#you MUST read Grandmaster!

[twnj]

'Shikamaru’s breathing was erratic now — she could see it in how his chest rose and fell — but he managed to hold still otherwise. Temari took a slow breath in the hope he might try to copy it.

“You’ll beat Mischa like you always do, and I want you to. You don’t have to question that. Not ever.” She frowned as he pressed the heel of his palm against his brow. “Don’t hide,” she said. “I already know none of this about the chess, Shikamaru. You don’t have to pretend it is.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“Then don’t be proud.”

Grandmaster on ao3 by @notquitejiraiya

[lavender-phoenix-flames]

"Y'all are trying to paint Jiang Cheng in a bad light"

The book and the author literally describes him like that, we are just discussing who he actually is.

[fengshenjunlang]

Those who "righteously" claimed Wei Wuxian as a war criminal, as he killed a lot of people during the war, tell that theory of yours to Asians whose Heroes were stained with blood!

A lot of Asian Countries' Heroes were people who killed a lot of people. Who? Their Oppressors! Their Invaders!

Those heroes killed, to protect their motherland, to protect their beloved, to fight foreign invasion! Because otherwise, it will be them and the people around them who will be killed and oppressed!

Just like how Wei Wuxian killed QishanWen, the oppressors, the invaders, the foreign invasion.

In the war, there is no such thing about rules "you can't kill your enemy cruelly, yes those invaders-your oppressors who wanted to subjugate you, but you have to kill them-who had killed your family cruelly-with propriety instead", hahaha. What kind of idiotic joke is this.

Wei Wuxian fought in the war, but he never committed any genocide, never killed those who were not soldiers/cultivators who participated in the war. He has never been a War Criminal. Instead he was the one who saved his former enemy clan from genocide.

It was your "righteous heroes" those cultivation clans, who commit genocide and eternally prevent them from re incarnations instead: yes, those weak, women, and old remnants of a clan. Not even the soldiers.

[luveline]

hope my boyfriend's okay request.

hi!!! can I request hurt comfort or angst with spencer reid? maybe reader is just an ordinary girl, not that smart, not that pretty, or even a college drop out (like reader from honeybody) so she is kinda insecure when spencer being kind to her or even ask her on a date?

tysm♡

"Do you want to play?" Spencer asks. 

You're flushed before you open your mouth, startled by his sudden appearance and the new haircut he sports, curls locked back behind his neck. "Sorry, I just wanted to sit down." 

"No, I'm just asking if you want to play," he says, shaking the little briefcase he holds between his fingers to emphasise the rattle of the chess pieces inside. 

You've stolen his chess table again at the park. It's how you met, how you continue to meet —you want somewhere to put your book as you read and Spencer hardly ever makes you move, he just sort of sits with you until someone is in need of an opponent. 

"I don't know how. I don't have the smarts." 

Spencer sits down opposite you, placing the briefcase against the white and black chequered tiles. "Playing chess isn't about being smart. Being good at chess takes learned skill, though. It's like learning a language. Most people can say hello and goodbye if they try, but fluency comes with practice." He smiles at you like you're lovely and pretty and someone worth explaining this too, when you're worrying It's filtering out of your head like water through a sieve. Draining, draining, gone. 

"I don't even think I could remember hello and goodbye," you say. Your attempt to smile back at him is pitiful. 

His smile ebbs. "You're sure you don't want to play? I'd go easy for you." 

You curl the cover of your paperback in your hands, deliberating. Chess is one of those games that seems never-ending. It's full of manoeuvres and techniques, openings, closings, all these learned combinations, strategy like nothing you've ever been able to comprehend. You've never wanted to learn because you know you won't be good, even if you try. 

"Okay," you say quietly. "I really won't be any good." 

Spencer shrugs and begins to retrieve the small wooden chess pieces. "I usually win anyways."

"Have you ever, um, competed? Like the grandmaster things?" 

"No, but I had a friend I competed against for a long time. We played a lot of games. He was better at winning, despite my advantage." Spencer arranges your pieces with care. "Do you need me to teach you the opening moves?" 

He explains slowly. When you need help, he gives it, and he doesn't lord it over your head. It's a little shameful seeing the difference in your intellectual capabilities displayed so clearly, and the longer the game goes on the worse you feel, even though Spencer lets you win. 

"You'll get better every game," he says, returning taken pieces to the board.  

"You want to play again?" you ask. "Come on, Spencer, that can't have been fun for you." 

"Why wouldn't it be?" 

"Because I'm a useless opponent? And I don't really have anything else going for me, either, so it must be boring." It's an awkward thing to say, self-deprecating and stilted considering you and Spencer aren't more than acquaintances. You regret it as soon as you've said it but the frustration of the situation sticks around. "I don't understand why you waste your time with me." 

"It's not wasted if it's with you." Spencer looks genuinely confused, shapely eyebrows pinching. "Is that what you really think? I like spending time with you, I don't need you to be a chess expert to find you interesting." 

"But there's nothing interesting,," you insist. 

"Of course there is…" He straightens a chess piece, gaze split between you and the board. "You don't have to say something from a journal for it to be worth saying. You know, I've had a thousand conversations this year, some of them with professors or academic experts, but," —he puts his hand, now finished with the chess pieces, over his elbow, meeting your eyes shamelessly— "the one I replay the most is from a few weeks ago, when you told me why you like to read in the park." 

"That was just small talk," you say weakly, though it hadn't felt small to you, and now you know it wasn't small for him either. 

"Then I guess I love small talk," Spencer says. "Do you want to play again? I'll teach you some good opening moves if you tell me more about you. Deal?" 

You nod hurriedly, and fail to hide a beaming smile. "Teach me the best one." 

"That's what I meant," he says. 

[spectorswife]

Where the Heart Never Left

Pairing: Kuai Liang/reader

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: 18+ only, SMUT with plot, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, biting, fingering, edging, afab!reader, let me know if I missed anything please.

AN: this is my first time writing a fanfiction, so I apologize in advance if this is terrible. This is definitely not proof read

This takes place during part 1 of the story, after Bihan and Kuai fought. (I have not played the DLC yet so please no spoilers) but enjoy the read :)

MDNI PLEASE

It’s been weeks since you stood by Bi-Han, trying to rebuild the Lin Kuei in his image, and every day feels heavier than the last. A part of you keeps whispering that this is the right path, but the weight of what you left behind gnaws at you constantly—your partner, Kuai Liang the only person who ever made me feel like home; who is also Bihan’s brother. You thought you could live with that choice, thought you could bury it deep enough, but it still haunts you. The memory of that day claws at your mind every night, refusing to let go. You abandoned the love of your life, betrayed him for some misplaced sense of duty, and the guilt... the guilt is suffocating. You know you've let him down; you can feel it. He’s probably disgusted, and honestly, you don’t blame him. You deserve it. You  left him to burn while you sought comfort in the cold. 

*I keep telling myself to let it go, but my mind refuses to listen, dragging me back into this endless pit of doubt. No matter how hard I try, it claws at me, screaming that I’m wrong—always wrong. It was all too much. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, so I left. I left the temple, my Grandmaster, the Lin Kuei; only for a little while. I just needed space… I needed air that wasn’t thick with guilt, shame, and judgment in every corner, hearing Kuai’s voice whispering in my head begging me to not leave and his brother telling me I’ve done the right thing. I couldn’t take it anymore, too much for me to handle.. I know I’ll go back, I have to.. That place is a part of me, no matter how much it hurts.*

——————————————————————————————————

*I’m home, but nothing feels right. I thought the voices, the guilt, would stop once I left the source of my agony altogether for a bit. But damn, it’s still here, eating away at me. I want it all to stop. I want what’s best for the clan, but not at the cost of my own sanity. I miss how things used to be. No feuds, no Shang Tsung—just... peace. Gods, I miss you.. I miss you Kuai. I miss what we were, before I walked away. Every part of me wishes you’d come back to me, even though I know I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you. I can’t shake this gnawing feeling that I ruined it all, and there’s no going back now. I must live with it, even though it keeps me up at night.*

The nightmares never stop. You can barely sleep, and when you do, it’s worthless. Most nights, you stay up, trying to outrun the horrors that haunt you the moment you close your eyes, but it doesn’t matter. None of it does. Being awake is just another nightmare—one you can’t escape from. Every breath, every second, is a reminder that you're still trapped, still living the same twisted nightmare; the loss of the love of your life. Sleep offers no peace, but neither does staying awake. It’s a never-ending cycle, and you're drowning in it. All because you picked a damn side. *Damn you Shang Tsung.. Damn you.. you ripped my family apart. These brothers — they were my family. Kuai.. my love, Bihan.. my teacher My protector, Tomas.. My good friend… they were everything to me. Everything I had, and you poisoned Bihan’s mind, shattered the bonds we shared. You took them from me, turned them against each other. I’ve lost everything and… you *gained* from it.. Damn you*

———————————————————————————————

It’s one of those nights again. The nightmares come for you the moment you fall asleep, playing out the same twisted scene on repeat. Bi-Han and Kuai fighting—again. You see it all happen just like before: the ice blade slicing across your lover’s face, the blood, the pain. But this time, it’s worse. This time, Bi-Han doesn’t stop. He goes to finish it, to end Kuai right in front of you... and you’re frozen, helpless, unable to move. Just as the nightmare is about to unravel into something even darker, you’re jolted awake by a knock at the door.

You wake up, disoriented, your mind still tangled in the nightmare. Who could it be? You drag yourself to the door, every step weighed down by exhaustion, your body a mess—hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled, eyes heavy with the remnants of sleep.

You open the door and you see him

Kuai? Your eyes widen instantly with still hints of sleep behind your eyes. He looks rather frantic as well..

What are you doing here? It’s late. More importantly.. Why are you here?

Kuai exhibits a rather shocked expression seeing you in your disheveled state. He didnt think you would answer the door, or quite frankly, even be home. But he quickly composes himself.

“Im sorry for waking you. I didn't realize it was this late. I couldn’t sleep myself. I just… need to speak with you.. May I come in?”

You stare at him with such a soft expression after hearing his words. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, so you allow him in without a second thought.

“I’m going back to my room to fix myself, I’m a mess right now… evidently… If you wish to follow, please don’t hesitate”

Kuai nods appreciatively and follows you into your home. As you two both enter, you can sense that something is troubling him, however youre conflicted in whether or not it’s your place to ask. But you cave in anyway.

“What’s troubling you Kuai Liang”. The thought of not being as affectionate with him anymore since the incident is killing you, but you know its not right to feel as if your entitled to it.

“It’s… a lot of things, really. But the main thing that has been on m mind these past few weeks is us. Our situation really, or better yet, our separation you can say. I know you chose Bihan’s side, but part of me feels like whats left of us is still there..”

You look back to him confused after fixing yourself up 

“I didnt think there was still an "us" Kuai Liang.. I kept telling myself that since that day. I kept telling myself that you hated me so I wouldn’t continue dwelling but- it wasn’t working”

Kuai’s heart aches as he hears your words and his gaze towards you softens as well. 

“Till this day I still don't understand why you chose his side. But I know you, and you probably have a better judgment than him. I've just been struggling with my feelings for a whole. I cant shake the memory of what we once had before the feud. I cant shake- "

Kuai hesitates for a moment before he finishes his sentence 

“I can’t shake the love that I still hold for you”

A surge of surprise and relief washes over you at his words. You decide to take a seat because its all too much to handle. Deep down, you always hoped he’d come back, but there’s a part of you that knows you don’t deserve his love—not after everything you’ve done. You can’t let yourself make any assumptions, so instead, you blurt out the question.

“What are you saying Kuai Liang…”

Kuai takes a seat next to you, there is still some tension present, your bodies aren’t facing each other but his eyes are locked onto yours as he considers what he wishes to say next.

“I’m saying I want you.. my sweet girl.. if you-  still wish to be called that. I want us together again… I miss loving you, being with you. I know with circumstances now it won’t be easy but my love for you has never died.”

You try with everything in you to look away from him, but it’s impossible. A flood of emotions crashes over you—longing, guilt, desperation. You’ve been waiting for this moment, losing sleep over it night after night. And now, here he is. Yet, the shame is overwhelming, weighing down every part of you, twisting your desire into something you can barely face.

“Sweetheart.. please.. look at me” He gently turns your face toward him, his touch soft but his gaze intense, more so than ever before. Your faces are so close now, and you can’t help but let your eyes flicker between his and his lips. Desire floods through you, but you’re torn. You *want* this—crave it, even—but deep down, you know you don’t deserve it. Not after everything.

“I’ve missed you so much. Being apart from you has been hell.”

Your gaze softens at his words yet your inner turmoil has become your worst enemy. “I’ve missed you too.. but I’ve betrayed you Kuai.. and I don’t deserve forgiveness..”

“Be that as it may..." *Kuai’s voice is firm but still carrying that softness you’ve always known.* "I believe in forgiveness, especially when it’s you. What matters now is what we choose to do from here. Are you ready to accept us, to try again? To build something stronger... together?” 

You stay silent after he speaks, the conflict inside you twisting tighter. You avoid his eyes, looking anywhere but at him, but it’s useless. His hand gently caresses your cheek, drawing you in. Slowly, the space between you fades, the tension thickening as you both move closer, your noses almost brushing. Your gazes lock, and in that moment, it’s impossible to ignore the mix of desire and love simmering between you.

“Kuai..” Is the only word that slips from your lips. You feel your heart beat increase and you hope and pray he doesn’t hear it..

“Please…” is all he says in return. And you can’t help but wonder what he’s pleading.

“Please let me kiss you..”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, but you know the consequences of this endeavor if Bihan were to find out. “We cant..” You say in a slight whisper, trying to mask the desire in your voice.

“I know… but I’m finding it hard to resist. My heart yearns for you my love. I’ve missed you”

You let out a sigh with a mixture of frustration and lust. You know you want him. You’ve craved this moment for so long, you have the love of your life back. But you cant help but feel like this is a dream.

“I’m willing to live with the consequences sweetheart, let my brother find out. As long as I have you, my will to fight will always be great. Sweetheart.. I need you..”

You can't help but sigh once again, feeling his breath fan over your face. You are struggling to give in, and you find your hand placed on his leg as you give it an involuntary squeeze.

Kuai hisses at your action, pressing his forehead against yours; he closes his eyes in frustration. “You're making it very hard for me to hold back.. please.. please.. let me taste you”

His pleading whispers to you send a shiver down your spine. You are still feeling conflicted. It’s very clear what you want and deep down you dont know what’s stopping you from getting it. You rise from your bed in frustration immediately puling yourself out of this situation and start to pace. Kuai is caught off guard by your sudden movement, he gaze towards you as your standing is still a mixture of lust and frustration with now a hint of confusion. “Wait! Where are you going?” his voice now filled with concern as if he’s done something wrong.

“Fuck it” is all you can say before you turn around and pull him in. Your lips pressed against his, the kiss filled with hunger and need.

He pulls you in closer, is muscular arms wrapping tightly around your body, holding you possessively against him as your mouths mold together in such a passionate kiss. You cup his face, internally you wish for him to not pull away. Your steps make your way back to the foot of the bed. Your hands on Kuai’s face feel like a lifeline for him, anchoring him to this moment. The love you two have once shared evidently present in this moment, you two have missed this, you’ve yearned for it for so long and the moment is finally here. As your steps take you back to the bed, he pushes you gently against the footboard, pressing his body against yours, needing to feel every inch of you. The kiss deepens and his hands slowly begin to wander over your body.

Your back slowly falls onto the bed and your legs voluntarily wrap around his waist. Kuai Liang’s body begins to hover over you, body pressed against you, intertwined in a perfect and desperate embrace. His lips move from yours and make their way to your jawline, then down to your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses where he can feel your pulse throbbing wildly. He pulls away for a moment and you whimper at the loss of contact, he presses his forehead against yours and looks you deep into your eyes, his voice rough and ragged, being consumed by the intensity of this moment. 

“Fuck I’ve missed you sweet girl”

His words send a jolt through your body as you involuntarily grind upwards into him.. Your voice soft and whiny, “I’ve missed you most”

You pull at the hem of his Shirai Ryu uniform wishing for more contact than you two currently have. Knowing your desires, Kuai leans back, giving you space to lift the top of his uniform over his head and toss it aside, his bare chest now exposed to your gaze. In doing so, you reciprocate the action and take off the top of your clothing. You feel his eyes roam over your bare skin, taking in every inch of you, scanning over your collarbone, your chest, your stomach, he’s taking in everything.. like an animal eyeing his prey. He reaches out, his fingertips caressing your curves ever so slightly. His voice low, filled with tenderness and adoration… “You’re so beautiful… every part of you… may I?”

You feel your breath quicken as he touches you and it makes you yearn for him so much more. “Yes.. im yours..” You pull him in for another needy kiss. Your breathless words and the way you pulled him in ignites a primal hunger within him. His hands roam over your bare skin as he presses himself against you. It has been so long since you two have had a moment like this that he is at a loss for words.. “I- I need you..”

“You have me”

Hearing those words unleashed the last bit of restraint he had, claiming your mouth once more in a demanding kiss. His rough calloused hands grab a hold of your hips and presses you into the mattress. He leaves tender kisses over your bare skin, slowly making his way down, you feel your breath quicken once more until he reaches to the waist band of your pants. He looks up at you with desire and you give him a nod. With full permission, he undresses the lower half of your body and he can’t help but let out a low grown at the sight. He stares at your pussy in awe and see how its glistening in your arousal already.. he hasn’t even touched you yet..

“Gods..” He leans his head down on the mattress, trying to keep his composure but you feel yourself writhing from underneath him. “Kuai… please..” You reach towards his head as you wish to push him closer to your heat. 

“Patience sweet girl… needy are we?”

“I need you please.. I need your tongue..”

“Oh darling.. I’m going to take my time with you..”

Kuai presses a tantalizing lick against your folds as you let out a low moan. Your legs could help but close but Kuais hands pry you open once more and keep you pinned.. “no hiding now sweetheart.. just sit back and enjoy..”

Your finger run through his dark hair and you give a tug as he pressed another lick against you and makes his way down to your hole. The tug sends a chill down his spine as he moans at the pain of your pull, radiating in between your legs. The sounds you make are music to his ears and he wishes to pulll every ounce of sound out of you. He presses kisses to your inner thighs and nibbles at each side before diving right back into you. He slowly licks up to your clit and takes it in his mouth gently as twirls his tongue around you. Your back arches at the action and your grip on his hair tightens and Kuai groans once more. 

“Fuck..” Is all you can say. The pleasure is too great and you feel it building up. Your core begins to tighten at his continuous actions. He recognizes your bodily reactions all too well, he knows youre close, however he doesn’t wish for this moment to be over yet.

“Baby.. please” you plead. Your voice filled with desperation. “I’m gonna-“

He stops

The loss of the build up has you in shambles. You plead and look down as to why he stopped, and you see a slight smirk on his face, as his chin is glistening in your juices. he rises back up to your face, “Did you really think it was going to be that easy sweetheart? I told you, I’m taking my sweet time with you” he presses a kiss against your open lips tongue swirling around yours as your taste yourself on his tongue. He makes his way back down in between your legs and stares at you. “Be a good girl for me yeah?” Not knowing what he has planned, you nod regardless, biting your lip to suppress a moan.

He repeats his actions once more, lapping at your juices, his nose rubs against your clit in the right spot and it causes a high pitched moan to escape your lips. Kuai smiles at what he hears as he continues licking at your folds. He takes two fingers and inserts them inside of you. Surprised by the sudden insertion, you pull at Kuai’s hair in pleasure with one hand and you are grasping your bed sheets with another. “Fuck!” You feel his fingers pumping in and out of you as he continues abusing your clit. His pace quickens and he feels the same buildup in your body once more, you tightening around his fingers, almost consuming them involuntarily, the pleasure is too much for you to handle. “I’m gonna-“

“Do it sweetheart, let me taste you fully, you can let go”

You feel yourself reach your climax and you let goes completely, your body almost trembles and shakes as he makes you cum hard into his mouth. Taking in everything that you leave behind. He rises from in between your legs as he stares at your disheveled state and gently caresses your face. “You're not done yet love.. brace yourself” Kuai presses a tender kiss to your lips and your forehead. You smile at his action as you watch him undo his pants, letting his dick free, already dripping with precum. It really was a sight for you. Oh how you missed him…

He slowly aligned himself to your entrance, pushes in achingly slow earning moans escaping from both of your lips. “Fuck..” Kuai groans underneath his breath. You hiss as he stretches you in such a familiar way. He places one of his hands on your cheek as his arm keeps him afloat as he hovers over you. His movements are slow, wanting to drag this out as long as possible as he takes your lips in for another passionate kiss. “I love you..” He whispers between each slow thrust. you moan at his movements and you reciprocate his loving words, “I love you too Kuai..” 

His smallest movements cause your walls to tense around him. With each rock, his breathing deepens and his pants become more desperate but he holds out a little bit longer. You bring your hands to his back as you bring his upper half closer to you, you dig his nails in his back “faster please..”

His self composure slowly crumbling, his pace starts to pick up his eyes locked onto yours, he removes his hand from your face and presses it down on your lower stomach, knowing it feels good for you.

“Talk to me baby.. how does it feel..?” he knows the answer to that, he knows your body like the back of his hand already. He just wishes to hear your voice.

“Perfect..” Your words make his pace alot faster than before. Needy pants escape both of your lips, noises of arousal fill your bedroom. He starts pounding into you, the pace becoming unmatched. Kuai feels his own climax unravelling and his voice starts to become filled with need. “Im so close…”

As Kuai keeps his fast pace, he starts to increase the power behind each thrust literally fucking you senseless. No words escape your lips, just your jaw slacked open, the pleasure becoming too much to handle. It’s becoming too much to handle for him too, Kuai begins to whimper in his own pleasure as you both finally reach your climax. Kuai cums hard into you as you cum as well, your juices all over his dick as his seed spews in your insides. The pressure in both of your nerves finally releases. He pulls out of you and falls next to you. You both lay there for a while, completely fucked out of your minds. As youre catching your breaths, you look down suddenly and see Kuai’s cum leaking out of you and onto your bedsheets. You look back up and stare at him next to you, and you laugh in contentment as you wrap your arms around him. Kuai slightly moans at your sudden touch before he turns to face you and wrap his arms around you. Pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You both hum in relief and contentment as you both fall asleep, completely enveloped in each other’s presence, as if the rest of the world has faded away. You prayed for his return every night, despite the nagging doubt of whether you truly deserved his affection. You missed him so deeply, longing for the days when you were together, wishing for nothing more than to have him back in your life. And now he’s here, in your room and completely engulfed by his presence. And you wish for nothing more.

The morning hits, sunlight filtering through your window, gently stirring Kuai awake from his sleep. He wakes up slowly, arms still wrapped around you. He takes in the sight of you sleeping and a wave of contentment washes over him. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, a soft smile paying at the corners of his mouth. He notices the peaceful expression on your face as you begin to stir in your sleep. For the first time since the incident, you have slept with no nightmares; he notices a sense of serenity as you sleep and it fills him with so much relief. He continues to watch you before gently rubbing his fingers against your arm in a soothing affectionate gesture.

You sleepily moan at his touch and push yourself further into his embrace. Your sounds make Kuai’s heart skip a beat as he continues to rub your arm. As you stir awake, your back facing his chest, you let out a sleepy satisfied hum as he presses his lips towards the back of your neck and nuzzles his face into your hair, breathing n your scent and savoring the feeling of your body pressed against his. You feel his fingers tracing soothing patterns against your skin; you sleepily take his hand and place it to your lips as you press kisses from his palm to his fingertips. You actions make his heart swell with love, admiring the affectionate gesture. He lets out a soft sigh, hand gently cupping your face and whispering in your ear..

“Gods you're incredible”

You let out a sleepy giggle at his words, wishing you could stay in this moment forever. It feels like a dream come true, a piece of fate finally falling into place. The love you both share has never faded, and it’s as if none of the betrayal, none of the pain ever happened. In this moment, there is only the two of you—untouched by the past, as if you’d never chosen Bi-Han’s side, as if the love in your hearts had never left.

[vinaxxo]

Can you write about Bihan having feelings for the reader but doesn't know how to ask her out on a date?

What a cayutie patootie idea! Here you go, hope u like it 🩵

~ KISS THE GIRL (there’s no kissing I’m just referencing the song)

Bi han was never one to have crushes, which was why he was frustrated and baffled by the slightest increase in his heart rate around you.

You’d been a part of the Lin Kuei’s special forces for 3 months, training hard and keeping your own under the Grandmaster’s direct command. While ever so handsome, you found him to be as cold as the cryo in his veins.

You knew you’d stutter around that man if you ever opened your mouth to say anything other than ‘Yes master!’ with your comrades.

Bi han was aware of your weariness in his presence and appreciated the respect you gave him, but he silently wished that you’d be less afraid. The permanent scowl on his good looking features… it’s just his resting face. (Johnny told him he had a resting bitch face, and he took offense to that and froze Johnny’s lips shut.)

Around the spring, flowers bloomed and blossomed in bright cool colors around the compound, sending their sweet fragrances into the morning air. Bi han took notice of a certain flower in particular.

It reminded him of you. Beautiful, bold, and bright, the flower swayed gently in the wind, its coloring identical to your uniform. Bi han thought about asking you to walk in the garden with him, but was at a loss for words when he thought about what he’d say.

Bi han’s brows furrowed as he looked away from the spring beauties, annoyed by his sudden incompetence. He was THE grandmaster for god’s sake, how could he not find it in himself to ask you on an outing?

As if things couldn’t get any worse, you showed up on the path he was on, talking with Kung Lao and Raiden during your break time. Bi han stood in his place off to the side, watching your every move, down to the way you tilted your head when you smiled and used your hands to talk.

As soon as you noticed your grandmaster’s presence, you stopped in front of him and bowed respectfully, greeting him like always. Kung Lao and Raiden nod their heads at him.

Almost immediately, Bi han’s mouth moves before his brain does, a complete rarity for his character.

“Y/n. I must speak with you,” he started before eying the boys to his side, “Alone.”

Kung Lao smirks at you before pulling Raiden along, leaving you to speak with the scariest man you know. What did you do? Were your reps earlier that bad? As if Bi han heard your mental fretting, he crossed his arms and shook his head.

“You are not in trouble, y/n.” He says, but the graveness of his tone does little to settle your nerves.

If only you could hear his heart race.

“Then.. what’s the matter?” You ask politely.

“The flowers have started to bloom…” Bi han holds his mask for a second, as if he thinks it’d fall if he didn’t. He was embarrassed now. How the great grandmaster has fallen, pitifully pining for more of your sweet presence.

“Walk with me in the garden at dusk. If you get hungry, we can visit Madame Bo’s.” Bi han mentally cursed himself for making his request sound like a command.

You hoped your jaw wasn’t on the floor. Had the grandmaster of the Lin Kuei asked you out? On a date? He was staring straight into your eyes, you felt his hard gaze pierce right through you. It would be threatening if he didn’t ask you on a date a few seconds prior.

“Sure—uh, grandmast—“

“Bi han. Address me as bi han.” He interrupted, voice gruff.

“Right. I’ll see you this evening, Bi han…” You say carefully, feeling your cheeks burn and your stomach flutter. You felt like you were more excited than he was, but trust, Bi han is subtly smiling under that ninja mask.

© vinaxxo 2024. Do not use my works for ai, or reposting to different platforms. Thanks for reading <3

[carmillas-vampiric-rage]

love the headcanon that bi-han just calls his boo "wife/partner/husband" and nothing else. like he rarely uses your actual name and never uses pet names.

imagine him saying it in his fucking goof ass voice 😭😭

bi-han marched into the living room, spotting you on the couch reading, kuai liang and tomas were on the other side of the room, playing video games, something bi-han loathed.

you looked up at him and smiled adorably, your face immediately brightening when you spotted him.

bi-han's heart jumped, his stomach dancing and his eyebrows softening only for a moment- he returned to his usual expression as he aggressively -yet somehow gently- grabbed you by the arm to pull you up.

"wife. come with me. i have something i need to run by you."

you giggled, tossed your book down and began to follow the grandmaster.

"it must be serious then." you laughed as the two of you walked down the hall.

kuai liang and tomas stared at you two as you turned out of sight, having paused their game, open mouthed and disturbed. tomas broke the silence first.

"do you think he's aware he can call them, 'love' or 'dearest' or i don't know... their name!?"

kuai liang shuddered. "i think he does know, brother. and that's honestly the worst part."

[wangxianficrecs]

Going on charmingly by scribbet

Going on charmingly

by scribbet

T, 21k, Wangxian

Part of the MDZS Reverse Big Bang: 2023

Summary: He pulled the door open smoothly, leaving the noisemaker with their fist still raised mid-knock. He could glimpse white robes underneath a thick and practical-looking travel cloak, but surely no member of his sect would think to barge in upon him in such a way. “Hello!” the interloper exclaimed, a bright smile coming into view as he lifted the sopping veils away to one side. “Would you happen to know how to reach the Cloud Recesses?” Or, a teenage Wei Wuxian arrives at the Lan sect as a (mostly) respected disciple of the Immortal Baoshan Sanren instead of the well-known troublemaker of Yunmeng Jiang. Lan Wangji learns to come to terms with this (eventually). Kay's comments: I haven't read many Baoshan Sanren disciple Wei Wuxian stories so far and I'm always delighted to see them, especially if they are as well done as this one! I really enjoyed Wei Wuxian arriving at the lectures (unknowingly) a few weeks early and getting to integrate himself into the Lan Sect before the other guest disciples joined and him being given the opportunity to bond with Lan Wangji first outside of a classroom. Lan Wangji himself also got his eyes opened to the culvation world's hypocrizy a lot earlier, which I appreciate! All in all, a lovely story! Excerpt:“Your Grandmaster is?” “Baoshan Sanren.” The stranger uttered this as if it was no way remarkable, but Lan Wangji found himself once again lost for words. The immortal Baoshan Sanren had secluded herself and her disciples away for nearly a century now, and it was incredibly rare for any news at all to make its way from her hidden mountain home, never mind an actual person. The last time it had taken place was over a generation ago, and it had caused considerable uproar among the cultivation world – due, as far as Lan Wangji could glean for vague references, to both the exceptional talent of the individual and the thwarted interest several prominent individuals took in them. “Your mother…” He tried to settle on some part of the blithe statement to address first, “…you are the child of Cangse Sanren?” Lan Wangji hadn’t realised it was possible for that smile to light up any further but apparently he’d been mistaken. “Yes! You’ve heard of her! I wasn’t sure if anyone would remember her by now but they must have if you know her name. And you don’t look much older than me, you can’t have met her yourself –someone must have thought her interesting enough to tell you about as well!”

pov lan wangji, canon divergence, cloud recesses study arc, different first meeting, wei wuxian is baoshan sanren's disciple, wei wuxian isn't adopted by the jiangs, genius wei wuxian, petty lan wangji, meddling lan xichen, cultivation sect politics, fluff and humor, getting to know each other, developing relationship, pre-relationship

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[gffa]

It’s been over half a year since I did a set of STAR WARS fic recs that weren’t pairing-focused, but I have been reading fic along the way! And sometimes you want fic that’s not about ships, no matter how much you love them, sometimes you just want to read about friendships or you want to read some cool worldbuilding or you only want the plot, and Star Wars fandom has been lovely about that. Hell, sometimes you just want to cry about how much you love the Jedi and you want to share that affection with other people, through the incredible experience of telling stores about them, like they were trying so hard and they were right about so many things and they were dying for years to try to help the galaxy, and teaching about how emotional regulation is good actually, and sometimes you want to show that through the disaster trio and sometimes you want to yell about how good Mace Windu is and sometimes you want to love frog grandpa and sometimes you want to get into a fistfight to defend Luminara’s honor and sometimes you want the whole Order sitting down to a family dinner and sometimes you want fic where Anakin and Mace actually get along and so many other things! So, here’s a collection of some excellent fic that I think most people should be able to find at least something to enjoy, whether you’re looking for fun disaster lineage shenanigans or heartbreaking pain because Star Wars Is Pain or some awesome Jedi Order worldbuilding or some all too rare Mace Windu Appreciation fic, I HOPE YOU ENJOY. WHAT KIND OF FIC YOU’LL FIND HERE: 

FICS THAT PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE WITH HOW GOOD THEY WERE

CANON-COMPLIANT (MOSTLY, UP TO A CERTAIN POINT, WHATEVER) DISASTER LINEAGE

JEDI CULTURE AND WORLDBUILDING AND CELEBRATION

I AM A PREQUELS ERA BITCH AND I’M MAKING THAT EVERYONE ELSE’S PROBLEM

FOR THE OBITINE SHIPPERS, OF WHICH I AM ONE

MULTIGENERATIONAL STAR WARS IS THE BEST STAR WARS

NOBODY NEEDS THEIR HEART TODAY ANYWAY

FRIENDSHIP WITH CANON ENDED, THIS COOL AU IS MY NEW BEST FRIEND NOW

FICS THAT PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE WITH HOW GOOD THEY WERE: ✦ fill pages with scribbled ink by magneticwave, obi-wan/padme & anakin & cast, 9.8k    A year after the Invasion of Naboo, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi is invited by Queen Amidala to return to Naboo and participate in a rite known as the Night of Fireflies. Things kind of snowball from there. ✦ Stars of Tatooine by Be_Right_Back, ahsoka & kanan & mace & rex & obi-wan & cast, 10.5k    After the end of the world, Ahsoka more or less kidnaps a child, has to air some old grievances, and tries to find whatever peace the universe can still offer. All paths in the Force lead home, eventually. ✦ A Discussion of Choices by Peppermint_Shamrock, mace & luke, 2k    Mace Windu has traveled the galaxy since the fall of the Republic, keeping out of the Empire’s sight and teaching where he can. Upon the request of a ghost of an old friend, Mace finds himself instructing Luke Skywalker, who is still reeling from the truth of Vader’s identity. CANON-COMPLIANT (MOSTLY, UP TO A CERTAIN POINT, WHATEVER) DISASTER LINEAGE: ✦ stars lean in a little closer by gigglesandfreckles, obi-wan & ahsoka, 3.9k    Ahsoka is struggling with nightmares after returning from Felucia, but her pesky grandmaster won’t leave her to deal with them alone ✦ Four Walls and Two Jedi by hellowkatey, obi-wan & anakin & cast, 10k    Obi-Wan and Anakin get exposed to a deadly virus and must spend two weeks in quarantine battling sickness, ghosts from the past, and worries for the future. ✦ Care, Trust, and the Force (of course) by hellowkatey, obi-wan & anakin, whump, 1.7k    Anakin takes a tumble during a battle that brings about a lot of old fears. ✦ Chains Bound and Broken by PhenomenalWoman, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 6.3k    Where Anakin goes undercover and learns that being a 9 year-old slave is not the same as being a 22 year-old slave. ✦ Anakin’s Birthday by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan & anakin, 1.3k    Anakin is about to celebrate his first birthday as a Jedi Padawan and Obi-Wan helps to make it special. Pure fluff. ✦ Not Much Has Changed, Except for Everything by hellowkatey, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon, time travel, 4.4k    Anakin is angry at Obi-Wan, and the Force decides to intervene by throwing him back in time. ✦ cause a commotion (jump in the ocean) by loosingletters, anakin & ahsoka, 1.2k    Ahsoka worries about finding a Master and instead finds a friend haunting the ponds in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. ✦ still much that is fair by RaineyDay, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & qui-gon & bant & tahl & cast, time travel, 21.1k    Anakin Skywalker was used to following the commands of the Force in his daily life. But a lot of the time, that didn’t really mean much. Until the day the Force nudged him to catch a kid falling through the sky- and through time. ✦ unbalanced, triumphant, and trying again by katierosefun, obi-wan & anakin, 2.6k    sometimes you just want to go home, wherever that may be. ✦ Haste Has No Blessing by Peach_Bitters (peachybitters), obi-wan & anakin, spanking, 3k    Ten-year-old Anakin Skywalker becomes impatient with the speed of his training and defies his master’s instructions. ✦ to be better by gigglesandfreckles, obi-wan & anakin, 1.8k    the Council has lost a planet, much to Anakin and Obi-Wan’s dismay. they’ve been tasked with finding it, but after nine hyperspace jumps and a painful discovery, Obi-Wan teaches his former Padawan one more lesson. ✦ And The War Never Sleeps by soft_but_gremlin, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 1k    As the war goes on, it gets harder to get any sleep. ✦ Keeper of the Force by Pandora151, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & bant & plo & vokara & cast, read the warnings, 93.9k    Thirty years before the Clone Wars began, the Force selected its Keeper. Now, in the face of the intense turmoil plaguing the galaxy, the Force acts again. Anakin just wants everything to go back to how it was before, Ahsoka doesn’t completely understand what is happening but is willing to do whatever she can to help, and Obi-Wan’s past comes back to haunt him in a way he never expected. ✦ Moving by SingManyFaces, obi-wan & anakin & plo, 3k    Obi-Wan’s new padawan is having difficulty learning to meditate but, together, they find a way to make it work. ✦ unthinkingly by katierosefun, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 1.1k    Ahsoka felt her entire body grow cold as she whirled around for them, opened her mouth to shout a warning— She saw Anakin tense first, saw him lift his face to the sky, and then his eyes met Ahsoka’s briefly—and then she saw him race for Obi-Wan, shove him out of the way, and— Ahsoka’s shout joined Obi-Wan’s. ✦ what they grow beyond by gigglesandfreckles, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & qui-gon, 2.7k    Obi-Wan learns there is just as much learning in teaching. ✦ Deepest Rivers by TexasDreamer01, obi-wan & anakin, 1.5k    “The deepest rivers flow with the least sound.” - Quintus Curtius Rufus ✦ Inactions Have Consequences by stolen_pen_name23, obi-wan & anakin & mace, 2k    Losing Qui-Gon was the hardest thing Obi-Wan ever endured. He can’t bear to do it to Anakin. OR: Obi-Wan tries to keep Anakin at arm’s length. It doesn’t work. ✦ Aftercare by AdaliaK, obi-wan & anakin & quinlan, spanking, 3k    When Anakin feels resentful of Obi-Wan after a punishment, “Uncle Quin” steps in and smooths things over between master & padawan. JEDI CULTURE AND WORLDBUILDING AND CELEBRATION: ✦ Festival of Light by dendral, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 8.7k    During his first year at the Jedi Temple, Anakin learns that even the Jedi celebrate holidays. ✦ Songs for Little Jedi by soft_but_gremlin, mace & jedi, ~1k    The initiates are having nightmares, so Mace sings a lullaby to comfort them. ✦ Mace Windu Appreciation Week by Redminibike1, mace & obi-wan & anakin & yoda & qui-gon & ponds & cody & cast, 12.5k    Set of unconnected ficlets for Mace Windu Appreciation Week, because he deserves it :) ✦ a thin thread of hope by wrennette, shaak & clones, ~1k    Shaak Ti introduces some cadets to one of her favourite crafts, under the guise of training. ✦ everyone comes home by nightdotlight, anakin & mace, 1.1k    Anakin laughs, drowsy with the painkillers the IV feeds into his veins, and smiles at Mace. “You’re funny,” he says. “Nobody ever says it, but— you’re funny. I like the jokes you make.” ✦ Masters and Apprentices by silveryink, obi-wan & cody & rex & cast, 1.8k    “You’re overthinking this.” Rex stared at his brother. “Okay, but – consider this, what if I’m not?” Cody snorted. “Rex. We’ve had a Padawan Commander before. We’ve also worked with cadets before. We managed with Skywalker, I’m sure that the Jedi shiny will be fine.” ✦ a comedy in four acts by jesuisdeux, obi-wan & yoda & mace & dooku & cast, time travel, 17.2k    This was what time-travel is: staring at the dark sockets of skulls everywhere your gaze lands on. Being haunted by ghosts long gone. The apprehension of the slow yet sure approach of the inevitable which is sending chills down your spine. ✦ when the world is on your side by loosingletters, obi-wan & anakin & feemor & cast, 1k    Feemor and his Padawan meet Obi-Wan Kenobi and his Padawan. ✦ rah kat by js71, obi-wan & anakin & aayla, 1.6k    “Aay’shee,” Obi-Wan murmurs into her ear, rocking her gently, like when jaieh was off on a mission she couldn’t go on, so her jaieh-raheniel would take turns having her over at their apartments. ✦ Lessons on Attachment by Siri_Kenobi12, obi-wan & anakin/padme & cast, 2.7k    “Anakin once told me that a Jedi is actually encouraged to love.” She said after Obi-Wan had settled. ✦ settle down by loosingletters, yoda & jedi, 1.9k    Five times Yoda cooks for somebody and one time someone cooks for him. ✦ at our gardens (during the eye of the storm) by gingerbeer, rainsoaked_benevolence (oceans_bluem), obi-wan & shaak & mace & yoda & feemor & cast, 7k    Obi-Wan and his (almost full) family gathers to drink tea. ✦ in our kitchen (after the war) by gingerbeer, rainsoaked_benevolence (oceans_bluem), obi-wan & ahsoka & mace & yoda & depa & shaak & cast, 5.4k    Or, (almost) all of the Jedi High Councilors (plus Ahsoka) gather to eat dinner together. ✦ with our family (after the dust has settled) by gingerbeer, rainsoaked_benevolence (oceans_bluem), obi-wan & ahsoka & yoda & mace & depa & kanan & quinlan & aayla & shaak & plo & cast, 6.2k    Or, after the war ends (for real this time!), the (actually full!) Council gathers to eat mooncakes. ✦ Straw Dogs by Cymbidia, obi-wan & jedi & cast, 2.9k    An old Jedi Master imparts some wisdom concerning Mercy, Balance, and the Will of the Force to young Padawan Obi-wan Kenobi and a gaggle of other younglings. It is a lesson that haunts Obi-wan for the rest of his life. I AM A PREQUELS ERA BITCH AND I’M MAKING THAT EVERYONE ELSE’S PROBLEM: ✦ netanalo by js71, cal & tapal & rex & fives, 2.4k    The Senate had sent a child to see into the past. A Padawan, Ahsoka’s age, not much older. Rex’s heart pounded in his chest, climbing towards his throat, because damn the Senate, did they know how this would affect the kid, or did they just not care? ✦ what’s in a birthday (another year you live) by Ro29, luminara & barriss & gree & cast, 2.1k    The Jedi view life as something precious, and Commander Gree learns he has value for the simple fact that he is alive. ✦ Direct Action by silveryink, luminara & barriss & kix & cast, 4.3k    Upon investigating the health of her new battalion, Barriss discovers tumours located in all their heads. It’s a bigger problem than it appears to be. ✦ oh that dissolving light by wrennette, obi-wan/luminara, NSFW, 1.1k    Luminara and Obi-Wan enjoy an evening of relaxation together during the war. ✦ I Feel Glad When You’re Glad by Harpokrates, ahsoka & plo, 1k    Plo Koon considers his bright young charge. ✦ Non-Attachment and other Misconceptions by art_of_a_diffrent_color, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & plo & mace & qui-gon & cast, 3k wip    Plo Koon, fresh off the planet Shili with a two and a half-year-old girl in his custody, is sent to Naboo to collect the body of Qui-Gon Jinn and assess the mental health of his former Padawan. What happens that day changes everything. ✦ Battle Heavy by phoenixyfriend, anakin & padme (past anakin/padme), 2.2k    In which things are finalized, and emotions are settled. FOR THE OBITINE SHIPPERS, OF WHICH I AM ONE: ✦ atmosphere level by softredscrunchie, obi-wan/satine & qui-gon, 1k    As a joke, Satine tells Obi-Wan she thinks Mandalore is flat. He doesn’t take it well. MULTIGENERATIONAL STAR WARS IS THE BEST STAR WARS: ✦ Faith in Darkness by icarus_chained, luke & grogu & din & anakin & cast, force ghosts, 11.2k    Hindsight was perfect. And all nightmares came back, eventually. All nightmares came again. ✦ Paternal Relations by willowcrowned, obi-wan & anakin & luke, 1.2k    “No,” Vader says, “I am your father.” Every bit of the pain, the terror, and the rage that have been flooding Luke’s senses is completely drowned out by utter confusion. What, he thinks, the fuck. Oh shit, Luke thinks, Vader is my dad’s ex-husband. ✦ Burdening Fate by Be_Right_Back, obi-wan & din, 2k    There’s a wise old man standing in a field next to Din, with knowing eyes full of light. NOBODY NEEDS THEIR HEART TODAY ANYWAY: ✦ somewhere along in the bitterness by CallToMuster, obi-wan & anakin, read the warnings, 3.8k    It was probably the twelfth day floating alone in space that Obi-Wan and Anakin realized no one was coming for them. ✦ infinite sadness by billowypants, obi-wan & anakin, force ghosts, ~1k    You have always known what your purpose was in this world. Ever since you could think for yourself, you had somehow known that you were meant for infinite sadness. So what is unfolding in front of you right now makes no sense. ✦ this tired old elegy by grumpyhedgehogs, obi-wan & bly & jedi & clones, 2.4k    In which Bly is This Close to breaking out of the chip’s control by himself and Obi-Wan shows up to give him that extra push. ✦ programed to dream by ghostwriterofthemachine, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 1.3k    The spaceship Comet-rider is the fastest, most efficient vessel in the galaxy, and is crewed by Separatist-funded pirates. Anakin Skywalker is missing. Unfortunately, these two things are connected. ✦ a trolley problem for jedi by nightdotlight, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & mace & depa & kanan, 4.1k    There’s this old problem. You may have heard of it. Something about a trolley, and a person, and a lever. A choice. ✦ premonition by grumpyhedgehogs, obi-wan & anakin, 2.6k    Anakin dreams of the future. (It isn’t bright.) ✦ Betrayal by Pandora151, obi-wan & anakin, read the warnings, 1.5k    Obi-Wan gets to Coruscant earlier than expected after escaping from Utapau. It changes things. ✦ Together or Not at All by Pandora151, obi-wan & anakin & padme, 2.7k    In the aftermath of the Battle of Geonosis, Anakin crashes, and Obi-Wan and Padmé struggle to keep him alive long enough to get him help, all while trying to face their new reality. The reality of war. FRIENDSHIP WITH CANON ENDED, THIS COOL AU IS MY NEW BEST FRIEND NOW: ✦ strip away my conscience (peel away my values) by gostaks, obi-wan & anakin & palpatine, sith!obi-wan, 1k    Obi-Wan Kenobi is an onion—he has layers. Beneath those layers, growing blacker every day, is the seed of the Republic’s fall. ✦ i am his brother, and i love him well by egeria, obi-wan/satine & anakin/padme, modern au, 2.9k    Anakin introduces Padmé to Obi-Wan. It goes well. Not that Anakin believes that. ✦ Tolnah kodaih kat delo anohrah'ak by loosingletters, obi-wan & anakin & jango & boba & cast, 4.2k wip    The one where Shmi is Jango’s older half-sister, Obi-Wan is raising a Mandalorian Padawan and Palpatine’s plans get ruined because four-year-old Boba Fett loves his cousin. ✦ No Death, Only the Force by ExtraPenguin, anakin & mace & depa & shmi, body swap, 2.8k    Anakin Skywalker is just about to to free his mother from the Tuskens when the Force rudely yanks him to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant – and into Mace Windu’s body. Mace, on the other hand, gets tossed into Anakin’s body on Tatooine.

[smogfromkortalmombat1]

Warming the ice (Bi-Han and Tomas MK1 fic)

(MK1 childhood Lin Kuei trio - Bi-Han and Tomas)

Summary - Bi-Han feels isolated. Alone. Unloved. Little toddler Tomas can't have his brother feeling that way, and steps in to try and help.

(Hurt/comfort/brotherly love) (~3000 words)

Will eventually be up on my AO3 once the rest of the chapter is complete and I'm satisfied with it all - We are family. - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Mortal Kombat - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

Enjoy!

.

“You cannot keep acting like a child.”

Bi-Han lowered his gaze to the pebbled ground beneath him, trying desperately to swallow the bitterness rising in his throat.

“You must be stronger. Smarter. You cannot afford to keep showing these weaknesses of yours, Bi-Han. The Lin Kuei depends on you.”

“I’m sorry.” Ice was forming on the tips of his shoes. A new development of his cryomancer abilities, if he had to guess. It would have intrigued him, had it been at any other moment in time. Now, it only aided to further humiliate him. A physical manifestation of these weaknesses of his. “It won’t happen again.”

“Yet it continues to, despite our discussions.”

“I know.” His head dipped lower, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Rough, sharp canines cut easily through the plump flesh. His tongue tasted copper. “I will better myself.” He bit out, “I will. For the clan. For Earthrealm.”

“It doesn’t look it, Bi-Han.”

Sometimes, Bi-Han felt lonely.

It was a stupid, childish feeling. One he knew he shouldn’t have- shouldn’t even consider at all, really- because how could he be lonely, surrounded as he was by the Lin Kuei? By his family? By the bustling life of the temple and its nearby surrounding villages? 

He wasn’t some isolated outcast, shunned and forgotten by society. He interacted with people every day. He studied with his masters, sparred with the other students, listened to his elders- he was one of the sons of the Grandmaster, for the gods' sake. People knew him. Took advice from him. Respected him. Feared him.

And still, here it lay, deep beneath the surface. That gnawing, hungry emptiness he couldn’t quite shake, no matter how hard he tried- and believe him. He tried.

A silent killer- it crept in during the quiet moments. Moments where he was supposed to be relaxing, away from his life as the Grandmaster’s heir. Moments where he was supposed to be happy, living as the boy he was, not as the man he was expected to become. Where peace and joy were supposed to overtake everything in his soul.

When the echoes of his footsteps, and the whispers of his breath were the only sounds of the night. When the only noises were the whistles of the wind, and his fingers flitting through the pages of his books. When he meditated, when he ate, when he lay down to sleep. That’s when it would sneak in. It always knew exactly where to find him, to hurt him most. Wrapping itself tight around his heart, turning the featherlight moment into something suffocating and heavy.

“You’ll always be different. You’ll never fit in.”

“No one could ever love you, you know.”

It gnawed at him, quiet and persistent, gently unravelling the threads of his calm until all he could feel was frustration and doubt. Where he could no longer meditate, or read. Where he could no longer stand the silence that he would crave at any other time in his hectic life. 

He didn’t understand it- this inexplicable sense of isolation that lingered even when he was surrounded by his clan. It made no sense. He wasn’t alone, so why did he feel like he was? Why did he feel so distant, so disconnected from everyone around him?

“You will never belong.”

Maybe this was one of his weaknesses. The ones his master spoke of, constantly chided him about. Maybe this feeling inside of him was proof of his failure to overcome. Proof he wasn’t as ready to fulfil his destiny. Proof he was not as ready as he thought he was.

“You’ll never be ready. You’ll never be enough.”

The thoughts twisted in his mind, feeding the guilt that already festered deep inside. He was supposed to be better than this- stronger, colder, unfeeling- unyielding like the ice he so graciously commanded. He was supposed to be the future protector of Earthrealm, the future leader of the Lin Kuei, the future Grandmaster himself. But instead, he felt adrift. Lost in a sea of emotions. Emotions he should. Not. Be. Feeling.

Something soft and wet landed on the skin of his hand, startling him out of his own head.

He blinked, gaze darting downwards to look at the watery droplet on his hand, and then upwards at the sky high above him. It wasn’t raining. The night’s clouds were sparse- even the few he did see were light and wispy, not dark and heavy with… Oh.

He scrubbed a hand over his damp face with a shaky huff, breathing thickly into his palm. Weak. Weak, weak, weak.

“A Grandmaster does not weep, Bi-Han. He does not shed tears. He is the foundation of his clan, the stones upon which his people walk.”

He shakily exhaled, hunching his shoulders as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. He’d never be good enough. He’d never feel content. He’d never feel happy. He’d never feel loved. He’d never-

“Bi-Han?”

A voice startled him from the storm raging inside his mind. It was quiet, muffled, almost overshadowed by the wind. Any normal person wouldn’t have even heard such a small mutter of a noise.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a small figure standing at the edges of the courtyard, watching him. Their little hands wrang nervously against one another, ghostly pale eyes peeking out curiously at him from behind wisps of grey, smoke-curled hair.

Tomas.

Panic and shame surged through Bi-Han. How long had he been standing there? How much had he seen?

He quickly straightened, hastily scrubbing a hand across his face as he went, praying it erased any lingering traces of his vulnerability. Tomas couldn’t see him like this. He couldn’t allow him to witness his failures. What kind of older brother would he be if he did that? 

Tomas knew him as a brave, fearless warrior, he couldn’t see him as a scared, weeping child. Tomas looked up to him- relied on him. Needed him to be strong. Tomas depended on him to be a protector, a warrior of unyielding ice, the Grandmaster he was destined to become.

The whole world did, really. Whether they knew it or not.

“Tomas.” He called out to the boy. His voice was rough and scratchy, edged with an iciness that he hoped sounded commanding. He inhaled once more, forcing his shoulders back, attempting to regain his lost composure. “What are you doing out here?”

Tomas wasn’t allowed in the training yard, by orders of their mother. That much Bi-Han knew- and while technically, Tomas wasn’t in the courtyard, the little boy standing just on its outskirts, his small face peering in past the entrance archway, it was good enough. It gave him something to focus on rather than the uncomfortable coiling in his gut. 

The child didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze dropped to the ground, clearly eyeing the fine-line between outside and inside the yard. His tiny teeth gnawed at his bottom lip, awkwardly shuffling from one foot to the other. He looked so small, so… innocent.

Bi-Han briefly wondered if that was what he himself looked like, when the elders scolded him.

“I just… uhm.” Tomas’ voice was still whispered, still that timid, uncertain tone. “I saw you sitting all by yourself.” The wind ruffled his grey curls, the hair swirling like smoke from a fire. “You looked… sad.”

Bi-Han’s heart tightened uncomfortably in his chest. He forced himself to remain stern, to keep his voice steady. This little interaction would be over soon, and then he could go back to… whatever he was doing before this. “You should be inside.” He started, “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be in bed?” 

Usually, Tomas would take that as his cue to dart away, lest he faces his eldest brother’s infamous icy lectures. To run right for his room and right to bed, as suggested. But Tomas didn’t move- at least, not to leave he didn’t.

Instead, he took a step forward. Into the training yard.

“Tomas.” Bi-Han warned, voice low.

Tomas took another step. Then another. Then another- his bright pale eyes never leaving Bi-Han’s own dull brown ones. Small, milky-white teeth still worried the skin of his bottom lip, his tiny hands playing with the dulled, yellow seams of his hand-me-down jumper. This was unusual of the kid- Tomas never defied any rules set for him, even the ones that Bi-Han himself deemed silly and pointless. He found himself silent, watching him wander closer, and closer, until the boy was mere metres away from him.

“Are you…” The seams of Kuai’s old jumper were falling off in little chunks, now, torn away by fumbling little fingers. “Are you… okay?”

Bi-Han almost outright flinched at the question. 

His mouth instantly opened, ready to scold, to fight- to push Tomas away. To protect his image, to reverse whatever memory Tomas now had seared in his mind of his elder brother, weak and crying right in front of him. 

But nothing came.

He couldn’t do it.

Something in Tomas’ gaze- the sincere, too-real understanding. The ghostly eyes filled with concern- it made him hesitate. The harsh words he wanted to say, willed himself to say, never came. The words intended to scare the child away from ever attempting this again couldn’t form. His cold tongue turned soft. 

Tomas took another shy step toward. His small, soft hand reached out to gently touch Bi-Han’s knee.

“It’s okay.” The little boy whispered. He sounded far too old for the age he really was. “It’s okay to cry. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

His throat tightened. Those words, such simple, stupid words, and yet- yet it hit him. Hard. Harder than any of his master’s criticisms ever had. Bi-Han’s lower lip was trembling, his vision blurring with those god-forsaken tears again, his so-carefully built walls crumbling easily under the watchful gaze of a mere child.

He didn’t know what to say- how do you respond to something that sincere? That honest and truthful? Such pure, disarming kindness? He wasn’t used to it- he wanted to squirm away, run for the hills and never look back- and yet he didn’t. He found himself just… nodding. A small, almost imperceptible motion, but Tomas caught it. Tomas saw it. Saw him.

A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Tomas’ mouth, a soft, gentle expression that seemed to warm the frigid air around them. A boost of confidence that set the toddler aiming further. Higher. 

Without much hesitation, his littlest brother clumsily climbed up onto the bench beside him, his small hand never leaving Bi-Han’s knee, using it instead to boost himself up with a soft oomph until he was safely onboard the wooden contraption, his own knees dangling off the bench’s edge.

Bi-Han watched him with a mixture of surprise and something else he couldn’t quite name. It was unfamiliar. A warm feeling that spread from where Tomas touched him, seeping through his bloodstream to his cold, icy heart. 

Hope, maybe? Love?

Tomas settled beside him, shuffling so he was close enough that he could rest his head against Bi-Han’s side, his other hand curling around his arm, clutching on tight. The toddler didn’t say anything else- he didn’t need to. The message was clear.

“I love you.”

“You belong.”

“You’re enough.”

For a long while, they sat like that. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but soothing, and gentle. The heavy weight in Bi-Han’s chest seemed to lessen, just a little. As if Tomas’ presence was enough to shave away some of the thick burden that he carried. He could feel the toddler’s fingers tiredly tracing the swirling gold pattern on the sleeve of his hanfu. Could see his eyes were half-closed, cheek smushed from where it was pressed against him. He really should be in bed by now.

“Tomas.” Bi-Han’s voice was croaky from disuse, though softer, that icy edge from before long gone. “Why exactly were you out here- in the first place? You know you shouldn’t be.”

Tomas lifted his head sleepily, blinking up at Bi-Han with those almost glowing pale eyes. “I saw you from my bedroom window.” He said quietly. “I didn’t want you to be alone.” He snuggled back in, sighing warmly, eyes beginning to close once more, voice drifting into an almost silent murmur. Words that felt like they weren't for Bi-Han’s own ears to hear. “I know what it’s like to be alone.”

Bi-Han’s heart twisted at that. He unravelled his arm from out of Tomas’ grip, instead curling it around the boy himself, drawing him closer, into something that somewhat resembled an embrace. His fingers touched soft, smoky hair. “Thank you.” He murmured, the words thick with emotion, “I… I needed it.”

Tomas smiled up at him again, his face tired, but his eyes shining with joy. He pressed closer, little grey hair tickling Bi-Han’s chin as he wormed his way further into his brother, as if he was attempting to merge their bodies together. Bi-Han simply let him.

“Don’t worry.” The little boy whispered, after a brief moment of silence. “I won’t tell Kuai.”

A small, unexpected smile tugged at the corners of Bi-Han’s own mouth now. “Good.” He found himself replying lightly, nodding. “You know I’d hate to lose my reputation as the cool one.”

Tomas giggled softly, yawning. “You’ll always be the cool one. Kuai’s the fiery one, remember?”

They sat there in silence for a little while longer after that, the quiet evening wrapping around them like a protective cocoon. Bi-Han found himself staring out at the empty courtyard, watching the shadows deepen as the night finally fully set in. Normally, this would be the time where that loneliness crept in. Reared its ugly face at him, reminding him of all his fears. All his doubts and insecurities. But tonight was different. With Tomas here- though asleep as he was now, drooling on the side of his very expensive hanfu- it was different. The silence wasn’t suffocating. It wasn’t debilitating. It was bearable. Enjoyable, almost. 

It was no longer an enemy, but the companion it should have always been to him. One that allowed him to breathe, to simply exist as himself. Not as the future protector of Earthrealm- not as the future leader of the Lin Kuei, not as the future Grandmaster, but as Bi-Han. 

He could be just Bi-Han today. And that was okay. It was okay because people wanted just Bi-Han. In whatever shape and form he came in- broken or unbroken.

[kurogane2512]

KURO KURO KURO

IM SHAMELESSLY REQUESTING for a smut with ANY mommy char x g!p r that’s based off this tweet plsssss

https://twitter.com/_maiqo/status/1661162706739638272?s=20

HOLY HELL ANON I ACTUALLY GASPED LIKE MY JAW DROPPED THE MOMENT I READ MAIQO IN THE LINK I KNEW IT WAS SOMETHING GOOD AND AAAAAAA IM IN LOVE OMG OMG

18+ CONTENT MDNI

Game: Genshin Impact

Characters: Lisa x g!p reader (The moment I saw that art I instantly thought of Lisa in Elysia's place idk it just fit so well)

Type: Smut and Fluff (consensual brief somnophilia, oral, uhhh semi-public sex?, penetration, kissing, teasing)

Lisa softly knocked on Jean's office door before calling out your name, "Y/n? Are you done?~"

She twisted the knob and went in carrying a tray of snacks and tea to offer you. The two of you were doing the regular check-up of the library today and after helping arrange the ground floor of the library, Lisa assigned you to do the same at Grandmaster's office. She had barely entered the room and was about to call your name again but pursed her lips seeing the surprising sight in front of her.

She smiled to herself and quietly walked inside to keep the tray on the desk before she made her way over to your sleeping figure on the couch, gazing at your calm and peaceful sleeping face. She kneeled down and gently caressed your cheek before placing a kiss on your forehead.

"She must have gotten tired; she did do this whole room by herself on top of the ground floor of the library....My cutie is so hardworking~"

She smiled and continued gazing at your adorable face until suddenly her eyes fell upon your abdomen and she noticed a peculiar bulge in your pants. Her eyes widened before she grinned and slid her hand towards your hardened shaft, lightly gripping it over the fabric.

"I thought you were tired but clearly, the other cutie is rather energetic now~"

She whispered as she gripped your shaft more, sliding her hand up and down and rubbing it. Your brows subconsciously furrowed and she quietly chuckled.

"My~ Would you feel rewarded if I wake you up this way?~"

She rubbed your dick in her hand more, pre-cum beginning to gather on the tip and stain your pants. She looked over at the door once to ensure it was locked before standing up and climbing on top of you, straddling your legs. She moved your pants down and watched as your semi-hard cock sprung up, twitching slightly. She licked her lips as your scent filled her senses, arousing her.

"She won't mind, we have done it this way before. Besides, she's close to waking up now. I'll stimulate her slightly until then before moving to the main event~"

She placed small kisses all over your cock, going from the tip to the shaft before licking long strip across the girth. She swirled her tongue over the head, her drool and your pre-cum mixing together as she proceeded to wrap her mouth around it. Your body shivered from the sensations as she sucked your dick, giving small licks to the tip at the same time.

"Mhhmm....w-what?" you groggily opened your eyes, watching the woman above you with hazy vision until you realized it was none other than your lover who was currently sucking your cock.

"Good morning, cutie~ Did you sleep well?~"

"L-Lisa....good morning, hi...what are you doing....?" you fumbled on your words, feeling flustered at the sight.

"Hehe~ As you can see, your little self here was rather worked up so I took it in my hands to comfort it~" she rubbed her cheek over your dick as she spoke.

"I-I see...."

"So? Were you having some dream that got this cutie so excited?~"

You smirked, "Well, I no longer remember most of it but for what I do remember....it's no longer a dream~"

Lisa also smirked before crawling over your face, trapping your figure beneath her and pecking your nose.

"Is that so? Well, how about we enact what you remember in order to jog your memory? I'm quite curious to know what you dreamed of~"

You grinned then kissed her chin, "Sounds like a plan~"

Lisa chuckled, "Hehe~ So, what shall we do? Would you prefer that I...." she slid her hands down your chest before applying force and pushing you down, "....Ride you?~"

"I'm starting to think this is even better than the dream~"

"Oh, sweetheart, I'll give you an experience you could never dream of~"

Lisa removed her hat and placed it on your head before moving back. She pulled her dress down to free her breasts, perky pink nipples in front of your eyes to feast on. You swallowed thickly, watching her undo her belt and hold up her dress to show you how wet she was, slick coating her panties.

"Mm, look how wet I am, cutie~" she rubbed her soaking cunt on your dick, grinding back n forth through her panties. You could feel her wetness seep through and coat your shaft, the hot juices making you aroused as she fastened her pace and grinded more. She then abruptly stopped and leaned up slightly to move aside her panties and holding your dick up before putting it in.

The two of you moaned in unison as she slipped it in one go, thrusting down on your lap as her walls parted. Her wet and slippery walls held your dick tightly, contracting on it as if they had been craving you forever. Your dick twitched inside her, you could already feel yourself going over the edge but held back for her.

She then began thrusting up and down, riding you to her heart's content. She looked akin to a goddess as she rutted on top of you, her supple boobs bouncing with every thrust giving you a marvelous sight to behold. You moved your hands to cup them, squeezing the soft flesh and pinching her hard nipple.

"Aaaah~ Cutie....cutie....f-fuck! You are in so deep!~ Hah! More....give me more....!~

You moved your hands down to grab her waist before thrusting your hips up, the movement making her gasp in ecstasy and arch up. Sounds of your thighs slapping against her hips resounded in the office accompanied by her angelic moans and grunts. You sat up to pull her closer, her arms wrapping around your neck and legs around your waist as you thrusted into her with all your strength.

Your dick filled her to the brim, the tip hitting her deepest and most sensitive spots. Her head shot back as she moved deeper, your dick pounding her at a new angle which practically made her see stars. Your head was enveloped in her soft bosom, giving you the chance to lick and suck on the mounds of flesh.

"I-I'm cumming, Lisa! Let me pull out, ngh!~"

"No! I want it in! Fill me up, my darling!~"

Who were you to deny such a heartfelt request? You slammed deep into her one last time as you came, ropes of hot cum painting her walls. She too came soon after, her slick coating your dick. You held each other tightly as you came down from your orgasms, smiling at each other and sharing a gentle kiss.

"Wanna continue?~" you husked, and she smiled then kissed your cheek in agreement.

[fsfghgee]

I agree, Bi-Han was very close to his mother. In fact, I believe he probably took most of her personality and appearance (thin eyebrows and sharp cheekbones). A dialogue line between Smoke and Li-Mei states that his mother was “nonsense and tough as nails”. Some people think he speaking about his bio mom but I truly believe he was speaking about his adoptive mother because whenever he takes about his bio mom there is always a somber tone.

Now I’m only making assumptions here, but I’m she was the only woman to understand him until he got with Sektor.

Yes. You're right. Sektor is the only person who truly understands Bi-Han and has supported him since his mother died. And as strange as some people may find it, men like Bi-Han — men who are truly attached and close to their mothers — are often (when not exclusively) attracted to women who are similar to their mothers. And this isn't just a male fetish thing, nor is it a conscious choice. Bi-Han certainly doesn't see Sektor as his mother. But she definitely has personality traits that he feels familiar enough to be attracted to, behavioral traits that he grew up admiring, physical traits that he feels comfortable with. Her affection for him takes him to a safe place, a place he hasn't had access to since his mother's death, he feels safe enough in her presence to expose his vulnerabilities:

I can't even imagine how comforting it must have been for him to hear Sektor's voice and see her face after spending hours being tortured to death by titan Havik. And worse, being forced to obey him, knowing how much he hates obeying and being controlled.

I saw a lot of people (intentionally or not) reading this scene the wrong way. Trying to paint this scene as a sample of a toxic relationship, where Bi-Han doesn't care about her or that Sektor has no dignity for accepting this. And I was like, "WTF". The only thing he did was abruptly break free from her strong grip to punch Liu Kang. The important point of this scene has been completely ignored…

The authority and lack of fear she shows when holding him tightly and telling him not to fight was just another way they found to show us that Sektor is Bi-Han's significant other. A simple follower, just another subordinate of the ruthless Grandmaster, would not have the courage to do this. And even though she is very important to him and he loves her, he is not the type of man who obeys without a good reason. He is not a man with an easy temperament to control and truly hates being controlled. It's even unfair to compare the situation between Sektor and Bi-Han with that of Harumi and Kuai Liang as some people have been doing…

First, Kuai Liang didn't have the adrenaline of a bloodlust running through his veins like he would have had if he had gone after Cyrax to kill her, Cyrax was the one who offered her neck to Kuai's wrath.

Second, Kuai Liang, not even at that moment, had half the hatred for Cyrax that Bi-Han has for Liu Kang and Havik. It's literally confirmed by him and her, in story mode and intros, that they have a past.

Third, Harumi actually gave Kuai Liang convincing reasons to spare Cyrax. Sektor didn't give Bi-Han any, and even if she had, I doubt it would have changed his mind. After all, Bi-Han's goal was to give Liu Kang a quick pummeling to kill the man/titan/god who tortured him to death.

Even though the expansion's story isn't a masterpiece of literature, the part about making Sektor and Bi-Han's relationship romantic without diminishing the threat that Bi-Han actually poses as an antagonist in the game was successfully achieved.

Sektor is Bi-Han's only weakness (just as he is hers)...

Shang Tsung: Bi-Han will pay a steep ransom for your return. Sektor: Just how are *you* planning to abduct *me*?

Shang Tsung: This hostility is unwarranted, Bi-Han. Noob Saibot: You tried to abduct Sektor!

Noob Saibot: You wish to bargain? After what you've done?! Shang Tsung: Do you wish to rule or not, Bi-Han.

Noob Saibot: It is time you answer for Sektor. Shang Tsung: For what, exactly? She escaped me unharmed.

Noob Saibot: You tried enlisting Sektor against me?! Quan Chi: Not against you. To help you see reason.

Noob Saibot: Leave. Before this gets ugly. Quan Chi: I am here to haggle but if we must fight, so be it.

Noob Saibot: If Liu Kang seeks to punish Sektor -- Geras: It would be his right to do so.

Kenshi: So you and Sektor, eh? Hm. That tracks. Noob Saibot: If that is mockery, you are a dead man.

Liu Kang: Sektor should have trusted me to heal you. Noob Saibot: You should not have made her wait.

Liu Kang: You should have trusted me, Sektor. Sektor: Why?! You left Bi-Han to rot.

Sindel: Your 'beloved' should never have crossed me. Sektor: He doesn't fear you. And neither do I.

Kitana: I have to question your taste in men. Sektor: Please, Princess. Share your thoughts.

Geras: If you love Bi-Han, return him to Liu Kang. Sektor: It's because I do that I cannot.

Kenshi: You and Bi-Han deserve each other. Sektor: I couldn't agree more.

But she is also his greatest strength.

Rain: What will Bi-Han do without his Master Armorer? Sektor: He'll never find out, will he?

General Shao: Sub-Zero sends his woman after me? Sektor: He sends his most skilled warrior.

Sub-Zero: Together we will make the Lin Kuei immortal. Sektor: I am honored to fight by your side.

Sektor: We will stop Kuai Liang. Sub-Zero: And finish his Shirai Ryu.

Sektor: I couldn't leave you locked away in the Temple. Noob Saibot: You were right to be impatient.

Sektor: Is it best for you to remain this way? Noob Saibot: It is best for the Lin Kuei.

Sektor: If Liu Kang continues to stand -- Noob Saibot: We will neutralize him.

Cyrax: With Sektor as the Lin Kuei's grandmaster -- Smoke: I know. They could be even *more* dangerous.

Li Mei: You may be more dangerous than Bi-Han. Sektor: Ha! May be?

Sektor: I won't let you near Bi-Han. Ermac: You are one. One cannot stop Us.

Sektor: Keep your souls away from my clan. Ermac: The Lin Kuei must answer for Sindel.

Mileena: I can’t trust Lin Kuei. You were complicit in -- Sektor: Bi-Han knew nothing of Titan Shang Tsung.

Sektor: Bi-Han risked everything to free you. General Shao: Not every gamble pays, Sektor.

Geras: Your experiments with automation must end. Sektor: Interesting. I must be on to something.

Sub-Zero: The armor isn't enough. Sektor: Patience, Bi-Han. There is more to come.

Noob Saibot: How long before the prototype is ready? Sektor: It will be done when it is done.

Tanya: You've created more mechanized monstrosities? Sektor: Many. And I can't wait to unleash them.

Sektor: Once all Lin Kuei are equipped like me -- Scorpion: It will be a dark day for Earthrealm.

General Shao: Are you still Lin Kuei? Noob Saibot: I will *always* be Lin Kuei.

General Shao: Your army's battle armor masks its incompetence. Noob Saibot: If you think so, take the field against us.

General Shao: I need Sektor's services. Noob Saibot: You should have thought of that before freezing me out.

Reiko: Do you share Bi-Han's power? Or just his bed? Sektor: Careful, Reiko. Disrespect can be fatal.

Reiko: You should be a weapon in the General's arsenal. Sektor: The Lin Kuei won't partner wih him again.

Reiko: What will it take for you to equip our army? Sektor: There isn't enough gold in the realms.

Ashrah: The Lin Kuei's course can still be changed. Sektor: We are far beyond the point of no return.

Ashrah: Your ardor for Bi-Han is -- Sektor: I don't need a demon's advice.

Scorpion: You have influenced my brother -- Sektor: He is his own man, Kuai Liang.

And I honestly find it strange that there are those who think that Li Mei would remind Tomas of his biological mother when he calls Bi-Han's mother his mother too:

Smoke: If Mother were alive -- Sub-Zero: She would applaud my actions.

This intro…

Li Mei: I remind you of your mother? Smoke: No-nonsense and tough as nails, just like her.

describes a fighter, not a hunter. Which Li Mei is, just like Bi-Han's mother was:

Sindel: Both your parents were excellent fighters. Scorpion: I can only hope to live up to their example.

*Plus, Li Mei and Bi-Han's mother (in mk1) are Chinese (inspired appearance), I doubt that Smoke's biological mother was not Czech like him.

Smoke remembering his adoptive mother as a serious, firm,  straightforward, strong, extremely tough and determined woman. No-nonsense and tough as nails, like a warrior is supposed to be, makes sense to describe Bi-Han's mother in a few words. And Bi-Han being right about his mother…

Smoke: If Mother were alive -- Sub-Zero: She would applaud my actions.

This dialogue between Li Mei and Sektor kinda proves that Sek would have had her mother-in-law's blessing if she were still alive:

Li Mei: In another life, we might have been friends. Sektor: That is pointless speculation, Li Mei.

Liu Kang, his father and brother may disapprove of Sektor now, but his mother would love her (almost) as much as he does and that's all that matters to him.

[stickthroughthephases]

Bi-Han headcanons from the deepest part of my brain

Doesn’t believe in fiction books or doesn’t care to read them because he’s always been told to “gain knowledge” and he wasn’t allowed to read fantasy novels, the closest thing was reading up on the type of beings in other realms hence the entire dialogue with Nitara

Despite being a cryromancer, hates hates hates cold food and drinks, his tea MUST be piping hot (he never gets burned) as compared to Kuai Liang who leaves his food and drinks to cool down before having them 

Would make ice flowers for his mother since Artika doesn’t really have flowers growing from the ground

Takes long walks in the forest, at night, whenever he doesn’t feel in sync with himself and just kinda wants to reset and calm down

Doesn’t like to be touched, especially his hair, which is why he keeps it long because he hated people touching or cutting it when he was younger (Kuai Liang wanted to follow his older brother so he also keeps it longer, #twinsies)

Likes desserts that are milky and not super sweet (custards, puddings), will only eat deep-fried desserts during special events 

Always stays up to watch the first snowfall of the winter season (yes I know it is always cold but whenever the winter season begins, he waits for the first snowfall because he is sentimental like that, it is when he feels his strongest)

Insecure sometimes about not having complimenting powers as Kuai Liang as compared to Tomáš (Where there’s smoke, there’s fire), worries it affects the bond they share

Used to help sneak snacks out of the kitchen quarters for Tomáš and Kuai Liang because those two together couldn’t stay quiet long enough to avoid getting caught (he would always steal cookies from both, not because he actually wanted them but because they would always whine and try to hold the packets away from him, yes he’s THAT person)

Horrible to buy any sort of gifts for, nobody knows what he likes except maybe the brothers and even they are stumped on what to get him 

His father hated how he would always show attitude (sassy ass eyebrow raises, dirty looks, side eyes, eye rolls and more) but it made him do it more

Contrary to people's idea of him, I really don't think he is purposefully mean to those he loves/likes BUT he can overstep in the name of being honest or straightforward, doesn't like to beat around the bush or be fake with others (social skills are pretty limited)

He gives me vibes of someone who doesn't have many hobbies because he's a workaholic and training/being Grandmaster is his job

If you enjoyed this list, I will be back in 2-3 business weeks for either a part two or a different MK character!

[rea-grimm]

Weapon Altair

Who hasn't heard of Altair? About a powerful weapon, which, however, changed one master after another. He lasted the longest with Malik, but you haven't seen him for a long time.

Everyone in Masyaf knew Altair and everyone talked about him. Maybe it was because they demoted him to the rookie level yesterday. That was your level as well, but what could you do when you only recently joined the assassins?

You were one of the masters, people who controlled special weapons, and today was finally the day when they would assign you a weapon. That's how it was on Masyaf, and assassins with weapons were stronger than those with ordinary ones. Occasionally, rather exceptionally, it happened that a master was assigned his rightful weapon.

You climbed the stairs to Al Mualim's office, eager to find out who you would be working with. All you knew was that it would be a sword. Which narrowed down your choices, but you still had no idea who it could be.

You expected a lot, but you certainly didn't expect Altair next to the Grandmaster. Maybe your weapon will still arrive there, your mind flashed, and you tried to stay calm.

“Safety and peace be with you Master Altair,” you greeted them.

"You too," they returned your greeting. Altair just muttered something but kept his eyes on you the whole time. The younger assassin looked like he was going to leave if the master didn't stop him.

"Altair, as you well know, you deprived your original master of your hand and since you were demoted to novice, another master must be assigned to you. Altair, this is Y/N, your new master," he told him sternly. Before you could say anything, he took up the word assassin.

"You can't be serious? She's a novice!" he protested.

"So are you. Plus, Y/N has proven what she's capable of and I'm sure she's well on her way to the top," Grandmaster replied calmly. "So I've decided and I won't change my decision," he added sternly when he noticed Altair was about to object.

After the Grandmaster released you, you headed outside the fortress, to a small area out of sight of the city, where you were to fight Altair. Not with him, but against him. He wanted to see how good you were with the sword. 

He pissed you off when he added that he didn't want a master to drag him down. You had to do something not to punch him. How could he even say such a thing to you? Especially when you were now on the same level.

You were able to keep up with them in a fight and it felt like you could read his every move and avoid him. However, this was also true for him, and neither was able to strike a blow at the other.

After a few days, the Grandmaster sent you on your first mission outside the fortress. You were looking forward to it. You can finally show off all your skills. You have arrived at Acre, where you first went to the local rafiq.

You wanted to find out the necessary information first and then kill. But your weapon was of a different opinion and while you were out scouting, he took matters into his own hands. It all dawned on you when alarm bells rang through the city. You immediately ran to the switchboard to find out what happened.

Altair was already there, covered in blood and was being scolded by rafiq for his carelessness and rashness. It annoyed you too because it was your mutual mission and you wanted to help him with it too. But you didn't say anything to him when you saw how rafiq scolded him.

This is how the mission went in Damascus too. There he locked you in the base and went on a solo quest again. You had the impression that he locked you in there because you made it clear to him along the way that you would not take this mission away from him.

You didn't understand how he did it, but you thought, or hoped, that Altair would get some kind of warning from the Grandmaster. Especially with how the rafiqs were always furious with his behaviour and lack of information.

You didn't say anything about the mission to Jerusalem, where your third mission was located. You kept your own plan to yourself. If Altair wants to work solo then so be it, but he won't get rid of you that easily.

You arrived in Jerusalem in the evening and the original plan was to go to sleep as soon as you arrived at the base. You lay down on your pillows and close your eyes. But you were just pretending to be asleep.

This tactic paid off for you as very soon you heard footsteps and someone climbing out. You got up just in time to see Altair disappear from your sight. You were on your feet that moment, following him around town from a safe distance.

You followed him to the small gallows that was teeming with soldiers and where you noticed an assassin tied up on the stage. He wasn't in uniform, but you recognized him by his face. From the wall, you saw Altair sneaking through the shadows like a true assassin and striking at the right moment like a true killer.

The moment he killed the first guard and freed the captured assassin with his throwing knife, the fight began. Bells rang through the city and the assassin was at a clear disadvantage. You admired how he was able to stay calm in such numbers and cover one attack after another.

However, you were starting to like this less and less as more guards rushed up there. Altair slowly found himself trapped and threatened to be attacked from behind. You ran across the roof and jumped on a soldier who was about to stab Altair in the back.

"What are you doing here? Why aren't you at the base?" he barked at you when he noticed you.

“Thanks would do,” you snapped as you covered his back.

You were fighting a group of soldiers, there were more and more of them, and in the confusion, you accidentally lost your sword. Or rather, they attacked you in such a style that they knocked it out of your hand. Now you only had a small dagger and a hidden blade for defence and against swords and spears it wasn't such a win.

You were starting to have trouble keeping them off your body. You fended off one as the other attacked. You lost track of where the next attack was coming from.

By the time you noticed it, it was already too late. Although you partially dodged, the sword cut you in the side. Like nothing he passed through the leather protection belt to the flesh.

You cursed in pain and drove the hidden blade into your attacker's throat. Another soldier lunged at you as something skittered through the air and you grabbed your sword. It was light and held so well that you had the impression that it was custom-made for you. 

You had the impression as if everything around you slowed down, and darkened and only the enemies remained visible. With this sword, you had a sense of completeness and were able to better focus on the soldiers and read their movements.

Before you knew it, the fight was over and you were breathing hard in the middle of a pile of bodies. However, before you could speculate how you did it, you heard a scream and the sound of heavy footsteps coming towards you. 

Not a second late, you sheathed your sword and started climbing the nearest building. Your side hurt like hell, even though you were still bleeding, but that had to go away.

As soon as you got to the roof you ran away. But you were slowly running out of strength, so you hid in the nearest garden. There you leaned your back against the wooden wall and waited for the situation in the city to calm down.

However, you didn't expect the sword to turn into a human, let alone Altair. You completely forgot about him during the fight. You thought he took some opportunity to escape.

"What made you think of following me there?" he asked you sternly and took your hand. He examined it from different angles and gently ran his fingers over it. It was the hand they cut you in and knocked out your sword. However, there was nothing with your hand, only the metal was slightly scratched.

"It's okay, I don't…" you stuttered as pain shot through your side. Like someone stabbed you in the wound again. Altair immediately noticed the blood and crouched down to get a better look.

There was still a lot of blood coming out of your side. Altair leaned over to you, took off your leather belt and tied the red scarf you had around your waist pressing against your wound like a makeshift bandage. Altair grunted something before deciding that you needed to get back to base as soon as possible.

Once the bells had quieted, you left your hiding place. You have reached the edge of the roof. You were about to jump when Altair took you in his arms and started running with you.

"You know I can still run?" you asked him as you didn't understand him at all. He hasn't treated you like this in all this time. So far, he's acted more like you're just a burden. However, he shot you a look and didn't say anything about it. You preferred not to say anything for the rest of the trip.

Once you got to the base the assassin laid you down on the carpets and ordered you to lie down before walking into the room behind Malik. Suddenly there was shouting and an argument.

"What did you think? You want to kill all the masters Al Mualim assigns you?!" Malik shouted at him.

"Shout at me all you want, but first help me treat her! There will be time for arguments later!" Altair retorted sternly. You haven't experienced him like this. At that, Malik said something you didn't understand before they both walked over to you with clean bandages and water.

After the treatment, Malik left and only Altair was left, watching you with a stern look. You sat across from him with your head down, expecting a spanking.

"Why didn't you stay at the base? Did you want to get killed or something?" scolded you

"I didn't want to just idly wait here. Besides, if I hadn't followed you, they could have killed you," you answered honestly, looking at him hesitantly. His gaze remained stern for a moment before softening and sighing.

“I'll keep quiet about this disobedience in front of Al Mualim, but don't expect to get away with it unpunished,” he said more sternly than you expected, though, on the other hand, you were glad he would keep quiet about it in front of the Grandmaster.

Even if you were afraid of what the assassin would come up with for you. However, that was all he wanted to tell you and otherwise let you rest. You were glad for that, as you wondered to yourself how exhausted you were.

You woke up late at night and the only source of light was the moon shining down through the lattice. You were cold and pulled more of the blanket closer to you.

Then it dawned on you that you didn't have a blanket before you fell asleep. You also noticed that someone was lying right next to you, wrapping their arms around your waist so gently that they weren't pressing on your wound at all.

You wanted to turn around and see who was lying next to you, even though you had your suspicions. But as you wiggled, someone gently pulled you closer to him. This deterred you from moving any further and instead, you decided to check your tattoo. You rolled up your sleeve and smiled.

So you finally found your true weapon. Your wrist was no longer adorned with an ordinary grey sword. Rather, a sword with eagle wings and a hilt resembling an eagle's head with a golden eye. You had the impression that the eye perfectly captured his own eyes. As if he was looking at you through the tattoo.

You pulled your hand to your chest and closed your eyes with a happy smile. You placed your other hand lightly on top of his. Your tattoo confirmed it, and you came away safer than ever with the weapon that you embraced as if he wanted to protect you even in your sleep. Who would have thought that your weapon would be Altair?

Assassin's Creed Masterlist

[cienie-isengardu]

MK1 BEHIND THE SCENES AU: Say 'cheese'!

[Cage’s Mansion] [Waiting for Liu Kang] [Special Bonus] [Grandmaster’s commentary] [Climbing scene] [Madam Bo’s Inn] [Cage’s Mansion 2 (fire extinguisher)] [Medic] [Shang Tsung’s sad face] [Smoke’s Fall] [Scenography (1)] [Scenography (2)] [Show off!] [Favorite brother] [Climbing on the wall (nonsense)] [Tomas’ commentary] [Perfectly fine] [Sexy, sexy man~♪] [Brothers between filming - Scenography(3)] [Wrong team!] [Since when you two are friends?!] [I like being evil sorcerer more] [I forgot my line, sorry!] [Read the script Kuai!] [Get. Lost.] [Dating] [Permission] [Why date a punk like him…] [Panic (Mom is visiting)] [Decapitation then] [Deep in trouble (Mom is visiting #2)] [Cultural differences (paid leave)] [Why date a punk like him… (Lin Kuei Mom)] [Why date a punk like him… (General Shao)] [Stop closing your eyes!] [There is never a god around when you need one] [(Over)protective brothers, p. 1] [(Over)protective brothers, p. 2] [(Over)protective brothers, p. 3] [A mother knows best, p.1] [A mother knows best, p.2] [Good at multitasking] [One moron to save] [(Over)protective brothers, p. 4] [It’s bad enough there is three Shang Tsungs + BONUS] [Tolerate, maybe] [Losers. I’m Lin Kuei + bonus] [Shao learns about Paid Leave (p. 1)] [Not paid enough for this nonsense…] [Brothers between filming (4)] [Brothers between filming (5) - the last ice cream] [Why Liu Kang always must omit me?] [Shao learns about Paid Leave (p. 2)] [Johnny’s complaint] [The problems with Smoke’s powers] [Dark Sub-Zero]

[uncouth-the-fifth]

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

read it on ao3.

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

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 4th.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me,” you push.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mom is just as skilled at spoiling the moment.

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

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

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

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

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

You snap your phone shut and follow him inside.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam pulls a face. “Final Destination style?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

INDIANAPOLIS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - Dec. 4th, night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FLIGHT 424 - Dec. 4th.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He twists to meet eyes with you. Expecting you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt that static every time you felt Sam.

_

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

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

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

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

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

Until you’d felt that demon with your Gift.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You need to be sure. Consequences be damned.

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

_

She died screaming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even now, she’s still burning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 5th, night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s—”

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

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

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

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

You mumble something non-committal under your breath.

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

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

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

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

In. Bzzzsh. Out. Bzzzsh.

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