#all because of queue i believe in angels

[ciciyup]

Yandere! Apollo X Fem! Human reader headcanons.

cw: Little nsfw, obsession, possessiveness, dark themes, cheating? (I don't know how I should categorize it, but it's not a direct hoax), angst, kidnapping, forced marriage.

🏹 a/n: This is the first yandere! What do I do, I hope I did well. I was feeling quite inspired so I think a little story formed as well.

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Apollo has never been one to worry, he is the epitome of beauty, no other God in the pantheon was as beautiful as he was. Being surrounded by women and men who are not only there beside him, but also queue for his attention, is something Apollo enjoys, attention and all eyes on him was something he loved.

He doesn't need to lower himself and have less, he must have all the best, that includes the most beautiful people, which was not a problem. Nymphs, goddesses and even mortals, rained down on him in droves, although the latter could not matter less to him.

Sometimes, among the millions of mortals that inhabited the earth, Apollo chose those who could stand out the most and had a unique beauty to take them with him. Sure they had always been adventures, he had fun with them, but that was all.

On one of his many trips around the earth he found you. He saw you picking oranges from a large tree, carefully storing them in your basket that was almost full. You were... Perfect. Your hair moved in time with the pleasant breeze of the day, your eyes were brighter than the stars, your smile could heal sore eyes, your voice was like hearing the singing of angels. You were so beautiful.

He didn't care much about you at first if he had to admit it. You seemed very common, very normal, just another mortal woman, however, something made him go to you. He didn't need to do much, just introduce himself and talk nonsense. You were nothing but nice and kind, you offered to help him find his way if he was lost, you asked him if he was hungry and offered him an orange.

He just looked for silly excuses to make more time and get to know you better, he lamented when you told him that your family was waiting for you and you couldn't stay. He watched your form as you left his vision until you were lost, your beautiful floral dress disappearing into the crowd and being replaced by sad shades of colors from people walking on their own path.

What made you so special? Was it the way you were so kind and modest with everyone else? Was it the way you saw things? Apollo, not having enough, kept seeing you regularly on different occasions, strangely always appearing out of nowhere when you were alone in some places or doing your own tasks. At first, it didn't seem strange to you, you thought it was just a coincidence, which made Apollo take advantage of your naivety even more.

Apollo thought you would fall at his feet as soon as he saw you, he wouldn't even need three days to leave you enchanted, but then it happens and he hits reality. He discovers that you are not interested in him in the slightest, at least not in the way he wants. You don't even worship the gods, you're not interested in them, you don't bring offerings or pray to them like other mortals. You don't lose yourself in him, you don't beg for attention, you don't adore him, you just see him as if he were just another man and that made Apollo's blood boil.

So when Apollo proposes to you and to go with him, you politely decline, feeling flattered, but refusing because you don't love him and you don't feel the same way. Apollo's face contorts, his brow furrows quickly and he tries to hide his inner side as best he can. His ego felt hurt, was he rejected by a mere mortal?

You move on with your life, Apollo seemed to have taken it well and wasn't upset, that's what you believed after he left. When you think everything is fine, he arrives silently to take what is his, what belonged to him from the beginning. No more games, there would be no more facades of the just and understanding God, he lets the true face of the coin come to light, then you don't have time to react.

He takes you, sees you walking towards your house and surprises you there. Your basket falls with a thud and the fruit falls scattered all over the floor, but no one else was there anymore.

Upon arriving at his kingdom, Apollo introduces you to it as your new home, showing you all the places keeping you close, holding your wrist so you wouldn't run away, even though there was nowhere to run, you were too far from earth and you wouldn't be coming back, he would make sure of that.

You resist for a long time, you don't want to talk to him or look at him or kiss him or touch him, you don't want his presence. Apollo doesn't want to be mean to you, he really doesn't, but your impertinence pissed him off, and when you didn't learn things there were consequences.

He pushes you into a room after you refused to sleep with him in what would be your shared room, the room was cold and almost empty, it had a mirror and a small couch, it didn't seem to be very frequented by anyone, since you could even see cracks in the walls. He dared to leave you there for almost four days, without seeing you even once, without leaving you food or water or any other basic resources, and when he decided to see you, believing that you had learned your lesson, he found you on the floor of the room almost dying.

You were pale, your lips dry, you could barely move, your stomach hurt from the lack of food and your throat was crying out for some water.

As he carried you to his shared room and laid you there, as he watched you eat the food voraciously and drink more than six glasses of water, as he watched you rest covered by the finest and warmest blankets on his bed, yes, now you would learn that things would be his way, you had no say in any decision, you would only focus on him.

And even after you became his beloved, faithful and devoted wife with the finest jewelry and the most beautiful dresses, he would remain the same, not even for you would he change. As you sat on a rock in front of the beautiful landscape of the place thinking about everything he had taken from you, Apollo was no less than a meter away from you in the hot springs with the nymphs at his side, each one laughing and talking to him, hugging and tracing his chest with their thumbs at the slightest opportunity. He relaxed with each one, every now and then, ignoring your presence, ignoring your pain.

Still, he refused to let you go. He didn’t care about silly nymphs, they were just for hanging out and feeling adored, if he didn’t have you he had nothing. He wanted you by his side, in the hot springs, on another throne next to him, in meetings with other gods, he wanted you.

It was only a matter of time, he would fuck you so hard you would carry his child and then he would finally have you with no chance of escape. He would take you every night in his marital bed and fill your belly until it was full and swollen, he would bury himself deep inside you to fill you again and again with his seed and he would claim you. You were his. You were from the first moment he saw you.

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🏹 a/n: I didn't think I would like it so much but in the end I really liked the result. I wrote it in less than two hours, although it is revised I am sorry if there are any errors. I was thinking of doing more yandere! For other characters, I like the theme. I have ideas for the next one so wait for it (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

—cici🏹

[cacoetheswriting]

eddie my love | the right where you left me. epilogue

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) word count: 4.1k

summary: in a frantic hurry, Eddie Munson admits he’s in love with you and to his pleasant surprise, the world doesn’t end. quite the opposite actually. it keeps spinning. maybe even a little bit faster? especially when, against your nature, you agree to stay.

content warnings: forced proximity, friends-to-enemies-to-lovers, slow burn, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, emotional hurt / comfort, a little angsty but overall fluff era, some serious mutual pining, use of pet names, plus mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, recreational drug use, discusses sobriety, also touches on topics of: death, grief, toxic relationships, self-doubt / insecurities, love triangle, unrequited love — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

To say a lot happened the night of your High School graduation should probably be considered an understatement. Lives changed. Drunken decisions made in a matter of seconds, by you, your friends, they affected the trajectory of everyone’s individual future like some fucked up Butterfly Effect, or whatever the hell the phenomenon is called.

A dramatic chain of events unfolded in front of your very eyes, but rather unfortunately, you don’t remember most of what occurred because you were dancing along that thin line of a mild hangover the next day and completely blackout drunk (queue instead a horrible hangover).

One thing stands out, for sure. The big thing. A motive (of sorts) that swayed the reasonings of your later dilemma: stay or leave.

Eddie Munson admitted his feelings for you, his best friend. 

Sitting on a lounge chair in the back garden of Chrissy Cunnigham’s mansion-of-a-house. Your head resting on his shoulder, talking about plans for the summer, and beyond. With a shaky hand, Eddie removes the plastic cup from your grasp and intertwines his fingers with yours. He takes in a deep breath, which you can hear him exhale despite your inhibitions.

“I like you,” the metal-head says.

You giggle next to him, gaze glued to where his thumb presses into your wrist.

“Well, duh. We’re friends, asshat. I’d be surprised if you didn’t like me.”

Eddie shakes his head and twists, facing you. When you catch his pretty brown eyes, your cheeks bloom because there’s something behind his gaze that’s different to any other time he’s looked at you — which, for all accounts and purposes, is actually quite a lot.

“I like you as eh, as more than a friend.”

Upon hearing his admission, your heart fills with joy, growing like a balloon only inside your chest. The world stops spinning and for a split-second you feel stone cold sober. Eddie like-likes you. That fact makes you giddy because he’s perhaps the best person you have ever met and undeniably, he would make a phenomenal boyfriend.

But reality seeps in and a needle approaches the balloon faster than you’d like. A prick in the form of your ex-boyfriend Billy, who is the only other person on this Earth that’s ever admitted to liking you as anything other than platonic. That is until he died and although you can’t exactly prove the theory that people who love you die — since that list is only one, and that’s not enough data for any scientific research — you still don’t feel like tempting fate. Especially because now it’s Eddie saying these nice things and you need him as a friend more than you need him as something different.

“Eddie…”

“Look, I-I just… We could be really happy, angel. If you just gave me a chance.”

The memory is a little hazy. You want to believe you let him down gently, because that would be easier to digest considering what happened later that same night, but a part of you knows there was nothing gentle about how you handled his heart — Eddie’s version of the story corroborates this feeling you’ve carried.

A shove and quick escape from his grasp. Some irrational yelling about not seeing him in the same light and a very defensive stance on how he could do this to you, as if he’d committed some cardinal sin. There’s begging to forget about him ever saying anything (on his part) and some tears (also on his part). And the topic is put to bed. For now, you remain friends. The balloon has popped.

“I need a minute,” Eddie announces without looking at you and walks back into the house.

For a minute, you’re devastated. Thinking you made a mistake reacting the way you did, you consider running after the metal-head and apologising, blaming your nerves since you’d never actually admit out loud that Billy’s death has fucked you up in any considerable way. Then someone hands you a drink and as you down the burning liquid, you forget all about Eddie’s sad expression.

One foot in front of the other, you follow in his general direction with the intention of finding your girlfriends, Robin and Nancy. You want to tell them what just happened, while it’s still fresh in your mind. Instead, you bump into Steve Harrington.

Although it’s no excuse, it all happens really fast.

In the kitchen, you do a couple shots together, laughing and maybe even flirting. Definitely flirting. You don’t mean to. He’s just really fucking handsome and he’s showing interest a) because he finds you to be smoking hot, b) because he’s just as drunk as you, and c) because he has no idea his friend Eddie finally told you how he feels about you.

Bumping bodies, you move through the crowd of your classmates to find someplace private. Steve’s hand is on your waist as you do and a fire ignites within your gut. An emotional connection isn’t something you’re ready for quite yet, but something strictly physical? Well, you want this guy and you want him bad.

Steve’s mouth is on yours before the door even shuts behind him and the rumours are true: The King is a damn good kisser.

He’s got one hand at the back of your neck, the other strategically placed on the curve of your ass, squeezing. He smirks against your parted mouth, then lightly bites your bottom lip before leaning back down and the suave in his movements, the confidence, it all catches you off guard. Although, that could also be the alcohol. You’re both very tipsy.

Suddenly, your feet are up, off the ground. Legs wrapped around Steve’s waist as he props you against the closed door, closing that gap between you further. His mouth is hot against your skin, working its way across your jaw and down the nape of your neck.

At first, you don’t hear the knock on the door. Too lost in the sensation of Steve’s sultry voice, possessive touch, and honestly, literal BDE. But the knocking gets louder and then a voice calls out. A tone you know all too well. You freeze, once again feeling momentarily sober.

Eddie’s trying to push inside. He’s complaining about the resistance until he manages to get his foot in and Steve pokes his head of hair out.

“Dude,” is all Harrington says.

“Shit man, sorry,” Eddie fumbles, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

The expression fades quickly, however, since in the mirror across, Eddie spots your reflection. Hiding behind Steve’s frame, head buried in his shoulder. Your gaze is peeking out, staring ahead into the mirror too.

“What the fuck?”

Steve sees the look on his friend's face and realises immediately how badly he just messed up. He drops his hold on you and stumbles backwards into the room, allowing Eddie to open the door wider and step inside.

The metal-head doesn’t really care about his mate’s apology. His attention is solely fixated on you. The girl he’s into wholeheartedly and rather desperately. Also the girl who mere twenty minutes ago heard him spill his guts on the matter, and rather ungraciously, shot him down.

He’s angry. Why not him? How come you’re into Steve and not him?

“Fuck- Are you seriously going to listen to me tell you how I feel about you, then try and jump into bed with fucking Harrington?” Eddie’s in disbelief, instantly yelling with his arms stretched out as if he’s daring you to fight back. “You’re both supposed to be my fucking friends!”

“Dude, I-I didn’t know you finally said something.” Steve tries to intervene and calm his friend down. “Fuck, man, it’s no excuse but we’re both kinda drunk and this doesn’t mean anything.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and shoves Harrington out of the way before once again, peering directly back at you. You, who doesn’t want to indulge in this nonsense right now since it was just a stupid kiss. So, you turn back out into the hallway, hoping to find another drink. 

Your best friend is hot on your heels. He grabs your arm, spins you around. 

“You couldn’t even wait a day to soften the fucking blow?!”

“I fucking told you, Eddie,” you snap back, trying to free yourself from his grasp. “I don’t fucking feel the same way!” 

Even though it’s not entirely true. At this moment in time, you’ve had one too many drinks and it’s easier to ignore, push down what you actually feel towards him, than address it. People you love die, the devil on your shoulder hisses.

“It’s just a stupid hookup,” you tell him. “You’re not my keeper, Eddie. Leave me the fuck alone.”

Eddie’s silent for a moment. The rage on his face disappears for a split-second, showcasing the sadness and heartbreak you’ve just caused. And if you were sober, you would’ve noticed it sooner – in the moment, as opposed to the next morning when you replayed this interaction in your head. But you’re wasted and Eddie annoyed you by announcing his feelings out of the blue.

“Do you realise you just shit on everything we’ve ever shared?!” Eddie’s pointing a finger, it’s close to your face and your anger spikes.

That’s when you definitely shove him. Or maybe you slap him? He’s suddenly holding your hand either way, preventing you from making this fucked up situation ten times worse, although, in your inebriated state, you don’t really care about optics. Jesus Christ, you don’t really care about anything other than finding another drink.

Undeniably hurt and riled, Eddie on the other hand wants answers and he wants them now. He pulls you through the next open door he sees and kicks it with a thud, right in Steve’s face. No witnesses because maybe if you two are alone, he’ll get you to tell him the truth: what makes Harrington better than him?

What transpires instead is a screaming match you don’t entirely remember the full details of.

Until that moment, you and Eddie have never fought. Not even a silly little argument over the most miniscule thing. He’s been your peace. He’s kept you grounded. Even when Billy talked shit in your ear about the metal-head, you always stood up for the curly-haired boy (much to your then-boyfriend’s dismay). 

Standing in Chrissy’s childhood bedroom, your life explodes in front of your drunken eyes. You’re too lost in the alcohol wave to fully understand the repercussions of your words and even worse, your actions. Eddie however, he’s stone-cold sober. He’ll remember every single excruciating detail of this argument, and surrounding reasons, until the day his days on this Earth run out.

Which is why — in the heat of the moment — he calls you a slut and shoves the gifted red guitar pick into your grasp, no longer wanting to have any reminder of how much you mean to him on his body. You don’t want it either. Feeling like he’s policing you, plus that disgusting slut comment, you feel like severing this friendship. So you approach the window and before Eddie knows what’s happening, you throw the piece of plastic out the window.

Then, for good measure, you flip him off.

“Your behaviour is fucking desperate,” he spits in response.

“Fuck you, Eddie.”

You leave him stewing in his own misery, slamming into his arm on your way out the door, and head back downstairs to rejoin the party.

A group of jocks is playing beer pong. One of them whistles in your direction, tipping his head towards the table, a wordless invitation to join them. You do. One game turns to two, then three. The taste of beer is rude on your tongue, even harsher on your stomach, and you’re reminded — a little too late — never decline the strength of your poison. If you must mix, the only way is up.

Excusing yourself, you stagger towards the front door. Fresh air slaps you in the face, doing very little to prolong the inevitable. In fact, it speeds it up. Bending over a plant pot, brown flume, a mix of vodka and beer, spills out of you in waves.

That’s the last thing you remember.

Eddie, having heard a string of apologies from his mate Steve, wants nothing more than to go home, smoke a joint and forget about this wretched night. He pushes through his drunken classmates, fetching a cigarette from the inside of his jacket. With the bud between his lips, he makes it outside, only to stop dead in his tracks.

You’re leaning against the porch railing.

Hesitantly, Eddie walks around you. His first instinct is to completely ignore the girl who broke his heart not even a half-hour ago, so after he hops onto the grass, lighting the cigarette, he’s really doing his best not to turn around. Then you make a coughing sound. An even worse sound follows after and the metal-head closes his eyes momentarily because he knows he can’t leave you here. Not like this.

“Come on, let’s go.”

He’s by your side, propping you up against him. Carefully, he guides your right arm around his neck and slides his left one around your waist. Stumbling over your own two feet, you barely make a straight line. Eddie’s holding you. Kicking rocks and twigs out of the way, so you don’t accidentally trip over them, sending both of you falling. 

Eventually approaching the van, Eddie helps you into the passenger seat, clicking the seatbelt into place. His gaze scans yours and before he can help himself, Eddie places a gentle hand on your cheek. Thumb grazes along your muscle as your drunken eyes dilate. Something close to a smile tugs at your lips and Eddie’s heart clenches in his throat because he knows, judging by the glazed look on your face, you won’t remember this part of the night. Only the earlier fight.

Dropping his hand, Eddie offers you a bottle of water from the glove compartment and watches you take a few sips before closing the door. He jogs around the front of the car, sliding in behind the wheel. There’s one last longing look shot in your direction, but you’re not paying attention. Gazing instead out the window, into the night.

The drive to the Wheeler residence is silent.

In fact, no words are exchanged until Eddie helps you into bed.

Having taken off your bile-covered shirt and skirt, the metal-head lifts the sheet covers and guides you under. He places the half-drank bottle of water on the bedside table and is about to switch off the light, walk out and hope tomorrow you’re in a mood to talk, when you say his name. Faintly, at first. He’s not sure he’s even heard anything, or if his mind is playing tricks. Then you say it again, with more conviction, and when Eddie looks at you — what will happen to be the last time for the next three years — you reach for him.

“Thank you,” you croak when he hesitantly takes your hand.

Eddie squeezes your palm, eventually forcing himself to let it go.

“Always.”

Then you close your eyes, letting sleep take over, and Eddie drops your hand before walking out — this time without stealing a last glance.

Three years later and the lie of that always has finally stopped gnawing at the metal-head.

In a frantic hurry, Eddie Munson admits he’s in love with you and to his pleasant surprise, the world doesn’t end. Quite the opposite actually. It keeps spinning. Maybe even a little bit faster? Especially when, against your nature, you agree to stay.

Sitting together on the deck, feet dancing with the cold water beneath, you and Eddie talk.

A conversation that should have been had the morning after Chrissy’s infamous graduation party. Instead, a hangover of shame clouded your judgement back then, and Eddie’s ability to hold a grudge definitely didn’t help the matter.

Perhaps parting ways, not speaking for years — and getting sober — then circling the subject all weekend until it was almost too late, well, maybe all of that was for the best. It helped evolve you two into the people you are right this very moment. Two people who are finally willing to accept the love they definitely deserve.

“I uh,” Eddie clears his throat.

“You love me,” you say, tilting your head slightly in his direction.

He nods, once, slowly, then meets your eyes. 

“I do.” Eddie affirms, “A lot, actually.”

A smile circles your lips.

“That’s nice.”

He scoffs a laugh, bumping your arm with his own.

“Well, fuck me then. I guess I take it back,” he teases and you playfully roll your eyes, telling him he can’t.

“All our friends heard you say it,” you point out.

Eddie smacks his lips together, pondering, and your gaze instantly shifts downwards from his chocolate-button eyes, landing shamelessly on his mouth. You want to kiss him, but that would be counterproductive. The spell is only broken when you feel the tips of his fingers reach for your own, currently resting on the wooden deck between.

Letting him hold your hand, you look out onto the lake.

“I had a really good weekend with you,” you admit quietly.

Eddie gently squeezes your fingers and after a beat of silence, he says, “I quit my job.”

Before your head even snaps back in his direction, eyes wide in disbelief, he lifts his free hand in the air to stop you from questioning his actions and jumping to conclusions, and continues talking.

“During breakfast, when you said we’ve only been surface level, I knew you were lying and I realised in that moment just how truly scared you are to feel happy because of what happened to Billy.” The metal-head explains, “After I stormed off, I called my boss at the station and I told him I’m quitting because I decided to come with you to Vegas.”

“Eddie—”

“Shh woman, let me talk,” he stops you with a timid smile. “I aim to prove to you, it’s okay to move on and leave the past in the past. The only way I can do that is if we’re in the same city.”

Life in Las Vegas became fuller with Eddie Munson by your side.

Your tiny apartment suddenly doesn’t feel as suffocating when the metal-head fills it with his trinkets, collection of vinyls, and gradually decorates the empty walls with prints and posters. Eddie gives your now shared home, life and in return you help him find a presenter job at a nearby station — a daytime slot, so you don’t have to spend your evenings alone anymore.

As weeks pass, you introduce him to the wellness hobbies you’ve picked up over the years. Hiking, yoga. Seemingly not a good fit for the dark academia vibe of your non-labeled boyfriend, but Eddie dives into these activities head first because they’re a part of the person you’ve become in his absence and this challenge he’s created (and accepted) for himself — “it’s okay to move on” — requires him to be completely willing.

Next on the agenda of assimilation is meeting your Vegas friends. 

Jax being first on the list and although you worried about a potential stand-off of male egos, the two guys click immediately, mainly bonding over their shared priority: your happiness. Later on, at a house party Jax throws, Eddie meets the remainder of your new friend group: Chiti, Savannah, and Sammy. People the metal-head only recently became aware of, but a group that undoubtedly cares for you just as deeply as the Hawkins crew.

And speaking of which, they eventually also make their way down to visit — as promised. The six of you cram into your small apartment, squeeze like sardines in a metal tin, but no one complains because you’re together again, if only for a short period of time.

When it’s just you and Eddie, Earth slows down.

His willingness to simply be there for you makes your heart grow tenfold, and you become more and more obsessed with him. Every single morning, brown-eyes find yours and he whispers he loves you, then kisses you softly. Never once forcing you to say it back, although you feel it. With every fiber of your being, stronger each day, you feel the love you have for him.

One evening, about four months into living together, labeless, but with certain strings attached, the two of you are cooking dinner together. Eddie has just come home from work and you wrapped up an assignment, it’s quiet and blissful.

Sitting at the kitchen island, while Eddie is chopping vegetables and telling you about his day, you realise that it has been a while since you’ve thought about Billy. Honestly, if you had to say, you wouldn’t be able to point out at all when exactly your dead ex-boyfriend crossed your mind for the last time.

And you realise right then and there, you’re no longer scared. Eddie has completed his challenge.

So, without giving it a second thought, you blurt out the three words he’s been longing to hear from you for as long as he can remember.

“I love you.”

His head snaps up, gaze catching yours. Seeing the conviction written all over your features, he drops the knife onto the wooden board and rounds the cabinets, approaching you like a moth to flame. His ring-clad fingers grip your face gently and he’s fighting back a smile, which makes your own mouth twitch upwards.

“Are you sure?”

He’s not certain exactly why he asks the question. Maybe because he wants to hear you utter those words again, and you do, with even more fervour.

Nodding, you say, “I love you, hotshot.”

Grinning like an idiot, Eddie lowers his body, lips smashing against yours in an elated kiss because you love him, and he loves you, and all is going to be okay. The past is the past. You’ve both overcome the associated demons and now you’re here, together. 

In love.

-

Parking your car at the desired destination, you glance out the half-opened window and note how the weather is far from ideal for the planned activities. 

It’s cold. Cold enough to make anyone's atoms shiver. Dark grey clouds cover every inch of the sky above, hiding the beautiful autumn sun. The air is brisk. It’s harsh against your skin as you eventually get out of the red Jeep and the unwelcoming breeze that follows makes you wish that you had packed warmer clothes for this weekend.

Déjà vu.

A heavy jacket is draped over your shoulders and you smile, tugging it closer to yourself while looking behind for its wild-haired owner. Eddie winks at you, then opens the boot to grab both of your bags as the door of the lake house swings open and Nancy runs out, arms spread wide as she squeals with excitement.

“You’re both here!”

The hug Nancy gives you is strong, almost full force — pretty much the same as the one she embraced you in at exactly this time last year, in this very same spot. Her arms are wrapped tightly around you and you instantly hug her back, a small smile circling your lips.

“Of course we’re here,” you tell her, pulling back. “It’s not every day your friends organise a weekend getaway to celebrate their engagement!”

She beams and not-so-casually lifts her hand to show off the elegant rock gracing her ring finger. Then, just as quickly, she pulls you by the arm, into another quick embrace and whispers in your ear, “You’re next.”, earning herself a nudge in the side because, even though, you’ve been going steady with the metal-head for just under a year, you’re nowhere near ready for marriage.

Although, marrying Eddie Munson would be far from a travesty.

After saying hello to your brunette boyfriend, Nancy leads you both into the lakehouse. Not much has changed inside, yet the wow effect is still as strong. The rest of the group — Jonathan, Steve, Argyle, Robin — are sitting outside, on the patio. They jump up excitedly when they see you and Eddie, greeting you both like no time has passed (because really, it’s only been a couple of weeks).

Eddie makes himself comfortable next to you, hand on your thigh. He instantly engages in conversation with Jonathan, while you look at Steve. He offers you a cigarette, then lights the bud for you. After a moment of huffing smoke, he leans in closer and with a tender smile on his face says:

“It’s nice to finally see you happy, sweetheart.”

And this time around, right here, in this place where, last year, you’ve reconnected with not only yourself, but the best people in the world, where you met Eddie Munson all over again, opened yourself up to him and fell in the process, the sentiment surrounding your joy is true.

“I am,” you say, leaning your back into Eddie. The primary source of your happiness. Yours forever.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

to all you babes, thank you for loving this little labour of love. i literally can’t believe we’re at the end of this story 🥲 obsessed with every single person that’s liked, reblogged, commented, and overall enjoyed reading this fic. i love you all forever and ever - until next time!

lastly, tagging some cool people that expressed ongoing interest in this story:

@ali-r3n @thelazyarchangel @hufflepuffobsessedwithmarvel @peculiarwren @fxoxo @losingmygrasponreality @kellsck @sp1dyb0y1008 @mmmunson @somethingvicked @darknesseddiem @scream4mami @pineapplechuncks @sophiejayne-illustrations713 @emxxblog @bl0ssomanddie @theladyhellfire @gracelouiseoneill @emquinn94 @transparent-enemy @rach5ive @knew-better-forever-girl-two @lemonmarquee @mossgh0st @probablyin-bed @dustbowleddie @residentoftomlinsonsass @heart-eyed-love @munsonburn3r @helsa3942 @althaiareads @theladyhellfire @v1per1ne @sugarplumsweetiepie @rizzraa @micheledawn1975 @gracelouiseoneill @moremaple @bigpoppascherry @jeangeniex @daisy-munson @ceeezy @kissmyacdc @cyressluvy @mango-slush-boba @iyskgd @bigpoppascherry @everlove @tieganspeirs

[ponderingmoonlight]

oooo sanemi request - idea - you're training to be a new haishra and are very very very very nice to everyone, queue tragic af backstory and you believe in kindness IDK ok, cruelty made sure you kept your heart soft, but when you are FIGHTING there is nothing but darkness what happens when that trance doesn't leave you for a while & to snap out of it only sanemi is enough?

It's the tiniest bit different from what you requested, but I hope you like it anyway! Also, thank you so much for your cover suggestions 🤍

Sanemi Shinazugawa pulling you out of your trance with his own methods

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: What a kind and tender soul you are, loved by everyone around you. Until you get into a fight. Until the only person who is able to pull you back to reality is the wind hashira coming to safe you.

Warnings: average sanemi language, fluff fluff fluff, some spelling errors since I wasn't able to finish proofreading

„Me telling him? Are you actually insane? You’re the one Kocho-san sent”

“But you came with me. You go tell him!”

“Ain’t no way!”

“Telling me what?”

Their blood freezes in their veins instantly. Over and over, the wind hashira made it all too clear that they aren’t allowed to let you alone. Never. Not on a mission, not when there’s a high risk of you losing yourself. Because once you’re gone, there’s only one person who’s able to pull you back into reality.

“Well…(y/n)-sama…She…”

They don’t even have to finish this sentence for Sanemi to know exactly what’s going on. Are you okay? Are you facing some strong demons at the moment? His heart overfills with rage and anxiety to the point where he can’t take it anymore.

“Didn’t I tell you fools every single fucking time to look out of her? Useless brats. Show me where she is”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

It takes all his inner strength to not slam them into a tree nearby. Those fucking jerks had one job. That’s why he always insists on coming with you, because what if you lose yourself again with no way out but him? What if he’s too far away to drag you into safety in time?

“Hurry the fuck up!”

“Please don’t worry about me all the time, Sanemi. I can’t stand the thought of you being distressed because of me.”

Yeah, to hell with your angelic voice and your kind eyes. Fuck your gorgeous appearance, your uniform that makes you look like an angel walking on earth. You, a true sweetheart who is loved by everyone without any exceptions. And him, who built a wall around his heart only you were able to overcome.

But when you fight against demons, that tender self of yours vanishes into thin air. The second death and fright surround you, you turn into a serial killer who doesn’t show any mercy. Especially towards demons, but when a human comes into your way…

Sanemi picks up his pace in an instant. He can’t allow something like that to happen, he can’t stand that look of deep sorrow written on your face the second you realized what you’ve done in your trance. He just has to make sure this fight ends on time, that he’s able to pull you back into reality like he always does.

He and only him. Not even Shinobu is able to reach your mind when you lose yourself. In fact, no one but Sanemi is. Why on earth him? Out of all people you could trust this much, you somehow chose him. Oh, he definitely doesn’t deserve any of the feelings you hold for him, he doesn’t deserve you even looking his way. After all, everyone sees nothing but a menace in him with even his little brother fearing him to the core.

“(y/n)…s-sama?”

His blood freezes in an instant. There you stand with your arm buried in the chest of the demon lying to your feet and your eyes gleaming bloody red. How long did you fight already? How long has this been going on without him knowing?

“Get away from here before she rips your heads off”, the bars behind him.

You don’t speak, furious orbs now fixated on Sanemi. In the split of a second you dash towards him, ready to slice his throat open with your bare fingernails. Just in time he manages to get a hold of your wrist and push you into the ground, his whole bodyweight now lying on top of you.

“(y/n)”, he mutters softly.

A violent scream escapes your lips, limbs desperately fighting to get away from him. Oh, how much Sanemi hates to see you in that state. Shinobu was never able to find out why you turned into this when facing danger. Despite your tender and warm personality, despite your remarkable sword skills and technique, you lose control over your own mind and body when the situation around you gets too heated.

None of that matters now. Sanemi grabs your body from behind and pulls you into his lap while placing gentle kisses on your neck.

“It’s fine, (y/n). Just come back to me. Those demon are gone, got it?”

The shell of your body still fights for freedom, still doesn’t accept to be held by him.

“Come back, (y/n). I’m here. Everything’s fine.”

Is that…Sanemi talking to you? Your vision is foggy, eyes roaming around what looks like a dark forest. Your whole body is covered in ice cold sweat, your heart hammers so roughly against your ribcage that you feel like fainting any given minute.

It happened again.

“Sanemi”, you breathe his name into the night while allowing yourself to collapse against his chest.

You lost yourself again. Did you hurt someone? Why were you here? How-

“Don’t worry, you’re alright.”

“And the-“

“No one got hurt”, he reassures you in an instant.

“I…lost again”, you mumble defeated.

You’re able to control every single fiber in your body, can wield a sword so delicately that Ubayishiki-sama even chose you to join the circle of pillars. But still, you lose yourself when facing a heated fight.

“Don’t worry too much, nothing happened and I was home”, Sanemi mutters into your hair.

“Thank you for coming. And…for everything else. I’m sorry for making such a mess over and over. You must-”

“Nah, I don’t wanna hear you putting yourself down again, (y/n). You’re good, okay? I don’t mind looking after you at all, to be honest.”

You don’t know what came over you. Is it the anger, the frustration over your own disability? You can’t help but swing around, arms wrapped around Sanemi’s larger frame while you allow your head to rest against his steady heartbeat.

“It’s just so frustrating. From one second to the other, I lose the power over my own body. If it wasn’t for you, who know what I’d do to innocent people around. I’m a weapon, Sanemi. To even be considered a hashira-“

“Stop talking nonsense”, he interrupts you gently, his hand pulling your chin up to force you to look at him.

“You’re wiping the floor with our asses in training. Most of us hashira can’t stand a chance against you. You are pure and kind, loved by everyone. We don’t give a single shit about that happening from time to time. And like I said, I’m always here to pull you back into reality.”

“You’re my greatest treasure, Sanemi”, you mutter.

Tears immediately shoot in your eyes, take away that gorgeous sight in front of you. Truth is, you love Sanemi Shinazugawa with all your heart. Since he first barked at you, since you sat underneath a tree the whole night and talked about all the things both of you been through, since he put you out of your episode for the first time. Oh, how much you adore that man.

“Don’t talk nonsense, (y/n). I’m worse than everyone else.”

His heart stings violently when nothing but the truth leaves his mouth. He doesn’t deserve your praise, let alone your glossy orbs staring up at him. Fuck, he shouldn’t even put his arms around you like that. Not when you’re an angel while he’s a no one. Not when you could have anybody else, a man who deserves your kind words, to see your lovely figure every morning after waking up.

“I don’t care about others. You’re the one that I love, Sanemi. Because you make me feel good about myself, because you bring me back to reality when I can’t return on my own. You’re rough, you’re suborn and you can be kind of mean-“

“Only because some of these jerks deserve it”, he grumbles.

“But apart from that, you are a kind and loving man. I can’t help but search for you in a crowd of people, I am forced to ask myself every time what you’d do in my place. You’re constantly on my mind. Your words, your skills, your voice. Just…you. I can’t get enough of you.”

“Stop making fun of me…”

Fuck, he can feel his face heating up in an instant. This can’t be true, right? Why would a girl like you fall for someone like him? Maybe you’re still a little dizzy and can’t understand the meaning of your words, maybe-

“I’d never make fun of you.”

And then your lips meet his. So unexpectedly that his widen eyes stare at your soft features in utter disbelief, so innocently that he can’t help but wonder if he’s dreaming. You, kissing him?

“You’re gonna regret this when you’re clear again, (y/n)”, Sanemi mumbles against your lips.

“Look into my eyes. I am clear, Sanemi. In fact, I’ve never been clearer in my entire life. I love you.”

You kiss him. Over and over, your soft lips brush against yours while he can’t help but wrap his arms around you in a desperate attempt to keep you this close. His heart pounds so loud that you’re definitely able to her it, his fingertips get lost in your hair.

“I love you too, (y/n). Fuck, I love you so much”, he finally replies.

“I’m so lucky for having you.”

“You, lucky to have me? Hell, I’m the luckiest guy on earth”, Sanemi grumbles with his hand gently caressing your cheek.

This is real. Not a cruel trick his spooky brain plays on him, not one of the dreams that keep him up all night wanting more. No, your head really rests against his chest, you really have your arms wrapped around his body still, you really kissed him.

“No wonder it took you so long to come back, Shinazugawa. I didn’t know you were busy with (y/n).”

Sanemi’s heart drops to the floor, both of your head darting towards the direction of that painfully familiar voice in an instant.

“What the hell are you doing here?”, he barks at Obanai in distress.

“Everyone was worried about (y/n) so I came to check”, Obanai replies dryly.

“Oh, thank you so much for looking out for me! But don’t worry, I am fine!”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“GET LOST OR I’LL KILL YOU!”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Emotions | Sam Winchester x Angel!Fem!Reader

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Angel!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5521

Warnings: mentions of drug addiction, mentions of smut (MDNI this is an 18+ blog), mentions of iffy family dynamics

A/N: For this nonnie! I have a very deep love of music and a special connection with it, and pretty much all of my one-shot fics are gonna be titled after songs. If you'd like to connect with the music as well, here's a few songs I recommend reading while you listen to the chapter!

Emotions by Brenda Lee

In the Still of the Night by the Five Satins

Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene by Hozier

Snow Angel by Renee Rapp

Queue up on Spotify or your preferred streaming service, and happy reading!

General Writings Masterlist

Humans were curious. The more time you spent with them, the more you couldn’t understand why your father loved them so much. However, one human was beginning to pique your interest. His name was Sam Winchester. 

Your brother Castiel had been charged with rescuing Sam’s brother, Dean, from Hell. However, Zachariah had not given the word to begin the mission just yet. You, though, were charged with the care of Sam Winchester. 

He became interesting for a number of reasons. The Winchester boys had been of special interest to all of Heaven since their mother died in Azazel’s attack. You’d known of his existence and watched from afar as the sweet, intelligent young man became a cold shell of who he once was while his brother suffered in Hell. The demon Ruby— who you would be sure to kill as soon as you could get your hands on her— had been getting Sam addicted to the potent substance that was demon’s blood. If you had to compare it to a human drug, you’d heard many angels say it felt like a heroin addiction. 

Despite your disinterest in most of humanity, you were more compassionate toward them than most of your brothers and sisters. While some, like Uriel, were ruthless in their method to get humans on their side, you always took a more “humane” approach. No matter how many times humanity had broken your heart through their horrible mistakes leading to death and destruction, you still tried to show each human compassion. 

You watched from afar as Sam began to learn to exorcize demons with his mind. The experience was undoubtedly painful, and your anger with Ruby grew with each passing day. Always keeping your distance, though, because you knew now was not the right time to step in. Zachariah would give you the word when it was. 

You followed Sam down a darkened, busy street, keeping just far enough back that he wouldn’t be able to see you. He turned the corner onto what you assumed was another street, and you foolishly followed. Suddenly, you were pinned to the wall with a demon’s knife at your throat and an angry Sam staring down at you. 

“Who the hell are you?” the man spat, pressing the tip of the weapon into your throat forcefully. “Why are you following me?”

“Hello, Sam,” you said calmly. “My name is (Y/N). I’m here to help you.”

He scoffed. “What? Another demon coming to peddle your wares? I don’t think so.” The brunet stepped away from you and tried to exorcize you with his powers. 

You just remained still, large doe-eyes looking at him with a small smile playing on your lips. 

Sam then appeared scared. “What— What are you?”

“I’m an angel,” you replied evenly.

He laughed. “Right. C’mon, what are you really?”

You unfurled your large, beautiful wings and called upon a clap of thunder to ensure the shadow would be cast on the wall behind you. “I told you. I’m an angel.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t believe this.”

“What’s wrong?” you asked. “Why are you angry?”

He spun around to face you. “Why am I angry? My brother’s been dragged to Hell, and you’re asking me why I’m angry?”

You continued to look at him in confusion. 

“I prayed. Every day for the last year Dean was alive. Why didn’t one of you answer?” he finished.

“It wasn’t the right time,” you explained. “Father wouldn’t allow us.”

“Well, fuck all of you guys, then,” Sam spat.

You were intrigued and confused by his intense anger. “Your prayers are being answered now. Isn’t that all that matters?”

“Too little, too late,” he replied. “Now, leave me alone.”

You stared after him as he walked away. Didn’t he want your help? Why was he angry at you when you were simply obeying your father? His prayers were being answered, and he was cruel to you.

That should have enraged you. However, it only intrigued you even more.

***

You knew Sam had not told Ruby he’d seen you, which surprised you. Everything about this man was surprising you.

While his addiction to demon blood was horrific and disgusting to you, you were surprised how much… empathy, you believed the feeling was— you were starting to feel for him. He’d undoubtedly been manipulated by the demon into that state of being.

His incredible strength both physically and mentally was impressive. While he wouldn’t last a moment in a fight with you or any of your brothers and sisters, he was skilled in many different athletic pursuits. His interest in different philosophies was curious to you as well; most humans you'd come across were set in their ways with no interest in different points of view.

After your last conversation with him, you decided not to intervene unless he desperately needed you. And now, he desperately needed you.

Ruby had either knowingly or unknowingly sent him into a death trap. While Ruby conveyed she believed only two demons to be hiding in a warehouse, an entire lair of at least thirty laid in wait for the young man. You knew you’d have to get involved this time, no matter if Zachariah approved or not.

You watched from the skylights of the darkened warehouse as Sam crept around with Ruby following closely behind. Your father willing, you’d slit her throat with her own knife.

You could see the other demons beginning to creep in around Ruby and Sam. Sam was the first to notice something was wrong and spun around to face the demons behind Ruby.

You used your powers to appear behind a wire rack covered with boxes to have the element of surprise with the demons.

“Hey there, handsome,” one of the demons was telling Sam.

Another snarled, “And Ruby. I thought Lilith got rid of you.”

“Apparently, she didn’t do a very good job,” replied Ruby.

The demons had Sam and Ruby back to back as they closed in their circle around the two.

Taking out your blade, you stepped out into the dim light, heels clicking across the floor. All of the demons turned around to face you, as did Sam and Ruby.

“Wow, Ruby. Seriously? You’re working with an angel?” a demon snickered.

You didn’t allow any of the demons a chance to get another word in. You appeared behind the demon who had the nerve to speak up and plunged your blade through its vessel’s back.

A few of the demons tried to escape by fleeing their bodies, but you forced them back in. While you were compassionate, merciful would not be a word used to describe you. When you were crossed, you didn’t play nicely. 

A few demons tried to charge you, and you immediately reached out to two, grabbed their hands, and killed them while you used your free arm to plunge your blade through the other’s chest. With, in all honesty, very little effort, you managed to make your way through most of the demons. With the mess of dead bodies sprawled across the concrete floor, it made it easier to see what was left for you to deal with. That was when you noticed Ruby was gone, but Sam was still there, fighting demons with his demon knife. 

A demon behind Sam was preparing to stab him in the back, but you threw your angel blade through the demon’s throat just in time to save Sam. 

Slowly but surely, you made your way through the remaining demons. Sam panted from exhaustion and the few wounds he’d sustained but still stood with his shoulders squared. “I didn’t need saving,” he huffed.

“I don’t mean to offend you, but yes, you did,” you replied evenly. “I will admit, I’m disappointed your demon friend left so soon. I was looking forward to formally introducing myself.” 

Sam laughed, somewhere between mocking and a genuine laugh. “You were gonna kill her, weren’t you?”

“Without hesitation,” you nodded. “I know what she’s been doing, Sam. I know what you’ve been doing.” 

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business,” he said, his voice cold. 

“It is my business.”

“How?”

“Angels are only sent to earth for their missions; unless they’ve fallen,” you explained. “Like I told you before, you’re my mission.”

“And like I told you,” he sneered, “not interested.”

“I don’t understand,” you stated. “Isn’t this what you wanted? I’m answering your prayer. I thought you’d be happy.” 

“I told you; too little, too late—!”

“I’m not talking about the prayers for your brother anymore, Sam,” you cut him off. “I’m talking about your prayers for yourself.”

That seemed to quiet him down.

“I heard you. The first night you drank demon’s blood, you prayed. That was when I was assigned to you,” you told him. “Some of the angels believed you were too far gone. I, however, was the one to ask my superior if I could help you.” 

Tears welled in Sam’s eyes. “Why would you do that? Why wouldn’t you save Dean?” 

“I wanted to,” you admitted, not quite understanding why you were spilling your secrets to a human.

He got angry again. “Why didn't you?!”

You tilted your head, eyebrows furrowing. “It is not my place to question my superiors. I serve Heaven first; not you.”

“Well, find some other way to serve Heaven. I’m not interested,” he grumbled, turning away. You noticed how painfully he rolled his shoulder.

“I can fix that for you,” you said, stopping him in his tracks. 

“What?” Sam turned back around.

“Your arm.” You nodded in its direction. “And those gashes. They look like they’ll get infected if you don’t let me help you.” You stepped toward him, and he remained still.

His impressive stature was incredibly intimidating to you despite your angelic status. You had never felt such a feeling; only when you were in the presence of the archangels. Whatever this feeling was, you didn’t think you liked it.

“May I?” you asked, hesitantly reaching your fingers out toward his arm. 

Sam nodded, face drawn into hard lines.

You closed your eyes as you touched his shoulder to concentrate on sending your healing powers through his body. You didn’t miss the way his muscles tensed momentarily before relaxing under your touch. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

You nodded. 

Sam hesitated for a moment before asking, “ What’d you say your name was?”

“(Y/N),” you responded.

***

You watched through the window of the cabin he was hiding in as Sam fought with Ruby over you. You expected Ruby to be angry, but you didn’t expect Sam to defend you. 

“She’s an angel, Ruby, she’s not here to hurt me,” Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You don’t know angels, Sam. I do. They’re not the peaceful hippies the Bible makes them out to be,” Ruby snapped. “If she knew I was helping you, she’d probably smite me.”

“She does know,” Sam replied, almost too quietly for even your enhanced hearing. 

“What?! You told her?!”

“No, I didn’t, I—” Sam cut himself off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “She just knew, somehow.” 

Ruby clearly didn’t believe him. “Somehow,” she scoffed. “And somehow, I don’t believe you.”

“Whatever,” Sam huffed. He suddenly caught your eye in the window but covered it up by quickly looking back to Ruby. “I think you should go.”

She crossed her arms. “Seriously?” The demon rolled her eyes and began to walk toward the door. “Goodbye, Sam.”

You invited yourself into the room. “Is she gone?” you asked Sam, appearing in front of him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, she’s gone.”

“Your motivations confuse me, Sam Winchester,” you stated bluntly.

He seemed to chuckle genuinely. “Why?”

“Do you not believe Ruby to be helping you? It seemed you couldn’t stand the sight of me less than twenty-four hours ago. Why would you kick her out after all that and cover for me?” you asked, head tilting in confusion.

You knew you weren’t supposed to question. You knew Sam was simply an assignment; there should be no desire for further questions exchanged. However, a nagging force in the back of your mind refused to let those questions remain internal.

“I don’t know,” he responded, seemingly earnest. 

Suddenly, a song began to play in the background. Your head turned to the source of the sound; a peculiar little box with a spinning disc on top of it. You swayed to the soft music emanating from it. “What is this?” you asked.

“Music,” Sam replied from behind you.

You turned to face him. “I know what music is, Sam. What is the little box?”

“A record player,” he replied, much closer to you than he had been when you first turned to the sound of the music.

“And what is this song?” you asked, dewey eyes shining in the dim light.

“Uh, one of the records they had in this old cabin. I think the band’s The Five Satins. ‘In the Still of the Night’,” he explained.

“I think I like this song,” you said, your voice taking on a peculiar lilt you’d never heard yourself speak with before. You suddenly realized how close Sam was to you and backed away. “Well, if you need anything,” you began, “I am never far from you.” And with that, you were gone.

***

“(Y/N)?” you heard Sam praying. “(Y/N), uh, I don’t know if you’re listening—”

With a quick flap of your wings, you appeared in front of Sam in his cabin. “I am,” you replied. 

“Oh, hey,” he snorted. He sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing his hands together and staring at the floor.

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

“I don’t know what the right thing to do anymore is,” he admitted. Sam was suddenly embarrassed by what he’d said. “Uh, I don’t know why I said that…”

“Do not be embarrassed. I do not pass judgment on humans for their feelings,” you replied. 

That pulled a small smile from him. “Do you guys… not have feelings?”

“No,” you replied. “At least, I don’t think we do. Or, perhaps, what we experience as angels is too complex to be simplified into human emotion.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

“I believe I may experience compassion, but I am not merciful. Those two traits I have seen go together in human manifestations. My loyalty to my father is incomparable to any human form of loyalty. Most humans I have come across sacrifice their loyalties quite easily,” you explained thoughtfully. 

“And by your father, you mean, God?” he asked. 

You nodded. 

Sam hesitated before asking his next question. “What’s he like?”

His question caught you off-guard; it wasn’t something you’d thought about before. “Well, humans describe him as—”

Sam shook his head. “I know what people make him out to be. What do you say?”

That question startled you even more, and all you could answer with was the truth. “I haven’t met him.”

Now, it was Sam’s turn to be caught off-guard. “Really?”

You nodded. “I’ve been around just about as long as the planet, and I’ve never met him once.”

Sam considered for a moment. “And you’re still loyal to him?”

“Well, I don’t necessarily have a choice in that matter,” you replied. “I am an angel. I was created for the purpose of my loyalty to my father and carrying out his missions.” His questions were beginning to get under your skin, and you’d never thought so long about those things before. 

“Well, how do you know your orders come from him if you’ve never met the guy?” Sam continued to press. “How do you know somebody’s not lying to—”

“My brothers and sisters would never lie to me,” you cut him off. Perhaps this is what “offense” felt like? “I don’t believe lying to be something we are capable of.”

Sam took a deep breath and flexed his eyebrows. “Whoa, didn’t mean to strike a nerve, there.”

He did. “You didn’t,” you responded. 

A spell of silence was cast over you. 

“What’s it like?” Sam asked. 

You tilted your head in confusion. 

“That blind faith,” he embellished. “How do you do it?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. I just always have. I am a Seraph; I believe ‘blind faith’ is my purpose.”

“Oh, seraphim’s a real thing? Are you guys the, uh, high-rankers?”

You nodded. “I don’t think of myself in terms of my rank, but I am superior to those in my garrison. My superior is Zachariah; the only one of us in direct communication with the archangels.” You felt yourself snap out of it. “I… don’t know why I told you that.”

“Well, I guess we’re even then,” Sam smiled. 

***

You began to see less and less of Ruby as days went by, and for that, you were grateful. It seemed she was only around for Sam to feed from her.

“What does she say the demon blood will do for you?” you asked Sam, sitting beside him on the edge of the cabin’s roof.

Sam gave you a curious look but answered your question anyway. “It’ll make me strong enough to kill Lilith.”

“And… why do you want to do that?” you asked trepidatiously. 

He answered your question quite blankly, staring ahead. “Revenge. For my brother.”

You nodded. “And what do you believe getting revenge will do for you?”

That seemed to challenge him. “I don’t know.”

“I have been with you since you were young, Sam. I watched you go off to college, I watched Azazel kill Jessica, and I watched every fight between you and your father.”

Sam turned his head toward you as you talked, a pensive look on his face. 

“And I think I decided that all of those fights between you two happened because of how similar the two of you are.” You turned your head toward him, the sunset casting a heavenly glow across Sam’s face. “This is one of those things you two have in common; vengeance. I cannot decide if that’s a good or a bad quality, if I’m honest.”

Sam huffed out a small laugh. “That’s fair.” His hair fell in front of his eyes as he looked down at his hands folded in his lap. His eyebrows drew together, and you just watched him carefully. “You’ve never wanted payback? Not even once?”

You shook your head. “That’s not part of my job. I am a warrior, but I don’t feel emotional attachment to my fights. And, rationally, I know revenge is pointless. It doesn’t change the past. It can only make for a worse future.”

Sam was silent for a moment. “Wow. For a… shiny, hard, plastic, emotionless angel, that’s pretty profound.”

You tilted your head in confusion. “I am not plastic or shiny.”

He laughed. “No, you’re not. Just an analogy.”

“You humans and your words,” you sighed. “The English language is by far the most confusing.”

“Why do you say that?” Sam chuckled. 

“I speak every language ever created, Sam,” you explained. “Even Enochian is simpler than English.”

The young man laughed. “For an angel, you’ve got a good sense of humor.”

You tilted your head. “I didn’t know I did, but thank you.”

***

It had been about three months since Dean’s sentencing. The angels began to talk about how he’d said “yes” to Alistair and was beginning to torture other souls in the pit. However, you knew it was best not to bring that fact up to Sam. 

The brother in your care was still not doing very well. His addiction was getting worse, and his anger at himself for not being strong enough to take care of his most recent demon hunt. You watched through the window as Sam and Ruby shouted at each other, and their anger eventually devolved into Ruby kissing Sam. 

You were stunned, and something you’d never felt before flooded your chest. Whatever this feeling was, you hated it. You backed away from the window you’d become accustomed to staring through and walked off. You felt your vessel stumbling rather than walking, and you were unsure why your chest hurt. You stumbled through the night forward against a tree and held yourself there. 

Whatever was happening to you, one thing was for sure that you could no longer deny: you were beginning to feel.

***

A few days went by, and you hadn’t seen Sam. In fact, you refused to answer his many prayers. He begged you to come to him and told you he didn’t know what he’d done wrong. Eventually, your resolve broke. 

“Hey,” he said, standing from his chair and seeming startled by your appearance. “Wh— Where’d you go? Why didn’t you answer?”

“Why did you have sex with Ruby? Didn’t you know I was watching?” you asked, large eyes holding a pleading innocence. 

Sam seemed caught off-guard. “(Y/N), I haven’t had sex with her in weeks. Wh— Why do you care about that, anyway?”

“I saw you two. She kissed you. I know what comes after that, Sam, I’ve been around for thousands of years,” you continued. 

Sam shook his head. “She kissed me. And then, I pushed her off. I haven’t seen her since.”

You tilted your head. “Why did you do that?”

“ ‘Cause. I couldn’t do it,” he shrugged. 

“Why?”

“ I’m not into voyeurism,” he smirked. “I knew you were watching. I haven’t had sex with her since you showed up.”

You thought for a moment, realizing he was telling the truth. “Oh.” Was this feeling… relief?

Sam gave you a curious look, and you averted his gaze. “Why’d you wanna know?”

You shook your head. “Not important. How have you been these last few days?”

“Honestly?” He scratched the back of his neck. “Not good. The addiction… it’s, uh—”

“Bad?” you asked. 

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“I’m sorry,” you told him. 

“ ‘S not your fault,” Sam shrugged. 

“That is much different from what you told me when we first met,” you said. 

Sam snorted. “Yeah, I was angry then. Now, I know you.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest, and you were surprised at the feeling. 

***

You hummed the tune of “In the Still of the Night” by the Five Satins, a song that Sam had introduced to you. 

The man in question sat at the cabin’s kitchen table hunched over his laptop. Sam had suggested you come inside with him since you’d be keeping an eye on him anyway. You told him if Ruby came, you’d kill her, but he just shook his head. “If she knows you’re here, she’s not coming,” he’d told you. 

“You’ve got a pretty voice,” Sam commented. 

You stopped humming. “Thank you. When the cherubs in my garrison were young, they liked when I’d sing to them.” You resumed your song. 

A few minutes went by before Sam spoke up. “Can I ask you something?” 

You stopped humming again and nodded. 

“Why haven’t you gone after Ruby yet?”

Before you could think, you answered, “Because I knew it would upset you.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Sam’s lips. “I appreciate that.”

You smiled in response. 

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile,” Sam told you. 

You continued to stare at him with your dewey doe eyes. 

“Can I ask you something else?” 

You nodded again.

“Whose body are you in?” he asked. 

You hummed as you thought. “I’ve been with her for centuries. She was being abused by her husband and begging for a way out. You see, angels have to get consent from their vessels. She wanted me to use her body to carry out my father’s mission.”

Sam nodded. 

“I quite enjoyed her company,” you continued. “I’ve never told any of my brothers or sister about this, but the day her soul moved on was the first time I ever felt something like… sadness.”

“So, angels, is it like demons where the vessel’s soul takes a back seat?” Sam questioned, his interest seeming very genuine. 

You shook your head. “Not with her, it wasn’t. She could force me out whenever she wanted, but she told me she preferred my company to that of her husband’s.”

Sam nodded but seemed pensive. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he replied. “It’s just… It’s a lot to take in.”

“I can understand that.” You paused for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve ever spent this long in the company of a human; aside from my vessel.”

“Really?” Sam asked.

You nodded. “I was taught not to spend time with the humans I was charged with. We were always told that the more time you spend with them, the more you become like them. And if you’re a human, you are flawed. You can’t  truly live in service of my father while human.” 

“That sounds kinda fucked up though, (Y/N),” Sam told you. “I mean, don’t you think it’s… restrictive? Limiting?”

You considered. “I guess so. But… I’m sure my father had good reason. He wouldn’t try to hurt us.” 

“I don’t think he would, either,” Sam told you. “But I do think he did that for self-serving reasons.”

You stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. 

“He creates these… beings— you and the other angels— to bend to his every whim. Think about it. He makes you emotionless, so you don’t question his ‘will’ or… rebel,” Sam explained. “He needs you to be perfectly loyal.”

Sam’s words swirled around in your head. “You’re confusing me,” you said, breath quickening.

Sam shook his head. “I’m not trying to. But you’re smart. I’m just trying to make you think.”

“No human has ever challenged me the way you have,” you responded. “I appreciate it.”

“You do?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

You nodded. “I’ve been around a very long time. Things can get monotonous. It is… refreshing to meet someone like you.”

The corners of Sam’s lips turned upward.

The two of you went back to silence, and suddenly, Sam was up and running to the bathroom.

“Sam?” you asked, running after him.

When you got to him, he was hunched over the toilet bowl vomiting. 

Hesitantly, you reached toward him and began to rub small circles over his back. You remembered your vessel telling you that’s what she’d do to her children when they were sick. 

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “I’m here.”

When Sam was done, he slumped to the floor, curling up into a ball. Sweat covered every inch of his body, and he began to shake feverishly.

You knew it was the withdrawals from the blood after not seeing Ruby for days. You wanted nothing more than to help him through it, but your healing powers couldn’t assist with demonic workings of any kind. What you could do, though, is put him to sleep. You ran your hand over his hair and got up from the floor.

After grabbing a blanket off his bed, you brought it back to the bathroom and sat back down beside him. When you’d tossed the blanket over him, you helped Sam rest his head on your lap. Then, you went back to running your hand over the brunet’s hair and used your powers to put him to sleep. His shaking subsided, and his breathing relaxed. You stayed with him through the rest of the night.

***

When Sam woke up laying against you, he immediately seemed embarrassed. He jerked back from you. “Oh, uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you said. “It’s what I’m here for.”

Sam leaned forward hesitantly. He kept pausing as his face got closer to yours, seemingly to ensure you weren’t uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable wasn’t quite the word you’d use; there were a million thoughts running through your mind. And yet, you couldn’t string one coherent sentence together. 

You tilted your chin up, and it was all the confirmation Sam needed. His kiss was gentle when he first connected your lips. You responded, almost completely frozen, but still moving your lips in time with his.

Sam’s kiss got more desperate, and he pulled you across his lap, wrapping his large hands around your hips and back. 

And then, he was gone. You were confused only momentarily as you became aware of Zachariah’s presence in front of you.

“I know what you’ve been doing, (Y/N),” Zachariah chastised. 

You hung your head in shame. “I’m sorry, Zachariah. I let myself get too close to Sam Winchester, and—”

Zachariah cut you off. “Yes. You did. I’m disappointed in you.” He stalked around you, his multiple sets of wings encircling and taunting you. “You were one of my best, (Y/N). And now, I’m going to have to let you go.”

Your eyes widened, and you looked up at your superior. “Wait, please! I’m sorry!”

He patted your cheek. “I know you are. But you turned your back on us, (Y/N). You turned your back on our father.”

Tears welled in your eyes. 

“Ah! That. That, right there.” He caught the tear on his first finger as it slipped down your cheek. “Feeling. Feelings are human. You’ve changed, my dear sister.” 

“I’m sorry,” you cried softly. 

“I told you that Sam Winchester is a lost cause. I knew something like this would happen, but you? You didn’t listen. Goodbye, sister.”

And with that, you were sent barreling down to earth. The fall was incredibly painful; your wings feeling like they were being burnt off your body, each feather leaving ripples of searing heat in its wake. 

Nothing could stop you barreling toward the earth. The speed of your fall began to take a toll on you, and your vision faded to black. 

***

You woke up flat on your back in the middle of nowhere. Your limbs ached, and your vessel’s body was undoubtedly broken. Using your weakened powers, you healed your body enough to be able to stand. When you’d gotten your wits about you, you would heal yourself completely. 

You walked through the woods you’d landed in the middle of. The morning sun was still rising, the birds chirped, and light streamed through the trees. All at once, the reality of your situation hit you, and you cried.

You cried for your brothers and sisters you’d never see again; very few ever came to earth. You weren’t sure how you’d get to Sam without your wings, but you needed to see him. This feeling of need was still foreign to you, and you couldn’t decide if you liked how it felt.

All that time you’d spent in service of Heaven and of your father, and you were cast out as if you didn’t matter at all. You knew getting so close was wrong, but you hadn’t expected such harsh treatment. In all your years of being alive, you had never made a mistake. And after just one, you were kicked out? 

On the other hand, though, crying was freeing. Maybe Sam was right. Why would your father restrict you from feeling?

For a moment, the world was quiet. All you could hear was your soft sniffles, the birds chirping, and the wind rustling the leaves of the trees. You took a deep breath, and for the first time, life felt beautiful.

***

Sam was praying to you, and you had no way of responding to him. Slowly but surely, you were making your way back to him. You could feel his soul calling to you, and it only spurred you on to continue walking. As an angel, you had no need for sleep or eating. And so, you walked continuously for five days; each step making Sam’s essence grow stronger. You could feel yourself getting closer to him.

“Hey, (Y/N)?” you heard Sam calling to you. “I don’t know if you’re even still listening to me, but I’m sorry for scaring you off. I— I shouldn’t have done what I did. Just… come back. Please.”

It broke your heart that you couldn’t get to him sooner, and you mentally begged him to wait for you. 

And finally, on the sixth day, you found Sam’s cabin. Joy and relief flooded your chest, and you smiled widely. You ran through the front door, and Sam jerked out of his chair with his gun in hand. When he realized who you were, he dropped his gun to the floor in surprise. “(Y/N)?”

“Hello, Sam,” you smiled, tears rimming your eyes.

“Wh— What happened? Why’d you leave?” he asked.

“I didn’t. Zachariah brought me back to Heaven, and… he took my wings,” you explained, looking down at your shoes. 

Sam’s confused and angry stare turned to his familiar puppy-dog-eyed stare. “What, why?” 

“I’m a fallen angel now. I betrayed Heaven,” you responded.

“By doing what?” he asked. “I kissed you, you didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, I did,” you assured him, stepping closer to him. “I started to feel. And… feel for you.”

Sam’s soft gaze flooded your chest with warmth. He used his first two fingers to tilt your chin up toward his and closed the space between your lips. 

You and Sam weren’t perfect in any sense. But you would take whatever you two were over your shiny, hard, plastic, emotionless past. 

Forever taglist is open; series rewrite taglist is closed!

[hazbinhazmeinachokehold]

Alastor + apprentice!child!reader

A/n: this is some practice to get a footing in his character. (Also slight practice on husk as well.)

Reader is kinda scary but means well overall

Not proofread

Y/n ever elusive. Alastor would randomly mention your name in conversations. References your rampages and your sweetness in the same breath. But when anyone would try to quiz him on you further he would act like he didn't know what they were talking about. He might try to claim it's for privacy but it's pretty obvious he just likes messing with hotel members.

Charlie was especially sad that she might never get to meet you. If Alastor was to be believed you seemed really sweet! (And easy to rehabilitate *cough* *cough*) Also cool! You seemed to be an absolute powerhouse. After Al mentioned you Charlie got somewhat mopey. Until he mentioned you visiting the hotel, which piqued everyone's interest.

When you finally showed up, people's interest was at an all-time high. But now it was because the fabled y/n was a child. "It's a pleasure to be meeting everyone!" You were looking at Alastor but were speaking to the whole room. "I've heard so much about all of you!"

"They've also heard much about you too, dearie." Alastor bent at the waist down to your level. "You've become quite the hot topic here!"

As if to prove his point Charlie picked you up and spun you around almost hitting Alastor in the face. He glared at her but remained calm. "Welcome, welcome! Do you want to choose a room to stay in?"

"Sorry, but I'm not planning to stay."

"I know but just for the time being." Charlie clarified. To that, you nodded. Husk snapped his head toward The Radio Demon once both you and Charlie had left.

"Did you really stoop low enough to make a deal with a child?" He was just barely containing his anger. While he didn't particularly care for those he didn't know at least somewhat personally, taking a child's soul was a place he drew a thick line.

"Why of course not!" He said sounding offended but clearly, it was to mock Husk. "They are under my guidance purely by choice!" Vaggie and Husk both said some version of 'you're a liar' in unison. Alastor simply tsked as he walked away.

Niffty seemingly appeared out of nowhere. "Was thas thay y/n?"

After the crew (excluding Husk) let out a yelp, Vaggie spoke, "Yep."

Niffty let out a villain-esque laugh, though that was just her usual laugh, "I've been meaning to talk to them since they scared off a group of bad boys~" She flashed her sharp teeth and held a knife. Angel grabbed the knife and her before she could get very far.

Back with you and Charlie Alastor materialized next to you and you waved at him.

"Hello, sir!" You saluted him as a joke.

"Hello to you too! Have you found a room?" You nodded and entered said room. Charlie looked at him, her face painted with a confused yet kind look.

"They're the one who hurt so many people? Are you kidding? They are so nice."

"You've never seen them in danger." Suddenly as if on queue an explosion was heard. You shot up from your surprisingly comfortable bed and ran downstairs. Pushing both Charlie and Alastor out of the way while also throwing a quick ‘sorry’ their way.

Once you got downstairs the bad boys that Niffty mentioned earlier were spouting something about you. Once they looked at you they pulled weapons out. You grew and your arms turned pitch black with a slight claw shape. With your new size, you were just big enough to grab them to the point of almost cracking bones. Almost.

"Leave." You said with a deep booming voice that came with the size. You threw them and they scrambled. Once they were gone you shrunk back down to your normal size. Niffty pouted and stamped her foot.

Once you turned everyone had varying looks of shock on their face except Niffty and of course, Alastor who was instead proud. "Congrats dear! Would you like some jambalaya?" You nodded.

As you were walking with him Husk grabbed your shoulder, "Um good job kid... If he ever offers you a deal, don't take it." He felt obliged to warn you. If Alastor's moral code was against recruiting kids, he probably would have pounced on the opportunity to take your soul once you were an adult.

You smiled, "I know I know. But what could I even gain out of any deal with him?" You laughed and walked back to Alastor. Huh. Well, you certainly were being tutored by Alastor.

A/n: Y/n got kinda of edgy at the end-

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to their s/o being scared of wisdom tooth removal

Request: Hellooo can I get ot13 react to s/o being scared cause they need their wisdom teeth out??? I am tbh scared but at the same time this really hurt me a lot I couldn't eat my fav food 💔💔💔

A/N #1: First of all, I'm so sorry you're going through this. Wisdom teeth pain is no joke, but at least you’ve got your favorite boys to imagine by your side. I'll also have to get my wisdom tooth removed and currently under prescribed painkillers as my appointment is at the very end of the queue. Good luck! And I hope you enjoyed this!

A/N #2: Honestly, ALL of them would move heaven and earth to make sure you feel safe, loved, and supported through this.

Seungcheol: The Leader™ kicks in immediately. He's not just your boyfriend; he's your protector. When he sees you wincing in pain and hears you’re scared, you best believe he’s doing a full Q&A session with the dentist beforehand to reassure you. "Wdym you're scared? I’ll hold your hand the entire time, and you’ll barely feel a thing, I promise." He's the type to bring you your favorite soup afterward, even if he has to call your mom for the recipe. He's such a softie, I'm crying.

Jeonghan: Oh, the ultimate smooth-talker. Jeonghan sees right through your nerves and does his best to distract you with his undeniable charm. He’d tease you lightly but the second he notices you’re genuinely scared, he’s cradling your face in his hands like you’re made of glass. Of course, he'd stay with you because you're his angel, duh. Jeonghan’s already planning to spoil you afterward with a Netflix marathon and all the soft foods you love.

Joshua: This man is your calm in the storm. He’d sit beside you, hold your hand, and gently remind you that you’re stronger than you think. He’d probably share a story about someone he knows who had their wisdom teeth removed without a hitch (reminds me of my parents). And when you complain about not being able to eat your favorite food? Joshua’s already experimenting in the kitchen to find a way to make it soft enough for you to eat. Wdym, of course, he'll take care of you! You're his sweetest sweetheart.

Jun: Jun would immediately Google everything he can about wisdom teeth removal. You’d catch him watching videos and reading forums just so he can reassure you about the process. When you express your fears, he’d say something like, "If I could take the pain for you, I would." SOB. And afterward? He’s feeding you homemade congee with the cutest little smile on his face. He's just so thoughtful and adorable, ugh. I wanna eat him-

Hoshi: Tiger would act brave for you, but inside, he’s low-key worried because his baby is in pain??? He’d try to cheer you up with tiger jokes or distract you by being extra silly. Don’t worry when it’s over he'll take you to eat all the soft tofu pudding you want! He's such a precious, supportive ball of sunshine. He’d probably overprepare with ice packs, extra blankets, and your favorite plushie ready for recovery.

Wonwoo: Ah, Wonwoo. The quiet but deeply caring one. He’d listen intently as you share your fears, nodding seriously, and then he’d say something like, “It’s okay to be scared. I’ll be here for you the whole time.” Why does he have to be so emotionally intelligent? He’s the type to bring you books, download your favorite podcasts, or just sit with you in comfortable silence to make you feel less alone. He’d read up on aftercare tips to make sure you’re comfortable.

Woozi: Our producer would pretend he doesn’t understand why you’re scared, but it’s only because he’s bad at showing emotions. Inside, he’s already planning how to make your recovery as easy as possible. He almost fainted at the sight of removal so he'll immediately offer to write a song about your bravery (yes, it’ll be cheesy and sweet)

Dokyeom: Dokyeom would be 100% sunshine mode. He’d hug you tightly, reassuring you that everything will be fine and that he’ll take care of you. "You’ll be the cutest chipmunk ever!" he’d joke, just to make you laugh. But when you’re really scared, his voice would soften, "You’re my brave love, and you’ve got this." He’d probably tear up seeing you in pain afterward, let’s be honest.

Mingyu: Mingyu would try to fix everything, naturally. He’s Googling, calling the dentist, and asking everyone for advice to make sure you’re as prepared as possible. When he realizes he can’t "fix" your fear, he’ll switch gears to being your personal nurse, making you smoothies, setting up cozy pillows, and staying up all night to check on you. Of course he’ll take care of you—he’s your big, lovable puppy of a boyfriend.

Minghao: He is so zen, he’d be the calming presence you need. He’d talk you through your fears, reminding you that this is just a small moment in time and that you’ll feel so much better afterward. He's elegance and empathy personified, honestly. Afterward, he’d probably spoil you with your favorite tea and a good book to help you relax.

Seungkwan: Seungkwan would freak out a little at first, but only because he hates seeing you in pain. After making a joke or dramatically panicking, he’d switch to full-on caretaker mode, fussing over you every second. “You don’t have to worry; I’ll take care of everything. I’m your Boo-seyo!” He’d probably cry when you’re fully recovered because he’s so relieved.

Vernon: Chill king Vernon would act super calm, but deep down, he’s concerned. He’d downplay the fear to make you feel less nervous. But when he sees you’re still scared, he’d stay by your side, playing your favorite songs and keeping things low-pressure. He's so lowkey, but he’d do anything to make sure you’re okay.

Dino: Dino would be a mix of nervous and supportive. He’d try to hype you up by every time you're upset or nervous. He’d go out of his way to make you laugh and would probably spend hours prepping soft food for you post-surgery. He’s just the sweetest, trying so hard to prove he’s mature enough to take care of you which he is

[hola-didi]

🕸️ Saints and Spiderwebs — a slow-burn Peter Parker x Reader series. Post NWH events.

Y/N has officially landed in New York City—jetlagged, starving, and already regretting everything. Luckily, her cousin shows up with balloons and zero boundaries. As Y/N settles into her new “cozy” apartment, she’s greeted by mismatched mail, questionable environment, and a surprisingly soft-eyed neighbor who’s supposed to be quiet and cryptic—but mostly just looks like he hasn’t slept since the events of the blip.

It’s her first day in motion after everything fell apart. Oh yeah, and Spider-Man has already made a special greeting.

Welcome to Queens, baby.

Prologue: Mail Mixup

Time has erased everything in my heart Every memory left by heartbreak My wings grow from the root Because I blindly believe in you

– RBD

---

You landed at JFK ten minutes early, which meant absolutely nothing.

Because those ten minutes? You spent all of them—and would undoubtedly spend more—pressing through the suffocating line to escape. It took thirty-five minutes just for your gate to open. Another fifteen to shuffle through the jet bridge like cattle, blinking under the fluorescents like you were being rounded up.

Then came the slow, buzzing shuffle through customs. The artificial chill. The TSA agent who looked at you like you’d smuggled three bricks worth of your life in your carry-on. Your suitcase came out last, obviously. The baggage carousel sputtered like it was on life support. A toddler vomited near your shoes in the rideshare queue, and no one bothered to help.

By the time you finally emerged into the terminal, the air smelled like burnt coffee, bleach, and whatever hope had been left behind by the last flight. Someone coughed behind you—deep and wet. Someone else was already shouting into their phone like the world was ending. You adjusted your hoodie, hugged your backpack to your chest, and muttered the smallest of affirmations that you’re almost out—not even full words. Just a rhythm in your throat.

You had forgotten how loud New York could be. Not the honking taxis or the man outside Terminal 4 yelling someone’s name—but the kind of loud that settled inside your chest. The kind that pulsed behind your ribs like the city was trying to rewrite your heartbeat in its own tempo. You didn’t feel ready. But then again, you hadn’t felt ready in over a year.

Estella, your cousin, had texted you something vague—“still stuck in traffic sorry ily”—so you stood there alone, hugging yourself like it might anchor you. She’d said something about an extra shift the night prior. You didn’t blame her. You didn’t blame anyone, really.

Except maybe yourself—for thinking this move would feel different once you got here.

It didn’t.

This was just for school. Maybe two years after. Long enough to collect some adult experience, maybe stop crying every time someone mentioned your life in Los Angeles like it hadn’t been carved out of you piece by piece with everything that happened. You were here because it was all you could do. You were here because going back wasn’t a real option.

You barely made it ten feet outside of arrivals when a girl bumped into your shoulder, muttered a distracted “sorry,” and kept moving. You waved her off with a tired smile, even though you weren’t sure who you were waving at.

And then you saw it.

A flyer. Slapped onto one of the terminal columns like an afterthought—cheap black-and-white ink, curling at the edges, starting to fade. A woman was missing. Not much older than twenty-seven. Pretty, with tired eyes and rose earrings you’d probably compliment if you saw her in real life. You stared longer than you should have.

Your mom used to say, “When people go missing, the world doesn’t stop. It just learns to step around the issue of the person. But it’s always a good virtue to keep an eye out. Even if it means it’s only you.”

You hadn’t understood that when you were little. You thought it was a saying about virtuous saints. Or about lost dogs. Or about watching your cousins in the grocery store.

Now you did.

You stepped back into the current of bodies—tired travelers, screaming toddlers, the scent of cheap perfumes and colognes—and let yourself be carried toward the exits, toward Queens, toward whatever version of yourself was still waiting on the other side.

You slowed near the arrivals corridor, adjusting your backpack, suddenly aware of how long you’d been standing still. Your shoulders ached from the flight. Your ankles throbbed with that dull, airplane-born stiffness. You hadn’t eaten since Denver. Even then, barely. A single bag of trail mix and a coffee that tasted like burnt paper. You didn’t feel hungry, exactly. Just…off. Like your body hadn’t caught up with where you were. Like you left something vital in the proces of coming here. You were two seconds away from shedding tired tears for no reason at all.

And then—

“THERE SHE IS!”

You flinched. A few heads turned. Then came the unmistakable thwap-thwap-thwap of balloons slapping each other into cartoon-like chaos as they bobbed above the crowd like a floating punchline. Curly hair—courtesy of being half Puerto Rican from her mother—pulled into a loose ponytail. One balloon read WELCOME HOME, another one had YOU FUCKING DID IT, which didn’t make sense in any practical way, but of course it did. 

Of course she would.

Estella.

“Move! Excuse me! Family emergency! Five-year reunion coming through!” she bellowed like she had diplomatic immunity, hauling a floral tote roughly the size of a ukulele case. You stood there—half amused, half mortified—and didn’t even get a chance to brace yourself before she crashed into you in a full-body hug that knocked every molecule of air from your lungs.

It wasn’t just a hug. It was a homecoming in human form.

“I thought you’d be taller than me,” she said, pulling back and inspecting you with all the gravity of someone inspecting a priceless statue in a poorly lit museum. Then she beamed. “Nope. You’re perfect. Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile. “And I thought you’d listen when I said no surprise gifts.”

She scoffed and handed you the balloons and a suspiciously heavy bag. Of course. Estella had always been a gift-giver, even when you didn’t want gifts—especially then. Even as kids, when she visited for holidays, she was the one handing you a glittery lip gloss or a beaded skirt from Marshalls, even if it didn’t fit. Even if you fought about it later. That was her love language: small rebellions disguised as generosity.

“What’s the point of picking up my cousin after a year of not visiting and five years of being literally blipped from existence,” she said, deadpan, like she hadn’t just punched you in the chest with that sentence.

It struck a nerve. You wished it hadn’t. You blinked it off like a contact lens out of place.

“Girl, we weren’t even aware of it until we came back,” you replied, voice too casual to be real.

Estella clicked her tongue. “Yeah, well. Time is of the essence. I’m not wasting another second. I missed you.”

She kissed your cheek and looped her arm through yours like she’d never stopped doing it, like no years had passed. Like the space between seventeen and eighteen had been a nap. You barely had time to breathe. Her perfume hit you—soft, sweet, and a powdery violet fragrance. Something citrusy underneath. It smelled like memory. You couldn’t name which one.

It should’ve made you cry. But Estella, in her typical chaos, didn’t give you the room.

“Welcome to New York, bitch!” she grinned. “Come on. I parked illegally. We’ve got, like, fifteen minutes max before the car gets towed or ticketed or hit by a bus.”

You let her steer you toward the sliding doors, half-laughing, half-floating. Something inside your chest began to unclench. Not heal. Not fix. Just…shift. Like breathing with one lung after holding your breath for too long.

Outside, New York howled. Car horns. Muffled music. The screech of tires on wet pavement. The scent of hot grease, exhaust, and possibility.

And Estella—Estella was humming “Shower” by Becky G like you weren’t standing under a slate-colored sky with half-zipped luggage and seventy pounds of uncertainty. She hoisted your bags into the trunk of a rust-colored Camry, kicked the back door shut with the heel of her boot, and climbed in like she’d been rehearsing this day in her head for years.

Perhaps, to her, this wasn’t a welcome. It was a declaration.

As the car pulled away, you glanced back through the window. The interior smelled like Amarige perfume and old coffee, warm and oriental and somehow comforting. The seatbelt clicked with that gritty resistance all old cars have—like even the mechanics were tired. The windows fogged slightly at the corners where cold air met weak heat, a halo of condensation softening the outside world.

The city moved like it was always running late. Cabs honked in aggressive harmony, sirens wailed somewhere distant, and the sky hung low and gray like a blanket of grey and blue  watercolors. In the cupholders, two half-full water bottles splashed with every bump. A tiny Smiski bobblehead was glued to the dashboard, nodding with unbothered consistency like it understood the rhythm of chaos better than you ever would.

You shifted in the passenger seat, trying to find a position that didn’t make your spine throb. Queens rolled past your window—rusted stairwells, crooked scaffolding, laundry clinging to cold railings, pedestrians in heavy coats darting across intersections like they had somewhere to be at a certain time.

“So,” Estella said, flicking her turn signal even though no one in this lane gave a shit, “how’s your brother?”

You blinked out of the window’s blur. “He’s okay,” you said. “Still trying to get the shop up and running again. Business is slow, but…Diego is Diego: working hard. We both are.” She nodded, glancing at you for a second too long before returning her eyes to the road. “You two got closer after the world went to shit, huh?”

You shrugged. “It’s only the two of us now. So, yeah.”

You didn’t mention the way he’d packed your bag for you, folding each item with the quiet desperation of someone trying not to cry. You didn’t mention how long it took to save up enough to afford this flight—and how you weren’t sure if it meant freedom or abandonment. Or how you’d both pretended the hug at the airport was just a normal goodbye. All you knew was that five years vanished like a sleight-of-hand trick, and now time felt like a dare you weren’t sure you wanted to take.

You rubbed the edge of your thumb, a nervous habit you’d inherited from someone who wasn’t here anymore.

“He told me to go,” you said. “Said I deserved a restart.”

Estella smiled, but it was the soft, almost sad kind. “Considering he’s one of the only ones who didn’t fucking evaporate, I’d say that says a lot coming from him.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

She swerved into the left lane evading a brief collisison and muttered something under her breath about drivers not knowing how to merge. The Smiski bobbled like it nodded in agreement.

“What about you?” you asked, mostly to change the subject. “How’s work?”

Estella rolled her eyes in slow motion, no venom behind it whatsoever. “Same as always. Twelve-hour shifts, aching feet, and zero thank-yous. I’m on nights most of the week. Trying to squeeze in classes between rounds.”

“You’re still in school?”

“Yeah. Picked up where I left off. Almost done now. Another year and I’ll finally be an RN. Until then, I get yelled at by old men and clean things I won’t describe in polite company.”

You laughed—real, full-bodied—and Estella grinned like she’d just won a personal bet with herself. “I don’t know how you do it,” you said. “Well,” she replied with a dramatic toss of her curls, “someone has to. Besides, the patients are sweet. Most of them. And I get free pudding from the cafeteria when no one’s looking.”

The light turned yellow. Estella floored it anyway. You barely noticed. Outside, the city shifted. Queens giving way to Midtown. The buildings got taller. The shadows longer. People moved quicker, like they’d been born walking with purpose. You leaned your forehead against the window. “How’s the city been...you know. Since everything?”

Estella exhaled like she’d been waiting for someone to ask. “Worse,” she said flatly. “For a while, it felt like things were getting better. Like maybe after the Blip, the Snapback, the cleanup—maybe we’d get a second chance. But eight months later, Spider-Man got blamed for blowing up half a block and everyone lost their goddamn minds. Again.”

You turned to her. “What? Wait—what happened?”

“Girl, do you not keep up with the news?” she said, snapping her head toward you.

“There’s always something about New York popping up on media. I can’t keep up with everything,” you shrugged.

She honked aggressively at the car in front of her. “People saw him take down, what, five villains in one night? One of them launched a bus through a window. And still, half the city calls him a menace. The other half thinks it was staged. Like he planned the whole thing for PR or something. I’m exhausted just listening to people argue about it.”

“Do they know who he is yet?”

“No,” she said, eyes narrowing as she switched lanes again. “That’s the weirdest part. There’s this weird collective déjà vu going around—like people sensing they used to know who he was. Like the name and face were out there. And then, poof. Nothing. No articles. No mugshots. Not even a bad Photoshop on Reddit.”

“That’s weird,” you said.

“Right?” she leaned in, like spilling gossip. “And it’s not just my tía’s Facebook conspiracy page. My boss—two master’s degrees—swears it’s a government cover-up or some multiverse shit. One of the patients said Spider-Man’s a clone. Another said he’s secretly a Skru—OH YOU DICKHEAD!”

She leaned on the horn as a Lexus cut her off. You chuckled.

“Anyway,” she huffed, straightening in her seat. “I think he’s a hero—granted, also a part-time walking traffic violator. But what do I know? I’ve only lived here my whole life.”

You looked up just in time to see the city open up before you—Manhattan rising like a hallucination from a Hallmark movie. Glossy glass windows. Sharp angles. That anxious, brilliant skyline that always looked like it had somewhere better to be. You hadn’t been to New York since you were fourteen, back when visiting Estella’s family meant summer break, bodegas at midnight, and trying not to look too touristy. Back before everything cracked.

Estella let out a low whistle. “Still looks the same, huh?”

You weren’t sure if she meant Manhattan or the city itself. This strange machine of people and traffic and sirens that didn’t stop moving even when half the world did.

“Yep,” you said, tugging your hoodie tighter around your face. “Same as always.”

And then—something thunked across the hood of the car.

Estella screamed. You jolted sideways, banging your knee on the glove box. Outside, through the windshield, a blur of red and blue flipped midair and landed—actually landed—on the crosswalk sign like gravity was a suggestion.

“Are you kidding me?” Estella groaned, slamming the brakes. “He does this every damn time I’m driving!”

“Sorry, ma’am!” came a cheerful voice from somewhere above the Camry, light and annoyingly sincere.

You blinked. “Is that—?”

“Speaking of,” Estella muttered, jabbing a thumb toward the windshield, “Spider-Man. As much as I think he’s a hero, I stand by what I’ve always said—he’s a part-time traffic hazard with a full-time Spider-God complex.”

Across the street, the webline snapped forward like a rubber band. You followed the motion—someone was weaving recklessly through foot traffic on what you assumed was a stolen CitiBike, a glittery pink Hello Kitty backpack bouncing against their shoulders. The thief barely made it half a block. Spider-Man swooped low, kicked off a street vendor’s cart, and yanked the bike sideways mid-air. The rider tumbled—mostly unharmed—into a nest of trash bags with a yelp that sounded like “I’m sorry!”

A few people clapped. Someone cheered. The guy behind you honked, obviously.

Estella sighed like this was a weekly inconvenience. “Anyway. What were we talking about?”

You didn’t answer.

You were watching him. The way Spider-Man knelt beside the kid—probably saying something dumb but honest—and then, without an outro, disappeared straight up the side of a building like it was second nature. Like he didn’t have to think about how to move. 

“The city,” you said finally, biting back a laugh. “Not changing.”

– – –

The apartment building was exactly as Estella had described it: dingy, rustic, and the living embodiment of crushed expectations.

It was the kind of place that made you laugh softly under your breath—not because it was funny, but because if you didn’t laugh, you might start asking what the hell you’d done.

It wasn’t so different from what you’d seen in L.A.—those chipped stucco walkups in Venice, the weirdly artistic duplexes in Echo Park, the closet-sized apartments in Los Feliz where “quirky” meant the plumbing screamed in the middle of the night. Still, some part of you had been hoping this one would feel…homey. A little lived-in. A little warm.

But so far, all it felt was tired.

Estella was still in the process of decorating your shared flat, and you appreciated that—but you already knew no amount of throw pillows could cover up the dread of the faintly haunted vibe leaking out of the stairwell. The walls looked like they’d seen things. Probably smelled them too. 

You followed her up two narrow flights, wheezing halfway thanks to your overstuffed suitcase and the stamina of someone who hadn’t walked more than a block in two weeks. “So how far’s the nearest station?” you huffed, grunting as you dragged your luggage one step at a time.

Estella, already halfway up the stairs and pulling your other suitcase with slight more ease, turned with a shrug. “Five-minute walk. Tops. I still gotta buy you a taser, though. Crime’s a never-ending musical out here, and girl—there’s Broadway but it’s not Broadway.”

You nearly topled over laughing, handing off the heavier bag. 

You were grateful for the help as the second landing finally came into view. The door to the first apartment opened just as you reached the top. A woman stepped out—maybe mid-twenties, blonde wavy hair cut into a stylish bob, the kind of cheekbones people paid good money to contour around. She had piercing blue eyes and the kind of face that instantly gave you the feeling she baked for her neighbors but had no problem keying a car if crossed.

She smiled brightly. “Stella! Hi! This a friend of yours?”

Estella waved. “Hi, Bambi. No, this is my cousin—Y/N. She’s moving in with me.”

Bambi grinned and stepped closer, her keys jingling in her hand like she wanted you to feel instantly included. “Nice to meet you, Y/N! I’m Bambi. I live down here with my two girl friends and my maniac toddler. Jordan’s three but thinks he’s thirty.”

“Nice to meet you too,” you said, reaching for the handshake. “I’m from South El Monte—California.”

Bambi blinked. “Huh?”

You smiled. “Los Angeles.”

“Oh my god—no way!” Her eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to go. Like, ever since I saw La La Land. I mean, I know it’s fake or whatever, but like—dreamy, right?”

You laughed—soft and genuine. “Yeah. Dreamy.”

“So what brings you all the way over here?” she asked.

“I’m starting classes at ESU.”

Bambi gasped. “Holy shit, congrats! That’s big. You’re gonna be slammed for sure. We’ll have to do a girls’ night sometime—me, you, Stella, my roommates. Maybe when Jordan’s at his dad’s and we’re not all crashing from our day jobs.”

“Yeah,” you said, still smiling. “That’d be cool.”

Behind you, Estella let out a not-so-subtle grunt as she hoisted the last of your bags up the final step. Bambi winced in sympathy. “Alright, I’ll let you girls get settled. Welcome to the madhouse!” She waved as she headed toward the stairwell, her keys still jingling.

You watched her go. For the first time since landing, something in your chest lightened. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be a total disaster.

“She’s nice,” you murmured, grabbing one of your bags.

Estella nodded, breathless. “She’s the most tolerable one out of the three. Especially on a Friday night when the hallway turns into a tequila-fueled soundscape of crying and trap music.”

You laughed again.

“Anyway,” Estella said, motioning toward the far end of the hallway with a tilt of her chin, “we’re over there. Third door past the mail slots. Hope you like yellow.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

She grinned. “You’ll see.”

You spotted it before she even said a word—the fall wreath hanging crookedly on your new apartment door. The kind with fake orange and yellow leaves and a little wooden sign that read “Welcome Fall,” in swirly script. You smiled. Not because you liked it, exactly, but because it made everything feel a little less anonymous. A marker. A tether. You were here. You had a new home. 

Estella stopped short in front of the wall-mounted mailboxes and groaned like someone had just personally offended her.

“Seriously?”

You rolled your suitcase to a pause and leaned over her shoulder. Two envelopes stuck out of your unit’s mailbox—one yellowing credit card preapproval, one with a mere name, a pizza coupon, and a tri-fold pamphlet about GED opportunities. Estella yanked the stack free like it owed her money.

“They always do this,” she muttered. “You’d think apartment numbers were rocket science.”

“Why, what happened?”

She held the stack out for you to see. “This guy’s mail keeps getting thrown in with ours. Happens at least once a week. I end up walking three flights up just to shove it back in 187’s slot.”

You raised your eyebrows, then nudged your luggage toward her. “Here,” you offered, reaching for the mismatched envelopes. “I’ll bring it to him.”

Estella gave you a long, flat look. “Y/N, you’ve been here for like—an hour and a half. You’re gonna get lost between here and the hallway.”

You rolled your eyes and wiggled your fingers in a give-it-here gesture. “I need to get familiar with my routes somehow. Might as well start now. Besides, it’s just a door number, not a maze.”

She snorted. “Regardless. I wouldn’t go making first impressions on this guy. Might scare you more than him.”

You tilted your head. “Why? Is he a grump?”

“No, not exactly,” she said, hesitating. “He’s more like…how do I put this without sounding mean? Uh—kinda…serial killer quiet.”

You blinked. “Wow. That was not not mean.”

“I’m just saying,” she huffed, tucking the rest of the mail under her arm. “Every time I run into him, he’s the same. Doesn’t talk. Doesn’t wave. Just nods, smiles maybe a bit, and disappears. Like he has nothing else to do. Super quiet.”

You shrugged. “I’m quiet.”

“Yeah, but you’re like college student quiet. He’s possible recluse hiding bodies in his closet quiet.”

You raised a brow, unconvinced. “So are you giving me the mail or not?”

Estella groaned dramatically and handed over the envelopes like they had germs. “Whatever, nena. I’m just trying to spare you the jump scare.”

You grinned at the nickname. Nena—the one she’d called you since you were nine after her mom referred to you as such when you were trying on her heels during summer visits. It was affectionate. It was patronizing. It was deeply Estella. You wouldn’t change anything about it. 

“Thanks, but spare me, Stelly. I’m eighteen, not two. I can handle myself.”

“Famous last words,” she muttered under her breath as she juggled the keys and unlocked your new apartment door with a soft click. You turned toward the stairwell with the mail in hand. “Okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“A minute, tops!” she called after you. “And if you’re not, I’m grabbing whatever I deem self-defense worthy and dragging your ass back down here.”

You waved a hand without looking back, already making your way down the hallway toward wherever the hell apartment 187 was—equal parts curious, tired, and just stubborn enough to commit.You walked up three flights of stairs—past peeling walls, humming radiators, and the faint smell of wall paint and something faintly burnt. It was the scent of everyone else’s homes mixed with each other. Familiar, in an odd way. Like the background noise of a city you inhabit as you walk in it.

You stopped at the landing, eyeing the identical wall of mail slots. Most were dented, rusted, or stuck with years-old stickers. You scanned them for 187 and, ironically, found it directly in front of you—close enough for it to be chest-to-chest.

You reached for the slot.

Then—

“ S’cuse me, Miss—are you dropping something off?”

You turned, half-startled, expecting Estella’s infamous serial-killer intro to come true.

But it wasn’t a grumpy old man. Or a Dahmer copy. Or anyone half as ominous as she’d made him sound.

Instead, it was a boy.

Your age, maybe a little older. Brown curls, one falling into his eyes. Warm, fast-moving eyes—quietly restless, like they were used to scanning rooftops or exits or people’s tells without meaning to. Wiry build. Runners’ body, not a lifter’s. A gray sweater hung a little loose around his frame, sleeves tugged down to his wrists. Sneakers, jeans. Nothing threatening. Just...something that suited him.

You held up the mail awkwardly. “Sorry—wrong delivery. These were in our box by mistake. Are you apartment 187?”

He glanced at the envelopes, then back at you. For a moment, it felt like he was trying to remember you from somewhere. Like he was looking through the letters, not at them.

Then he blinked and offered a quick, sheepish smile. “Yeah, that’s me. Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You laughed once, quietly. “You didn’t. I just wasn’t expecting anyone to actually appear. My cousin said you were, like, a cryptid.”

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Let me guess—Estella?”

“Guilty,” you nodded, handing him the mail. “She said your mail ends up in our box a lot.”

He nodded with exaggerated tiredness. “Constantly. I’ve been trying to figure out if it’s a sorting issue or bad luck.”

You laughed again—less nervous this time. “I figured I’d deliver it before it stacked up to a legal dispute.”

“Well,” he said, eyes brightening just a touch, “I appreciate it.”

You shifted your weight on your feet, suddenly aware of how empty your hands were. “I just flew in about an hour ago. Traffic was hell and we got Spider-Manhandled on the way here.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Spider-Manhandled?”

“Thunked our car. He was chasing some dude with a glittery Hello Kitty backpack. I don’t think it was a high-level threat situation, but he made it dramatic.”

He barked a laugh. “Sounds about right. Honestly, that’s probably the most New York welcome you’re gonna get.”

“I’m not sure if I should feel honored or deeply unsettled,” you said, grinning.

“Both. It’s tradition.” He paused. “Where’d you fly in from?”

“South El Monte. Just outside of L.A.”

“Damn. So how are you not jetlagged right now?”

You blinked. “Who said I’m not? I’m planning to pass out with one shoe still on.”

He laughed, genuinely this time, and extended a hand. “I’m Peter, by the way.”

You shook it without hesitation. “Y/N,” you said. And it came out with a strange kind of relief—like the name was something you’d been holding in too long for the time the two of you spoke.

Then—

Frantic footsteps from the stairwell.

You turned just in time to see Estella appear on the landing, one hand clutching the railing, the other brandishing pepper spray.

“One minute, I said!” she cried, panting. “Do you know what happens when a Native-Californian gets lost in a New York apartment complex full of—”

She stopped mid-rant, eyes locking on Peter. You froze. The horror set in like syrup.

Your face flushed hot. Tomato red. Firetruck red. Embarrassment in its final form.

“Stelly,” you hissed, “I told you I’d be down in a few—oh, forget it.”

Peter, for his part, looked like he was either trying very hard not to laugh or bracing for Estella to mace him. Maybe both.

You didn’t dare meet his eyes.

You untangled your hand from his and backed away. “Nice meeting you, Peter! I gotta go...unpack!”

Your voice cracked upward like it had just hit puberty.

Peter smiled, polite but amused. “Bye, Y/N. Bye, Estella.”

You shoved Estella down the hallway. She was still gawking between the two of you.

“Not even an hour here and you’re already flirting with the neighbors?” she stage-whispered. You slapped a hand over her mouth, throwing you both off guard. “I am not!” To your unknown relief as you were both walking back, no one but the two of you heard Estella’s comment. 

By the time the both of you were past the door, Estella had already begun flinging open every curtain and turned on every light like she was warding off potential ghosts who could’ve very well been haunting the place. She was barefoot, balancing a box of assorted mugs in one hand and her phone in the other, yelling at her Bluetooth speaker to “connect already, you little shit.”

You dropped your bag by the door and exhaled slowly, letting the aroma of faint lemon-scented cleaner and Estella’s rose-scented diffuser ease you back into something that almost resembled calm.

“This is the living room-slash-everything room,” she said, gesturing like a proud real estate agent while nearly tripping over her own slippers. “I still haven’t gotten the futon cushions delivered but that’s coming Tuesday. The kitchen works but the oven hates me. And your room’s a shoebox but I put up twinkle lights, so it’s legally cozy now.”

You smiled with a roll of your eyes and pulled your suitcase toward the hallway. “Legally cozy. Wow, thanks.”

Unzipping your luggage, you began unpacking slowly—folding shirts into half-empty drawers, stacking jeans on the bare shelf, pulling out the small bag of toiletries and navigating which door was the bathroom and closet. You heard Estella clattering around in the kitchen, muttering about needing to buy salt and how the olive oil might actually be expired.

“So,” she called out from somewhere near the sink, “important things to remember as a new New Yorker: Don’t look tourists in the eye, bodega cats outrank you, and if someone starts singing on the subway—just ignore it. Do not ask questions.”

You snorted, setting a framed photo of you and Diego on the nightstand. “I grew up in a tourist hotspot too, y’know. What else?”

“Oh, and if the guy—specifically the one at the corner store across our street—calls you ‘mami,’ that’s a compliment. Not harassment. At least from him. You’ll get used to it.”

“I’ll brace myself.”

“I’m also redoing the bathroom shelves this weekend and adding more hooks in the entryway because I know you’re gonna have a hella lot of jackets. Also we’re doing brunch with my mom’s side after church. And tonight, I’m ordering pizza. But tomorrow we’re hitting up this deli to celebrate our big milestone of moving in together or I will scream.”

You smiled, the corners of your mouth twitching with something unfamiliar. Maybe comfort.

As you tucked the last sweatshirt into a drawer, you turned toward the half-covered window that overlooked the shared stairwell balcony. The city was beginning to blur into dusk—gray bleeding into dark blue.

You leaned against the wall. “Peter didn’t seem cryptic like you said,” you brought up casually. Estella poked her head around the corner, eyebrows raised. “Girl. Did we not just have this conversation?”

You shook your head. “No, I mean…yeah, maybe he’s kinda quiet. But it’s not creepy. It’s something else.”

She didn’t laugh or scoff like you half expected. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely. “Yeah,” she said after a beat with a hint of realization. “I can maybe see what you mean. I mean, I think he has no one...Like, literally, I don’t think anyone ever comes by for him. He lives alone. No roommates. No friends. No family. No mail except junk. No packages. Just...him.”

You nodded.

The window glowed faintly now, the sky behind it tinting the stairwell in shades of steel and a lavender highlight from the street lamps. You let your fingers press lightly against the frame of your drawer where you still lingered.

“I wonder he lost someone, too,” you said, quiet and unsure if you meant it out loud.

Estella stood for a moment longer, then turned back toward the kitchen. “Well,” she said, voice lighter again, “On the brightside—that’s the first I saw him smile in the last few months I’ve been here! Maybe you showed up at the right time!”

You smiled softly.  “Anyway—are you in the mood for meat lover’s pizza, or meat lover’s pizza? Those are the only acceptable answers.”

You laughed. “Meat lover’s pizza.”

“Good. Tomorrow, we feast on Mr. Delmar’s magic sandwiches and maybe I’ll let you buy your own MetroCard like a grown-up.” 

You sat on your bed, cross-legged, as Estella rustled through the drawer for the takeout menus. You watched the light spill softly against the railing of your fireescape balcony and let your thoughts settle, for once, without rushing to fix anything. 

Outside your apartment, the stairwell stayed still. Quiet. 

Upstairs, out of sight, three floors up. Peter’s door remained closed. He was laid back on his bed, the unopened mail now tossed to the side. One envelope—thicker, familiar—he tore open slowly. Inside were photos. Ones he’d ordered weeks ago. Printed on matte paper. Grainy, imperfect, tangible.

He sifted through them.

One of May, her smile sunburned and mid-laugh with him at the corner in the familiar form one takes when taking a quick selfie. It was the day she picked him up from the airport after Europe.

The last one he ever took of her.

Peter traced the edge of the photo with a finger. Something clenched and burned behind his ribs. He didn’t let himself think past May. Not to Tony. Not to Ned.

Not to MJ.

He clenched his jaw and looked at the clock.

5:00 p.m.

Time to go. Spider-Man could start patrol early tonight.

He always could, when he didn’t want to remember.

---

a/n: Thank you guys for reading !! Stay tuned for chapter 1 !!

EDIT: I was contemplating between two songs to attribute this fic to, as well as the NAME. Originally, when I posted this, it was to Bad Bunny's "DtMF" with Saints & Spider-Webs as the Title—BUT—"Another Day That Goes," by RBD (my literal childhood) was the song I was also on the verge of choosing for both title and name. After showing this to a friend, she told me that the upcoming Spider-Man Movie's rumored to be called A Brand New Day (And the RBD song sounds almost identical to the meaning)—SO, I'm changing the song, but we're still keeping this title OG 😎

That's all folks!! Stay Tuned !!

[aphroditeinthesea]

Hi! Could I request a Percy Jackson x Daughter of aphrodite reader angst? (this request is inspired by another fic hehe) Where the percy jackson asks the reader to help woo Annabeth (you can decide how if you decide to do this) since she's A daughter and aphrodite and immediately Assumes that she's a master in the love department but the thing is the reader has a huggers crush on percy but she decides to help him out because everyone in camp knows that percy and annabeth are made for each other (just thinking about helping your crush get on with their crush makes my heart acheee😫 Againn if you decide to pick this up you can decide on the ending!!) That's all I wantttt~~ take care of yourself!!!

“ falling feels like flying (til the bone crush) ”

percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite 🌊

a/n i <3 writing percy fics just so i can use a pic of logan lerman (he’s so pretty)

⚠️ extreme and painful longing

˚ ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ ⋆

He was so pretty. And that’s coming from a daughter of Aphrodite. Y/N was always admiring him from afar. His black hair that would occasionally be swept away from his face as the wind blew, causing the perfect view of his perfect features. It was confusing how a guy could look that beautiful.

She knew she wasn't the only one who felt that way, of course. Lots of girls had crushes on him. Most prominently, the prettiest daughter of Athena. Who, as if on queue, approached Percy as he was training. She had her curls in a ponytail, no makeup, just sweat that somehow made her glow. She didn't try. And he looked at her like she was all that he worshiped.

“I cant believe youre jealous of her,” one of y/n’s sisters commented.

She scoffed, “I’m not jealous of her,” she faced the other girl, “she’s just a bookworm, who happens to look like if Kate Hudson and Taylor Swift had a baby who was Victoria’s Secret Angel.”

“Mermaid man, twelve o’clock.”

“What?” She turned around to see the son of Poseidon approaching her. She awkwardly flipped her hair to be in front of her shoulders, then a little behind her shoulders, then-

“Y/N! I wanted to talk to you,” he greeted, sitting next to her.

Her sister smirked before walking off with a wink. Her heartbeat quickened, her mind going stupid, “Percsty!” She smiled.

“I have to confess something to you, no one knows, so please don't tell anyone, okay?”

She quickly nodded, “anything, yeah of course. What is it?”

He bit his lips. Oh gods. “I was wondering if you could help me impress Annabeth.”

Heart? Shattered. Brain? Broken. Lungs? Zero air, absolutely nothing.

“You like her?”

He blushed, looking down and fidgeting with his hands, “I do.”

“I can help,” dumbass, “one of the perks of being Aphrodite’s daughter.”

With that, she found herself in cabin three, under terrible, terrible circumstances.

“What’s her favorite flower?”

He thought for a second, “irises.”

Y/N wrote that down in her notebook, which she would promptly be burning at the campfire tonight. The stress was taking her over, she was ready to tear off the pink fluff ball that sat atop the pen.

“Food?”

“Extra olive pizza.”

“Gag me with a spoon,” she blurted as she wrote. “What?”

“What?”

He leaned back on his bed, “you think she’ll like this? I’m not even sure if she likes me back.”

“Trust me,” she sighed, “she does.”

“I dont know.”

“Percy, she does,” she snapped, “especially I planned this whole thing.”

“Thanks for that, by the way,” he grinned, “I really wanna make sure she likes everything.”

“She will,” she reassured. “You know, I never really pegged you as a romantic.”

“Me neither,” he sighed, “but when it comes to her, gods.”

Y/N frowned, “you really love her?”

He stuttered, “I mean, love, that’s a big word. I- uhm- love her- I don’t,” he took a breath, “I do.”

The only way I can explain what y/n thought in that moment was something along the lines of, “alfkhgnlkhsjk.”

She looked next to him from where she was sitting. That’s when she noticed the framed picture on his bedside table. Him and Annabeth, two years ago it looked to be. His arm around her shoulder, both of them seemed to have been laughing when the candid was taken. That's when it hit her. The bright smiles on their faces were the ones she only ever saw when they  were together. Like they both had smiles reserved for the other.

She looked back at the green eyes that were looking at her, “I can tell.”

She stood in the middle of the woods, a few feet away from the camp entrance. She saw the figure approaching her. She reached for her pocket, getting ready.

“Cheese pizza with extra olives?”

She nodded, “yeah.”

“$11.90,” the delivery boy added.

She handed him the money, plus tip, considering he had to come into the middle of the woods for this.

She walked back into camp. Wondering why she was doing this. If she had been one of her siblings, she probably would've tried to sabotage the whole thing. Make sure that Percy and Annabeth never happen. But the way he talked about her? Like she was the center of the universe? She knew she could never compete with the daughter of Athena. His wisegirl.

“You got the pizza?”

She handed it to Percy as he set up the pink irises in a vase, “here,” she muttered, “there’s no change.”

“One pizza costs twenty dollars?” He questioned.

She shrugged, “inflation.” It was kinda depressing. The best revenge she could get was giving an eight dollars and 10 cents tip. She awkwardly played with the skirt of her dress, “I’ll go get Annabeth.”

She hurried to cabin six. She knocked on the door, lucky enough, the blonde opening it, “hey?”

“Annabeth!” she forced a smile, “Percy was looking for you, he wanted you to meet him by the strawberry fields.”

“Oh?”

“Seaweed Brain!” y/n heard the laugh from archery training. She turned around, catching a glimpse of the new couple. Her hand was in his as they walked. Her nose buried in his shoulder as she giggled. For a second, just a second, he looked back at the daughter of Aphrodite. He flashed her smile, wording, “I owe you.”

Yes, you do.

[cabinwritesmatt]

all for show

slight cheating + angst + happy ending

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

You hadn’t even made it through the front door when the texts started flooding in.

“Did you see this?” “Is this real?” “Are you and Chris okay???”

Chris went out tonight to an influencer party. I didn't go because both of us want to keep our relationship a secret.

Confused and already a little anxious, you opened your phone, only to have your stomach drop.

Your eyes scanned all the messages you were getting before landing on paparazzi photos.

Chris laughing with some girl.

Chris sitting next to same girl.

Chris posing for a photo with same girl.

Chris and this same girl leaving the party together.

Your eyes begin to well up with tears as your mind runs wild. He's cheating on me with some other infuencer.

as if on queue he messages you

chris<3: don't look at ur phone.

Too late. You try to wipe your eyes that are now spilling over with tears and put your phone down.

he starts calling you.

You scoff and immediately decline it. You can't even bring myself to listen to his excuse.

You press the side button on your phone, locking the screen as if that would somehow make all of it go away.

Another text lights it up.

chris<3: “Please. Y/N. Just talk to me.”

Then another call.

chris<3: baby please. you know i'd never hurt you

And another. You silence it again with shaky fingers.

Your chest feels tight, like your lungs don’t know how to work properly. You try to remind yourself to breathe, but all you can see is that girl. All you can picture is her smile next to his. Her hand on his arm. The way he looked so comfortable. So happy.

instead of thinking you press the block button on Chris contact. Maybe he has an excuse. Maybe he doesn't. you just know you can't listen to it right now.

--------

Hours have passed and your still crying on your couch.

articles continue to surface about Chris and his "new girl"

You drop your phone onto the couch and wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, frustration boiling in your chest. You can’t tell if you’re more heartbroken or furious.

Then it rings again.

But this time, it’s not Chris.

Nick.

Your heart skips. Confused, you answer. “Hello?”

Nick’s voice comes through, panicked. “Y/N? What the hell is going on with Chris?”

You freeze. “What?”

“He’s at the house losing it. Like full-on sobbing. I’ve never seen him like this. I tried asking him what was wrong and he just kept saying your name over and over again. Then he got up and said he was going to your place and ran out the door.”

Your breath catches.

Nick keeps going. “He looked like he was gonna throw up. I thought maybe something happened to you—but now I’m guessing it’s about whatever that internet thing is?”

You sink down onto the couch, silent.

“He didn’t cheat on you, Y/N,” Nick says, voice lower now. “He’s not that guy. I don’t know what happened exactly, but I know my brother. He’d rather burn everything down than lose you.”

Your eyes fill up again—this time not just from the photos, but from the image of Chris sobbing and saying your name. What am i supposed to believe?

“I gotta go,” you whisper.

You hang up before Nick can say more.

And that’s when you hear the knock.

Soft at first. Then more desperate.

You don’t need to look. You know it’s him.

“Y/N,” Chris’s voice comes through, cracking immediately. “Please open the door.”

You don’t move.

“I know what it looked like. I know how bad it looks. But just let me explain. Let me fix it.....angel please.”

You slowly get up, every part of you trembling from ur previous crying, and walk toward the door—but you don’t open it. You just stand there. Fists clenched. Jaw tight.

“I saw the photos,” you say, voice hoarse. “I saw everything, Chris.”

There’s a pause. A sharp breath from the other side.

"ill explain everything I-.....I really need to see you" Chris pleading from the other side of the door shatters your heart more. With your heart still cracked wide open, you reach for the doorknob with shaking fingers and slowly twist it open.

Chris is a mess.

His eyes are bloodshot, his hair a mess, and tears pour out of his eyes. You almost give in.

you watch him examine your face and slowly break down more.

"God baby i'm so sorry, I never want to hurt you like this"

You watch him try to reach out to you but you step back. His face falls more.

You didn’t say anything. You just stepped aside.

He walked in slowly, like he wasn’t sure he deserved to. Then he turned to face you.

“They told me to sit with her. To smile. To be seen leaving together. For press. For some fake relationship stunt to get attention. I didn’t want to do it, I swear. But I felt like I didn’t have a choice.”

You crossed your arms, trying to hold yourself together. “You always have a choice, Chris.”

“I know,” he choked out. “I know. And I made the wrong one. I should’ve told them no. I should’ve told you. I just… I didn’t want to scare you off. We’ve been keeping things quiet and I thought—I thought maybe if I didn’t involve you, you wouldn’t have to deal with the mess.”

He stepped closer, eyes glossy.

“But I hurt you. And that’s the opposite of what I ever wanted.”

You said nothing, lips trembling as you tried to process it all.

“I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t touch her. I left that party alone, came straight here. And I’ve been freaking out ever since.”

He swallowed hard, then said it—barely above a whisper:

“Please don’t leave me.”

You watched him slowly crouch down to his knees in front of you. gripping onto your legs for support.

You looked down at him, voice quiet but steady. “You broke my trust.”

Chris nodded slowly, tears slipping down his cheeks now. “I know. And I’ll do whatever it takes to earn it back. I’ll never let them use me like that again. I’ll go public with us, I’ll post your name everywhere if you want me to. Just—please, Y/N. I can’t lose you over something fake. Because what we have… it’s real.”

You took a shaky breath, torn, aching—but deep down, part of you could see the truth in his eyes. The pain. The regret. The love.

You didn’t say anything.

But you crouched down to him.

you slow caressed his face, wiping his tears with the pad of your thumb. Chris let out a breath and closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to yours.

"i wont hurt you again, baby. Just don't leave me" he whispered.

You take a breath and nod.

And that was enough—for now.

He pulled you in his arms on the floor and held you like he never wanted to let go again. Whispering he was sorry over and over.

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

I wrote this for @espressqe hope you enjoy!! <3

[bogkeep]

forgive me father for i have once again listened to a podcast episode discussing a topic that makes me go >:( and now i must write a blog post about it.

the topic was, i guess Learned Helplessness although they never really used that term. the whole talk got very Kids These Days-y in a way that just. does not sit well with me, very generalizing and victim-blamey. but it IS a complicated topic, because there are many things i DO agree with:

- learning to sit with discomfort, inconvenience and conflict is a good and necessary skill

- anti-intellectualism is bad, and challenging yourself can be very rewarding

- people do have a certain amount of agency and responsibility for their actions

- being in community is good and hyperindividualism is not so good

but oh... how do people argue for how everyone should be constantly challenging themselves and be responsible for everything in their lives, in the same breath as decrying self care (or "self care" with the quotation marks) as hyperindividualist?

is this a los angeles thing. do all podcasters live in LA or something

do i have a different definition of community??????

one of my fundamental philosophies that i've carried with me through life is that not everyone can do everything, and nobody does everything the same. we have different strengths and limits, we do things at different speeds, and in community we can compensate for our differences. and most importantly, nobody needs to be "deserving" of help and resources - everyone should have a right to help and resources.

i volunteered at my local queer youth organization for several years. i did what i could when i could do it. for a while i was the only one with access to a car, so i helped out a lot when moving offices, or when we travelled to a rural town to help out with their first ever pride parade. when i moved out i no longer had access to the car. at every parade i was at, one thing that was made clear in all the speeches was that when we march, we march not only for ourselves, but for everyone unable to join. there was never any shame in being unable to join. be it because of safety reasons, or disability, or just plain availability - not everyone can join! not everyone wants to join! enough people do that we have a parade regardless.

something that became pretty difficult at one point is when the leader of the local chapter started taking on too many tasks and delegating too little, essentially bringing the whole organisation to a halt when she was unable to do the tasks and nobody else had access to them. not knowing your limits makes you a choking point.

and like, okay. i'll be the first to admit that i take the whole sentiment of "you're not trying hard enough" a little bit personally. me, and probably every other disabled and neurodivergent person who has had to hear it a million zillion times while they try and try and try and it just does not yield the results - or they yield only at a great cost.

i have several painful memories of my mother, a woman who gets huffy if she has to stand in a queue for too long, implying that i am unwilling to leave my comfort zone. i've grown up thinking that i'm a weak willed and sensitive soul due to personal failing, or maybe a failing to break a bone in my childhood, and hey, maybe it's true. though i AM starting to suspect someof the challenges i face are like, actual challenges, mayhaps due to being autistic and marginalized in a hostile society.

i can't speak on behalf of all disabled people, but i suspect many are familiar with the experience of not being believed when they say they can't do something.

so... okay. how DO we synthesize the 'learned helplessness epidemic' with the fact that people have limits. surely there's a middle ground between "you're not helpless, you can do anything you set your mind to if you just try harder" and "you're not responsible for anything ever and owe people nothing".

i don't know! i just don't think there's a one size fits all solution. making yourself be active and go out is good if you've got depression, and not good if you've got severe burnout. there are times when you may need to push yourself, and times when you need to be forgiving and let yourself rest. is scrolling on your phone for three hours rotting or resting? it depends! it just does!

i think there's great power in knowing your limits. knowing what you can and can't do means finding solutions - sometimes you find an alternative way of doing something, sometimes you need someone else to do it, sometimes you can learn and practice how to do the thing, and sometimes it doesn't need doing. i don't think it's necessary to have to do everything in the most challenging or normative way possible. if it's difficult to throw away trash, maybe you need more available trash cans. i think it's far, far more responsible to be honest about what you can do than overpromise only to crash and burn.

i'm just!!! so exhausted by the idea of constantly pushing yourself, as if improvement can only happen through exertion.

(quick rundown examples brought up in the podcast that made me grind my teeth:

- "unless you have a LEGITIMATE REASON i think picky eating is a moral failing" ghhgrghhgghhhhh

- the whole "americans are getting worse at reading and they only read garbage" as if all reading must be Intellectual and Challenging and that's the True Purpose Of Books. also, not to be like "the american school system has failed you" but the american school system has been failing to teach people to read. like that is actually a thing. i know anti-intellectualism is on the rise and there's a myriad of reasons behind it. but it's weird to me that nobody brings this up!

- "a fifteen year old feeling uncomfortable with this pop star because she's so sexualized" yeah they're fifteen. do you remember how uncomfortable it is to be fifteen and dealing with your body and sexuality in a society that's simultaneously pushing sex at you at every turn while also being extremely weird about sex due to religion probably. im willing to cut all teenagers a lot of slack for being weird about sex and sexuality tbh

- implying people mostly order food/grocery delivery because they're lazy and anxious. Surely People Do It For Myriads Of Other Reasons

- brief mention of "people have less sex than before". stares into the camera asexually

- they didn't actually bring up Therapy Speak but it feels very much in the same vein, you know? a lot of talk about people using mental illness and trauma as an excuse for avoiding things, but you know what might help with a lot of that? therapy. probably. i would hope. like trauma does in fact fuck with your conflict resolution skills, and a lot of people have plenty reasons to be traumatized. Considering)

anyway that's all for now

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

⋆✮spn convention story time✮⋆

aka: the time i went to a supernatural convention and left with a new religion, five spinal readjustments from jared padalecki, and lifelong emotional damage.

i know, i know. y'all been waiting, and i've let you down, so for that i am so sorry. but i'm here now, ready to deliver. so strap (on heheh) in, and get a snack or something because it's time for me to tell y'all all about the con.

thursday: pilgrimage begins i rolled up to the birmingham hilton metropole like a tiny, caffeinated prophet dragging a suitcase full of outfits and deeply repressed feelings for sam winchester. while i was checking in (barely keeping it together), mark sheppard walked in behind me like the physical embodiment of sarcasm and sin. crowley himself. i peeked. i fled. i ironed my blouses like i was preparing for judgment day.

later, i went to the “newbie meetup,” which turned out to be the kindest little cult you’ve ever met. i got paired with kim, who instantly became my convention fairy godparent. they told me everything—con etiquette, survival tips, layout of the hotel, emotional buffer strategies. literal angel. castiel has got nothing on kim.

then someone named kaia pulled out a bag and said “lucky dip.” i pulled a tiny black duck with green eyes and a red handprint. they gasped. apparently i’d pulled the rarest duck of all—the dean duck. my very first duck. my precious. i gave it to kim, who didn’t have a dean yet after three years of attending. they were so touched they gave me a bracelet in return. i almost cried.

we played supernatural trivial pursuit after that. i wasn’t gonna join in at first, but slowly i started answering questions. before i knew it i was being dragged into the circle like i’d been chosen by god. turns out i know far more than i should. my brain is full of lore. i am a weapon.

at the end, kaia told me to look around the hotel for more ducks because they made sams, crowleys, castiels, and some others. i said that i gave my dean to kim because it's the only one they needed to complete the collection... kaia reaches back into their duck-bag... pulls me out their last dean duck and puts it in my hands, tells me that i am such a nice person for doing that, and that they can't let me leave without a dean.

after that, i went out for a cigarette. mark sheppard was outside. so was billy moran. i made a joke. mark laughed. i floated upstairs. this was just day one.

friday: initiation woke up to a text from kim. we went out for snacks and ice lollies like gremlins. came back to the hotel to find it absolutely heaving—registration had opened early. as a gold ticket holder i got to skip the queue (thank god), but kim didn’t. i waited with them anyway because loyalty comes before lanyards.

when i picked up my autographs, a staff guy told kim they could stick with me for the rest of the weekend because i was new and nervous and, apparently, adorable. free pass unlocked.

then came the gold/platinum table talks. we sat at round tables while the guests made their way around to chat with us for ten minutes at a time. we met:

⋆ mark sheppard (hell king energy) ⋆ ruth connell (ethereal) ⋆ julian richings (death personified) ⋆ matt frewer, lisa berry, samantha smith, alicia witt ⋆ and finally... osric chau, who i vibed with on a molecular level

we talked about insomnia, toddlers, bluey, and jiu jitsu. he said he didn’t believe i had a four-year-old. i told him i did. we laughed. he told me he watches bluey even after his nephews go to bed. i forgave him for being too pure. i hogged his time and honestly? i regret nothing. i went to bed floating.

saturday: ascension woke up at 6am. practically a lie-in. got showered, got dressed, and headed straight to my first op: osric.

as soon as i walked around the partition, he beamed and said “hey, it’s you! sleeping better without the four-year-old, huh?” i nearly died. we took the photo. i grinned so hard my face hurt.

then came ruth, who is genuinely too pretty for this earth. she looks like stained glass and fairy wine. she said hello and i blacked out.

then… the wait for jared. i queued for an hour and forty minutes. worth every damn second. when i got to the front, he looked down at my thigh tattoos and said “oh! those are so cool!” and i, like a complete idiot, said “you’re so cool.” he laughed. held out his arms. said “can i hug you?” i nodded. “yes please.” he hugged me like he meant it. i melted.

later, during autographs, he remembered me again. asked me about my tattoos. i told him one was for sam and one was for dean, and that i’d be a pretty useless meatsuit since a demon would have to take off both legs to possess me. he laughed.

then he said: “i hope they didn’t hurt too much.” and for reasons known only to god and my self-sabotage, i replied: “oh no, i’ve got a really high pain tolerance.” he made a face. you know the one. i wanted to die. kim tried to reassure me. i could still hear the face. i was haunted.

sunday: full possession woke up shaking. first op was mark sheppard, and i was shaking so bad he literally asked if i was okay. i said yes, like a liar.

next: misha. i asked, “do you mind if i stand the other side of you?” he smirked. smirked. gestured for me to come around. wrapped his arm around me. after the photo? he winked. i skipped out of the room. i was dizzy. misha winked at me. i needed to sit down forever.

then came jared, round two: redemption arc. i walked in. he smiled so wide. “it’s you again! how are you?” i took a breath. “i need to apologise for yesterday.” he tilted his head. “what for?” i said, “because i told you i had a high pain tolerance, and then spent all night thinking, why the fuck did i brag about that to jared padalecki?” he burst out laughing. told me, “you have nothing to apologise for! i thought it was funny!” then asked, “can i hug you again?” i nodded. he hugged me so tight my back cracked in three places. it was euphoric.

after that, we got more autos. osric chatted with me like we were old friends. asked about my job. i said tattooing and music. he asked where he could listen. i told him my insta. he said “follow me and message me.” i blacked out. he hugged both kim and i. we are now spiritually married. he also followed me back!!!!!

we watched "a good idea" live, and misha broke me. i laughed, i cried, i dissolved. he is a genius. i left my body again.

epilogue: i am not the same i left that convention with:

⋆ 6 photo ops ⋆ 7 autographs ⋆ 1 dangerously soft wink ⋆ an accidental pain brag ⋆ osric chau’s blessing ⋆ and confirmation that jared padalecki hugs like a chiropractor with a vengeance

if you’re thinking of going to a con: do it. be cringe. be weird. collect ducks. make friends. brag about your pain tolerance to your fave and then spiral about it. it’s sacred.

if you read all this: i love you. we are bonded now. see you at the next one <3

[lucifertheanalyzer]

https://www.tumblr.com/communities/critics-of-the-helluvaverse/post/782804402529583104/tw-for-assault-i-think?source=share

I just found all this out, and I am beyond furious. Everything makes disgusting sense now. The way Vivziepop refuses to acknowledge the abuse dynamic in Stolitz, the way she rushes to defend Valentino a literal rapist and how she brushed off a fan who related to Blitzø’s trauma? That’s not ignorance. That’s not bad writing. That’s someone who’s into this kind of shit. Stop sugarcoating it

She was drawing sexualized art of her underaged OC Addison back in her Zoophobia days, who was paired with an adult. Let that sink in. And the absolute worst—she deliberately brought someone with a known rape fetish to storyboard for a sexual assault survivor like Angel Dust. The playlists are non-con. This isn’t “dark storytelling.” It’s fetish fuel and it’s bleeding into the show, and people are still defending her? This should absolutely be part of the conversation when talking about Stolitz and "ValAngel"

Why the fuck isn’t this talked about more? Why is this not common knowledge? Survivors have spoken out saying Angel Dust’s portrayal makes them uncomfortable—and what does Viv do? Nothing. No accountability. No listening. Just more bullshit dressed up as “representation”

I’m sick of seeing her get away with this under the guise of “queer art” or “edgy humor.” Vivziepop has a massive platform, and she’s using it to normalize abuse dynamics and sexual violence through stylized animation—and her fans are still defending her like she’s some misunderstood creator

This should be everywhere. These screenshots, these receipts, this truth—it all needs to be shoved into the spotlight. She loves arguing with fans online? Great. Throw this in her face. Expose it. Stop letting her hide behind a fandom that worships the "aesthetic" and ignores the rot underneath

I am done. Done watching survivors be dismissed. Done watching people call this “deep” or “meaningful” when it’s just thinly veiled fetish content. Vivziepop is not a victim of “cancel culture.” She is a woman who’s shown us who she really is and it’s past time we believe her and act accordingly

I reblogged that post and had it in my queue, guess I have to post it now. 🤷🏾 The playlist has normal videos in like memes, early YouTube videos, and clips from tv shows. It is not all "non-con". The top three videos do not feature those women getting rape. She even liked Onision and Shane Dawson videos back when they were popular, this is how damn old this playlist is.

I am not going comment on the rest stuff mentioned in your ask because those are topics I am saving for a very long blog post or a YouTube video. I am just over this playlist that 16-18 Viv made being bought up, lets focus on the 32-year-old Viv and her recent comments and behaviors.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

how about one where the reader is a great singer, but feels shy and Crowley encourages her?

Love your work! <3

Hi my pretty,

Here's some HCs bc I have, like, 15 reqs for singing related things and I cannot possibly write them all and write them all different haha

Angel!Crowley x GN!Reader

Good Omens tag list: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr @clarina04 @motionlessindoubt (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Angel!Crowley is obsessed with your singing. It genuinely makes them sad to know that you're shy about singing.

The first time they heard you singing, she was absolutely enraptured. He'd almost knocked a bookshelf over to find where the music was coming from.

If they notice you're singing, they're always deathly quiet because it's such a treat when you're feeling confident enough to sing.

Sometimes she will pull just a little miracle to put one of his favourite songs on the queue in the hopes that she might get to hear you sing even just a few lines.

When you find out that they've been doing this, you're a bit embarrassed at first, but Crowley is so genuine in her adoration for you that you forgive her with a peck on the cheek (she blushes).

"I mean, I just cannot believe Heaven would let a voice like yours go unnoticed. You could sing for the bosses if you'd like to. Such a beautiful voice, my love."

Crowley always puts music on when you go anywhere so that you have music to vibe to.

"Oh, love, please do sing that one again. It's one of my favourites."

"The acoustics in the shower are quite something, not that you need them, of course."

"My love, I could listen to your voice for eons."

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

I think what I need right now is a story where a bunch of women, queer people, poc, and allies defeat a bunch of asshole white guys 😭😭

🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♀️

FUCK YEAH! Again, skipping the queue for all election despair related inboxes as you are so very valid.

96 for 🧟‍♀️:

---

“We’re not sure,” Bobby says.

“They made it sound like there was more of them,” Athena adds. 

“It’s good that you’re back,” Bobby tells him. “We need all the manpower we can get."

“What’s the plan for if the wannabe warlords come back?” Eddie asks. 

Well, this is Karen’s moment. 

She steps forward. “I think we can blow them up.”

Everyone looks at her sort of blankly. Everyone except the red headed stranger. She just smirks. 

“Oh, I like you,” she says. “How can I help?”

▪️▪️▪️

Karen explaining what she and Maddie have been working on is interrupted by an honestly tearful reunion between Christopher and his mother. 

When Hen brings Chris down to the foyer, he practically shrieks with joy when he sees her. Shannon. That’s how she introduces herself. When Shannon sees Chris, hears him call for her, she breaks into a sprint. She lifts him into her arms and squeezes him, crying. 

It chokes Karen up. She has to find Hen and hold onto her arm. She can only imagine what it would have been like for this woman. She doesn’t know Shannon and Eddie’s story at all, but she has to assume there’s a fairly high chance she spent the better part of a year believing her child was dead. Karen isn’t sure what that would do to her. Psychologically. She thinks it would mess her up really badly. 

All the more reason to incinerate these fuckers that would take her boy. 

Shannon spends some time alone with Christopher while Abby and the other woman, Taylor, explain their situation. A household of women killing zombies and protecting other women against men taking advantage of anarchy? Sounds pretty awesome. And sort of gay? But Karen won’t linger too much on that point. 

“So you just happened to run into Buck and Eddie?” Chim asks. “Like conveniently out of the blue?”

Buck and Eddie exchange a look. Eddie’s cheeks get a little red. What the hell happened there? 

“Yep,” Eddie answers. “Pretty random. We’re lucky.”

“I bet that was a surprise for you, eh, Abby?” Chim continues. 

“Oh, you have no idea,” Abby replies. 

There’s a story there. When Karen has more time and less impending doom, she will be nosy. Really nosy.

▪️▪️▪️

Eventually, there is nothing for Karen to do but return to her work while the others talk. Maddie joins her after a few minutes, and a few minutes after that, Buck barges into the room where they’re working. 

“Hi, Buck,” Karen says. “You keep bringing people back and we’re going to run out of space eventually. We’ll need to build some bunk houses.”

“Ha,” Buck laughs weekly. “Well, I don’t think anyone but Eddie and Chris want to stay, but… Actually… Maddie, can we talk?”

“Of course,” Maddie says. “Can it wait until we finish working, or do you need me right now?”

“Uh, can I talk while you work?” Buck asks. 

Karen gives him a look. “Because you’re never distracting?”

“Okay, I made you mix up the seeds one time,” Buck defends. 

“That was gardening. This is explosives,” Karen points out. 

“And, uh, this is sort of an explosive revelation I’ve had, so…”

Maddie and Karen exchange a look.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Maddie says.

“Better be good, though,” Karen warns. 

Buck sighs. “Okay. I… Well, see… Eddie and I had a lot of time to talk, driving and then walking around Los Angeles.”

“Okay?” Maddie asks. “You made a friend?”

“Uh… Not quite just that.”

Karen’s jaw drops. “Shut up.” 

“Wait,” Maddie narrows her eyes, processing. “What?”

“We…” Buck taps his foot nervously. 

Karen grins. “I had a feeling about you.”

“A feeling?” Maddie asks. “What feeling?”

“Eddie and I sort of hooked up,” Buck explains.

Karen holds back a little excited squeak. She’s gotten to know Buck pretty well over the past months. All the wonderful and baffling things about him. 

[that-ineffable-devil]

So before Shax pops in on Aziraphale's drive back from Edinburgh, she stops by the bookshop to harass Crowley about Gabriel.

He then, very pointedly, remarks that he can't invite her in. Now, the first time it can be written off as snark:

Shax: "You know I can't step over the threshold."

Crowley: "Oh. Shame I can't invite you in. You're welcome to look all you want from there."

Totally read this as him just being a prat (affectionate).

But shortly thereafter:

Shax: "And if you won't let me in..."

Crowley: "Not technically something I can do."

Now we can believe he's serious. So Crowley doesn't have "privileges" to invite demons in. Crowley.

Also, in earlier episodes, no ANGELS enter the shop without Aziraphale first inviting them in. Michael, Uriel, and Saraquel don't even move closer to the door until Aziraphale explicitly invites them in.

Now, this could be crackpot theory, but if angels AND demons must get Aziraphale's permission (excluding Crowley who is always welcome), then how is it that an off-handed comment from a human allowed the demons in during the Battle of the Bookshop?

It can't simply be because she's "human" and therefore that automatically gives her privileges to invite anyone into the Embassy, as Aziraphale refers to it. That would just be... Odd??

That whole situation was odd anyway, what with the demons slowly milling around the bookshop like NPCs waiting for a plot queue.

But the fact that Maggie, a GUEST, was able to invite demons into the bookshop (without explicitly meaning to) seems extraordinarily suspicious.

[daughter-of-sapph0]

hey, you found my pinned post!

I hid this on that one anon response because it's hilarious and I want it at the top of my blog.

i'm Queen

welcome to my blog. I hope you're not expecting a consistent theme or any sort of organization here.

I mainly just reblog whatever I like, but if you want me to tag something specific, let me know

im plural. all alters use it/its or she/her. i prefer to be called Queen unless you actually know me personally. i try and tag certain posts with headmates names but we forget sometimes

.

here's some of the tags I use:

#dostxt - original posts

#dospics / #maebhdos - my artwork

#asks - my ask tag

#my ocs - my original characters, mainly art and memes about them. just be aware that all my ocs are from porn, and 90% of that porn exists only in my head as of present

I have a few other blogs as well:

@maebhdos my art archive blog. (not really that active any more. i kinda forgot to use this for a while)

@lesbian-barriss is my star wars side blog, which is probably my least active but I still will reblog stuff occasionally

@best-evangelion-girl is my evangelion side blog. originally I started it for a silly joke poll competition, but I'm keeping it around so there isn't as much eva spam on my main. I also reblog a bunch of anime stuff like bocchi, fma, rtu, dunmeshi, and more. mostly just runs on a queue

@angel-in-shibari is my... uh... side blog. 18+ only. also contains a link to my ao3 and my writing

i don't feel like laying out all my politics and labels and whatever. I think if you've been following me for a while, you should know what I'm like.

you don't necessarily have to agree with everything I believe. but if your a dick or bigot or just piss me off, I'm blocking you without a second thought.

my askbox is open most of the time. but if i get hate mail or threats, i'm donating money to transgender organizations for every ask i get, just to piss you off.