#i even read the comments that's how confused i was

[sa1ntd1or]

˖ ֹ੭୧ MY HUSBAND CHALLENGE ⊹ ࣪ ⑅

ˋ°•*⁀➷ batboys react to influencer!reader doing the 'husband' challenge. ! (iykyk)

ˋ°•*⁀➷ CHARACTERS: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Aged up!Damian Wayne

NOTES: this is like in tiktok format... it'll make more sense when you read LOL

BRUCE WAYNE

TikTok Upload: @/yourusername Caption: soft-launching my billionaire husband LOL

[VIDEO STARTS]

You and Bruce are on yet another one of your extravagant dates. Tonight, you’re at a luxury restaurant overlooking Gotham. Peak golden hour as well. Bruce sits across from you in a perfectly tailored suit, focused on the menu like it’s a classified file as he softly frowned. 

You angle your phone low, pretending to film the food. You wave to the waiter with a smile, pointing at the appetizer that was now almost done. “Can you bring another one of these for my husband, please? He loves it.” 

At first Bruce didn’t react. 

Then he blinks.

Finally, he lifts his head from the menu and catches your eye with a raised eyebrow.

“Husband?”

You smiled innocently, giving a small nod. “Mhm!”

He gently sets the menu down, folding his hands and stares deeply at you. You can practically hear his brain start to power up in his head. 

“You’re filming, aren’t you?”

Your silence was enough of an answer.

He sighs once. A deep, long-suffereing Bruce sigh. But you catch the tiniest upward twitch in the corner of his mouth.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

You lift you phone up to capture Bruce in full, zooming in for extra flair as he picks up his wine glass and says, “But if you’re going to prank me, dont use legal terms. That word mean paperwork.”

You let out a laugh, “Did you just say calling you my husband is a legal risk?”

He raises an eyebrow, gently smirking, “Have you met me?”

[VIDEO ENDS]

[TOP COMMENTS]

@/gothamrules: “that word means paperwork” LMFAOOO BYEEEE @/gcpdgossipgirl: yall dont understand, this is bruce flirting @/flyingrainbows90: the fact that he just KNEWWW she was filming is sending me

DICK GRAYSON:

TikTok Video Upload: @/yourusername Caption: calling my boyfriend my husband to see what he does 😝

[VIDEO STARTS]

The camera is angled just over your shoulder, the viewers can see a cozy cafe behind you. You’re at the counter, looking at the menu. Dick is offscreen, just barely visible through the reflection in the glass, murmuring under his breath about whether a chocolate croissant counts as breakfast.

You smile at the cashier. “Hi! Can I get two caramel ice lattes? My husband likes his with extra caramel, please.”

The reaction is immediate.

“Your what?”

The camera shifts just enough to capture Dick’s full reaction. He turns with a slow blink, like he misheard you, but then he tilts his head, brow raising in that classic charming Richard Grayson confusion-smirk combo.

“My husband” you say again, tapping your card on the reader. 

Dick walks over, “That’s new,” Theres an easy grin on his face, following you to a nearby table, “Was there another ceremony I slept through?”

You glance at him, all faux innocence. “Maybe… You did just wake up.”

He laughs under his breath, like really laughs, before giving the camera a slick side-eye. “She’s fuckin with me, right?”

But even as he says it, he gently slips his hand into yours. Naturally, like its an instinct. 

Before the video ends, he leans closer and whispers, just audible enough for the mic to hear:

“You wanna get married right now?”

[VIDEO ENDS]

[TOP COMMENTS]

@/themoontoursun: is NO ONE gonna talk about how FAST he grabbed her hand???? hellaur??? @/wingbabies: “Was there ANOTHER ceremony i slept trhough” is this not the first time sir???? @/latte4lyfe: she called his husband and he just accepted it. this man is WHIPPED @/user91873: can we clock the fact he didn’t get mad or panicked?? he just rolled with it?? KING ENERGY.

JASON TODD:

TikTok Upload: @/yourusername Caption: accidentally called my bf my husband in public and jason did NOT react how i expected 😭

[VIDEO STARTS]

The camera is sneakily angled from your shopping cart. The two of you are in the snack aisle at a bodega somewhere in Crime Alley. Jason’s standing a few feet behind you, looking between two kind of chips like its life or death.

You grab a bag and wave it toward the camera. “I think I’ll get these. My husband likes the spicy ones.”

Jason’s head whips around so fast it’s like someone pulled a gun.

“My what now?”

You shrug like nothing happened. “My husband. He loves these.” 

You can see Jason in the back go through the 5 stages of grief. he scoffs and immediately walks over, dropping his chips in the cart without breaking eye contact.

“Oh, so now I’m your husband?”

You bite you lip, trying not to laugh.

“I see how it is,” he continues, fully in dramatic Jason Todd mode now. “One minute I’m ‘babe,’ next I’m legally bound and probably paying for your excessive shopping habit.”

You giggle. “So you’re mad?”

Jason crosses his arms but can't keep the smile out of his voice. “I’m not mad. Why the hell would I be mad. I just don’t remember signing anything. I don’t even own a suit.”

You lean in, eyes wide. “So you would marry me?”

Jason goes still.

“…I plead the Fifth.”

He grabs the cart handle and wheels it down the aisle like he didn’t just short-circuit.

Off camera, he mutters, “You’re lucky I love you, you annoying piece of shit.”

[VIDEO ENDS]

[TOP COMMENTS]

@/user2387: “i plead the fifth” sir this is a bodega 😭 @/hideandseek: he looks like he’s been in a fight and also like he’d kill for you and I respect that @/dumpsterdiamonds: i just KNOW he’d kill for her but also cry if she stopped holding his hand @/iwantmymom: why is he kinda terrifying but also boyfriend coded???

TIM DRAKE:

TikTok Upload: @/yourusername Caption: day in the life + husband reveal (not really but youll see LMAO😭)

[VIIDEO STARTS]

The screen fades in to some soft music. You’re in Tim’s oversized hoodie filming a casual ‘day in the life’ vlog. Different clips roll” you making coffee, feeding the cat you and Tim rescued, you watering your plants. 

Then finally, the camera cuts to a cozy living room.

Tim’s sitting on the couch in sweats and a t-shit, completely focused. A stack of Wayne Enterprises documents are spilled across his lap and the coffee table. He’s reading one and scribbling notes on another.

You whisper to the camera, “He’s been up since 6am. I dont even think he’s noticed I brought him coffee… Thats my husband, everyone.”

Tim head turned immediately. So much so, you fear he might’ve gotten whiplash.

He blinks. “…What?”

You play dumb, tilting your head. “My husband.”

He sets the pet down slowly, his eyes narrowing a little. Hes clearly trying to read you, classic Tim detective mode. But his ears go a little red. You catch it.

He doesn’t say anything right away, just stares at you like hes lagging. Then”

“I’m your husband?”

You smile and nod. “Yep.”

He leans back against the couch, and exhales. Then looks up at you like you hung the moon.

“Okay, wife.”

[VIDEO ENDS]

[TOP COMMENTS]

@/drooling101: if “that’s my husband” doesn’t make a man fold like laundry then idk @/catnamedbyronic: the red ears! the silence! the acceptance! tim drake-wayne supremacy!! @/user103291: he looked at her like she was his sun, he said “okay” and i screamed

AGED UP!DAMIAN WAYNE:

TikTok Upload: @/yourusername Caption: slipped up and called my bf “my husband”… i think i just fell inlove all over again…

[VIDEO STARTS]

The screen opens on a high-end Gotham art gallery. You’re vlogging quietly, showing off a few paintings.You whisper to the camera:

“I told my husband we’d only be here for fifteen minutes. He’s already judging the curator.”

Camera pans slightly to Damian. He’s dress in a black turtleneck, tailored coat, with his sharp jawline on full display. He’s standing beside a sculpture, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

He turns. “I heard that.”

You freeze. “Heard what?”

He walks over, slow and deliberate. You hold your phone a little lower. He stops in front of you.

“…Your husband?” he repeats, voice low, neutral.

You grin. “Well. Technically not yet.”

He doesn’t respond at first. Just blinks once. Then, naturally:

“…Then we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”

He turns back toward the exhibit like he didn’t just drop a bomb. You’re left standing there, flustered.

The camera catches you mouthing “EXCUSE ME??” while the screen zooms in on him dramatically.

[VIDEO ENDS]

[TOP COMMENTS]

@/user10923812: “then we’ll have to fix that” WHO SAYS THAT AND WALKS AWAY???? @/whaleaboutit: HE SAID IT LIKE A THREAT AND I’M JEALOUS @/babasparky: the way he doesn’t smirk, doesn’t laugh—just takes it as fact?? CHOKING @/gothambaddiesunite: how did you bag the most terrifying Wayne and make him romantic what the frick

[cyanpluto]

I think the poster got confused about how masculinity is used in society. They saw the "masculinity is treated by society as the superior or even default state, and those seen as masculine have more power" and interpreted that as "therefore society wants everyone to be more masculine and rewards it". But in reality, because power is tied to masculinity, society will try to keep as few people as possible from attaining it. It's why the insults "pussy, faggot, sissy" or "you throw like a girl" or "turn in your man card" or "what are you, gay" or "man up" or "you don't have the balls to do it" are insults AT men BY men. Society rewards men for throwing each other under the bus by implying they are not masculine enough to be REAL men. Society wants women to be as feminine, meek, and subservient as possible; it does not "reward" women for being masculine, because that would mean more people would have access to power. Trans men are not being praised for finally accepting the default state of society, or for embracing the "better option" of being men. It's why comments like "a real father wouldn't put up with--" or "a real husband would have done--". Society doesn't have to force men to wear make-up and dresses, it just has to imply that any sign of weakness or deviation means they're not a REAL man. Women aren't allowed to be masc when EVEN CIS MEN are told they're not masc enough.

Now OP would have traction if they wrote about how "girl interests" and "girl hobbies" are seen as stupid, while "boy interests" are seen as natural, intellectual, and marketable. Rom-coms and boddice-rippers are treated as if they are not "critically-acclaimed" or are lacking "serious thought". Women are treated like they only watch "trashy" reality tv and like they only play farming sims and dating sims, while "real men" play "real games". If OP was correct, women would be encouraged and praised for choosing masc hobbies. But instead they are accused of "faking for attention" or being too opinionated. The "right" thing for a woman to do is not become masc, but to stay in their place.

OP could have meant how main characters in TV, movies, books, and video games are majority men; how NPCs and background characters are more often men; how even when female actors are hired they get less lines to read than their male coworkers; and how women are expected to relate more to a male character than men are expected to relate to a female character. But the result is not "women should relate more to these men so they can become more masculine" or even "everyone should fantasize about living as a man, that's why all our protagonists are men". Instead it is "being a woman is foreign, childish, irrational, and degrading and our male user base would not be able to relate to it".

now, i did not get my ass dragged to easter dinner in the frilliest little can’t-go-play-outside-for-the-egg-hunt fuckin dress every single year of my childhood just to put up with you sayin all this bullshit

[joyswonderland1108]

"I" Never Said That - A Quick Jikook + Korean Breakdown

Okay, so I've seen a lot of people quoting JK saying "I Listened to the song" during Jin's live and obviously the jobless haters had a thing to say about Jimin's comment that followed up.

Let me clear this up for anyone confused, especially if you don't speak Korean or if Weverse translations have you rolling your eyes.

JK: “곡 들었는데” Read: "Gok Deurothneunde" Translation: “Listened to the song, but/and…”

Was "I" mentionned in Korean?

Because here's the thing, JK never said "I". There was no "I" “나” in that sentence. Subjects (like “I”) are often dropped if they’re understood from context. Man just said "Listened to the song" in the most vague neutral, classic Korean way that lets the context do the work. Could've been "I", could've been "We", could've been "a mysterious third party in the corner". We don't know. But it wasn't explicitly "I".

What does -는데 (-neunde) add? It’s a sentence connector, like: “I listened to the song, and…” “I listened to the song, but…” Or even: “I listened to the song, you know?”

Friendly reminder that Korean is not just English in Hangul. A lot gets lost in translation — tone, nuance, context, cultural layers — and if you don’t know at least the basics of how Korean works, you’re probably misunderstanding 90% of what’s being said. But go off, I guess.

Enter Jimin, casually dropping: "같이 들었음" Read: Gachi deureosseum. Translation: “Listened together.” Aka: "Hey! Just so we're clear on the lore here, it was a duo moment"

Not in a dramatic "Notice us" way, just casually setting the record straight like: "Let's not forget i was right there too. You're not gonna soft-launch me out of this narrative or take solo credit for it.

Again, no explicit subject is mentioned: No “we” (우리는 / 우리가) Just the word 같이 = “together,” and the casual/abbreviated verb 들었음, which is a very informal way to say “listened.”

Bonus? JK follows with "석포타임?" Read: Seokpo ta-im? Translation: “Seokpo time?”

Which, considering this was Jin's live, is probably code for "Time to enjoy Seokjin's music?" or "Jin hour has begun?"

Because :

석 (Seok) likely comes from Seokjin

포 (po) might come from a nickname, shortened form of something, or could be an inside joke. (Unless i'm missing something or my memory is playing tricks on me)

"Seokpo Time?" is probably JK invoking a familiar phrase or tradition linked to Jin — especially since they were listening to his song.

In conclusion :

No, JK didn't claim solo credit.

No, Jimin wasn't being dramatic.

Yes, they listened to Don't Say You Love Me together.

And yes, Jin is somewhere sipping tea, knowing full well they're all tuned into his drop.

[44towaz]

growing tensions,

flickering gazes,

heated passion.

contents: hotarubi ghouls x gn! reader, suggestive content. warnings: switch/dominant reader, explicit language, dirty talk, teasing, grinding, reader is wearing a skirt in haku's, but no gendered terms or specific genitalia are mentioned [no actual smut !!]

note: this squeezed all the brain juice out of me. i’m unsure of which house i’m going to do next so comment some suggestions !!

— KAGAMI SUBARU ᝰ.ᐟ

The soft sound of the rain pitter-pattered against the wood of the patio echoed throughout the room. Purple wisteria trees hung low, seeming to greet you warmly. The air was cool and refreshing, the scent of lavender and tea floating through the air around you. Before you lay three uneaten mochis, patiently waiting for you to indulge in them.

However, you were indulging in something else entirely different.

Glancing up, your gaze landed on the captain of Hotarubi. He didn’t notice your stare, humming quietly under his breath. You recognised the tune as one of Zenji’s compositions.

You watched as he turned a page so gracefully, his fingers sliding across the paper gently. His soft brown hair framed his face so prettily, long eyelashes fluttering as he read through the documents.

Your breath caught in your throat. There was something about Subaru that made you ache desperately. Was it good or bad? You couldn’t tell.

The tension in the air hung thick, but you couldn’t tell if he could feel it too. Maybe you were delusional. Maybe you were just insatiably desperate for Subaru in ways you were too ashamed to admit.

Had you dreamt of grabbing him by his clothes, yanking forward and kissing him with fiery passion? Perchance. His lips would be pressed against yours, hands wandering all over his skin, soul aflame. The sounds he’d make, fueling the fire in you, urging you to touch him more, to make him feel your need, your want. Your unquenchable thirst for Subaru was growing day by day, and every moment you spent with him only made it worse. You felt utterly insatiable.

Nevertheless, you knew self-control. You weren’t about to do something you’d regret. Subaru was someone you cherished, a fragile jewel that shone brightly in your eyes. You would not jeopardize your friendship with him for some lustful fantasy. You refused to ruin this relationship with him over crazed emotions and wild hormones.

“I think it’s best I take my leave,” you caught the male’s attention. “I have to drop by Jabberwock before going back to my dorm,” you explained with a gentle (yet disappointed) smile.

Subaru smiled, standing up. “My apologies for keeping you this late, Honour Student. I’m extremely thankful for your help tonight,” he says as you laugh rather bashfully.

“It was no problem, Subaru,” you smiled, hoping you weren’t too obvious with your blatant affection towards him. “I’m always willing to help you.”

His soft laugh had your heart fluttering like a dozen crazed butterflies. “Here, let me show you out,” he smiled as he reached for the door handle.

Alas, like a cheesy romcom, you had reached for the door handle at the exact same time. The moment his hand touched yours, time seemed to stop.

It was like an electric shock– a pulse that both of you felt whizz through your contact. Your soft gasp and his almost inaudible whimper seemed to echo through the room.

You nearly got whiplash with how fast you turned to look at him. His face was flushed, lips parted with heavy breaths leaving his body. But what startled you even more, were his eyes. His eyes widened, staring straight at you in a mix of confusion and absolute desire.

Fuck, did he see your memories?

“I’m so sorry, Honour Student,” he retracts his hand instantly. “Shit, I- I didn’t mean to…” He trails off, cheeks ablaze. His eyes flickered up to yours as he unconsciously bit his lip. “My name…?” He mumbled under his breath, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his uniform. You could already guess what he had seen. It was written all over his face.

Probably one of the many nights you spent alone in your bed, craving him. Calling out his name, wishing it was his touch that made you unravel. Voice dripping with lustful desire, eyes clouded with absolute need for him.

Your heart was slamming against your rib cage, mind fuzzy as you stared back at the ghoul. Gulping, you very bravely took a step towards him, just to test the water.

He didn’t move.

Inching closer, you reached out towards him, fingers slowly grazing against his skin. He tensed up further, the feeling of his skin against yours warm. “Is this okay?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. Subaru hesitated for a moment, but eventually nods.

As you intertwined your fingers with his, you continued to observe his reactions. Every twitch, every gasp, every breath– you revelled in it all. “Can I…” you trailed off, trying to regain at least a semblance of your composure. “Do you want to…” you cursed under your breath, words stuck in the back of your throat.

“Yes,” Subaru replied breathlessly. He leaned forward, eyes flickering to your lips. “Please, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

With that, he kissed you passionately, with vigour and aggression you had never seen from his before. Your hands clawed at his back, trying to find some sort of leverage before you legs gave way.

With your arms wrapped around his neck, his own hands wandered down to your hips. Subaru hooked an arm around your waist to give you more support, the other arm squeezing at your flesh for more. His touch was electric, hot and purposeful. Every graze of his finger, grip of your flesh, gentle caress of your skin— it turned you on even more.

Your tongue peeked out between your lips, attempting to deepen the kiss even further. He'd gladly let you have your way, inviting you to sink further and further into him. The kiss ignited an insatiable desire within you, your core aching for his touch, for his warmth, for him to just be inside you.

There was nothing more you wanted right now. Him, buried to the hilt within you, each thrust bringing you closer and closer to heaven. You needed to feel him spill his seed inside you, to fill you to the brim over, and over again. The obscene thoughts clouded your mind as you pushed his jacket off him, yours following suit.

“Fuck, Suba,” you groaned, pulling away briefly to catch your breath. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” you confess to him. “I need you inside me now.”

Subaru moaned, head finding its way into the crook of your neck. “You have no idea what you do to me, Honour Student,” he croaks out, hips involuntarily grinding against your clothed core. You let out a moan into his ear, feeling his hardness through your uniforms. He whimpered at the sounds you made, pressing kisses along your jaw down to your neck. “You’re too good for me, you’re too good for me,” he chanted, sucking and kissing your skin till it bruised.

“No, no, don’t say that,” you pant, trying to ignore how good he was making you feel. “I want you so badly, please Subaru, let me have you as you’ll have me,” you begged him, eyes twinkling with need.

He let out a soft sigh of contentment as he gazed into your eyes. “I’m all yours.”

— KUSANAGI HAKU ᝰ.ᐟ

You were quite certain Haku Kusanagi was going to be the death of you.

Sat at the back of the library, you thanked yourself internally for choosing such a secluded area, considering the current predicament you were having.

Haku sat across you, tapping his pen against the table incessantly. He was focused on whatever he was reading, not noticing how distracted you were. Maybe it was the way his finger fiddled with the pen, spinning it around idly.

Long, slender fingers, callously spun his pen. God, you felt filthy just thinking about the things he could do to you with them. It was unusual for you to indulge yourself in such erotic fantasies, but for some reason, you were feeling quite insatiable today.

“Honour Student?”

You snapped out of your trance, head jerking up to look at the male. He wore his signature, haughty grin with pride, gaze piercing right through you. Fuck, he knew.

“Daydreaming now, are we?” He clicked his tongue, feigning disappointment. “I’m wounded, Honour Student. And here I thought our little library date would give us a chance to be alone together.”

You stared at the man, perplexed and highly aware of how warm your face was getting. “I-I- Shit, uh,” you stutter, mentally cursing yourself for being such a fool around him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get distracted.”

Haku chuckled, stretching his legs out. You felt the tip of his shoe graze your shin, causing you to inhale a sharp breath. Fuck you for being stupidly sensitive to his touch. It was like you were begging for him to touch any part of your body. Like a prayer, a chant, a mantra that you repeated daily that fell on deaf ears.

“I’m just teasin’ ya,” he grins, head tilted and resting on his hand. His elbow rested against the table as his eyes bore right through your soul. His gaze sent shivers down your spine, setting your skin ablaze.

You couldn’t take it. If you sat near Haku any longer, you’d short-circuit. “I’m going to find another book!” You announced in a high-pitched squeak, a futile attempt at sounding put together.

The shelves seemed to tower over you. Maybe it was simply because Haku made you feel small. His charisma, flirtatious nature, and good looks overwhelmed you at times (not that you were complaining, though). Haku had this effect on you.

Whenever you were together, the sexual tension in the air was palpable. The hot, sticky feeling in the air made it hard to breathe, these feelings of intense need and desire overwhelming you. And God, did you wish you were brave enough to act on your feelings.

“[Y/N]?”

You spun around, gasping as you realised how close Haku was. Taking a step back, your back comes into contact with the bookshelf. “H-Haku,” you plastered a smile on your face. “What’re you doing here?” You asked rather breathlessly.

He smiled slyly. “Well, you were gone for a while,” he explained, leaning down cautiously. “And I was worried about you.”

Silence engulfed you both. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Haku’s, his eyes twinkled with mischief. He could feel it too. He could feel this tension, this desire, the need and urge that you felt. You knew he could. You could see it in his smile.

“Thank you for worrying about me,” you managed to breathe out, gaze still on his.

“Of course,” he murmured, fingers reaching out to brush a strand of your hair away. “But I’m still worried about your predicament.”

You arched an eyebrow, still hyper aware of how he touched you. “What predicament?”

The gasp you let out echoed in your head as Haku’s thumb toyed with your bottom lip. His left hand was now on your waist, his grip gentle, but firm. “I’m sure I’m not the only one feeling this now, am I?” You suppress a groan, hand shooting out to grasp onto his shoulders.

“Fuck, Haku,” your voice is raspy as he chuckles, leaning down.

“Do you want me to do something, Honour Student?” He feigned innocence with his signature grin.

The glare you shot him has him chuckling yet again. You don’t wait for him to make the first move and instead pull him down towards you. His little gasp boosts your ego momentarily as you finally capture his lips.

It felt like a spark had ignited the moment your lips touched. Your hunger only grew at this small taste of Haku. You could feel his tongue against yours, his breathing ragged, filled with as much need as you were. His hands slowly traced along your collarbone, before moving south, down your chest, past your stomach. You knew where this was headed.

“Wait, here?” You whispered aggressively between kisses. “Are you insane?” You let out a soft gasp as his fingers trace along your inner thigh.

He chuckled, a sly grin on his face. “Weren’t you a smart one, picking the most isolated area in the library,” he cooed, pressing kisses along your neck. Haku revelled in every gasp, whine, whimper and shudder he elicited out of you.

“It– ah, fuck me– wasn’t on purpose– ngh!” You bit your bottom lip in an attempt to muffle your moans.

He chuckled, the sound sending shivers up your spine, and shooting straight between your legs. Leaning in, you feel his breath against the skin of your neck. You hold your breath, clutching onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

His lips ghosted over your neck, fingers gently brushing your hair away. His other hand slowly crept down your body, ghosting over your skin before finally nestling between your legs. You let out a shaky breath, trying to hold back a whimper that you so desperately wanted Haku to hear.

You could feel his smirk against your skin. He knew what he was doing to you. His fingers hook the band of your skirt down, tracing circles along your inner thigh.

“Liar.”

— KOTODAMA ZENJI ᝰ.ᐟ

Soft, plush blankets cushioned your fall as you threw yourself onto your bed. At last, the long day was over, and you could finally rest.

You sighed, draping your arm over your eyes. Exhaustion began to set in, muscles still tense and rigid. A hot shower would do you some good, but God, the idea of even moving a finger seemed like torture.

“Oh, my dear! You look absolutely absolutely spent!”

A smile slowly made its way onto your lips as you moved your arm, opening one eye. Zenji hovered over the foot of your bed, doll in hand. He wore a concerned expression that made you chuckle softly.

“Hey, Zenji,” you greeted him as he made his way beside you. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

The purple haired male clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Those ghouls really ought to know their limits!” He declared with an angry pout. “Why, you need your rest and beauty sleep just as much as they do!”

“Thank you, Zenji,” you let out a soft breath. “Unfortunately, not everyone is as kind as you are,” you laughed at his bewildered expression. His concern for you warmed your heart as you shuffle your body closer to the edge of the bed. “Lay with me, won’t you?”

Zenji simply floated over, placing his doll on the chair near your bed before laying next to you. He simply stared at you, eyes filled with adoration. “You are too nice, my dear,” he said softly, arm reaching out. “You allow yourself to be pushed to the brink for the sake of others.”

You hummed in response, watching as his fingers near your face. Fully expecting them to pass through, you close your eyes. But the sudden feel of cold fingertips pressed against your cheek made you gasp, eyes shooting open.

Zenji recoiled in shock. The two of you sat in silence for a moment, unsure of what to say. You blinked comically, moving closer to him slowly.

“Was that– did you?” You tilted your head, questioning the man. “I could feel you.”

“I am unsure why, my dear,” he mumbled, both confused and mildly perturbed. His fingers curl up, hand pressed against his chest. He was afraid to move.

Your gaze flickered between his hands and face. You never noticed how beautiful Zenji’s hands really were. His fingers were long, nails trimmed and well maintained. His skin was smooth and pale— entrancingly gorgeous in your eyes.

“May I touch you?”

You’re surprised by your own question, curiosity getting the best of you. Zenji’s eyes widened slightly, similarly shocked by your daring and sudden question. He nodded slowly, anticipation coursing through your veins.

Before you can even process your actions, your fingers gently grazed the man’s face. His skin was cold, but it felt soft. The tingly feeling on the pad of your fingertips felt electrifying. It was short, brief, but it felt good. Why did it feel so good? What was that feeling?

Gulping, you took a leap of faith and pressed your palm to his cheek. The warmth of your body began to heat his skin up, making him gasp. It had been so long since he felt this warm. It had been even longer since someone touched him.

Zenji pressed his cheek into your touch, letting out a soft sigh. He hadn’t felt this good in ages. The feeling of your skin against his felt almost euphoric. How long had it been since he had felt the touch of another? He couldn’t remember– all that mattered right now, was how good you made him feel.

Disappointment settled in his chest when you retract your hand, still in awe of this newfound feeling. “You feel amazing,” you whispered, eyes wide, sparkling as you stared at the man. “I don’t know how else to describe it, Zenji, but when I touch you,” you reached out slowly, taking his hand into yours gently. “I feel good.”

You intertwine your fingers with his as Zenji closes his eyes, a soft whimper leaving his lips. You’re thoroughly amused, and quite delighted that you had such an effect on him. The warmth building in the pit on your stomach was a testament to how he made you feel.

“Your face is so close to mine.”

His voice is soft, almost inaudible. He sounded breathless, filled with this deep desire that you can’t describe. But you know you feel it too.

Grinning, you shift a little closer to him. “Well, do you like it this close?” You whisper as he tenses up. “Because your face is red,” you reached forward to cup his cheek with both your hands. He shivered under your touch, tears brimming in the corner of his eyes. “And it’s so cute.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he inhales a deep breath. The air was hot and heavy, an intense desire, an insatiable yearn, a deep, guttural feeling of primal need filled your veins. You wanted him.

You needed him.

“Zenji,” your gaze flickered between his beautiful eyes and plump, rosy lips. “If you have no objections at all,” you gulp nervously, fingers curled into a fist. “I am going to–”

Before you can even finish, the purple-haired male lurched forward, grabbing your shirt and pulling you into him. The kiss was intoxicating. It was everything you ever wanted, and even more. He tasted like green tea and roasted pumpkin seeds. The hint of sweetness that lingered on his soft lips made you crave him even more.

You shivered when Zenji’s hands moved down, tracing your jaw as you continued to kiss him. The air was hot, a small coil of pleasure building up inside you.

Letting out a shaky breath, your hand moved down, trying to imprint the feeling of Zenji’s body, every crevice, every dip– in your mind. You needed to remember how he felt. God knows how long you yearned to touch him. You weren’t about to let this opportunity pass.

“You taste divine, my beloved,” he whispered, peppering kisses along your jaw. “Oh, how I’ve dreamt of this moment,” he confessed as you whine shakily.

Your hands wandered further down before finally reaching Zenji’s hardened bulge. Your fingers brush against it and he let out a loud gasp, hips bucking upwards jarringly. His arms were now wrapped around your neck, face buried in the crook of it. You could feel his cold breath, lips peppering kisses along your warm skin.

“Please, my darling,” he moaned, grinding against you gently. “Please touch me more. I need to breathe you in until I’m completely intoxicated– until I’m thoroughly addicted to you.”

Oh, how could you refuse him?

[moonlitconfessions]

Episode 7 — The Ripple Effect

You were still half-convinced it had all been a dream.

The trending tags. The behind-the-scenes buzz. The way the crew glanced at you differently—like they saw you now. Not as a stand-in. Not as a disposable extra. But as someone who might actually belong.

And then, the invitation came.

You were called into a formal table read—not just any table read, but one with the full main cast, the director, the producers, and a few casting executives from the network. There was even a reserved nameplate waiting for you at the end of the U-shaped table.

[Y/N] – Temporary Role: Yoon Hana (Doctor)

Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for the script packet. Clean. Stapled. Highlighted. It was real. They wanted to see you do it again—but this time, on purpose.

Zayne arrived just as the last person sat down. No grand entrance, just calm and quiet confidence as always. But when he passed behind you to take his seat, he paused.

“I meant what I texted,” he said softly.

You turned, blinking up at him.

“Don’t look away.”

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The entire room watched him take the chair beside you instead of across like the seating chart indicated. You could feel the tension ripple through the space, as if everyone noticed the subtle shift in gravitational pull around him—and around you.

The read-through began.

Your lines came fast, sharp, heavy with emotion. Scene after scene, you fell into rhythm—not just with the words on the page, but with Zayne himself. He met every glance with equal fire, responding to your delivery with an intensity that made even the seasoned cast members falter in their lines. There was something electric between you two, and it wasn't in the script.

The director cleared his throat midway through. “Let’s pause there.”

Silence.

You felt your stomach drop. Had you gone too far?

But then, he smiled. “That was… unexpected. In the best way.”

One of the producers leaned forward. “How long has she been doing this?”

Another responded, “She was background talent. Brought in last-minute last week.”

“Unbelievable,” the director muttered, eyes still fixed on the script. “That scene came alive because of her.”

There it was again. Her. Not even your name. But it was coming closer.

When the read ended, the cast filtered out in twos and threes. You lingered, unsure if you should pack up or wait for dismissal. But Zayne didn’t leave. He stood, pulled out his phone, and before you could stop him—

He took a photo of the nameplate in front of you.

“What are you doing?” you asked, alarmed.

He didn’t answer right away. Just typed something, thumbs flying over the screen.

Your phone buzzed a minute later. One new notification.

@ZayneLiOfficial If talent speaks louder than status, this woman should be on every poster by now. Don’t blink. 📸 [Photo attachment: Your nameplate and script packet]

Your jaw dropped.

You stared at the post, already racking up thousands of likes and comments in real time. The replies were filled with a mix of confusion, speculation, and praise. Fans were already dissecting the mystery.

“WHO IS SHE??” “Zayne never posts about costars???” “No way she’s just background. Look at how he looks at her.” “This is giving main couple chemistry.”

The public spotlight was no longer just flickering in your direction—it was burning. And Zayne had aimed it straight at you.

“What are you doing to me?” you whispered, overwhelmed, heart racing.

He met your gaze, serious. “Leveling the playing field.”

Before you could respond, a voice called out from behind the director’s monitor. One of the casting assistants.

“[Y/N]? The EPs want to see you.”

You glanced nervously toward the hallway.

Zayne caught your hand—not tightly, just enough to stop your steps.

“You’re not just being seen,” he said. “You’re being chosen. So stop shrinking.”

Your breath hitched.

And this time, you didn’t look away.

Taglist: @nezuswritingdesk @regalillegal @zainaaryam @bidisasterforevermor @iisjihye @yourcaleb @zaynessbeloved @rione-x @plsdonutpercieveme @creator-freak @lunia-likes-pomegranet @beaconsxd

[meadowfics]

OHH could you some seo-ah and byeol headcanons. I FEEL LIKE THEY HAVE SUCH A CUTE SISTER BOND TBH despite their age difference!!

YES AWWW I loved writing this!!!

seo-ah and byeol's bond: headcannons

keep in mind, seo-ah is five years old and byeol is still around 7months old

seo-ah absolutely adores being the older sister.

she takes pride in the title and will remind anyone who will listen that she is the big sister.

when byeol was first brought home from the hospital, seo-ah insisted on being the first one to “show her around the house,” even though the baby couldn’t comprehend any of it.

she took her to every room..

well actually, she made dae-ho carry byeol around while seo-ah walked in front of him...

and whispered introductions like

“this is the couch, we sit here,”

and

“this is the kitchen. mommy makes yummy food here. however, she can't for a few weeks since she needs to recover from brining you into earth”

even in the early days when byeol did nothing but sleep and cry, seo-ah would sit next to her bassinet and just talk to her.

she would tell her stories about daycare, about her dolls, and just how excited she was for her to get bigger.

one of the first moments of jealousy happened during a quiet evening when you were holding byeol and feeding her.

seo-ah walked up, frowned, and whispered,

“you always hold her…”

you gently pulled her close and reminded her that she used to be held just like this, and she still is, every single day.

after a short cuddle session with you and byeol, she felt better again.

when daeho plays with byeol, seo-ah often squeezes her way in between them like a human wedge.

“appa, can you play with me and the baby?”

she just wants to make sure she’s never left out.

during tummy time, seo-ah lays beside byeol and mimics her poses.

“look! i can do tummy time too!”

she’ll say while kicking her legs back and forth dramatically to entertain her little sister.

seo-ah always wants to help feed her baby sister.

even though byeol is still bottle-fed, seo-ah will hold the bottle with both hands, overly focused and proud when byeol drinks without fussing.

seo-ah holds byeol in the cradle position when she feeds her, which is a loving sight to you and dae-ho, since byeol looks up at seo-ah with confusion yet so much love.

she once tried to put a pair of her old sneakers on byeol’s feet.

they were hilariously too big, but she insisted.

“she needs soccer shoes so she can play with me!”

when you explained that byeol couldn’t walk yet, seo-ah blinked in disbelief

“but… she’s got legs!”

the first time byeol giggled while looking at seo-ah, the little girl screamed with joy and ran around the room yelling

“she loves me! she really loves me!”

seo-ah likes to sing to byeol, completely off-key lullabies or just silly songs she makes up.

one of them is literally just “baby byeol, baby star” repeated over and over to the tune of twinkle twinkle little star.

seo-ah often pretends to be byeol’s “teacher,” placing picture books in front of her and dramatically flipping pages while explaining things like, “this is a dog. he barks. woof! understand, baby sis?”

when byeol gets fussy and cries, seo-ah is the first to run over with her favorite pacifier or toy and say, “it’s okay, i’m here. omma is coming. don’t cry, baby.”

there was a time when byeol accidentally yanked on seo-ah’s hair, and while she shrieked a little in pain.

however, she immediately turned around and reassured everyone, “it’s okay! she didn’t mean it. she’s just a baby.”

if anyone aka even a stranger at the market, comments on byeol’s cuteness, seo-ah immediately beams and says, “that’s my sister!”

she tells people she’s going to teach byeol how to kick a soccer ball “as soon as she learns how to stand.”

she’s already drawn up an imaginary training schedule.

she loves picking out byeol’s outfits.

she’ll bring you two completely mismatched ones and say, “she looks best in this one, trust me.”

she sometimes tries to read bedtime stories to byeol, sitting on her little stool and showing the pictures to the baby as if she’s giving a presentation.

“look! that’s a bunny! he hops!”

whenever you or daeho asks who her favorite person is, seo-ah always gives the same answer: “you and appa and byeol. we’re a family.”

she once asked if byeol could sleep in her bed.

“i’ll take care of her, i promise!”

you and daeho said no, but the heart behind the question made them melt.

during family movie nights, seo-ah insists that byeol be swaddled and sitting right next to her.

she’ll even share her snacks (the soft ones, the ones that don’t pose a choking hazard).

when you are busy, seo-ah proudly announces “i’m in charge of the baby!”

she sits by byeol like a little bodyguard with a plastic sword from one of her costumes.

they already have matching outfits for special occasions.

tiny pink dresses, little soccer jerseys, and pajamas with the same print.

daeho often watches the two of them and just smiles to himself.

it’s like seeing a softer version of his wife in the baby and a bold, expressive version of himself in seo-ah.

one of his favorite things is seeing how often byeol stares at her big sister.

it is with pure admiration, her eyes light up every time seo-ah enters the room.

that is everything to him and to you.

masterlist

[in1-nutshell]

It's kinda cute that Rodimus still looks up to Moonie like she's invincible.  Like he still thinks his big sister could go up against unicron and come out unscathed even before the outlier abilities presented itself.

I would like you to smash that illusion on the concrete and make it hurt.

The illusion has been smashed, but in the way your probably thinking.

Hope you enjoy!

Rodimus and Moonstreaker

SFW, Platonic, Romance, Familial, Cybertronian reader

MTMTE

Aka Moonstreaker isn’t invincible.

In Rodimus’s optics, Moonstreaker was the definition of an invincible hero.

Forget Thunderclash, it was Moonie who deserved the praise.

Hardworking, loyal, caring, stubborn, great with weapons, and could probably fight the DJD and win.

Nothing got to her.

No challenge or change made her weak to the pedes.

When he was grasping the whole new ‘Prime’ status, she was behind him 100% and willing to go great lengths to make sure he and the crew were safe.

Did it bother him a bit about the lengths?

Yes, but he couldn’t talk too much about that.

But out of all the years he had known his sister, the Prime had never seen Moonstreaker this… weird.

It started with the meetings.

Rodimus and the others were leaving the meeting room. Moonstreaker still sat at her seat reading a datapad. Rodimus: “Moonie? You know you can leave right?” Moonstreaker waved him off. Moonstreaker: “I know, I’ll leave when I’m done.” Rodimus: “Okay, but don’t stay too long. I can’t you have you be Magnus 2.0.” Moonstreaker raises her optic unamused and goes back to reading the pad.

Rodimus didn’t think too much about that.

Moonstreaker was more of a workaholic out of the two.

If it got too bad then he would drag her out of the room.

The next sign was how much quieter and snippier her comments were.

Sarcasm wasn’t a new thing for the siblings.

But in very small responses with extra silence?

Yeah, that was new.

Rodimus: “Can you pass the knife.” Moonstreaker: “I don’t know, can you pass Magnus the memo response?” Rodimus: “Hey! I haven’t read that one today!” Moonstreaker: “Which one?” Rodimus: “What do you mean which one.” Moonstreaker: “…” Rodimus: “Moonie—” Moonstreaker suddenly stands up and leaves the room leaving a very confused Rodimus behind. Rodimus: “Which one!?”

And just a few days ago he heard some rumor about Moonstreaker being Whirl’s roommate again.

Which was weird and… oh no!

Rodimus had been picking up some weird signs from Moonstreaker and Whirl for a while now, especially since Swerve talked about them a while back.

Maybe…

No…

But…

What if Moonstreaker and Whirl were dating?!

And for how long!?

It must have been for a while since they were starting to share the same room again after she was with Swerve.

Though it could also be because she finally had enough of the minibots talking.

But the signs!

Maybe Moonstreaker was just having a bit of an argument with Whirl.

Well, the name argument could be defined as an actual argument or a full-on physical fight.

Or maybe she was having a hard time telling him about the relationship in general.

She was a private bot and kept many private things away from him.

Maybe if he tried to coax and tell her that she had his support (no matter how much he wanted to bang his helm against the wall because OUT OF ALL THE BOTS! WHIRL?!)

Moonstreaker was sitting in the meeting room as Rodimus stayed behind. She immediately noticed that he had stayed behind… on purpose… Moonstreaker placed the datapad down. Moonstreaker: “Rodimus? Why are you still here?” Rodimus: “Can’t I stay in the same room as you?” Moonstreaker: “After a long meeting like that? I expected you to grow wings and fly out.” Rodimus: “…Okay you got me on that one. But I did want to talk to you.” Moonstreaker: “About what?” Rodimus took a bit of a vent. Rodimus: “I know about it.” Moonstreaker suddenly went rigid. Rodimus: “And listen I get it; it was your choice.” The red mech failed to see the bot behind him shake a bit. Rodimus: “I never thought you’d be in this position and all, but a new relationship is something to look forward to…” His voice trailed off when he heard the sniffling. He turned around and saw a sight that he never thought he would see. Moonstreaker looking down, clear that she was trying to hold in a sob and shaking. What in the Allspark was going on? He came to his sister’s trembling side, not quite sure what to do. Rodimus: “Moonstreaker? What—All I was going to say was congrats on the getting into a new relationship—” Rodimus is once again cut off, but this time by Moonstreaker throwing her arms around him tightly and sobbing into his shoulder.

He couldn’t believe it.

There was simply no way this was happening now.

Moonstreaker, his Moonstreaker, was crying.

The Moonstreaker who had launched herself at Megatron the first opportunity she got after hearing about his chassis getting blasted.

The same Moonstreaker who held it together for others during hardships.

The same Moonstreaker that ran with Fortress Maximus to try and stop Overlord.

The Moonstreaker who had her pede blasted off and right servo sliced and still one against a Con 3 times her size.

The Moonstreaker was now sobbing up a storm in his arms, with no sign of injury.

At that moment the illusion came down.

For this moment, Moonstreaker wasn’t the invincible force that made her enemies think twice about fighting.

Right now?

Right now, she was his sister that was crying for some unknown reason.

A reason he was about to get to the bottom of.

It took time to get her to calm down and properly talk.

She looked so much older and somber when the tears stopped falling.

In true Moonstreaker manner, she kept things short, vague, and avoided names.

It bothered Rodimus a lot, but he was already pushing and didn’t want her to shut him out.

Moonstreaker is looking at her servos. Moonstreaker: “I’m just scared Roddy. This is so new and…and…” Rodimus let her lean to his side a bit. Moonstreaker: “I—I just feel like I’m going to lose him if I keep this break up. I mean I know I was the one who suggested the break, but it was because we were barely seeing each other.” Rodimus: “And this is a romantic or—” Moonstreaker: “We agreed we’d do a month break then get back for one night and see if things could be resolved.” Rodimus: “But the status of the relationship?” Moonstreaker: “I don’t know anymore! I just… I just can’t imagine not being by his side anymore… Roddy what if he doesn’t want me by his side anymore?” Rodimus had never seen such uncertainty in his sister’s optics. She was looking at him for guidance. Rodimus pulled her into a side hug. Rodimus: “Hey now, anybot would be lucky to have you by their side, romantic or not. You have all the qualities of a great friend, best sis and…” He fake gags a bit. Moonstreaker rolls her optics at his dramatic antics. Rodimus: “…And to be a great partner for who ever you think is worthy enough to be by your side. And so, what if you guys don’t work out? There are plenty of bots out there to meet and get to know.” He flashes her a reassuring smile. Rodimus: “Whatever happens, I’ll be here, okay?” Moonstreaker smiles back at him, returning his side hug. Moonstreaker: “Since when did you get so wise?” Rodimus lets go of the hug to puff his chassis. Rodimus: “You’re talking to a Prime Moonie, of course I’ve got some wisdom to share!” Moonstreaker chuckles before getting up. She had to leave now. Moonstreaker stopped at the door before looking back with a genuine smile. Moonstreaker: “Thanks Roddy, I mean it.” Rodimus: “Of course, see ya later Moonie! Tell me how it goes later!” She nods and walks out the door.

Rodimus left that room feeling good and full of hope for his sister for whatever problem she was going to face.

 He felt their bond grew a bit with that serious talk.

Maybe she would let him in on more of her personal life!

Now on to the next mystery.

Who was the mystery mech that was causing all this trouble?

By the brief description of what he got, Rodimus was still certain that Whirl was still the main suspect, but maybe it was someone else?

There was no way Whirl would display that level of maturity so there was a strong possibility of someone else more responsible than Whirl.

…Which did not narrow things down for the Co-Captain.

There were plenty of bots on the ship that were 10 times more responsible than Whirl, including himself!

No, maybe he should take a break.

Anyways Drift invited him to see the ships newest prank show, which was still pending with Magnus but Rewind wanted to give a pilot episode.

The Rod Pod was in Mirage’s bar staring at the screen. It was a live video from Rewind’s camera. He was going to Swerve’s to play a request prank. Creepy music, flickering lights and an Earth ghost mask as the final task. Magnus: “I still fail to see how this is beneficial to the ship. Megatron: “I second that.” Rodimus: “C’mon, from what I see, it’ll be good for morale!” Magnus: “I see scared bots and accidents waiting to happen.” Whirl: “Shhh! Rewind’s made it.” Chromedome dimmed the lights a bit as everyone watched the live recording. Rewind had made it pass through the doors. The bar was dimly light, noticeably the red and pink colors being the most prominent. Rewind: “Okay, now I will—” There is laughter. Swerve wasn’t there alone. Tailgate: “Wait! Swerve’s not alone in there.” Whirl: “Yeah! Two scares for one!” Rewind scoots a bit from his hiding place but freezes at the scene in front of him. Everyone watching freezes at what they are watching. It was Swerve lying on a table with the giddiest and lovesick smile on his face. And who was the bot practically straddling him and smothering his entire face with kisses and “I love you’s?” None other than… Rodimus: “IS THAT MOONSTREAKER!?” Whirl jumps up in joy. Whirl: “YES! FINALLY! SOME ACTION!” Magnus: “SHUT DOWN THE VIDEO!” CREEEEKKKK! Rewind had stepped on something, alerting the two bots on the table. The bots don’t make out what is being said thanks to Megatron accidentally hitting the mute button. But the second it was on… Moonstreaker: “REWIND! GET BACK HERE!” Swerve: “MOONIE HE DIDN’T MEAN IT!” Rewind: “SORRY! SORRY! SORRY!” Brainstorm: “Chromedome if you don’t get your Conjunx soon, he isn’t going to be around for long.” Chromedome: “Way ahead of you. I’M COMING REWIND!”

[youdontknowe]

Happy Thursday everyone!!

1. Rufus!!

2. Ehehe Bobby reading parenting books and rufus doing the classic uncle thing of don’t tell your parent I did that

3. Well I guess the winchesters can’t find you if it’s gonna take a plane to get to you 🤷🏻

4. I hope that last little bit of Jo can just stay a part of her (pls I’m begging I can’t do that again that HURT)

5. Ohhh I’m thinking the way this demons talking very accented is making me think Crowley

6. Awh no it’s just this prick again

7. I swear it’s the worst demons that just won’t die. Like damn cockroaches

8. Rattling the bars of my enclosure cus what does the sky want???? It’s happy she’s a lil crazy???

9. Holy crap also lil blue flowers for jo?

10. The silver reminds me kinda of like anger with depression? I find personally if I’m in a lower mood or grieving I get angry easier (too personal?)

11. “Every soul spilled on the ground around you is a little dented and tainted, but it’s beautiful.” She’d make a good god just cus of how appreciative she is of people

12. Oh how the irony of fate works

13. After that one shot yesterday I’m glad you mentioned Sam sending emails atleast (that boy is going through ANOTHER forced divorce era 😔 ) also in a reality where Dean and princess for whatever reason make Sam pick a parent I wonder would he pick mum or dad?

14. “they will bow at your feet for all of time to come, and you will never be a toy to those vile fucking animals again-“ oooooo I hope this is foreshadowing cus I cannot wait for her to start kicking some serious ass and making everyone scared 🥰

15. Ohhh lil theory time. she’s right tho cus it’s stated from the start they just can’t seem to stay angry at each other or even avoid each other without being miserable

16. And maybe deans different because he’s eventually micheals vessel which maybe be a mix of the righteous man and there aren’t really any other people born to be vessels (I think?)

17. lol cowboy obsessed Dean is so cute like that man is hyper fixated as fuck on them

18. Girl is HORNY

19. I can’t blame her about getting all hot n bothered by him literally talking about the wholesome version of a cream pie

20. Oh fuck not this guy again (where are these guys getting the funds to trail her over goddamn europe??)

21. Ugh she’s too damn good I would have left that assholes soul decorating the cement

22. John Winchester when I catch you.

23. “He mutters into your skin. “‘M your cowboy.” Im going feral

24. I can’t wait for them to figure out the dreams are them actually seeing each other (they should have figured that out from the hell situation but they’re already whipped without banging)

25. Bad feeling people bad feeling

26. I’m gonna get scared every time I read the words bad feeling just cus there’s never a bad feeling without something bad happening

27. I lowkey forgot about lucifer for a solid minute. But his description is so cool for a evil fucker

28. Quite the way to word it Dean “Some bullshit about Michael wanting to use me as a condom-“

29. This HAS to be Gabriel only that little freak(affectionate I find him funny) talks in riddles and flirts

30. I wonder if most angels (the nicer ones in the show) just have a soft spot and they seem to feel bad about her position especially cas and now gabe (?)

31. End note : yeah I’m definitely confused in a good way cus I get to ✨theorise ✨

32. Also how far ahead to you plan/write chapters before posting? Genuinely curious. And I loved this chapter as always both heartbreaking and thought provoking! I also really liked the whole creation thing she has going this chapter, which is leaning me more into the angels are waiting for her because she’s the new god. also that whole a little more self love comment from the archangel is dragging me further into once her and Dean can properly love each other, she’s gonna light up like the new year in the supernatural world.

Chapter 21 - If You Want To Survive

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: This week on Babylon - long distance relationships!

Chapter Title from Dog Days by Florence + the Machine

Word Count: 18.5k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You run, and Dean waits. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 20 - Chapter 22

Read on A03!

“You’re doing it wrong.”

You know you’re doing it wrong. Your feet are dangling off the edge of the bench, and your fingers are still a little swollen from when you slammed them into the door, and you’re trying but you don’t know how to do it right-

“Hey. Breathe.” Rufus grunts your name, prying your hand from the strings of the guitar. “Nothin’ bad about to kill us right now. This ain’t life and death, it’s a fuckin’ guitar-“ 

He cuts himself off, scanning over your open face with a long sigh.

“Don’t tell Bobby I swore at ya. He’s been reading a bunch of parenting books. They’re all sayin’ swearing is bad for kids.”

“I’m not a kid-“

“Yeah, you are. Or at least he’s tryin’ to let you be.”

“That’s why he won’t let me do hunts, isn’t it.”

Rufus snorts, shaking his head. “No, you’re not allowed to hunts cause no kid should be doin’ hunts.”

“What about the boys staying at home?” You raise your chin, narrowing your eyes. “John’s sons. The older one hunts. I heard Bobby complaining to you about it.”

“You eavesdroppin’ on us now?”

“I- No-“ You get a pointed look, and bow your head to frown at your feet.

You’d liked these socks. They were fuzzy and covered in little rainbows, and you’d always kept them at Rufus’ because they made you feel better. You show up at his doorstep covered in a bit of dirt, with everything prying apart in your body and something dark in your body trying to seep out of your skin into the world, but it’ll be okay. Rufus will help you inside and make you some food, you’ll get a long bath, as much chocolate as you want, and your fuzzy socks.

But it doesn’t stop hurting.

It’s never fucking stopped hurting.

“I- I was.” You swallow, grinding your fingers further into the strings of the guitar. “I’m sorry.”

Rufus only laughs. “I don’t give fu- crap. Good you got away with it, too. Doin’ better than a lot of other hunters already.”

Your eyes widen. “Other-“

“Your family is hunters. You’ve got hunter in your blood.” Rufus sighs, running a hand over his face. “If we get say in it, you’re not gonna need to hunt. But Bobby don’t listen when I tell him that might not be his choice. But-“ Rufus’ voice turns firm, his eyes locking onto yours. “Don’t try nothin’ when you still can’t touch the fu- freakin’ ground.”

He bumps your feet with a small grin, and you return it, even if it’s toothless and nervous. 

And you don’t have hunter in your blood. Rufus knows that you don’t have anything but insanity in your blood. But he’s never treated you like you’re anything less than Bobby’s daughter.

You wish you were. That you’d come from him rather than the darker, twisted horror you were born into, with too clean floors, never enough food—despite the sheets being silk and the floor being marble, you’d never had enough food—and no fuzzy socks.

Still, you didn’t know how to just wait. How to just sit in the fucking pain like it had to be a given—it might be—and wait for your feet to hit the ground. You don’t think they understand how much it hurts. And how if it doesn’t hurt, you’ll make everything else hurt instead. How you can’t be trusted anywhere, and you might not deserve this kindness, and you still have nightmares about big and smooth hands wrapping around your throat and telling you it’s time.

“John Winchester’s sons have hunting blood.” You mumble, glaring back to the carpet, and Rufus sighs, giving you an almost amused look.

“You ain’t droppin’ this, are you?”

“It’s not fair-“

“Nothin’ is fair. And those boys shouldn’t be huntin’ at all.”

“But they do-“

“Only when their Daddy’s got no one better.” Rufus mutters, and you frown at him. “John drops ‘em with Bobby when he’s not looking for company on a hunt. And if he is, he takes Dean like the boy ain’t thirteen.”

Dean. The big one is named Dean.

And somewhere through the swirling fog of the world, there’s an iridescent light that whining and howling and aching. It’s hurts almost as much as the Darkness does. 

Did. 

You’re a little dizzy, and you know that when this happened, Dean was nothing more than a name. You think he was nothing more than a name. You might have felt the White rolling and humming for him, even then. 

“I’m not that much younger-“

“That ain’t the point-“

“And John takes both of them hunting all the time! And I’d know more! I have all the lore memorized, and I- I could fight-“

“You can’t shoot.”

“I could try-“

“No, ya couldn’t. I remember when you just saw Bobby’s gun, kid.”

“But I’d get over it- And if the Winchester’s can do it-“

“It don’t matter what those boys can do. You’re not like ‘em.” Rufus mutters your name, the look on his face almost sad. “And John- You know Bobby don’t want you near him for a reason. And I agree. Even if we were pro baby-hunters, you know you can’t be out there.”

“But- I- I can’t- I don’t-“ You take a shaking breath, the dark thing starts to twist around in your body, all your skin itching with the pain of keeping it down. “It hurts-“

“I know it hurts.” Rufus sighs, guiding your fingers back to the guitar strings. “That’s why we’re doin’ this.”

You shake your head, trying to curl back into your body. “I don’t wanna-“

Rufus grunts your name, giving you a firm look. “We keep doin’ this, or I tell Bobby ‘bout the door.”

You’d swallow, your eyes wide on his and he lets out a long sigh.

“There are ways to deal with it that don’t hurt, kid. I’m just tryin’ to find you some.”

“Ways like drinking?” You wrinkle your nose at him, and Rufus lets out a dry chuckle.

“Nah. I’m not a preacher, I don’t gotta practice what I’m sellin’. Go back to g-cord.”

You shift your fingers, but pause, staring ahead as the light turns in your body. 

It still hurts. Everything always hurts, and you feel small, and you’re safe here but it still feel like you’re being ripped in half. And you love staying at Rufus’, but it hurts, and it doesn’t matter that if you go back home you might get more hurt. You’re already hurting, and you- You don’t know what to do with all this fucking pain-

“I wanna go home.” You whisper, your eyes starting to sting, and Rufus only sighs.

He’s used to the swings. To the way it becomes too much, and you grow small.

You wish you could control it. Be better. Be more than a sick fucking problem, but it’s all you are. All you’ve ever been. And you want to go home.

“I know,” Rufus mutters, squeezing your shoulder carefully. “But you can’t, kid. Not until it’s safe.”

The world starts to shift, the fog around you glowing and bathing everything in a softer light, and your feet can touch the ground again. 

When this had happened, Rufus meant safe for you. That you could go home when it wouldn’t end with John Winchester putting a bullet through your brain. 

Now John was long dead, and you- 

You were still so fucking sick. There wasn’t hunter in your blood, there was power. Power and a long, long line of horrible, wrong creatures that even Heaven hated. You may be holy, but it might be the way the plagues of Egypt were holy. Wrathful and awful and vengeful. Sick and destructive and wrong.

You’re so fucking wrong, so home isn’t safe from you.

Nothing is safe from you, and the horror you bring. 

And you want your feet to go back to being too small. To having little blisters on your fingers from holding the guitar, instead of whatever put them there now. You’d only read books because it passed the time, and you didn’t think twice about the notes you were writing, and home was somewhere you could return to.

You want to go home. 

To return to not knowing that John would’ve been right. Being afraid of him was always so much easier than being afraid of yourself. It would be so nice to go back to this. It was lonely but simple. You were filled with sickness, but it poisoned only yourself.

But Rufus would’ve always said Dean, and you would’ve always felt the White howl.

You miss him most of all. 

“Where are we?”

You sigh, dropping your head to the side on his shoulder. It’s always a little like you summon him, and then he’s there. Warm and Golden and almost real.

Almost.

“I’m learning how to play guitar.” You mumble, strumming a smooth key that comes out twangy and weak, because that’s how it had sounded when this actually happened. 

Dean chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Wow. You’re kind of shit at it.”

“That’s the learning part, Deano.” You twist to prop your chin on his shoulder, and his grin is wide. Strong. Happy. “Hi.”

His grin grows, a hand rising up to hold your face. “Hi, Princess. You look good.”

“You always say I look good.”

“Well that’s cause I’m not a liar, sweetheart.”

You snort. “Shut up.”

“So bossy,” he hums, tracing his thumb over your cheekbones, and everything but Dean is fading into the background. Even your memory of Rufus is being painted in Gold. Just to remind you.

Dean isn’t here. Not really. But you still love him. And it’s still all the way down.

“How do I look?”

You scan over his face, with heavy bags until his eyes and a slightly swollen cheek. 

When you reach up to trace a hand over it, he doesn’t flinch. Dean just lets out a soft sigh, and leans into your touch.

“Tired, De.” You whisper, and he chuckles.

“Haven’t been sleeping good. Fighting with Sammy again.” He pauses, his voice growing a little hoarse. “Miss you. Wish Cas would tell me where he dropped you, so I could come carry you home.”

“I know. I- I do too.” 

And you do. 

Because if Dean tracked you down and tried to carry you home, you’d never fight it. You’d always just go, because you love him, and it’s not indulging or making it about you if Dean’s demanding it. 

“I miss you.” You mumble, and everything is starting to wash away. Leaking with a light that hurts to look at, the bench and Rufus flickering in and out like a mirage on water.

There’s a loud, blaring sound, coming from far, far away, and you have to go. 

Dean must know it too, because his grip tightens. “Come home. I- So much shit is happening and it’s all freakin’ insane, and you’d know what to do. You always know and I fuckin’ miss you, baby, please come ho-“

The alarm rips through the world, crashing through everything you can see, and Dean vanishes.

You shoot up in your bed and let out a loud groan. The frame is so fucking small, and your legs are cramping, and the sound is still fucking going-

“Fuck.”

Your mumble is mostly to yourself.

There’s no one else to hear it anyway.

The month since you left hasn’t exactly been spent making friends. It’s been research and moving and finding ways to keep yourself afloat.

Cas had dropped you in Rome, and apparently didn’t stop to consider that you don’t fucking speak Italian. It had helped that most people here spoke English, but after about a week you’d gotten sick of not being able to read anything, and gotten—technically stolen, with Dean’s voice in your head humming I thought you weren’t a criminal, Princess—an Italian for Beginners book.

It’s mostly been tourist phrases. Where is the bathroom. How do you say taxi. I do not speak Italian.

You’ve used that last one liberally. 

And you don’t talk that much, all together. There seems to be a drastic shortage of monsters to hunt and a beautiful plenty of books to read, so you’ve focus all your energy there.

On looking for answers.

About anything. Lilith. The seals. Heaven. The Magdalenes. Witches.

You.

Everything you learn about yourself is something you had to teach. You can’t feel anything holy, but you can’t really feel a lot right now. It’s all just a lot of fucking pain. And as you force yourself out of bed for the day, your gaze falls to your hands, and you can still see it. 

Pastel blue. Glistening and crystallized on your fingers. The Gold has faded slightly, but the Blue is still clinging to you. Whenever you wash your hands, you’re afraid it’s going to run away with the water. When you wake up, there’s a dread in the pit of your stomach that you’ll glance down, it will fall off like an icicle from a roof. Maybe it will have been wiped away in your sleep, stained on the sheets, never to be returned. 

And then it’s there, and the dread shifts to just more fucking pain. Your eyes sting, and you freeze on the edge of the bed as you stare at it. The last bit of Jo, bled onto you when she-

Bile rises in your throat, and you swallow it back down. 

You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve to be sad when you did this to her. Made Jo nothing more than a little bit of a mark on your fingers that no one else can see. Ellen didn’t get a little bit of Jo to carry all the time. 

Ellen didn’t even get to be there when it happened.

Jo wants you to tell Ellen something. And you’d cut her off, because you’re a fucking parasite, and you’d been so sure you could fix it. You would’ve done anything to fix it, but the Sky wouldn’t let you, and now she was gone-

A weak, sniffling noise escapes your throat, and this time there’s no bile. It’s only a heavy, crushing weight around your skull, and a searing feeling as your nails dig into your skin.

You need to move.

Most mornings, it takes too long to remember how.

And it’s never anything spurring you into action. You’re numb and hollow and breathing only because you have to, and then it all settles down and you move.

It’s mechanical. Sleep shirt off and in the backpack. Top. Bottoms. Socks and shoes and jacket. Your knife, spin it once in your hands just to move, then tuck it against your body. 

Go. 

You have to move and go, because you promised you’d be okay, and turning to stone is no way to be okay.

You don’t remember how to be okay either. 

But you’ll get through it. 

You always do.

You’d had to leave the city within a few days. There were too many people, too many colors, all of it bleeding together like a kaleidoscope or supernova and making you dizzy. Too many not-smells, giving you a migraine. The countryside was better. Quieter. Sometimes there was golden light reflecting in the rivers, and you got to pretend you could grab it and keep it. 

And there are less people to hurt, if something goes wrong. 

Because something always goes wrong. 

Even when your day is just reading and scratching notes in the corner of a library, something will find a way to go wrong.

Maybe that’s part of the Magdalene curse. Maybe angels and demons can’t kill you, but the world just shifts and rots around you from your presence. You are made of the same thing as Lilith, and she made things as wrong as they could possibly be. Maybe this ends with you either destroying the world, or imploding onto yourself. 

You’re closer to the second. You’re tired, and your teeth hurt, and every shadow is longer than you thought possible. The pencil is heavier than it should be in your hand, and you can’t tell if there’s something in the air or if your lungs simply can’t figure out how to breathe anything but iron. Your skin feels wrong on your body, but you can’t remove it or that final bit of Jo in the world will vanish.

You miss Dean. You miss him all the time. There’s no one here to hold you until you sleep, no one to calm you down when the souls start to swarm around you, and it’s like you’re being drowned. Nobody is making you drink water or eat through the grief, and some days you’ve just been forgetting until you stand up and almost fall over.

Then you have to steady yourself, but no one is as good at steadying you as Dean is. 

You love him. And every time you wake up from a dream—just like this morning—you could swear you could fucking smell him. On the air around you, stronger than the cotton and dry wood of your room. You’ve stopped wearing perfume, so that it can linger on the edge of the air through the day. 

But you’ve stopped doing a lot of things.

It’s why, when something goes wrong, nothing riots in your body to warn you. The most you get is a faint tug from the right of your chest, and then it’s too late.

“Look at what we have here.” A taunting, male voice crows over your shoulder, and your blood goes cold. 

You don’t have to turn to know that it’s something evil. You can hear it in the drawl of his words. Fucking smell it, metallic and rotten on the air, like blood and-

Sulfur.

Fuck-

Two hands close over your shoulders, pinning you down to the chair, and a cold breath fans over your neck.

“Took me so long to find you. Don’t move an inch, darling. We’re just here to have a conversation, and I might not be able to kill ya’, but I don’t think you can kill me either, can you.” The demon laughs. “I think you might be havin’ some performance issues.”

You swallow, trying to force your voice to stay even. “Would you want to bet on that?”

The demon laughs. “Why don’t we find out? I’ve been dyin’ to get my hands on you, princess.”

There’s a prickling, burning, white-hot feeling on wrong over your heart. 

Only Dean calls you that. Only Dean is allowed to call you that, because he says it with a teasing voice, but there’s always something under it that makes your body relax and the Spiderweb glow. It’s made of something soft and a little intoxicating. He says it as if he believes it. As if it’s not just a joking nickname that stuck, but a title. 

The demon says it like he knows how wrong it is. Like he’s slicing you open and driving a poker right into the Spiderweb, then laughing as it whines for something you both know it can’t have. Dean’s across the ocean, and you’re not a princess. Dean might look at you and see more than a monster, but the demon isn’t fooled. 

He knows what you are.

Like him.

Worse than him.

Demons are turned from years of torture. Demons are evil, but at least they were once human. 

You’ve never been anything but sick. You were born twisted. And you’d never asked Cas if Lilith’s daughters were born before or after she became a demon.

You don’t really want to find out.

“Calm down, sweetheart. Can fuckin’ taste your fear.” The demon sneer in your ear. “And there’s no need to get hysterical. You get to be special again. For once, I ain’t here looking for that delicious panic and pain.”

You don’t want to be special. You just want to go home. 

You just want Dean.

“What- Why are you-“

“I just thought I’d come see what all the fuss is about.” The demon hums, rising back up. “I’ve heard so much about you. And darlin’, the stories aren’t doing you justice.”

The demon rounds the table, and your nails dig into the scar on your palm. 

He’s like Lilith.

A little darker of a gray, but smooth. Refined. Nothing bursting out of where he wants it to be, and he’s fucking hideous and hateful and wearing it like a badge. Every shift of him is like a raised chin and a sneer.

You recognize him. You can’t place how, but you do.

“Dean needs to get better at tellin’ stories.” The demon hums, and even his vessel is twisted in a horrible, crude smirk. “Even all his fawnin’ and whinin’ didn’t manage to capture just how perfect you are.”

It’s so fucking wrong. In a way worse than Lilith, every fiber of your existence knows this demon is fucking wrong. And the Spiderweb hates him. It’s crawling and twisting in your body like it’s trying to fucking hide, stinging and whining as if just the demon’s presence makes it feel sick.

And he’d said Dean. 

He knows Dean. 

You do know him. 

The pieces snap together in a second, and you’re moving the next. Grabbing your knife out of your jacket and flying across the table, driving the blade right into the Alistair’s chest. 

Nothing happens. Alistair just laughs, pulling the knife out of his chest and examining it with a smirk.

“This that knife Dean got you, isn’t it.” Alistair raises his brows at you, and sighs when you only glare at him. “I’m tryin’ to have a conversation with you, you know-“

“I don’t want to have a conversation with you.” Your words are spat, and Alistair just rolls his eyes.

“There’s those dramatics I’ve heard about you havin’. Always so emotional,” he hums your name, sliding the knife back across the table. “I was building up to a compliment, sweetheart. Dean had good taste. I can feel a lot of anger and fear on that thing.”

The bile is back. It’s spilling into your voice. “What the fuck are you here for. I’ve stopped interfering-“

Alistair scoffs. “I don’t care about that. I woulda preferred you stick around, but Lilith said it wouldn’t work out in our favor if ya did. Shame. I was really lookin’ forward to killing Dean in front of you, then seeing what type of pain you’re really capable of causin’.”

“I-“ There’s something tight and horrible around your throat. “I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are.” Alistair smirks, scanning you over once more. “You want to know Dean’s worst nightmare?”

You really don’t. You’re only clinging to your knife like maybe it will summon Dean to your side, trying to wait Alistair out. 

The only other option is stirring deep, deep in your body. Starting to pick up and roll around. Shining bright enough to split through that gaping, infinite void of too much and nothing at all that seems to follow you with death.

And you can’t use the other option. So you just have to fucking hold on, and last through this new, awful thing.

“That boy has always been a little more creative than is good for him.” Alistair smiles, almost fondly, and you want to punch out his teeth. “Made him a beautiful subject, and a perfect student. But sometimes he’d get cold feet. All sad and whiny ‘bout hurtin’ people. But all I’d have to do is show him that nightmare of his. Dragged it from his head after about a year, and- Well, why don’t we just look together. Brace yourself, sweetheart. It’s a good one.”

Alistair reaches up, and before you can stop him, his hand is pressed to your brow.

You’re back in Hell. The screams and heat and colors running below your feet.

Not your feet. 

Lower than your feet. 

You’re suspend, on the same rack that you’ve seen before. And Dean’s right there. Golden, but tattered and mauled and frozen. Just staring at you, as something gray and horrible runs over your body, and you want to scream but you can’t breathe, and Dean’s still not moving.

The Gold is rioting, but Dean’s not moving.

Alistair laughs in your ear, and the Gold seems to be trying to press out, to get to you, but then it hits an invisible barrier, and Dean doesn’t move. 

You don’t think he can.

When the library comes back into focus, you’re panting. Every breath is too fast and short, your grip on the table driving splinters into your hands, and you can’t fucking breathe-

“Warned you.” Alistair hums, and his voice is driving right into your fucking brain. 

All you can see is Dean. Frozen, watching you with fear.

Dean was never afraid. He was angry and worried and stressed, but you’d never seen him look only afraid.

The Spiderweb is almost whimpering, shimmering with a soft light and still trying to bury itself deeper than Alistair can hurt it.

But the Silver-

It’s starting to move. To wake up.

Fuck.

“I’m gonna tell you a secret, darlin’. That little nightmare? It always was fun to feed, but it’s never gonna be the plan. I’m thinking, when we win and I get to take you home, we’ll find wherever the reapers stored sweet little Jo, and pull her out. To join the party, you know?”

The Silver rears its head. And you’re drawing blood on your skin, but your nails are short and chipped, and you still can’t really breathe-

“And then I’ll give Dean a choice. He can either torture Jo while you watch, or I’ll make his nightmare come true.” Alistair laughs to himself, and the Silver is starting to climb up. 

Or curve in. Building up by caving in. Like a fucking black hole, crushing down so it can-

“And he’ll choose you. He’ll hate himself for it, but you’re his girl. His Princess. He ain’t gonna do anythin’ that’ll hurt you. Not on purpose.”

The Silver is so close. But there are people here. People and animals, and a- You saw a fucking teenager, and she had a walk that kind of reminded you of Sam’s-

“But here’s the kicker,” Alistair says your name like you’re old friends. “After he finished chopping up Jo, I’d freeze him just like in his nightmare. And I wouldn’t touch you. That’s boring. If I’m makin’ art like this, I’m making it the right way.”

It’s going to fall out of your mouth. You can’t fucking control it, and all the Silver can feel is the pain of the Spiderweb, so all it knows is something’s wrong and you can’t stop it-

“No, here’s what I’ve got lined up instead. Good ol’ Sammy will be walkin’ around up here, well,” Alistair laughs. “His body will be. But point is, can’t use him. And I think what I’m left with will work better anyway.” Alistair’s smoke moves back into that ugly fucking smile, and the Silver reaches a stasis. A silence.

A split second before the storm.

“I’ll drag good ol’ Daddy Winchester out to play. Let him do whatever he wants, while Dean’s watchin’. And maybe it’ll just be what Dean did to Jo, but you never know.” Alistair smirks. “Those men of god never could resist a Magdalene.”

Everything stills. Moves to match the stasis of the Silver, and it’s almost serene. You’re everything, and it’s all waiting for you. The walls will fall to shield you. The wind will turn to a hurricane to protect you. The grass outside will grow and flourish to protect you.

And the Sky is smiling at you. You can feel it, and not just watching.

Over you. Shining with praise, because this, this is that holy wrath you’re supposed to have all the time. 

You don’t fucking want it.

You just want to go home.

Alistair smiles at you again, a second before you lose control.

“There you are.” 

You don’t know how he gets away in time. You can’t tell through how you’re everything, and you can’t see anything but the blur.

All you know is that you explode.

Detonate.

Destroy.

The Silver razes through all it can reach.The building turns to ruin, rivers of blood run under your feet—although, as far as you can see, there are no bodies—and the forests and walls start to bloom with flowers and plants you’ve never seen before. 

They’re beautiful. Strangely shaped and delicate, glowing softly and filled with an iridescent light. 

But it’s all beautiful. 

The apples hanging from the ceiling are beautiful. The small, condensed bits of life floating through the room are beautiful. The countryside, now littered with pastel blue roses, is beautiful. 

And the souls stained on the walls are beautiful, too. 

And you have to go.

The angels will be here soon.

That must be the real reason Alistair was looking for you. He’d taunted you right to the fucking edge, then pushed you over. Forced you to lose control, and send up that loud, neon signal telling Heaven I’m here! Come and get me!

And you’ve been so fucking careful not to draw attention, but it’s not really up to you anymore.

Because the Silver’s been like this since Jo. Dormant and silent until it’s forced to move, and then reactionary. Worse than a live wire, worse than a sickness, worse than a monster.

Damnation. 

That must be why the angels are still after you, even though you did what they asked. Even though you left.

Zachariah had said to muzzle you.

And you weren’t muzzled.

You were feral.

And now you have to run again.

But you don’t want to be the sickness. You don’t want to be what the Sky keeps demanding of you. Blinking down over you and asking doesn’t it feel good, to have this kind of might in your body, to not be burdened by things lower than you are?

Nothing is lower than you are. They might not be talking to the Sky, but it’s lonely. Higher than anything else, but that seems to be more of a curse than a gift. And all the things it keeps telling you are lower are made of more than the Sky is. Every soul spilled on the ground around you is a little dented and tainted, but it’s beautiful.

It’s all so beautiful. 

You need to go. It’s not safe for you to stay. 

But you do. For longer than you should allow, you grab every soul you can and shove it back into its body. And you can’t heal them. Can’t fix whatever damage the Silver has done, because you can’t call it forward to mend what it broke. They’ll be alive, but maybe different. Maybe completely morphed, maybe just a little cracked, maybe shattered beyond repair. But they’ll be alive. And even if you could fix them, the Sky might decide you were overstepping again, and rip them right back out. 

It never stops you from cleaning, though. From finishing your little ritual. It shines in warning, but you flip it off.

“You’ve got something you want from me,” you hiss, narrowing your eyes. “Come and get it your fucking self.”

It doesn’t.

It just keeps watching.

So you run.

You don’t stop until dusk. Until you’re sure you’re far enough away that whatever angels Heaven sent won’t find you. 

And this is how it is now. You move from town to town like some sort of phantom. You miss Dean every second, but you can’t go home. You dodge angels and read in the dead of night, staring at your phone and willing it to-

You jump out of your skin a little, when the screen lights up. 

Possible Spam.

You’ve never picked up the phone faster.

Dean’s shouting your name through the speaker, when the call connects. There’s something strained in his voice. Almost distressed.

You raise your voice, just enough to get through to him. “De-“

“Oh, thank fucking- Son of a bitch, sweetheart, I- Are you good? Safe?”

“I’m fine.” You draw your knees up to your chest, trying to make your voice sound light. “It’s just- Long day-“

“I know about Alistair.” 

You freeze, and Dean’s voice grows a little hoarse. 

“He admitted it. Told me he’s seen you. It’s- We’re working one of the seals and he’s here, and I- He said-“

“He didn’t hurt me.” You whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. “He was just taunting me. Trying to make me- You know. Do the thing.”

Dean’s silent for a long, heavy second. “Happened again, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Any progress on-“

“No.”

Dean lets out a dry laugh. “You didn’t even let me finish talking.”

“I-“ You swallow, a heavy lump starting to form in your throat. “I’m sorry-“

“Hey, wait, don’t- I’m teasing you, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice is so gentle. You can almost see the slightly panicked look on his face. “Don’t cry, it’s okay, you’re good-“

You’d been trying not to cry.

You really had. 

But you miss him. And you’re so fucking tired.

It’s impossible to swallow the choked sounds or whimpers. The sniffling as you wipe your nose with your sleeve, or the heavy breathing as a weight pressed onto your chest. You don’t want Dean to hear. You know he’s still dealing with the seals, and an angry Bobby—although Dean won’t admit they’re fighting about you, you know they are—and a Sam that’s still working with Ruby. He doesn’t need to hear you cry when you’re the one who fucking left. You’re the one who wouldn’t stay. 

You’d hated Dean so long for leaving you, so many years ago.

But then you fucking left him.

And he’s staying on the phone with you. Not speaking, but humming low and deep as your head drops to your knees, and your breathing evens out.

It’s steady.

Ragged and impossible, but steady. 

“De- I-“ You swallow, wiping your cheeks with your palm. “I wanna go home. I miss Bobby and Sam and I- I don’t know what to do. I miss you, and I can’t sleep, and I-“

I love you.

You’re not allowed to say it.

So you just strangle yourself on the sound, and hold the phone as close to your ear as you can.

“I know.” Dean’s voice is a rasp through the speaker, and it makes a new wave of tears fall. “Just come home, Princess- I- Fuck, I’ll call Cas and he’ll come get you right now-“

“I can’t.” You whisper. “You know I can’t.”

“But-“

“Please. Don’t.”

Dean can’t beg you to come home. 

If he does, just as always, you’d listen.

“Did-“ Dean clears his throat, and you’re grateful. He listened. “What did Alistair say to you? To set it off?”

You can’t tell Dean what Alistair really said. He’d drive himself mad about it. Doing something reckless, get himself hurt. And all of this is always just so Dean doesn’t get hurt.

But you can’t lie to him either. 

“Jo.” You mumble, leaning back and rubbing at your wrists. “You. Sam. Just- What he’d do, if they win.”

“Fucking bastard.” Dean mutters, and you smile into the air. 

You miss his glare. The firm one that he’s always aim at you, but never hurt you. It was always a glare that wrapped around you. Told you he was angry because he cared, and didn’t know how to do anything with it.

He still cares.

Dean knows what the past month has been for you. Nightmares and explosions, souls staining the ground and painted over your hands—although they always fade fast, as nothing but Jo seems to be clinging to you longer than it has to—and never getting more control or answers.

You only find more questions. More reasons to stay away. And Dean should give up on you, but that’s not what he does. You know how pissed he is at Sam, but he’s not giving up on dragging him away from Ruby. He wouldn’t.

Just like how he’s only ever held you when everything became too much. Only ever gone to help, whenever Sammy called. Had held you and tried to make you stay, after Jo.

And he still picks up the phone. Still calls you, even when you know that—wherever he is in America—it’s an unreasonable hour. Talks to you like nothing has ever gone wrong at all. Asks you to come home like it’s not ripping out and healing your heart all at once. 

“You know I’d never let that happen, right?”

You blink, frowning at the wall. “What?”

“Alistair.” Dean mutters. “No matter what happens. He’s never gonna touch you.”

I’ll drag good ol’ Daddy Winchester out to play.

You know. You know I love you, baby.

“I know.” You whisper, even though you both know that’s not really up to Dean. “How was your day?”

“Kinda shit. You?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Kinda shit, too.”

“You could come home, and our days could be shit together-“

“Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah. Alright. Had to try.”

He did. He always does. And he’s nothing more than a voice in a box, but the Spiderweb still lights up under his attention. Still thrives from just to sound of Dean saying your name and telling you about astral projection, and you could fucking swear you smell spice-

“It felt fuckin’ weird,” Dean mutters your name, and you can hear something moving in the background. “I was solid, but it was soupy.”

You smile into the air. “Soupy?”

“Yeah, like chowder-“

“Those are two different feelings, De.”

“No they’re both globby.”

“Globby-“

“It works- Sammy!” 

You hear Sam’s voice grumble something in the background, and wait patiently.

“Being all ghost-like felt globby, right?”

“You sound insane, Dean.”

That breaks through, and you giggle.

“Hey.” Dean’s voice is a little firmer. He’s talking to you. “I heard that. It’s not my fault Sammy isn’t a poet like me-“

Sam snorts in the background. “I heard you say soupy before. Are you talking to-“

“Yes.” Dean snaps. “She’s mine, Sammy. You can’t have her.”

He means the phone. You know he means the phone. 

It still makes the Spiderweb fucking shine.

“I just wanna ask her about a seal-“

“Call her later.”

“But-“

“No. Back off, or I’ll shit on your bed.”

“That’s so gross- Dean-“

A door slams on Dean’s end, and Sam’s voice goes muffled.

“Sorry about that, Princess. Don’t know who let Bigfoot into my hotel room like that.”

You hum, smiling like an idiot at your knees. “You know, one day he’s really gonna get sick of you doing that. It’s the third time this week.”

“Nah.” There’s a pause. “Are you getting sick of me, Princess?”

Sam’s right. He’s insane. “No.”

“You sure? Not finding some other guy with a sweet ride-“

“I’m not looking, De.” You whisper before you can stop yourself. “And nobody’s got a better ride than you, car boy.”

"Thanks.” Dean mumbles, clearing his throat. “I’m taking care of the Firebird. Drive her once a week-“

“He.”

"What?”

“My car. It’s a he.”

Dean pauses. “You, uh- You named him?”

“Not yet.” You shrug. “I’m brainstorming.”

“How about Dean Junior-“

“No.”

You only get a laugh in response, and this night doesn’t hurt as much as the others. You talk to Dean until the sun rises, and he mutters that his phone is about to die, and Sam will kill him if they’re not on the road early tomorrow. You don’t say goodbye, when you hang up. You never say goodbye. 

Instead the line goes dead, you shuffle out to find coffee, and return to your room for the rest of the day. You’re in no rush. You’re safe—for now—and all your work lives in reading and researching. Going over the emails Sam has sent you and responding with what you find. Combing through your own books for some sort of fucking clue. How many other Magdalenes there were. What they brought. How they controlled it, if it was something that could be controlled. So far all you have are a big do not attempt warnings on burnt pages,  a bunch of fake Magdalene spells—like plastic knockoffs of what you’ve found in the book, and made yourself—and the Sky watching you.

Nothing ever mentions the Sky. And it’s not like you’ve found anything explicit about Magdalenes. But you’ve learned to spot patterns. Clues. Draw timelines and pour over history books until you passed out, Dean called you, or something went wrong.

It would be lovely and simple, if you’d taught yourself that.

But it isn’t. And you didn’t.

“I heard you killed an angel.”

You’d spun around, and there she’d been. Standing in the corner of your room, smiling at you with that awful affection.

“That’s impressive, little one.” Lilith had hummed, her smiling growing. “Even I could never have done that, even at my brightest.”

“Cool.” You’d mumbled, rubbing at your wrists as you watched her. “How did you find me?”

“We are the same.” Lilith had shrugged. “You might be more, and but I can still know. You’d know too, if you just thought about it. And it took a little extra effort to find you, but I had to. You put on quite a show, almost locking all the seals. If those fucking uptight featherdicks hadn’t interfered, you might have succeeded. I mean, maybe if I’d sent the cavalry, too. But Ruby was begging me not to send Alistair himself. You did quite a number on her.”

“Ruby-“

“That’s not for you to worry about.” Lilith had waved you off like it was nothing. “I’d be concerned with yourself, little one. The angels are starting to look for their master, and mine- He will be here soon. And you should be ready. And I am reaching my purpose, but I can’t wait to learn, one day, what you do”

“I-“ You’d shaken your head, walking back to the wall. The Sky had flashed out the window.

If Lilith could see or feel it, she didn’t show it.

“I don’t- I’m not going to serve-“

“No, you won’t.” Lilith had hummed. “If you’re smart, they will bow at your feet for all of time to come, and you will never be a toy to those vile fucking animals again-“

“I-“ Your voice had been so small. You’d pushed through. “I’m not a toy-“

“Not now, little one. But you’re still attached to Dean Winchester. I can see him all over you.” She’d shivered. “You’ll get through it. We all have. Even I had a Dean, but- It doesn’t matter. Men of God. Doesn’t matter which one you chose, they are all the same in the end.”

And there it is again. Your hand freezes over your notes—a mindless scribble of Dean’s name in Enochian half-written—as the memory echoes, and you put it together.

Men of God.

Alistair had said it. So had Anna, before you crushed her like some sort of bug. 

And Anna had been an angel. She knew enough to know your name was written in places in Heaven that Castiel has never seen.

Lilith had spoken of them like they were everywhere. She’s said that all of you had one. That yours was another case of being special—more complicated—but you still needed to be stronger. That they always promise freedom, only to try and cut you up and morph you and put you in a cage.

Dean would never do that. He’d set you free. 

He was waiting for you.

You’d worry about that later. Right now, for the first time since you left, you had something.

It’s a good thing Europe is full of churches.

The months start to blur together, the longer you’re away. You didn’t expect it to be immediate, but it has to be something. Lilith, Alistair, and Anna wouldn’t all say Men of God only for it to just be some kind of weird Heaven and Hell phase. It’ll only take time. And you’ll comb through every library and visit every church and do whatever the fuck you need for just one answer.

And it does seem to be a marker. Every Magdalene you’ve found—Lilith had been right, you’d just had to try, and it would call to you like some distorted song—has had someone in their orbit. And there has to be a reason. Even if no one can place what the Magdalenes are outside of danger and change, even if there’s no idea for how you were made or why you exist, it can’t just be a coincidence.

Dean says there are no coincidences in this life. 

He’s usually right about this kind of stuff. He’s usually right about most stuff. 

And whatever Men of God are, Dean isn’t one. Not the way Lilith says, at least. He’s yours, but the Magdalenes you’ve found always ended up betrayed or abandoned by theirs. Dean would never do that. Even if he doesn’t love you, he just wouldn’t. That’s another thing he doesn’t do. 

Run away.

He’s stronger than you are. It’s why, whenever you run, he really has been always so good at catching you. At wrapping you up and keeping you safe, when he should’ve put you down. 

And Lilith had said the one you chose.

Dean’s never been a choice. He just is. You love him because he’s Dean, and that’s better than anything. He’s never been just one star you picked from the sky. 

He’s been full of gravity, like a planet. Not a flower from a garden, but a strong, unbreakable tree that could be split with lightning and still be the prettiest thing you’d ever seen. Not a rock from the ocean, but an island that you’d always returned to, because there’s nowhere better to rest.

And there are more differences—between you and the other Magdalenes—the longer you look. Some of them have been labelled as crazy or hysterical, but none of them are ever mentioned talking about all the colors. None of them ever claim to see demons and angels. 

Not one mentions the Sky. 

That seems to be another horrible, awful, exhausting thing that’s just for you. 

And time keeps passing. You keep reading and reading and finding something that’s really nothing, and nothing that looks like something, but it’s just a trick of the light. Things keep going wrong—a woman grabs your wrist in a coffee shop, you walk into a church and the stained glass begins to glow, you see an angel on the street and wipe them out with the whole block—and the Sky keeps watching. 

It doesn’t seem to mind you looking for answers. It almost seems to hum whenever you find something. A tattered page in a church catacomb, that’s a similar—but less detailed—to your own notebook. Colors and names scribbled in a French, like a personal guide. And then there’s the half-burnt, Portuguese version of the Book, and another Magdalene buried Florence, Italy.

You can go to Florence. 

You can raid a grave, to see if her bones are made of anything that tells you how she controlled it. If she left you anything. She must have. 

She did.

Maps of Heaven and Hell. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do with them, or how she got them, but you know the Sky is happy you have them. 

Lately, the Sky only ever seems angry when Dean calls. 

You always pick up anyway.

“Hi, De.”

“Hey, Princess. You still in-“

“Nope. Nice try, though.”

He sighs. “Had to take the shot. How was your day?”

You smile into the air. “It was… long.”

“Did you eat?”

You’re silent for a second too long, and Dean snaps your name.

“Goddamnit, you need to-“

“I know.” You sigh. “I just- I got distracted, I promise. I got a new book, and it’s just regular witchcraft, but maybe Cas could use it-“

“Actually, uh-“ Dean clears his throat. “We kinda lost Cas.”

“You- How?”

“He’s a human again. We’re working on it, but Sammy-“ Dean lets out a long, heavy breath, and you sigh.

“Is Ruby still-“

“Yeah.”

“Did you tell him-“

“He won’t listen.” Dean mutters. “Thinks you must have misunderstood, or that Lilith was just messing with you.”

“But-“

“I know, Princess. But- I- Can you talk? Please?”

You swallow, staring up at the ceiling. You’d told Dean, what Lilith had mentioned about Ruby begging her. You’d hoped it would be some sort of evidence, to prove to Sam that Ruby can’t be trusted.

But Dean says he went a little off the deep end, after you left. That he thinks he should’ve been stronger and not gotten knocked out, or been more cautious about the ritual, or done more so you didn’t lose Jo. So you didn’t leave.

Whenever you talk to him, he never mentions it. That you left. And it’s not in the way Dean does, where he just knows you’ll come back. It’s a little hollow. His voice sounds heavier all the time, but more determined all at once.

Dean just sounds tired.

And it rips the Spiderweb in half.

“What do you wanna talk about, De?”

He lets out what might be a long breath of relief. “I, uh- I don’t know. What did you do today?”

“Read. A lot. I started looking at a map-“

“A map?” You can hear Dean’s frown in his voice. It’s adorable. “What, you hunting for treasure without me?”

“It’s a map of heaven. And,” you smile into the air, and you hope he can hear it. “I’d never hunt for treasure without you. There is no one else I’d rather treasure hunt with.”

“Damn. Not even Bobby?”

“I don’t think Bobby would be all that good at treasure hunting.” You shrug. “He’d get bored, and say that this kinda shit is pointless anyway.”

“Yeah,” Dean’s soft laugh is a little muffled through the phone. “You’re right about that. How about Sammy?”

“He’d be fine. Do you not want to go treasure hunting with me, Deano?”

He snorts. “Princess, if I ever go treasure hunting with anyone, I’d want it to you.”

“Thanks.” You mumble. “Why?”

“Cause you’re smart, and you’ve seen a billion of those freakin’ treasure movies. You’ve studied, sweetheart. You’re a nerd.”

You scoff. “Well, if I ever need to commit crimes for the good of the community, I’ll call you, Cowboy.”

“Aw, you think I’m a Cowboy-“

“Dean-“

Dean cuts you off with a tsk, and suddenly you can see him. It’s just in your head, but it’s so close to real. Standing in front of you with a boyish, cocky smirk, his eyes alight on yours, every bit of him so fucking Golden, and all focused on you. Handsome. Always handsome. His hair a little spiky and out of place, his nose a little more crooked than the last time you saw him, but his body just as broad, and-

You can feel an ache between your legs, and it only deepens when he drawls your name.

Shit.

“I gotta tell you a secret, Princess.” Dean hums, and you swallow. “Our job is doing crimes for the good of the community. And you’re the best damn criminal I know.”

You flush, and the ache gets worse. “Shut up.”

“Bossy-“

“And I’m not a criminal-“

“Yeah, you are.” Dean laughs. “But it’s okay, we’re all criminals. You and me would’ve run the wild west, sweetheart, I’ll tell you that much.”

Your ditzy, slightly stupid smile is back. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah. Sammy would be the sheriff, and Bobby would run the bar, and I’d be the awesome, lone cowboy passing through the town. I’d stop at the bar look for a drink but instead I’d find you-“ Dean cuts himself off with a cough. “And Bobby. And instead of just passin’ through, I’d plant my roots, and team up with the sheriff to take care of the town.”

He might be the most adorable person on the planet. “You’ve thought about it. Sam might be right about that cowboy fetish, De-“

“It’s not-“ He groans, and the sound doesn’t help your situation. “They’re cool. They’re really freakin’ cool, and they’ve got awesome hats. Is it so wrong to like something?”

“No.” You hum. “But that’s a fantasy, Winchester. You have a cowboy fantasy. And you call me a nerd.”

Dean’s silent. For a little too long, Dean’s silent. And right when you’re about to ask if he’s still there, he mutters your name. “’S nice to have a fantasy, Princess. Something to want. Bet you have them too.”

You do. 

You have two. 

The first one you think of is the one that always slams into you like a blow to your gut. It’s made of Jo. Of what you’d told her, the last night she was alive. Of a world where her fantasy was reality. And that’s what you think of there, and you break down on the phone with Dean—again—and he stays on the line through it. 

The second one makes you feel like a piece of fucking shit. Because you sob to Dean about how you miss Jo, and you want to come home, and you’re still looking for answers but everything still fucking hurts—it always fucking hurts, it never stops hurting, the only way to stop hurting is to stop being and you’ve never figured out how to do that—and then he goes. With a soft reminder to call him tomorrow, or text if you can’t, Dean has to leave and deal with human Cas.

And you’re worse than a monster. 

Because when you’re done sniffling into your pillow, your head wanders back to Dean’s words.

Bet you have them too.

His voice had been so deep—and it’s always been deep, but it only seems to get deeper—and a little like a lullaby. A low, soothing promise that’s vibrated in your bones when he’s held you, and still sparks in your blood whenever you hear it.

And you can still see him, in your head. Broad and strong, soft in all the right places and grinning at you. Always grinning at you, and touching you. Dean’s touched you. He’s had hands skimming right under your shirt and resting on your hips, and he’s held you by your lower back so often, but never on bare skin. 

It lights you on fire. 

And you have fantasies.

You might have a lot of fantasies.

They’re all made of the memory of Dean’s lips on yours, and his taste on your tongue, and the warmth and Gold of him being everywhere. It would feel better than heaven, if he’d hold you right against him, his palm splayed over your lower back, his voice moving right through your body as you grind down onto his thigh. Calling you Princess and his and teasing you until you’re scratching at his back, and he’s just chuckling.

C’mon, baby girl. Just a little more, I’ve got you, you’re doing so good. That’s it, scream my name-

“Dean!”

You cum with a shaking body, and short, shallow gasp.

When your eyes fly open, you realize that scream wasn’t a part of the fantasy. That was loud, for anyone to hear as you’d orgasmed, grinding onto the sheets and pretending your hands on your breast were Dean’s.

The pricking, sickening shame hits you so fast. Jo’s still gone. Dean’s not even here, and you’re turning him into something he might not even want to be. Not for you. He’d been looking for comfort, and you’d made him your fantasy.

But he is your fantasy. 

No matter how you try to push it down, now that the idea has crossed your mind, before you sleep you think of Dean.

Something must be wrong with you. Your days are spent staring at books and rubbing at your wrists, looking over your shoulder to make sure there’s no one behind you. No one to try and hurt you, only for their soul to end up splattered all over the ground. Someone tries to get your attention on the street again, and a redwood shoots out of the ground in Germany. You see a man that looks an awful lot like Ketch in a cafe—already putting you on edge—and then a little blonde girl with the same eyes Jo has starts crying, and a Javan tiger is seen running through Austria.

You don’t know how you’re doing it. Only that the Silver detonates, and everything is destroyed and remade all at once. You can’t find any records of that happening to other Magdalenes—or, really, at all—but you’re still looking.

You’ve found that Men of God is seeming to be a loose term—maybe a title—more than a solid rule. And when the trail runs dry on Magdalenes, you shift back to witchcraft. It’s easy, even without the Silver, and it makes you feel like maybe you’re being useful.

Not just running and destroying and sitting in the dirt near a river, staring at the blue on your hands.

Jo would like it here. She would like all the sun and beer, and she would like how the hotel shampoo smells, and she would love all the stray animals and stupid, fancy wines. She would drawl that all wine is wine, but this tastes like rippin’ off rich idiots. 

You stole a bottle for her, and poured it into the river. Then you just sit there. Ignoring the Sky over you, pretending that when you stand up things will be better.

They won’t.

Jo’s still gone, and it’s still so fucking hollow. You’re trying to eat more, for her. Trying to sleep more too. You’re getting better at it, as the time passes. At not dying from self-neglect.

And she would’ve wanted you to talk to Dean. To let him convince you to come home, so he could hold you until it hurt a little less.

You don’t want it to hurt less. When it hurts it means you’re thinking about her, and if you stop thinking about her—sobbing on the riverbank, watching your fingers because one day the blue will fade and you don’t know what you’ll do—then who will. Someone has to be in pain for this. Someone has to pay, you’d already killed Anna, and Zachariah seems pretty fucking occupied with Sam and Dean. 

Pain, numb and hollow and vast and fucking crushing—pressing on your lungs and head, faint in the background until it slams into you and breathing becomes a labor—is a price you deserve to pay. 

So the days pass, and they’re lonely and repetitive, as the Sky keeps watching.

But your nights are spent collapsing on the bed, and calling Dean.

“Are the souls different? Wherever you are?”

You smile at the ceiling. “I mean, they’re different soul to soul.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, sweetheart-“

“They’re the same as home, De. All souls are the same.”

“Huh. You, uh,” he clears his throat. “You see any other golden souls?”

You can’t stop your laugh. You’ve never seen another golden soul. Not like Dean’s. And even if you did, no soul is made of the same primal, pure thing his and Sam’s are. 

“What’s funny-“

“Nothing, it’s-“ You shake your head. “No. I haven’t seen any other souls like yours.”

Dean grunts, and you can picture his pouting scowl. “Alright. Good. But- I still don’t get why you were laughing, Princess.”

“It’s a soul joke. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Can you help me get it?”

“Dean-“

“C’mon. I show you stuff all the time. Taught you to drive stick, showed you how to clean a gun even though you never use them, explained all the work I did on the Firebird-“

“I didn’t ask you to do that one.”

“Yeah, but you were listening. You liked it.”

You had liked it. But that had been more to do with how—when he’d been talking—he’d been covered in grease and wearing a really tight shirt, smiling at you like there was never anything else to do and bouncing around like there’s never been any pain at all. 

Dean doesn’t need to know that.

“I- Souls are really complicated-“

“I don’t care. Just-“ Dean pauses, sighing into the speaker. “I wanna hear you talk, Princess. It’s been a long fuckin’ week, and I- How about this. If you tell me about souls, I’ll teach you whatever you want, when you get home. Pinky promise.”

You swallow, and suddenly there’s a very clear image of Dean above you, his hand in your hair and his lips curved in a wide smirk as he guides you up and down his-

Fuck.

“I, um,” You pause, trying to regain control over your voice. “What do you wanna know?”

“I dunno. Explain the joke?”

“It’s- It’s not really that funny, I’m just tired-“

“You been sleeping?”

No. You’ve been talking to Dean and drinking coffee and you’re pretty sure you can feel every single nerve in your body, but that’s not the point. “Yes.”

“Lie. You need to fuckin’ sleep-“

You cut of Dean’s snap of your name with a sigh. “Are you sleeping?”

There’s a beat, and his response is so low you almost don’t hear it. “No.”

“Then shut up and stop telling me what to do.”

Dean chuckles. “So bossy, b- Princess-“

“Do you want to hear about the souls or not?”

“Yeah, alright. Go.”

You don’t explain it all. You tell him more about how souls tend to move and blend together, twining with other souls and staining each other in more and more colors until it’s almost kaleidoscopic. You mention the elements, but you’re vague—only that they all made of different things, not that you know what those different things are—because if you explain too much, Dean will ask what element he’s made of, and you’re not even sure what an honest answer would be.

To be fair, you never explain it all. You tell Dean you’re getting more leads on Magdalenes, but not a word about the Men of God, because he’ll freak out. You’ve explained all your outbursts, but never told him about the Sky. You never tell anyone about the Sky, because it makes you sound fucking crazy. Even in this life, saying the Sky is watching me and it hates when I talk to you, Deano would end with a strange look. Just like when you were a kid, telling your mother that the Sky is watching me, and making me promises, and I don’t want them. I don’t. I’m scared and I want to go home.

“Is it ever- Can you turn it off?” You can hear Dean’s frown through the phone. “I mean, that sounds like you’re being shoved into one of the carnival funhouses all the damn time.”

“That’s… Not far off.”

“But it’s gotta hurt your eyes or some shit-“

“I’m used to it,” you mumble, running your thumb over your palm. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to-“

“Dean. It is what it is.”

“Yeah, but- It shouldn’t be.” He lets out a long breath, and tears start to prick at your eyes. “There’s gotta be something that helps.”

You. You help, Dean. You’re so Golden it’s impossible to think about anything else.

“Maybe start looking for that?” Dean hums, and the lump starts to form in your throat. “How to control the soul-vision shit?”

“Soul vision?” You smile, even though it’s crushing over your ribs. “Creative, De.”

“Shut up. You love it.”

I love you. “I don’t hate it.”

“Good. Maybe work on-“

“But I don’t want to turn it off.” You glance down at your hands, and your voice is far too soft. Dean with be able to hear. “I- I can’t turn it off, Dean.”

He mutters your name, and you shake your head. 

“I- I can’t. She’s still on me, her soul is still on me, and if I stop seeing it, she’s gone.” You’re breathing too shallow. You can’t stop. “I can’t let her be gone like this too, I couldn’t- It’s all I’ve got left, it’s the only piece of her left and only I can see it- And if- I- She can’t be gone, Dean, I can’t let her be gone-“

“I know.” Dean mutters, his voice so low and soothing, even through the choppy speaker. “I know sweetheart, I’m sorry-“

“I wanna come home.” You whisper, and Dean goes silent. “I miss you, and I don’t-“ I’m scared. I’m scared and I want to go home. “Dean, I don’t know- Please.”

You don’t know exactly what you’re asking for. But somehow, Dean does. 

“It’s gonna be okay. I promise it’s gonna be okay. I’ll send Cas out for you right now, if you want-“

You make a strangled noise, and Dean’s voice gets stronger. Firmer.

“Or we can just keep talking. You wanna keep talking, ba- Sweetheart?”

You nod, and even though he can’t see you, Dean still knows. Still understands. It rips another small, weak sound from your throat.

“I ate some pie, yesterday.” Dean hums, his voice still low and careful, and you let out a soft laugh.

“You eat pie every day, De.”

“Yeah, but this was cream pie. You’d like it, it had a bunch of chocolate on the top, and it was fucking full of that stuff they put in the donuts-“

“Cream?” You smile at the ceiling, and you don’t know how he does this. Every single time, even when he’s just a voice, Dean brings you back down. “I think it’s just cream, De.”

“Alright, whatever. Point is this thing is stuffed with cream-“

He can’t be doing this on purpose. You wouldn’t put it past Dean to do it on purpose, but this is the kind of thing he would talk about to see Sam get uncomfortable. But all you can think about is how even his voice is fucking pretty, and he keeps saying stuffed and cream and filled, and your skin is prickling with an aching, pleasant warmth, your thighs starting to press back together.

And Dean does eventually have to go. Once he’s satisfied with your lack of hyperventilation and the steadiness of your voice, he mutters that he has to go deal with Sam.

“Get some rest,” He mutters your name, and you swallow. “Or I’ll track you down and make you.”

The line cuts off before you can respond, and this is the part where something is wrong with you. You’re a fucking mess. Your cheeks are still stained with tears, and you’d been sobbing less than half an hour ago, but now you’re wet. Dripping. Your fingers trail between your legs, and over and over the sound of Dean saying you’d like the cream pie, Princess, replays in your head. The one time in his life that Dean wasn’t making an innuendo, you’re losing your mind with hunger for him.

And there are the fantasies. 

Dean over you in bed—you don’t really care which one, as long as Dean is there—and his fingers shoved into your cunt as he kisses all over your face. And you’re breathless and clinging to him, but he’s holding you just as tight, and when he buries himself fully inside of you, he lets out a low groan right in your ear-

I’ve got you. I love you, baby. You know I love you.

You don’t. Dean’s never said that. But Dean’s voice has. And it spoke with a long drawl and soft affection. Your mind is taking that and running with it. 

You cum with another gasp of Dean, your back arching off the bed, and you try not to think about it when you roll over and gather the blankets until they’re in a vague shape of Dean for you to hold all night.

And the Sky doesn’t get to see it. You always close the curtains when Dean calls, because you’re going to keep picking up the phone.

You’ll keeping missing him, too. And loving him.

And dreaming of him. 

You never stop dreaming of Dean.

“No wanderin’ off.” Bobby grunts, scanning around the room. 

It’s big. Almost as big as the rooms in your family’s house. There’s something different about it, though. Even though the air is colder, there’s a warmth to the walls and a comfort to the floor. 

You don’t tell Bobby that. Not because he wouldn’t want to know, but because he already has enough to worry about. 

“I’m not gonna wander.” You mumble, picking at the skin of your nails. “Promise.”

Bobby snorts. “I wish I believed you, kiddo.”

“Bobby-“

“I trust you.” He says your name carefully, holding your gaze. “But you like exploring and testin’ my fuckin’ blood pressure. I told you not to get distracted by the house, and what did you do?”

You pout at your shoes. “I sang on the staircase.”

“And why don’t we wanna do that.”

“Cause there’s an ubume running around.”

“Cause there’s a-“ Bobby pauses, frowning at you. “A what?”

“Ubume.”

“I ain’t sure what that is-“

“It’s the spirit of a woman who died in childbirth.” You mumble. “They’re not usually violent, but sometimes they try to steal children. And they like rocks, and there are all those rocks outside.”

Bobby blinks down at you, and shakes his has. “Fuckin’-“

“I’m sorry-“

“You’re righ-“ He cuts himself off, frowning down at you. “The hell are you sorry for?”

“I- I don’t-“ You swallow, the Darkness starting to turn out and press under your skin. “I don’t know.”

“Wel, ya shouldn’t be.” Bobby shrugs. “You’re right. The kids have been gettin’ the worst of it, so- They’re called ubumes?”

You nod, and Bobby sighs. 

“You’re not in trouble, kiddo. You can relax.”

“But I- I wasn’t supposed to get involved with the hunt-“

Bobby runs a hand over his face. “I told ya that cause I didn’t want you tryin’ to take on this shit yourself. But if you know somethin’ I might not, always say it. Deal?”

You nod nervously, and Bobby extends his hand.

“C’mon, kiddo. If we can wrap this up by the afternoon, I’ll let ya go back to the staircase.”

Your eyes widen, even as you take his hand. “But the family-“

“They ain’t home. What they don’t know ain’t gonna hurt them.”

“Who aren’t we hurting?”

You blink, and turn to see Dean next to you. 

Once again, you’re a little taller than before. And Bobby seems completely unaware of Dean’s presence, still running through the script of the memory as you walk through the house. 

“A rich family from California,” you explain, Dean trailing behind you. “Bobby heard about their haunting, and he decided to take care of it while they were out of town. I got to come because Rufus was busy, and I’d been having a lot of freak outs, so he didn’t want to leave me alone.”

“Huh.” Dean nods slowly. “Why are you holding his hand?”

“Because right now, I’m eleven.” You pause, and extend your free hand to Dean. 

He takes it without question, falling right into pace at your side and leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Where are we going?”

“To kill the ubume.”

“What the fuck is an abummy-“

“Oo-BU-me.” You hum, and when Bobby settles in the families kitchen—where you’d been keeping all the books and weapons—your hand doesn’t leave Dean’s. “Dead pregnant lady ghost.”

“Huh. And you killed it?”

“Bobby killed it.” You shrug, watching the younger version of Bobby shuffle around the room, asking you questions that in real life you’d answered, but in the dream are only met with an echo of your words as you keep talking to Dean. “I wasn’t allowed to leave the salt circle.”

“Why-“

“She was napping kids. I was a kid.” You sigh, resting your head on Dean’s shoulder. “And if he tried to take me, I would’ve lost it. And if I lost it, I probably would’ve had an even bigger freak out about losing it.”

Dean hums, keeping your hands interlocked as he slings an arm over your shoulder, pulling you right into his side. “Did you? Lose it?”

“Not today, no. This hunt ends with the ubume ganked-“

Dean smirks. “You said ganked.”

“Shut up-“

“Bossy-“

“You gonna listen, Winchester?”

“Sorry, baby.” He’s still grinning, leaning down to press a kiss to your brow. “Keep goin’.”

Baby. I love you, baby.

Fuck.

“It’s not important.” You mumble. “I get to sing the Goodnight song from the Sound of Music on the stairs.”

“Oh, I remember that.”

You frown at him. “You-“

“You told me about it. When we worked that mall case. You said you wouldn’t sing for me, cause you wouldn’t kill for me.” Dean leans down, his lips brushing over your ear, his voice sending a shiver up your spine. “Would you kill for me now, Princess?”

“I-“ You swallow, turning your head to meet his gaze.

Mistake.

He’s so close. And even though you know this is a dream, he still looks so fucking real. Golden and pretty. All you’ve ever wanted. 

All you ever could want. 

“I think I would’ve killed for you then.” You whisper, and he blinks.

“And now?”

“I’d do anything.” You can tell him that. This isn’t real, so you’re not breaking any rules by telling him. “You’re- I-“

“I know.” He mutters, and he doesn’t kiss you on the lips. Dean just wraps his arms fully around your body, pulling you right into his chest and combing his fingers through your hair. “Me too. I- I miss you, Princess. I need you to come home.”

Your fingers curl in his shirt. “I want to, De. I- I’m so tired. And it hurts. It always hurts. This fucking sucks.”

He lets out a dry laugh. “It really fucking does. But life’s a bitch, sweetheart. Always gonna hurt. Better to have each other for it.”

“Alright.” You giggle into his body. “When did you get so wise?”

“When I started missing my girl all the time.”

You sigh. “She misses you too.”

“I know. But I hope she knows-“

There’s a bang on your door, and it rips you away from your dream. Away from Dean.

And the Silver is stirring. Nothing has happened but another loud, almost violent knock, but the Silver is already starting to hum and writhe.

That can’t be anything good.

You lay flat on your back, holding your breath until you’re a little light-headed. If it’s nothing, and the Silver is just going haywire, the knocking will stop. Whoever’s on the other side of the door will give up and move on.

But you’ve never been that lucky.

A bored, taunting voice says your name, and the sound is muffled through the door, but you still recognized the fancy, stupid accent.

Fuck.

“We know you’re in there, darling.” Ketch hums from outside. “It’ll so much easier for everyone if we cut to the chase, and you let us take you in.”

You stay silent, but your hands move to your wrists. You’ve been rubbing them until your skin was a little red and raw, and it stings to the touch, and the Silver is starting to turn and turn. It might not be the worst thing to explode on Ketch and whoever else he’s brought. But you’re in a cheap inn, and you’d passed a family when you were checking in. You won’t be in enough control to stop the damage from hitting them too. 

But if Ketch tries to grab you, you’re not going to be able to stop yourself, either. 

If you were a little better of a person, you’d let Ketch take you. You should be locked up. Contained. Kept where you’ll never hurt anyone, ever again.

But you’d never see Dean again, either. And you’d vanish, and he’s think you’d abandoned him. That you’d given up, or really run away, when it was supposed to be all the way down.

You’d promised Dean all the way down.

You’d promised Jo you’d be okay.

So you can’t go without a little some sort of fight. You’ll try and keep the Silver down, but if Ketch thinks this is going to go in his favor, he’s disgustingly wrong.

God, this is still going to suck.

Ketch repeats your name, and you take a long, steadying breath.

You can do this.

“You’re just dragging it out,” he calls. “We’ve got you surrounded, and we’re well prepared. You won’t be getting away this time. I promise, darling, it will be better if you come quietly.”

You almost laugh.

He has no fucking idea what he’s in for.

“I’m busy!” You call, slowing pushing up out of bed, your knife already in your hand. You’ve been sleeping with it. Just in case.

Plus, it reminds you of Dean.

“Can you come back later?”

Ketch laughs, and Jesus, it’s not a pretty sound. “I’m afraid we’re quite busy later. And you are not the type of girl one wants to take a rain check on. You might lose her after.”

You roll your eyes, spinning your knife in your hands. “I think you’ll find that you’re going to lose me anyway.”

“Wrong. We lost you last time because you left our jurisdiction. But now? You’re in our territory. And we’ve been watching you.”

“Of course you have,” you mutter. Your jacket is on, your bag is packed, now you just need to get out.

“You’re quite the fascinating little creature,” Ketch drawls your name, and you wonder—if you punch him hard enough—if you could make all his teeth fall out. “If we can figure out how to tame you, I think Mick would be right. You’d be quite the addition to our organization.”

Organization. You’d guessed they weren’t just a team of fancy fuck hunters, but that confirms it. “I think I’ll pass. But thanks for the offer.”

“I’m afraid it’s not an offer, darling-“

“Oh, well in that case,” you swing the door open, and give Ketch a wide, mocking smile. “I’ll just say suck my dick.”

It’s good to see that he hasn’t fully recovered from the ceiling you dropped on him. He’s holding his gun differently than before, and there’s a slight, forced slump to his shoulders.

He’ll probably get better eventually. But you hope it’s a long, grueling journey until he can fully throw his shoulders back again.

“You always have been so vulgar.” Ketch sighs. “We’ll work on that.”

“No.” You shrug, keeping your smile plastered on your face, even as the Silver grows. “I’m going to recommend you let me past, Ketch. It’ll be easier for all of us.”

He laughs. “Always so overconfident, too. I told you, we’re ready. I’ve got snipers trained on you, in case you try to use that cute little blade. This place is warded, darling. Your magic tricks are useless.”

“Oh no.” You drawl. “It’s warded. What am I going to do.”

“Well, you-“ Ketch’s eyes narrow. “You are being sarcastic.”

“I have never been sarcastic in my life-“

Ketch snaps your name. “You are not working this in your favor, by being uncooperative.”

“I think you’ll find I’m being incredibly cooperative.” You shrug. “I’m trying really hard not to kill you all.”

“Oh, are you-“

“Yep.” Your eyes narrow. “Stand down. Now.”

“I think I’ll pass.” Ketch says, his voice bored, and you sigh. 

“Alright,” you swallow, glancing up to the Sky. 

Silent. Uncaring. To it, Ketch is nothing more than a firefly. More than just a bug, but still disposable. 

“Your funeral.” You give Ketch a grimacing smile. “Let’s dance.”

There’s a moment—as you watch the men behind Ketch raise their guns to your head and your spin your knife in your hands—where you think you might be able to get out of this the normal way.

Then Ketch grabs your wrist, and you’re gone. Tearing through the world once more, growing out and out and out until the Silver is satiated, and the ground doesn’t want to move up and protect you. 

It crashes back into you, the blur clears, and it’s such a fucking mess. Another building in ruin. A fucking jackalope hopping around in the strange, black and golden flowers, and a white stag prancing on the high way. 

When you sweep the damage, it looks like you got lucky. Most people were out for the day. There’s only a rose-pink receptionist to hold and push back into her body, all of Ketch’s men—they might have had guns aimed at you, but they’re still people—and Ketch himself.

A muddied orange on the pavement. And you could leave him. Dean would tell you to leave him, that he’d tried to kill you and kidnap you, and he has tortured you, so it’s not unjustifiable to just leave him for the angels to find. And they will find him. You’ve already lingered too long, and the angels will be here soon.

But you can’t stop thinking about Jo, draining of all her blue. Growing hollow, just like how Ketch’s body is passed out on the ground.

Before you can think about it too hard, you’re grabbing Ketch’s soul, and shoving it back where it belongs.

You might regret that. You know you’ll regret that.

But it’s done. You aren’t going to take it back.

And you have to go, and not look back.

You’re getting better at not looking back.

Except with Dean.

You’ll always look back for Dean.

He hasn’t seen you yet. Dean’s attention is all focused on John. Shouting at him and raising his hands, high enough that Dean flinches, but never landing a hit.

Dean looks young. Younger than you remember knowing him. His face is softer, and his nose is still crooked but his hair is a lot lighter. While John yells, he’s bowing his head in a way you’ve rarely seen before. There’s no fight in him. He seems to be absorbing every verbal blow John throws at him, only fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves as he waits for it finish. 

“He could be hurt, you fuckin’ dumbass- He could be goddamn dead and it would be your fault. I give you one fuckin’ job, and it ain’t makin' him happy-“ John groans, running a hand over his face. “If you don’t tell me where the hell your brother ran off to, Dean, it’s gonna be your fuckin’ head-“

“Why is he mad?” You whisper in Dean’s ear, and he starts slightly.

“Son a bitch, Princess. You scared the shit out of me.”

You grin at him. “Aw, are you jumpy-“

“I don’t get jumpy.” He grumbles, and before you know what’s happening, Dean’s arm is looped around your waist and his face is buried in your neck. “I’m tough, sweetheart. Just didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Right.” You let your fingers wander up to his hair, glaring as John just keeps shouting like nothing’s different at all. “Of course you’re tough, Deano. You’re a cowboy.”

“I know.” He mutters into your skin. “‘M your cowboy.”

“Yeah. You are.” You sigh, glaring at John over his head. “Why is he yelling at you?”

“I let Sammy have a sleepover, while Dad was on a hunt. He got back early. He wasn’t happy I let Sam out of my sight at all, but then I refused to say where he went. That made him pissed.”

“You lied to your dad?”

“Sometimes, yeah. When I had to.”

“This was a have to?”

Dean grunts into you. “Was a sleepover with a girl. Sammy had just turned sixteen.”

You laugh. “Right. Obviously.”

“And I lied to Dad for you, too.” He grumbles, his arms tightening around you. “Never told him about our hunts.”

“I- Why?” You ask before you can stop yourself, and Dean just shrugs.

“He woulda stopped me seeing you. Never wanted to stop seein’ you.” He takes a long breath. “You always smell so good. Drives me fucking insane.”

Jesus. “I don’t smell like anything, De-“

“Wrong. Smell like fucking heaven, I don’t even- Wish I could figure out what it was. Spent so much time trying to figure it out.”

“You lied to John to smell me?”

“Kinda.”

“Oh.“ You swallow. “Did you ever lie so you could have a sleepover?”

“A sleep- You mean to fuck someone?”

He’s so all around you. It’s just a dream, but Dean’s still Golden and surrounding you and almost folded over your body, and you’re not sure how you remember to speak. “Yeah.”

“Never needed to. Only to see you. And I didn’t get laid for that.”

“You didn’t ask to get laid.” You mumble, and Dean chuckles.

“Would you have said yes, baby?”

Baby. I love you, Baby.

“Don’t answer that.” Dean mutters before you can even open your mouth, pulling back with an almost sheepish grin. “Already know the answer.”

You don’t think he does. Even the Dean in your head doesn’t seem to know that you love him. That you’d do anything for him. But he’s holding your gaze, and he’s your Dean again. A little taller, small scars littered on his face that make him look even more like that Cowboy, skin more tanned and eyes far heavier. When his hand lifts up to trace over your features, it’s calloused and rough, and his lips have gone chapped, but he’s still so pretty. And his Gold is still strong.

“I think I woulda run away with you.” He murmurs, and his voice is like a spell. You couldn’t move away if you tried. “Met you a year after this, and- Son of a bitch, Princess, I wish I’d stayed, that night. Pushed my luck with the smartest, prettiest girl I’d ever seen. Missed you then, too. Always missed you. Shouldn’t have listened to Dad. He- I knew he didn’t like me, but I never thought he’d hate me that much. Taking you away from me.”

You let out a slow breath, and shake your head. And you hate John. You hate him more than anything, for what he’s done to you, and Sam, and Dean. But you never want Dean to think anyone hates him. If Dean thinks John did all this because he hated him, Dean will make it his own fault. Make himself a failure, when it was John who failed him. And John—in his own, horrible, selfish, fucked up way—had cared about Dean. You wish he hadn’t.

But he did.

“He didn’t hate you, Dean.” You whisper. “He was just a piece of shit, and he hated me. There’s a difference.”

“Yeah, well, hating you is hating me. You the awesomest part of me.”

You flush, and Dean’s grin widens. “Awesomest isn’t a word.”

“Could be.”

“No-“

“There’s no a better word for you, Princess.” Dean swoops down, kissing your cheek and squeezing your hips until you giggle. “And I don’t care if Dad hated me. You like me.”

“I do.” You whisper, your stupid, ditzy smile returning. “I really do.”

You wake up slowly. Blinking as light seeps through the windows, your blanket still wrapped in your arms as a crude mockery of Dean.

And the better days are like this. Moving slowly through your gathered books—often finding nothing, but sometimes coming across a new spell or ritual or empty clue—and picking at your food, Dean’s voice in the back of your head humming eat, Princess. You need to eat.

You really have gotten better at it, over the months. You register when you need to go to the bathroom, and don’t fight it until it’s unavoidable. You eat less than you maybe should, but enough to not grow dizzy when you stand up. You keep water next to you all the time, and when your hand starts to cramp, you let it rest a little longer than one flex. You’d promised Jo you’d be okay.

And you’re not. You’re still tired, and breaking down, and you want to go home. But at least nobody will look at you, and see a girl that’s really more of a ghost. 

Today is one of those better days. Good might be too far a stretch, but it’s better. Simple. Read and eat and drink, go for a walk because fresh air is good for the pain over your skull, take a shower because it’s nice not to feel grime on your skin.

And you could swear the Sky is growing brighter. 

All day, it seems to be somehow building brighter and brighter. 

And growing. It seems insane, but the Sky seems to be fucking growing until it’s wrapped around more than you. Like it’s bracing you for something you don’t understand.

But everything is peaceful. No demons crashing into your motel room. Nothing from Ketch or his organization since your last detonation. The grass shifts easily in the wind, but the flowers seem to be holding their bloom. You haven’t seen a bird all day. You’ve seen people, nothing else. No bugs, no rabbits, no spiders.

Only a snake in the flower bed, and a dog who whines as he passes you.

It’s strange. Eerie.

Wrong.

Something is, in a way you don’t know how to articulate—but sits and shifts deep in your bones and intestines—wrong.

The Sky is so big. It’s still only watching, but it still seems to be reaching for you.

Not to swallow you.

To veil you. 

Hide you.

When the sun sets, the Sky is still shining. Nobody can see it but you, and it’s not making the world luminated, but the Sky is pure white and glaring with danger.

You don’t know from what.

But you know that the Silver is waking up. Nothing has even happened, but the Silver is rolling around inside of you. And you know Dean’s not picking up the phone. You try him, when you can’t sleep under the white of the Sky, but he doesn’t pick up.

He always picks up.

You’ve called him when it was the dead of night for him, and he’s answered with a muffled grumble and sleepy grunts. You’ve called him in the middle of a hunt, and he’s picked up just to tell you he’ll call you back. Once you called him during a movie, and he turned it off to talk.

Dean always picks up. 

Something is really fucking wrong.

You try Sam, and you know he’s been put in the panic room for demon blood reasons—although you’re still worried about how long the infection will take to clear his soul—but maybe he has phone privileges-

Nothing. 

Bobby. He always picks up after three rings, but this goes all the way to voicemail. You’ve never heard Bobby’s voicemail before. It’s brisk and says nothing more than if you’ve got this number, you know what to do, but Bobby has never been anything if not efficient.

You didn’t leave Sam a message. 

You leave one for Bobby.

“Hey, It- It’s me.” You mumble your name, drawing your knees up to your chest. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been calling more, but I thought you’d be mad at me for leaving. I know you’re mad at Dean about it, but he was just trying to- Please don’t be mad at him. I miss you, and-“ You swallow down a sob. The point. You need to get to the point. “I think something’s really wrong, Bobby. It’s- It’s just a feeling, but somethings wrong. And Dean’s not picking up the phone, and I’m really worried, so please just call me back and tell me everything’s okay. I need to know you’re okay, and I- I’m sorry-“

“Fifteen seconds left.” A cool, automated voice hums, and you take a sharp breath. You’re going to fucking cry again.

“I’m sorry. I miss you and I’m sorry and please tell me you’re okay. Something is really wrong, Dad, and I need to know you’re okay, I’m so-“

The machine beeps. You wipe your nose with your sleeve as the message sends, and the feeling of wrong only grows, the Silver pushing up with it. It’s shrinking, like it’s trying to hide in the darker corners of your body, but still gnashing with sharp teeth for when things go wrong.

Things are going to go wrong. Something so fucking primal is rolling over your every nerve, telling you something is wrong. And the wind is howling a warning, and the earth is pressing up to try and guard you like the Sky, and when you turn on the tap water, it’s singing you a soft song. It’s almost soothing. Not like a sedation, but a comfort. 

You hole up in your motel room, closing the curtain to try and block the Sky. You pray to Cas and he doesn’t answer, and you try Dean two more times with no luck. Your knife is clutched in your hands, and you’re curled right against the wall, and the water is still singing in all the pipes through the building, and it hurts but the comfort seems to be an anesthetic, and-

You’re not sure where you are. Only that its’s dark and cold and lonely. And high. You’re so fucking high up. 

Or low.

You can’t actually tell. 

The whole word seems like it’s folded into itself. The sky is at your feet but it’s also above you and at your side. Like an illusion, keeping you contained with smoke and mirrors and light.

There are shadows, creeping forward and trying to touch you. But something always makes them recoil, as if you’re a toxic or poison or feral or-

Silver

It’s the Silver.

You’re only the Silver, and the shadows can’t stand it. They hiss and sneer at the feeling of it, but still try to touch you. Then after they retreat, they try again, Like maybe this time, they’ll be strong enough.

Or you’ll be weaker.

But you’re not growing weaker. The more the Silver is poked at, the bigger it gets. 

The bigger you get. 

You are the Silver, and you’re more than glowing. You’re bioluminescent and blinding, but still filled with every space between the starts and all the colors colliding and shimmering through you. 

Somewhere in the shadows, there’s something red. Bloody, electric red and shining like a black light. 

It has more eyes than you can count, and a billion fists, and a million wings. But it’s not made of fire.

It’s made of the same gleaming, wrathful light as Sam and Dean.

And when it smiles at you, the earth shakes.

“Wow. You’re prettier than he deserves.” It hums. “Don’t worry. I can help you fix that.”

You swallow, but before you can respond, everything splits open. All of it. A crack leaking through the mirage, filling with light.

The light of the Sky.

“This is me.” The Red smirk at you. “I’ll see you soon. Don’t worry. We’ll have a lot of fun.”

The Red bursts up, and then it’s gone.

But you don’t move. You’re not trapped. You could follow the Red thing through the crack, but you don’t know how to move. You’re all Silver, and it’s too much. There’s nothing to tether too. Nothing to shrink back into. You just everything and nothing all at once, and it’s as if you’ve been turned into mist and filled with iron all at once, then told to run. 

You don’t know how to do anything but sit here. The Sky is watching you, through the crack, and you can’t tell if it’s urging you to move or demanding that you wait for it to grab you by the scruff of your neck-

It yanks you out of the paralyzing sleep. The blaring sound of some screaming part in a Led Zeppelin song. 

Sam and Dean don’t to ringtone, but they’re also both legally dead and criminals. You’re a ghost. You don’t run scams, and as far as the government is concerned, you’re a stale missing persons case. 

So you get to do ringtone. 

And you’ve never been more grateful for that than now. 

You grab the phone and answer without checking who it is. You already get to know.

“Dean, fucking- God I was so worried-“

“You were worried about me, Princess?” Dean rasps, and you don’t miss the exhaustion leaking through his voice.

“Of course I was worried about you.” I love you. “Are you okay?”

He sighs. “I’m in one piece. So is Sammy, and Bobby- He will be.”

Will be.

Your stomach twists.

“Something happened, didn’t it.” Your voice is barely a breath, and leaving was a horrible idea. You know something’s wrong, and breathing is starting to become a labor as your skin itches off your body, but there’s no one here to hold you.

Dean’s not here to hold you. 

“I-“ You take a shaking, unsteady breath. “I don’t know what’s going on, but something’s wrong. I know something’s wrong, Dean, I can feel it-“

“I know.” Dean whispers, and your hand moves up to hold your throat. 

The Silver is dormant. But it’s still too much, and old habits don’t decay when you don’t know how to plant anything new.

“It’s- We- Son of a bitch.” Dean clears his throat. “We kinda fucked up.”

You can’t breathe. “What?”

“We failed.”

“Dean-“

“The cage.” Dean mumbles. “It’s open. He’s out. Shit it- It’s bad, sweetheart.”

“Oh.” You whisper. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. It’s- Son of a bitch, you were right,” he mutters your name, his voice almost hushed. “It was Ruby. She’d been working with Lilith the whole time, and she tricked Sammy, and he’s such a fuckin’ idiot but I’m worried about him-“

“Dean.” You whisper, and you wish you could touch him. Move his face into your neck, like in your dream. Maybe fold yourself around him and be that damnation for him. “Are you okay?”

“I- Yeah. We got out, everything intact. Something sent us away. We lost Cas for a minute, but turned out something wanted him to stick around. Some demons went for us in Bobby, and he got hurt-“

“Bobby-“

“He’s fine, Princess. Gonna be fine. Stable. We’re actually about to go see him right now. And Sam’s fine too. Detoxing. He’s angry, and we’re- We’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” You take a shaking breath, keeping your eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Dean?”

He grunts, and try not to let the strain in your whole body grow audible.

“Are you okay?”

“I told you-“

“You told me Cas and Bobby and Sam are fine. I’m asking about you.”

There’s a long moment of silent static, and you know by now to wait. The line’s not dead. Dean’s just thinking. 

And when he speaks, his voice is barely a rasp.

“I- I need you to come back.” He mutters your name, and it’s too soft. “Son of a bitch, I- I can’t keep worrying about you and doing this.”

“Dean.” You sigh. “You know I can’t, they’ll-“

“I don’t give a shit what they do. Heaven or Hell or any of them. Demons rip me up and the angels will just pull me right back out. They need me. Some bullshit about Michael wanting to use me as a condom-“

“What-“

“Long story.” He mutters. “But I don’t fuckin’ care what consequences there are, Princess. Come home.”

There’s another silence as a lump forms in your throat, and you need to speak but words feel far away-

“Please.” Dean’s voice is so low and exhausted. “I need you.”

There it is. What you’ve been asking him not to do for months. 

He needs you.

Dean needs you.

And you don’t think you could say no if you tried.

“Okay.” You whisper. “Is Cas- Will he hear me?”

“Think so. Are you-“

“I’m coming home.”

You can hear Dean’s sigh, and it’s filled with relief. 

You’re really don’t think there’s anything you wouldn’t do for him.

“See you soon, Princess.”

“I- Yeah. Bye, De.”

It’s quick, to pack up. Most of your possession now are old, fragile books that better fucking survive angel travel, or you’ll punch Cas in the face. You don’t pray immediately, though. While there was no destruction, whatever had happened last night—Lucifer escaping, you’d been responding to Lucifer escaping, and you don’t know what the fuck that means—the wall are covered in vines and a little waterfall has formed from the window edge, falling down on to the floor-

Ground. You’re standing on the ground. Grass and flowers and tiny trees, and it’s buzzing with life below your feet. Like a little ecosystem, confined to your room.

That’s something the angels will probably be able to track. 

You can’t call Cas here. 

It’s a short walk than usual, and you stop at a Church. If the angels are sweeping the area, they probably won’t think to find you here. It’s hiding in plain sight.

You close your eyes, and pray. 

Cas. Help. Please.

There’s a whoosh, almost immediately. 

But it’s not Cas’ low, gravelly voice that comes from behind you.

“You should be careful, sweetheart. Praying in a church.” The bright, almost cheery voice laughs. “You might attract some unwanted attention.”

When you turn, the voice belongs to a shorter man, with longer, blond hair and bright eyes. 

But that’s not what makes you stumble back a step. 

He’s blue. 

He’s so fucking blue. 

Like the blue of Cas, turned up to a million. And he has an uncountable amount of eyes shoved into two, a billion fists curled into the same, and a million wings pressed to his back-

“You’re an archangel.” You whisper, and the Blue laughs. 

“Wow. That was fast. You know, everything I’ve ever heard about you said you’d be pretty, but smart? Don’t think he planned for that. In for a big surprise.”

You swallow. He can’t smite you. Or hurt you. Zachariah said nothing was allowed to hurt you. 

So you raise your chin, and hold the Blue’s gaze.

“What do you want?”

It doesn’t seem to faze him at all. “Damn. Moxie, too? They don’t know what they’re getting with you! A little spitfire.”

You frown. “Moxie?”

“Sorry, forgot you’re only what, thirty?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Shit. Even younger. Basically a fetus.” He shrugs. “Well, kid, moxie means you’re headstrong, little bit sassy-“

“I know what moxie means.” You mutter, rubbing the scar on your palm. “And that’s not correct. I just haven’t heard anyone use the word seriously.”

“Who says I’m serious?” The Blue winks. “I’m the fun one. I’d ask if you wanted to see, but I don’t think that would end in my favor. Already pushing it just by bein’ here.”

“I-“

The Blue cuts you off with a tsk. “I’ve got something to say, sweetheart. Something you’re gonna wanna here, before you do anything stupid.”

Your eyes narrow. “I’m not doing anything-“

“You’re trying to go home.” The Blue shrugs. “And it is stupid. I know what tree you’ve been barking up, sister, and it’s not the right one.”

“Sister-“

“No.” The Blue cuts you off quickly, shaking his head. “Just a nickname. You’re not my sister. That would be…” He wrinkles his nose. “So fucking gross. Like, we’re a fucked-up family, but not that fucked up. There’s gotta be a line, y’know? I think it’s there.”

The Blue speaks in circles and riddles, and it’s worse than Cas. At least Cas is amusing, and simply doesn’t know better. This guy just seems to be trying to set you off-

“That won’t work.”

You blink at him. “Wha-“

“Your little magic trick. The bam.” He makes a crushing gesture, raising his brows. “Afraid you need to have a little more control and self-love than you’ve got now, to take me out. I mean, the other thing you’ve got, the boom-“ Another gesture. “That might work, actually. Not sure. Let’s not find out.”

Now you’re just too confused, and you’ll hand it to him. The Blue’s vagueness seems to keep the Silver only brimming in your body.

“Look, I’d love to talk with you forever, but we’re kinda on a timer.” The Blue sighs, his tone suddenly falling into something serious. “That tree? The one where you’re trying to work out what you are and how to control it? Stop it. Stop barking.”

“I-“

“You don’t understand what you’re doing.” The Blue says your name, and it’s a little distorted. Louder. Musical.

Enochian.

“You’re changing things. Things that shouldn’t be tampered with, let alone moved around and rearranged however you want.”

“No- I-“ You shake your head, your hands drifting up to rub at your wrists. “I left. I stopped interfering, I promise-“

“You already interfered.” The Blue sighs, giving you an almost sympathetic expression. “Just your existence, just by letting them into your orbit, you’ve done more than you can-“

“But I stopped.” You’re almost pleading. You’d left to stop. To make sure nothing you did hurt anyone you loved. That was the fucking point, you’d stopped-

“Look.” The Blue run a hand—hands?—over his face. “We’re behind schedule, because of you! Little Sammy Winchester actually held on longer against Ruby and the blood, because you planted a little extra doubt in his head! Because he and Dean were fighting, but they fought all the time! He just knew you’d always end up with Dean, and he didn’t want to lose you with his brother, so he held on!”

“I- I don’t-“

“They’re ahead, too! Sam and Dean aren’t fighting as much because of Sam trying longer, and Dean’s thinking about what you would do! And you turned sweet, hopeful Castiel over to their side too soon, and now they’ve got some extra steps on everyone, which is going make this drag. People are gone that should’ve stuck around, and some of them are early, and you’ve made a mess that’s going to take forever to get in order!”

The Silver is still silent, as the Blue throws his hands in the air. 

You wish it would turn in, and rip you to shreds.

“I didn’t mean to.” You whisper, your hand returning to your throat. “I promise I didn’t mean to-“

“I know you didn’t.” The Blue shakes his head, and there’s that fucking sympathy again. “But you’ve gotta stop, kid. You’re making this even more complicated than those chuckleheads ever could.”

“But I- I want to go home.” You sound like a child. You don’t care. “I’ll just lock myself in my room, I promise, I but I- I need to go home-“

“Sorry,” The Blue says your name, in Enochian once more. “No dice. He’s looking for you, and that’ll make this all worse-“

“He-“

“My brother.”

“Oh.”

The Sky flashes over you.

The Blue doesn’t seem to see it.

“It’s better if you get some sleep, I think.” The Blue frowns, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “Yeah. Sleep will be good for you.”

You don’t want to sleep. You need to get home. Back to Dean. You’d told him you’d come home, so you need to come home-

“Probably won’t hold, but it’s better than the other option.” The Blue raises one of his bursting, electric hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it feel good. Send you someone nice.”

You want to scream, to run, to fight, but the Silver hasn’t built itself up, and you’re frozen. 

And before you can call for Dean, the Blue presses to your brow, and the world goes dark. 

“What don’t you think is real?”

You blink at Dean in the dark of the Impala, and a little bit of chocolate milk is smeared on his upper lip.

He’d grabbed a beer, insisting that he didn’t want anything else. But you’d grabbed two chocolate milks, because you know him.

Love him.

Miss him. 

You know this is a dream faster than usual. The whole world—even in the dark of midnight—is bathed in gold, just like when you dream about Dean without you. You remember what’s supposed to happen here.

You don’t really want to stray from the script, though.

You love this one.

“What do you mean?” You reach up to wipe the milk off Dean’s face, and he grins at you.

“Y’know. Some of this shit has to be fake.”

You hum, watching him carefully. “Like what?”

“Unicorns.”

“Unicorns are real-“

“I- No they’re not-“

“I’ve seen one.”

“Ah.” Dean grumble, taking another large drink of his chocolate milk. “Of course you have.”

You giggle, scooting a little close to his side to grab the jerky from his lap. His arm goes around the bench. Your shoulders. Casually keeping you pressed against him. 

It had never even crossed your mind to move.

“What don’t you think is real?” You ask, and he shrugs. 

“I believe what I can see. What I can kill. Monsters, ghosts, me, you-“

“Me? Should I be worried you’re going to kill me?”

“No.” He scowls. “You know that’s not what I meant. And I’m being serious-“

“I know you are, Deano.” You give him an amused look, reaching up to wipe the milk off again. “Do you believe in me?”

“Course I believe in you-“

“Do you believe in Sam?

“I-“ He sighs. “Just say it, sweetheart.”

Okay. You’re being dramatic.”

He’s almost pouting. “No, I’m not-“

“Yes, you are.” You sigh. “It doesn’t matter what might be real or not. I’m real. You’re real. This,” you poke him, and his gaze never leaves yours. “Is real. And I know it.”

“You know it?” Dean shakes his head. “How-“

“I just do. Do you know I’m real?”

He sighs, and nods. “Yeah. Guess I do.”

“Oh, you guess-“

“Shut up.”

You giggle, and Dean grins at you again.

“I’m glad you’re real, Princess. Would suck if you weren’t.”

You smile up at him, and you look stupid, and nothing has ever felt better. “I’m glad you’re real too, De.”

What you want to say—what you always want to say—is I love you. Dean Winchester, you perfect, Golden idiot, I could never love anyone but you.

But you can’t be allowed to. Not even in a dream.

So instead you just lean press your face into his chest, breathe him in, and hope that this moment lasts forever.

End Note: introducing new lore mechanics is always very special to me because I get to share about something I’ve been keeping secret for MONTHS and also you guys get to be confused.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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[interstellarbookofflowers]

happy points

it was eid yesterday! although i had some work to do, i did have some free time

i managed to fast the day of arafah (day before eid)! it was hard actually, i yet again misjudged my capabilities, but i somehow managed to finish the fasting day! wont fast again during the summer tho 💀

i watched some precure yayay and listened to the soundtrack! (nature is healing i am being unhinged again)

im hanging out with my friend today! we're going on a silly books hunt again heheh

(dont read the tags if u dont want to see me scream into the void)

[somewhereincairparavel]

i have ALWAYS promptly looked forward to jason grace's povs in the hoo books to the point where'd I'd flip the pages till I find the words "JASON" and would count the amount of povs he has in the whole book before I even finished reading, so I feel excited knowing that I'll get to his povs soon. there, I said it.

[nyxi-pixie]

ao3 authors are always so entitled asking for comments as if readers have time like you need to calm down you’re posting for free

hiiiii do you want attention baby 💞💞💞 ur soooo good at being annoying ur sooooo talented at it omg

[lisupandowntown]

First of all, the world-building here was fascinating. I never considered what language everyone spoke. Seline being comforted that no one was using their native language.

All her internal thoughts about the confession. She's not freaking out at all - that is impressive. And very Seline. She's thinking but not overthinking, and watching and waiting. I can totally see how Isaiah is being so hyper-aware of her but so subtly. And they are still sharing a bed lol.

Olive is so self-aware. I was a little surprised that she'd keep Hector out like that - she know her tears would upset him but so would the not knowing. But I could feel that she was not being completely rational.

Seline, again, so Seline. Confused but not questioning - surprised by someone who is so tactile but willing to give the comfort. And problem-solving too.

And Hector - damn that boy has it bad. This was such a good way to build bridges with Isaiah. The comment that Zaya understands wanting to hide illness. The absolute control - he was so focused on what Hex needed even if he couldn't see it himself.

I just really loved all the pieces here. We saw people out of their comfort zones and that was just beautiful to read.

Hello Sol I don't know what would you think or is it okay with your fics but in my opinion it'd be great to read Hector while having panic attack,getting sick and then fainting in front of someone? Maybe like Zaya? I dunno why but I feel like this guy needs some care..things are not well between them right now but I love the brotherhood that you write

-I love your fics so muchhh 💜

-🍇

Thanks for the ask! Have some sick Olive and a distressed Hector. Including panic attack and emeto.

Too much

The next day was absolutely great.

Letting the group go on without her turned out to be a good decision. She woke up at 11, had a slow breakfast, watched a couple of her favourite movies and then went around town on afternoon.

Everything was in bloom. People were relaxed, unhurried, and everything tasted great.

Knowing she was alone in the apartment, she could sing as loud and crazy as she could, from current pop songs to Slovak rock from her parent's playlist. She felt like a total rebel, singing those songs in abroad. German songs in Slovakia and Slovak ones in Austria. And English in between to not lose the touch.

It was a nice thing that Isaiah and Matt both allowed for their common language at home to be English and not German. They were all used to it from seminars, but it was a lot of switching at the beginning and it made her feel better. She wasn't the only one speaking in her second language that way, struggling for words in everyday use.

Dylan never had a problem with it either, but Rip took time to adjust. His English was a little awkward, but he talked little as it was. It was harder to notice the progress, but he has been listening a lot and let Dylan likely talk with him in English, cause Seline could see him follow the conversations way better.

With Hector and Olive around, they all switched to German again without discussing it and it was a bit strange at the start. Took some adjusting, but going into the second week now, Seline struggled with it a lot less, although she allowed herself the grace of fitting English words when with Olive and Alessia alone.

She noticed that Rip and Dylan didn't switch to English when alone, staying in German to try it out. Dylan's German was a little neglected from not going to school, but he had some online friends he could talk in German and English so he was used to the switching itself. Seline would have liked to work on his Slovak, these days it invoved a mix of Viennese and English tiktok slangs.

Their parents trying to figure what "tough" was supposed to mean and how it was written was a funny conversation for being Dylan's most used word. Everything was literally tough or not tough as the only descripitve tool.

Ehhh.

Isaiah didn't show any problems in any language. Of course. Show off.

She sang only in Slovak that morning after his confession. So he couldn't understand the words, even if he caught the mood. Washed her hair and while hairdrying sang the most cheerful confident cheeky songs from her favorite female singers. Must have been confusing.

It confused her too, she didn't choose in on purpose, just went with the tune.

Took most of the first day to relax enough she stopped checking herself for moods. Allowing herself to feel without judgement first and then slowly get to analysing what it was she felt. She scrolled through several playlists as she walked around town to figure it out.

At the end of the evening she was dreading their arrival. Ended up dragging Alessia out for early dinner. Good call. They talked pretty long so the apartment was all settled when she came, Dylan and Rip occupying the couch and cuddling, Olive finishing paintings of the day, Hector falling asleep watching her in the weirdest positions.

Isaiah was...well. He couldn't seem to keep sitting if Seline was in the room. He would get up, fidgeting, ask if he could bring her something or tried to create some task out of thin air to keep busy.

She wasn't sure what he expected her to do. If he watched too closely she would have taken it as wanting an answer that she wasn't ready to give. But he didn't and his awkwardness made her amused, despite the circumstances.

They mostly avoided each other otherwise.

She worked from the desk, back towards him, when he was in the room and only went to sleep when he was soundly asleep on the bed they shared. Isaiah talked almost exclusively only when someone was around to witness it, as if afraid he would blurt something out again if they didn't.

Did he regret what he told her? It was such a spontaneous thing. It didn't seem rehersed or planned the way he would prefer it. Not the perfect place or time.

Something about the situation where it came up was endearing to her.

She couldn't analyse it too closely though. The gnarled mess of intense, conflicting emotions made her dizzy.

Thrill, excitement. Surprise but also not quite. Fear and dread. Like standing on the edge of a cliff and trying to make yourself jump. There would be victory in that jump, but it would also mean dealing with the fall.

It made her want to curl up under the blankets and never come out. Too overwhelming, too much.

Best not to analyse it at all for now—for everyone's peace of mind—and just go with whatever pleasant emotion and whim she craved.

For the next morning, she decided to take another solo day off. She snuck out at 7 am to get breakfast and wait out till everyone left before she returned.

When she came back from her stroll and more pictures of walled-up castles with dam barriers and the nearby lake at 10 am, the car was still there, though.

Dylan and Rip were waiting on the little square in front of their rental and Isaiah was nowhere to be seen. Hm.

The scene that welcomed her inside was chaotic.

Hector was knocking, soft but insistent, at the closed bathroom door, repeating Olive's name. Isaiah stood a step behind him, arms crossed as if he was physically keeping himself from intervening.

"What's going on?" she asked, letting her handbag down on the table.

"Olive is sick and doesn't want to come out," Isaiah explained.

Hector gave him a pointed glare, then knocked again. "Honey, please, let me it, it's alright-"

"No! Go away."

Hector looked positively disturbed now. Pale as a sheet and about to break the lock open, when Isaiah caught his arm. "What about we give her some privacy?"

"She is sick, I can't leave her alone-"

"You have to respect her wishes," Isaiah argued gently.

Seline wondered if she should ask permission—Hector acted a lot more like a wolf when stressed out—then shrugged, pushing the blond wolf aside, knocking herself instead. "Olive, are you okay? Can I bring you anything?"

There was the distinct sound of sniffling, even from behind the door, that must have been that much louder to the wolves behind her.

Hector's eyes were huge, face going from white to red. "Let me go, damn it-"

"It's okay, Hex," came a whimpering response. "Can you go for a minute- S-Seline, could you- could I have Seline here?"

Hector looked like that was the last straw, when Isaiah grabbed him by the arm and pushed him towards the door. "We are going on a short walk, okay?" He looked at Seline, pointing at his pocket wth the phone.

Seline nodded in understanding, waiting till the door slammed shut behind them. The atmosphere was distrubing, shaky and needed a moment of quiet before it felt less anxious.

"Olive?" she asked, not knocking this time, just waiting. It didn't really make sense why she would want her around instead of her boyfriend, but so be it. "Can I do anything?"

There was a long minute of shuffling around before the door finally unlocked.

Olive's face was as red as a tomato, tear tracks were all over her puffy cheeks. She brushed crumpled toilet paper against her running nose. She was wearing Hector's too-big hoodie, and her arms were completely lost in the sleeves.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Seline cooed, unsure what reaction would be appropriate and acceptable.

Olive watched her with those big lost eyes, so unlike herself, then reached her arms for Seline and tackled her in a hug.

Seline huffed in suprise, but returned the embrace. Olive was a lot more tactile than anyone she ever met. Rubbing her back hesistatnly, she was trying to wake up whatever human instincts usually responded to these things so she wouldn't stand there like a pillar of ice.

"I'm s-sick," Olive said, burying her crying face into Seline's chest—the black haired girl was much smaller than the blonde. "Woke up with sniffles, though it was just a cold...then threw up."

"Ahh man, I'm so sorry."

"P-probably have a fever. Always makes me cry." Olive backed up a little to give Seline access. "Could you check?"

Shaking off the surprise, Seline reached over to touch Olive's forehead. Her cold hand from the outside felt burned by the overheated, sweaty skin underneath. "You are probably right."

"Sorry. It's just that Hector freaks out when he sees tears...I don't want him to be so panicked over it. It's normal, it's just-" Olive shrugged, a fresh dose of tears running down. "Like a little kid, huh?"

Seline was completely floored with how naturally Olive leaned into her as if this was normal to her.

"I should go to the pharmacy," Seline said, placing her hands on Olive's shoulders. "Get a thermometer and meds, what do you say? Does your stomach still hurt?"

"Uhm," Olive said, then snuggled against Seline again, struggling to hold her weight. "Could you stay?"

That was the opposite of what she needed to do though. Seline sighed, leading the sick girl back to the room she shared with Hector. She helped her bury under the blankets, brought a mixing bowl and water...but Olive was stretching out her hand and wanted to be held and it was so strange.

Still needed that pharmacy, Seline didn't have much against stomach flus packed up. And it would be difficult to explain to the pharmacist what they needed, nobody talked English here.

In the end, she decided to text Alessia if she could go and explain what meds they needed. Maybe as a local, the girl might also know the best sorts of remedies for this situation.

...

It has been a while since Isaiah had seen Hector this disturbed.

"We need to go back, this is fucking nonsense-"

"She asked you to go," Isaiah reminded.

"It's not fair! And it makes no sense! She takes care of me when I'm sick and it's fine, I have done it for her before, this is ridiculous-"

"Keep walking. You are not exactly the picture of calm right now."

"I know what my girlfriend needs."

Isaiah barely held back from rolling his eyes. He so didn't care about these ego expressions of who had more right to do what in a relationship.

Maybe Hector knew her better and knew when to push through resistance? But Olive didn't strike him as someone confused or unsure of what she wanted.

"Seline is with her. She was distressed; maybe she just needed time to pull herself together."

Hector gave him an angry glare, chest rising and falling rapidly. "You have no fucking idea-"

"I don't know Olive enough, yes. But I know the feeling when you are overwhelmed by sickness and you can’t be looked at." Isaiah’s voice was calm, too calm, and it only seemed to incense Hector further.

"Don’t lecture me," Hector snapped, teeth clenched, hands shaking. "Don’t talk about us like you know—"

"I wasn’t talking about you," Isaiah said, still walking, gaze fixed forward.

That stopped Hector for a second. Just a second. Then he barked a bitter laugh and turned away, rubbing his face like it was burning. "This is driving me insane," he muttered. “I should be there. I’m useless out here."

"You’re not," Isaiah replied. "You’re doing what she asked." Maybe she had a good reason.

"No, it’s nothing! It’s doing nothing!"

They had reached a quiet path at the edge of the hill overlooking the lake, tourist signs scattered along the walkway, empty picnic tables glowing in the late morning light. Hector stopped walking, his whole body taut with a sharp kind of energy, shoulders hunched, hands curled.

Isaiah could smell it now. The adrenaline, the spiral. Something inside Hector was unraveling.

"Hector," Isaiah started carefully, "you need to slow down your breathing."

But it was already happening. Hector’s breath hitched, too fast, too shallow. His hand went to his throat like it was closing. "I can’t—I can’t breathe—I can’t—"

"Look at me." Isaiah stepped in front of him. "Look at me, Hex."

Hector looked up, eyes wide and glassy, lips trembling.

"You’re panicking."

"No," Hector gasped, and swayed. "I’m not—don’t tell me—"

But Isaiah didn’t argue. He reached out, hands firm but slow, and placed them gently on Hector’s upper arms, grounding him. "Breathe with me," he said, his voice dropping into that low, steady cadence he used when wolves lost control. "In through the nose… come on. With me. In. Hold it. Now out—long and slow."

Hector tried, but choked. His knees gave out and he dropped to the nearest bench, clutching his stomach.

And then he doubled over and retched.

Isaiah moved too, sitting down beside him. Rubbing small circles into his back as Hector threw up onto the grass beside the walkway.

"There you go," Isaiah murmured, tone unchanged. "Let it out. You’re okay."

Hector’s hands were shaking violently. His whole body was. Isaiah didn’t move, just stayed there, warm hand on his spine, steady and close.

"I hate this," Hector croaked, when he could breathe again, resting his forehead against his forearm. “I hate feeling like this—useless and weak and—"

"You’re not weak," Isaiah said immediately.

Hector gave a broken little laugh. "You have no idea what it’s like."

Isaiah’s hand paused, but didn’t lift. "You think I don’t?"

Hector didn’t answer.

There was a long silence then. Just the wind rustling in the trees above, the lapping of the lake far below, and Isaiah’s quiet, solid presence next to him.

After a while, Isaiah stood and shrugged off his jacket, laying it over Hector’s shoulders.

"You’re cold."

"I just threw up. Look somewhere else."

“I’ve seen worse.”

"Don’t."

Isaiah raised an eyebrow. "Don’t what?"

"Don’t be nice." Hector’s voice cracked.

Isaiah hesitated, then sat down again beside him.

"I’m not being nice, I’m being honest. You’re not okay, and that’s okay. You’re not useless. You’re overwhelmed. And that means you care." His voice was softer now. "It means you love her."

Hector’s breath hitched again, but this time it didn’t spiral. His eyes shimmered. He looked away.

Isaiah didn’t push.

"Take it slow," he said after a beat. "Breathe. Watch the lake. Then you can go back. Let her know you’re okay too."

[tea-cat-arts]

"Madam Yu would be a Karen/ treat minimum wage employees like shit-" literally the only servant she's shown abusing is Wei Wuxian (and that's because he's the victim of a proxy war between her and Jiang Fengmian around the idea of him being adopted into the family, not because of his class). Madam Yu's two handmaid's love and respect her, and Madam Yu actually defends them when Wang Lingjiao tries being a Karen to them. She also tells Wang Lingjiao to fuck off when she demands the Jiang servants bring her tea.

Also, Karens are unpleasant women, but not all unpleasant women are Karens. That term is about entitlement and being unreasonable (and often times, racist). Madam Yu is mean and unpleasant to talk to, but she keeps most of her interactions brief and probably doesn't have the time or mental energy to be a Karen or hold a grudge that long. If you want an actual example of a Karen in mdzs, Wang Lingjiao is right there

[rayofmisfortune]

WOOOOO Somehow got to the transformers #23 (?? I believe that's the one 😭) any yoooo THE IDEAS THE COMICS ARE GIVING ME FOR THE STUPID BACK ALLEY PRIME THINGY JFNFNF

Imma have to play with how the matrix and primeness would work in my take but

Spoilers for the transformers issues up till n.23

FUUUUUCK oh my GOD Just drop a bombshell on me OP why don't you. I'm here all like "yea the matrix will hurt roddy actually" WHILE SAID THING APPARENTLY HAPPENED TO IDW OPTIMUS???

Now I understand why people say acquiring the matrix feels amazing when in relation to rodimus 😭 THE PARALLELS, well...more like opposites I suppose. I don't know yet just HOW OP got the Matrix, I do know how Roddy got it and was bonded to it and that itself looked very very different from what OP has/had going on with it. I already gave a spoilers warning so if you're still reading this, entirely on you of you get spoiled on how Rodimus got the matrix. In short, in Roddy's case, the Matrix literally brought him back to life after sustaining a lethal wound. It was for a time the only thing keeping him alive until it repaired him enough to function without its aid. With that in mind, I think I could still play with this property of the Matrix in my own... au(? I guess it's an au lmao) Since in the au Roddy isn't on the brink of death when he bonds with the matrix I can still entirely go ahead and MAKE IT HURT LIKE A BITCH cuz I just love my lil guys so much yk?

[ducktollers]

the way ppl in comment sections talk abt kem makes me feel like im literally losing my mind. never experienced a bigger ‘did we even watch the same show’ moment in my life

[mbirnsings-71]

I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE EDITING. I WAS. I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE LOCKED IN. THE UNIVERSE HAD DIFFERENT PLANS HOWEVER I GUESS?!