#thank you for the questions!!!! love having an excuse to gush about the stuff i've been reading

[piratespencil]

1 & 2 for the book asks, please! Yay books!

1. book you’ve reread the most times?

I answered this one earlier but I'll give another answer! I don't reread things a lot but the fact that I've read both Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo more than once shows you how much I love those books... They're long but they're fantastic. Fantasy heist crew doing fantasy heists. Very good.

2. top 5 books of all time?

Top five of all time is too hard so I'm going to cheat and say top 5 I read this year haha... This might get long so I'm going to do a count-down under the cut:

5) In the Land of Invented Languages by Arika Okrent - This is a non-fiction book about conlangs and it's super interesting!! The older I get the more I realize that non-fiction books can be fun actually...

4) All Systems Red by Martha Wells - I got really into sci-fi this year and this series, The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells, is so good. A security construct (part human part robot) hacks itself so it can just hang out and watch TV all day and then stuff happens. I love Murderbot with my whole heart. Great place to start if you haven't read a lot of sci-fi but want to.

3) Because Internet by Gretchen McCulloch - This is another non-fiction book!! This one is about internet language and internet culture and it is so interesting and so well-written, absolutely one of my favourite books of all time.

2) Nona the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir - The whole Locked Tomb series by Tamsym Muir is super cool. Weird, trippy gothic horror slash sci-fi with lesbians. But the most recent book in the series, Nona, is absolutely my favourite one so far. Weird gender stuff. Super endearing narrator. Bonkers plot. God is a twitch streamer from New Zealand. Love it.

1) The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers - More sci-fi!! This book is basically just the episodic adventures of a little long haul ship crew traveling through space but there is something so endearing about the characters and so compelling about how this book is written. As soon as I read it, it scratched an itch I didn't know I had. I'm gonna reread it at some point for sure. (It's the first book in the Wayfarers series, and while the other books in the series are also cool, they deal with different characters and this one is by far my favourite.)

Sorry that was so long!!! I hope you liked this list though, I highly recommend all these books, especially if you enjoy sci-fi and/or non-fiction about linguistics haha.

[daydreamingyuta]

helloo love ur blog so much can i req something winwin and jaemin in it I need to read something with these two :(

Eavesdropping & Confessions | Jaemin

summary: during one of your movie nights with your bestfriend, winwin, his roommate jaemin joins the both of you. your crush on jaemin causes you to excuse yourself to the restroom but when you come back to the living room, you find yourself accidentally eavesdropping on their conversation. wc: 1,252 a/n: aww thank you! <3 I never thought to put winwin and jaemin together in a fic but this was so much fun to write! thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy it :) :)

Movie nights with your childhood best friend, Winwin, have always been your favorite. You loved them when you were little and both your parents would set up a movie day for you two, and you love them now. Movie nights nowadays usually happen at Winwin's place because he has a slightly better television than you do. (Plus, Jaemin was his roommate who you may or may not be harboring a huge crush for.)

It’s your turn to pick the movie tonight which means it’s Winwin's turn to pick the snacks. You scroll through Netflix as he's in the kitchen putting everything into bowls so that it's easy to snack on. You stop on one movie amidst your scrolling and the trailer automatically starts playing soon after. It was interesting enough to catch your attention, plus the actor was really cute which was always a bonus, so you figure this is the perfect movie to watch tonight. 

Winwin comes in as you're finishing the trailer and you hear him laugh to himself as he sets the snacks down. "What?" You ask, wanting to know what was funny.

"Nothing, I just saw the trailer for this movie earlier and added it to my list because I knew you were going to want to watch it."

"What do you mean? I've never even heard of this movie before."

"Yeah but the guy in the movie looks just like Jaemin." Your head snaps to the screen as he says this to get a better look. You were about to deny the likeness between the two, but you could plainly see the similarities. "What does it matter if the actor looks like Jaemin? Why would that make me want to watch the movie?" You ask, knowing good and well that this was subconsciously a contributing factor.

Winwin smiles at your unwillingness to admit your crush, but doesn't want to push it further. "Ok, maybe I was wrong but the movie did look good so I'm down to watch it."

You're about halfway through your movie when Jaemin comes home. You had made yourself comfortable, slouching with your feet hanging off the couch, but when you heard the door open you immediately sat up straight. You try to look natural as you avoid Winwin’s gaze on you knowing that he sees right through your actions.

"You guys are having a movie night again?" Jaemin asks, walking into the living room. The question could have been answered by either of you, but he only looked at you when he asked it.

"Yeah, it's actually really good."

Jaemin looks at you for a beat longer than normal, a subtle sign of his true feelings for you, but of course you don't notice. "Maybe I can join you?" He says, again only looking at you.

You nod your head and smile, not letting any words out in fear of showing your eagerness. He leaves to go to his room to set his stuff down and change into something more comfortable.

When he comes back out to the living room, your heart twinges at the sight of him in sweatpants and a hoodie. It's not like you've never seen him in this before, but he just looks so cute.

You expect him to sit next to Winwin like he usually does, but instead he plops down right next to you. Your outward exterior is calm, but inside you're smiling so hard right now. You can feel Winwin looking over at you two, but you ignore it, knowing that you'll gush about this with him later.

Jaemin spends a while eating the now diminishing snacks, before he settles down, his arm touching yours as you two both stare at the screen. There's plenty of room on the couch, you both could move away if you wanted to, but neither of you do. You can feel his body heat radiating off of him and you feel his arms slight movement every time he breathes in and out.

Although you wanted to stay like this forever, you felt yourself getting more and more nervous as the minutes ticked by, so you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, feeling like a slight break will help you clear your head.

You’re probably in the bathroom for a bit too long, but you didn’t care. You were trying so hard to stop the smile on your face, but the more you thought about your little interaction with Jaemin, the more it made your heart flutter.

Finally though, you get your act together and feel like you could go back out there. You’re about three steps from the living room when you notice they must have paused the movie while they waited for you because all you could hear was their voices. You honestly didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but Winwin’s words made you stop in your tracks.

"Honestly Jaemin, just ask her out."

"You know I want to but, if she doesn't feel the same way about me then I’ll hate myself for potentially making her feel uncomfortable coming over here."

"I don't think you have to worry about that."

"Wa-"

Immediately you come into the living room, not wanting Winwin to say any more. You give him a death glare as you sit at the other end of the coach, away from both boys. You're heart pounding knowing that Jaemin feels the same way as you do.

Jaemin wants to assume that you heard none of what was said, but he knows better than that. His heart drops at the thought, but he thinks about it a bit more as the movie plays on, and comes to the conclusion that it may actually be a good thing.

Winwin must have been thinking the same thing because right before the movie credits started playing, he quietly slipped out of the living room, leaving you two alone.

“Even though I only watched half of the movie, I actually thought it was pretty good.” Jaemin says to you.

You nod, still looking at the screen pretending to be very interested in the end credits. It’s quiet for a moment between you two before Jaemin speaks up again. “Y/n can I ask you something?”

You know you can’t keep staring at the screen when he asks you a question like that, so you manage to make eye contact with him this time as you nod.

“Did… did you overhear me and Winwin talking?”

“When?” You ask, trying to act clueless.

At this Jaemin gets up and sits right next to you. “Y/n.”

“Yes, I overheard.” You say quietly.

“Ok I understand.” Jaemin says, hurt in his voice. He must have misunderstood your quiet response because he starts to back away from you, giving you space. You knew that if you didn’t tell him right now how you felt, he'd never know.

You grab his arm gently, stopping him from moving away. It takes everything in you to say the words, but you do. “I feel the same way, Jaemin.”

You can literally see his emotions go from saddened to overjoyed at your words. “Do you really? You’re not just saying that?”Just saying that? Does he not know that there is no world in which you would ever joke about liking him? You were about to explain that to him, when you all of a sudden got a burst of confidence. You lean over to him and press a kiss on his cheek. “Of course I’m not joking.”

[uncouth-the-fifth]

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

read it on ao3.

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

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 4th.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me,” you push.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mom is just as skilled at spoiling the moment.

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

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

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

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

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

You snap your phone shut and follow him inside.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam pulls a face. “Final Destination style?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

INDIANAPOLIS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - Dec. 4th, night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FLIGHT 424 - Dec. 4th.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He twists to meet eyes with you. Expecting you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt that static every time you felt Sam.

_

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

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

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

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

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

Until you’d felt that demon with your Gift.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You need to be sure. Consequences be damned.

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

_

She died screaming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even now, she’s still burning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 5th, night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s—”

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

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

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

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

You mumble something non-committal under your breath.

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

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

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

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

In. Bzzzsh. Out. Bzzzsh.

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

[illmetkismet]

Hihihi!!!!! I Hope You don’t mind yet another ask from me!!!!!!! I’ve already said this before but I absolutely adore the way you answer questions and analyse stuff, it’s such a breath of fresh air to see!!!! This is totally self-indulgent so I hope you don’t mind me asking, but do you have any personal headcannons/analysis thoughts on Luis perhaps??? It feels strange to admit but he’s a very big special interest of mine so I just wanted an excuse to hear somebody else’s thoughts on him!! I hope You’re having a good day regardless!!!!

Always happy to see an ask from you, and don't even start with the strangeness or self-indulgence of being really into or asking about Luis; just yesterday I was wondering whether I should wait for spring to get a splish splash fish ankle tattoo or just do it now and deal with an itchy ankle in my winter boots lol...

So yeah, Luis is my love my turtledove the light of my life and I would LOVE the chance to talk about him!!! He was one half of why I got into resi in the first place (serennedy had me like 'hmmmm maybe horror games are not too scary for me if they have cuties in them....'), and every time I think about him my brain does that thing where you put your head in your hands and sigh while cartoon hearts float up above you...

He's just..... So good.... And despite that, he's made SUCH shitty choices. I love how painful that is for him, but that he's got enough self awareness to understand when he fucks up. He doesn't try to blame anyone else - he faces his mistakes and his own shortcomings (pride, willful ignorance, cowardice) head on, and tries so desperately to make up for them, even as he keeps making them.

I love that he's not some perfect angel, that he hangs on to the amber and intends on handing it over to Ada at first, in exchange for getting out of Valdelobos, despite knowing full well that no good will come of that. The part in Separate Ways where he tells her he doesn't care who she works for, could be the devil himself, so long as she gets him out of there was so shocking for me to hear at first, but then I realized that's the core of his tragedy - that he's a good man trapped in a horrible situation, and he's scared, he wants out, he wants to live so badly! Unlike Leon, he's got a healthy dose of self-preservation, and honestly, if I were in his shoes I would probably make the same choices.

But still - he runs into the burning lab, he risks his life to get the suppressant to Leon, he tells Ada he won't leave her, he picks up his 'lance' and says alright, let's go rescue the princess! He's so full of regret and fear and he keeps making shitty choices, but he also keeps doing the right thing.

The way he's written and acted is so rich and nuanced. Watching him, I understand exactly where he's coming from and every single one of his choices. Out of all the characters in re4r he feels the most real to me, the most human. Every second he's on screen is a joy, even the horrible painful seconds at the end.

I wanted him to live so badly, and not just because I like him, but because he wanted to live so badly... All the re6 AU's I've seen floating around where he meets up with Leon again are among my favourite things to come out of this fandom!! I know Capcom is never gonna do that, but in my head it's canon: when Ada told the helicopter pilot to change course she actually went back for Luis, gave him a little first aid spray, and then they joined forces and lalalala everything is fine!!

Ok I'm gonna wrap it up cause if I keep talking about him I'm gonna be late for work, but thank you so much for the chance to gush!! I love Luis so much and I think about him all the time.... My sweet bisexual disaster man..... Going to his death with a smile:

Aasdghhhgddfghjkljjgdaaddghgfdffhh......

[light-lanterne]

hi Angel!! i hope things are going ok :] <3

i actually had a question for you! i'm going to a concert tonight and wanted to see if you listen to the groups at all? they seemed like ones you might like (or perhaps i'm generalizing, because i'm mainly going to this show for my little brother bc they're bands he loves, and you guys seem to have similar music taste aslfjk), so i just wanted to stop by and see!

it's motionless in white and in this moment! have you listened to them before? if so, do you have any favorite songs? i haven't really listened to either so i'm going in blind lol

anyway!! i hope things are going well and that you've had some happy moments today~ and um. if you haven't listened to either of these groups then please use this ask as an excuse to write about whatever other music things you're currently obsessed with :D

(also thanks for the tags in the ask games yesterday! idk if i'll get around to doing them but i greatly appreciate the tags T_T <3)

dearest percy, you have no idea how fast i dropped what i was doing to reply to this,,,

yes, i do know them !! i've been obsessed with both bands for 10+ years, actually >.< first and foremost, you're in for a wonderful show; they're both known for their amazing performances !! :]

they're also some of the nicest people in the scene so there's that too ~

now, in lieu of recommending their entire discography, i'll try to limit myself to a dozen songs by both bands :O i'll also try to exclude some of their oldest stuff because i doubt they'll be playing stuff from 2005 x.x the songs are roughly listed from light to heavy stuff, and all links lead to youtube ~

*･ﾟ: MOTIONLESS IN WHITE *:･ﾟ

werewolf

another life

masterpiece

america

voices (this one is about being queer ;-; <3 )

cyberhex

necessary evil

eternally yours

thoughts and prayers

abigail

slaughterhouse feat. bryan garris

immaculate misconception

*･ﾟ: IN THIS MOMENT *:･ﾟ

oh lord

as above so below

the purge

roots

the promise (song i found them through ~)

blood

the in-between

sick like me

adrenalize

big bad wolf

the gun show

and this one, "whore" :O chris shows up but doesn't sing. still an amazing empowering song :]

hope this is of help !! sorry if it's too many songs u.u i started out with five, then it became ten and it ended with twelve (and i could've kept going x.x),,, anyway, i hope you enjoy the show !! :O thank you for sending this ask and allowing me to gush about these wonderful bands ^-^

take care ~!! <3

(also, don't worry about the tag thingies ~ only do them when / if you want !! :] )

[slashingdisneypasta]

wich one are your favorites Disney villains?? :) and maybe why?

Oh thank you so much for this question and the excuse to gush about them! ^^

Cruella: Particularly, the Glenn Close version. I just find her to be so much fun to watch, and write for! She's so over the top, and just plain nasty, and it works. She's nuts, and evil, and for no particular reason?? She's just like that. I love it XD Plus... she's just... so... pretty... I cant... Honestly I get a very similar vibe looking at her as I do any Englund character, and I'm not sure why... these two can pull of stuff human beings should not be able.

Jafar: Probably my first villain crush, in general, so I'm very attached to him- even if, when watching now, he doesn't quite spark as much joy. Because I've over-watched the movie XD *Sweatdrop* He's just got the best villain laugh, and he's worldly, and operates with a super vocabulary (*Cough* the tried and true ingredients straight to my heart).

Hades: He's Hades. I loved this man, haha XD I had a drawing of him right next to BEN and Offender on my wall for a year. He's the reason I started writing for Disney Villains! I was just obsessed with him, for a long time. He has that complicated villain/heroine relationship with Meg that I've always loved, he's always annoyed at something yet he's not serious and grumpy all the time, he's very charismatic, and he's not... entirely... a bad person? Honestly? Like, if you aren't in the way of his goals and he didn't see you as beneath him (Cuz of the God, thing), he'd probably be chill towards you. I have over-watched Hercules though as well as Aladdin so he doesn't quite spark the same joy as before anymore unfortunately, haha XD But I still love him.

Ursula: BIG SEXY SEA WITCH WIFE- Sorry. Sorry. XDD I love her design, and I'm kinda jealous of her. In awe. She's allowed to be kind of gross, manipulative, and slightly perverted, and use these over-the-top expressions, while also being totally-comfortable-in-her-own-skin, and she pulls it off beautifully! I'm obsessed at the moment.

Scar: Aside from his design, which I love (Gosh, you should see my Lion King folder. I have so many more Scar screencaps then I do any other villain. Its not even a contest)- but he's also able to twist the sophisticated, sarcastic Older Man persona and wile Underdog one into 1 ultimate bastard man and I love it. I find it so much fun, so interesting. I'd love to write more of him, and I have some ideas.

Bonus- Rourke: ... that man awoke stuff in me- ANYWAY THOUGH. He's just very cool, man... I dunno. Like he said, he's very even-tempered, and he's never surprised. He doesn't take pull any punches, he's constantly tired of everyone around him, he's tough... I dunno. With Rourke its mostly me being unabashedly horny for him XD Ha ha...

Bisexual Nightmare.

~ Pixar and Disney Show's ~

Lots-'O'-Huggin' Bear: I could listen to his voice all day- and not, entirely, in an 'I'm attracted to it', kind of way. Its just so good. Between him and Chuckles in that movie, my ears had a blast of a time. Also I just love his character, he's so manipulative and two faced and southern. Every idea I get for Buckman, I wanna write for Lotso too.

Chick Hicks: What? Can? I? Say? I have a type. Honestly though Chick did repulse me for the first, like, 18 years of my life? But then Cars became a comfort movie due to some less then ideal incidents and I learnt to laugh at him and now I'm very fond of the bastard XD ^^

Jim Starling / Negaduck: HE'S SO FUCKING COOL. Like- oh my god. This is the kinda villain I signed up for in this life. He's so amusing to watch. The perfect mix of goofy, just genuinely a dickhead, and fucked up. Plus his design? Both of his voices?? He's my favourite. I love him a LOT. I'm so happy I was alive to see him in 2017 in the cleaned up animation and new origin story.

[b000mbayah]

Without

Warnings: I wrote this last year when I was dumb so ignore how putrid it is :)

Word count: 2k

Snow gliding through the sky as it piles up on the concrete streets. The sky is cloudy as a mist fogs up our surroundings. Streets of Seoul full of people looking for gifts for relatives. The festive holiday is coming up and people are able to spend the day with loved ones. I used to be one of those people.

I lost my true love a month ago. It was a stupid argument over the most irrelevant thing imaginable, I was just so fuming at the time that I had no idea what I had gotten myself into. It was a trap, either way I was screwed. If I had continued the argument it would have worsened and if I had stopped earlier she still would have left me.

I could see in her eyes that she was broken due to the amount of times I've done this to her. I broke her again... I've broken her for the last time, and now she's gone.

If I had said sorry she would have left, if I begged she would have left, if I had just stopped myself from shouting in the first place. She's scared of me now, her eyes so full of fear as she trembled on the spot. I'll never forget the way she looked at me every time.

The following mornings were full of me proving to her that I loved her whether she wanted it or not. I would have done anything to make her forgive my foolish actions, couldn't do that last month though. It all seems pointless, love. I mean there are positive and negative outlooks on love.

Love can fill you with pure joy and excitement to the point that you forget the numbness that you'll feel after it's over with.

It leaves you broken as if you're a ship with treasure that crashes onto land, losing all its precious moments and times as everything inside spills out, never to be found again.

There are more negatives to love than positives and I swear that I'll never forget her, she was the one I loved most and I let go of her hand, I let her slip and now she's gone.

watching her on stage made me cry every time, hearing the news JYP sent out made me depressed... hearing that she had to have a break from her schedules made me feel guilty.

I look around my room as I retreat away from the window, empty takeaway boxes and cans all around my room. My eyes droop down to my phone on the floor.

Cautiously, I crouch down and pick the electronic up off of the ground. I bite my lip as all my notifications pop up. Multiple miss calls and text messages from all my contacts.

I tap on my messages to see hundreds upon hundreds of messages from my contacts, all of my contacts had text me, all but one. The one that had deleted my number, I refuse to delete hers though, it contains too many memories for me to simply release into a void.

I gulp as I click onto Jihyo's contacts as our last conversation over the phone comes up. All of this was just before the final argument. I was questioning where she was and when she'd get home. She was only practicing with her other members in their dance studio, I let my jealousy get the best of me, again..

I throw the phone at the wall as I got dressed and headed out, I can't say in my apartment forever. I forced myself out the door for the building and into the chilly winter breeze. I inhaled and exhaled the fresh air before taking steps towards the supermarket.

Layers of trampled snow surround the street. As I pass shops I take a simple look inside.

"Y/N!" I turn on my heel to be greeted with my best friend running up to me, a member of twice. I let out a broken smile as sana springs up to me with a massive grin and arms open.

Within seconds she gives me a bone crushing hug. ''y/n, please tell me you're okay?" sana rushes in a speed faster than chaeyoungs rapping skills.

"yeah, I'm just.... Upset about the situation" I frown as she gives me a look of sadness. She nods her head and opens her mouth, "I'm upset as well, I really liked you two together" sana smiles at her words as I gulp, she really liked us together?

"I've been trying to contact you for weeks and weeks but nothing, please may I take you to dinner? You look like you haven't been eating the correct amount of food, I need to stuff you up I time for Christmas" sana says with a worried tone

"s-sure" I stutter out as she grabs my hand and takes me through crowds of people that surround the streets and up to a fancy restaurant where richer people would dine. "w-we cat eat here, it's to expensive, I don't want to cost you that much money"

"no y/n, it's okay, it's nothing really only a few hundred. My clothes are worth more than this'' sana giggles out as she gets us a table with a view of a frozen pond. It took us what? Twenty minutes to get here for a view I'd a pond with what's most likely to be frozen fish inside. I'm not complaining but like those poor fish...

"Take your time, when you're ready to order please ring this bell" a waiter explains as she hands us the menus. We thank her before she walks away.

"what do you fancy getting?" sama asks as I scan the menu's dishes. "urm, the... Mmmm"

"steak?" sana asks me as u nod and go along with the choice. Sana hums as she also decides on what she's getting. I ring the bell as the waiter from before comes back with a pen and notepad.

"what can I get for you ladies?" they ask as sana gives him the order. He bows and leaves us. I turn my head to sana who's wearing a permanent smile right now.

"please come round to our dorm, the girls miss you" I tilt my head before nodding.

"sure but I may have to avoid jihyo" sana frowns at my words but nods her head.

Soon after the meal I ended up at the dorm. Still have no idea how I'm going to deal with this but I'm just going to have to hope for the best I guess. Sana pushes the door open silently, we take our shoes off before continuing on. As we creeped up on tzuyu, even though there was no point, I managed to make eye contact with momo who was eating the packet of cookies I had sent her months ago. She must be really far behind in her food gifts if she's only eating them now.

I place a finger to my own lips as she nods and watches with curiosity filling her eyes.

As we were practically behind Tzuyu we both leap at the same time, causing tzuyu to let out a yelp as we all tumble to the floor. I let out a giggle as tzuyu groans due to the impact. "Get off of me you pathe- y/n?" tzuyu changes the subject half way through as notices me. I smile and give her a small wave. "what are you doing here?" she questions looking at me like she's trying to read me.

oh so I'm a book now????

"I invited her-" I cut sana off, "she dragged me here, oh it was awful, she demanded it and she explained how she would burn down my house and throw me in a ditch if I didn't come" I dramatically say as sana huffs out a gush of air.

"alright then... If you say so but please get off of me, you're both killing me" tzuyu states as we stand back up, dusting ourselfs off.

We enter the living room to see everyone here, including Jihyo...

"Y/N!" everyone in the room exclaims but Sana, Tzuyu and Jihyo. I somehow become covered with six different females as they squeeze me like a teddy bear. Once they all release me, I give them a wide smile and bow as they copy my action.

"y/n, how have you been? We've been busy with-" and I couldn't hear anything dahyun was saying, I am way more focused on Jihyo. Her expression is unreadable as she gulps from time to time. her eyes dart around to find an excuse to leave but nothing comes to her mind.

As soon as she looks up we lock eye contact. I forgot how much I loved those eyes, her eyes show dedication, passion, strength, love... All the things I wish I had. I probably sound whipped for her and the truth is, I am. I would do anything for us to get back together but that wont happen.

"right y/n?" I break eye contact as I respond with a simple nod since my throat is sore from all the crying and screaming I've been doing. I really have been beating myself up over this break up.

"I said that her hair looked like a donkey on steroi-" and blank out again as I make eye contact once again with Jihyo. Only this time we break it for a few seconds before reuniting our eyes.

Without me or Jihyo noticing, Tzuyu manages to take the other members away to give us alone time. Once we realise they're gone an awkward situation is placed between us...

"how have you been?" she begins as she examines the pictures hung on the walls. "pretty bad, you?" I respond as she gulps down on air. "same, what's your reason?"

I freeze, thinking on if should I tell her the truth or not? There's nothing wrong with the truth. "if I'm honest... I've been beating myself up about the breakup, I'm deeply sorry for how I treated you Jihyo. That month I had spent alone had given me time to reflect on my behaviour and what I have done" Jihyo looks at me with an interested look but there's also something else there. "continue..."

"the way I treated you during that relationship was completely irresponsible, I had spent that entire month locked up in my apartment crying about what I had done, I was so frustrated with myself that I couldn't bring myself to forget about it and I'm sorry if I'm invading your personal space by being here but I really hope that one day you can forgive me" my voice goes shaky towards the end as tears form in the corner of my eyes. Jihyo looks me up and down, about to say something when the door opens up.

I watch as a male walks up to Jihyo, I could only see the back of his head as he's asking her questions before turning around to face me. RM? "she doesn't want to see you, please leave her alone she has me now."

My eyes widen in shock but I bow and apologise once again before rushing out crying again. I rush past the other members who share a look of concern before chase after me calling my name. I ignore them though and continue to rush my way out of that place, not wanting to be there anymore due to the once sweet but  now awful memories I have there.

[tiaragqueen]

Can i request a yandere!tarzan! Jungkook? I've been thinking about it a lot lately but nobody seems to done it :""))

Champing At The Bit

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Tarzan! Jeon Jeongguk x Reader

✂ Word Count: 3,6k+

✂ Trigger Warning: Animal attack, blood, death, obsessiveness, possessiveness, sadism

✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don’t believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Donot re-upload my writing to another website or use it without mypermission.

[Edited]

***

Okay, so… I might have gone a bit overboard on this one. This is probably the longest one-shot I’ve ever written, but I don’t know. The edited version might be shorter, tho. Why, you look at that. It’s longer than the unedited one.

If you like mywriting, please support me on ko-fi!

“One way or another, I’m going to find ya. I’m gonna get ya. One way or another, I’m going to win ya.” – One Way Or Another [Blondie]

You didn’t know what to expect from this scene.

No, scratch that. You hadn’t expected this to happen at all.

You had always known that your baby brother was more sociable than you. It was a trait you had been long secretly envious of. There was something from him that easily attracted people to him, either from his smile or overall mannerisms. While you were approaching your early twenties, your social skills remained undeveloped. It didn’t help that you had a tendency to overanalyze things, too.

However, you would later learn that your introversion wasn’t a curse as you had initially thought. In fact, it could save you from the doom that would soon befall you.

“[Brother’s name], what… what are you doing? Who is he?” you asked, brows furrowed deeply and eyes widened in an overwhelming mixture of confusion, shock, relief, fear, and wariness.

“Ah, Noona!” your brother beamed once he spotted you and enthusiastically pointed to the stranger in question. “Look, I’ve got a new friend! His name is Jungkook, but he likes to be called ‘Kookie’.”

Your mouth slackened as you glanced at the pair back and forth, trying to make sense of their relationship. Well, it wasn’t like you misheard what your brother said just now. In fact, you heard it a little bit too clearly for your liking. But of course, what kind of a normal human being would immediately accept the fact that their sibling had befriended a fucking Tarzan in the middle of a forest?!

‘Kookie’ shrunk a little and bowed his head when you averted your attention to him, displaying his shyness towards strangers. At least, he wasn’t aggressive. That was a plus. You didn’t know what to do if there was a young man, wearing nothing but a dark ripped cloth to cover his lower part, were to attack your brother. You cleared your throat to distract yourself from the disturbing image.

“Well, that was nice and all but can we please go back to the camp? Mama has been waiting for you, you know?”

[Brother’s name] bit his bottom lip, and it didn’t take a genius to know that he hesitated to leave this ‘Kookie’. Was it possible to create such a close relationship with someone you just met? Was he really that interesting to your brother until he felt reluctant to go?

“Can we bring him too? He looks so lonely…”

You didn’t bat an eye on rejecting his ridiculous suggestion, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, [Brother’s name].”

There was no way in hell you would bring that guy to your parents. They might not panic much, but you didn’t want to deal with the consequences should something bad happened. He might get a panic attack – or worse, go on a rampage – if you forced him to meet other people.

“But can you at least introduce yourself first, Noona? Kookie might be shy, but he’s very curious about you.”

How the hell did he know that that guy was curious about you? Did he suddenly possess a sixth sense or something? And besides, that guy refused to look at you in the eye!

“Oh, um, I…” Fuck this shit. If you wanted to leave, then you better deal with this quickly. “Uh… Hi, Kookie. I’m [Name], [Brother’s name]’s older sister.”

Was that friendly enough? Could he even comprehend what you just said? Judging from the way [Brother’s name] grinned when he glanced at the said man, you assumed that he indeed understood. To some extent, probably.

“Kookie said you’re pretty, Noona.”

How did one accept a compliment from a Tarzan? You didn’t know, you never bothered to know, and you definitely didn’t expect to know how. And that was why your reaction was painfully awkward, even cringy if someone were to watch this whole interaction.

“Oh, thank you. He’s… he’s handsome too.”

That wasn’t a lie. He did look handsome. And cute too. With long eyelashes that framed his doe eyes, chubby cheeks, healthy pink and plump lips, down to the tiny mole that you almost missed. You had no doubt that he would gain a lot of admirers had he was more… normal. But what was normal for you, might not be normal to others. And with his fidgety mannerisms that just screamed bashfulness and awkwardness throughout, he might end up as one of those wallflowers or an antisocial that avoided people altogether.

No, actually, the latter seemed much more likely to happen. It was a miracle that your brother even managed to befriend him in a span of twenty minutes.

Another reason for you to be insecure about.

“Okay, introduction’s over. Let’s go back, shall we?”

[Brother’s name] nodded, satisfied with what he thought was a successful conversation. Linking his fingers with yours, he skipped down the trodden path that led to the campsite whilst smiling happily. With your back turned, you were able to sense Jungkook’s penetrating gaze as opposed to the occasional timid glances earlier.

A shiver slithered down your spine.

It had been days since your first encounter with Jungkook. And ever since that, your brother had been secretly meeting him under the pretense of ‘exploring the area’. Of course, you being you, refused to accept his excuse at face value, unlike your parents who had shown a positive reaction over his so-called adventure. They even made another comment on how you should ‘be more active like him’ instead of ‘spending your time doing useless things such as constantly playing your phone’, although they didn’t know what you truly did with it. Just because you often play your phone, didn’t mean you always searched meaningless things. Sometimes, you liked to explore stuff and looked up some facts.

Obviously, they didn’t understand that. Not that you wanted to. There was no reason why you should convince someone who was too stubborn to change their mind.

The latter was also why they decided to make this spontaneous camping in the first place, much to your dismay. You had initially planned to spend your whole summer working on that story you had been procrastinating for so long, but your parents thought that it was time for some ‘family moment’.

And because you cared about your brother, despite your envy, you’d decided to ‘join’ him. Your parents were excited and thought that you finally ‘opened up’ to the world. You had ignored their gushing and accompanied your sibling in meeting his new friend.

Jungkook, although shy, was very talkative once a close bond was established. You didn’t find this very surprising, to be honest, since you yourself weren’t much different than him in this aspect. But what astounded you was the fact that he seemed to take more interest in you, more than he did to your brother. [Brother’s name], being a naïve boy he was, felt happy with this development. Thus, he took it upon himself to act as the ‘accommodating guide’ by answering Jungkook’s silent questions that – frankly speaking – sounded more like hushed whispers and occasional hoots. You didn’t know that it was possible for someone to gain a skill in communicating with Tarzan within such a short time, but that was what set him apart from you anyway.

Slowly, but surely, Jungkook started to open up more and more with you. From light, albeit hesitant, touching to bashful smiles; he did everything he could do to ensure that your attention remained on him alone. He even tried to speak to you once, but your overt inability to comprehend his words prevented you from fully understanding what he said. It wasn’t as if you wanted to know, either.

Honestly, you didn’t know what to feel from this so-called development. On one hand, you were creeped out at the fact that Tarzan had taken an interest in you. But on the other hand, you were flattered that someone actually found you desirable for once. That someone would make an effort to get to know you, or by the very least, including you in their conversations and not neglecting you as most people did.

The last day of camping came at the blink of an eye. [Brother’s name] kept sobbing that he wouldn’t be able to visit Jungkook again, while you awkwardly patted his small back. Comforting people wasn’t your forte, but for the sake of people you loved, you were willing to do anything for them. Even if it meant handling their emotional outbursts.

“Come on, [Brother’s name]. We need to go home.” you murmured, yet he merely cried harder. Before you, Jungkook didn’t provide any assistance whatsoever except watching him for the past five minutes.

“B-but, I can’t see him again.” [Brother’s name] blubbered.

You wished to say that he would be able to meet Jungkook once he was a bit older, but you couldn’t exactly promise such a thing to him. Life sometimes got in the way of achieving what you wanted, and that was why you refused to go around spreading empty words unless the odds were favorable.

“Okay, well…” you glanced around, racking your brain to come up with a perfect solution that wouldn’t leave [Brother’s name] even sadder than he already was. “Why don’t you say goodbye to Kookie now? Who knows, you might feel a bit better.”

[Brother’s name] sniffled, but luckily, he obliged to your suggestion. Approaching the quiet Jungkook, he threw his small arms around his neck and sobbed into his bare shoulders.

“Kookie, I’m leaving now.” he croaked with a voice that broke your heart a little. You’d never expected to get teared up from witnessing such an emotional scene, even though Jungkook was nowhere near emotional. His face remained blank as he blinked repeatedly, as though unaware of a child weeping in his embrace.

Damn him. He could’ve at least made an effort to appear affected.

Sniffling once more, [Brother’s name] withdrew from the one-sided hug and smiled bitterly. “I’ll see you again, Kookie. Please don’t forget me.”

Jungkook stared at him for a moment before turned to you. His dark eyes were hollow yet piercing as if trying to gauge your reaction through your ‘friendly-sister-of-a-friend’ façade. Maybe he did, then that would explain why he kept watching you lately. If you could even call that ‘watching’ because it looked more like observing than mere watching. Still, it didn’t make the experience felt any less unnerving.

You simpered at him, nonetheless. Couldn’t show him your discomfort, could you? For all you knew, he could be planning something and a glimpse of your true feelings might be something he’d deeply anticipated. “Well, Jung– I mean, Kookie. I think it’s time for us to go. It’s been an interesting week, and I can’t say that I regretted meeting you.”

Just a little, though. You had always doubted that Tarzan existed, especially in such a modern world like this, but his existence proved otherwise.

Jungkook stepped forward and suddenly brought you into a deep hug. Stunned, you let him buried his head into your stomach. You could’ve sworn that you heard him purring too, yet that was the least of your worries. Jungkook had never been this bold before – he always retained some degree of shyness in expressing his affection – so perhaps he finally felt comfortable with you? Enough to embrace you without a warning like this?

“[Name]…” he mumbled against your shirt. Your eyes instinctively widened, while [Brother’s name] gasped in astonishment.

“He spoke!” [Brother’s name] squealed, clapping vigorously as if he had witnessed first-hand something extraordinary. That would be understandable considering that Jungkook never seemed to speak before. “He finally spoke!”

You didn’t know what to do in this situation. No, scratch that, you knew exactly what you wanted to do. You wanted to run – away from this forest and its nonsense – and never looked back. Being observed was enough to put you on the edge, and now he decided to call you by your name too? This should’ve turned on the warning bell in your head. And as much as you wished to shove him on to the ground, you still had the decency to gently push him away.

“Oh, did you hear that? Mama is calling us. Let’s go, [Brother’s name]!” On the spur of the moment, you came up with a not-so-believable lie and grabbed his hand.

[Brother’s name] sputtered in shock. “B-but, Noona, I didn’t–”

“Goodbye, Kookie!” you exclaimed with more vigor than necessary, or what would one expect from a farewell.

You dashed through the trees which homogeneity seemed to confuse you in each minute, determined to make it into the campsite before it was too late. Why did you feel this way when the forest looked safe? Honestly, you weren’t sure yourself. You just had this hunch that something was wrong the moment Jungkook averted his gaze to you.

Or maybe the darkness and desire in his eyes gave it away.

Either way, you couldn’t afford to rest even if [Brother’s name] had been panting since earlier. You wanted to prove to yourself that your hunch was incorrect; that it was merely a suspicion or a secret fear that Jungkook would try to harm you and your family. Maybe it was somewhat unfair to place the blame on him when he hadn’t done anything wrong than just being his shy, creepy self. But it wasn’t like you could trust someone you met a week ago. You weren’t that careless.

During your rushed journey, you’d prayed and prayed that your hunch didn’t come true. That it all just happened in your head. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could prepare you for the massacre that greeted you at your destination.

Bodies laid on top of each other, eyes glassy yet profound with the unfairness of being the innocent victims. Some of their limbs looked like they had been forcibly ripped out from their sockets, leaving bloody bones that protruded through the rugged flesh. Their clothes were torn, mouths opened in a silent scream that fell on deaf ears, and they were looking up the sky as though it could lend a lifeline to save them from their untimely dooms.

Bile climbed from the pit of your stomach as you covered [Brother’s name]’s eyes, afraid that he would be traumatized by the horrible sight. He was still young and pure; he didn’t need to see what his parents had become. Charred and torn beyond belief and recognition. Sure, you weren’t really fond of them due to their tendency to compare you with [Brother’s name], but they didn’t deserve to die. Nobody at this campsite did, honestly.

“Noona!”

You gasped when someone – or rather, something – snatched him from your grasp. A black chimpanzee stood in one of the branches and held him against its chest, shouting incoherent things to you. Despite your disinterest towards monkey and ape species, there was a hidden fear deep inside your heart that was reserved for the chimpanzees. Especially when they were cornering you right now, a helpless and panicked human. You didn’t know if chimpanzees could eat humans, but you did know about their cannibalistic habits.

And now, your beloved baby brother was held as a captive.

What kind of a shitty movie was this?!

“Do you still… want to leave, [Name]?” a breathy voice asked in a broken sentence, showing their slight inexperience of speaking human language.

Your expression went cold as you slowly turned around, wishing that the speaker was nothing like what you thought them to be. However, your hunch was proven correct once again.

“Jungkook,” you hissed, gritting your teeth in a refrained anger. As much as you wanted to lash out to him, you knew that the chimpanzees wouldn’t take too kindly of it. You just knew it. “What the fuck is this, huh? Explain this!”

“Calm… down.”

“Don’t tell me how to calm down, you piece of shit!”

As expected, the chimpanzees started to get hostile over your equally offensive approach. Some were already approaching you, ready to tear you to bits had Jungkook didn’t raise his hand. The clamor stopped as soon as it arose, but the aura they emanated was still murderous. Peering to Jungkook, you concluded that he must be a leader or some sort.

Would it be weird if you say that you weren’t surprised in the slightest?

“[Name], you have to… know that you can’t… leave this forest… as you please,” he explained without looking at you. Oh, so now he was acting haughty, huh? Where was the shy boy who couldn’t even see you without blushing?

“So what? People come here all the time, yet they’re free to go anytime they want. Why the fuck should I be any different, huh?” You pointed a finger in his direction and glowered, trying to display an aggressive body language despite your huge difference in power. Maybe those chimpanzees would back down somewhat?

Well, no. Because you could hear them growling in the background.

“Because… you’re special.”

You narrowed your eyes, clearly not amused with his half-assed excuse. If he thought that he could convince you with that, then he would be dead wrong. “The fuck–?”

As if on cue, the chimpanzee who held [Brother’s name] captive suddenly took a chunk out of his left shoulder. You froze in shock, watching the blood spurted from the wound like in slow motion. The sound of his agonized scream echoed in the forest, when not even a single cricket dare to chirp. All witnessed the chimpanzee brutally lacerated his flesh until the bone and tendons were visible to the naked eye.

“Stop! Stop!” you finally shouted after a moment of stupefaction, the aggressive facade shattered when tears started to trickle little by little. “Stop this, please! I… I’ll do anything! Just… just, please. Don’t hurt him. Please. I’ll do anything, I swear to God.”

Jungkook’s face lit up almost instantly. However, you were too busy worrying about [Brother’s name]’s state and dread over his looming death to notice it.

If only you saw his joyous face right now, or the smug smirk that closed your and [Brother’s name] fates…

But it wasn’t as though you could compromise his safety for the sake of your selfishness, right? No matter how much you envied him, no matter how much you wanted to be like him for just a little – a moment – he was, and would always be, your little brother. Your younger sibling.

Your beloved baby brother whose existence you’d been anticipating ever since your mother announced her pregnancy.

Your beloved baby brother who saw you for the first time with those sparkling doe eyes and pouty lips.

Your beloved baby brother who held your pinky finger and beamed that cute smile of his.

And most of all, your beloved baby who always made you smile and laugh when the world seemed to turn its back against you.

It was funny how easy it was to say ‘I love you’ to your exes, any time and any day when you had never said it to your own sibling.

What kind of a big sister was you?

“Really…? Then, I guess… you don’t mind if you become mine, right? I’ve been waiting… for this moment.” Jungkook inclined his head and smiled softly as if reminiscing something. “That kid… has been irritating me to no end.”

There was only regret and anger left in your constricting chest when Jungkook moved to hug you from behind. Regret for not being able to help your brother, and anger for being so fucking useless.

But what were you, compare to a horde of chimpanzees waiting for the right moment to strike?

What were you, compare to his authority and power?

And what were you, to resist your own fate?

You let those sturdy arms wrapped themselves around your chest like a straitjacket and sobbed. Resting his chin on your shoulder, Jungkook sighed contentedly.

“I’ve been waiting… to hold you like this… ever since… you appeared. It feels… nice.” He peered towards the damned chimpanzee as though he barely remembered that they were here in the first place, and their presence ruined his ‘peaceful’ moment. Never mind the fact that he was probably the one who had ordered them to ambush you.

“Everyone,” you stopped sobbing for a moment and waited with bated breath his next demand. What was he going to say? What was he going to do? Hopefully, he would release [Brother’s name] and allow him to live. After all, you had willingly give yourself to him. Surely Jungkook wasn’t that evil, right? There must be some humanity deep inside him, however small it might be.

… Right?

“Eat him.”

The chimpanzees immediately charged at [Brother’s name] from every direction without any hesitation whatsoever. You watched in horror their sharp teeth sunk into his skin and ripped it like a starved animal. He wailed and writhed in their hold, wishing anyone to help him.

To save him.

To rescue him.

“No, no, no!” At this point, you actively struggled against Jungkook’s much stronger grip as you kicked and screamed for them to stop. For him to stop. For everything to stop. “Why are you doing this?! Stop!”

“As I said earlier… you’re special. And I can’t… let that kid… get in the way of our happiness.” Jungkook buried his face into your sweaty neck and smiled, ignoring your resistance and cries of help. “Now, we can finally be together.”

[superredcorp]

SUPERCORP FANFIC

I completely forgot to upload it on tumblr the entire week.

A week had passed quickly which meant Kara needed to go back to work, back to CatCo, since the week off, which she had thankfully been given to care for Lena, was over.

Neither one of them really liked that fact. They had both gotten used to being around each other all day.

Kara didn't like at all that she couldn't constantly watch over Lena anymore and therefore couldn't make sure that she was okay.

And Lena missed the presence of the blonde, the feeling of safety and warmth accompanying her everywhere she went.

However, Kara still came by as often as she could, making the whole thing a lot of easier to bear.

And if she was being honest with herself, a part of Lena actually didn't mind being alone all that much because it gave her time to learn how to be as independent as possible. She didn't want to be limited in any way and she wanted to prove to the world that she wasn't.

At one point, she decided to take a walk because she needed some fresh air.

Over the last days, she had practiced it some more and she was getting better. She didn't get panic attacks anymore and she hadn't gotten hit by a car yet so that was at least something.

And that day, it went well too.

However then someone bumped into her. The angle and the force with which it happened told Lena that this wasn't an accident but entirely on purpose by the person in question.

This time, Lena didn't want to back down. She was still capable of dealing with stuff like this. She had been doing it for two decades.

So she slightly turned into the direction where she guessed the person who bumped into her to be, at least roughly, and loudly exclaimed "Hey!"

The footsteps stopped and after a few seconds, a male voice angrily said: "What? "

"Excuse me, do you have a problem?", Lena said through gritted teeth, unconsciously twirling her cane in her hand, slowly out of repressed anger.

"You Luthors are my problem."

Lena opened her mouth to respond but before she could, a gush of wind and a hard landing of boots on the stone beneath them announced the arrival of a specific superheroine.

"If you had paid any attention to what's happening in the world, you'd know that Lena is nothing like her family. She's good and kind. And she doesn't deserve to be treated like this.", Kara, or well right now Supergirl, said - there was a certain kind of coldness in her voice, entirely foreign for her except for cases like this in which people she loved were being insulted.

The man scoffed. "Must be a cold day in hell... a Super siding with a Luthor. That's pathetic."

Kara furrowed her eyebrows. "I don't judge people by their names. I do judge them by their actions. Right now, I can only see one person who needs to be judged and that's not Lena."

The man shook his head, mumbling incoherently as he stomped away.

Kara narrowed her eyes, thinking for a second about following the man to talk to him further, maybe even somehow convince him but then she shook the feeling off. Some people just couldn't, and didn't want, to see reason.

Kara turned to Lena. "Are you-"

"I could have handled that. On my own. I don't need a babysitter.", Lena said harshly. "I'm not crippled. I can still do things myself, especially dealing with ignorant people. I've done that all my life and it wasn't my eyesight which enabled me to do that."

Kara's eyes widened. "I- I would never suggest anything like that. I- I didn't mean for it to come across like that, Lena, I-", Kara swallowed and frowned. She cleared her throat, trying to stop herself from falling into a stuttering ramble again. "I will always stand up for you. I would have done the same thing before the fire too if I noticed someone harrassing you."

Lena twiddled with her cane. Kara's voice sounded sincere. And of course, Lena knew that she was indeed truthful about what she just said. That there weren't any malicious intentions behind her actions. She had only her best interests at heart. She always had.

Lena sighed deeply. "I- I know. I... I shouldn't have gotten so defensive. I'm sorry. I just... I just want to feel normal."

Kara furrowed her eyebrows and stepped closer. "You are normal, Lena, don't ever think any differently. You're still the brilliant, kind hearted badass you have always been. You don't need your eyesight for that. You're amazing. You've always been and you always will be."

Lena couldn't help the small smile spreading over her lips and the blushing of her cheeks. "Thank you.", she said quietly. "I... I needed to hear that."

"Hey, it's just the truth.", Kara smiled softly. She looked down. "I'll touch your hand, okay?"

Lena thought for a second, then shrugged and said with a smirk: "Why do that when you could just give me one of your incredibly comforting, big bear hugs."

Kara beamed. "Totally agreeing with that. I'm really good at hugs. Come here."

Lena chuckled and let Kara embrace her tightly. She wrapped her arms around her as well, resting her head near the crook of Kara's neck.

She couldn't prevent herself from inhaling Kara's scent. It made her feel even safer, even warmer.

She had found that since she lost one of her sense, sight, her other ones such as hearing and smelling had improved a little. Of course not to superhero level but still noticeable. She hadn't been too surprised by this, she had heard of studies before which proved that the brain rewired itself to compensate for the loss.

And for some reason, Kara's scent had grown to be her favorite, calming her and reassuring her that she wasn't alone in this endless literal darkness.

[bts5sosempire]

BTS Reaction: argument = kissing

A/n: this comes up to me in the middle of the night.

Kim Seokjin:

(A/n: his chest and shoulders can bulldozer me, I would still be thanking him.)

You don't know when you both starting to become petty with each other, one thing led to another as you were trying to calm down and Jin was heaving.

“If I heard one more word coming out of that mouth Jin, I won't regret what is going to be the outcome.” You warn the man as he rolls his eyes at you. Obviously, Jin isn't going to let you have the last word.

“Look here, if you thought that Mr. Worldwide would-”

In the speed of light and act of impulsiveness, you grab Jin face while he was still talking and kiss him to shut him up. Jin's eyes were wide at your boldness and he just relaxes into the kiss.

“You talk too much.” Saying in between the kisses, he rests his forehead against yours.

“I like this outcome,” he murmurs against your lips before the both of you stumble back onto the couch. He decides to forget what the heck you both were arguing about and so did you. You both just decide to make-out on the couch.

Min Yoongi:

Both you and Yoongi went out on a date and it ends up is a disaster as you were getting angry and fuming at the young girls who kept on clingy onto his arms and shoulders. It was supposed to be you and his moment, after all, since Yoongi has been busy with work and tour he barely gets free time off.

When you guys get home, you quietly walk into the shared apartment and throw all your stuff aside on the couch, you had decided to cut the date short and go home.

“We can still go on another date (Name), we still have time.” Yoongi tries to convince you, but you're obviously not having it.

“No, I don't want to anymore,” you huff out and walk into the kitchen and out with a soju in your hand, “it's going to be the same result anyway.”

“Look all I want to do was spend time with you, and this is what happened.” He was getting mad too.

“Don't tell me to 'look this is going to happen' bullcrap,” you raise your voice, which is something you rarely do but when and its a different outcome. “I barely get to see you, heck since we are often from different time zone when you're on tour I missed you badly. And those girls cling into you like a lifeline and you didn't bother to brush them off. I just- ughhhhh!” Stressing out more, you don't even want to talk to Yoongi anymore. “Forget it.”

You stood up and walk try to walk away but Yoongi isn't going to let you leave him. He grabs your arm and spins around to meet him, as he encircles his arms around your waist. Yoongi bends down to kiss you as he starts pushing you to walk backward to the shared bedroom.

Jung Hoseok:

You have been having a hard time convincing Hoseok to go and have fun for a least once now, as he was being cooped up inside his little studio. You don't when did the soul of Yoongi have entered him.

“Hoseok just once alright? You've been locked inside here for like almost a week now.”

“I'll come out when later.”

“That's what you said like three days ago...”

“Alright what do you want me to do?” Hoseok raises his voice at you. He put down his headphone and stood up to face you, who had a look of shock all over your face. “I've been trying to get work done all these last few days and all I heard was you telling me, ‘Hoseok let's go out today, Hosoek this Hoseok that’.”

“Well fine then, enjoy your life here, all I ask was for one day. Just one day where I can help you ease your mind and help you relax. I just think maybe new ideas would help you if you go out and find inspiration, but since you're so pissy I'll leave you alone.” You throw the anger back at him. Turning on your heels, you madly left.

Hoseok stood rooted to the ground as the door slammed didn't even registered in his mind. He was focusing on your words. All you ever wanted was for him to self-care.

“Crap,” Hoseok rush out of the room and chase after you. He wasn't about to lose you.

He saw you pressing the elevator button aggressively as your mood seems to burn everything that moves or cross your way. You're definitely mad. Hoseok saw you entered the elevator and sprint.

Just as the door was about to close, he extends an arm to stop the door from closing. “What do you want now?” Scowling at him, Hoseok pushes the door aside and bring you into a kiss.

“I'm sorry.” Was the only thing he said before he went back to kissing you.

Kim Namjoon:

The talk about philosophy was supposed to be light-hearted and entertaining to the open-minded, but things got intense as Namjoon and you add something else into the mixing pot.

“Namjoon, that isn't what I said!” You told the man who was sitting next to you and had his leg cross over one another. He took a sip of wine out of his glass cup elegantly.

“But the way you kept gushing over him told me otherwise.” He didn't spare you a glance.

“It was just an old crush from high school!” You took your own cup and grab the time bottle with you, “You're such an a-hole I don't like him that way anymore, maybe he would've understood me better instead of being petty with me.” Leaving Namjoon alone, his ears perk up at those words.

Are you kidding him? Namjoon stood up from the couch and walk after you, “What did you say?”

“You're the one who asks me about him and gets all butt hurt when I talk about him!” Shouting behind you, Namjoon entered the kitchen and sees you down the whole wine bottle and was in the process of opening another one.

“But you didn't have to talk like you're still in love with him,” Namjoon stops in front of you and you can't help it but roll your eyes once again.

“What's wrong with me admiring another person? Look Namjoon I wouldn't have dated you in the first place if I wasn't so in love with you.”

Namjoon places his glass down on the marble counter and grab your face as your eyes didn't meet his, “I shouldn't have asked about him in the first place. I'm just scared that you're still in love with him, but since hearing about you loving I already feel better.”

“You silly goofball.” Smiling and this time looking at him, you tiptoe to kiss him and he accepted the kiss.

Park Jimin:

Jimin insecurities got the best of him as he sees chatting with an older and much more handsome man, he's even tall too. He knows he shouldn't assume you, but he can't help it, the way he makes you laughs and smile. Jimin's mood already sinks so low that all emotions left his face.

“Alright thank you, Jong Suk Sunbaenim.” Thanking him you left to go fetch Jimin. You and Jimin got lost in a huge mall that had recently open and you have happened to meet Lee Jong Suk, who was your senior in the acting field. He was also like an older brother to you as you told him about your destination and situation and he was happy to help. “Jimin! Let's go!”

The man stood up from the bench and walk on ahead. You run to catch up with him. “Jimin we are on the wrong floor level, we are on the 3rd floor.” Showing him the map, you pointed out where you both are at right now and tell him where to go to.

Grabbing his hand he pulls away from you, which made you frown but didn't question his behavior. Jimin walks on ahead and you just trail behind him, not next to him.

It has been an hour into the date and he was still silent. Jimin didn't even look at you as he was busy picking out clothes. Your phone went off and you reach into your pocket and it was Jong Suk.

«‘Have you two made it?’»

Smiling down at your phone, you text back.

«‘Yeah we found it, thank you Sunbaenim! :)’»

Jimin who was observing you found you to be smiling and his mood turns sour. “Who are you texting?”

“Lee Jong Suk sunbaenim, why?" He scoffs before turning his back towards to you and went back doing his business. “What is your problem?” Standing up from your seat, you grab his arm and turn him around to face you again. “Why are you suddenly so cold to me? I am about to be at my limit to you know? I've been patient with you and if you don't tell me what is bothering you or what the heck I did wrong to make you mad and upset Jimin, I don't know what to do.” Jimin being stubborn grab his arm from your hold and walk away. “Fine, be that way then.”

Grabbing your bags and purse, you walk out on him and decide to go home.

You happened to bump into your Sunbaenim again, as he saw how upset you were. “What happened this time?”

You ironically laugh at the question. “I don't know, boyfriend is stupid and upset at me and doesn't tell me what's going on.” Jong Suk seated you down on an empty bench, so you both can have a better talk. Jimin who feel guilty about his action decide to chase after you right after you left. He stops and sees you talking to Jong Suk while wiping your tears away while you try not to cry, but failed to do so.

“(Name),” Jimin appear from his spot and Jong Suk stood up to leave. But not before giving the younger one a lecture.

“If you keep upsetting my little sister like this, I have no choice but to take action against you.” He warns Jimin as he patted him on the shoulder. “She's really sensitive, stop making her cry.” Jong Suk then left.

Jimin to console you. He started saying strings of apologies and kissing your cheeks before hugging you.

Kim Taehyung:

Taehyung doesn't know what is running through his mind when he saw you dancing with another male. The man was touching you and grinding on you, but he didn't see you were trying to get away as you feel uncomfortable. Or did he?

You try to pull and walk away from the man, but he just grabbed your waist and pull you closer to him. “Excuse me, but could you please let me go?” The man seems to ignore your words and his hands were all over you. Taehyung stood up from his seat and grab you from the guy. And the guy was pissed off.

“Hey, can't you see I was dancing with her?”

“She's my girlfriend so you can buzz off.” Taehyung harshly pulls you along with him and you both left the club early.

“I was thinking when you were going to come and-”

“Why didn't you push or walk away from him?"

“I did, but he kept trying to pull me back. You didn't think that I wasn't trying?”

“You didn't seem like it.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” You let out a breath of disbelief, “You know what? F you Taehyung, don't think of me so low as a cheap woman, I've been nothing but loyal to you so don't go and start doubting me. I told you this was a bad idea in the first place.”

“So this is my fault?”

“I'm not even going to argue with you. I'll take my own cab and leave you to cool off while I do the same.” You turn to walk the opposite way and try to flag down a cab.

“You and I need to talk,” Taehyung went to grab your arm.

“Not like this when you and I are both angry,” you pull back and continue to flag down a cab.

“I didn't ask you.” He pulls you away to an alleyway. “I don't like the way he kept touching you, it drives me insane.” He starts kissing you. He hoists one of your legs to wrap around his waist. “I'll make sure all you remember is me.” Taehyung starts getting aggressive with the kiss.

Jeon Jungkook:

You both were arguing over a video game about cheating and who win or lose the game. This ends up being a wrestling match as Jungkook ended up accidentally tripping the wire to the PS4, making you lose your winning streaks.

You let out a screech and continue to hit him until he ended up elbowing your nose and it gets serious as a pool of red, coated your white shirt, or his shirt to be exact that you're wearing.

So you both end up on the couch and with you sulking and told him to go away. “I hate you, leave me alone you cheater.”

“Okay, I'm sorry.” He coddles you and starts kissing your cheeks and forehead to make you feel better. Jungkook pulls you into his lap and singing to you.

It didn't take long to get you to be happy.

(A/n: I'm running out of ideas for this boy lol.)

[panucas]

The ‘straight’ girl and the library / It’s not easy being part of a family!

Had this idea *cough* dream *cough* about a girl falling in love with a librarian but librarian lady had a small daughter so now I'm trying to write it might take a big ass time but for a first chapter I don’t think this is bad (it’s 4 am excuse me for any mistakes made)

Komatsu was never that girly. Ever since she was little she liked boys things ‘But who doesn't at that age?’ she always thought. But she grew up and learned how to put on make up, dyed her hair, the usual teenage stuff, it didn't mean she liked it but she felt obligation to her parents since they always gushed at how cute their daughter was and how womanly she had to become. Get a good husband and give them grandchildren.

It was a particularly cloudy day with 76% chance of rain, the news said, when she decided to go out with her new boyfriend on a date. ‘I hope I didn't come too soon...’ Komatsu ended up sighing. 4 minutes till her date time and she already had waited 10. ‘But why do I have to come sooner? It’s not like guys mind if I'm a bit late, what’s their problem?’ her friends had told her it was cute and proper for a girl to show up early because it was... ‘cute’. Their wording.

‘Cute my ass!’ Komatsu thought ‘If they don’t like it it’s not on me! Just because I've been dumped...’ she started counting with her fingers as she was thinking ‘… 8 times was it?’

‘Komatsuuuuu!’

Great. Her date had arrived.

‘Hibiki you’re late!’ He was. 2 minutes.

‘Sorry, sorry the train was crowded. Did you see the news? It might rain today.’

‘I didn't really, is it bad? Can we still go to the park?’

‘I thought we could maybe hit the library instead? It’s a 76% chance of rain or something.’

‘A date? In the library? Are you crazy that’s so boring.’

‘C’mon, Komatsu that way I can also see the new sports magazine! Came out yesterday.’

So that was the reason he didn't mind the rain, his favourite sports magazine had come out recently.

‘Well ok we can go then. But! You owe me a decent date!’

‘Yeah yeah, thank you Komatsu! Love you lots!’

The walk to the library was somewhat dull and boring, Komatsu thought. Just holding hands and not much talking.

When getting there first thing to do was find an empty table but the only one available was near the counter, so it had to do.

‘Hibiki, I'm gonna grab some drinks from the vending machine we just passed through. Want something?’

‘Huh? Oh yeah sure black coffee would be great if you don’t mind, thank you.’ Hibiki was already reading the magazine and not paying much attention to anything else.

Komatsu gladly got up and made her way outside to the vending machines by the convenience store near the library. It had started to drizzle a bit but nothing serious, still far from full on rain, when she spotted a lady with her hand stuck in the snacks vending machine.

‘Wow she’s really getting in there huh? Looks frustrated to boot. Weirdly cute.’ Komatsu thought. A woman that looked in her early 30’s (maybe 20’s-ish) with brown hair in a ponytail, stripped sweater topped with a black apron was trying to take her hand out, or maybe it was the snack too? While whispering things to herself.

‘If she works at the store she can just ask for help from a senior. Wait maybe she can’t? Maybe she’s the senior and doesn't wanna be seen like that. I feel you lady!’

The closer Komatsu got the more she could hear the struggle.

‘C’mon! Get! Out! Here! I’m hungry! I just wanted to eat why did this thing had to get stuck? Who makes a bag this size and puts it in a machine in the first place if you cant get it out? And who even buys it? Me apparently… God!’

‘Do you- Can I help maybe? Is it just you on your shift? Or I can get someone from the store maybe?’ she offered. Didn't hurt to help since she also needed to use the vending machine.

‘What?’ The woman finally looked up. ‘Oh thanks I just… I can’t take my lunch out and really need to eat you know? Now is the only time I could come to the vending machine to grab something and the thing just! It doesn't want to give me my food even though it ate my money so well.’ She stuck the tongue out at the machine in a fit. Now that Komatsu looked better how was it that the ponytail was still hanging? And the glasses were almost falling out, but the woman looked young and cute all dishevelled like that.

‘Here let me help.’ Komatsu said while taking the glasses off and cleaning them with her shirt before putting them in the woman’s face again. She then crouched enough so she could put her hand in the machine herself and take the woman’s lunch.

‘Thank you so much! I would've given up eventually but I think the library isn't that full right now because of the rain.’

So she worked in the library not the convenience store.

‘I'm Komatsu.’

‘Oh sorry! Natsuki nice to meet you. And thank you once again.’

‘No problem, we've all been there. Want a drink? Came to get one for me and my boyfriend but might as well get you one too since you’re going to be eating. Truth is I don’t really want to go back inside right now since he’s going to be distracted with sports magazines and I didn't even bring my homework. It was supposed to be a date you know? But rain and stuff.’

‘Sure! Then let me buy you a snack too. As a thank you.’

The two of them kept themselves near the wall so the rain didn't hit them, amongst the interaction it started to rain fully so the best spot was there. They also had been talking for about 15 minutes before Natsuki had to go back to work and Komatsu followed her shortly after.

‘You know if you’re going to eat just that for lunch, in the afternoon no less, why not bring something from home?’ Tact was the one thing people said she didn't have and it was not girly at all, but Komatsu didn't mind, she could fake the rest but not her personality. ‘Sorry! Dumb question, you’re probably busy to make it. Or… laziness?’

Natsuki laughed. ‘Are you like that to everyone you just meet?’

‘What, amazing? I think like to think so.’

‘I meant direct. I have a daughter in pre-school so I can’t make it in the mornings, does that answer it?’

‘It actually does. But you still should eat at decent hours. And more than that. Buy something from the convenience store instead of the vending machine.’

They had arrived at the counter.

‘Well but isn't the vending machine faster? Is that your boyfriend over there?’

‘Yeah I’ll just give him the coffee give me one second.’

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking random things, getting to know each other and every time Komatsu glanced at her boyfriend she thought that, maybe he wasn't for her since he didn't even lift his head from the pile of magazines he had with him to check on his girlfriend.