#bouncing back and forth between deeply sympathetic and also. not.

[22degreehalo]

The thing with like aphobia and transandrophobia and stuff is like

sometimes. you are going to see people complaining about oppression. and it's going to make you feel bad and uncomfortable. because you yourself are oppressed and in these circles you are used to being The Oppressed One and seeing these other complains about People Including You reminds you of actual bigotry in broader spaces, or makes you doubt your own oppression, or just makes it feel like you're being told you 'have it easy'.

but. that's not what's happening. what's happening is just that other people also have systematic problems and deserve to talk about it.

that is not an attack on you.

oppression is not a zero-sum game. Aspecs, or trans men, being better acknowledge as suffering from oppression, does not mean that you have it any less bad than you have known yourself to do.

it doesn't even mean that they have it 'worse'. It means exactly what I said: that they also have issues that they need help with and are worth discussing.

If that upsets the basis of your own understand of your oppression... yeah. maybe that means your understanding was wrong. sorry.

but it's only the THEORETICAL UNDERSTANDING that has been upset. your oppression is still not in any kind of question.

is that easy to understand or carry forth? no.

but it's necessary.

and it has happened, over and over again. When gay people and trans people were at head to head, both presenting the other as predatory sexual deviants and themselves as 'normal'. When gay men diminished lesbians' suffering because they were less likely to get on the news for being murdered than gay men. when bisexuals (within Tumblr's own history!!!!!!) were widely panned as possessing 'straight-passing privilege' and therefore never in the same 'category' of oppression as gay men and lesbians.

it happens over and over and over again. and it's always hard. but it always needs to happen, morally.

even if the people expressing their oppression are 'too aggressive'. even if their arguments make you feel uncomfortable and scared. even if the place you belonged no longer feels like home anymore.

it'd be nice if every time something happened that made you feel bad, it was because of somebody Bad who needs to be Stopped and/or Punished. but that just isn't the case.

an oppressed group (and we can judge this by statistics; it's really not that difficult) talking about their oppression is not causing actual harm to you. and even if they were, they still deserve to be able to do it.

[ruzek-halstead]

get me with those green eyes, baby

julie is unsure how to tell luke how she feels; she isn't sure if she can. so she does what she does best; she writes luke a song. why tell him if she can just sing it to him?

masterlist

Julie would be lying if she said every song she'd ever written since meeting Luke hadn't been about him.

Because they have. Every last one.

When unknown feelings started bubbling deep within her chest the more time she spent with Luke, she had to let them out somewhere. While she was never the type to keep things bottled up, she didn't necessarily enjoy spilling her guts (unless it was to Flynn). So, she opted for writing down her feelings. That usually ended up in lyrics and it wasn't like she could just show them to Luke because the boy was curious beyond belief and he would hound her until he knew exactly who it was about.

So, she locked everything in her dream box.

And yes, the boys were known to be a tad bit snoopy and go through her things, including the dream box. So, when Julie started locking up her deeply personal (borderline romantic) lyrics, she made it explicitly clear they were to go absolutely nowhere near her box.

She was mostly directing her words at Luke, who actively avoided eye contact while suppressing a smirk.

And they were respectful, she never had any further issues that she knew of; so, she continued writing.

It was only when they were faced with the choices of being stuck in the Hollywood Ghost Club forever or crossing over that she realized she wouldn't ever have to worry about Luke snooping through her personal things again.

He wouldn't be able to. He'd be gone.

So, Julie wondered: did she risk letting him go forever without telling him how she felt? Or tell him anyway but still risk him disappearing?

It was a tough choice that kept Julie reeling, but she found she didn't have much time in between. She didn't care that she would lose them when they crossed over; she would do what she could to ensure that they did.

With all the chaos, she didn't get the chance to talk to Luke, other than a quick moment to make sure he thanked her mom for bringing them to her when he saw her.

The tension was palpable and his gaze was intense. She was perfectly aware of Alex and Reggie only a few feet away, diligently pretending not to be listening but they both knew they were.

It wasn't the time or place for what Julie truly wanted to say, so she swallowed the words.

She didn't get another chance after that.

When they disappeared after their final bow, the pain was gutting. She continued to smile because this was a huge moment for her, for all of them, but they were gone. She thought she was ready, that she had mentally and emotionally prepared herself for their absence.

But nothing could prepare her for the immediate loneliness.

She wanted to be happy for them, and she was, deep down. But she had already suffered so much loss in her life, and this was only adding to it.

When she spotted them in the garage, tear-stained and in excruciating pain, all her emotions were overridden. All she could think about was saving them, no matter the cost, no matter the consequences. The desperation clawed at her throat; she couldn't bear seeing them in this much pain.

But then Luke delivered those few words: No music is worth making, Julie, if we're not making it with you.

She regretted not sharing her feelings but she was confident had an inkling of a clue. Even if she never explicitly said the words, he knew.

So, when she threw herself into his arms, she wasn't even thinking about the fact that he was air and she would most likely slam right into the wall instead. When she collided into his toned chest, she drowned in the moment, hardly even realizing that this shouldn't be possible.

But then she felt it.

She felt the softness of his suit beneath her fingers; she felt his hot breath fanning across her neck; and she felt his arms squeeze tighter around her waist.

Julie felt him.

It was impossible, they weren't sure how to explain it. Julie gazed at Luke's awestruck expression, tears leaking from his emerald eyes. And then he was somehow feeling better; her touch made him feel better and she wasn't sure how to feel about it. All she knew was that she had to try, so she quickly gathered Alex and Reggie as well and in awe, they watched as their Hollywood Ghost Club tattoos disappeared.

They did it.

The boys were free from Caleb and they still hadn't crossed over. Julie didn't have to give them up yet.

Of course, life continued to go on afterwards. The band was more popular than ever and Flynn was busy booking them gig after gig after gig. Not that they minded; it was exactly what they wanted to do in the first place. But the pressing thought never left them.

How long was this going to last?

It killed Julie to go on everyday, knowing that one day, she could walk into the studio, ready to rehearse and they could just be gone forever. It was one thing knowing, like how she knew last time. She was somewhat adequately prepared, but this time, it could happen at any time and she was far too attached now.

Julie knew she shouldn't bottle her feelings like she did last time. She had no idea when her last opportunity would be.

And Luke made her happy. He made her so happy.

One day she would be talking herself up, then the next she would be shutting down. She wasn't sure what to do, how to handle her feelings. Sometimes Luke could be so sickeningly sweet and the words were on the tip of her tongue but then he would do something so stupid or annoying that left her wanting to commit murder.

It was exhausting.

But then, one Saturday morning, Julie woke up with a fierce sense of determination and she thought: this is the day.

She wasn't sure where the surge of confidence came from, but she wasn't going to question it for fear that she would chicken out. Instead, she got herself ready for the day and dug through her dream box to pick out one of her most recently written songs.

Julie still wasn't sure how to verbally tell Luke how she felt; she wasn't sure if she could.

But why tell him when she could just sing it to him?

Julie marched down to the garage, mumbling a quick hello to her dad and Carlos who were making breakfast. Of course, the boys were glued to their instruments, most likely creating a new melody for a song Luke was working on.

"Jules, hey!" Luke greeted excitedly, his green eyes sparkling.

Julie scowled. He shouldn't be allowed to look at her like that.

"Alex, Reggie, do you guys mind going somewhere else? I need to talk to Luke."

Julie didn't mean for her words to sound so ominous; so much so that Alex and Reggie shot curious eyes to Luke, no doubt wondering what he did now. But she was a woman on a mission and she didn't have time to waste. Any time wasted was just her getting closer to backing out.

"Sure," Reggie drawled slowly. His eyes shot back and forth between Julie, with her lips pursed and hands on her hips and Luke, who frankly looked quite scared. Reggie and Alex poofed out, only muttering a quick good luck to Luke.

Immediately, Luke started rambling.

"Whatever I did, I'm so sorry. I'm an idiot, you know this, I'm—"

Julie shook her head. "Shut up."

But for some reason, he kept talking and Julie huffed in frustration.

Julie stepped across the studio, stopped right in front of Luke and his words died on his tongue. She reached for his guitar and pulled the strap from around him, placing it back on its stand.

Luke was more confused than ever.

Julie grabbed his biceps and pushed him back towards a stool. "Sit," she demanded.

"Julie, what's going on?"

"Please, just stop talking."

Julie made her way to the piano, sitting down on the bench and letting her fingers rest on the keys. It brought her some comfort for what she was about to do. Her eyes glanced up towards Luke, who was biting his lip nervously.

"I don't know how to tell you this, so I'm just going to sing it."

"Julie—"

"Luke, please," she breathed quietly and his eyes snapped to hers sympathetically. "Just listen."

Luke nodded in response. Julie could see his inability to sit still for long kick in as his knee started bouncing up and down quickly. She noticed his green eyes darting nervously between the piano and her face; the entire situation was much too anxious for him to handle.

"I wrote you a song."

Before Julie could adequately appreciate the way Luke's jaw fell open, she took a deep breath and allowed the music to consume her. She'd been going over these lyrics for weeks now; they were the truest words she'd never spoken, straight from the heart because of some ghost she'd tried so hard to hate in the beginning.

Julie was completely terrified.

But she couldn't continue on not living to the fullest. It wasn't fair to her and if by some off chance Luke felt the same way and wanted to pursue this, it wasn't fair to him either.

the way you move is like a full on rainstorm

and i'm a house of cards

you're the kind of reckless that should send me running

but i kinda know that i won't get far

His approach could be so aggressive, so eager to get things done, that sometimes he bulldozed over everything in his way. It was an effective way to get things done, but Julie always appreciated the process. Ever since they first met, he gave off a troublemaker type of vibe. Mooning Trevor Wilson always came into mind, but Luke was also the first to help her sneak out of her house using her bedroom window. It's not like the idea never crossed her mind, but before she met the boys, she never really had a reason to.

Luke changed a lot of things for her.

and you stood there in front of me just

close enough to touch

close enough to hope you couldn't see

what i was thinking of

It truly never bothered her in the beginning that they couldn't touch. They were friends, bandmates, nothing more. But then he let her into his brilliant mind and as soon as they started writing together, everything started changing. Julie didn't want anything to change, she knew it would only complicate things, but she couldn't help it.

And then Perfect Harmony happened, and her mind so vividly showed her what it could feel like and ever since, she couldn't get rid of the urge to feel his soft skin under her fingertips.

After visiting his parents and their talk on her porch, it seemed like he knew what she was thinking. He seemed to want it too, if his actions were anything to go by, but it couldn't happen. It left her feeling a tad awkward, but as soon as she got into her house, she made a beeline for her bedroom and poured her thoughts and feelings into a new song about Luke.

drop everything now

meet me in the pouring rain

kiss me on the sidewalk

take away the pain

'cause i see sparks fly whenever you smile

When she wrote this chorus, she was on a high after their Edge of Great performance.

It was nothing that could ever happen, but it was everything she imagined in her wildest dreams.

Every girl at her age had the kiss in the rain fantasy. Julie's really was a fantasy because every time she looked at him, it was just a cruel reminder of everything that couldn't be. But she yearned for it; for everything to change, for him to help ease her pain, for him to surprise the hell out of her one day by grabbing onto her waist and ceasing her many questions with his lips.

get me with those green eyes, baby

as the lights go down

give me something that'll haunt me when you're not around

'cause i see sparks fly whenever you smile

His eyes were so captivating, Julie couldn't help but to mention them in every song she wrote. He knew exactly how to use them against her to get what he wanted and Julie was as weak to their power as anyone else. Sure, she put up a front; she had to, she was the boss, but his gaze truly made her weak in the knees. She dreamt of his eyes when she closed hers at night; she couldn't escape them even in her dreams.

The entire reason she was finally sharing this song with him in the first place was because the chances that he could disappear without warning were too high and risky. Julie knew that was a possibility, but her feelings for him were too strong to ignore. She wanted him and she wanted to be left with memories of what they could be together, because one day, when he wasn't around anymore, Julie could think back to all they shared together.

my mind forgets to remind me, you're a bad idea

you touch me once and it's really something

you find i'm even better than you imagined i would be

Oh God, she knew. She knew she and Luke could be so unbelievably destructive. There were so many things against them; she knew it was a bad idea. And she actually attempted to entertain those ideas, for the sake of Flynn and her own protection, but she couldn't anymore. Depriving herself of what she really wanted wasn't healthy and eventually she stopped trying to fight it.

She stopped trying to fight it the night of their Orpheum performance. When she felt Luke's arms around her, physically squeezing her as tightly as his muscles could manage, it changed everything. For better or for worse, she was completely invested now. Not just in Luke, but in all of the boys; they were family.

i'm on my guard for the rest of the world

but with you, i know it's no good

and i could wait patiently

but i really wish you would

Before the boys came into her life, Julie was on the edge. She was about to give up music, even though she loved music with her entire being. She just didn't have it in herself anymore; her muse was gone and she didn't want to share her music in a world where her mother couldn't witness it.

But then these three, random, cute, dorky boys showed up in her garage one day, claiming it was their studio and slowly, they wormed themselves into her heart. Julie didn't want to let them in right away, and she made that quite clear with her cold exterior. But then Luke just had to follow her out, pleading his case with the softest eyes and easily pulling at her heartstrings.

Julie felt her guard start to drop right there and then, and the more time she spent with those dorky boys, the less control she had. She quickly discovered there was no point in holding back around the boys. For teenage boys, they were highly perceptive to her emotions and when she wasn't being whole.

Every time Luke pulled her aside, using his words and his unbelievably intense eyes because he couldn't touch her, Julie felt her walls start to crumble. There was no reason to be anything but herself when she was with Luke; she felt it in her bones, their connection was unmatched.

drop everything now

meet me in the pouring rain

kiss me on the sidewalk

take away the pain

'cause i see sparks fly whenever you smile

Julie would be lying if she said she hadn't fantasized about her first kiss with Luke since he became corporeal.

How could she not?

She'd been thinking about him differently ever since her uncontrollable daydreams, but it was only ever in her mind; it could never happen in real life. And then all of a sudden, it could happen, but it was still beyond her wildest thoughts.

Sometimes she found herself with an urge at the worst of moments. Luke playing the melody he created for their latest lyrics and Julie should've been focusing on the music, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from his lips. Or throughout any of their live performances, when they shared a single microphone because the fans seemed to love it (among others). They were so close together, Julie was genuinely afraid she would forget the lyrics because all she could think about was Luke and how much she needed him.

And then he'd flash his charming grin before pulling some ridiculously attractive guitar trick and Julie was once again left floundering.

get me with those green eyes, baby

as the lights go down

give me something that'll haunt me when you're not around

'cause i see sparks fly whenever you smile

Julie didn't want Luke to disappear.

She knew that more than ever now. She had prepared herself once, and she doesn't think she can do it again; it was far too painful.

But she knew, one day, their time would come. They'd have completed their unfinished business and they'd get the opportunity to move onto a better place. And she knew, they might not be around all the time, but they'd be watching. And she knew, when she closed her eyes at night, she would dream of Luke's smile and every emotion it brought to her soul.

i run my fingers through your hair

and watch the lights go wild

just keep on keeping your eyes on me

it's just wrong enough to make it feel right

and lead me up the staircase

won't you whisper, soft and slow

i'm captivated by you baby like a firework show

One thing Julie could commend was that touch came quite easily after everything changed. It happened subtly, with slow touches on the piano bench, then gentle touches on the small of Julie's back. Eventually, it progressed.

Julie realized, accidentally, that Luke loved getting his scalp scratched. She had collapsed against her headboard one late night, and Luke liked to check-in on her when she stayed up late doing school work. Upon spotting her exhausted eyes, he plopped down next to her, dropping his head in her lap. Julie was far too tired to protest or even consider the ramifications, but somehow her hand made its way to his brown locks. She played gently with his hair, fingernails scraping against his scalp.

It was only for a second, and she quickly pulled away to grab her textbook. A low groan ripped through Luke's throat and he blindly reached up to grab her hand and pull it back to the crown of his head. It became their thing after that.

When Julie wrote the bridge of the song, she was high off energy from their latest show after they performed their brand new song. Their performance was electric as usual; it ended with Julie laughing, opening her eyes to find Luke staring at her in adoration.

She didn't even think about it when she threw her arms around his neck in a celebratory hug.

Even when they pulled away from each other and the crowd was still cheering, Alex and Reggie somewhere on the stage around them, she couldn't focus on anything except his bright smile.

Luke quite literally captivated her with every little thing he did.

She thought for a moment: this might be it, maybe he'll finally kiss me. But truth be told, Julie was glad he didn't. If it was going to happen, she didn't want it to be there, in front of hundreds of people. She wanted a private moment, just between her and Luke; that was all she needed.

drop everything now

meet me in the pouring rain

kiss me on the sidewalk

take away the pain

'cause i see sparks fly whenever you smile

Julie was coming to the end of the song now and she hadn't dared to look and see Luke's reaction. She wasn't sure she could handle any rejection should it come, but she knew she couldn't hold in her feelings anymore either.

Regardless of the result, Julie was still proud of herself. She put herself out there in a way she'd never done before and it was a big step in building her confidence.

get me with those green eyes, baby

as the lights go down

give me something that'll haunt you when you're not around

'cause i see sparks fly whenever you smile

Julie rounded off the song with the last few keys on the piano, taking a slow, deep breath when her fingers ceased moving.

She didn't want to look up, didn't want to see his reaction for fear of what she might see. Luke was always very expressive; even when he didn't know exactly what to say, he would ramble on until he eventually figured it out.

But this was different.

Julie was actually trying to tell him something, trying to tell him exactly how she felt in the best way she knew how; songwriting and singing. She paled for a moment; what if he didn't even understand what she was trying to say?

"Julie."

His voice seemed amused, and her eyes immediately snapped up to meet his.

Luke was now standing in front of the stool, unabashedly holding a smile that caused her to let out a large sigh of relief. Her hands automatically flew up to cover her face in mortification.

Stick to your guns, Jules.

But she couldn't. She felt like she was going to melt into a puddle.

Julie heard Luke approach and slide onto the piano in front of her. "Julie," he laughed, and she didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing. "Can you look at me?"

Before Julie could begrudgingly pull her hands away from her face, his hands reached down to circle around her wrists and pull gently. His eyes were soft, scanning her rosy cheeks and glassy eyes. She knew she shouldn't be crying, there was absolutely no need to, but her emotions were running high and this was a really huge move for her.

Julie hesitantly met his eyes. His hands stayed cuffed around her wrists, now resting in his lap. "Jules, that was beautiful. What's wrong?"

"I'm mildly mortified," Julie replied honestly, eyes dropping to the brand new guitar pick necklace Willie had given him (one for each of the boys and a new bracelet for Julie).

"Why?"

Julie's eyes snapped back up to glare at him. "Because I just basically spilled my guts out to you in the best way I know how and you haven't said anything!"

Luke didn't look phased at her change in attitude or the frustration she was throwing his way. He always knew the best way to handle her; talk her down when she needed it, or give her a reality check when she was too in her head (she'd be sure to do the same).

Instead, his hand moved to angle her chin so she couldn't avoid his gaze anymore. "Because I wanted you to look at me when I told you."

"Told me what?"

"That I love your song," Luke said softly, fingers reaching up to caress her cheek. Julie struggled to maintain eye contact when he looked at her like she had stars in her eyes and he said things like that. "And I think I've known for a while, but you know me. I'm not good at dealing with feelings."

Julie leaned into his touch. He wasn't exactly being clear, but it was Luke, so she wasn't exactly surprised.

He blinked, rubbing the back of his neck as he chuckled nervously. "Jules, I think I might be in love with you."

Julie's eyes softened, chest constricting with a multitude of emotions. Now it was Luke who was actively avoiding meeting her eyes, though he still couldn't find it in himself to stop talking.

"Not that I really know what it means. I've never been in love, but I think it's what I feel," he rambled on. "You came into my life when I really needed it. I'm better because of you; you make me better, Julie."

Julie decided it was about time she took hold of the reins again. After all, this was her idea all along. She placed her hands on either side of his face, breaking free from his hold. She pulled his face down, meeting him halfway. Julie hesitated, giving him the chance to pull back if he wanted to, but he really didn't want to.

Luke closed the rest of the distance between them, gently pressing his lips against Julie's. It was soft and simple and over way too soon, but Luke didn't want to push it.

He most definitely had just confessed his love for her and the reality was starting to hit him hard.

So, he made a joke.

"I'm sorry our first kiss wasn't on the sidewalk in the pouring rain."

A reference to her song. The push they needed.

And even though awkwardness was starting to creep up on Luke, a smirk slid its way onto Julie's lips.

"Don't worry; we'll have time for that."

Before Luke's lips could appreciate the grin he wore, Julie reeled him back in, pressing her lips firmly to his once again. Her hands found his way to his neck, slipping into his hair and scratching his scalp just the way he liked it. Luke let out a groan, unwillingly pulling away from her.

"Julie, if you don't stop, I may pass out from cardiac arrest," he mumbled, trying and failing to control his breathing.

Julie let out a short laugh. She started her day with so much confidence and it slowly swindled into uncertainty, but it all worked out. She just needed to trust herself, her feelings and Luke.

"By the way," Julie added, resting her elbows on his knees as she looked up at him in adoration, "I think I'm in love with you too."

Luke would never push her, but he couldn't lie and say he wasn't itching to hear the words. Everything she said in the song sent him into overdrive, but nothing compared to hearing her say it like that.

"Why don't we go write a song about it?"

"Good idea. I'm feeling especially inspired at the moment."

Luke leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to Julie's nose. She scrunched her nose adorably in response.

"Me too, Jules."

x

i don't really have a taglist anymore (old one is outdated) and i never know who to tag so pls let me know if you want tags for any of my future fics :)

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Along for the Ride

Dean Winchester x Reader

Words: 3007

Summary: When you first started hunting with Dean Winchester, you hadn’t expected it to last this long. Together, you face all kinds of ghouls and basically become the ultimate badass couple. But when you start to think you’re just another fling for him, he has no trouble correcting you. 

Notes: This is meant to be a fluffier Dean piece, but you know me, I have to have a bit of angst. I am trying to break up Dean’s darker imagines with fluff, so be prepared for Friday. 

Special shout out to my amazing beta reader Sarah, @suckmysupernatural​ . I love her so much and honestly, she’s helped me so much in getting these imagines out for you and she has some absolutely killer writing of her own!

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

-

You swung your knife hard into the blood-sucker’s neck, his head rolling across the warehouse floor. You turned to see Dean saw off another one himself, blood covering both of your clothes. 

“That’s the last of them.” He groaned, lifting up his shirt to examine the bruises and cuts. “That son of a bitch really put up a fight.” You wiped your stained blade off on your jeans and opened the warehouse door, basking in the autumn sun.  Dean shook the dust and dirt off of his jacket and wrapped his arm around you as you both walked to the Impala. 

“I think this calls for a beer,” you noted and he nodded in agreement. The two of you just took out an entire nest of vamps, a little celebration was deserved. And after a few bottles of beer, Dean texted Sam and told him that you would be a while and the two of you had an entirely different kind of celebration back at the motel. 

-

The two of you laid together in a comforting silence, your arms wrapped around Dean as he stared up at the ceiling. This was pretty routine for your relationship. You had each other’s backs during a hunt and you were there to help each other unwind afterwards. Poor Sam usually just went and got something to eat by himself. You wrapped your arms around Dean a little tighter, that part of you close to your heart wishing that this was more than it was. But you could never tell Dean that you loved him. That wasn’t part of the deal. 

“What’s on your mind?” Dean asked, feeling your shoulders tense. 

“Pie.” You lied, laughing as he leaned over you, chuckling deeply in your ear. His green eyes- god, those eyes- stared at you intensely. 

“I’m serious. What’s up?” 

“Nothing, Dean.” You were usually a great liar. It was a skill that was required in your particular profession. When it came to Dean, however, you were totally transparent. You decided to change the subject to hopefully get him off your case. “Do you want some coffee? I’m dying for some caffeine.” You slid into your jeans and stole his flannel before he could grab it. 

“That’s my shirt.” He huffed, finding his pants. 

“I like you better like this.” You grinned, tracing a hand over his bare chest. “Besides, I look better in it.” Dean pulled you in for a rough kiss, nearly falling back on to the bed. You laughed as you pushed away. “Easy, tiger. We should go meet up with Sam. He’s probably been sitting in a diner somewhere all alone.” 

“Yeah, yeah, poor Sammy.” You ruffled Dean’s hair and grabbed his keys with a devilish grin.

“First one to the car gets to drive.” 

“Oh hell no.” Dean practically lunged at you and you squealed as you jumped out of the way, sprinting out the door. 

-

“I would ask what took you two so long, but I really don’t want to know.” Sam took note of your change in clothes and put the pieces together. He had been typing away on his laptop looking for a possible new case for the past couple of hours. Luckily, most of the patrons of the diner just thought he was writing a horror novel. 

“Find anything good?” Dean asked, motioning to the waitress for two cups of coffee. You couldn’t help but notice the way she leaned over the counter just so, flipping her hair over her shoulder. 

“Did you want any sugar, sugar?” You rolled your eyes, but Dean, being Dean, smiled at her. 

“No thanks.” She winked and strut off, her hips swaying more than you thought was humanly possible. Your eyes fell to the counter. Sam, having noticed your reaction to the encounter, started to list possible cases to distract you. He knew that Dean wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. But he also knew that Dean didn’t always realize when his harmless flirting wasn’t harmless anymore. 

“There’s a group of campers that disappeared in the Rockies, all that was left in their camp was a couple of demonic symbols carved into the trees.” 

“Sounds a little more like a prank than our kind of thing.” You noted, looking at the screen over his shoulder. “What about this one?” You pointed to a possible poltergeist case in Tulsa. “Four women over the last ten years, each found in their locked apartments with the words “Not Enough” carved into their chests.” The three of you collectively grimaced. 

“Hell hath no fury.” You muttered and the boys voiced their agreement. 

Sam was driving, so you flipped a coin to figure out who got shot-gun. A string of curses came from Dean as he climbed into the back seat. You smirked with victory and blew him a sarcastic kiss. 

“Real cute.” He barked and you and Sam shared a laugh. You started to scour records from the town to see if you could find any strange or violent deaths. One in particular fit the bill. You motioned for Dean to look and his fingers grazed your shoulder as he pulled himself forward. 

“Look at this. Martha Greenburg; 25. Ten years ago, she threw herself off of a bridge and wrote in her suicide note that she wasn’t enough for him. The police concluded that she was talking about her fiance, Haris, who broke her heart the previous day.” 

“Not enough.” Dean repeated, grabbing your phone to get a better look at the story. Your eyes lingered on him with a sad expression. Something about the words hit you harder than you would admit. You didn’t see Sam’s eyes dart over towards you, a deep frown appearing on his face. Dean returned your phone. “So, heart broken Martha kills herself and now she wants other women to feel the pain she felt?”

“That makes some kind of sick, sad sense.” You sighed, resigning to looking out your window for the rest of the trip. 

When you got to another motel, Sam suggested that Dean go in and get a room while the two of you bounced some more theories back and forth. As soon as Dean was gone, Sam turned to you with a serious, empathetic expression. 

“Is everything okay, Y/N?” His hand found yours in that classic Comfort Mode Sam way. 

“Of course.” You faked a laugh, but it didn’t work. “Look, I’ve just had a few stupid ideas running through my head lately, but I’m sure they’ll pass.”

“What ideas?”

“Seriously Sam, it’s nothing.”

“Seriously Y/N, it clearly isn’t.” You accepted defeat and took a deep breath. 

“I’ve just started to wish that it all meant more, you know? To him.”

“Did something happen between you and Dean?” Sam actually looked ready to smack his big brother upside the head. 

“No, no, not exactly. I forgot what we were, that’s all.” You watched Dean come back out of the motel with a heavy heart and a sad smile. “But hey, I’m just happy I get to be along for the ride.” 

Dean got back to the car before Sam could respond. He just looked at you with a sympathetic sadness that made you feel even worse. You should have just kept your mouth shut. You rolled down your window so Dean could talk.

“You two ready to change and head to the coroner’s office?” He noticed the change of tone in the car and scoffed. “Man, you two make ghouls look excited. Let’s go.” You gave Sam a pleading glance before grabbing your bag from the back and going in to change into your pantsuit. Sam and Dean found their bags and Sam punched Dean’s shoulder.

“What did you say to her?” He asked angrily. 

“What are you talking about?” Dean snapped back, rubbing the now sore spot. 

“To Y/N? What did you do?”

“Sammy,” Dean’s mouth formed a suggestive smirk. “I think we all know what Y/N and I did.”

“God, Dean that’s not what I meant.” Sam shook his head and slammed the trunk shut. 

-

There was an odd tension between the three of you as you left the coroner’s office. Every bodies’ insides were basically mush, as if they’d hit a wall at 100 miles per hour. A strange burn marked their hands. Their lungs were also filled with water. Oh, and sure enough, every single one had the words ‘Not Enough’ deeply carved across their chest. Every woman was engaged, and from the reports, they were happy. Martha’s distorted jealousy took that from them. It made your skin crawl. 

“Hey,” Dean said suddenly, pulling you to the side. “Are you okay?” You tried to hide all of the turning in your stomach. 

“Are we really going to do this again?” You laughed, but this time, it wasn’t as convincing. “Dean, I’m fine.” His stupid green eyes were doing that thing they did when he was trying to get you to tell him something. So instead, you kissed him very, very convincingly. Sam cleared his throat and you pulled away. 

“Martha was cremated. So salting and burning the bones is out.” He informed, giving you a strange look. Dean composed himself, still a little stunned. “We’re back to square one.” 

You all wracked your brains to figure out what the spirit could be latching onto. You remembered something about the crime scene photos. Something about their hands. 

“I know what it is.” You marched back into the morgue and pulled back the tarp covering the woman’s body. “Look at her left hand.” A band was burned around her finger- where her engagement ring would have been. “All of the women had this burn. What if they all had the same ring?”

“It could be worth looking into.” Sam noted, still giving you that annoyingly concerned stare. You tried to shrug it off. 

“Then what are we waiting for?” You brushed past Dean and rushed out to the impala. 

“This is what I was talking about.” Sam hissed at his brother. “Dean, you need to talk to her. She…” His voice trailed off. You would kill him if you found out that he told Dean what you said. 

“She what?” Dean really sounded worried. If something was wrong, he wanted to know. 

“She thinks she’s just a fling to you, Dean.” He blurted, checking to make sure you were gone. “She said she wished that what you two have meant more.”

“Why would she think that?” Now he sounded hurt. Couldn’t you tell how much you meant to him? Sure, he wasn’t super vocal about his affections, but he always figured you knew.

“I don’t know but she said she’s just happy to be ‘along for the ride’.” Sam sighed, leaving to join Y/N in the car, but Dean stayed back. Along for the ride? What did that even mean? He thought what the two of you had was real, which was not something he was used to, but did you think this was all some prolonged one night stand? With all of his questions, he did know one thing. He loved you- as sappy-romance-movie as that sounded- and he was going to make damn sure that you knew it this time. 

-

Dean did not like this plan. Looking down at the small box in his hand, he shuttered. He really really did not like this plan. You and Sam were waiting in the car in an uncomfortable silence. 

“Did you get it?” Sam asked as Dean climbed into the driver’s seat. He gave his brother a scowl. 

“I don’t like this.” 

“Dean, everything is going to be fine.” You assured him. “I’ll be the bait and once Martha pops in to carve me up, you guys will burn the ring.” 

“Why can’t we just burn it now?” 

“Because if we summon her, we can be sure that we killed her.” You knew that it was dangerous, but it could be your only shot. Sure, you were scared, but you’d never let the boys know that. 

The three of you drove to the spot where this all started; the old bridge that Martha took the dive off of. The bridge had been closed for years, so traffic wasn’t a problem. You got out of the impala, listening to the river flow beneath your feet. You kept a brave face, but Dean could see your nerves. 

“You don’t have to do this.” Dean protested, holding the box in his hand. “We could just torch this thing right now and be done with it.” 

“She only shows up when the ring has a hand, Dean.” You held up your left hand and held out your right for him to give you the box. Instead, he took the ring out himself. 

“You…” He paused, looking for the right words. “You know that I care about you, right?” You stepped back.

“Of course, Dean.” You looked over at Sam, but he was too busy loading the rock salt to notice your frustration. He must have said something. “Look, we don’t have time for this. Let’s just gank the ghost and get out of here.” Dean saw through your toughness, of course, but he didn’t argue. He did, however, lean in for a kiss. It was a different kind of kiss than you usually shared. It wasn’t lusting or rushed. It was slow and sweet and perfect. When he pulled back, he kept his forehead rested against yours. 

“Be careful.” He whispered and slipped the ring onto your finger. Immediately, he was thrown backwards, having to catch himself on the railing to keep from falling over the edge.

“Dean!” You screamed. Martha’s apparition appeared in front of you, her hair wet and matted and her face stained with eternal tears. 

“He’ll never love you.” She croaked, water pouring out of her mouth as she spoke. You braced yourself. There was nothing she could say that you hadn’t already thought of a million times. 

“Let’s dance, bitch.” 

The ring on your hand started to burn and you cried out, trying to take it off. Her hand latched around your throat and dragged you to the side of the bridge, hanging you over the railing. 

“Y/N!” Sam shouted, aiming the salt loaded rifle at Martha. She flicked her wrist and sent the weapon flying into the water. 

“It isn’t real.” She groaned, tightening her grip on your throat. “He doesn’t care. He’d rather roam around with waitresses and bartenders than be shackled down with you.” You tried to block her out, but her words sunk into you. “Because you’re not enough. You will never be enough.” Yout felt a sharp pain scrape across your chest as she started to carve her words into you. Through the pain and your screaming, you were able to tear the ring off of your finger. 

“Dean.” You choked out, tossing the ring to him as Sam started the fire in a trash can that you’d stolen from the motel. Dean threw the ring into the flames before sprinting across the bridge towards you. 

Martha let out a blood curdling scream as her image slowly burned away, her hold on you releasing, sending you tumbling over the edge. Hands latched around your ankle as you swayed over the rushing waters, blood seeping through your t-shirt.

“A little help, Sam!” Dean grunted, your foot slipping slightly in his hand. Sam grabbed your other ankle and the two of them were able to get you back on the bridge. Dean didn’t even let your feet touch the ground before he wrapped his arms around you, holding you as close to him as he could. You winced when his chest pressed against your new wounds. “Oh, crap, sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” You pulled the collar of your shirt down enough to see that Martha had only gotten a few letters before she burned. “Great, now I’m just going to have ‘no’ scarred on my chest.” Dean let out an exasperated laugh, pulling you back to him. 

-

You were packing up your things back at the motel when Dean asked Sam to give him a moment alone with you. You leaned against the hood of the impala, knowing exactly where this conversation was going to go. 

“Do you believe what she said to you?” Okay, maybe you didn’t know where this conversation was going. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Y/N, we all heard what she was saying.” Dean ran his hand down his face. “She said that I’d rather be off with some waitress than be with you. That you’re not enough for me.” 

“Dean, I’m sure she says that to every-”

“Do you believe her?” He repeated, this time he sounded more upset. When you didn’t answer, his face changed with hurt. “Do you really think that little of me? Of us?”

“I’m in love with you, Dean.” You blurted. “That wasn’t part of the plan, but there it is.” Dean stepped closer to you, cupping your cheek. 

“You aren’t just a fling, Y/N. I love you.” Dean cradled the back of your head in his hand as he pulled you in for a kiss. A slow and sweet and perfect kiss. But it wasn’t enough. Not for him. He had to show you that he meant it. He broke the kiss, those green eyes melting your heart completely. “Let’s get married.” You froze. 

“What?”

“Let’s get married.” His face broke into a nervous grin. “Come on, Y/N, we already fight like a married couple. Sam treats you like a sister. I love you more than any girl I’ve ever known. Let’s do it.” The shock of his words faded just enough for you to respond. 

“Okay.” You said breathlessly. Dean scooped you up in his arms and you laughed. 

“I’m glad you two figured it out.” Sam smiled, throwing the last of the bags in the trunk. Dean gave his brother a beaming grin, setting you back on your feet. 

“Come on, Sammy, we’ve got to get a non-haunted ring this time,” He exclaimed, giving you one more kiss. “We’re going to Vegas.” 

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto;

Supernatural: @desimarie12; @deandreamernp​

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV: Quantum Shenanigans

Or, Baby ‘Buncles Break Physics (and Mom)

A/N: IT’S DONE AND JUST IN TIME.

Rating: T Word Count: 4009 Warnings: Mild spoilers for 5.1 MSQ and the Chronicles of the New Era side story Sorrow of Werlyt Cross-posted to AO3

--

“This is an abomination,” Nero snarled, flipping from what little Synnove and Krile had managed to put together of the Arch Ultima to the ones on the ravaged Ruby Weapon on a tablet. He was sitting at a heavy iron table in one of the Ironworks’s myriad workshops, fidgeting back and forth in one of the wheeled chairs Biggs had welded together on a whim one day, the chair swaying half an ilm side to side. “Absolutely repulsive. Of course the VIIth is involved somehow, that legion has always been full of lunatics.”

He was already ducking out of the way of Synnove’s hand, making to smack him upside the head for the pun, but it left him open to Cid’s hard flick against his temple. Nero yelped at the sting and pointed accusatorily at the other Garlean, yelling, “Hypocrite!”

Dancing Heron, knitting a shawl in the corner of the lab, pointedly cleared her throat.

The trio of scientists glanced over at her and then back at the tablet, subsiding into mostly-good behavior—for the time being.

Nero poked at one of the diagrams on the screen with a ferocious scowl, pinching his fingers together and then flicking them wide to expand the tiny line of code to magnification by five. He held up the tablet, nose practically against the screen as he stared at the close up of part of the recovered code from the Ruby Weapon, his eyes squinting half closed and tracking back and forth as he processed it. “Ah,” he finally said after long moments, “there it is.”

Both Synnove and Cid leaned closer—Synnove over Nero’s left shoulder, Cid over the right—and Nero pulled his head back to give them room, pointing at a small section on the screen with his pinkie finger.

“With most the Weapon melted slag and what remains of the code a scrambled nightmare, it’s hard to tell precisely what swiving nonsense they’ve wrought with my schematics of the original Ultima Weapon, but that isn’t anything either the Allagans had or what I added,” said the former tribune, voice grim.

Cid drummed his fingers on the worktable as he stared at the glowing code. “That looks eerily similar to what we managed to recover of Aulus mal Asina’s unique brand of horror,” he said. “Reversed, of course, since it certainly doesn’t seem like the Ruby Weapon’s oversoul system was ever intended for the pilot to survive.”

“Well, in order to implant the memory of an individual, one has to extract it from somewhere,” drawled Synnove. “But it’s similar to the Ultima Weapon’s coding for absorbing primals, as well. So: did the VIIth manage to get their hands on mal Asina’s research; did they reverse engineer Nero’s notes; or did they come up with it independently? None of these options are particularly comforting.”

(Over in the corner, next to Heron, Tyr suddenly jerked awake from his doze, a small *hic!* escaping him at the same time as his eyes crossed. Heron paused in her knitting and peered down at him, raising her eyebrows.)

“Either way, the results are revolting,” Nero said with palpable disgust. “Forcibly downloading and uploading souls at a whim, who would condone such a thing?”

“You would!” Cid and Synnove snapped in unison.

“The Praetorium,” Synnove said, jabbing Nero in the kidney with her finger. He yelped and jammed his elbow into her stomach, or tried to, as Synnove was already dancing out of range as she continued: “I distinctly recall you waxing poetic about adding mine and my sisters’ power to the Ultima Weapon!”

(Tyr reared up from his loaf shape to sit on his hindlegs; Heron, leaning over him, jerked back in surprise. The topaz carbuncle stared down at his stomach and carefully poked it with one paw.

Poke. Poke poke poke. Pooooooooke.

A deeply perturbed little nya? escaped him as he did.)

Nero paused and set down the tablet, then pressed his forefinger against his lips as he searched his memory. “…So I did,” he said at last, grudgingly. “Not my finest moment, descending into full on megalomaniacal mad scientist stereotype.”

“That implies you ever rose from the state in the first place,” Cid muttered. And then wheezed out a curse while doubling over and clutching at his stomach; Nero had taken advantage of Cid’s momentary distraction to ram his bony elbow into the other Garlean’s abdomen.

A ball of shimmering copper wool-and-silk yarn bounced off the side of Nero’s head. Synnove cackled and plucked the ball out of the air, and, without looking, threw it back to Heron. Nero, meanwhile, grumbled wordlessly, but tucked his elbows in and folded his arms across his chest.

(As Heron dropped the yarn back into her bag of sundries, Tyr slowly lowered his front paws to the floor to properly sit, blinking slowly as he did. He looked up at Heron and let out a quiet, very bewildered maow.)

“I am ruthless, not cruel,” Nero growled. “The Ultima Weapon absorbs entities in whole, yes, and I cannot say what happens to those entities while they are held within Ultima. But this?” He gestured to the tablet. “This is—this is using people as little more than batteries, in the most disgusting, agonizing way possible, likely for no other reason that I can discern except that it was likely the easiest way to—to do whatever the sodding hells it is the Legion wants to do. For all the shite I give the pair of you about your standard of ethics, I do have standards, and this is still a gross perversion of science and an unconscionable lack of morality.”

Silence settled on the workshop. Synnove, Cid, and Heron all just looked at Nero with various shades of bemusement.

Nero shifted uneasily, flicking his gaze from Cid, to Synnove, to Heron, and back to Cid to repeat the cycle. Finally. “…What?”

“I’m impressed, Nero,” Cid said. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and he leaned back against the workbench to look at Nero with shrewd blue eyes. “You’ve actually matured. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Bathe in ceruleum, Garlond.”

“Choke on a lug wrench, Scaeva.”

HI MOMMY!

Synnove shrieked and jumped a fulm in the air, clutching her chest. Nero shoved his chair back to get away from the flailing Highlander, so quickly he rolled over his own toes, and he made a garbled, choked off sound of wordless agony. Cid didn’t have time to get out of the way himself and ended up taking the backrest of the chair into his already abused stomach, knocking the wind from him with another wheeze. Heron did not drop her needles, despite also jumping, but only because a lifetime of friendship with Rereha had trained her otherwise. Tyr jumped to all four feet with a thud!, fur bristling as his gaze darted around the room for a possible threat.

All five gazes swung around to one of the other iron tables in the workshop, the one upon which Synnove had unceremoniously dropped her gear when she and Heron and Tyr had arrived.

Poking out of Synnove’s ubiquitous hip pouch, the flap still buckled shut so that their faintly iridescent heads were forced to stick out from opposite sides, ears twitching in delight and dark eyes huge with glee and utterly heedless of the minor chaos they had wrecked upon the workshop, were Amandina and Roksana.

“What in the—girls, where did you even come from?!” Synnove said, scurrying over to them. She undid the buckle and, now with room to move, the twins tumbled out of the bag with high-pitched giggles.

Hi Mommy hi Mommy hi Mommy hi Mommy hi Mommy, they chanted continuously, leaping into her arms and snuggling close, their six tails between wriggling frantically.

“Synnove,” Cid said, still breathless as he forced himself to stand upright with a wince, “I know you can be more than a little single-minded when you’re on a tear, but surely even you should have noticed two baby carbuncles that have stuffed themselves into one of your pouches.

“This is the one with the void storage metafold,” Synnove hissed, turning around. She was supporting the twins’ chests with her hands and the rest of their bodies along her forearms; Amandina was in her right hand, Roksana in the left. Amandina gently headbutted Synnove’s chin, while Roksana looked around the workshop excitedly.

Cid’s face went blank in the manner that usually preceded him asking a question he would wish he had not in fact asked at all once he had the answer: “…Void storage metafold?”

“Yes,” Synnove said primly, bouncing the twins in her arms. They giggled. “It’s based on the one Khebi built for Carby, though the structure’s internal area is only about three square fulms instead of…whatever nightmare area Carby’s is. All you have to do to make one is calculate the Cartesian coordinates in four dimensions rather than three, then fold the aether along the proper axes and—”

Cid’s eyes were becoming suspiciously glassy.

“—Nero, kick him.”

Nero, using his non-injured foot, immediately did so in Cid’s shin while wearing a gleefully malicious grin. Cid shouted.

“Such an example to set,” Heron said, deadpan.

“Girls?”

The carbunclets chittered together, When Mommy is being petty, we should use it as an example of poor behavior and not emulate it!

“Good girls!”

Amandina and Roksana cheered.

(Wish Mama would take her own advice, Tyr grumbled. Heron made a sympathetic noise and patted him on the head.)

“What the hells was that even for?” Cid said, leaning back up against the work table to pick up his leg and rub his injured shin.

“Your eyes glazed over as I went on a brief aetherology tangent!” Synnove bellowed. (The twins made oooooooo Uncle Cid’s in trouble~ noises.) “I will not have it! You might be an engineering protoyping savant, but your aetherology theory is shite! You have lived in Eorzea for fifteen bloody years, learn some!”

“Your grand idea for overcoming the first line of aetheric defenses of the Crystal Tower was to throw a bloody rock at it.”

“It has been four years, are you ever going to stop harping about that?”

“No!” Nero and Synnove snapped in unison.

“Tangent!” Heron bellowed.

Nero and Synnove grumbled but settled. Cid began the motion of a particularly rude gesture, stopped, and looked at the twins. The twins blinked at him curiously. Cid dropped his hand and crossed his arms with a scowl.

“In any event,” Synnove said, “I left the twins with Khebi and Rere to babysit—stop looking at me like that, you two, Halulu was supervising—and teleported to Revenant’s Toll directly from my office.”

Now she twisted her wrists to turn the carbunclets around to face herself, and Synnove’s expression morphed into exasperated affection as the babies beamed at her. “I waved to you!” she said to them. “You waved back! How did you two get here?!”

We missed you, Mommy! said Amandina.

So, we decided to come find you! said Roksana.

And we tunneled! the black pearl carbuncle peeped excitedly, puffing out her chest in pride.

Yeah! the white pearl carbuncle said, mirroring her sister.

Synnove’s expression melted into faint confusion. The workshop was quiet for a few moments as they all stared at the twins in various degrees of bafflement.

“…Tunneled?” said Synnove, at last.

Yeah! From Elder Cousin!

To your hip pouch!

Synnove’s face blanked. Nero went white, jaw sagging open. Cid’s eyes widened to practically the size of teacup saucers.

Heron and Tyr exchanged bewildered looks.

“Before I say anything else,” said Nero, voice faint as he turned to look at Heron, “is ‘Elder Cousin’ who I think it is?”

“If you mean A’khebica’s Carby,” Heron said slowly, “then yes.”

“Shite,” Nero hissed.

(The twins gasped and covered their mouths with their paws. Bad word!)

“Carby’s a good boy,” Synnove said automatically, the tone of someone who had made the argument before and likely would again. “He’s strange, but he’s a good boy.”

Cid looked at her incredulously. “Just last week you were screaming about having to rummage in his void storage again for your aether chalk and how he was gnawing on your shoulder in retaliation!”

“Carby is not a good boy, Carby is halfway between a constructor-kit outer entity and an unshackled artificial intelligence.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“Yes he is!” Cid and Nero snapped in unison.

“At least Carby understands ethics,” Heron muttered under her breath. Tyr snickered next to her. Then, louder, Heron said: “Tangent.”

“Fine,” Synnove hissed. She closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose slowly; she held the breath for a few heartbeats, then let it out for the same count. When she opened her eyes, she immediately focused on the girls blinking up at her. “You tunneled. From Carby’s void storage metafold to the one in my hip pouch.”

Yes! the girls said.

We got a bit mixed up at first, though, Roksana said, ears drooping.

Yeah, said Amandina. We almost ended up in Tyr instead.

Tyr boofed, flabbergasted, his ears pricked completely upright in shock. That was YOU?

Synnove twitched.

Often as they had traveled through Azys Lla, the quartet of Warriors of Light had come across Allagan nodes glitching, five thousand years of constant functionality having degraded their circuits and systems. One type of cascading error turned the nodes’ vocalizations into a mess of garbled static, the pitch changing mid-word from high and piercing to low and growling, or vice versa. Listening to them had frequently led to the group gritting their teeth as the sounds dug into their minds and scratched like broken orchestrions.

Heron, Nero, Cid, Tyr, and the twins watched the visual equivalent of that noise happen on Synnove’s face. And in the case of Nero and Cid, it was occurring on their own faces, too.

“How?” Synnove said eventually, voice tight with tension.

Amandina and Roksana looked at one another. Amandina flicked an ear, the movement briefly iridizing the black fur on the appendage into deep purple. Roksana shrugged her shoulders, her own white fur momentarily shifting blue and then back. They looked back up at their mama.

We…pushed?

“Pushed.”

Well, first we accessed Elder Cousin’s metafold! Amandina said.

(Nero made a strangled noise of utter horror. Cid slowly slid down the side of the worktable to sit on the floor, knees bent and staring into the middle distance.)

Then we had to orient ourselves, said Roksana. That took a little bit. Elder Cousin’s metafold is very big!

We found Auntie Rere, too, Amandina whispered conspiratorially. We were playing hide and seek earlier. Elder Cousin said he had helped her.

Synnove closed her eyes and bit down on her lip, a snorting snicker briefly escaping her before she regained her self-control. Heron didn’t even bother to maintain the illusion of dignity, merely threw back her head and laughed from deep in her belly; Tyr, meanwhile, simply laid down on the floor and sighed heavily, covering his head with his paws. Nero made another horrified noise. Cid just wheezed.

Elder Cousin helped us, too! He told us about [subspatial aetheric sympathy tension paths].

Synnove froze. Her golden bronze skin had developed a worrying grey cast to it. “Say that again,” she breathed.

Roksana blinked. What? [Subspatial aetheric sympathy tension paths]?

The method by which all of Synnove’s carbuncles communicated with the people they and their mama generally liked wasn’t actual speaking, not with vocal cords and aspirated sounds to form words. Instead, they matched their aetheric harmonics with those of the individuals around them, with the end result being that the combination of the sounds they made, the body language they used, and the intent they held were “translated” into something the Spoken mind translated as “speech.” Most people initially found it odd, but quickly adapted.

This, however, wasn’t that.

Whatever Roksana had tried to tell her mama had…blanked. The concept was too big, too alien, too what the absolute swiving fuck for a meat brain in three dimensions to comprehend without shutting down as a defensive tactic to preserve sanity. But the little carbunclet still spoke, and whatever it was she had said had been further translated into a strange and obvious two-toned overlay of something that wasn’t quite right, but close enough.

Very slowly, Synnove turned her head to look at Nero, practically frothing at the mouth and his hands curled into claws as he grasped at air, and Cid, now aggressively cuddling a wrench he had gotten from one of his pockets like it was a comfort object. Deliberately, with precise enunciation, the arcanist said, “Please tell me I am not the only one who is hearing that harmonic as an approximation and not whatever it is my child is actually saying.”

“I know what those words mean individually,” Cid said. His grip on his wrench was white-knuckled. “I may even know what those words mean together. I am not ready to accept that. And I am most assuredly not ready to know whatever it is they are actually attempting to convey.”

“Blargle,” Nero agreed.

Synnove looked back at the twins. “Continue,” she said. The corner of her left eye kept spasming.

Sooooooo, Amandina began, once we knew where to go and how to sense the other metafolds based on Elder Cousin’s metafold—

“They sensed it?!” Nero yelled, outrage finally returning his ability to use vocabulary. He pushed himself upright and staggered over to Synnove and the twins, raking his hands through his hair. “How in the hells are they able to sense similarly constructed aetheric metafolds when each one is a distinct pocket dimension?!” He suddenly leaned down so he was nose to nose with the twins, frowning severely and blue eyes glimmering with suspicion. In a quieter, but no less manic tone of voice: “How in the hells are you able to sense similarly constructed aetheric metafolds when each one is a distinct pocket dimension?”

Dunno, Uncle Nero, Amandina chirped, wiggling her ears, her fur iridizing back and forth between black and purple once more.

Just can! said Roksana. She reached out and very carefully booped his nose.

Nero’s eyes crossed, staring at the white pearl carbunclet’s paw. He drew back with a huff—but booped her nose in turn, and then Amandina’s. The twins peeped happily.

“And then you pushed,” Cid said from his place on the floor.

Yeah!

It was easy!

It tickled!

And then we were here!

Synnove gazed sightlessly at the far wall, green eyes huge and unblinking. She untwisted her wrists and tucked the girls up against her chest, where they snuggled close. “My babies had a conversation about aetherospatial metaphysics with Carby,” she said in disbelief. “While they were inside his metafold.”

“Before they broke the laws of everything we know about physics and aetherophysics and quantum mechanics and traveled through space-time because they missed you,” Cid helpfully added.

“Congratulations,” Nero said icily. “You have mothered two more constructor-kit outer entities. If the fabric of reality unravels any time soon, I am blaming you.”

Yaaaaaaaaaaay! the twins cheered. The air popped and a bright light flashed between them, and suddenly aetheric confetti in a rainbow of pearlescent hues floated through the air, the pieces dissipating as they landed.

Synnove dropped her gaze to her youngest carbuncles, amused exasperation briefly flitting across her features once more. Nero and Cid also looked at the carbunclets, though without the amusement on their parts. Then the three scientists looked at one another.

And, finally, the hysterical yelling commenced.

--

Heron let them go at it for a while, finishing up her shawl and casting on a new one with the pretty copper wool-and-silk she had earlier thrown at Nero. After nearly a full bell of non-stop shouting, Biggs and Wedge arrived to investigate, and were dragged into the hysteria once they parsed through the trio talking over one another.

She did not even pretend to understand anything. There was quite a bit about aetherophysics and aetherology that she had picked up simply from knowing Synnove for so many years, but this was far beyond her ken. A few phrases stood out of the verbal melee (“quantum tunneling,” “Keltgeim’s absolutely ludicrous fringe theory about particles,” “aetheric entanglement”), but otherwise it was all Allagan to her.

At the two bell mark, however, with no sign of any of them slowing down, the Hellsguard decided it was time to call in reinforcements.

“Go get Jessie, please,” Heron quietly said to Tyr, “and tell her to bring the hose.”

Tyr boofed, amused. Yes, Aunt Heron! He stood and trotted for the workshop door, disappearing around it with a flick of his tails. The twins waved after him.

Heron eyed the group of frantically yelling nerds and reached up to her linkpearl cuff. She tapped a specific ‘pearl and leaned back in her chair as she waited for the other end to pick up.

A soft click echoed in her ear, and a familiar warm tenor came over the line. “Good afternoon, Heron,” said Aymeric. “What trouble has Synnove gotten into now?”

She probably should start calling her baby sister’s beau for reasons other than ‘come pick her up,’ but today was not that day. “She’s involved in a five-way discussion here at the Ironworks about theoretical physics that may not in fact be as theoretical as previously thought,” she said. “Please come pick her up.”

“Quite a lively discussion, then, as I can hear it,” the Lord Commander said drily. “On a scale of, created a more efficient theorem, to, about to write an “in response to” article rebutting a Thavnairian mathematician, just how manic is she?”

Heron hummed thoughtfully and turned to look over at the yelling scientists. Synnove was alternating with keeping Amandina and Roksana tucked close to her chest and gesticulating wildly with her hands with the twins still in her grasp, the babies going wheeeeeeee! every time with the later. Nero was pulling at his hair and so wild-eyed that she was becoming mildly concerned his eyes would actually pop from his head; her Echo was softly pinging in the way that meant Nero had lost his grasp on Eorzean Common somewhere in his tirade and had slid back into Garlean. Cid had his face in his hands, only raising his head to shout something in incomprehensible technobabble before dropping it back into his palms. Biggs and Wedge weren’t even coherent, with Wedge’s hands flailing so hard they were blurring.

But they all, each and every one but very especially Synnove, had a spark in their eyes that she well knew was going to mean trouble for someone in the near future. Hopefully just Jessie and Thubyrgeim.

“Once she’s calmed down?” Heron said into the linkpearl. “She’ll be at, rewriting the laws of reality.”

Something clattered on the other end of the line—a teacup, more than likely—and Aymeric swore softly, then sighed heavily. “Give me half a bell and I’ll be there to take her home.”

“Thank you,” said Heron cheerfully. “See you soon! Oh, and bring a towel.”

“Ah, hells. At least you warned me this time.” The ‘pearl line closed with a click.

And that was when Jessie entered the workshop, a firehouse braced at her hip. She waved to Heron, and the Hellsguard grabbed her knitting sundries bag and loped for the door.

The twins looked over, pricking their ears, then exchanged a glance. They nodded, and proceeded to wiggle free of Synnove, who was so deep in argument that she didn’t notice her hands emptying. Amandina landed lightly on her feet, but Roksana hit the floor with a soft plop! Her sister grabbed her scruff in her teeth and helped yank Roksana upright, and then the pair were scrambling for the safety of Heron, who scooped them up outside the shop door and dropped the carbunclets into her yarn bag.

With no collateral to worry about, Jessie turned on the hose.