#it’s a sad song/we keep singing even so

[luna-the-cretar]

Watching Curse of Strahdanya, and falling in love with these ships and characters, is like watching the Hadestown musical to me.

In Hadestown, the first thing the narrator—Hermes—tells the audience is that this tale is a tragedy. There is no happy ending. And yet, as the show goes on, you forget that, somehow. But not fully. There’s still a little voice, lingering in the back of your mind, telling you that it’s always going to end horribly. And if you’re already familiar with the Greek myth, or the musical itself, then you know exactly how it’ll end. And yet, part of you still roots for Orpheus. To save Eurydice. To not turn around. To ignore the voices in his ear. To bring her home with him.

But. That’s not how the story goes. He always turns around. She always returns to Hadestown. And he always returns alone. And Hermes feels for the audience. He, too, yearns for there to be a day where the story changes, somehow. Of course, it won’t. That’s not how the story goes. But every time he tells the tale, some part of him yearns that maybe, just maybe, Orpheus won’t turn around. He would ignore the voices in his ear. He would bring Eurydice home. But he knows this is all in vain, for the tale is that of a tragedy, and it’ll always end the same.

Curse of Strahdanya is the same way. All the way to the title of the prologue; “The Cursed Expedition”. From the very beginning, they tell us that this tale is a tragedy. No matter what the characters do, no matter how strong they think they are, it will always end the same way. Their fates are set in stone. They will never leave, never get out. Strahdanya always wins.

And yet, the audience yearns for this telling to be different. Maybe if this character made a different choice, maybe if they convinced this character to stay, maybe…maybe…

But it always ends the same. It’s a sad tale. It’s a tragedy. Yet we tell it over and over again, as if maybe our heroes will get a happy ending this time

“To know how it ends/And still begin to sing it again/As if it might turn out this time”

[theflyingfeeling]

...💬

[rafesangelita]

♡ “have you ever tried this one?” in which kook!sweetheart!reader convinces rafe to take her to go see one of her favorite artists, and as a ‘thank you’ she and rafe have to do whatever position sabrina demo’s for her song “juno”..

warnings: fluff, unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise, breeding kink (?)

a/n: so sad because i didn’t get to see sabrina on tour, and she has had me in the meanest chokehold lately :( click this link to see what position i’m referring to <3

when the dates dropped for sabrina’s ‘short n’ sweet’ tour, rafe wasted no time in buying you two tickets. of course, you didn’t know this and begged him for weeks until he finally told you yes, your flight and hotel room already booked for a nice little weekend getaway. rafe helped you make your concert outfit, both of you spending hours on the whole ensemble. the end result was absolutely stunning and rafe couldn’t stop taking pictures of you.

he posted one on the night of the concert, captioning it ‘my little popstar princess <3’ and you two were off to the stadium. while you knew wearing sparkly white platform boots wouldn’t be the best choice to walk in, you stuck it through, and as soon as the lights dimmed and the music started, any kind of discomfort you felt had melted away as you were far too distracted singing along to every song that boomed through the venue.

babydoll lingerie top with pink fluffy trim, dedazzled stockings, glittery makeup, your hair freshly done, rafe swore you never looked prettier. even though he was against wearing anything that sparkled, he decided to wear a plain pink t-shirt to match with you in his own little way. he kept his arms wrapped around your waist as you two sung, having learned the lyrics to every song since you insisted on being in charge of the aux cord whenever you two were in his truck.

eventually, you two were swaying softly, rafe’s chin resting in the curve of your neck as you stroked the skin of his arm. “thank you for bringing me here.” you smiled up at him, connecting your lips as the intro to ‘juno’ started playing. rafe hummed, leaning down so you could hear him. “you know i had to bring you, baby.. what do you say you thank me another way when we get back to our room?” your cheeks heated as you laughed softly.

“yeah, i’d like that,” you pecked his cheek, “how about we do the position she does for the song?” rafe smiled, both of you fixing your attention on the stage. you waited with anticipation, your heart beating in your ears when she bent over and touched her toes. rafe cheered, making you laugh as he couldn’t wait to get you back to the hotel. luckily for him, there was only a few more songs left before the show ended and the two of you rushed out of there.

it wasn’t long after you two walked through the door that rafe had your boots thrown in a forgotten corner, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips as he took you roughly from behind. you struggled to keep your hands placed on your perfectly pedicured toes, your knees threatening to give out from under you while rafe thrusted into you at an unforgiving pace. “holy fuck, you’re taking it so fuckin’ good, gorgeous, ‘might just let you get off your tippy toes and put you on your back instead.”

you cried out, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as his pelvis smacked against the back of your ass. “can’t, rafe!” you shrieked, nearly doubling over before your boyfriend reached down and grabbed your arms, holding you by your wrists as you hung helplessly from his grip. he was fucking you stupid, and your lack of thoughts was proof of it. you couldn’t think, the feeling of rafe’s cock stroking that soft gummy spot inside of you made you whimper pathetically.

finally, you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, your knees meeting the carpeted floor. rafe picked you up, cursing under his breath as he encouraged you to get back in position. “promise i’ll have you in bed soon, pretty, you could hold out for me, yeah?” you shuddered, looking at him from behind your shoulder with that fucked-out gaze he loved so much. you had tears in your eyes, your body glitter still sparkling under the soft lighting.

giving him a little nod, you reached down once again, holding onto your ankles for dear life as rafe circled an arm under your hips, holding you up as his fingers started working on your clit. “oh!” you were in hysterics, your blood rushing to your head as he landed a harsh smack to your backside. “come on, baby, ‘wanna feel this pussy squeeze around me.” you moaned at his words, your orgasm just in arm’s reach as rafe’s thrusts grew uncalculated. “rafe?” you could barely speak, the band in your stomach threatening to snap at any moment.

“talk to me.” he groaned, teetering the edge of pure euphoria. “make me juno?” you giggled for a split second, the insinuation only turning rafe on even more. “fuck, yeah? ‘want me to fill you up, give you a baby?” you let out a distorted “mhmm!’, the two of you gasping when your highs took you both to cloud nine. rafe pulled you back up, your chest rising and falling while your legs shook with your orgasm. pressing wet kisses to your neck, rafe did exactly as he said, his hips stuttering as hot, thick ropes of cum painted your velvety walls.

you two stayed like this, pressed against one another until your breathing slowed, the aftershocks subsiding before rafe laid you both down in bed. “we should have a ‘short n’ sweet’ themed baby shower.. we could serve espressos.” rafe laughed, draping an arm over your tummy. “we’ll see.” he hummed. your eyes fluttered shut as you breathed him in, his cologne still heavy on his skin. “you know what we should try when we get back home?” rafe traced shapes into your side, mumbling a ‘what’s that?’

“pink fuzzy handcuffs.”

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

i am obsessed with jack yapping to robby so he feels a bit better so could i req a scenario of jack and reader having a nasty argument and reader gets overwhelmed af so she gets some fresh air and he follows soon after and just yaps ur ear off and tries to land some jokes cos hes a loser #please ❤️ i love ur work

"bc he's a loser" LMAO (thankyouu!!)

Don’t Walk Away From Me|Pairing: Jack Abbott x Reader

The door slammed behind you harder than you meant. Not that it mattered.

Your hands were shaking as you leaned on the rusted railing of the hospital's back steps, the chill of Pittsburgh air cutting through your scrubs like paper. You just needed a second. A breath. A break from—

"Okay, wow." Jack’s voice followed seconds later. "So we’re slamming doors now? Cool. Was just wondering where we landed on the maturity scale today."

You didn’t turn around.

"I needed air, Jack. That’s all."

"Right. And you had to get it dramatically. Like mid-argument Broadway walk-off level dramatic."

You clenched your jaw, the tears building against your will. “I’m not doing this right now.”

"No, no, you don’t get to ‘not do this.’ You stormed out after basically accusing me of—what? Caring too much? Being too involved? Forgive me for giving a shit, sweetheart."

"Jack," you snapped, whipping around, "you talk over me constantly when you're mad. You bulldoze every feeling I have until I’m so spun around I start questioning if I’m even making sense."

You looked up at him—storm in your eyes, chaos in your chest. “I needed one thing today. One ounce of support, and instead I got that—whatever that was in there.”

Jack blinked. The words landed harder than you expected. He stepped back, rubbed a hand down his face, then sighed, soft.

“Okay,” he said finally. “I deserved that.”

Silence.

He shifted awkwardly. You knew he wasn’t good at this. Processing feelings that weren’t neatly filed under ‘sarcasm’ or ‘making dumb jokes to defuse tension.’ But he tried. Always tried.

“I’m… not good at being wrong,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “Or scared. Especially not both at the same time.”

He glanced over at you, squinting in the streetlight glow.

“But for the record,” he added with a smirk, “I was mostly mad because you looked me in the eye and told me you didn’t need me. That was rude. And honestly? False. You definitely need me. I keep this operation charming.”

You laughed—more like a watery scoff—but he grinned like he’d just won an award.

“There it is,” he said, stepping closer. “The laugh. God, I missed that. Felt like I was arguing with a robot version of you in there. Kind of scary.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

He nodded solemnly. “Certified. But I’m your idiot, and I’m trying here, okay?”

You shook your head, but you didn’t move when he came close. He didn’t touch you, not yet, just stood there breathing beside you, both of you watching your breath cloud in the cold.

After a beat, he nudged you with his elbow. “Want me to sing you a sad song about it? I can do jazz hands.”

“I will push you down these stairs.”

“Romance isn’t dead,” he whispered, mock wounded.

You cracked a smile. Just barely.

And then Jack finally reached for your hand—tentatively, reverently—and laced his fingers with yours.

“I love you,” he said, quiet this time. “Even when we’re fighting. Especially then, actually, because you’re mean as hell when you’re angry and I find it wildly hot. Just FYI.”

You rolled your eyes but squeezed his hand back. “You’re exhausting.”

“Yep. But you keep coming back. Guess that means we’re stuck.”

You leaned into his shoulder. “Guess so.”

And for the first time that day, you finally breathed.

[to-be-a-dreamer]

I can’t stand that TikTok trend that’s like “just saw Hadestown and my boyfriend is walking the entire way back to the hotel without looking back at me to prove Orpheus was a chump” because not only do they not get the whole point of the Orpheus and Eurydice myth they also Were Not Paying Attention to the musical they just saw.

Hate people who see WSS as “just a Romeo and Juliet retelling”. Hate people who see Hadestown as “Just an Orpheus and Eurydice retelling”.

Hate people who watch a musical that takes a classic story everyone knows and uses it to explore/critique our modern society and only see it as a funky retelling.

Not Getting The Point of WSS is one thing because it’s more subtle and it can be really easy to just see it as a modern R&J, especially if you don’t really know R&J.

How the fuck do you watch Hadestown and see it as just an O&E retelling? It is one of the most heavy-handed political musicals out there how are so many people missing the point?

Orpheus has to fail. Not because that’s how the Greek myth ends but because that’s the whole point of the message of Hadestown.

Social reform is hard. Changing the world is one of the most challenging things you can try to do. So often we see people try to make a difference in society, to change some kind of injustice in the world. And so often we see those people fail. It can feel so impossible to actually do some good in this fucked up world because we see these people who are smarter and stronger and more qualified than us fail over and over again.

Why do we even keep trying?

Because we have to.

Because one day, someone will try and they’ll succeed.

One day Orpheus won’t turn around.

One day the people of Hadestown will get to see someone escape and they’ll know they can escape too. Only then does the world get to change.

So we have to try. We have to keep singing the sad song, no matter how many times Orpheus turns around, because one day he won’t.

In the Greek myth, Orpheus fails because he loves Eurydice.

In Hadestown, Orpheus fails because we fail.

We try and we fail to make a difference. We try and we fail to change the world for the better. We try to see the world for what it could be and it keeps letting us down.

But we don’t give up. We don’t stop singing.

Hadestown is genuinely one of the best musicals ever. Full stop. This musical is one of the reasons i wish I was smarter because I would love to be able to do an entire thesis on this show and all the themes and messages in it. Some of them are subtle. Some of them aren’t.

It is not just an Orpheus and Eurydice retelling. I am begging people to hear the real message.

Never stop trying to change the world.

One day we’ll make it out of Hadestown.

We just have to keep singing the song.

[h4m1lt0ns]

HEARTBREAK SYNDROME.

episode sixteen :: BABY DEER

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ pairing ︴various drivers x y/n

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ genre ︴social media au / irl snippets

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ summary ﹔y/n finally takes a well deserved break, but leaves everyone with one last song for the year.

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ face claim ﹔ wonyoung jang (28)

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ warnings ﹕ cussing, light angst, none.

t

☆ IMESSAGE with ; BOARD OF DIRECTORS

babygirl alex: wait

babygirl alex: so to summarise what this 3 hour zoom meeting

babygirl alex: HE’S upset because you asked a rational question and decided to push YOU away????

y/n: basically yeah

honey badger: lewis hamilton.

honey badger: lewis hamilton when i catch you

my baby lando: when i fucking catch you lewis hamilton

chal eclair: wtf is his problem

yukino: no like why

PIERRE GASLYYYY: what would push him to even think like this

girlfriend kika: one thing a man will have is the god damn audacity 😒

angel carmen: amen

princess george: exactly

chili!: genuinely what was the reason

papaya baby #2: y/n are you okay?

y/n: no

y/n: that actually fucking hurt me

babygirl alex: my poor baby 💔☹️

my baby lando: it’s on sight when i see him istg.

angel carmen: do you want us to come over? alex and i are close by

y/n: no, it’s okay, thank you tho

y/n: i’m meeting up with seb later, gonna talk to him

y/n: i’m busy for the rest of the week, i have grammy rehearsals so i’ll be in the US

albono: yeah, it’s probably best if you stay out of monaco for a bit

chili!: ^^^

chal eclair: yeah, but we’re always here when you need us

y/n: i know, and i love you guys

y/n

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y/n what a year. can’t say it was amazing, nor can i say that it was awful. it was a learning experience to be fully honest. major lows and phenomenal highs, different places, different people, so much seen and heard. this year genuinely re-wired my brain. and to end it with six grammys, i couldn’t be more thankful 💕 i’ve said this so many times, and i mean it more and more each time, thank you —truly, humbly, and from the depths of my heart. for everything. for the love, the support, the messages, the energy, for every time you showed up, for everything you did and every word you said 🫀🫂 i’m so grateful to have all of you by my side, to know that all of you will always have my back 💌 i’m sending you nothing but love and light, and i’m wishing you growth and warmth as we enter this next year. i love you. always. forever. ♾️🤍 very deerly 🦌

tagged: sebastianvettel

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y/n and y/l/nestate

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y/l/nestate and for her last trick, y/n secretly worked on a new song over grammy weekend. just one last song for the last month of the year. the newest single “baby deer” comes out at 12:00 am EST, december 1st. set your alarms 🤍🦌🪽. have a well deserved break our deerest y/n <3

view 492,593 comments.

username and the crowd… the crowd burst into tears???

username you ain’t had to release this one brochacho 💔

username “SHE’S HAPPY! SHE’S NOT HEARTBROKEN AGAIN!” i scream as they drag me back to the padded room 😞

username ho did you just stab me

username “but i adore than man, like nobody can, he moves mountains and pounds them to ground again” hey so like, stand up maybe????

username me when i play the song of fucking pure heartbreak

username DIVA DOWN!!!!!! I REPEAT. DIVA DOWN!!!!!!!

username name dropping seb is crazy btw

alexandrasaintmleux 🫂🤍🫂🤍🫂🤍

username WHY ARE WE BACK TO SAD SONGS AGAIN

username hey so how about we not do this 😀

username i just started crying i dont even know why 😭😭

username wait sO WHO IS THIS ABOUT?????

→ username HAS to be lewis. HAAAAS TO BE.

→ username it’s abt m4x i fear

→ username there’s no way she’s still singing about max

→ username deadass this could be about any of the dilfs lowkey

username WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS ME TO ME 💔💔💔

username where does she keep finding these villains oh my god

username may this kind of situationship never find me

charles_leclerc 🦌🦌🦌❤️❤️❤️

username shaking ass to c,s&a then this comes on shuffle 😞

username 💔💔💔💔💔💔WHY💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

sebastianvettel 💐💐💐

→ username wHAT DO YOU KNOW

→ username TALK HOE

username guys i think we know who the perpetrator is ☹️

→ username right. bc who else has bambi eyes

→ username i’m gonna have to turn a blind eye bc i ship them hard

username she said i watch “my” baby deer. dear god why. 🫩

username NAME DROPPING SEBASTIAN?? wtf does he know

username i’m glad she’s on break bc this is getting out of hand

→ username i’m gonna hold ur hand when i say this.. it’s time to stop dating for a while 🫱🏽‍🫲🏼🫱🏽‍🫲🏼🫱🏽‍🫲🏼

→ y/n you’re probably right

→ username OH?

→ username UHMMMMMMM.

mercedesamgf1 and y/l/nestate

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marcedesamgf1 Y/n Y/l/n has decided not to renew her contract as the ambassador for the Mercedes AMG Formula One team for the 2025 season. More on our website.

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[starfilledsea]

thinking about “to know how it ends but still begin to sing it again” and “it’s a story about someone who tries” and “we raise our cups to orpheus not because he succeeds but because he tries. we understand implicitly that there’s value in his trying and even in his failure.” and “it’s a sad song but we keep singing even so.” even when you fail there is value in the fact that you tried and that you believed enough in your goal to try despite knowing you might fail. it is worthwhile to try, because you never know. maybe it will turn out this time! perseverance despite the odds is worth celebrating even if it ends in failure. success is not the only thing that matters. and you never know that the ripple effect of your actions might be. orpheus does not recuse eurydice but he succeeds in helping spring to come again and potentially in preventing other people from losing their loved ones as he did, and that is a good outcome. we do not see the effect he had on the other workers in hadestown. yes, orpheus failed, but maybe if they sing it again someone else will succeed. someone has to keep telling the story.

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

He's been at Steve's house a week before he manages to gather up the courage to ask.

He shuffles into the living room, Steve's old slippers on his feet, Steve's old pajamas hanging off him. He'd lost weight in the hospital. And hadn't gained much back yet, still in too much pain to really have an appetite. But this, it needed doing. He needed it done.

"Steve?" He asks, throat clicking, voice scratchy from underuse. Steve looks away from the tv immediately, hits the mute button, eyes wide and on Eddie.

"Hey. You okay?" He asks, turning his whole body on the couch, towards Eddie, giving him his full attention.

Eddie just nods. Slowly. His eyes going unfocused, staring at the floor.

"Eddie?" And Steve's in front of him now, he hadn't even heard him get up.

"Hmm?" He hums in his throat, eyes still feeling foggy.

"Did you need something?" Steve asks, Eddie's eyes focus, the concern in Steve's voice bring him back into his body. He looks at Steve, nods, says,

"I need you to cut my hair." His lip trembles, he digs his teeth in.

"You... what?" Steve's confused. Rightfully so. Eddie swallows around the fire in his throat, tries to explain it to Steve. This thing he can barley figure out himself. Has a half formed idea at best. He wipes at his nose with the back of his hand, Steve steps a little closer.

"It's just- it keeps- I keep laying on it. And it... pulls. And I'm sleeping and it pulls and I wake up and I can't breathe and it's-" he inhales, sharp and shakey and then Steve is there, his hands on Eddie's shoulders.

"Okay. It's okay. I'll do it. Whatever you want Ed's." He pulls Eddie upstairs, into his bathroom. Stands with him in front of the mirror, scissors in hand.

"Where do you want it?" Steve asks, his eyes meeting Eddie's in the mirror. Eddie takes a deep breath, brings his hand up, winces at the pull on his ribs but keeps going.

"Above my shoulders. But like... I wanna still be able to tuck it behind my ears?" He's not sure why it comes out as a question, but Steve just nods, Eddie sees his lips twitch into the start of a smile before dropping again. He reach up, drags his fingers genlty through Eddie hair.

His stomach sinks, his hair is gross. He hasn't washed it in days. Too tired. Too much pain. Too much effort.

"Sorry my hair's gross." He mumbles, lips barley moving.

"It's not. It's fine." Steve assures him, his voice soft, sections out a small lock of hair, he looks at Eddie in the mirror again.

"You're sure about this?" He asks, he looks sad. Eddie hates it. But also doesn't. Because it means Steve sees him, understands him, and how important his hair is to him.

But it doesn't matter right now. That his hair is a peice of him, a peice of the Eddie he'd built to keep himself safe. A peice of his armor.

"I'm sure. Please." He isn't begging, exactly, but his hands fist in his pajama pants, and it feels like it anyway.

"I'm gonna go just above your shoulder at first okay? And then if you want more off we can do that." Steve waits for Eddie to agree and then starts cutting.

Eddie closes his eyes when the scissors sink through his hair. Keeps them closed as Steve works. He stops a few cuts in and tells Eddie to wait there. Eddie sits on the toilet seat as he waits for Steve to come back.

He brings a radio with him, clicks in one of the tapes Eddie made him, and gets back to work. Eddie's eyes stay closed. He finds himself smiling as he listens to Steve hum behind him. Scrunches his nose when Steve full on sings a few times.

Not because he's bad. He's got a really nice voice actually. Eddie loves listening to him sing. But if he didn't scrunch his face he might to do something else instead, something stupid, with Steve so close.

It only takes a couple songs before Steve's hands are on his shoulders, gentle, reassuring, an anchor.

"Okay. It's done. Or at least. Might be. I can take more off if you need me too." His voice is soft in Eddie's ear, Eddie can feel the heat of his chest on his back he's so close.

He opens his eyes and feels his heart flutter in his chest. His head swimming a little. His hair hadn't been this short since junior year. He can see Steve watching him in the mirror.

"Good?" He asks, dragging his lip into his mouth and letting it go again.

"I think so." Eddie says, feeling a bit dazzed, a bit dizzy. And then Steve fucking reaches up with both hands, tucks Eddie's hair behind his ears genlty, his fingers moving down his neck to rest back on his shoulders.

"I could take another inch. It'd still fit behind your ears." Steve's eyes are moving over his head, like he's doing some complex math equation. Eddie wants to cry. His chest tight.

"Okay. Take it." He says, Steve's eyes move to his in their reflections again.

"Yeah?" Steve asks, reaching up and smoothing his hand over Eddie's hair. Eddie nods.

"Yeah. One more inch." He breathes the words out, like he just needs them gone, out of his mouth. Steve smiles at him, untucks his hair from his ears and starts cutting again.

Eddie watches him this time. Watches the way his tongue sticks out as he concentrates, measuring Eddie's hair between his fingers before he cuts. His tongue peaking out between his lips, brow furrowed in concentration.

Eddie watches him and tries to convince himself he actually wanted it shorter. And maybe he did. But he knows too, that he didn't want Steve to stop touching him. Steve's eyes meet his in the mirror and he smiles again. Eddie looks away. His cheeks burning.

"Okay. You're done Munson." His voice is teasing, it makes Eddie's stomach flutter.

"Thanks. Harrington." He teases back. Too soft. He knows. But he can't help it. His voice is stuck in his throat. Steve snorts as Eddie turns, takes a step toward the door.

"Actually. Can I-" Steve stops, his hand curling around Eddie's bicep, stopping him there. Eddie looks at him. Waiting.

"Can I wash your hair for you?" Steve asks, his voice quiet, Eddie barely hears it over the radio.

"My...?" Is Eddie's articulate reply.

"Please? It'll make you feel better. I- I think." Steve stammers a bit, always so endearing when he does that. Eddie loves when he's flustered.

"I uh... yeah okay. If you want." Eddie shrugs, tries to act normal. Like any of this is normal. And Steve fucking beams at him, that beautiful smile on full display.

"Okay cool. Just uh... here you can sit here while I get this cleaned up and get a towel and I'll be right back." He's talking fast, his hands flailing and jumping around as he talks. Eddie just nods, smiling at him as he watches him toss Eddie's chopped hair into the trash. Watches him take a lock of it and tie it in a knot, tells Eddie he'll put it somewhere safe. So they'll know when it's fully grown out again.

Steve wipes up the counter and disappears, comes back with two towels a few seconds later. Instructs Eddie to sit on the floor. He sets a towel down for him to sit on and lays the other over the side of the tub.

Eddie lets Steve guide him. His hands gentle as he lowers Eddie's head back over the tub, asks if he's comfortable, Eddie hums an affirmation. Steve makes sure the water is warm, not too hot, because Eddie doesn't like hot water. He gets it perfect. And then starts pouring water onto Eddie's hair.

Eddie's not sure where he got the cup. Or if it was already there for some reason. He means to ask but Steve's fingers sink into his hair and his brain short circuits. The shampoo smells amazing. Minty. It tingles against his scalp in the best way as Steve's fingers move in slow circles.

Eddie's eyes fall closed. He's sure he makes some obscene noise but Steve is kind enough not to comment. His fingers working magic in Eddie's hair. He rinses with warm water, the contrast from the cool minty feeling making Eddie shiver.

He hears Steve laugh a quiet laugh as he does and smiles himself. He hears another bottle pop open and closed and then Steve's fingers are back. Working the conditioner into his hair slowly, massaging it into his scalp as well. His hands moving slowly, with a purpose, for what feels like hours. He pulls back eventually, fingers dragging slowly through Eddie's hair as he goes.

"I'm gonna let that sit for about two minutes and then we'll rinse okay? You doin okay? Not in pain are you?" Steve all but whispers in Eddie's ear. The radio is still playing in the background. But Eddie couldn't tell you a single fucking song that had played since Steve started touching him.

"I'm good. Kinda tired. But that might just be your magic fingers." He peaks one eye open, watches as Steve laughs, shakes his head. He closes his eye again and laughs too. Only it wasn't a joke. Not really. Steve's fingers were magic. Just like the rest of him.

Steve hums along to Queen's Radio Ga Ga as they wait, Eddie tapping out the beat on his thigh as Steve hums and sways. The song ends and Steve scoots closer.

"Ready?" He asks, turning the water back on.

"As I'll ever be." Eddie deadpans, scooting back a bit from where he'd slid down.

"You're not gonna try and put products in my hair and blow dry it are you?" Eddie asks as Steve starts pouring water over him, fingers moving quicker now, moving his hair around to get it clean, he snorts again.

"No. Just wanted to get you clean." He says, pouring one last cup of water over his hair and turning the tap off. He grabs at each side of the towel under Eddie's neck and lifts, pulling Eddie up and wrapping his hair in one smooth motion. Eddie's eyes land on him and he can't help it.

"So my hair was gross. I knew it." He sighs, watches Steve's nose crinkle.

"It really wasn't that bad. But you thought it was. So i figured this would help." Steve shrugged, like it was nothing. Eddie bit his lip as Steve patted and scrunched his hair in the towel, being careful not to pull.

He claps his hands down on his thighs and helps Eddie get back on his feet. Pulls him genlty to stand in front of the mirror again and smiles soflty when Eddie takes the towel off his head and drags his own fingers through his hair.

It's short, leveled at his chin, a little above when he tucks it behind his ears. And he feels... better. Lighter. He shoves his hands up into the back of it, taking a deep breathe when his fingers drag over his neck, it makes him shiver.

"Fuck. I'm gonna be cold now." He mutters, chuckling in his throat, he hadn't thought about that.

"I'll keep you warm." Steve's voice is soft, when he speaks. The tape in the deck clicks and goes quiet as they stare at each other in the mirror.

"I just wanted you to feel better. But I'll gladly keep you warm too. Whatever you need Eddie. I- I mean I'm here. For you. Not goin anywhere." He shrugs after he mumbles through his little confession, his eyes on the floor when he turns to Eddie.

"I feel better." Eddie whispers, bites his lip and decides to be brave.

He steps forward, into Steve's space, Steve lifts his head, hazel eyes darting around Eddie's face. Eddie hears his breath stutter when he leans closer, presses his lips to Steve's cheek, firm.

Wanting no doubt in Steve's mind that Eddie means this. Means to kiss him. Means to pull him into a tight hug after. Means to hum happily into Steve's neck when Steve pulls him close, arms wrapping around Eddie's skinny frame and holding him tight.

"I'm not going anywhere either." Eddie breathes into his shoulder, presses another kiss there, into his shirt, like a promise. Steve squeezes him tighter, Eddie thinks he might be crying. His chest fluttering against Eddie's as he breathes shakily.

"Can I sleep in your bed tonight?" Eddie asks, lets Steve pull away a bit so he can see him. Eddie was right, there are tears in his eyes, but he's smiling as he looks at Eddie.

"Yeah. Course you can. You can sleep there every night if you want. Forever." Steve says, nuzzles into Eddie touch as he wipes tears away from his flushed cheeks.

"Forever huh?" Eddie teases, kissing acoss Steve's cheeks genlty as he laughs, it's wet, and wobbly, and Eddie is so fucking in love with him already.

"Yeah. Forever. Or however long you want me I guess." He shrugs again, dismissive, as if he really thinks Eddie would ever give him up.

"Forever sounds good to me. Not fucking letting you go now I've got you." Eddie whispers, his hands holding Steve's face, Steve's hands on his wrists, holding him too.

"You're gonna keep me forever?" Steve asks, his lip trembling as he looks at Eddie with hope in his teary eyes.

"Forever and ever, if I can." Eddie nods, and it seems to break Steve. He sighs, grabs at Eddie's pajama shirt and tugs him forward. Their lips crash together, a little rough at first, their teeth clicking until Steve seems to calm and slow down. His lips move genlty against Eddie's, soft and slow, and when he pulls back he's smiling again, his crooked little half smile that Eddie loves so much.

Steve scrunches his hair a few more times and then drags Eddie upstairs, gets them both comfy in his bed. And he holds Eddie as they fall alseep, pressing kisses into his hair and against his temple before sleep takes him.

Eddie wakes up warm. Drapped across Steve's chest as the sun hits them. He feels lips press into his hair, smiles when Steve makes exaggerated kissy noises. But he keeps his eyes closed, nuzzles deeper into Steve as he feels his fingers press into his hair.

Eddie hums as they drag through a few times, nimbly untangling rats or snags as they move. He sinks deeper into Steve, his heart fluttering as Steve's hand moves through his hair genlty, scratching at his scalp as he goes, before settling against the back of his neck, his thumb moving in slow cirles against the newly exposed skin.

Eddie whimpers into Steve's chest and snuggles closer, Steve keeping him warm, just like he promised. Eddie couldn't wait to spend forever with him.

[meiguicha]

Another Dawn Rises Once More

Phainon x Reader - Modern AU

The morning of a nightmare, there's nothing more he needs than to reaffirm his reality

note: mild 3.4 spoilers and also basically his entire character trailer, mention of character deaths

//listen to toodles' wiege cover right neow that is all i beg of you. listen to it now and hold the sweet child in your arms

Through the haze of dreams and muddiness of slumber, your humming drums at his nascent senses.

Phainon doesn't feel the familiar weight besides him, some strange fire creeps up his limbs and stalls his nerves, and as the machinations of the unconscious brings only torment, a tear squeezes through.

Seas of rising flames engulf his perception as the voices, the wishes of his friends ring in his ears. One by one, over and over again, each time the same as the last, their memories, their wills and wishes weigh heavy on his shoulders and yet it continues.

It never ends. His body cracks beneath the weight of it all, of his world, and his mind more so. But he has to keep going, he has to prevent—

You aren't here.

Faraway and distant, the soft lilt of your voice, gentle hitch of your breath feels unreachable to him.

Song echoes through your small abode, singing past walls and amidst rooms, though each step brings him closer, you still remain just out of his grasp.

He finds you in the kitchen, hovering in front of an open fridge, soft light illuminating the features of your visage. You still sing, absentminded but soothing nevertheless. You don't seem to notice his presence, he doesn't expect you to, and honestly all he needed was to see you again, to confirm with his own perceptions that his reality is true.

Though, he supposes it would be unlike you to let such a matter escape your notice.

"Did I wake you?" He can hear your pout even with your head ducked into the shelves. "I got hungry, I'll be back in bit."

You close the fridge door, yet instead of continuing your late-night snacking, your face shifts to an expression too sorrowful, too shocked to properly place as wonted.

In a few quick steps, you bring yourself into his presence, reach for his hand as he averts from your searching gaze. "Hey, what happened?"

"'s nothing much, I just had a bad dream." Shaking his head, he feels you only squeeze his hand tighter.

"Your bad dreams are usually Professor Anaxagoras making you write a thesis on dromases, and you usually don't look so lost after those."

He still can't bear to look at you. How can he? How can he face you knowing that it was you who still held onto him so dearly, that even in such brutality and senselessness, you—everyone— could still believe in him?

With no response, you take him into your embrace, bring the weight of his body onto yours. And just like the dream, you hold him, your hand rests on his skin and he can feel your heartbeat, thrumming against your ribs in that gentle hum.

"....I bore the blood of everyone I ever loved, over and over again just to save the world, only to find out that it was futile in the end." Phainon's voice dies in his throat, the words crawling from his lips in a last stupor, "They begged me to stop, but if I did, they would have all died."

"It didn't matter what I did different, we were just pawns in the gods' games and there was nothing I could do." Against your skin, his breath feels too warm, too scorching. Should any more words fall, he only fears it would melt your bones and sear your tendons, just like—

"Would you hate me? If I killed you?"

"I would," You respond all too quick. No shift in lilt or tone, merely objective affirmation. Yet your hold tightens, and how gently he can feel you nuzzle against him. "You know I'm not kind enough to say otherwise."

"But more so, I think I would be sad." Something wet tinges his skin and he hears it. Phainon hears the dregs of thought, how suddenly the thought of his own suffering would be just as painful to you.

"What being would be so cruel to put you through so much suffering?"

"How can anyone look at you and believe you deserving of such a life?"

You loosen your hold, just enough to urge his gaze, to rest your brow against his. Here, he can feel how your breaths start to mingle, could count each dewy lash upon your eyes. Your heart drums in that familiar rhythm, even as your very breath cracks. Once wild in his chest, burning in his throat, as though opening his ribs to let you in, he can feel his very blood mellow in his veins.

Unlike the dream, you do not crumble beneath his gaze.

A hand reaches to cradle his face, and once more you hum, "If I had your life in my hands, I would place you in a quiet village of golden wheat and azure skies, I would let you live in paradise and lead a life of travel and companionship."

You speak as if to create, that your words could reshape reality and form worlds with just a command. And perhaps, somewhere in his bones, he would wish for it to be so.

A loving god, a kinder god, one who only wishes to see mortals live. If it truly were you, if it were you who raised the sun and held the dead, not that of golden wounds and ruinous gaze, he would have met his friends once more, would have been able to bring them to the seas of golden wheat and clear skies.

You continue, "I would watch upon you until your final moments, and when you want to experience all it again, I would let you be reborn to live again."

But you aren't, and neither is Destruction.

And though maybe the world you would birth would be kind, gentle, it would be a world without you.

Even in suffering torment, even if boiling hatred burned away everything that made him, he wouldn't want to live in a world without you.

"And if I wanted to be with you? What would you do?" He whispers.

"Then I would become human to spend eternity with you," You hum. "No matter what life you want, I would give it to you."

The noise that leaves his lips is choked, strangled with an odd joy and emotion. He would never ask for anything so much from you, to be able to love, to see you and hold you, that is enough.

Phainon smiles and just that pulls one from you as well. "If that's so, I want to go back to bed with you."

"I want to wake up to you in the morning, and I want to brush my teeth next to you."

And tonight, in this place he calls home, you'll let him hold onto you a little tighter, and he'll let you take his hands into yours to litter fleeting kisses upon. He'll hum that familiar melody as you fall to slumber, as he watches your lashes flutter and your nonsensical muttering fall from your lips.

A life he wants, when he thinks of it, it's simple.

He wants to hear you and Mydei bickering in the kitchen over five or ten cloves of garlic. He wants to laugh while you struggle to pick up Little Ica as you chide Hyacine for spoiling him. He wants to see Castorice light up when you bring up the newest chapter for your favourite series.

He wants to go out for a meal again, watching futilely as Aglaea and Professor Anaxa argue over this and that, as Tribbie, Trianne and Trinnon show off their latest invention, papers scrawled in colourful doodles and exact measurements. He wants to hear you join in with Cipher hot on your heels, how your laughter from her teasing would sound.

When he thinks of it, Phainon does live in paradise, for it is a world outside of the gods' touch, for it is a world that contains everything he loves.

[greatcometcas]

It's a love song, it's a tale of love from long ago It's a sad song, we keep singing even so.

[retroaria]

Domestic Life w/ Osamu Dazai ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊

• ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── •

summary: life with agency!dazai, days off, date nights, the whole shabang!

warnings: slightly suggestive at some points (not sure if MDNI is necessary but keep it in mind) NOT SAD AND MISERABLE CANON DAZAI!!! Pretend he is happy and joyous for this, why would he want to die when he has you? Not proofread!!

BSD M.LIST | enjoy 🐈 - aria

• ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── •

The days where Dazai can fully devote himself to you are unfortunately far and few. On top of that, he’s a rather forgetful man. He saves all his reports for the last minute, needing to finish them up while everyone else is already gone (or spend just as much time begging Atsushi to do them for him). He makes plans, promises, deals, all of which take up his time aside from the usual agency agenda.

You know that Dazai loves what he does, so you put up with it. At the very least he still comes home almost every night, flops himself down on the bed and wraps his arms tight around you. And he’ll still be there in the morning. flashing you a warm smile as you wake up to see him adjusting the collar of his suit, throwing his jacket over his shoulder before planting a soft kiss to your lips and heading out the door. The purely intimate moments you get to experience together always happen in the dead of night or at the crack of dawn.

Aside from that, as well as all the work related events Dazai brings you to, his days off don’t come often. Whenever the stars align and those days do happen to fall upon you, you know immediately as you wake up in the morning. He’s still wrapped around you, arms and legs, almost in a death grip. He would’ve left for work by now if he had too, not that he hasn’t slept in late before, but his suit is still sprawled on the floor of your room. He hadn’t taken the time to wash it or hang it back up because he wouldn’t be needing it the next day.

• ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── •

These days begin with an absolute power struggle in the bedroom (not the fun kind). This man will not wake up and will not let you out of bed. He will whine and groan and sometimes even shed tears at the fact that you would ever want to leave him when he finally can spend a morning with you. “Dazai we still have stuff to do today, you can just hold me captive.”

“Do you hate me Bella, is that it? Has our love truly dwindled? I finally have the chance to engulf you in my affection and you want no part of it.” He’ll give you a full Shakespearean style monologue about how cruel it is that you would deny his neediness.

“Oh my god Osamu, you are so dramatic”

Eventually you do escape his grasp and leave the bedroom to start the day, to which he must follow suit. These days are spent with Dazai following you around like a lost puppy.

He follows you to the bathroom, you guys get ready together, he sits on the toilet while you shower, talking to you through the curtain about all the recent agency drama, casually mentioning all the times he’s almost died in the last week alone. (He’s also sneaking peaks of you, slyly pulling the curtain back when you won’t notice)

On days where the two of you get to go out you always let him pick your outfit. Dazai’s list of skills typically pertain to crime and manipulation, but style and fashion is somewhere in there too. He’s usually wearing simple jeans and a crew neck, but he wants you to look like a runway model next to him. “Gosh you look beautiful, gonna make me look like the luckiest guy in the world standing next to you!” he gushes in a sing-song tone.

The first order of business is breakfast, a task which Dazai wants desperately to help you with, but always fails miserably. You opt to let him make coffee for you two, which he adorns with an ungodly amount of sugar and creamer. you’ve been drinking Dazais coffee for so long you’ve grown to like it. It’s like a sweet treat with breakfast, nothing you could complain about. If he gets his hands on a frying pan you’re truly doomed, so this is the one thing you let him have. He can handle the toaster too so he’ll make toast for you guys with jam on it that he spreads on in the shape of a heart with a smiley face in the middle “Dona’ look, can you tell what it is?” he says with a smirk of confidence on his face.

“Very sweet Osamu, your hearts are getting better and better” You can’t actually tell what it is but you know he does the same thing every time. You grab the toast from him and plant a kiss on his cheek, it’s like his reward.

One of Dazai’s favorite things in the world is going to the grocery store with you. It’s such a simple task, that always ends up being so much fun. He relishes in the domesticity of it. It feels almost intimate in a way, it’s something you both would have to do if you were apart, but you’re together, so you do it together for the both of you. He loves being reminded that you are a part of his life in every way.

But god is he troublesome

Dazai is the kind of person to stay at the sample stand and talk to the employee for forever. After about 10 minutes he knows their geographical lineage, their favorite flavor of ice cream, their mother’s maiden name, the name of the high school they went to, the name of their first love, but then he gets bored and moves on. Btw he ate the whole tray of samples while he was talking to them, but made sure to swipe one for you before he bounced. “Don’t think I forgot about you darling” he’d wink as he hands you the cup.

Once you guys get everything you need you head back home. Dazai is a gentleman and is obviously carrying all the heavy bags, but not without complaining. “I don’t remember us getting 3 tons of milk”

“I have the milk, that’s the bag with the 10lb rice”

“I don’t remember us getting 3 tons of rice either.”

When the two of you get home he acts like he just got back from a 12 hour shift, like he’s been fighting an enemy organization all the day, like he’s been strategizing with Ranpo for hours, like he just had to get rescued by Chuuya. He helps you put the groceries away and throws himself onto the couch.

Once he notices you’ve start cooking he returns from his corpse like state on the couch and peaks over at you. He likes watching you cook because you look so focused yet so relaxed at the same time (I’m sorry if you don’t like to cook oops) . He likes to try and read your mind whenever he watches you do things.

Eventually he’ll get up and walk over to the record player in your living room. As you’re chopping away you notice the feint sound of a jazzy tune ringing away behind you, before you can turn around to see the source there is a pair of hands on your hips, swaying you from side to side. “Osamu, I have a knife in my hand”

“That’s never stopped me from anything before in my entire life” he hums away, pushing his body up against yours as he lays his head in the crook of your neck. You guys stay like that as you continue to cook, him humming into your shoulder, planting soft kisses as you simply sway to and forth.

“This is really nice, but I’m about to start chopping onions.” You lied, you were already chopping them.

“Augh god, my eyes! Why would you ruin the moment!?”

“I have to make dinner ‘samu!”

After dinner you guys both enter a corpse like state on the couch, snuggled together, either watching a movie or a parallel play type thing, usually both of you reading your respective books. During this time Dazai can be rather clingy, wanting to literally lay on top of you or have you lay on top of him. He also needs to get your opinion on whatever is happening in the movie or this crazy new suicide method he saw in his book (it’s a novelty interest now, how could he want to die when he has you!)

As bed time approaches, Dazai gets into the shower and it’s your turn to sit in the bathroom with him and tell him about all of your own work drama. Unlike Dazai, your peaks behind the curtain aren’t very sly “hey I see you~” he’d say in a teasing tone.

When the two of you finally get into bed, a wave of sadness washes over Dazai. He is unpleasantly reminded that he has to go to work tomorrow. His little life with you would end once morning came and he’d go back to having to use 100% of his brain power to focus on anything but you. He dreaded the thought and all he can do now to eleviate the pain is pull you close beside him. He plants a million kisses on your face before pulling your lips against his into a deeper kiss that usually lasts until both of you are tired and slightly out of breath.

At this point you begin to drift off to sleep in each others arms. You awaken the next morning to Dazai flashing you a warm smile as he adjusts the collar of his suit, throwing his jacket over his shoulder before planting a soft kiss to your lips and heading out the door.

• ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── •

I FINALLY wrote something for my husband Dazai. I hope you guys enjoy and I can’t wait to keep writing I’m having so much fun here!! Stay safe guys and much love 🤍🤍🤍 -aria

• ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── •

[vrystalius]

Can you please make one where Muzan has this maid he was fond of when he was still human, he'd rest his head on her lap and have her sing to him everytime he couldn't control his temper when he was still human. And bow she's turned into a demon like himmmm

Demon king’s maid

Being Muzan’s maid during his human years made him absolutely smitten for you.

(Muzan x fem!reader, sfw/fluff)

Muzan still remembers the exact feeling of laying his head on your plush thighs while your fingers brush through his black strands. Your skin would feel so warm in contrast to his cold, pale and sickly skin. Your thighs were so soft and squishy and always managed to take his mind off the stupid servants that failed to recreate how he ordered his tea, or his incompetent doctor being lazy and not researching his sickness properly. You are the only person in his estate that did things correctly…

Your singing was the most enchanting thing about you. Your voice, no matter what time or day, always sounded like heaven’s singing to him and only for him. For the duration of your song all his pain would disintegrate, his frustration and anger turning into something similar to happiness and calmness.

But Muzan made peace with never seeing you again.

What a shame that you ran away from him once he became a demon. Muzan would’ve loved to keep you around for longer, maybe even make you his personal demoness-maid. What an honour it would’ve been for you to serve the demon king.

Thousands of years of passed since the last time Muzan saw your enchanting face and felt your touch on his skin. He should’ve caught or at least try to find you. That way, you would had been around for longer. He could’ve savoured your presence, your warmth, your beautiful voice… perhaps he’d even marry you and make you stand right beside him as he demolishes the Ubuyashiki clan an the rest of the Demon Slayer corps.

He’d never thought that if he’d see you again, that he would find you amongst the cultists Douma offered showed off to him. That demon proudly presented you as one of the oldest demons in existence, and oh how happy he is to have you here in the Eternal Paradise Cult. You greet looked different than before, your eyes looked much more tired and scared, your hair a little matted, your delicate skin very dirty, and those robes you’re wearing definitely do not show off the figure you had beneath those sad excuses of clothes.

Muzan bathed you by hand and by himself. He wanted go make sure no other demon even came near you and was able to catch a single glance at your heavenly body. That sight is only reserved for his and his eyes only. His sharp nails grazed over your wet skin as he ran a damp cloth over your shoulders and neck. A small smile rested on his face after Muzan soaked the cloth in the warm water.

“So, you still remember me, hm? Your body tenses when I touch you.” His smile faded away for a moment as he lifted your arm and carefully held it, running the cloth over your soft skin. He felt how your muscles tensed up beneath his touch. A sigh escaped his lips as he leaned down, pressing a kiss on your wrist. Muzan nuzzled into your palm, taking in your perfect features.

“You’ve been hiding from me since day one, after I accidentally turned you.” He planted kisses all over your palm.

“You must’ve been so scared and confused… I am sorry for not being there. But now we can be together, forever. How do you like the idea of you marrying me? If you like, you can continue your… “maid” duties.”

💠

Feels so good to have another ask down! I’m gonna work on them the next few days, I missed it so much! I’ll try to post another fic tonight. Requests are still open!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!

Take care of yourselves <3

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 30 - Hold On Tight

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Everyone sit down, our girl is about to MONOLOGUE!!

Chapter Title from Helena Beat by Foster the People

Word Count: 19.5k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You make some choices. Usual Warnings.

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

Chapter 29 - Chapter 31

Read on A03!

There are birds, singing in the woods. The songs seem to echo through the world, each note a little twisted, a little off, a little longer than it needs to be. The sun washes over everything, painting it a Gold you know all too well, and when you look up to the sky- 

He’s not watching you. 

You’re alone. 

And you know this place. The grass is shorter than the last time you saw it, the small, muddy beach covered in crude stick drawings in the dirt, slowly being washes away by the water. Bobby’s car is parked in the gravel drive, but he’s nowhere in sight. And you don’t remember ever making those drawings, and you’ve certainly never touched the fishing poles Bobby kept in the shed, because fishing is fucking boring as shit, and you preferred to color and listen to music on the floor. 

But this is Bobby’s cabin. There’s the old fashion, green patterned wallpaper in the living room and the gray, cotton curtains. One of the plastic plates Bobby made you use after the third plate-destruction incident on the floor, and- 

All your books are on the shelves. And your crayons are neatly lines up on a side-table, in rainbow order. 

They’re not supposed to be there. You have a system. The books are organized in stacks around the room, based on genre and how much you want to read them. The crayons don’t go in rainbow order, they’re organized based on how much you like the people’s colors. It goes yellow, green, then blue and purple below them, but in parallel. White stays under the couch—you don’t want it to see you—and red and black have to go under the cushions. 

Bobby would never touch your crayons. When you were nine he tried to, and that was the second plate-destruction incident. So who the fuck touched them. Who’s going to have to say goodbye to their hands, the moment you find them- 

“Dean!” The door bursts open, and you whirl around.

There’s a little, shaggy haired boy running into the cabin. He’s got mud on his boots—but he stops to wipe them on the door mat—and even more on his face.

But no color. 

There’s a brief, horrible moment where you feel sick. There’s no color. This boy is just brown-haired and tan-skinned, but there’s no real color. Your hand wraps around your throat, and you can’t be back there. You’d broken out, you’d escaped, the Silver is starting to build up to the surface, because you should’ve been free- 

A hand wraps around your arm, and suddenly you being yanked sideways. The door might slam behind you, but you can’t hear it. You can’t hear anything, over the ringing in your ears and the Silver rising up your throat. 

“Don’t scream.” A hand covers your mouth, a deep, familiar voice humming in your ear. “He’s gonna find us if we scream, Princess.”

Princess. 

You blink, your eyes adjusting slowly to the dark, and-

He’s here. Crooked-nosed, strong, giving you a boyish grin in the dark and wrapping an arm around your waist. You’re pressed against his broad chest, just as muscled and soft as the last time he held you. And the Silver settles, because there’s nothing to be afraid of. 

Dean’s got you.

He’s Golden, and he’s got you. 

You pull his hand off your mouth, trying to keep your voice even as you scan over him. “De?”

“Hey,” his grin widens as he says your name, but you can hear the strain in his voice.

He looks so tired. The smile can’t hide the bags under his eyes or the way his hands have bruised knuckles. He closes his eyes, as you reach up to trace over his face. Leans into your hand and lets out a long, slow breath.

“Miss you.” He murmurs, and you give him a small, sad smile. 

“I miss you, too. I- I’m trying to come home, De, I promise-“

“I know you are, baby.” He grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “I’m still gonna miss you ‘till this is real.”

You sigh, and drop your face to his chest. Your arm loops around his neck, fingers brushing through his hand, and this is realer than it had been, in the cage. 

At least here, when you look at your free hand—pressed against Dean’s stomach—it’s covered in Gold. At least there’s a faded smell of cinnamon in the air. 

And it’s not real. But there’s a life where maybe it is. 

You’d like to stay there, for as long as you can. Until you have to wake up, and everything has to hurt again. 

“You wanna know where we are-“

“Bobby’s cabin.” You mumble against Dean’s neck. “He raised me, De. I’ve been here before.”

“Huh, yeah.” There’s a small frown in his voice, his hand rubbing circles on your back. “Guess I sorta never- Son of a bitch, that’s never gonna stop being weird.”

“That Bobby raised me?”

“That you were like, everywhere.” 

You lean back with an amused expression. “What does that mean?”

“I dunno, just-“ Dean sighs, framing your face carefully in his hands. “You’re sorta in the whole world, Princess.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah, uh- Shit, wait-“

Dean tugs you right against his chest again, and there’s a rattling sound from outside. 

“Dean?!” The same boy from before—you’re going to take a wild guess that it’s Sam—calls from the living room, and his voice is higher than before. “Dean, I- I can’t find you- This place is too big- Dean-“

“He was so fuckin’ bad at hide and seek.”  Dean mutters in your ear, squeezing a hand on your hip. “Gotta go deal with this, sweetheart, wait here-“

You catch his hand, before he can pulls away, and he raises his brows. 

“Can I come with you?” Your voice is barely a breath, but he can’t go. Not yet. “Please?”

Dean’s face splits back into a grin, and you yelp as he tugs you forward. 

It dies quickly, as his lips press over yours. The kiss is slow and long, with your hands still tangled together and Dean tipping your head back to deepen it. You’re a little dizzy, by the time he pulls away, almost slumping over his chest as a breathy giggle escapes your throat. 

“You could’ve just said yes.”

“Nah.” He presses another, sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Not enough. Gotta show you I mean it, baby. C’mon.”

Dean tugs you out of the closet, and little Sam is swaying in the room. Holding one of your books to his chest like it’s a stuffed animal, sniffing as he looks around with big, glossy eyes. 

They light up, the moment they land on Dean. And for a second, your Dean flickers. Turns shorter, with lighter hair and a wider gate to his walk. It’s sort of like he’s trying to find that lazy swagger you’ve always known, but doesn’t have the charm or practice to get it right yet. 

He’s got the same grin, though. The same confidence in his voice, as he calls out, “Here, Sammy!”

Little Sam flies at Dean hard enough to draw a grunt from his chest, Dean hugs him back, and then he’s your Dean again. Still holding Sam so tight, using the gained height to fold over him more. Keep him safer, even when the only danger seems to be a game.

“I don’t like hide and seek,” Sam mumbles. “Can we go back to the beach?”

“Sure, Sammy. C’mon, we’ll find a bigger stick than last time.”

Sam leans back with a wide grin, and almost runs out the door. Dean follows, but he grabs your hand first, looking back at you with a grin. 

“Bobby’s out getting dinner.” He explains, pulling you in front of him before dropping his hand to your lower back. “Sammy liked drawing in the dirt.”

You let out a soft laugh, dropping your head onto his shoulder. “And you were fishing?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Dad said it was a man’s sport-“

“It’s not a sport, De. It’s for middle aged men.”

“Well, I got an old heart.” He kisses the side of your head, and Sam reappears from nowhere, not sparing you a glance. 

“Look, Dean!” He holds up a pretty fucking big stick, beaming with pride. “Can I use this?”

“I dunno,” Dean leans down, holding Sam’s gaze. “You check for pointy bits?” 

Sam nods. “Yep. Nothing.”

“Alright.” Dean shrugs, rising back up. “Cool stick, Sammy.”

“Thanks. C’mon!” Sam runs back down the beach, and Dean sighs, turning his face to press into your neck.

You frown, watching little Sam all but roll around in the mud, dragging his stick in untraceable patterns. “You okay, De?”

“No.” He grumbles, without offering any more.

You sigh. “Dean-“

“I need you to come home,” he mutters, almost hanging around your body. “I can’t- I’m sick of doing this without you, Princess. You’d be able to tell me some secret to get you back, and you’d fix Sammy, and- Shit, I don’t even care about the hunting anymore. I just fuckin’ want you back.”

You swallow, leaning your head against his with a soft sigh. “Dean, I’m trying-“

“I know, baby.” He sighs. “I’m tryin’ to. And I’m so fucking sorry it’s not working-“

“Dean-“

“I love you, baby.” He presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck, holding you a little tighter. “Love you. All the way down.”

You feel the first tear slide down your cheek. 

This isn’t real. It’s more real than the cage, but it’s still not actually your Dean. You don’t know where your Dean is, if he’s safe, if he’s moved on or looking for you or even found Sam, after you got him out of the cage. And this is so fucking cruel of your mind, to torture you like this. As if the rest of it, back in real life, isn’t enough.

Baby. I love you, baby. 

I need you, baby. 

I love you. 

You don’t say it. You can’t.

But the sun is setting. And you—for now, in this dream—have Dean. 

“All the way down,” you echo, focusing on the water of the lake, and the feeling of Dean pressed against your body. “Can- Can you please tell me it’ll be okay?”

You don’t care that it won’t be. You just need Dean to lie to you. Need to pretend his words mean something, when they’re in your head. 

And more than anything, you just need Dean.

“Yeah.” He’s already fading. You don’t know how to hold on. “I’ll find you, Princess. It’s gonna be okay.”

It’s still dark out, as you wake up. The sheets are thin, and stuck to your body in sweat. Everything has that deep blue painted over it, because these windows don’t have thick blinds. 

It would be impossibly hot, if they did. But that also means he can see you, without them closed. 

So you’ve been sleeping on the floor, just out of the sky’s view. It’s not ideal. Your back hurts, your neck has a crink in it that won’t seem to go away, and when the maid found you yesterday, there was a very loud lecture about scorpions stinging you. 

You think. 

Your Arabic is better, but not great. When you’d tried to explain to her that scorpions wouldn’t hurt you, she’s scoffed about American’s and stomped away. In your defense, scorpions wouldn’t do anything to you. Not because of a one with nature delusion, but because of the whole Bride of God shit. You’d even seen a scorpion, yesterday, and it had just stared at you, then let you pet it.

It was useful, if you had to do this. And when you got home, you were definitely going to bring Dean to Texas, just so he could watch you hold one.

Because you were going to go home. 

You just had some things to do first. 

Today is going to be the same as yesterday. Thank the old woman—the nice one, who thought you were just a little crazy and never yelled at you about scorpions—for the banana she tosses you, chug your coffee in two seconds flat, head back to your room, then get to work.

“I’ve got this list,” you say, dropping down on the toilet seat. “It’s in Enochian, so people don’t read it and think I’m insane. More insane, I guess. Nobody’s really been relaxed around me, lately, but I get it. It’s hard not to stare at the lady who just appeared, covered in flowers and gold. And I did grab my knife and start pointing it at the sky. Have I told you how fucking happy I am that my knives came out with me? Fuck, I would’ve been so pissed if they didn’t. My De- Best friend gave me this one,” you hold up your knife, then the Blade. “And this one was made for me. By God. And I don’t love that, but it’s a really fucking sick knife. Anyway, I screamed a lot, as well. But I think that’s reasonable. Right?”

The demon on the floor stares at you. He’s venomous green, rioting in his vessel with no way out, and keeps flashing his eyes at you like that’s going to do anything. You haven’t been afraid of green-eyed demons in years, and this one had been way too easy to disarm. His knife was buried out in the desert, his mouth gagged, and a devil’s trap drawn over his head in Sharpie. He’s about as dangerous as a muzzled squirrel. 

He’s still glaring at you, though. Looking between you and his gag with a pointed expression, and you sigh. 

You sigh. “You know I can’t take that off, dude. I’m still short on the shit for the binding spell, and if I take it off, you’re going to try and escape again. And if you try to escape again, I have to kill you. Okay?”

The demon says something muffled, but not very nice sounding, and you sigh. 

“Yeah, I know, I suck. I am gonna keep talking though. The only person I have to talk to right now isn’t a great listener, so. Sorry.” You sigh, tilting your head with a frown. “What was I saying?”

The demon grunts, and you smile at him. 

“Right, the screaming. Thank you. See, I was screaming, but I was expecting someone. Anyone. There wasn’t anyone, but that’s not my fault. I’d escaped Hell, the only other person I know who did that had an angel pull him out. And- Sam, too, but I pulled him out. I’m getting ahead of myself. Point is, I thought someone would be waiting for me.”

———

It’s still so bright. So fucking bright. You hadn’t realized how dark the cage was—even in the illusions Michael and Lucifer had created for you—until you were back on Earth and it was fucking bright.

People are staring at you. Whispering and pointing, a few of them walking closer, and even more backing away. 

But they were all just people. 

God only watches silently from above. No small, bearded man pushes through the crowd, binding your wrists and telling you it was time to go. 

Cas doesn’t appear at your side, a million wings beating, electric blue shimmering as he offers you a hand and tells you it’s time to come home. No other angels, either. No blood-red, bearded demons or nightmarish, glinting faces hidden in the crowd. 

No Dean. 

You scan over the hundreds of people for Dean, Golden and Handsome and real, but find nothing. 

It’s only you, and God. 

———

“I made this list,” you hold it up for the demon to see, frowning at the faded words. “It says get away from God. Well, it should. I was writing sort of fast, so it actually says get away from bear. But bear and God are really close in Enochian. If you could read this, you’d understand that. And I know he’s God, but he’s also trying to kidnap me. Sort of. It’s-“ You sigh. “It’s complicated. But first, have you ever been dead?”

The demon gives you a flat look, and you grimace. 

“Right, sorry. Forgot. Well, actually, I’m curious how a demon becomes,” you wave your knife at him. “This. But later. Bigger fish. Um- I was talking about breaking out, right?”

You get a grunt, and you nod slowly. 

“Yeah, I was. Well, the first day was a blur. The first week was a blur. It was a lot of colors and noise, and in a city everyone has emotional bonds and shit. Almost passed out a few times. That might have been the heat, though. I’m not really from a hot place, and I’ve like- Been to Texas. But I had air conditioning. This was just heat. And I didn’t have any money so I couldn’t get a room- Whatever. I’m trying to say it was hard. I just sort of wandered. Focused on finding a place to sleep, getting food and water- Survival basics.

“My dad was a hunter. Not like, a hunter, but a literal hunter. Normal hunter. He taught me all that shit, even though I didn’t really care about it. Paying off now, I guess. That and how I’m really good at stealing cars. I was able to get this pretty nice Lexus, and it took me a second to get used to driving on the other side of the road, but I worked it out. Hid in an alley, ate out of trash cans, which- I was fucking starving. That’s why I asked you if you’d ever been dead.” You point your knife at the demon with a grin. “It’s so exhausting. And lonely. 

“I mean, I’d just broken out of the cage that’s still holding two Archangels, and no one knew who I was. I’m not saying I was expecting a parade, but I’ve spent my whole life trying to make sure people don’t know me, and now when I need it,” you click your tongue, cutting through the air. “Nothing. Like, you found me.” You give the demon another smile, and his eyes narrow. “But I’ve been out for like, three months. That’s not that impressive. And I kicked your ass pretty bad. I was expecting, like, a cult? Like, a Lucifer cult that grabbed the wrong person. But nope. Nothing.

“And I didn’t even know where I was. Or what happened. I was confused and alone and so fucking tired- Even if it was like, an angel, I would’ve been annoyed, and tried to kill them, but at least I would know that people knew I was out. Me killing another angel would be a big deal, Cas would probably hear about it- Do you know Cas?” You pause, frowning at the demon. “Angel. He kind of looks like a baby deer. Big blue eyes, brown hair. Trench coat.” You pause. “Nod if you know Cas.”

The demon rolls it’s eyes, but nods, and you beam.

“Good. That’s good. I know you know me, but I just wanted to check. Cause I really thought Cas would’ve come for me, but he hasn’t. No one has. And that’s kind of my fault, but I have things to do, and I don’t want be- Actually, it’ll make more sense if I tell you about this part later.” You sigh, leaning forward. “I’m trying to say that no one was there for me. Which, whatever. But I got out of the cage on September 25th. Do you know how months work?”

The demon gives you a dry, annoyed expression, and you scoff. 

“Sorry I don’t know what demons know, asshole. I’m trying to tell you a story, you don’t have to be a dick-“

The demon’s gaze drops back down to the gag, and you roll your eyes. 

“Again, I can’t take it off. Just- Listen, okay? I got out on September 25th. I fell in on January 31st. That’s almost eight months in the cage, and then I just escape? Without any angels or demons waiting, without anyone? It didn’t make sense. And every time I tried to think about it- The last thing I remember in the cage is being in the garden-world. I don’t have time to- Actually.” You shrug. “I do. We have all the time in the world, and it’s not like you’re gonna tell anyone. Michael and Lucifer did this whole thing where they made like, movie sets. And put me in them. Changed my memories, made me play pretend. I think they were trying to distract and torture me, which sort of worked? Worked for a while. Then it didn’t. The last world they put me in was a garden world, and then I- I heard something.” You swallow, the Spiderweb glowing, and something to the right of your heart straining. “Someone important was calling me. And I- I had to go. But after that, all I could see was gold.”

———

It’s not Dean’s Gold, on your hands.

It’s metallic, where Dean is like sunlight, dancing on the water, or something forged in lava. Strong and immovable, but soft. Calming. Defending and worth more than the whole world. 

This gold is sticky. It smells like gasoline and smoke, and burning as it stains your hand. 

You have to get it off. 

As you wander through the crowd, the people move for you. Part around you, still whispering, but no one coming close. Staring as your gaze lands on the fountain, and you climb into it. Submerge yourself fully in the cool water, letting it wash off the grime and dirt from your body, letting it remind you that you’re alive. That you’ll get through this. You always get through it. 

And then you can go home. 

But when you rise back up, the gold isn’t gone. 

It’s running down to your wrists. Burning them. 

And the Silver starts to build. 

It needs to come off. You’re scrubbing and scratching at your wrists, because this needs to come off, now, it’s not right and it hurts and it hurts, it’s all hurts, the sting of your nails isn’t enough to keep the Silver down, and you can feel everything.

The fear of the water, disrupted from its usual flow for reasons it’s can’t understand. The jealously of the bricks on the street, aching to be as green as the moss and grass that’s formed in the center of the street. The life itself, desperate to help you but unsure how. One of the butterflies lands on your finger, and a broken scream escapes your throat. 

You can’t lose it. There are so many people here, and that’s a mess you won’t be able to clean up. But this is wrong. This is so wrong, and you can’t fucking breathe. 

And those people are still staring. But you can’t blame them. You’d stare at the girl in the fountain, scratching at her skin, screaming at the sky and sobbing for no reason. 

“Bring me home,” you beg no one at all, every word broken, everything a haze of exhaustion and pain. “Please, I- Someone, bring me home.”

———

“It didn’t work.” You sigh, spinning your knife again. “Like I said, alone. And I got the gold off, after a while. I get these, like- instincts? I think it’s the Magdalene thing. And I worked out that holy water would get it off. Blessed the whole fountain, washed right away. And God, well-“ You let out a dry laugh. “He didn’t do fucking shit. “Didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just fucking watched while- I don’t want to say panic attack, but it’s the closest I can explain it. The Silver- Have I told you about the Silver?”

The demon makes a grumbled sound, but shakes his head.

“Okay, it’s like- Magic? I don’t know if it’s the Magdalene or Bride of God thing or both, but I’m the only Bride of God, and the only other Magdalene I’ve met was- Well, it was Lilith. And she was a cryptic bitch. So I don’t think I’m getting answers any time soon. Anyway, sometimes I lose control of the Silver, because it’s really big. And when I do, it- Boom.” You make a wide gesture with your hands. “Everyone’s souls, out of their body. And it- It doesn’t explode buildings, but it does destroy them. Like an instant forest. Not great for a city. But God, the fucking dick, was going to let me lose it. And he’s not the one who saved me.

“I’ve got a working theory. On how I got out. And I’m going to tell you, because, let’s be honest.” You give him an apologetic smile. “You’re not leaving this bathtub. Sorry. But- You get to know pretty much everything, before I tell you why you’re here. And maybe you’ll talk me out of killing you. Unlikely, but maybe.”

The demon’s vessel has paled, the green shredding it’s apart to try and burst out, and you sigh. 

“That’s not going to work. It’s just going to make this worse, dude. Then you’ll never get out of this. I’m about to tell you all my secrets, can you please not kill yourself.”

The demon stutters, then stop, and you beam. 

“Thank you. As I was saying, God didn’t save me. He did tell me he wouldn’t, though, so I’m not that surprised. At first I thought that someone in my family had pulled me out. Not my biological family, my real family. I’ve got my dad, Bobby, Cas, and Sam and Dean. Winchester. You’ve heard of them, they’re-“ A sort of stupid smile crosses your face. “They’re my favorite people. In the whole world. But they’re also so bad at staying off the radar. The only reason they haven’t been arrested or killed is because I- Well, I’m good at...” You frown at the air, choosing your words carefully. “Evading the law. Without me, they-“

The words die in your throat. 

You don’t want to think about it.

About how without you, they might be so fucking fucked. They’re handsome idiots, everyone knows who they are, and without you there they might be fucking caught. It’s tight in your throat, the thought that when you do get home, they won’t be there. Some hunter will have gotten to them, like Michigan. Or just the police. 

The Silver is starting to turn, the Spiderweb straining, but you can’t afford that. Not right now.

You blink the tears from your eyes, and let out a slow sigh. 

“Sorry. I- They’re my family. It’s been a long few months, I- um,” you dig your nails into your palm, dragging your thoughts back together. “It’s been hard. But I don’t have to tell you that. You felt how hard I stabbed you. So, uh- It wasn’t them, who got me out. If it was Cas, he would’ve been there to bring me home. If it was Bobby or Dean, I would’ve been in South Dakota. That’s a state, in the US. So I- I’d be-“

The world is getting blurry. 

You would’ve been home. Falling apart in Dean’s arms and trying to work out how you could tell him without saying it. That it had all been for him. That it was always for him. That Hell had been having him then losing him, and Michael and Lucifer had known it was only Dean that could keep you calm, but you’d loved him too much to fall for it. 

That now, after months, it’s still straining, just to the right of your heart.

You love him. You want to go home. You need to see him, anywhere else but a dream, and have him be Golden in front you. Then you’ll be certain this is real. And you’ll fold yourself into his arms, bathe in his Gold, and breathe for the first time since you escaped. Deep and slow, letting his Gold sink into your skin. 

It’s hard to keep down your choked sob, as you gaze falls to your hands. The blue of Jo was still stuck to your fingertips, but the Gold was long gone. 

So you need Dean back. Need to touch him, and—somehow, without actually saying it—tell him that you love him. 

You can’t tell the demon that. You can’t tell anyone that. So you clear your throat and take a ragged breath that just feels like ash in your lungs. 

“I would be with De- With them. Now. If they were the ones that got me out. But I’m not. I wasn’t. I figured out where I was pretty fast, after the fountain. Wasn’t that hard, once I actually thought about it. All the signs were in Hebrew, I looked around for like, five seconds and saw the Temple Mount. It’s-“ You let out a long breath, leaning back. “The Temple Mount is this holy mountain, in Abrahamic religions. It’s got the Al-Aqsq on it, which is an Islamic compound. I watched a lot of PBS as a kid, so I recognized it pretty fast. My dad couldn’t afford cable. And I liked it.” You laugh. “Good thing, too. Told me where I was. Jerusalem. I’m not sure why Jerusalem, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. That’s where I was.

“And I did freak out about it, but only for like, five seconds. It was- I didn’t fall into the cage alone. I got out alone, but that’s because- I’ll get there in a second.” You chew on your lower lip, frowning at the demon and trying to figure out what you should tell him. 

You did say everything. But on the off chance he does escape, you don’t want him blabbing to other demons. 

It’s a strong devil’s trap, though. Plus, you’re not exactly planning on letting him get any sort of leg up on you. 

And it has been so fucking lonely.

Most everything, then. 

You can just kill him after. 

“Here’s the thing. I escaped. I worked that out. I freed myself, because Dean called for me. It’s complicated, but I heard him, so I escaped. But I sort of-“ You shake your head, giving the demon a sad look. “I fell into the cage with Sam Winchester, okay? I’m sure you heard about it. And you know how I mentioned that Michael and Lucifer had me playing dress up? They were torturing Sam, and I sort of got pissed about it and threw him out of the cage. And there was a little while where I was really worried that Sam had also ended up in Jerusalem. And that Cas didn’t find him either, and he was stuck as some big white guy, just wandering around the Middle East.”

The demon blinks at you, and you roll your eyes. 

“Don’t look at me like that, a lot was happening to me. And I worked it out. I looked up if anyone else, like-” you make a growing gesture through the air. “In the middle of the city. And they didn’t. No one except me. Then I sort of realized that there were news reports of me. With pictures. And to normal people, it looked like some sort of hoax, which was whatever. What was bad was that angels could see it. You guys,” you point your knife at the demon. “Could see it. And actually know what it means. And I was annoyed that nobody was waiting for me, but by now I’d figured out that I got myself out. So this meant my one fucking advantage, heaven and hell thinking I was still in the cage, was gone. Which more annoying.

“But I’ve been on the run from Heaven and Hell before, and the key is to just keep moving. See, though- Last time running was pretty easy, because I did have a goal, but not really a plan. I didn’t have to stay in one place, because I left specifically to just- Not be in America.” You swallow. “My best friend had died. I was sort of going through some shit, and I didn’t want to put the rest of my family in danger. Now- It's complicated. I have things to do.”You tap the tip of the blade on your list. “Here’s the big secret. I’m trusting you with this.” You give the demon a firm look, and it just keeps glaring at you. “No snitching, or saying anything shitty about it. Because I can kill you the normal demon way, or I can do my thing. Where I destroy you. Got it?”

The demon twists in his vessel, but gives you a tight nod. 

You smile at him. “Good. First thing on the list, stay away from God. I told you about that already, and there’s more to it, but- It’s not as important as the second thing.”

The second thing is more of gospel. What you know, what you’ve always know, what you’ve never been able to fight and—even when you didn’t want to—where you’ve always ended up.

“This,” you hold up the list. “Says go back to Dean. And it’s more important. But I can’t, until I work out the first thing. God is sort of- He visited me. After I left Jerusalem. And I- I’m fucked.”

———

It’s been three weeks, since you started running. Your Arabic is getting better, but it still isn’t great. You can say help, and water, and food, and please, and I don’t speak Arabic. The only reason you’re not wasting away in an ally is because of the random kindness people have offered you. A woman who offered you a house to sleep in, when you’d been stumbling down her street. An older man who gave you a water bottle and more shelter. Two kids, who ran up you and offered you a snack you’d never seen, but you know Dean would love in one bite. 

It helps that you’re still hunting—a vampire nest in Jordan, several ghosts, a roc terrorizing a small village—but only when you find something to hunt. Most of the time it’s out of nowhere, without question. You’re not sure you’ve simply found yourself in the kindest place in the world, or if it’s something about the Silver. The Bride of God thing, being visible to all the locals. They’re not magical, but you’re also struggling to hold it in. And Jo says you don’t look human, when it’s falling out of you. 

She says your eyes glow, your hair floats, and all the world around you grows more colorful. 

If you saw that walking down the street, you’d probably also try to help it.

But when you look in the dusty mirror, you just look like yourself. Exhausted, but yourself. 

There are bigger problems, though, than analyzing the kindness of random people.

First, the desert is so fucking hot, and you’re not willing to give up your jacket. Dean gave you this jacket. Technically he stole it from you then gave it back, but all the same, it’s from Dean. You won’t give it up. And if you get heatstroke and die, at least Cas will be able to find you. 

Second, Cas hasn’t found you. Half of that is your fault—you’re never in the same place for more than a few days at a time, and you know that angels aren’t able to locate you the same as a normal human—but you’d also hoped that he’d see it. The mess you made in Jerusalem. That Cas would’ve been able to put together that you couldn’t run that far, and would be searching for you to bring you home. 

Third, you have no fucking way home. 

You’ve teleported before. Twice. When you’d just appeared at Bobby’s, after the Men of Letter’s library. Then after San Francisco, when you’d raised Death. But you have no fucking idea how you did that. Even if you did, it would be something with the Silver. Both times had been points when you’d completely been overtaken by the Silver, and you couldn’t afford for that to happen now. You’d hurt all these kind people, probably fuck up the desert ecosystem, and there’s no guarantee it would work. 

It might.

But it’s too big a risk to gamble with. 

So you can’t get home. 

Right now, your best hope is just wandering, waiting for Cas to find you—if he’s looking—and hoping no other angels or demons finds you first. 

And they don’t. You’re good at running. You’d promised Dean you’d stop, but this doesn’t count. You’re not running away from him, or from the pain. You’re making a strategical choice, so you don’t get kidnapped again. The moment Cas knocks on your door, you’ll go home, throw yourself into Dean’s arms, and tell him without saying it. 

You’ve been daydreaming about that a lot. When you’re not running or dreaming about him, you’re lying flat on your back, hand between your legs, thinking of Dean. 

His pretty face and deep voice, drawling your name. His hand on your waist and his lips pressed anywhere he wants them. 

Baby. I need you, baby. 

When you close your eyes, it’s like he’s right in your ear. And your fingers, rubbing tight circles on your clit, can be Dean’s bigger, calloused ones. He’d hold your hand and grin, while he touched you. Call you good, kiss you until you whined his name, maybe slide two fingers inside of you and chuckle when you yanked his hair in desperation. 

You cum quickly, shaking and sinking into the sheets, less sore, hot shame than when you’ve done this before. You love him, and he’s kissed you. It’s not indulging if Dean kissed you. It’s not making it about you if there’s no one else around. And maybe you’re letting it show on your face, but nobody will ever see it. 

And it helps. It helps so much to go take a long, warm shower after, and just think about holding Dean when this is done. The apocalypse is over. You’re free. If he wants to kiss you, you’ll let him. If he wants to touch you, he can do that too. Whatever Dean’s asks of you, you’ll give. Only for him.

If he says it first, you’ll say it back. 

You turn off the water, and you just have to wait for Cas.

But when you step out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, it’s not Cas that’s waiting for you.

“Do you need some money?” God asks, frowning around your tiny motel room. “I can get it for you. Grab it out of- Um, FIFA? I know Rufus Turner has thoughts about it being a criminal organization. I could also get you a hotel, five stars. Whatever you want. It’ll be better than,” he makes a loose gesture. “This.”

It had been hard to breathe. Hard to do anything but stand there, staring as the Silver roared and started to grow. You were the freedom of the sand and the loneliness of the water in the pipes, so far from home. You were the resilience of the small garden the motel kept, refusing to give into the dry heat of the desert.

But you had to bite your cheek, and keep it down. Last time you’d lashed out, he’d put you in binds. It had nearly broken you, in a single second. 

You swore you wouldn’t break. Not for God. You could broke or bow or bend to him, or you’d lose everything. 

So you take a slow, shaking breath—wrapping your towel a little tighter around your body—force your voice to remain even. 

“I don’t need any money. The owner is letting me stay for free, I exorcized her house. Why are you here.”

God shrugs, giving you a small smile. “Am I not allowed to see you-“

“No.” You raise your chin, holding God’s gaze. “You didn’t pull me out. You didn’t stop me from falling in. So why are you here.”

You spit the last word, but God just sighs. “I want to talk, okay? That’s it. Check if you’ve come around, after your time in the cage. And I’m sorry about that, but I told you I wouldn’t interfere.” He raises his hands in the air. “Free will! I’ve told you, I can’t control you. At all. I did try to stop you, actually, but you still did it. That’s not my fault.”

It’s hard not to scream, as your nails draw blood on your forearm, forcing the Silver to stay down. 

You manage. 

“That doesn’t answer my question-“

“It’s does, I said I was here to talk-“

“About what.” Your eyes narrow. “What do you want.”

God watches you for a second, and his eyes are so cold. They hurt to look at. Like staring into white flare, your skin itching and bones cold. As if he could brand you with only a thought. 

But you won’t bend. So you don’t look away. 

He gives in first. “Okay, yeah. I want you to come with me. Happy?”

You stare at him, and the Silver is going to fly apart. No. Not now. You were so, so close to going home, and he said you had to agree, and no-

“You- You said it was a one-time deal,” you whisper, taking an unsteady step back. “I didn’t go with you, so that’s it. That was my chance, right? And I said no. You- You can’t take me, I said no.”

“Hey, chill out. I’m not taking you,” God gives you a look of almost pity and starts to pace, shaking his head. “I would never just take you. And maybe I said it was one time, but now you’re out here in the desert, so nothing’s really changed that can’t be fixed. And I’m me. If I want to make it a two-time deal, it’s a two-time deal-“

“No.” You flinch back, his proximity a little too close. “I- I said no. It’s supposed to be over.”

“Oh, you really-“ He gives you another odd look. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

You swallowed, but kept holding yourself tall. “Get what.”

“It’s never going to be it.”

“I-“

“You and me?” He gestures between your bodies, offering you a small smile. “We’re it. We are everything, forever. The ship to end all ship, as humans say on the internet. I tried to tell you. We’ll have ups and downs, but that’s what’ll make it good. So maybe this,” he frowns at your room. “Is a down, but then it’ll be an up. And it’ll be a glorious up. Paradise will come, when I have my bride. It’s really simple, actually, but you don’t-“ He pauses, frown deepening. “It’s Dean, isn’t it.”

You flush, taking another step back, and God groans. 

“Fucking- Dean Winchester! I- He’s lucky I made him such a likable dumbass, or I’d- I haven’t wrath of god’d someone in a long time, but-“ He glares at you, and you swallow. “You’ll never be able to have him, you know that right? Not really. You’re always going to be mine, and-“ He holds up one hand, shaking his head. “Not because I’m forcing you to, but because you are. It’s in your soul, your DNA, the very fabric of the universe. I’m waiting for you, but it will happen. The sooner you come with me, the easier things will be. For you and Dean. And the more you cling to this,” he gestures around you both. “The harder it will be, okay? I’m trying to help you-“

“I don’t want your help.” You whisper, before you can stop yourself, and your hand is back around your throat. “I- I want to go home.”

God sighs, his face softening in a second as he takes you in. 

It’s more terrifying than the anger. 

“I know you do. But you- It’s very easy to call South Dakota home when you’ve never been to Eden, or the Hanging Gardens of Venus.”

You blink. “Babylon. It’s Hanging Gardens of Babylon-“

“All the planets have Hanging Gardens,” God shrugs. “I made sure of that. They’re for you. I know you’d love them. Just- Keep thinking about it, okay. I don’t want to fight with you, I just- It hurts me, when you’re in pain. You know where to find me. Call me, when you’re ready. For you, I’ll always come.”

God vanishes, and you’re left alone again. 

Alone, with the whole world flipped upside down, and one more thing to add to your list. 

Get out of being the Bride of God.

———

“This is why I’ve been wandering.” You tell the demon, and he’s staring at you like you’ve gone insane. “I don’t want to be the Bride. I’ve never wanted to be the Bride, and allegedly I can’t stop being the Bride, but there’s always another way.” You frown. “There has to be another way. Maybe Death told Dean that there wasn’t, but there’s never been a Bride of God before. And God said he wouldn’t take me as long as I kept fighting him. So I can at least delay it, until I find something. Right now I’m just not using the Silver, so he can’t take me. And yeah, maybe it’s harder than when I was nineteen. The Silver is stronger, and more… everything. When I do lose control. But I’ve got it. I’m leaning into witchcraft again, and I’m good at it. Like, really good. Kind of awesome, actually. 

“So that’s most of it, I guess. God found me, and I stopped waiting for Cas. I need to find a way out, before I got home. It’s not just angels and demons anymore. It’s God. And if he knows about my- About Dean, then others will know. Michael and Lucifer knew. They used it, to keep me in the cage. And I won’t let him get hurt. Ever.”

The demon raises his brows at you, and you sigh. 

“Yeah, I’m not telling you about Dean. That’s mine. He’s- Nope.” You point the knife at him, raising your brows. “I won’t. All you need to know to be helpful is that I’m trying to escape the Bride of God shit. I’ve been to Syria, Saudi Arabia, and now Iraq, but I’ve found nothing, and- Oh! I made a friend.” You frown at the door. “She’s late, though. So here’s the deal.”

You brace your elbows on your knees, holding the demon’s gaze as you lean forward.

“I’m asking you for help. I know you’re here to kill me, but I’m way past that. It didn’t work, and I kidnapped you and trapped you in a bathtub. We’re even. And I really would like to be done with this. So, I know you’re one of Hell’s Assassin’s. I know you guys have been after me because I’m the Bride of God. All I need is something, some sort of lead, and I’ll let you go. Of course,” you press your knife under his chin, giving him a firm look. “If you tell anyone what I told you, I’ll eviscerate you. But if you don’t, we’re good. Blink if you understand.”

The demon blinks, and you give him a sweet smile. 

“Beautiful.” You move your knife to his gag. “Don’t be a bitch, or I’ll kill you for that too.”

You slice through the gag, and the demon sputters as it falls away. You wait. You’ve got time, and he’s in your bathtub. He even tries to get out of his vessel, but he only turns in the air for a second—violent and green and ugly—when the Devil’s Traps glows orange, and he shoots back into his body. 

“What the fuck-“

“It’s enchanted.” You shrug spinning your knife in your hands. “I did try to warn you, though-“

“No, you didn’t-“

“Oh. I meant to, sorry.” You raise your brows at him. “Can we talk about the deal, please? Are you in?”

“In?” The demon gapes at you. “In what? Your crazy fucking plan to escape God?”

You nod eagerly, and the demon snorts.

“You know, I’d heard that you were one crazy bitch, but this? This is something else. You can’t escape God. I’m old enough to know that it just ain’t how this works, princess-“

“Hey.” You press your knife back into the demons throat, the Spiderweb burning through your veins. “You can call me a bitch, and crazy. I don’t care. But don’t call me princess.”

The demon smirks. “Why, cause your precious little Dean-“

You press the knife deeper, and the demon chokes on its own blood. 

It heals fast, when you draw anyway. Glares at you as its vocal cord heal—Sam taught you how to make that cut, and when you’d asked why the fuck he knew that, he’d just mumbled something about pre-med girlfriend—and you return it with another sweet grin.

“I did warn you about that one.” You hum, wiping the dripping blood off your pants. “Shit- This is going to stain, dude, what the fuck-“

“I’m sorry I stained your pants, your majesty-“

“Don’t call me that either-“

“But.” The demon coughs again, his glare never wavering. “I’m fucking dead anyway, whore. I’m just trying to speed this up.”

You frown at him. “You’re not dead. I haven’t killed you. And the deal-“

“There’s no deal for us to make.” The demon sneers. “I’d never even heard of the Bride of God thing, not until the King started yelling about it. We were all shocked when he told us it was you, cause we been hunting you for years.”

“But- Why would you hunt me if you didn’t know-“

“Cause you’re a Magdalene, sweet-cheeks.”

You frown at him. You know you’re a Magdalene, but that’s- It’s the same. You’re the Magdalene, so you’re the Bride of God.

“No,” you mutter. “It’s- No. I need you to help me-“

“Sorry, dollface.” The demon shrugs, lounging out in the tub. “You bet on a losing duck. No dice. Game over-“

“Shut up.” You snap, angling the knife, and he does. “And- Stop using bad metaphors. It’s losing horse. Why would Hell want to kill a Magdalene.”

The demon gives you an amused look. “Do you know how powerful normal Magdalenes are? Lilith, Mary, Cleopatra? Do you know how fucking annoying they are, too? Making all the holy people feel nice and big about themselves, making the world better- Expect Lilith, bringing demons. She was the most powerful, until you. Fifty percent Magdalene, you might be the matriarch of the next big thing. And Azazel started by tellin’ us to lay off, but then you’re hanging out with those Winchester boys, and you had to go. You could’ve replaced us.” He points a finger at his own chest, and you swallow. “And that couldn’t stand. Can’t stand. We were all too happy to start hunting you again, when we got the news.”

You swallow, but force the words out. “Again?”

“Oh, there’s been debate.” The demon leans back with a shrug. “In 2006, we shoulda gotten you. We stabbed you, with that knife. Iron kills witches, and that’s iron from Hell. Those babies have killed ‘bout a half dozen Magdalenes before their event could come to pass. But you just kept walking. And we were gonna give up there, but Azazel wasn’t surprised. Guess he knew about this Bride thing, but either way, he said he had you muzzled. Then, after Azazel, Lilith said to lay off, but I think she just had a soft spot. Course, she didn’t want you around the Winchester’s either, so we were allowed to spook you. Make sure you don’t get to your Dean in time- Hey.” The demon raises his hands, grinning at your glare. “I’m just tellin’ you what happened. Azazel doesn’t want us to kill you, Lilith wants us to spook you, Lucifer says lay off or get smited. The we get Crowley-“

“Crowley?” You blurt, unable to hide your shock. “Fucking Crowley sent you?”

“Yep.” The demon hums, nodding. “You’re wanted alive by Hell, darling. I’m the first of many, many more.”

“Awesome.” You mutter, rubbing the scar on your palm, and the demon frowns at you.

“You know, he’s not been telling us why-“

“I’m not telling you either.” You snap. “And if you don’t have anything for me, I guess I did promise I’d kill you.”

The demon just shrugs, but you can see his fearful writhing inside the vessel, the nervous way he’s eying your knife as you pick it up. 

“It doesn’t have to be a good lead,” you offer one more time. “Just- Anything. And I’ll let you go.”

“Wow. You are-“ The demon laughs. “Just adorable.”

“Hey-“

“I can see why Dean Winchester’s so sweet on you.” The demon smirks, and you freeze. “Sweet meanin’ gross. Disgustingly, pathetically devoted to. Mean, crazy girl with the soft side. If I lost something as good as you, I’d lose my damn mind, too.”

He’s baiting you. You can see it, in the glint of his smoke and smirk on his face. The dipshit is baiting you, and you’re not going to bend to it, but Dean. Dean. He’s supposed to be okay. You saved the world, so he’s okay. You gave him Sammy back. He might be worried about you, is almost definitely pissed at you—there’s a thin chance you won’t get a long what happened to sticking to the fucking plan, Princess lecture when you eventually get home—but he’s okay.

Dean. 

Baby. 

Baby, I need you. 

Fuck, you’ve taken stupider bait before. “Lost his mind?”

The demon’s smirk grows. “Oh, it’s big talk in our world. Dean Winchester, drunk out of his mind, ripping vamp nests to shreds and taking out any demon stupid enough to cross his path. Offering his soul, his own very soul, in exchange for his brother and girl out of the cage. Having to be talked down by that puppy dog angel he’s got all the time,” the demon tsks, shaking his head. “Then he gets baby brother back, and nobody knows how. But I heard,” the demon leans up, as if he’s going to tell you a secret. “That Sam ain’t doing so well, either. I haven’t seen him myself, but rumors are flying that his soul was so broken they had to block it, just to get him through the day. And now? Well, Sammy’s a psycho.”

No. That can’t be right. You fixed Sam. You healed him, every time, and sure you didn’t do the best job, but he’d been lucid with you. In the cage, he’d been standing when you’d sent him out. He was supposed to be fine. 

And Sam wasn’t psycho. He was Sam. He could be a little bitch, but you could be bossy, and Dean could be a jerk. Sam was the only person who matched your enthusiasm for the lore, who helped you make spreadsheets and understood the library system you’d designed that Jo, Dean, and Bobby had all called bonkers. Sam defended you against John. Sam knew that you weren’t human, and didn’t tell Dean until you were ready. Sam hugged you and never got angry at you, when you ran. 

He was Sam.

You stare at the demon—although the world is mostly a faded blur of color—and no amount of blood drawn by your own hand is going to be enough to make this feel better. The Silver is tearing up, and you’re not you enough to feel anything like pain. You were supposed to have saved Sam. Dean was supposed to be okay. You were supposed to have done something good, not be the sickness. Not raze and infect the world, not fuck it all up. But you jump in with Sam, and Dean started drinking. You tried to heal Sam, but you just broke him more. 

The demon, somewhere through the haze, seems to have lost his bravado. He’s screaming, as the Silver crashes out of your body and crushes him down, down, down, he’s nothing, and you’re everything. The quiet paranoia of the scorpion under the bed, the unbending will of the desert all around you, the pure fucking homesickness, of the jacket around your body. It misses Dean, almost as much as you do. It’s never gone this long without his Gold, folded in the cloth and painted over the leather. 

And far away, you’re a tired, sleek, black car that’s feeling the pain of its owner. That’s trying to keep going, but isn’t sure where there’s possibly left to go.

A weak, strangled scream leaves your throat, and the demon turns to nothing at all. 

You’d done what you promised, but he shouldn’t be shocked. Everything about being the sickness is going kill you, but it’s what you are. Wrong. The Bride of God, but still wrong. 

He can’t bait the monster, then be shocked when it eats him alive. 

And you’re falling back down so fast. You’re you again, but that hurts so much. Too much. 

The world spins, as you start to feel the ache in the cavity of your chest and the ache of your every nerve, and then it goes black. 

This isn’t a memory. 

It’s the saloon, from the Cowboy-World Michael and Lucifer put you in. Shining bottles behind a counter, wooden tables and stool, a creaking saloon door, and Dean. Holding you in his arms, swaying your back and forth as he hums, and Golden. 

The panic rising in your throat dies so easily, because this Dean is Golden. 

Not real.

But not fake.

Yours. The version of him you always keep in your head, where he’s loud and obnoxious and angry, but also sweet and gentle and amusing. The Dean that kisses you all the time, and tells you he loves you. He’s handsome and strong and graceful, but still tired and a little tense under your hands.

And when you tip your head back and rest your chin on his chest, he’s grinning at you.

So fucking pretty, and—in here—all yours. 

“Princess,” he mutters, kissing your cheek, and your own smile pulls at your cheeks. “You get prettier every damn time I see you.”

You giggle, and play pretend. It can’t hurt. 

Nothing can hurt more than knowing you’re going to wake up, and lose him again. 

“You see me all the time.” You hum, and he groans.

“Don’t do the eye thing, baby, you know what that does to me-“

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you do.” He spins you around, then pulls you right back into his chest. “You know exactly what you do to me. It’s a damn miracle I ever get anything done, when you’re home.”

You swallow, and this time when your flutter your lashes, it’s not on purpose. 

“C’mon,” Dean laughs, pressing his brow to yours. “Now you’re just playing dirty-“

“Tell me.” You whisper, because none of this is real anyway. “What- What do I do?”

Dean’s throat bobs, his ears going red, and he shakes his head. “I, uh- You-“

“Please?” You turn your head away, trying to hide your own flush, and he sighs. 

“I mean- There’s not a shit ton to say.” He stops moving, the hand in your moving to comb through your hair. “It’s all of you. I think- Jesus, one time we were on the phone and your voice made me hard. You were talking about something gross, too, but you said it so pretty and I- I’ve always been a goner for you, baby. Never been a moment where I didn’t want you. So fucking beautiful, and bossy- Shit, you always look so hot when you’re being bossy. You cross your arms as it pushes your boobs up, then you call me De, and I damn near fall to my knees to- I wish I could show you, Princess. Son of a bitch, the things I’ve thought about doing to you.” He shakes his head, chuckle so low it rumbles in his chest. “Let’s just say it’d make cupids blush.”

Oh. Fucking- You can’t really feel anything but heat. Heat and Dean. Golden and pressed against you. The contact making the ache between your legs painful and your head spin.

“You can do it.” You mumble, keeping your gaze fixed on his shoes. “I, um- I’d like that. A lot. If you would.”

Dean freezes under your hands, and there’s a long silence. Then Dean’s shifting around you, taking your face between his hands and forcing it up.

“Come home and tell me that out there,” He mumbles your name, pressing a soft kiss to your brow, then the tip of your nose. “And I’ll do anything you want.”

He moves to your mouth, and then it’s all gone. 

It’s yanked away from you. You sit up with an undignified noise, because you’d had him. In your arms and—at least in your head—happy. But now he’s gone, and it’s so fucking bright, and- 

“What happened to our friend?” An accented, annoyed voice comes from about you, and you groan. “You told me you’d be interrogation him, little tiger-“

“I did.” You grumble, pushing yourself upright with a grunt. “He didn’t tell me anything.”

“Well, he may have told me something, if you’d managed to wait.”

“You were late, Rowena.” You rub your eyes, blink up to find her giving you a bored, disapproving look. “Don’t make that face, he didn’t have anything anyway.”

Rowena hums, expression unchanging, then looks back to the hollow vessel in the bathtub. “Well, how do you supposed we get rid of him now?”

“I dunno, burn him.”

Her nose wrinkles as she sighs. “Fine, but let’s eat first. I’m not going to be able to stomach anything long as there’s corpse in the air.”

She doesn’t offer you a hand to get up, but you don’t ask for it. 

That’s not how this partnership works. 

Rowena found you in Syria, combing through the library of a witch you’d maybe—nobody would be able to prove it, if they tried—locked in a sewer. 

“These are old texts,” a voice had drawled from a few shelves away, and why the fuck did everyone have to be so dramatic all the time. “A sweet little spring chick such as yourself might not want to play with fire, or she’ll burn her fingers.”

You’d sighed, rolling your eyes into the dark and raising your voice to call back. “Thanks for the warning. Are we gonna have to fight, or can I keep looking?”

There had been a high, elegant laugh. “Do you think you could win a fight against me, darling?”

“Yes.” You’d shrugged, tracking the muffled steps around you. “That’s not an answer to my question-“

You’d ducked, right as the knife had driven for your throat. The blur hadn’t even needed to kick in, for you win this fight. You’d grabbed the Blade from your jacket, dodged another blow, then knocked the woman’s knife out of her hand, let it drop down into your free hand, and pressed the Blade to her throat.

She hadn’t looked worried. Mostly amused, smiling as she scanned over your features.

“Little tiger’s got claws.” She mused, mostly to herself. “You one of those infuriating men of letters?”

You’d scowled. “No, gross.”

Her smile had grown. “Hunter?”

“Of a sort. Can I please use this library in peace?”

“It’s a private book collection, darling. You’re stealing, and I am defending my friend’s property-“

“I don’t care.” You’d paused. “You know all these books?”

“I do, yes, but-“ She’d cut herself off as gaze had dropped to your blade, her eyes had widened, and her voice had gone soft. “The Magdalene.”

Goddamnit. “Yeah, I know, are any books here about-“

“You’re real,” she’d said, looking at you with blatant awe. “I was so sure you were a legend.”

“Yeah, well, I’m real. Super fucking real, and-“

“Is it true you can see souls?”

You’d sigh. You just wanted to find a fucking book. “Yeah, I can.”

“And do you practice their magic?”

“Their- What?”

“Soul magic.” The woman had said. “The art of Magdalene’s, the most dangerous magic in the world, a single one costing a witch half her energy, driving her insane.”

“Uh- no. As you can see,” you’d shrugged. “Not insane. Are any of these books about wards?”

The woman had sighed, but indulged you. “Yes, about fifty of them. What are you trying to ward, little tiger?”

“God.”

She’d blinked at you. “God.”

“Yeah. Can you tell me which one-“

“Oh my- Foolish girl, that is soul magic.” She’d batted the Blade away from your throat. “Do you know anything of witchcraft? Of your birthright?”

You frowned, opening and closing your mouth, and the woman had scoffed. 

“Fucking-  Look at you. Raised by hunters, were you? Taught that we’re the enemy, now dancing around with all this power in your veins and no way to use it?”

“Um- I- What?”

“My- You’re like a baby deer.” The woman had sighed, pushing past you. “Let’s get you that book, dearie. Then we’re going to get a drink, and you’re going to tell exactly what you know about our people-“

“I don’t drink.” You’d blurted, and she’d sighed. 

“Then we’ll find you a sippy cup. Come on now, we have much to talk about.” 

You had. 

She’d thrust a thick, leather book into your arms, introduced herself as Rowena, and made good on her promise. There had been a last look of horror on her face, as you’d sheepishly explained that you’d never actually done proper magic, except for a brief period in South America where you’d been set of breaking a friend out of hell. 

“We’ll have to fix that,” she’d murmured, scanning over you slowly. “And you don’t know soul magic? Any of it?”

“I, um-“ You’d cleared your throat, stirring the ice in your glass. “No, I guess. I just, spells happen to me. And sometimes, I can feel this thing in my chest grow and grow until I’m everything.” You’d glanced up at her. “Is that a soul magic thing?”

Rowena had frowned, shaking her head. “No. Soul magic is the practice of the impossible. Magic has rules. Laws. Making a new spell usually requires decades of research, but Magdalenes have magic entwined into their very souls. They can pull on it, and magic becomes whatever you wish it to be. It is hard, but soul magic could ward against God.” She’d raised her brows. “You got a problem with the lord, dearie?”

“Yeah. He’s trying to kidnap me.”

“Ah. Can’t have that.”

You’d shrugged, and maybe it wasn’t the best idea to make your new ally a witch. You’ve killed a lot of witches, and Sam and Dean had probably killed more. Rowena mostly seemed interested in you because of the whole Magdalene thing, and nothing else. 

But cost and benefit, she was better at magic than you were, and you had been trying to use the Silver less. And if she betrayed you, you were still stronger.

So you’d looked up at Rowena, taken a deep breath, and told her.

Not everything. 

Never everything. 

But what she needed to know.

That you were the Bride of God, and you were trying to get home. That you’d crawled out of Hell, and couldn’t linger unless demons and angels found you. That you wanted to go home, but you couldn’t until God got off your fucking ass. 

Rowena had listened. Nodded. Then sighed, “Men,” and stood up.

You’d blinked at her. “Are we-“

“We’re getting you a bed.” She’d said. “And in the morning, we’re going to you out of this… Bride ridiculousness. No witch should be bound to God.” Her lip had curled. “Chop chop, little tiger. There’s work to do.”

And from there on you hadn’t been alone. 

God still flashed from the Sky, watching you search anywhere you could to get away from him, but he hadn’t come back down. And with Rowena, you were sort of getting closer. She was old, and knew where to find the kind of books that told you more about at least Heaven. Sure, she made you do homework, but she also taught you how to actually do witchcraft. And you hadn’t been lying to the demon. 

You were pretty fucking good at it.

“Did you memorize the spells before your little tantrum-“

“It wasn’t a tantrum.” You mutter, shuffling after her into the motel’s bedroom. “And I did. Last night. And I worked on a spell, for Babylon.”

Rowena hums, flipping through your notes on the table. “Darling, these are all in Enochian.”

“They have to be. We’re looking for my name in Enochian.”

She sighs. “I can’t perform them, if they’re in Enochian.”

“I’ll translate.” You drop flat on your back, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing the Silver down.

Dean. Dean’s in pain, and he’s not okay, and you’re playing Indiana Jones with an ancient Scottish lady. And the demon had said so many fucking things. Too many things. All now shit you had to deal with, before you could go home to Dean. 

They didn’t know you were the Bride of God. Nobody seems to have known, except for the highest-ranking beings in the universe. Joshua had even said, back in heaven, that the Bride being the Magdalene was a cruel joke.

Demons aren’t going to have answers for you, about that. You can only think of one place that might, and you really don’t want to go back there. 

And Dean.

The Spiderweb whines, because Dean.

Baby. I need you, baby. 

You can’t go back with nothing. With no progress, no defense against God. But Dean. 

Fuck.

“Rowena.” You mumble, and she sighs your name back. “I need to ask you something.”

She hums. “You have a mouth. Use it.”

“The Magdalene legend.” You prop yourself on your elbow, frowning at her. “Does it mention the Bride of God?”

Rowena shakes her head, still looking at your notes. “No, it does not. The legend is simply that the most power Magdalene will be born, and she will be bright enough to remake the world. If we find your name in Babylon, what is your plan-“

“Look for more Babylonian scripture, see if I’m mentioned there. The demon says they were hunting for me as the Magdalene, but now their hunting for me as the Bride of God-“

“Demons are slippery cunts, dear-“

“Rowena.” You make your voice harsh, giving her a firm look. “He said the King of Hell put a hit on me. As the Bride of God.”

“And? We can outmaneuver some whining king.“

“Yeah, I’m not worried about that. I’ve met the King of Hell, he’s just like-“ You wave a hand. “British. I need to go home.”

Rowena sighs, giving you a flat look. “Darling, you have spent the last three months refusing to go home because of your predicament. I do not see how a hit is going to change something-“

“The demon told me that my family is in danger-“

“And?”

You let out a slow breath. “And they’re my family. I need to go home, Rowena. I need to get my book and go home.”

Rowena frowns. “Your book? You’ve never told me about a book-“

“It the Magdalene book-“

“The- Christ, girl, have you been hiding the Arc of the Covenant up your arse?”

“No. You showed me how to scry, Rowena. We can split up, after I get my book. I’ll make sure everything is fine, I’ll start looking for it to see if any of the Magdalenes actually knew about the Bride of God thing, and you can go to Babylon-“

“And why would I just go to Babylon for you, when you’re leaving to dance around in a prairie?”

“Because I’m like the daughter you never had.” You deadpan, and she scoffs. 

“You are prettier than the son I did have. Smarter. Less…” she wrinkles her nose. “Annoying. But I will not be wasting my time-“

“I’ll let you look at the book, when you come to visit.”

Rowena’s eyes flash, and she stands up straight. “Deal.”

You nod, and drop back on the mattress. “Great, I- I don’t know where we’re going to have to look.”

“The men of letters have library,” Rowena waves you off. “Where they keep all their little trophies-“

“Yeah, I know. I blew it up.”

“You did what.”

“Lucifer ambushed me.” You mumble, picking at the skin of your nails. “I freaked out. And I sort of- I blew up the library.”

Rowena sighs, pinching the bridge of the nose. “And did it occur to you that maybe the book would’ve fucking blow up with it?”

“No.” You shrug. “It wasn’t that kind on explosion. And the book survived me dropping it in the Atlantic Ocean-“

“You-“

“So all we really need to do is figure out where they moved it.”

Rowena stares at you, and slams your notebook closed. You don’t flinch. Even when she gives you the sweet, mocking smile that usually ends in someone dead, you know she won’t kill you. 

You’re valuable.

“If we have no clue where the Magdalene book is.” She drawls, narrowing her eyes at you. “How do you propose we find it? It is immune to tracking and summoning spells, and Europe is not a small continent-“

“Yeah, it is.” You frown at the ceiling, rubbing the scar on your palm. “I’m not worried about finding it, I’m worried about getting it. The Men of Letters and I aren’t on great terms-“

“No worthwhile person is on good terms with the Men of Letters.” Rowena scoffs. “We’re smarter than those dapper, self-righteous, annoying little boys. They may have toys, but we are bringing a bomb to a knife fight.”

You tilt your head up, giving her a flat look. “Am I the bomb?”

“We’re all bombs, darling.” She pauses. “But yes.”

“Cool.” You drop back down, wrapping your arms around your stomach. “I have a friend in Europe, she might know where the Men of Letters moved stuff. I don’t have the stuff for my tracking spell, can you-“

“Track a person?” Rowena scoffs. “We can easily track a person, they’re like living GPS’s. I just need a name-“

“Eileen. Uh-“ You squint at the ceiling. “Mac…. Donald.”

“You can’t remember her last name-“

“It’s been a long year-“

“No matter.” Rowena dismisses you with a dramatic sigh. “I can work around it. We’ll find Eileen, and get your whining arse home.” Her voice drops under her breath. “At least you won’t be slowing me down anymore.”

You roll your eyes. “I love you too.”

Rowena can work around it. The problem doesn’t end up being where is Eileen, but rather how the fuck are you getting to her. 

“I don’t have a passport,” you mutter, your grip on the driving wheel of your car—stolen, but you don’t really care—white knuckled. “I can’t fly across borders, Rowena-“

“And I will not spend thirty hours in a car,” Rowena snaps your name, and you miss the exit again. “We will be taking the plane-“

“Can’t we just take a boat?” You plead, and Rowena lets out a long, slow breath. 

“If we take a boat.” She grumbles. “I expect first class-“

“Done.” You turn the car off the exit, scanning over the freeway signs. “Boat. Cool. Fucking love boats, we can do a-“

“You’re rambling.” Rowena sighs, and you bite your inner cheek. 

It’s going to be fine. This is all going to be fine. Rowena can enchant whatever customs person is inspecting you—and give you a dry, pointed look that you return with a smile—and you can use a stolen credit card for her to have all the shrimp in the world. Everything will be fine. You’ve got a plan—Eileen, book, go home—and technically, you’ve never had a plan that failed. When Dean went to hell, it was because of your lack of plan. When you and Sam fell into the cage, you did pull Michael out of Adam, and the plan had never promised that everyone would get out. 

Maybe, if you ask Dean, he’d snap that you had promised everyone would walk away, but what does he know. 

A lot of things. 

He knows a lot of things. 

And you miss him. All the time. You’re going home, but you want to be there now. Or just for Dean to be here, with you. Arms around your body as you watch the water rush by below you, voice low in your ear as he talks about something, anything, just trying to distract you from how the Silver is festering in your body. 

You’re not going to lose control. But you don’t feel good.

You’re mostly just tired. You don’t really sleep, without Dean there. You don’t want to sleep, because then you’ll see him in your dream and just miss him more. Plus Rowena took the bed in your cabin, and she’s a violent sleeper. 

It’s fine.

And you’ve got company.

“I’m gonna find you a zoo, buddy.” You mumble, pulling the scorpion out of your jacket. It’s an ugly little thing, but it had been so afraid, in the motel. “You won’t be a pest, there. They’ll feed you, and kids will go ewww when you look at them, but that’s fine.” You run a finger down it’s back, and it shudders. “You’re a resilient little guy. Are you a guy?” You sigh, tipping your head back on the seat. “Sam would know how to tell. I’ll ask him, when I get home. You’d like Sam, even if he wouldn’t like you. Dean wouldn’t like you either. He says he doesn’t like animals, but I know he’s a liar. He just doesn’t want me to have a cat, because it'll make him sneeze.”

Someone passes you, and you have to shift to hide the scorpion from view. 

“I’ve got you, buddy.” You open the pocket of your jacket, and it skitters back inside. “You don’t need to be afraid, I’ve got you.”

You do. 

If you’re helping one thing, saving anyone but yourself on this trip, it’s the scorpion. You check every hour or so, to make sure it’s still in there. And you don’t get stung, but Bobby and Dean would call you an idiot. Bobby probably still hasn’t forgiven you for when there were rabid bats in the attic, and you’d sit with them and try to calm them down. They didn’t bite you, just like the scorpion isn’t stinging you. 

But Bobby had worried. 

He needs to be okay, too. 

The demon hadn’t mentioned Bobby. Hadn’t said if he’d lost his mind as well, if he was safe, if he was anything at all. You’d known he’d take it hard, but he’d have Dean. And he wouldn’t have to worry about you hurting yourself or talking to bats, so he’d be okay. 

He’d like this boat, you think, resting your brow on the railing. Big, practical, cutting through the water so smoothly. He’d love the ocean, too. 

Bobby’s always loved the ocean. And he’s always been as certain as it, too. There when you need him, because that’s just how it is. Bobby’s there. 

He needs to be okay, too.

The rocks are jagged, under your feet. The sand is filled with them, and sharp seashells, and a lot of washed-up seaweed. 

It’s perfect. 

“Bobby!” You shriek, running down the beach, and his eyes widen before you barrel into his leg. “Look!”

“Slow down, kiddo, I’m lookin’-“

“It’s a crab!” You hold up your hands for him too, and he sighs your name.

“The hell did you find that-“

“It found me.” You shrug, tugging the crab back as Bobby reaches for it. “He’s gonna bite, Bobby-“

“They don’t bite, they-“ Bobby frowns. “Guess they bite. But he’s gonna get you first, they don’t like bein’ held-“

“He doesn’t mind.” You hold the crab to your chest, and he doesn’t. “He’s my friend.”

“Kiddo, animals are neat, but they ain’t-“ Bobby cuts himself off, watching the crab carefully as his frown deepens. “Huh.”

You blink at him, and suddenly it’s too much. That’s the look he gives you when you do something strange. Something kids aren’t supposed to be able to do. “Did- Did I do something wrong?“

Bobby’s eyes flash, and he shakes his head. “No, you just-“

“I’m sorry-“ You’re sniffling, and staring at the sand. “I- Didn’t know, I’m sorry-“

The world seems to slow. Grow a little brighter, as strong arms wrap around you, and a gentle kiss is pressed to the top of your head. 

“Why are we crying, Princess?” Dean murmurs, and you take a shaking breath, watching Bobby hover in the stasis of the memory.

“It’s stupid.” You rub your eyes, melting back against his body. “I don’t ever remember why I was so worried he’d be mad, he was just trying to make sure the crab didn’t bite- Fuck, pinch. The word is pinch.” You turn your face, pressing it into Dean’s arm. “He thought the crab would pinch me.”

“Crab?”

You nod, holding it up, and Dean tenses around you.

“Son of a-“ He mutters your name, and you’re shocked he’s still managing to hold onto you, even if his fingers are digging into your stomach. “That thing looks like a freakin’ monster-“

“Rude, Deano.” You lean down, setting him on the sand. “We’re all God’s creatures-“

“God creatures.” He snorts. “Really, Princess?”

“Shut up.”

“Bossy.” He hums, grabbing your chin and tipping it back. 

And he’s beautiful. 

He’s always beautiful. The green of his eyes matches the ocean behind you—maybe that’s always been why you loved the ocean—and all his features are just as pretty as the last time you saw him. In here, for the Cowboy World. Out there, beaten and bloody on the ground of the cemetery. 

It’s all the same. You love him, miss him, fall into his gravity and come back.

“I’m coming home.” You whisper, and Dean’s lips curve into a smile, ghosting over yours. 

“I’ve heard.” He murmurs. “And I keep fuckin’ thinking you might. Praying. I’ll be waiting, when it’s finally real.”

You swallow, the tears pricking back at your eyes. “I- I’m sorry, De-“

“I know, Princess.” He kisses you, long and slow and gentle. You let him guide you through it, opening when his tongue presses on your lips and sighing his name as he sucks your tongue between his teeth. 

“I- I-“ Your nails dig into his forearm, this alone already making you dizzy with need. “Dean, I-“

“I’ve got you, baby.” He mutters. “Love you.”

You sigh, a high, breathless sound, and his hand slips under your shirt. Rough fingers brushing over your midriff, the kiss making your head spin with pleasure- 

“Up.” 

Something whacks you on the back, and Dean is ripped away once more. 

You groan, rolling your neck as you sit up. “What the fuck, Rowena-“

“We’ve come to port, darling. This was your foolish idea, I will not be leading it.”

“Come to-“

“Dock. We’re arrived in Greece.”

She whacks you with the towel again, and this time you catch it. Yank it out of her hands with a scowl, and only get an eye roll in return.

“I’ve had a bell boy grab our bags.” Rowena huffs, scanning over you with a tight frown. “You need a shower.”

You grunt, and reach into your pocket to the check for the scorpion. 

Still there. 

“Rowena?” You call after her, and she turns with a sigh. “Can we make a stop at the zoo?”

“The- What?”

“Zoo. I have a donation.”

“Is it that scorpion you befriended?”

You nod, and Rowena sighs, but nods.

“Strange girl with her ugly creatures. We’ll find you a zoo, and then we work. Understood.”

“Yeah.” You grin, raising your voice as Rowena walks away. “Thank you!”

She doesn’t respond, and you lean down, whispering to the scorpion in your jacket. 

“She didn’t mean to call you ugly. She’s just,” you raise your voice again. “A cunt!”

You get a glare from a passing family, and give them an apologetic grimace. 

It’s not the worst look you’re going to get today. Far from it. The people at the zoo look at you as if you’re insane, when you present the scorpion to them with your bare hands. The people on the bus give you and Rowena odd looks, and maybe it’s the fact that you’re gripping your knife like a security blanket, it could also be that Rowena is holding a bowl filled with what looks like blood—you didn’t ask—and whispering to it.  

The worst look you get is from Eileen herself, when you find her. She’s sitting at a cafe, deeply invested in some book, and when you knock your hand on her table she looks up with a frown. It turns into wide eyes and a grin at the sight of you, before it falls off once more at the sight of Rowena and her bowl.

“Hey, Eileen-“

“Is that a witch?” She hisses your name, and you sigh. 

“Yeah, but I’m a witch-“

“No, you are you, that doesn’t count-“

“That’s racist, dear.” Rowena stops next to you, dropping the bowl on the table, and Eileen’s lip curls. 

“That smells like blood-“

“Likely because it is blood.” Rowena gives you a flat look. “This is your contact? A hound dog?”

“Rowena-“ You sigh, rubbing at your wrist as Eileen’s eyes narrow. “We need her help, don’t be a bitch.”

“She is against our kind-“

“Most people are. And you just called her a dog, so I think we’re even.” You give Rowena a stern look, and she scoffs, but doesn’t push it further.

“You need my help?” Eileen says, frowning up at you. “Is your family in danger again?”

“Yeah, I- Kind of.” You drop at the table, folding your arms over your chest. “I know it’s a big ask, when I haven’t seen you in over a year, but-“

“I’ll help.” She shrugs, closing her book, and you blink.

“Really?”

“I’m bored, and you-“ She glares pointedly at Rowena, still standing over the table. “Are good.”

“Lovely.” Rowena holds Eileen’s gaze, unfazed by the glower. “Shall we begin then-“

“Explaining, Rowena.” You sigh. “We need to explain.”

“I don’t need to do anything-“

“Can you sit while we talk?”

Rowena scowls, but sits, and you give Eileen an apologetic smile.

“Remember how I told you I was looking for a book and a knife? Before we split up?”

Eileen nods, and you pull the Blade out of your jacket.

“I got the knife. But then I got ambushed by Lucifer- Don’t ask.” You spin the Blade in your hand, Eileen gaping at you. “Basically he goaded me into the blowing up the library before I could get my book. And I need it now, but I don’t know where it is, so I hoping you could help me find it?”

“Your book?”

“Yeah, like- Where would the Men of Letters have moved it, after I- Y’know.” You make an exploding gesture, and Eileen’s brows draw together.

“They have a bunker in Germany. That is where I’ve heard everything went.”

“Great, can you-“

“Did you really blow up the library?” She cuts you off with a frown, and Rowena sighs, examining her nails.

“I think we have better thing to attend to than catching up-“

You ignore her. “Yeah. Not on purpose, though-“

“I don’t care about that.” Eileen shrugs. “I just guessed it was you. The place looked like the church I found you in.”

Rowena frowns. “Church?”

“Is your family alright?” Eileen ignores Rowena as well, and she scowls. “You said they were in danger, again.”

“It’s complicated.” You mumble. “They were okay. But I sort of- I had a long year. My brother did too.”

“Long-“

“They fell into Hell.” Rowena drawls, and Eileen stares at her, clearly having missed it, so Rowena sighs and repeats herself. “Hell. They were in Hell.”

Eileen looks back to you, and you give her a tight grin. 

“Yeah, uh- That’s why I’m worried about them. All of them. I-“ You voice is getting softer. “I really need to go home.”

“Okay.” Eileen gives you a firm nod. “Then let’s get that book.”

Rowena claps her hands, standing up with another dramatic sigh, and you give Eileen a grateful smile. There’s no real reason for her to help you, there’s never been, but she is. 

You’re only able to get through this—get home to Dean—because people are helping you. Otherwise you might be stranded in the desert, only half alive, burning another demon body. But Eileen owns a car and gives the directions to the Men of Letters bunker, and you’re going to go home. 

The closer you get to it, the more bile rises in your throat. You’re going back without a way out of being the Bride. Rowena will keep looking for you, but Sam and Dean don’t love working with the enemy. And you’ve become the enemy. You’re not just the girl who can’t stop infecting and breaking things anymore. You’re the Bride of God, the Magdalene, the angel-killer who broke out of Hell and uses witchcraft. And you’re still breaking things. Sam might not want to see you, after you fucked up his soul. Bobby might not recognize you, with longer hair. 

Dean might have moved on. 

The demon could’ve just been taunting you, and you’ll get home to find that Dean hasn’t thought about you once, since you fell in. That he settled down, has a girlfriend he kisses like he kissed you. Who he touches, in the way you never got to have. He sleeps in her bed, and soothes her panics, and she never makes him scream, never fucks things up, never makes everything worse.

But he called for you. 

You know he called for you. 

And he said all the way down, but you said you’d stop running. 

Baby. I need you, baby.

You bite your tongue, keeping your focus on the road, and turning up the radio. Rowena’s been reading in the back of the car while Eileen stares out at the road, and the drive is long, but still short than the one from California to South Dakota. And Eileen drove for the first half while you napped and translated Enochian, so you’ll be fine going the rest of the way.

“How was your year?” Eileen says suddenly, and you glance over to find her staring at you in the dark.

“It was fine.” You mumble, tapping your fingers on the wheel. “I was in hell for most of it, I guess. But the few months before hell were-“ Baby. I need you, baby. “They were good, actually. You?”

“I was okay.” She hums, and you can see her frowning in her periphery. “I- Ah- When you told me to find you in America, was that a… limited offer?”

“Yeah, why?”

Eileen sighs. “I like hunting alone. It is better than hunting with idiots.”

You snort. “Yeah, I pretty much exclusively hunt with idiots. I mean, they’re my idiots. And they’re not stupid. But I’ve also seen Sam struggle to tie a knot, and had to stop Dean from blowing his face up because he thought fireworks were a reasonable weapon.”

Eileen hums. “Were they?”

“Yeah, actually. When he wasn’t standing over them.”

She lets out a soft laugh, and you clear your throat.

“I did mean it, by the way.” You give her a small grin. “Any time you want, we’ve allied with worse people over less. And you’re saving my ass twice. My dad will make you breakfast.”

Eileen sighs, but returns your smile. “Thank you.”

You shrug, and the rest of the drive passes quickly. You and Eileen talk about anything but hunting, and you don’t think either of you have had that chance in years. You know you haven’t since you feel in the cage, almost a year ago. And Eileen doesn’t work with people often enough to have the chance to. 

You tell her about thanksgiving, because it just passed, and all you did was eat a baked potato and miss Dean. Eileen shows you a gun she got as a gift from an ex-boyfriend, although gift is more of a loose term for stole.

“Do you still not use guns?”

“No,” you sigh. “But I’m alive-“

“You were in Hell, darling.” Rowena hums from the backseat, and you give her a glare in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, but I don’t think a gun would’ve changed that. Actually- It made it worse. Cas shot Michael, and that’s what told Lucifer I was lying. So. Take that.”

Rowena scoffs, and peers out of the window. “We should be arriving soon- Ah.”

She cuts herself off as the building comes into view. Tall, windowless, built half into the ground and made of black, smooth brick. 

“Did they take an inspiration from evil lair magazine?” You mutter, and even though the most you get is a small, amused breath from Eileen, you know Dean would’ve laughed. 

“What’s our plan, ladies?” Rowena closes her book, and you sigh, frowning at building. 

“Eileen, is it warded?”

“Yes. And they have cameras.”

You hum, keeping your mouth in her view. “Do they have a control room?”

She nods, and you take a slow breath, rubbing the scar on your palm.

“Okay, Rowena’s going to get me past the wards, you’re going to get to the cameras and make sure no one calls for help or sees me, and I’m going to get my book.” You look back to both of them. “Alright?”

They both nod, and—somehow—this might be the most effective group of people you’ve ever worked with. Sure, Eileen and Rowena keep glaring at each other, but they also don’t let it get in the way of the plan. Eileen runs down the standard warnings she knows about, and Rowena settles on the edge of the forests, starting the counter-spells. You and Eileen walk right inside without an alarm, and Eileen slips off into the shadows to take care of the cameras. 

Jo would like them. She’d like whole let’s steal from rich assholes plan. And it aches, on the tips of your fingers. That she’s somewhere she can’t break into buildings with you. 

But she’d also want you to go home. To be okay, get through this, and go home. 

So you swallow the pain—pushing it down with the Silver, starting to stir in your body—and get through this. 

The blur kicks in the moment you run into the first person. There might not be any evidence of you being here, any alarms telling other men of letters that something is wrong, but there are still people in the building. 

They all go down shockingly easy, for a group of people who are supposed to be professionals. Through the blur you can hear their shouts, see their weapons raising to strike or shoot you, but you’re not really human right now. You’ve never been human, when you fight. And they aren’t a threat enough to push the Silver all the way up, so you’re just you.

That alone seems to be enough to fight your way through the bunker. There are slashing sounds and the occasional, dull blow against your body, but then you spit out something metallic and something thuds to the ground. Every once in a while, the blur clears enough for you to scan over shelves or through boxes, but the Book doesn’t have a neon sign attached to it, so you just keep fucking moving-

Someone’s shouting your name. It’s not Gold, not Dean, not calling you down, down, down, but it is your name. 

And when you focus, really fucking focus, you can vaguely recognize the voice. Enough to turn on your heels, back them into a wall, and let the blur wash away as you press the Blade to their- 

“Adam?”

“It’s me!” Adam—paler than the last time you saw him, hair cut neatly, staring at you with the same nervous awe as before—raises his hands in surrender. “It’s just me, please don’t stab me, I- You’re alive, and I- Shit, I’m sorry-“

You frown. “Why are you sorry?”

“Uh- Everything?” Adam’s eyes dart over your shoulder. “Is Dean here too? Can you please tell him not to kill me?”

“No, Dean’s-“ You shake your head, taking a sharp breath. “Why would Dean try to kill you?”

Adam’s throat bobs, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Because I betrayed you guys? And I- I got you thrown in the cage. I didn’t mean to,” he almost whines your name, giving you a pleading look. “Michael- He said everything would be fine, that all I had to do was help him and he’d help me, help everyone-“

“Yeah, Adam. I know. I’m not mad at you.” You sigh, shaking your head. Letting Michael in was stupid, but Adam’s a fucking kid, and Michael knew you’re the Magdalene. Knows what that does the Men of God. Same as Michael promised you Dean, you’d have a vague gamble as to what he promised Adam. It’s not Adam’s fault that an angel promised something, and he believed it. 

Adam clears his throat. “Is- Dean not mad at me either?”

“I don’t know.” You mutter. “I haven’t seen him in eleven months.”

“Eleven-“ His eyes widen. “Did you guys break up?”

“No, we were- No. It’s complicated.” You scan over his pallid features, a frown tugging at your lips. “Why are you here, Adam? In Germany.”

“Dean was, uh- He was pissed at me.” Adam mutters, staring at the floor. “About Michael, and you and Sam. He sorta kicked me out, and Cas dropped me in the UK, and then I’m being recruited or something.” He frowns. “But they did put me on book duty.”

“You- I-“ You drop the Blade from Adam’s neck, mind moving too fast. “What?”

“They said I was a person of interest-“

“Yeah, I don’t care about that. Dean.” You swallow, watching Adam carefully. “He was mad? At you?”

Adam grimaces, and nods. “He punched me. In the face. And gut. And-“

“He beat you up.”

“I mean, I defended myself-“

“But you’re his brother.” You cut Adam off with a shake of your head.

That didn’t make sense. Dean always choses his family. It’s how he sold his soul, why you’d never told him about John, why it was so hard to go forward with the Sam-Lucifer plan. Dean choses family. Every time.

“He met me like three times,” Adam mutters, eyeing the Blade wearily. “You’re- Uh- You’re you.”

You frown at him, trying to work out why that matters, and Adam keeps talking.

“I mean,” he lets out a dry laugh. “He was really fucking angry. I’m shocked he didn’t kill me. Pretty sure I heard him tell Bobby to shoot him-“

“What?” You take a stumbling step back, and the world is moving too fast. Dean’s not dead. The Spiderweb is still filled with light and color, dancing around your ribcage, so you’d know if Dean was dead-

“Bobby didn’t-” Adam says, making an odd lurching movement that you back away from on instinct, arms wrapping around your stomach. “Dean’s fine. Last I saw him, he was just angry.”

He’s just angry. 

But he’d asked Bobby to shoot him. 

And this wasn’t some demon taunting you. This was Adam. A kid, who didn’t understand just how complicated everything was, telling you that Dean had been furious. Almost beaten his own blood up about it.

You need to go home. Just to see him, so you know he’s okay. He has to be okay. To know that you need him, maybe more than he’s ever needed you, and if he still wants you and is—for some impossible reason—willing to wait for you, it’s just him. Always Dean, all the way down. 

“Adam.” You say, keeping your voice even as you tuck the Blade back in your jacket. “I need you to do me a favor.”

Adam’s eyes widen, he nods eagerly, and maybe you should feel like a worse person about it. 

How ease it is to convince Adam to help you find the book. How he passes it into your hands, you give him a soft smile, and he beams like a puppy dog. How you offer for him to come back with you, and he sighs before turning you down. 

“I don’t think Dean would want to see me.” He mutters, and you roll your eyes.

“Dean will get over it-“

“But there’s nothing there for me, either.” Adam shrugs. “My mom is dead. I was dead. I- I don’t love it here, but they- Uh- I have dental. And that’s good, I think.”

Maybe you should push harder, too. You can hear something strained in Adam’s voice that makes you think he isn’t really telling you the truth, but you sigh, and let it go. He can pray to Cas if he needs you, and you’ll come.

And you don’t have the time to work out all of Adam’s insecurities and nerves. Maybe that makes you a bad person, how you hug him and then just walk away, pretending you couldn’t feel him hold you tighter than he needed to.

You’ve got the Book. 

You’re going home.

“Do you have a phone, Rowena?” You ask, waiting on the hood of the car for Eileen to wipe the footage, and she wrinkles her nose.

“Why in Christ’s blue balls would I have a phone.”

“For calling people. And keeping me updated if you need me back.”

She waves her hand. “I won’t need you, little tiger. I’m worried you’ll fall apart without me.”

You give her a flat look. “What if there’s Enochian, and you can’t translate it.”

“I’ll figure it out-“

“Or you could text me a picture-“

“I would rather use glass as a dildo.”

You sigh.  “Can you at least promise you’ll- Hey-“

Rowena huffs as you swipe her hand away from the book, for the sixth time. “I just want to touch it, is that a crime-“

“You can touch it when you get a fucking phone.”

“That is blackmail-“

“I know.” Your raise your brows at her, and she sighs. 

“Fine, you little brat. I’ll buy a phone, and text you meaningless photos of cats and happy babies on the internet-“

“Great.” You hold out the Book. “You can touch.”

Rowena sneers at you, but reaches out and slowly touches the cover. Her eyes widen, and she keeps touching it, and this seems like a private moment, so you look up to watch Eileen retreat from the building.

“We’re safe.” She says, giving Rowena an odd look. “Is she well?”

“We are in the presence of the most powerful magic in the world, little girl, so some respect-“

“She’s fine.” You sigh. “Thank you, Eileen. Seriously.”

“No problem.” She shrugs, tilting her head. “You’re going home, now?”

“Yeah, uh- I think I need to either buy a plane ticket, or kidnap whatever angel shows up when I pray-“

“Oh for-“ Rowena shoots you a glare. “Just use my teleportation spell.”

“Your- What?”

“My spell-“

“You’ve had a spell this whole fucking time?”

“Yes, and?”

“And?” You gape at her. “We took a boat to Greece! We drove to Germany! We could’ve been done like, three days ago!”

Rowena sighs. “I am… fond of you-“

“No, you’re not!”

“Well, more than the other imbeciles I have to deal with.” Rowena snaps, still not removing her hand from the book. “Forgive me, for not wanting the only competent person to abandon me-“

“Rowena.” You cut her off with a sigh, and she scowls. “What do I need for it.”

“Blood of the pigeon, a bug’s shell, and something from the place you desire to go.”

You nod slowly, then glance to Eileen. “Can it take two?”

“With twice the ingredients, yes.”

You raise your brows. “Eileen, if you want. I told you, we have a spare room.”

Eileen tilts her head at you, then glances at Rowena. “What is she doing.”

“That is none of your business-“

“She’s going back to Iraq.” You cut Rowena off with a flat tone. “Looking into that Bride of God shit in exchanged for me letting her read this.”

You hold up the Book, and Eileen frowns.

“Just her? You trust her?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Rowena scoffs. “I am standing right here. And if the huntress is about to suggest that she come with me-“

“You’d let her.” You snap. “Because it’s my forced-marriage contract. But Eileen, you don’t have to-“

“I’d like to.” She shrugs. “I don’t like hunting with idiots. She’s a bitch, but not an idiot. Plus, this is interesting. I like puzzles.”

“I, um-“ You swallow, and you’d be nowhere alone again. “Do you want to read the Book, too?”

“No. But I’d like that room, when I’m done.”

“I, um- Yeah.” You hold out your hand. “Deal.”

Eileen shakes it, Rowena huffs but—shockingly—doesn’t push it, and that’s it.

You leave the bunker behind, Rowena and Eileen drop you at a motel so you can do the spell, and they both take off back to Iraq. You gave Eileen your number, and Rowena’s supposed to get a phone, but either way you’ll figure it out. You’re a little worried they’re going to kill each other, but you’ve now resurrected two whole people, so you can probably do a third.

Right now, you’ve got more things to worry about. It’s pretty easy to get pigeon’s blood—you buy a needle, one lands at your feet, and you give it bread as a reward afterward—and even easier to find the shell of a bug. The hard part is something from America. All you have from home is your jacket and knife, and neither of those things are being burned for the spell. That leaves you with two options. Buy dirt off the internet and pray the person isn’t lying to you about it origin, or order wood from the States.

The dirt is cheaper. 

You really don’t have any interest in appearing somewhere in Asia, or in just elsewhere in Europe.

So you settle for the wood. 

You paid for a week at the motel, and that should be enough time to the wood to arrive. Your room is warded, you’ve got some borrowed money from rich looking people on the street, and you can lay low until the shipment arrives. The week passes with TV and dreams of Dean, one update from Eileen that they’re in Iraq and headed to Babylon, and not much else. 

It’s almost suspiciously quiet, right up until there’s a knock on your door, and it’s not a delivery person on the other side.

“Cas?” You yank the door open, gaping at him on the sidewalk. “Why are you outside?”

“Your room is warded.” He shrugs, holding up a pile of wood in his arms. “This is yours.”

“I- How did you-“

“I recognized one of the fake names. The dramatic one, that Dean gave you-“

You sigh. “Daphne Griffen.”

“Yes, that. It was on the shipment.” He sighs your name. “I have been looking for you for… a while. I supposed the worst thing that happened would I’d be giving a German woman her lumbar early.” He raises his brows. “May I come in?”

“Fuck, yeah- Just-“ You run back inside, scanning over the walls for the right ward, and altering it with sharpie. “You’re good!”

Cas slowly steps into your room, setting the wood down on the bed and scanning over you with a frown. He barely gets a chance to breathe before it’s falling out of you. The question.

“Is Dean okay?”

Cas opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, then sighs. 

“Cas-“

“He is in distress.” Cas murmurs. “He took the loss of you and Sam- Worse I expected. And I did not have high expectations. I am… quite worried about him.”

You swallow, the Silver started to build as the Spiderweb strains. “Distress?”

Cas nods, giving you an apologetic look, and you take a shaking breath. 

“But- I brought Sam back.”

Cas gives you an odd look. “It was you, who did that.”

“Yeah-“

“And you escaped the cage.” Cas pauses, tilting his head. “Yourself.”

“I think so.” You mutter, rubbing the scar on your palm. “I was in the cage, then I- I had to go. I woke up in Jerusalem-“

“With life growing around you.” Cas frowns. “I know. All of Heaven knew, when you were freed. But that was in September.”

“Yeah.” You chew on your lip. “I know.”

“Why didn’t you come back?”

Fuck. “I- I couldn’t-“

“Dean was falling apart,” he mutters your name. “He needed you. Sam was broken from the cage, and I had to-“

“The soul blocker.” You whisper. “I- I heard. There was a demon, and- Cas, it’s complicated- I-“

“I have needed you.” Cas snaps, and you blink. “Bobby and Dean have been losing themselves in grief, Sam is no longer himself, and the world has been unforgiving. But for months I was looking, and finding nothing. You are not a coward,” he says your name with a deep frown. “I did not expect you to hide.”

“I- I wasn’t trying to hide from you, Cas. I was hiding from the other angels, and the demons-“

“Why. You are the Bride, you could wipe them out with a thought-“

“I don’t want to.” You shout, digging your nails into your skin and standing a little taller. “I don’t want to be the Bride, Cas, I just want to go home. And I would’ve come home, if I knew things were this bad, but I-“ You take a deep, shuddering breath. “I wanted to come home. I promise. I just had work to do, and I thought- I didn’t- I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

There’s a long silence, and Cas’ voice is softer when he breaks it. “You did not think you would be wanted.”

“I’d make it worse, Cas.” You mutter, staring at the floor. “You know I would.”

“I don’t know that. And Dean certainly doesn’t, either.” Cas pauses again. “He is not well. Even after Sam, he has- It has not been the same.”

You choke on the air, but force it down. “Does he know?”

“No.”

“Okay.” That’s a little lighter, on your shoulders. He hadn’t been waiting, thinking you’d left him again. “I- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Cas mutters, and when you look up, he’s bowing his head slightly. “You will not love what I am here for.”

You frown at him, and he gives you an apologetic look.

“I mentioned that things have been hard.” He says slowly, and you nod. 

“With Sam and Dean-“

“No just Sam and Dean.” Cas watches you carefully as he continues. “Heaven is at war, without Michael there to lead it. I went there to offer guidance, to show them what you and Dean showed me, but many were… Not receptive. Between myself and Raphael, factions have formed. And in your absence-“

“In my absence-“

“You are the Bride. I know you do not wish to be, and I understand, but- They do not. Wanting is not a concept angels tend to grasp. And I was hoping that, after my grace was returned by the Bride herself-“

“Credibility.” You mutter, leaning against your table with a frown, and he nods. 

“But you were in the cage, and I couldn’t find a way to pull you out. So I…” He sighs. “I had to make alliances. Raphael wishes to restart the apocalypse, and even with my grace- He’s an archangel. I didn’t stand a chance alone.”

“Didn’t.” You repeat, and there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your gut. “Cas, what did you-“

“He allied with me.” The door swings open, and you don’t have to look to give Cas a sharp glare.

You know that fucking voice. 

“Hello, Love.” Crowley drawls, and Cas sighs. “You look quite good, for a lady who’s supposed to be locked up in Hell.”

“You were supposed to wait outside.” Cas mutters, shooting him a glare, and Crowley shrugs. 

“I am outside. I have to be, until our lovely friend decides to let me in-“

“No.” You snap, glowering at Cas. “Really? Crowley? You know he put a hit on me, Cas-“

“He knows.” Crowley hums. “It was his idea. More people looking for our lovely salvation-“

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, pointing the tip of the Blade with a glare. “Don’t talk. Cas, what the fuck is going on.”

“I needed souls, for power.” He mutters. “I was planning to ask for your aid, but- The cage. Crowley offered alliance, and I was not in a position to refuse.”

You gape at him, shaking your head. “And now what? You want me to grab you more souls, or fucking offer mine-“

“No. Not at all. Our plan is to access Purgatory, and you are a strong hunter. You have a connection to the world I have never seen, and Sam has told me you specialize in strange things. We would simply need your help locating it, nothing more. Crowley wants the…” He sighs. “Real estate. And I need the souls. Once I have them, I will fight Raphael and this will be over. You, Sam, Dean. You’ll be able to live without any fear of the apocalypse.”

Dean. Dean. “Does he know?”

You don’t have to say more for Cas to understand. “No.” He mutters. “And he won’t. I wanted to tell him, but- I didn’t wish to burden him. He has been through enough.”

“And I haven’t? I haven’t been through shit, Cas? I’m fine to burden, I can take it, so you’re going to ask me to do this, and probably fucking lie to Dean about it, too?” Your voice is growing pained, and Cas flinches.

“Dean will not understand. And you are stronger.”

You shake your head, the world starting to blur. “No, he- He’ll never forgive us, Cas- Lying to him and working with Crowley-“

“It will keep him safe.” Cas gives you a pleading look. “Please. I am not happy with it either, but Raphael will hurt him, and Sam, if we don’t stop him. But I need you to help me.”

You take a shaking breath, the Silver turning and rioting as the world becomes painful.

Dean. He’ll be in danger if you don’t, and Cas is right, he won’t understand. He won’t get that you’re doing it for him, to keep him safe.

But you’d be lying to him. And you can’t lie to Dean. You’ve never been able to lie to Dean. And you might lose him. It won’t matter if you get out of being the Bride, because you won’t get Dean anyway.

But he’ll be safe. You swore you’d do anything to keep Dean safe. 

But you can’t lie to him-

Anything. You swore you’d do anything. That it didn’t matter, you’d never let him get hurt again when you could stop it. And if Michael gets out, he and Lucifer won’t be forgiving this time.

Dean pinky promised he wouldn’t let Michael in.

You love him so much.

But you know him better. Know what he’d do for you and Sam.

The same things you’ll do for him.

“Fine.” You mutter. “I’m in.”

“Excellent.” Crowley claps his hands, grinning between you and Cas. “We’re in business, you two emotional dick monkeys-“

The door slams in Crowley’s face, and Cas studies you, saying your name slowly. 

“You have to be certain-“

“I am.” You give him a tight smile. “What now?”

“I can’t fly you home, on account of your… nature-“

“You can call me the Bride, Cas.” You drop on the edge of the bed. “I haven’t changed it yet.”

“Alright. Do you have a way back yourself.”

“Yeah.” You wave to the wood, and Cas nods.

“Good.” He pauses. “You are angry with me.”

“No.” You mutter, rubbing your wrists until they sting. “Like you said, I’m not happy with it, but it’s going to save the world, right?”

Cas doesn’t respond, and the Silver turns painful in your body.

But it’s no worse than the strain of the Spiderweb, screaming to go home.

It’s time. You need to see him.

And you’re going to have to remember that, however this goes, it’s always for him. All the time.

This is going to save the world.

It’s going to save Dean.

End Note: We support women's wrong in this house guys. Just remember: the angst leads to progress.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[thirstkanaphan]

Some more thoughts about Youth

Here's Mingi singing Youth on BIBIM-POP (full ep here)

I love this version of Youth and Mingi has never sounded better. His tone is so good and he brings a mellow flavor to this performance that we don't see when he's on stage. I also love how deep his voice gets at the end.

I also really appreciate having the English translation because the lyrics are really quite insightful.

The line adults use the word youth to say that sadness is happiness / to enjoy the moment makes me suspect that Mingi was told by many adults in his life not to complain about his struggles...like, you're an idol, shouldn't you be thrilled? The way certain adults deny the pain young people feel and insist that this is the happiest time in their lives. Mingi asks of his Youth: Did you enjoy these times? Did the happiness outweigh the pain? Bear in mind, Mingi wrote this song when he was 22 and on hiatus. This is 22-year-old Mingi talking to his younger self, not the 25-year-old singing the song.

It's hard to even sleep, yeah

I wonder if the "yeah" isn't meant to be a lyrical punctuation to the line; instead, might we also think of it as a question mark: It's hard to even sleep, yeah? Mingi asks of his Youth, To make dreams a reality, yeah? and Youth responds: I'm too young, it's too hard right now.

We know Mingi's a fan of emo music from the '00s (my teenage years) and his playlists include Fall Out Boy, Simple Plan, The Killers, Green Day, and Linkin Park. This musical influence is more apparent in Tunnel, where he is especially candid and vulnerable in his lyrics, but Youth also frequents the same space. The lyrics are pure emo, even if the sound is smooth r&b.

What did I do wrong? With a drink, can it be shaken off? We don't know the answer and we never will, but this may be the first time I've ever heard reference to drinking in a kpop song. It's such a distressing sequence of lines, and you can't help but think of Mingi's hiatus and the strength it took to come back.

Then you exit that chorus to the sound of Yunho's voice soaring above the instrumental track. On this night, night when even the moon cries / Please find it, somewhere in my heart / Is there a place I can rest? It's such a devastating refrain, and he puts those words in Yunho's mouth.

The wind of my twenties / when I was alone

jeeeeeez what a line. The wind of my twenties / when I was alone is pure emo but it nudges at something deeper and more existential. Mingi is still in his twenties; he'll continue to be in his twenties for a while. The line implies future knowledge of the right-now Mingi. He's still going through it.

Of course I'm going to connect this back to Yungi, because the two got very (and perhaps uncomfortably) candid in their conversation for Off The Record. Yunho praises Mingi for his growth and development, but remarks that Mingi perhaps lost some of his youthful innocence.

Yunho says: I wish I could see more of that happiness from you

Mingi's response is so interesting: The thing is, it's not really innocence, I think I just adapted...I'm not the type to lean on others, because I only trust in myself.

Yunho wishes that Mingi could look back, reflect on yourself, and refresh. In a way, Yunho resembles the adults who use the word youth to say that sadness is happiness, to enjoy the moment. Yet when Yunho tells Mingi to live in the moment, it strikes a different chord.

Mingi says: I think I felt what kindness and thankfulness is from you.

He learned these things from Yunho, who took him to lunch and bought him beef in high school; who traveled across town to eat with Mingi and waited for him to finish his meal, who experienced the same highs and lows of pre-debut and idol life...

Yunho who called him nearly every day of his hiatus.

As in all things, Yunho is the exception. In his 8 Face episode, Mingi compares him to a "savior-like entity."

Yunho has been keeping an eye on Mingi since predebut. Here's a letter he wrote for Mingi which Mingi reads aloud during a live:

Look at Yunho, the way the embarrassed smile drops from his face.

Mingi owes Yunho his life, however you interpret that statement, and it means something that Yunho is someone from whom Mingi learned a kindness that got him through the worst of those months. It's for that reason that Mingi wrote Youth with Yunho in mind.

From an interview with Jongho published in December 2024:

I don't usually write this much but if you have any thoughts or opinions about Youth, I'd love to hear them!

[arc-misadventures]

how would ruby successfully pull an 'i can fix him' with an evil jaune?

TTSL

Jaune: AH-HAHAHAHAHA?!! Burn in hell you bastards!

Yang: Well... Jaune's lost it...

Blake: He's practically destroying the place?!

Weiss: He hacked all of the, Atlasian robots from his scroll! His fucking scroll?!

Ruby: Ren can you use your semblance to calm him down?

Ren: I tried, but it didn't have any effect! He just turned to laugh at me, and said, 'The eye of the storm does not need to be calmed my friend~!"

Nora: Whoa... that's deep...

Ren: The toothy smile he gave me... I thought he was going to tear out my throat...?!

Blake: So what are we going to do?! This was a training simulation that was supposed to help us deal with, Cinder, and her evil plans! But, he's at least ten times scarier than her!

Nora: His evilness is off the charts?!

Weiss: You have an evil chart?!

Yang: How are we supposed to stop him! He is pure evil!

Ruby: Don't worry guys... I have a plan! I can fix him!

Nora: Let me guess... Through the power of friendship?

Ruby: ...

Ruby: Well, I wasn't going to say that...

Nora: Ruby! You can't, Steven Universe your way out of this shit!

Ruby: But, it worked for him! I can fix, Jaune through the power of friendship, and song~!

Yang: This isn't going to end well...

Blake: I'll get the medkit.

Ruby: Jaune!

Jaune: Ah-hahaha! Look everyone! It's the little rose~! Are you thorns sharpened for war my dear?

Ruby: ...

Ruby: Through the power of love, and our friendship~! We will...!?

~~~

Ruby: (Cough! Cough!)

Ruby: I thought that would work...

Yang: I can't believe he ordered an artillery strike on you for singing...

Ruby: I thought that would work...

Ren: Jaune, doesn't like musicals, and stories where everything is solved through the power of love, and music. He finds them annoying, and stupid.

Nora: I told you it was worthless.

Ruby: He doesn't like musicals talking about love, and the power of friendship...? He truly is a monster...

Weiss: Oh gods... Then how are we going to stop him?

: Haa... You children... You know nothing of love...

Yang: Wait, what?!

Weiss: When did you get here?!

: A while ago, now let me deal with, Mr. Arc. Unlike you, Ms. Rose, I can fix him, and I will have this done swiftly.

Nora: Good luck!

Jaune: Hahahaha! I have done it! The SDC has fallen! Now, Atlas will fall as well!

: Mr. Arc, a word?

Jaune: Huw? Ms. Goodwitch?!

~~~

Glynda: There, there... It's going to be alright...

Jaune: It's just... It's just been so hard... I have to keep it all together... A-And, no one seems to care about my problems, or even notice...

Glynda: Tell me about them, Jaune. Tell me all about your worries...

Jaune: It's just that... no one cares about me! It's always about, Ruby's problems... Oh, Ruby's sad because she saw, Pyrrha die... She was my partner, she was my friend... I loved her, but... all I got was a kiss goodbye... and, everyone cares about, Ruby, and what she's dealing with...

Glynda: Don't worry, Jaune. I'm here for you... tell me everything that's wrong, and we can deal with it together.

RWBYNR: ...

Weiss: What the fuck?!

Yang: I'm so confused... what's going on?

Ruby: The hell? I was going to sing about the power of love, and friendship, and he throws an artillery shell at my face?! She, just walks up to him, and tells him everything is going to be okay, and he just stops.

Ren: Woman think the male fantasy is something sexual. But, for most men, the male fantasy is to be held in a loving embrace, and to be told that everything was going to be okay. Considering everything, Jaune has been holding back, he needs this... He really needs this...

Nora: That, and Ruby's singing is atrocious.

Ruby: Excuse me?!

Weiss: I tried giving her lessons, but nothing stuck.

Ruby: HEY?!

[no-144444]

Meetings from the past- l.sargeant (no.2)

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

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

summary: logan and you reconnect after a few years apart.

pairing: logan sargeant (no.2) x fem! singer! reader

song is 'circus' by brittney spears :)

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

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

Logan walked into yet another party with his head held low, knowing this was one of his lasts with f1. It sucked, knowing that he was leaving. But he was going to indycar, and that was something, right? Prema was good, right? He just felt so… used. He hadn’t even been given a chance to prove himself in f1. He hadn’t even been given a proper goodbye by his shitty team. 

“Who’s she?” Lando leaned in to Oscar beside him. Logan looked up to see who he was talking about, and there you were. Dancing in the middle of the party like no one was watching, but everyone had their eyes on you. You were fucking gorgeous, at least that’s what Logan thought. 

“That’s Y/n,” Oscar chuckled. “She’s Hattie’s friend, we grew up together.”

Beside you was Oscar’s sister Hattie and Lily, Oscar’s girlfriend. You were all dancing along to the music being played far too loud in the club, singing along. 

“That’s Y/n?” Logan gawked. Being friends with Oscar he’d met you when you two were kids and grew up together. He’d had a crush on you since he was about 12 years old. “How long has it been?” You two hadn't spoken in years, but you stayed in each others comment section and offered support when it was needed.

“Too long,” Oscar laughed as Lily spotted him and ran up to the group, hugging him. "You should talk to her."

"Like that went well the last time," he scoffed, downing more of his beer. The last time you two had spoken face to face, you'd been breaking up. You were both sobbing crying, just hugging each other, and you kept apologising, wishing it hadn't worked out the way it did.

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

"This isn't fair," you frowned, wiping your tears on the sleeve of your hoodie. "This is shit."

Logan chuckled, this sad, half-hiccup, half-sob noise and he sighed. "I fucking love you so much."

You fell into his arms like you'd done so many times before, and you cried against each other for a good hour on his front porch.

"I would give up singing if it meant that we could be together forever," you whispered. Maybe it was silly, and you were only 18, but you knew Logan was your person. He was your everything.

"Don't say that," he cooed, pressing soft kisses to the crown of your head. "I love hearing you sing for me."

"I love singing for you," you looked up and pressed a kiss to his cheek as the taxi rolled up beside his house. He watched as you left, both of you crying as you walked away from the greatest thing you'd ever lost.

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

Hattie followed Lily, dragging you behind her as you complained about wanting to dance more. Hattie pulled a little too hard and you fell forward, straight into Logan. 

“Fuck!” you squealed as he grabbed you, keeping you upright. You looked up, only to be met with the eyes of the guy you’d liked since you were 12, and your first boyfriend. “Logan?!”

“Y/n,” he smiled. He didn’t drop his hands and you both just stared at each other for a few seconds. Then the song changed, some 2000’s song he remembered hearing too often as a teenager, and your smile widened. “Follow me Sarge,” you chuckled, pulling him onto the dancefloor. Logan Sargeant was not a dancer by any means. He wasn’t one to take the spotlight either. 

He didn’t complain about it when it meant you had your hands all over him, and he got to put his hands on you. 

You two were 15 when you got together, and you broke up when you two were 18. 3 years was a long time in teenage years, and you were both crushed, but you were going on tour for the first time, and he was always too busy with racing. You two didn’t talk, or see each other, so you called it quits. There was always love there, you’d always love each other, but it just didn’t work.

“How have you been?” you asked as you danced together. “I’m sorry about Williams.”

He shrugged, pulling you closer. “I’m going to indycar, it’s not like my life is over.”

You smirked. “Exactly,” you spun in his arms.

As the night progressed and you two spent some more time together, you fell into an easy flow of conversation. Spending time with Logan always made you feel at-ease. He was your comfort person. You huddled into his side as you stood outside the bar, trying to keep under the awning as the rain poured.

"Not ideal weather for a race, huh?" you smiled, trying to kill the silence that had fallen on you two in recent moments.

Logan sighed. "I guess not."

"Well, you've always excelled in the wet," you winked as you lit a cigarette and he laughed.

You stayed silent for a moment, all too aware of the way he was staring at you.

“You still think about us?”

You weren’t one to beat around the bush, he admired that. 

He chuckled. “Sometimes,” he shrugged. 

Your eyes widened. “Me too! All the time!” You stamped out your cigarette, your voice excited and bright.

He stopped moving, stopped breathing. “Oh yeah?”

How he was keeping it cool was beyond him. He’d wanted you to say that for his entire adult life. 

You nodded slowly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Still love you.”

He could’ve fainted. Going out tonight was the best idea Oscar had ever had. “Good,” he smiled, his heart beating out of his chest. “‘Cause I still love you too.”

Your smile widened. “So kiss me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. 

-------------- When he woke up the next morning, he had a pretty bitching hangover, but also your number, so he wasn’t that upset. Last night had been exactly what he needed, you were exactly what he needed. Someone fun, someone free, and someone completely uninterested in racing. Don’t get me wrong, you liked it, and you watched it, but you didn’t give a shit about the championship or how Logan was doing. You loved Logan, not Logan Sargeant, f1 driver. You’d always been like that. Unconditional.

Then he remembered about the kiss outside the bar, because his mom, your mom, Oscar, Oscar's mom, Lily, Hattie, Alex, Lily, and you were all texting him at the same time, as well as hundreds of thousands of messages from every social media platform.

liked by: pierregasly, oscarpiastri, landonorris, logansargeant

comments

user89: hey so this is insane.

user62: WHY HER AND NOT ME????

-> user69: have u seen her? THAT'S why.

user38: LOGAN LIKED?????

y/ny/l/n: @ logansargeant rue, when was this?

-> logansargeant: 🤷🤷🤷🤷

-> y/ny/l/n: damn I wanted to do it again 🤷

-> logansargeant: YES PLEASE I LOVE YOU

liked by y/ny/l/n

-> landonorris: WTAF U TWO MET LAST NIGHT???

-> oscarpiastri: nah they dated throughout their teenage years

-> logansargeant: exactly, lando no-rizz

user45: WTF HOW DID WE NOT KNOW???

user12: power couple fr

user90: what did he do to deserve THE it girl of the century?

-> logansargeant: no idea 🤷

-> y/ny/l/n: big dick and big heart 🤷

-> yourbff: EWWWWW KEEP IT TO YOURSELF

comments:

logansargeant: photo creds?

-> y/ny/l/n: my virginity back?

-> logansargeant: MY virginity back?

-> y/ny/l/n: touché

comments are disabled.

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

Four months on from the bar, you two were still going strong and you were happier than ever. He was doing better mentally, and in races. He'd somehow gotten a Williams up into p6 in quali, and got p5 as a result. When he got out of the car, he ran straight to you and kissed you in front of everyone. It was amazing.

Sadly, Logan's last f1 season finally came to an end in Abu Dhabi, where he fought hard and got his first podium. P2. You'd never been so proud. He stood up there, proving that he wasn't a failure, to himself, and to the world. You'd cried so hard as you watched in the paddock, screaming with joy as he won his first f1 podium.

That night, you two retired to your hotel room, both exhausted.

"You were amazing," you yawned, curling into his chest.

"Well, you're my good luck charm," he chuckled. "You have to be at my first Indycar race-"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," you promised him. Logan meant everything to you. You were everything to him.

comments:

alexalbon: missing you already man 😭😭😭

-> logansargeant: me too 😭

maxverstappen: you're going to go far in Indycar mate 👍

oscarpiastri: missing you brother :(

-> logansargeant: missing you too :(

danielriccardo: onto bigger and better things brother 🫶

logansargeant: god, you’re so hot. @ y/ny/l/n 🤤

-> y/ny/l/n: so are u 🤤