into his palm. I have a feeling that he will understand my sentiments without having to speak a word, keeping this from Tia as to not spook her any further.

Tia’s POV

Trembling in the corner, on my bathroom floor, disregarding the fact that my screen shows it’s well past midnight, I call Taehyung. I’m not sure why, but I have this overwhelming need to hear his voice. Not in the mind frame to analyze my feelings at the moment, I just press the phone to my ear, listening to the rings until I hear his velvety smooth voice respond.

“Hello? Tia? Are you okay?”

“Tae, I’m scared. Someone is outside the house, just standing in the front yard, watching. JK is still downstairs, what if something happens to him.” I’m unable to continue speaking as tears begin to cascade down my cheeks and I cry into my shirt.

Without hesitation, he responds with, “I’m on my way. Stay where you are.”

“Don’t hang up!”

“I’m not going to hang up, baby… I’m coming, okay. Everything will be okay.”

I can hear sirens outside the bathroom window accompanied by yelling.

“See, the police are already there so Jungkook isn’t alone. You both will be safe, just stay there until one of us gets there. Okay? Tia?”

There’s an uneasy silence on the line which makes Taehyung's heart leap into his throat. “Answer me, Jagiya!”

“Okay, okay, I will,”

I’m sitting here, still, hugging my knees with one arm, pressing the phone to my ear with the other hand, unable to stop the tears from falling…so afraid for my loves. My loves? The thought comes and goes just as quickly and I continue to focus on the sound of the sirens and the faint sound of Taehyung’s signal light clicking. Suddenly, there’s a BOOM, BOOM, BOOM at the door that causes me to scream and drop my phone.

“Jagi… are you okay? What’s happening?” I can faintly hear Taehyung still on the line.

“Tia! It’s me…open up.” I hear Jungkook call from the other side of the door.

I grab my phone and run to the door, opening it as fast as I can. When I finally get it unlocked, Jungkook rushes in, taking me into his arms.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s ok. We got him. Shh, shh, shh…it’s okay,” Jungkook consoles me while I cry into his chest.

“I’m here,” he disconnects the call and I can hear his deep voice resounding from downstairs.

Taehyung rushes up the stairs to find Jungkook and I still in my bedroom. We are accompanied by the officers over the case, as they’re asking us more questions. He rushes over to me and I stand, allowing him to envelop my short frame into his arms, pulling my face into his chest, heart beating hard against my cheek. Reaching behind me, he gently rubs Jungkook's shoulder.

“I got here as quickly as I could. I’m so glad you two are okay.”

Once seated on the bed, I allow myself to fall deeper into Taehyung, enjoying the kisses he places at the crown of my head.

“Ma’am, is this your boyfriend? Husband?” The officers are obviously confused, looking from Jungkook to Taehyung then back. “We just need to know so that we can exclude him as a suspect.”

I look up to stare at Taehyung as if looking for an answer behind his eyes. What is this? Better yet, how will we explain this to people? My mind is racing but thankfully, Jungkook steps in with the assist.

“Um, he is a friend of ours. You can exclude him as he’s not a danger to Ms. Monroe and has been nothing but helpful,” Jungkook offers, looking over to Taehyung to flash a sullen half smile.

During this interview, I hear about the listening device that was found in the kitchen and that someone will be coming in the morning to sweep the house for any additional surveillance devices.

“Yes, I found the device in the kitchen, under the lip of the countertop. I immediately submerged it into water and then passed it off to Officer Jeon.”

“That is correct, I received the device from him and stepped on it outside in the drive, shattering it into pieces. It’s in an evidence bag downstairs with my things. I wasn’t surprised when he showed up suddenly, knowing that he could no longer listen in on her.”

The officers continue with their questions and I’m feeling like I’m in a fog…like an out of body experience. I hear everything they are saying but I don’t feel like myself. My hands feel cold, I’m freezing. No…I’m burning up. What the fuck? I’m going to pass out. Oh my God, I’m going to be sick. I sit up abruptly, startling both Taehyung and Jungkook, before I jump up and stagger towards the bathroom, bumping the officers on my way.

“T…what’s wrong?”

“Babe?”

I hear the men calling for me, their voices echoing through my ears. Making it to the toilet just in time, I release everything I ate today, which wasn’t much. My body continues to heave though there’s nothing left. Maybe I’m still not over whatever illness has been kicking my ass this week. Is the wine affecting me like this because I didn’t eat enough? The last thing I remember is reaching over to pull a few sheets of toilet paper to wipe my mouth then my world goes black, yet again. Fuck.

The light is blinding when I attempt to open my eyes. My head is pounding and my heart joins the race. Gathering all of my strength, I sit up on my elbows then push myself to sit up. My brain is on a merry go round as the room spins and twirls.

“Mom?”

Someone gasps from across the room before they speak, “John! She’s awake!”

I turn my head in the direction of the man's voice. He frantically wakes the man laying across his lap and they both rush over to my bedside. Within a few seconds, we are joined by two other men, one wearing a white coat, I’m assuming he’s a doctor.

“What’s going on? Why am I in the hospital? What’s wrong with me?” Fuck, I’m sleepy. I just want to go to sleep but I need to find out what is going on.

“Tia, honey, lay back down,” the man next to the doctor advises.

I compose myself for a moment, just long enough to take in the faces of these people surrounding me.

“What the fuck is going on? Where is my mom?” The panic in my voice must be evident, causing one of the handsome men to try to hug me. “Get off of me! Who the fuck are you people?”

The look in their eyes makes me wish I hadn’t just said what I did. When tears fall from one of the men’s beautiful doe eyes, I assume that I should know who they are. The man standing next to the doctor turns his back to compose himself, but ends up walking away when he is unsuccessful.

“I can’t…” His whimpers and sniffling gives him away before he disappears out of view.

The doctor clears his throat before he speaks, “Tia, my name is Dr. John Alexander. Your friends brought you in because you passed out after getting sick. Do you remember that?”

“No…no, I don’t.” My blinks feel longer than necessary, the burn behind my lids is enticing knowing that sleep is its accomplice.

“What is the last thing you remember?”

“My,” my reply is stuck in my throat in my attempt to hold back my tears. “My mother. My mom brought me, I think. She told me that I would be okay and that I wouldn’t need a shot. She said my ‘love’ will protect me. And something about the number seven meaning completion. I’m not sure but we’re supposed to go have pancakes when we get done here.” I try to recall our conversation for the doctor, but I’m only remembering bits and pieces. Something like a wave inside is repeatedly crashing against my heart, telling me that my mom is not here. “She’s paying because she obviously lied,” my voice cracks as I try to joke the heartache away pointing to the IV still in my arm but the tears escape without permission.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Tia.” The doctor helps me to lay back down and the room’s pirouette finally comes to a stop. When I finally focus on his face, the doctor's eyes look somber as tears trace his waterline but he places an annoyingly fraudulent smile on his face.

“Thankfully, your friends called us and brought you in. We had to perform a life saving procedure due to you ingesting a high dose of Metoprolol which is a prescription medicine used to treat hypertension and other cardiologic issues…”

He’s really pissing me off because he’s speaking to me like a child…fucking mansplaining.

“No, I don’t take any prescription medicines. I only take vitamins and tylenol when needed.”

“You were poisoned, Tia. We had to pump your stomach and administer an IV to try to get it out of your system quickly. This explains why you’ve been feeling bad all week. It also explains the confusion and loss of time you’ve been experiencing. Some side effects of the drug are delirium, confusion, hallucinations, psychosis, temporary amnesia, and vivid dreams, that get progressively worse the longer they are in your system. When healthy individuals, like yourself, consume it, it can also cause your blood pressure to plummet causing weakness, dizziness, fainting, nausea, and even death.”

“No…where’s my mom? Could you ask her to come in here with me?”

“These side effects are exacerbated when combined with alcohol. Another side effect is aggression, Tia.”

Is he trying to tell me that I imagined my mom? So, I’m crazy now? He’s trying to make me out to be the bad guy, too. Poisoned? What is he on about? I’m too tired for this shit.

“Sir, please…can you please get my mom for me?”

The doctor runs his hands through his hair, looking defeated, and steps out for a moment, leaving me with the two mystery men. They both remain by the bed, heads hanging. Their eyes are bloodshot and swollen.

“Ummm, thank you both for helping us get to the hospital. I really appreciate you, but we can make it home from here,” I announce with slurred speech.

“Noona,” the man begins but is cut off by the other, placing a hand on his chest.

“Okay, Jagiya, we’ll leave once your mom comes. Is that okay?”

My eyes feel so heavy. I nod my head, giving consent for them to stay before I lose the fight to the drowsiness. Darkness.

A/N:

Thanks to @moonleeai for beta reading this chapter 💜

[hazbincalifornia]

Boil Over

Summary: Aster is tired of the routine they've developed. (He's currently 15, and Stella is 20.)

Wordcount: 1500

Warnings: Some pretty harsh words.

Bonus soundtrack that I had on loop while writing:

It was dark when Stellaluna half-stumbled into Aster’s room.

She wasn’t drunk. (Mostly.) She was also still in possession of her bra, underwear, skirt, and most of her leggings- they’d gotten torn up in the thighs a little- so she counted it as a pretty good night. Honestly, she just wanted to say hi if he was still awake. She could hear breathing, but it wasn’t as slow and even as it usually was when he was asleep.

“Hello?”

“Turn the light on.”

He sounded… fuck, she wasn’t sure how he sounded, but it sure wasn’t happy. Annoyed? Exasperated? Angry? Way more like Papa than he had the right to be? She flipped on the switch and grimaced as she saw that he was wearing his cape while sitting on his bed, hair combed to a shine.

So he’d known she was coming.

“If you’re busy, I can-”

“Nope.” He snapped his fingers, and the vines on the plant in the corner- what had he named it, Alixea?- lunged forward, winding around her wrists before she could blink and dragging her forward at the same time he stood up.

“Do you know what tonight is?”

“I’unno, Tuesday?”

“Tonight, Stella, is the fifth night this month you’ve shown up in my room past three AM.” He glanced down her body, then over to her arms, half a moment for each side. “You’re not hurt, right?”

“No, tonight was fine, just-” She coughed, and could still taste the whipped-cream vodka on her tongue. “Just wanted to see if you were still awake.”

“Okay, good.” He steeled himself, snapping his fingers again to force her down on one knee as the vines yanked her wrists down.

“Hey! The fuck is this about?”

“I’m done.”

Her head tilted, one eye raising in confusion as she tried standing up, but he set a foot on the thigh of her folded leg. “Done with what? Did somebody shove a stick up your ass?”

He reached behind him before dropping dirty fabric on the floor, and her guts twisted like a knife in a wound as she realized they were all pieces of her old clothes.

“Geez, I didn’t think you were that kind of little pervert.”

“You know damn well that’s not what this is about. I’m done with this. I can’t have you stumble in here with your head up your ass all the time, stuffed with jizz on both sides or stabbed or shot or full of drugs you can’t even explain to me, then pass out and choke on your vomit and- and-” His fingers balled up into fists and his foot dug into her thigh before pushing himself off. “You’re a fucking mess, Stella, and don’t you dare try and tell me it’s all an act because it hasn’t been for years.”

Her own fist curled as she yanked her wrists back, nearly pulling the vines out of the plant before Aster waved a hand to let her go, growling as he did.

“Don’t hurt her because I’m right!”

“You don’t know shit, okay? I’m fine! I know what I-”

“No, you don’t!” His eyes were wide, and he ran a hand through his hair, tail curled around his leg with the end flicking back and forth. “You say you know what you’re doing, and you know what happens? You show up in my room at two in the morning, covered in vomit and gore and dirt and Satan knows what else, and every time I help you because you say you don’t want to worry Dad and Papa, but-”

“It’s not that big of a deal! Fine, you don’t want me to bug you? I’ll fix myself up next time!” She straightened, towering over him, but he just jumped up on his chair, refusing to concede the height to her. “I always come back alive, I’m not a fucking dumbass. You think you can lecture me? You don’t know-”

“I know plenty, and I fucking had to because my sister has been coming to me about her idiot moves since I was twelve! You pull so much shit and I have to pick up your pieces because you can’t do it yourself anymore, and I’d feel awful if you died because it would be my fault!” Tears were starting to run down the sides of his cheeks, but he angrily scrubbed them away.

“You always wanted to be a big boy, didn’t you?” She can feel the hiss in her throat, steam and bile vomited up like the blood when she got punched in the gut last week and hid it under a longer shirt than usual. “All the time at work you insist that I need your help, but when I ask for it, then it’s somehow bad all of a sudden?”

“That’s for work, everybody gets hurt at work sometimes, this is you pulling shit because you want to impress a guy who thinks you’re a joke!”

“Don’t you dare bring Al into this-”

“I’ve always told you he’s bad news-”

“And you know him better than I do? You’ve met him like twice!” The air is starting to ripple, pressure rising as magic tears the fabric of reality between the two of them, fingers digging so far into palms that shimmering black drips down black and gray hands. “If you don’t want me coming to you? I can handle myself if you’re going to be such a brat about it, and you’re not even grateful for me keeping the heat off when you know you couldn’t handle it.”

“I don’t want you destroying yourself and telling me it’s for me!” Aster shot back. “I never asked you to throw yourself on the fire to protect me from shit I’m still getting anyway, I’m trying to take care of myself but you just stand there like a dumb wall and hog all of the attention from everybody like the big stupid bitch you want everybody to think you are! You care way more than you say you do or you would have dropped this ages ago.” His eyes twitched. “You never cared about ‘protecting’ me, you just wanted everybody to look at you. You’re always the one everybody cares about no matter what I do.”

Her heart was beating so loud in her chest that she could feel it rattling in her brain, and her body felt wobbly, like it was going to turn to gelatin at any second. “Of course I cared about protecting you! You have no idea what it was like when you were little. Maybe nobody else cares because you can’t get your head out of your books and actually talk with people like a normal person without kissing the asses of everybody around. Nobody likes you because you’re fucking boring sometimes, and you can’t say that’s my fault-”

“I wouldn’t be boring if people gave me a chance, but you hog everything!” He jabbed at one of the shirts with the end of his tail, balling it up and chucking it at her, and she realized it was crusted over with blood and something that had probably been a drink at one point. “Put a shirt on.”

“What, am I hurting your little baby eyes with a little bare skin?”

“I don’t want to see my sister in my room half-naked unless there’s a good fucking reason, that’s not enough for you?”

“C’mon, Papa walks around-”

“Papa also doesn’t smell like sex and booze and blood all the time! I can’t sleep without worrying you’re going to walk in and need me to put you back together and then we do it all again the next week. The least you can do is not shove your stained tits in my face in the process!” Aster spat out. “Fine, you don’t want to act like a proper princess, but can you please at least act like a decent person?”

Her bloody fingers dug into the shirt before she lobbed it at the floor. “I’m not a decent person now? You’re such a pretentious little prick, pretending you know everything about the world- you can piss right off to heaven and go sing with the cherubs if you’re so perfect, and I’ll go fuck off and leave you alone if I’m such a fucking problem.”

“Oh, I’m the one that’s the problem? You always insist you’ve ‘got it’ five hours before you show up fucked over and on the edge, so excuse me for having to be the adult!”

“I don’t have to get a lecture from the brat who barely has any friends!”

“I don’t have time for friends, I have to study to do something worthwhile so I can earn a little bit of respect, something you should consider instead of being a giant joke that wore out the punchline ages ago!”

Both of them were breathing hard and glaring at each other before she tore open a portal to the room they had on reserve for her at the Hotel. “You know what? Fine. I’ll leave you alone, then.”

“Don’t come crawling back to me when you realize I’m right!” he called out as she stepped through, and the portal slammed shut with a fizzing noise and a pop before all she could hear was herself, panting and snarling deep in her chest.

She fell on the bed and screamed into the pillow until it felt like her lungs were flooding and fit to burst.

[livesincerely]

AAAAA SOMEHOW I DIDNT EVEN REALISE THAT TAKE A SHOT HAD BEEN UPDATED!!

Dude I got SO excited you don’t even know I’ve made a whole day out of rereading it and I’ve just read the last two chapters now (because I also managed to miss the interlude?? somehow??) and OMFG. THIS. FIC.

I’ve not been keeping up with the musical fandom as much lately and I can’t tell you how much fun it’s been to dive into it again (sorry that I’ve not come and said hello for a while). You’re one of the authors that I’m realising now that I’ve missed the most and I’m SO excited to see what you’ve been up to!!

This fic haunts me though I genuinely think about it like once a week it’s amazing. my general thoughts are: AAAAA WHY ARE THEY ALL LIKE THIS they’re all so goddam stubborn I want to shake them but also give them a hug at the same time ESPECIALLY Davey my BOY.

THE INTERLUDE??? Probably my favourite chapter so far (excluding the flower shop because YESSS SYMBOLISM) Race + Davey friendship for the win I love them both so. much. It’s just so SAD pure and simple Rave just wants Davey to be happy he’s such a good guy and oh don’t even get me started on Davey:

“Quietly, so quietly that Race can barely hear him over the wind, he says, “He’s in love with her, Racetrack.”

KILL ME IM SERIOUS my poor babyyyyy I know they’re trying their best but omfg why are they all so stubborn when they could just be happy I hate them (I don’t)

And that last chapter oh my gooooood it ripped my heart out it killed my entire family it stole my wallet it’s sooooooo good. POOR MAGGIE get her a new bf this one’s broken he keeps talking about his boy best friend when they’re supposed to be having a moment. She’s smart though my girl is figuring things out I can see it I like her so much ALSO the many references to the blue eyes I see you livesincerely I see you

Race and Jack though these IDIOTS make me want to slam my head against the wall CANT YOU SEE YOU WANT THE SAME THING like the way they both immediately jump to Davids defence without even really knowing why the other is there??? AAAAA. I actually love their fight scene because YES it hurts so bad but its just so perfect like the tension??? and snarky Race my beloved I love you in any universe JACK on the other hand is now officially the DENSEST MF ON EARTH how has it not clicked yet Jack honey this ain’t platonic anymore

“It’s like the ground’s dropped out from underneath him.

“Is… Is that what he said?” Jack asks numbly, the words settling like a layer of chalk on his tongue, dry enough to choke on. “Did he say that he didn’t…?””

JACK YOURE CAUSING ME ACTUAL PHYSICAL PAIN he’s trying so hard he’s also so so stupid

Those closing lines… OUCH. I hope they make up immediately I also hope they keep fighting forever it hurts sooo good

It’s quite late as I’m writing this so I might just be talking shit and I’ve just realised how long it is I’m so sorry but I just love this story so much and I love you and I can’t WAIT for the rest thank you for blessing us with it I hope you have an amazing day <333

[wispisstillverybored67]

Occulta Cervus

Hello: …Ah. It’s you again…  Normally, I would be opposed to working for someone out of contract, {and uh, you made it clear you won’t be contracting me for quite some time…} but, uh… Th-this arrangement doesn’t seem so bad. You have the trust of Yumishii Orochi at your disposal... Wait, not disposal, it’s, uh… Forget it.

Chat-Looks: You know… When some people found out that I was the one they hired, they either laugh, or get confused. Say I’m “too nice” to be a merc or whatever. Is that so? Even after you saw me tear-Uhhh… Whaaaa? Never mind.

Chat-Food: Hmm… Between Butter Chicken, or More-and-More, {Isn’t it Okonomiyaki? Whatever…} which are you in... the mood for? I could whip it up for you if you want… Or-Or is that too rich at the moment?

Chat-Odd Noises: 🎵Damn your wrath and damn your pride… Damn this prison of your lie-eis… Maddening with fear shooting aa-ll throughout your eeeyyyyeeesss!🎵 Uh… What? Nothing… {Archons, what the hell was I THINKING?!} (Note: Above tune is to be sung to the beat of Megalovania)

When It Rains: Less people are out at this time. I like that.

When Thunder Strikes: I’m probably the only one who feels more at ease when it’s thundering out. It’s… comforting, oddly.

When It Snows: Yeepp. Gonna puke. Shouldn’t be tapping out this easily… Can we head back? I do NOT handle the snow well… Outside, though.

When the Sun Is Out: Awww… Too bright…

When the Wind Is Blowing: Watch out for dust in your-Ack! Eyes…

Good Morning: You’re up bright and early, hmm…? Me? I just got back… from… things. 

Good Afternoon: Let’s see… This one goes for 320,000 Mora, and this one goes for 770,000 Mora?! Wait, this is an assassination contract?! Uh…

Good Evening: Make it quick. I need to resume this task immediately. I want to hear them scream at once!

Good Night: What are your dreams like? I-if you have them, I mean… Too personal? {I was just told that’s a good conversation starter…}

About Orochi-Mysteries: Do… you perhaps know about youkai? I’ll be honest, they’ve fascinated me since I was a child. These stories are of things that I don’t consider real, of course, but there’s just something about it that tugs at me that makes me wish they were? If… If that makes sense. If you have any… information on them, can you tell me it…? 

About Orochi-Letters: Ah… You found my mother’s letter… I won’t ask how you found it, but she’s doing fine. I… have not seen her in a long while, but I wonder when I should visit her…? Maybe when Inazuma becomes less… hectic?

About Us-Speaking: I have known and will continue to know… people that go their whole lives without hearing my voice once. Truthfully, I just… rarely work up the courage to speak. What’s more, some relatives tend to joke that hearing my voice grants good fortune, so when I was younger, it was all quite embarrassing, having to… be bribed to speak or something else. I… am glad you didn't act weird when I… actually spoke to you. 

About Us-Hunting: It... depends on what I'm, you know, "hunting"... For lost objects, I have terrible luck with finding things again after I lose them. This is why I rarely take things out of their storage... Huh? Oh, you mean... hunting, like, for meat? Er... The uh, unagi are very skittish, so you'd do well to stay silent, and... Um... Sumpter Beasts yield high quality cuts...? {You IDIOT! Of COURSE they were talking about meat!}

About the Vision: ...About my what?! Ah... *sigh* It's come to this... My real Vision is this Dendro Charm on my waist, I don't actually have 7 Visions... I got this one when I was 8, while all these are rewards from different contracts a few months ago. I do feel bad about keeping these... but I have no way of, you know, returning these...

Something to Share: Light novels and manga are not usually... well regarded outside Inazuma, but it's just a guilty pleasure for me. Take Onibudou, for example... The lines people say to keep people away from them in it are... cringey, admittedly, but I just adore it... N-Not like I had problems like that when I was younger! No sir!

Interesting Things-Flowers: When you mix lilies such as Dendrobium or Glaze into food, they offer a cooling effect. To... contrast, Cecilias should not be cooked with Silk Flowers, lest you want a blazing heat in tandem with a cloying sweet overcoating your mouth... How have I figured this out...? I... was angry with my mother once as a kid, so I fixed her up some tea with the oversees flowers I recently bought, and then...

About Yoimiya: She is always off doing something, never standing still since we were young... As for Yoi-chan befriending someone like me... well, I guess I had to meet her when she wouldn't stop talking to you, right? {Did I just say that out loud?}

About Arataki Itto: He's certainly a... loud one. He keeps asking me about my er... horns, and often thought of me as an Oni like he is... He's nothing short of overwhelmingly boisterous, and somewhat of an idiot, but his lack of prejudice with others is nice. We DO get along just fine...

About Kamisato Ayaka: I used to only... catch glimpses of her normally, but I did meet her once a while ago. She is... earnest, pure, endearing, and SO skillful {and out of my league to even SPEAK to...}. I... nearly fainted when I finished speaking. {That's Aya-chan for you.}

About Kamisato Ayato: We're about the same age, so I could hardly imagine leading the clan as a teenager... And although I only caught a glimpse of him once as an accident, I... can see why anyone who works for him idolizes him... Though, I wonder if he's hiding something somehow... {Ayo-chan is so confusing.}

About Kujoh Sara: That damn Tengu bootlicker... All she ever does is cause trouble. Where was she when the Shogun gripped Inazuma on lock-down, thus sending it into silent chaos?

About Kaeya: I once had a job done in Mondstadt. I don't recall what it was for, but I had to deal with Kaeya alongside me. Again... I don't recall what for, but I do know he was saying... Aaaaahhhh no, too cringey... Can't believe he said that...!

About Xiangling: I met her on a trip to Liyue once. I wanted to... see just how good she was at cooking. At first, she would be lucky just to hear a word from me... Now the first instance of me talking to her was from tears.

About Chongyun: He is... *sigh* The adorable little exorcist is always out and about, hoping to one day remove an... evil spirit. I have known him when I was in Liyue. He's not... overwhelming in the least. Earnest, stoic, he's just... *sigh*

About Dori: She is... undoubtedly an ambitious young woman... But isn't an ocean of Mora a bit... too much? Though, the one time she DID hire me, I was paid a large sum, so I'm a bit on the fence...

About the Hydro Archon/Focalors: I must confess... I put more faith in Fontaine's Archon than "my" own. But I feel like... her ideals align with my own. I mean... Eternity is NICE, if you can, like, freeze your body the way it is... Justice, to contrast, is straightforward, and isn't exclusive to the soul.

More About Orochi-1: I... was the end result of my parents fervent desire for a child. Any other time the Yumishiis had conceived, the product inevitably died. Mother, for her part, was a desperate miko, so she gained the favor of... the Shogun, or a youkai? Don't remember... Anyways, that happened, immediately after she grabbed my father, dragged him to Mt. Yougou, c-conceived... And here I am...?

More About Orochi-2: You think... I am shy now? I was even worse as a child. I could easily go 6 months without any contact. Let's not go into the fact I could go a year without speaking... The few attempts my parents made to... get me to socialize never ended well. I still don't like people. But I believe... I'm much better with others now.

More About Orochi-3: My biggest wish since I was 8 was to see the world. In hindsight, I... should've brought my parents along when I finally left Inazuma about 3 years ago... Looking back on it now, though, we wouldn't see each other much like usual, so I'm on the fence... I was very ruthless in obtaining... my dream, so I wouldn't go back if I had the chance.

More About Orochi-4: I fight alone. I'm used to it... by now. It's not out of shyness or anything, but, rather, out of... necessity. I told you before, I received my Vision at a very young age, and I was... constantly finding ways to use it. A Dendro Vision is rare outside of Sumeru, and inside Inazuma...? Forget about it. Countless have tried to use me just for my powers... Friend and foe alike. I'd... much rather not deal with it at all. Betrayal? That's just... normal.

More About Orochi-5: How do you know if... you have friends? It feels awkward to ask someone if they were... friends. What does having friends feel like...? Hmm... Someone who you know, trust, and like... someone you can be yourself around? That does sound nice... now that you tell me. Perhaps I'll then ask you this... You'll be my friend, right?

Orochi's Hobbies: Er... Let's see... I guess just... looking for peaceful views to gaze at? It's simple... wait until night falls, or during rain, climb onto a mountain like Wuwang Hill or maybe Amakumo Peak... Avoid all better judgement... And just watch the land below, and the sunrise, if you wish...

Orochi's Troubles: Yes... You guessed it... Th-The problem I have is speaking to others... I'm unsure of what... to say to someone. And even if I DO find a topic... it just comes out incredibly awkward, so I just... tend to clam up. Its really quite frustrating...

Favorite Food: I lean more... towards richer food. Before and after departing for a job, I eat my fill of whatever is filling. Between Tahchin, Tonkotsu Ramen, or Crab, Ham and Veggie Bake... I like those... But if it's not filling... I guess I'll take Katsudon or Snezhnayan Halva...

Least Favorite Food: I'm... very picky about Omelette Rice. The eggs... the rice... the sauce... But other then that, I just hate Mint Salad. Last time I had some, the worst diarrhea came over me... What kind of devil thought of that dish...?! I just don't like mint, I guess...

Receiving a Gift-1: *nom* Huh?! Th-this is... *sniff*

Receiving a Gift-2: Yes... I was correct... in my assumptions on your cooking.

Receiving a Gift-3: You call THIS food?! Give me your recipe, and I'll SHOW you what food is!

Birthday: Did you see the... kitchen? I made those dishes. Oh, forget about the commissions, forget about your goals... And... H-Have a happy birthday!

Feelings About Ascension-Intro: I feel so lightheaded... I... should be happy about getting stronger, but it's just so dizzying...

Feelings About Ascension-Building Up: How much longer... 'til you backstab me too...?

Feelings About Ascension-Climax: Point me toward the enemy. Where... Are... THEY?!

Feelings About Ascension-Conclusion: Getting stronger for me... usually means to make yourself a point of greater envy and covetousness... But at least when it comes to you... I'm happy.

[ptergwen]

you know that one scene in ffh when people keep knocking on the door while fury is trying to speak to peter? could you maybe do something like that but instead it’s peter and stark reader wanting some alone time (you can make it smut or fluff idm!) also, i am so in love with your work it’s amazing :)❣️

knock before you enter

w/c: 1.3k

warnings: implied smut, dirty jokes, swearing

a/n: i went a lil overboard because i was having too much fun :,) and i kinda combined the two i hope that’s okay!

-

you let out a breath of relief as peter finally presses his lips to yours. he grins at that, his hands continuing to roam your body while you kiss. it’s a needy kiss, one you’ve been waiting the whole day to share.

you’d thought europe of all places would give you the opportunity to explore each other more. you’re away from your overbearing father, you don’t have team responsibilities. there was one mishap with a water monster nearly destroying the city. you both managed to fight it off together. tony was right to make you bring your suit, and may encouraged her nephew to do the same. the stark’s and parker’s think alike.

most of the pestering you’ve faced this trip has come from your teachers and fellow classmates. whether it’s mr. dell assigning work or flash trying to film you two for a livestream, you and peter can’t get a moment alone. that’s about to change. you’re in peter’s hotel room after a fun yet highly supervised day in venice.

most kids are getting ready for bed, at mr. harrington’s request. he’s adamant on everyone having a good night sleep before the walking tour you’re taking tomorrow. you and peter plan to do everything but sleep, however.

“you taste like toothpaste,” peter mumbles against your mouth, arms winding around your back. “is that a good or bad thing?” you giggle and tug at his undone curls. that elicits a high pitched whine from him. “depends on who you ask. me personally, i think it’s sexy.” he’s laying over you on his bed, your fingers tangling in his locks. “open up, then,” you practically purr. peter happily obliges and resumes his kissing.

right when his tongue glides over your lower lip, there’s a knock on the wall.

“i thought you said ned wouldn’t be back…” your words trail off when peter starts to kiss down your neck. “for a while,” you add, softer. “he won’t. last time i checked, he was with betty,” peter replies and effortlessly finds your sweet spot. he nudges it with his nose, making a smile spread across your face. “ok, keep going,” you pull on the roots of his hair gently. peter pecks at your lips. “gotcha, baby.”

he’s kissing his way back to your sweet spot when there’s more knocking, this time much louder. with quirked eyebrows, peter detaches his lips from your skin. “um… hello?” he hesitantly answers. “finally. i was ready to come kick down your door, you idiot,” mj speaks through the thin wall. you squeeze your eyes shut in annoyance, not saying anything. “what do you want, mj? it’s late,” peter sighs back.

“so what? i know you’re not sleeping,” mj insists, leaning against the wall. “i can hear everything. hey, y/n.” peter’s face tints a light shade of pink. you make wide eyes up at him. “hi, i guess. you good over there?” her lips form a line. “i was until the horrendous sounds of parker clapping your cheeks disturbed my reading.” peter grips at your waist with a pout.

“what? we weren’t- i- i didn’t-“ “spare me the details,” mj sharply cuts in, opening whatever mystery novel she recently bought. “i don’t care what you do, as long as you do it quietly. deal?” seeing as peter is too flustered to speak, you take over again. “yeah, sorry. we’ll tone it down. goodnight, em.” “ciao,” she says before returning to her book.

peter shakes his head, fully burying his face in your neck. “that was embarrassing. she’s so…” “nosy,” you finish for him. your fingers brush back some hair that flopped over his forehead. “at least she’s not telling on us or whatever.” he puffs air out of his cheeks, placing a kiss under your chin. “true. you wanna pick up where we left off?” “ugh, yes,” you instantly groan.

your lips are colliding with peter’s again, just like that. it isn’t for too long. his hands settle on your stomach and under your shorts, then you hear someone banging on the door. they talk before either you or peter can tell them to fuck off.

“y/n, is that you?” brad questions, your face twisting in confusion. “uh, yeah. how’d you know?” peter bites the inside of his cheek while brad converses. “i stopped by your room. betty said you might be here… with him.” the him in question is peter, who chuckles bitterly. “what’s up, buddy? we’re kind of in the middle of something. i’m sure you knew that, too.”

“i didn’t, but thanks for sharing,” brad sarcastically responds. “y/n said she’d give me her notes on one of the da vinci exhibits.” peter cocks his head to the side. “she did?” he wonders, looking over at you. “you did?” “it was either that or help him myself,” you explain and drag your fingers along the back of his neck soothingly. “the kid doesn’t leave me alone.”

peter nods, wrapping a protective arm around your middle. “she’ll give you them tomorrow, brad. isn’t it past your bedtime?” “point taken,” brad scoffs and heads back to his room. you draw peter in closer to you. “thanks, pete. hopefully, that’ll be our last guest for the night.” he kisses both your cheeks with a grin. “where were we, mio amore?”

“ooh, i love it when you speak italian,” you giggle, peter cupping your face in his hands.“grazie, bellissima.” he winks and earns a puzzled face from you. “bellissima?” “that means beautiful.” instead of responding with words, you use your mouth to move on his. peter happily kisses back and lets your tongues intertwine. things quickly heat up, peter slipping your shorts down your legs and you lifting his pajama shirt.

you’re both only half undressed and running off broken up kisses, but so desperate. you part your legs for peter, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your panties. “think you can keep your oath of silence?” he teases and nips at your covered collarbone. “the real question is, can you?” you challenge. peter doesn’t get the chance to answer because the door suddenly flies open.

there stands ned, his mouth agape at the sight of a shirtless peter undressing you. you’re the first to notice. you see over peter’s shoulder and gasp. concern covers his features. “what is it, baby? do you want-“ “ned!” you whisper yell. his concern becomes shock. “you want ned?” “no, peter! he’s right there!” teeth sinking into your lip, you point behind him. peter looks and surely enough, there’s his best friend rendered speechless in the doorway.

“dude, what the hell are you doing here?” peter squeaks, you grabbing your shorts from next to you. he turns around to shield you while you put them back on. “aren’t you supposed to be with betty?” “we, um, finished,” ned gulps in response. “finished what- oh.” peter scratches the back of his neck as it hits him. “yuck, ned. a gentleman never tells.” “says you! this is my room too, you know,” he defends himself, you moving out from behind peter.

“and betty’s room is also mine. consider us even,” you hand peter his t-shirt with a satisfied smirk. he murmurs a thank you and throws it back on. ned uncomfortably shifts from foot to foot in the doorway. “that’s fair… are you leaving now?” “i should before mr. harrington makes his rounds,” you reluctantly decide. “i liked it better when people actually knocked,” peter says under his breath, standing to give you a goodnight hug.

“it’s not even this bad at home. i’ll take my dad and friday spying on us over a walk of shame any day,” you exhale as peter pulls you into his chest. hugging back by his torso, you give him an innocent kiss on the cheek. his lips brush your forehead. “maybe we’ll have better luck tomorrow. should we try again, same time?” a familiar and irritated voice yells through the wall. mj.

“please god, no!”

[sokkas-first-fangirl]

Hello, I was reading your story "Flickering" (amazing) and the current arc of Osma, and I was wondering how Pepa and the rest of the family would react if some villager (very stupid) called her a hypocrite for defending Bruno now when she never did in the past (according to some of them)?

The villagers forget Protective Big Sister Mode at their own peril 👀👀

“Hypocrite,” Manuel muttered. “Like you give a shit about him.”

He should have known better.

Pepa’s hand clapped down on his shoulder. Her cloud grew and darkened; the clouds overhead began to swirl as a harsh wind picked up. Lightning struck overhead.

“Excuse me?” Pepa’s voice was quiet and ice cold. “What did you just say?”

“Pepa,” Bruno said, stepping forward. “Let’s just-”

“No, Brunito. This idiota is real brave when he thinks no one can hear him. Out with it, Manuel. What did you just say?”

It may have been ten years of separation but Bruno knew that look in his hermana’s eyes. When she got like this there was no stopping her. Plenty of people learned the hard way not to lay a hand on Bruno or throw insults around if Pepa was nearby.

It seemed Manuel had forgotten that lesson.

And it seemed he really was an idiot, because he actually looked Pepa in the eye and said, “Well, since when do you care? He ruined your wedding, remember!? He’s a curse!”

There was a brief moment of silence. Bruno saw a woman in the crowd cross herself.

The clap of thunder was deafening as a harsh, cold rain began to pour. The wind was so strong it knocked Manuel off his feet. Lightning struck, barely missing him.

Manuel screamed, covering his head.

“Uh oh,” Bruno muttered.

“WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL HIM!?” Pepa’s scream could be heard even over the chaos. She stomped forward and bent down, grabbing Manuel by the collar. “You seem to forget, I was the one knocking you sorry idiots on your asses. Bruno would prank you and he could be vicious, but me? Remember how I zapped Ricardo? Remember how I threw you in the river? Want a repeat!?”

“Pepa!” Bruno ran forward, wrapping his arms around her. “Come on, it’s fine. He’s not worth it, you know he’s not!”

“You’re worth it,” Pepa said firmly, never taking her furious eyes off Manuel.

And okay, yeah, that kind of warmed Bruno’s heart. But he was pretty sure Pepa would do something she’d regret if she wasn’t distracted. Dios mio, where was Félix when you needed him?

Sighing, Bruno pulled the very best puppy-eyes he could. They always worked on Julieta, not so much on Pepa, but it was his best bet.

“Please,” he said quietly. “Let’s just go home.”

Pepa stared at him. Slowly, oh so slowly, the fury drained out of her eyes. The storm stopped but Bruno didn’t let go of her until she tossed Manuel back into the dirt with a disgusted huff.

“You have a short memory,” Pepa said coldly. “And I bet some others do too. So here’s a reminder: you mess with my brother and you’ll have to deal with me. C‘mon Bruno.” She stomped away as if he was the one keeping them here.

“Bruno!” Pepa called from a few paces away. “Come on!”

Bruno stared at Manuel, still crouching on the ground. The rest of the crowd was either dispersing or staring.

Bruno leaned down to Manuel and smiled, widening his eyes. He let his grin turn utterly vicious.

“And vice versa,” he said quietly. “Mess with my sister and I will see the worst visions possible, the horrors mankind has the offer…And I’ll make you watch.”

He wouldn’t. But Manuel didn’t need to know that.

Acting had always come in handy.

With that, he ran after Pepa. As soon as he was near enough, she grabbed him and flung an arm over his shoulders.

“Morons,” she muttered. “They should know better by now.”

Well, Bruno wouldn’t argue with that. Surely everyone knew crossing Pepa was a bad idea.

Still…

“You didn’t need to do that,” he said softly. It wasn’t the first time he’d been called Bad Luck Bruno, far from it. He doubted it would be the last.

“Of course I did!” Pepa snapped, but she smiled at him. “I’m your older sister.”

“By ten minutes!”

“Still older!” As she laughed, the clouds in the sky slowly vanished. “Face it, you’re stuck with me, hermanito.”

“…Good,” Bruno said with a smile. “That’s fine by me, hermana.”