#live with them. woman of all time FOR REALS

[jeonscatalyst]

I just have to ask them, since that cult won't stay out of Jikook spaces or off Jikook's back. Why do you want Tae to date Jk, who you claim does fanservice & hurts him? Why do you want Tae to date Jk, who prioritizes another man over him? Why do you want Tae to date JK, who spends couple days with another man and not him? Why do you want Tae to date JK, who enlisted with another man over him? Why do you want Tae to date JK, who told 20 million people he showers with another man? Why do you want Tae to date JK, who went on vacations with another man & created a show together, said he wanted to do the show for 50 years with him, where Tae had no clue & found out through group chat and had to insist on coming himself? Why do you want Tae to date Jk, when he was clearly happy with someone else?

These are valid questions. Nothing here would be considered healthy or romantic. So what do you get out of it then, if TK is real? Wanting to see them date cause they're hot? Popular? or cause you're scared to see your bias with someone else so you say its cosplayers & use JK to feel better? Clearly its not because you think they're in love, because you don't love someone & do 'fanservice' with someone else, shower with someone else & tell the world while throwing it in your partners face or leave someone you love to enlist with someone else, when you had a chance to be together. They can't answer it cause its never been about TK, its about them wanting it for them no matter how toxic it is. What does that cult think is gonna happen? Jk is gonna get out of the shower with Jimin and go get in Tae's shower? What do PJM's think is gonna happen. Jimin is gonna leave Jk's side after 18 months and never speak to him again? What do JJK's think is gonna happen. Jk is gonna drop Jimin and marry them or some woman to fulfill their fantasies? All this crashing out over Jikook since enlistment & discharge & traveling together from all sides, is pure insanity. All while JIkook are living their best lives without a care in the world about your negativity or your tears. This fandom needs a real reality check.

You know what’s funny, anon? Taekookers are losing their minds over Jungkook traveling with Jimin to multiple countries right after his military discharge even though, on the day Jungkook was discharged ,Tae was off hanging out with his Wooga friends. You never see them upset at Tae for not being there with Jungkook, even though you’d think that’s when a boyfriend would be expected to show up. But God forbid Jungkook decides to spend time traveling with someone he’s just spent 18 months with in the military.

The reason Taekookers are so quick to strip Jungkook of his autonomy and paint him as some kind of puppet is because deep down, they know that if Taekook were truly in a relationship, then it’s clearly not an ideal one. So to cope, they convince themselves that everything Jungkook does for, to, or with Jimin is either forced or tied to some contractual obligation. That way, Jungkook isn’t a “bad boyfriend” he’s just doing what he has to do. He’s not choosing to be with Jimin, he’s simply following orders.

They’ll say anything to avoid admitting that Jungkook does these things with Jimin because he wants to. But of course, it wouldn’t make sense to them that Jungkook would rather travel the world with Jimin than spend quality time with a “boyfriend” he barely saw for 18 months so instead, they twist the narrative to fit their fantasy.

Truth is, they want Taekook to be in a romantic relationship so badly that they’ll accept any theory no matter how far-fetched as long as it protects that illusion.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

DON'T BE SCARED!!! EVENTUAL HAPPY ENDING!!!!!

1. it is and that's why she hates it, but Dean's ass is just locked in to thinking about how her ass and boobs would look playing it. 😭

2. SHE DOES LMAOOOOO

3. nobody ever said she was safe about health.

4. ehheheheh✨secrets✨

5. Bobby better not get a house inspection any time soon

6. it's okay she's built different. and good thing to think about :)

7. she's got good childhood memories. all you gotta do is associate it with dessert

8. she WOULD, but again. Dean's just horny.

9. she's so real

10. girl *I* know that, but they're juggling a lot of balls at once give them a second

11. Dean not liking milk is a choice I made and I stand by it.

12. let him be DOMESTIC it's what he's BUILT FOR

13. don't worry. it's just a sad reason!

14. yeah :(

15. yeah... fun fact that actually happened in my family!!! also, i know in canon they say John wasn't there when Adam was born but I chose to think that's a LIE and he just SUCKS

16. all my homies hate Zachariah

17. good. everyone should hate him MORE.

18. SHE SHOULD'VE

19. Zachariah's first mistake: thinking she can't back up all her insanity.

20. Across universes, Ben heard Her voice say that and felt proud

21. he's not that smart

22. She's so done all the time let her rest

23. this chapter is. not going to help his case.

24. She literally went 'who's that lady making him so happy :(' as if it wasn't fucking HER😭

25. .... nda

26. HE'S BACK AND BETTER THAN EVER

27. He really went "that's my bad squad. i take it back. oops."

28. he's ALSO so done

29. LMAOOOO that's fair

30. can you mention me when you get famous🩷

31. HER GROCERIES!!!!!

32. Again. She's so real.

33. they really are. they're so smart but also. SO STUPID.

34. bro was going "wait hold up did i blow it"

35. they're all adhd coded

36. he really is. Also cause NO other angel is that socially inept it's just him. And Princess is too (special interest in lore, emotional overloads, can't read social situations) so Dean has. a Type.

37. THAT YOU YOU'RE THE FIRST PERSON TO CATCH THAT AND SAY IT I LOVE YOU

38. Michael lives in. Deluison.

39. Girl She's in the same boat.

40. ..... sorry

41. :) sure!

42. THANK YOU SHE'S LITERALLY THE FUNNIEST WOMAN ALIVE SHE PUT AN ANGEL IN A JAR

43. this will not come back to bite her in the ass at all!!

Final thoughts: Chuck is. in danger. SEE YOU SOON FOR MORE AND THANK YOU!!🩷🩷🩷

Chapter 25 - And It Was Written

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I consider there to be five “big” secrets in Babylon. Here’s the first one.

Chapter Title from The Prophecy by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 19.4k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You get a call. Usual Warnings.

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

Chapter 24 - Chapter 26

Read on A03!

“You ever play golf, Princess?”

“Do I look like someone who’s played golf?”

Dean chuckles, the sound a little static through the speaker of the phone. “You want me to answer that?”

“Dean Winchester-“

“You got that fancy walk,” he says your name, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “Rich person walk.”

“I do not have a rich person walk-“

“Yeah, you do.”

“Well, then-“ You sputter slightly, scowling at the ceiling. “You have a walk, too.”

Dean snorts. “Good one, sweetheart.”

“Shut up.”

“Bossy-“

“Dean.”

He laughs, the sound filling up the whole room, and you smile into the dark. 

“And I do not have a-“

“It’s not a bad thing,” Dean cuts you off, his words suddenly almost gentle. “You walk like you’re gonna punch anyone who gets in front of you. Like, you got- Y’know. Purpose.”

“Oh. Okay.” You pause. You can have purpose. You can’t think of any ideas for purpose—and when you try to, it mostly just circles around from Dean, to Bobby, to Sam, back to Dean—but you couldhave more purpose. 

Damnation.

Not that kind of purpose. That’s the kind of purpose that got you here in the first place. Lying flat on your back in the dead of night, your phone propped on a pillow near your head, trying to pretend that Dean was next to you instead of across the country. 

Another nightmare. Death watching you and telling you no, Lucifer laughing in the background, Ketch appearing in every shadow, trying to corner you and put you in a muzzle.

Sometimes they end with Death grabbing your hands and wiping Jo’s blue from your fingertips, telling you that she belongs with him, and him alone. Other times it’s Lucifer, slowly shifting into Sam and snapping your neck, but you’re Dean and you can see yourself standing off in the shadows, doing nothing at all. Then Lucifer-Sam will lean down in hiss in You-Dean’s ear that you could have saved him, but just didn’t love him enough, and Dean dies thinking you don’t love him like it’s all you’ve ever really known.

Sometimes, after that, the dream will change. You’ll be back in a motel with Dean—just himself, just Gold, very much alive and not at all real—and you’ll rest your head on his shoulder while he tells you about how this town actually had the best diner in America, and you’ll muffle your giggle against his body because he says that all the time.

But you hadn’t gotten that, tonight. When you do, it’s enough for you to not need Dean. No need to wake him up when he needs the rest more than you do, and you’ll see him in a few days anyway.

He says to call him, whenever you wake up and you’re everything and it’s all too much. You’re the pain of the single tear in your blanket, the strain of the trees outside your window as the wind rips through their branches, the fear of the rain as it falls, unsure where it’s going. 

But Dean’s in Connecticut, hunting a demon hoard that’s been terrorizing a country club. He can’t be caught off guard just because the Silver decided to rear it’s head and you aren’t strong enough to handle it without—as he would call it—doing something stupid.

You haven’t been doing anything stupid. You might have caught a small cold last week, standing out in the sleet-storm while Sam and Dean were in Alabama—Hurricane season, trying to find a reaper that might snitch on Death’s location, a failed experiment—but you’d gotten over it quick. Mostly, whenever the everything hits you, you’ve been curling up into the sheets, dragging them over your head, and pretending that it was Dean holding you. His Gold is marked all over them, when you roll to his side of the bed you can smell cinnamon and grass, and it usually, mostly, works.

It takes longer to come down, you never fall back asleep, and when you shuffle downstairs in the morning Bobby always looks at you like he somehow knows that you should’ve called Dean or woken him up, but it doesn’t matter. If you’re a little extra tired, no one gets hurt but you. 

You’re not hunting.

You’re just looking for Death and Pestilence, trying to work out Lucifer’s next moves, and—in your spare time, when Bobby’s asleep and Sam and Dean are away—talking with Cas about things. 

Things you haven’t told Dean about. 

You don’t know how. How to look at him, in all his Golden, handsome, strong glory and say Cas and I are trying to figure out what Men of God are. All signs are pointing to you being one, Mr. Michael Vessel. And Men of God and Magdalene’s don’t have good track records, but you also don’t seem like a normal Man of God. John was a Man of God, though. Ketch might be too. And they both tried to hurt me. So do what you want with that.

And that doesn’t even cover half of it. How Cas still hasn’t worked out what The Magdalene does, only that it’s different. And he can’t spend too much time on it anyway, because he has to find God. 

You look like God. 

Your name is—according to Cas—written in Marina Trench and the caves of Mount Everest and in the Stone Forests of Japan. The Silver still isn’t cooperating, and Death still doesn’t want you, and after you’d killed Famine, he’s been added to your nightmare roster, but none of this is about you.

You’re not even supposed to be helping. It’s why you’re staying hidden. No matter what the whole Magdalene-Men of God mess is, it’s far from important as the apocalypse closes in. 

So you keep researching. And you get nightmares when you sleep, but you really try not to bother Dean with them. He doesn’t need another reason to worry about you, and he needs the rest.

You can get through it. 

You always do.

But not alone. Not tonight. The nightmare had been Ketch, but instead of the usual ending—the ceiling falls, but you’re trapped with him in the rubble and he starts to touch you, and John and Lucifer and Alistair and Azazel join him, but when you scream for Dean no sound comes out, right up until you’re ripped away and appear in a dive bar with Dean grinning at you from the pool table—Ketch had gotten you. He’d snapped the muzzle on your face, and the Silver had exploded.

You’d sat up with bed, your hand already wrapped around your throat, but it had been too late. 

The Silver hadn’t been contained to your dream. 

Before calling Dean, you’d spent an hour weeding your bedroom. Strange, glowing flowers had sprouted through the floorboards, branches had grown over the windows—as if they were trying to block you from the view of the Sky, flaring out your window without a word—and they’d been growing those iridescent apples that you’d tried to preserve for study, but the moment you’d put them on the dresser they’d shattered like glass, the shards melting into nothing. 

And you’re so fucking tired. And lonely.

You’d needed Dean. 

He’d picked up after the second ring. He’s been on the phone with you for almost an hour, talking about nothing.  

You miss him. If he was here, you’d be able to see his smile, drown in his Gold, and he’d run his thumb down your nose until you were only your own. Then you’d fall back asleep, his hand in yours, and everything would be fine.

Not about you.

Calling him is already pushing it. Him talking to you is more than you deserve. But knowing that never has—never will—stop the want. The pull. The need for Dean to maybe just lay on top of you forever, until everything is always technicolor and the Spiderweb is the only thing you can feel in the world.

But you’ll take this. Dean on the phone in the dead of night, the stains of his Gold still all around you.

Whatever bits of Dean he offers, you’ll always take. 

“I think you’d like golf.” Dean hums, and you twist your head to look your phone, as if he’d actually be there to glare at. 

“Golf isn’t a real sport, De. It’s for rich people and businessmen, trying to jack each other off and assert their dominance while wearing polo shirts. And it’s stupid.”

 “Sweetheart, you think all sports are stupid.”

“Wrong. I like Soccer and Football.”

Dean pauses. “You do?”

“Yep. I used to watch them with Rufus all the time.”

“Huh.” You can hear the small frown in his voice. “You told me you don’t care about where the balls go-“

“I don’t. I like soccer because I’d always got ice cream when Rufus put it on, then more ice cream if his team won.”

“We could just get ice cream-“

“Tastes better with victory.”

“Right. Course it does.” Dean chuckles. “What about football?”

“I like the music shows. And I think I’d be good at it.”

You can hear the amusement in his voice. “Cause of the violence.”

“Yep. I’d beat all those big men’s asses.”

“See, that’s why I think you’d like golf, sweetheart. The clubs make great weapons.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m flipping you off right now, you know.”

Dean laughs, and you can’t stop your own smile from tugging at your lips. The Spiderweb is bursting. Even with Dean miles away and only a voice in a phone, it still knows to light up for Dean.

His voice. His joy. The fact that it’s almost three in the morning—five for him—but he’s not making any effort to end the call. 

Once he does, you’ll have to let him. Not about you.

Until then, you’ll stay on the line for as long as he allows you to. 

“So there’s a joint here that does malt milkshakes.” He says, and you hum, rubbing the scar on your palm as you listen. “And they’ve got the best freakin’ burgers I’ve ever had in my life.”

You giggle. “De, every burger you have is the best burger-“

“Nah, this is it. You’d like it, they cover the whole thing in a fancy sauce, and those milkshakes? They’re free, if you get the combo meal.”

“So they’re not free-“

“They’re free-ish.”

“Something can’t be free-ish, it’s either free or not free-“

“It’s free in my heart,” he drawls your name, and it’s low and deep and teasing, and your thighs press slightly together. “And nothing is better than free food.”

He pauses, and you’re about to take over with a comment about how everything is free for us, Dean, all our money is stolen, but he continues before you can. 

“When this Lucifer-Michael end of the world shit is over, you should come check this place out.”

You swallow. You know Dean likes hanging out with you—he’s your best friend, and maybe more, but your rules mean you’re not allowed to push on it—but it still makes the Spiderweb ignite with light and color when he says it. “The burger place? Or the country club?”

Dean chuckles. “Both. You can smoke all these rich douchebags at golf, then we can go get burgers. I’m serious, Princess. You’d love the milkshakes.”

You probably will.

You mostly love that Dean’s thinking of you. Like you’re worth that much to him, to look at a milkshake and think of you.

You’d like to be worth everything to him. He’s worth everything to you.

Not allowed to say it.

“I’ve never played golf.” You mumble, and you can hear Dean’s scoff.

“Trust me, sweetheart. You’d love it.”

“But-“

Dean drawls your name. “It’s about hitting things and looking fancy. Freakin’ sport was made for you.”

You flush, wrapping an arm around your stomach. “Oh. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Dean pauses, his voice dropping to something softer. “Would you wanna do that? If you don’t-“

“I would.” You say, too quick. If Dean notices, he doesn’t mention it. “At this point you owe me a tour of diners in America, Deano. The moment we’re done with this, you better put your money where your mouth is.”

“My mouth is on the burger, sweetheart.” You can hear the grin in his voice, and you roll your eyes. “Score?”

“Six out of ten. You can do better.”

“Aw, you got faith in me.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, you do. And you laughed, sweetheart.”

“Maybe.” You hum, grinning at the light, slowly starting to dance over the ceiling. “You can’t prove that, Winchester.”

“Don’t have to. Know it in my heart. You think I’m hilarious.”

You’re flushing again. Maybe it’s good he’s only a voice in a phone. You might start crawling over his chest if he wasn’t. “Shut up.”

“No, say it. C’mon you can do it, admit you think I’m funny.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re killing me, Princess-“

“I’ll say it,” you hum, grinning at the ceiling. “If you take back that I look like someone who plays golf.”

“Nah, I’ve got integrity. Said it, meant it, and I was fuckin’ right.”

“Okay, integrity, tell me again about that pool hustle you pulled last night.”

He groans, you giggle, and it really is better. 

Even when the conversation turns heavier, it’s Dean, so it’s better.

“Have you-“ You clear your throat, and you don’t want to ask it, but you have to. For your own sanity, so you don’t spend the whole day with your fingers itching and a lump in your throat. “Angels? Or Lucifer?”

“Not yet.” Dean says, and your nails dig into your wrist. “If it is, we’ve got the banishment sigils lined up all over the wall, and all we gotta do is keep saying no.”

You nod, but Lucifer—with all his Red and teeth—flashes over your vision, and you can’t stop your shaking breath.

Dean must have heard it, because he mutters your name softly, but you shake your head and keep pushing on.

“Dean, I- I’m worried about it.”

“I- I know, but shit, Princess, you gotta -“

“The archangels.” You whisper, drawing your knees up to your chest. “I know you and Sam don’t want to say yes to them-“

“We’re not saying yes to them-“

“But they’re not just going to take that.” You raise your voice, and Dean goes quiet. “Zachariah- He hurt Jo just to send a message to me. And Gabriel fucked with you and Sam for a week, then visited me in Europe just because he didn’t want me here-“

Dean mutters your name, an odd strain in his voice. “I don’t give a shit about what Heaven wants, I want you here. And you-“

“I’m not running.” The Spiderweb feels like it’s made of starlight. Not the time. “I’m just- My point is that they did all that just to keep me away. Between San Francisco and LA, they certainly know I’m back by now.”

“So?”

“So Gabriel said I was changing things. And maybe- I don’t know. I just don’t trust that, if we’re playing dirty, they won’t do the same.”

“Princess, they’ve been playing dirty.” Dean’s voice is gentle, but firm. “All those feathered assholes do is play dirty. But Sammy’s not giving Lucifer the green light-“

“What about Michael?”

Dean pauses. “What about Michael.”

“I- I trust Sam-“

“But not me?”

You frown. “Of course I trust you, Dean.”

There’s something sour to his voice that you don’t understand. “Yeah, sure sounds like it-“

“Dean.” You make your voice firm, and he sighs, repeating your name back. “I don’t think you’re going to say yes to Michael, I- I’m just- They’re going to try and make you. And I don’t think they have a lot of lines, and this is already so fucked, and I don’t- I’m not making any progress on Death and things are just getting worse and-“ You take a heavy, shuddering breath, and Dean mutters your name.

It would be really nice if he was here. If he was the one wrapping around you, instead of you just hiking the Golden blanket a little higher over your body. 

“Do you think I should say yes?” He mutters, his voice low, and you shake your head.

“No.”

“Alright. Then I won’t.”

“But it’s not that simple-“

“It is. I’m not saying yes. Michael’s gonna have to fist my asshole if he wants inside.”

You wrinkle your nose, swallowing a soft laugh. “That’s gross, De.”

“Score?”

“Zero.”

“Bullshit, I can hear you laughing-“

“No, you can’t.”

“C’mon-“

“Nope.”

“This is elder abuse-“

“You’re thirty.”

“Almost thirty-one. Basically genetic.”

You smile into the dark. “Geriatric?”

“Yeah, that. I’m just a skeleton, sweetheart, you gotta be delicate with me-“

“So dramatic.”

He scoffs. “You love it.”

It’s good he can’t see how deep your flush is. Heating over your cheeks and spreading between your thighs as he starts to talk about how—if you are celebrating his birthday this year—he’d really like a proper, chocolate cake. And you think you can make that happen.

For Dean, you might be able to do anything.

You’re on the phone with him until Sam starts to stir on his end, and he has to go back to the case.

“We’ll be home in a few days,” he says, and you nod, moving the phone to press right back to your ear. Trying to have him a little closer. “Just some run of the mill demon asshats, so this is going pretty quick.”

“Good,” you let out a slow breath, your grip tightening on the phone. “Let me know if you need anything. And if they show up-“

“We got wards and Cas on speed dial, it’ll be fine.” Dean pauses, his voice lowering slightly. “I- I’m glad you called. Are you-“

“I feel better.” You whisper. “Thank you. For picking up.”

You could swear you hear him let out a long, slow breath. “Don’t need to thank me. You’re- I’ll call you later tonight. And I’m keeping my phone on me, so if-“

“I will.” You don’t want him to go. Can’t interfere with work. “Bye, De. Don’t die.”

He chuckles. “I’ll try. Stay safe, Princess. Call me if you need anything.”

You need him. 

But you let him hang up the phone, and roll over to bury your face in his pillow the moment the line goes dead. You’ll stay there, until the sun is bleeding into your room. Until the Sky becomes unignorable, and you can hear Bobby rolling around downstairs. The world doesn’t care that you’d like to—just for a day—lie here and do nothing. Clinging to the sheets and pretending they’re Dean, taking slow, deep breaths until you’re certain you’ll be able to keep going. All the way to the end, right up to the finish line—wherever it may come—before crashing into Dean and staying in his arms for as long as he lets you.

You’d really just like this to be over. You’re not just going through the motions, but it’s something similar to it. Get through the night and all its terrors, then let the day creep in as you cling to your Dean-Stained blanket like a child. Go downstairs and give a mumbled good morning to Bobby, who gives you a mornin’ kiddo, in return. Make the coffee, wolf down breakfast as fast as you can—Bobby watching you carefully to make sure you finish it all—and get to work. Earthquakes and thunderstorm, new outbreaks of measles in Ecuador, Beijing, and Cairo. Bobby’s got no luck on Death, but neither do you. 

You’ve kept your word to Crowley. You’ve been thinking about it. And the more days pass, the closer you’re getting to making that deal.

You’re not quite there yet.

But you’re close. 

“He’s stayin’ off the radar.” Bobby mutters, frowning at his computer. “Both of ‘em are. Pestilence either changed his vessel or went blackout off the grid, after you and the boys tracked him last time. And Death- Fuckin’ ball, I ain’t seein’ anything.”

“Lucifer’s probably saving him for when he’s needed.” You mutter, flipping a page in your book. “He- I don’t remember him being all that happy, with what was happening.”

Bobby grunts. “You think you be able to do your soul-vision thing on him? If he pops up on freakin’- CNN or somethin’?”

You nod, pushing down the memory of Death looking at you, and saying no. “I’ve been checking local feeds whenever an omen pops up. Nothing.”

“Alright. Keep lookin’. And Pestilence-“

“Did it last night. I’ll put it on the fridge after I go shopping.”

Bobby grunts in approval, and you glance up. You’re almost done with this anyway.

“Did you look at the list?”

“Yep. Added a few things, but you handled most of it. Go armed.”

You pull out your Blade, flash Bobby a grin, and all you get is a flat look in return.

“Don’t forget the milk.”

You sigh, pushing to your feet. “I’m getting you oat milk. It’s better for old men.”

“Yeah, yeah, like Dean’ll be happy with the plant milk.”

You flush. “He doesn’t like any milk.”

Bobby pauses. “That’s true, ain’t it. Never seen him drink it without cookies.”

“Not even with cookies. Those were mine.”

“You don’t like milk either-“

“I like cookies.”

“Just eat the fuckin’ cookies.” Bobby mutters under his breath, and you give him a mock salute, crossing the room to the fridge.

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Shut up and get drivin’ kiddo. You come back with oat milk, and I’m shootin’ Dean.”

You scowl—it’s not good that he knows how effective that is—and grab the list off the fridge.

It’s pinned right between the expired Costco coupon Bobby’s had there since you were thirteen, and your drawings. Crude sketches you���d done a few days after you got back from LA, outlining the Horsemen’s true appearances. You hadn’t bene able to draw Death—something about it had felt wrong—but you’d gotten all the vile oozing of Pestilence, and the gaping darkness you’d seen in Famine. 

He’d been like a black hole. A pit. Bottomless and made of shadows, taking and taking and never satisfied. You’d had a feeling, standing across from him in LA and spinning the Blade in your hands, that you could’ve tossed the world into him and he just would’ve eaten that too. 

And he hadn’t had a single effect on you. Hadn’t been confused by it, either. Just whined about how it wasn’t fair, and if he could eat your soul, he’d never be hungry again.

You’re trying not to think about it. Just like you’re trying not to think about how, the day after, you’d looked into Dean’s eyes and the floodlight had returned. Staring at him in the golden-blue light of the dawn, you’d been able to see all that life, buried deep inside of him, colorful and luminescent and beautiful. 

You missed him. You wanted to wake up like that—next to him, his hand in yours, trying to keep your love off your face while figuring out how you can live in the world of Dean forever—every single morning. 

But the apocalypse. And groceries.  

It goes slowly. With Sam your divide and conquer plan had done wonders, and you’d been able to compensate for each other’s gross lack of domestic knowledge. And grocery shopping with Dean was never really grocery shopping, but rather letting him guide you aisle to aisle and listening to him ramble about all the different meats and sauces and spices, and what was useful and what was the good stuff, Princess. Trust me. And you’d always trust him, nodding a little stupidly and giving him a soft smile, pushing the cart wherever he told you it should go.

Alone, you’re trying desperately to remember what the good stuff was, and you’re not sure you’re succeeding. Mostly, you’re just grabbing whatever’s expensive. All your money is counterfeit or stolen from banks anyway. 

Jo taught you wiretapping a few years ago. She makes fun of you for using it on fancy hotel rooms and makeup, but then she turns around and spends it on a hair mask and the fanciest box of chocolates you’ve ever seen. 

You still haven’t visited her, at the waterfall.

You will soon. Dean promised. It just can’t be done alone. But that doesn’t stop you—every single time you climb into the Firebird—from dropping your brow to the wheel and taking a shaking breath. You could go now. You have a car, and legs, and a weapon. If angels or demons come for you, there’s no better place to lose control than a forest.

Then you think of a small marker in the dirt, and look down at the pastel blue on your fingers, and you can’t. It’s going to make it too real. She’s gone. All that’s left of her is that waterfall, and what’s on your fingertips. 

You still keep thinking of her as alive. You know you do. You know Dean’s caught it, when you’ve said Jo likes or Jo hates or Jo is. 

She isn’t. 

You don’t know how to internalize that. And the moment you see the grave, you’re going to have to. 

You should’ve visited the moment you got back. But you’ve been busy, and in pain, and you miss her and you can’t do it alone, you don’t want to do it alone, she can’t really be gone and you promised her you’d be okay but you can’t-

There’s a faint buzzing, and you freeze. The world had gone blurry, as you’d stared at your hands—you have perishables, you should really get moving—but when you dig your phone out from your pocket, it’s not the one that’s ringing. Your head shoots up, turning immediately towards the console, but save for the Gatorade you gotten yourself and your wallet, it’s empty. 

The buzzing is still going. And the generic ring tone is screaming burner phone, but you don’t keep a burner phone. You have one phone, with five numbers—Bobby, Dean, Sam, Cas, Rufus—and you never just hand out your number. People don’t want to be able to reach you. You’re not someone anyone should just welcome, willingly, into their home, or seek for help. For every good deed you do, you’re ten times as sick and wrong. 

Death. Staring at you. Telling you no, and the Sky glaring down at you, and a million teeth calling you a friend-

The buzzing stops for a second, then starts again. It’s in the car. You know it’s in the car. But it’s not your phone, so you don’t know where the fuck it’s coming from. And it takes pushing your hand between the seat cushions and getting on your knees to check under the backseat for you to think of the glove compartment. And there it is. A little black burner—just enough faded Gold to tell you it was Dean’s—buzzing over and over with a number, and no saved contact. 

Dean gives his burner numbers to a lot of people. Surviving vics, in case they ever need help again. Other, more trusted hunters, for mutual aid on cases. 

Girls. In bars. With pretty skirts and shirts that show of their cleavage, batting their lashes at him and giving him sweet smiles.

And you’ve played it over a million times in your head, almost on a mechanical loop. He doesn’t look for that anymore. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t look for him. Doesn’t mean he says no, when he’s asked. He ends up back in your bed, just sleeping, but he can’t be satisfied with that. Couldn’t ever be satisfied with you, making him worry and waking him up in the middle of the night to talk about fucking golf and milkshakes. Crying in his arms every other hunt, needing him more than he needs you, asking him to stay at your side and let you infect him, failing him all the time and running and sick-

The phone starts buzzing again. 

So you brace yourself—you’ll get through it, no matter who it is, you’ll be fine, and Dean’s his own person, but you’ll be fucking fine—and pick up the phone.

“Hello?” A man’s voice—young, nervous, probably not a sex call—crackles through the speaker. “Is- Is this Dean Winchester?”

You pause. He knows who Dean is. But that’s not exactly a clean endorsement of who he is. “Who’s asking?”

“Oh- Uh-“ The man clears his throat. “Sorry, I, um- I’m just looking for someone, I think I got the wrong number-“

“You didn’t.” Your voice has to stay flat. Neutral. Not too much given away, but if he knows Dean by name, you have to know why. 

“You- Don’t exactly sound like Dean.”

“This is his phone.”

“Oh. Um, is he okay-“

He better be. “Again, who’s asking.”

“Adam? Mulligan? I’m Sam and Dean’s brother.”

You still. Sam and Dean don’t have a third brother. Not that they’ve told you. They would’ve told you, that’s definitely something worth fucking telling you if it’s true- 

Then a vague bell rings in the back of your head. Dean had told you. While you were in Europe. He’d called you at four in the morning—for him, not you—and said that it seemed like John got around, when he was on solo hunts. That he’d even had a son, barely a kid, and he’d claimed that John hadn’t known about him, but he’d still had Dean’s middle name as a first name. And John had taken him to baseball games, and taught him how to drive, and Dean had been angry but mostly with John—you’d bitten down your pride at that, not the right time to encourage Dean that John was a bag of shit—and most of all, at the end of it, Adam had been-

“You’re dead.” You snap, sitting up in your seat. Dean had said the real Adam was dead, had been dead the whole time. “Adam Mulligan got killed by a ghoul, who the fuck are you-“

“I’m Adam!” The man yelps, and you can hear the genuine fear in his voice. “I promise! And I know I died- I mean, I think I know. I can sort remember things that didn’t happen to me, and it’s- it’s really confusing. I woke up in a lot of dirt, and I found my phone with this number, and I remember Dean even though I never met him, so, um- Where is he?”

You frown, weighing your options in your head. He doesn’t sound like he’s lying, but most monsters are good actors. If you were in danger or confused, you’d also call Dean first, but you’ve known him for almost ten years, and you love him. Adam—if he’s real—has never even really met Dean. But he says he remembers both Sam and Dean, which reeks of angel interference, but if it is, they’re looking for the boys. Not you. 

And angels can’t hurt you.

Adam clears his throat. “Hello?”

“Dean’s busy.” You keep your words careful. If this is angel interference, they’re not getting anything extra out of you. 

You kind of hope it’s angel interference. You’d really like to kill Zachariah.

“Oh. Is he going to be, um, not busy soon?”

“Nope.” You lean back, resting your knees on the wheel. “But I can pass on a message.”

“Uh-“ Adam pauses. “Who are you?”

You give your first name, but not your last. If it is the angels, that won’t really matter either way.

“Oh- Okay. Are you like, Dean’s girlfriend?”

You’re going to jump off a cliff. “It’s complicated.”

“Alright.” Adam, thankfully, doesn’t push it. “Can you tell him I’m in Minnesota? And I’d like some help, please?”

You frown. “Where in Minnesota?”

“Windom? It’s my hometown, that’s where they met… not me.”

Windom isn’t that far. Barely an hour and a half for you, over a day for Dean. If it is a trap, it’s safer for you to take the bait first. If it isn’t—if Adam passes all the tests and there’s no angel brigade waiting—then it’s safer to keep Adam at Bobby’s. 

You do have perishables. But they’ll last three hours. 

“Text me the address.” You say, moving the call to speaker so you can watch for the message on the burner, and text Bobby know you’re taking care of something, you’ve got your knife, and you’ll be home for dinner. 

“Oh, you can just tell Dean-“

“He’s on another coast. I’m in within two hours.”

“But-“ Adam lets out a long sigh, right as your phone buzzes with Bobby’s response.

Dont die.

You smile, type back never do, and open Dean’s contact. 

“Adam, if you want help-“

“I know. I’m sending it now.” There’s another buzz on the burner, and Adam coughs. “Two hours?”

“More or less. Line the doors with salt and don’t answer for anyone but me.”

“How will I know it’s you?”

Fair enough. You give Adam a quick description of yourself, he mumbles and understanding, and you hang up the phone. 

Bobby’s going to call this Hunter Fever. That you’re itching to do this because you’ve been cooped up, and now you’re actin’ like an idjit. But you’re not. If Adam is possessed, you’ll see it. If he’s just evil, he won’t be able to get the jump on you. One wrong movement and you’ll blast his soul right back out of his body. The highway will even get a lovely new garden as a result. And, you’re calling Dean. You’d sugar coated so Bobby wouldn’t worry, but you’re going to tell Dean, because you’re not being an idiot.

“Hey, Princess.” He picks up the phone after two rings, and you try not to sob in relief. He’s fine, you’d known that, but it’s still like a wave of thank fucking Christ whenever you hear his voice. “I meant to call you earlier, but this turned into a whole fuckin’ thing. Nothing we can’t deal with, but this whole town is full of crazies and this blonde chick who thinks she’s Jesus. Had to call in Cas, but we’ll still be home on time. What’s- Are you okay? You’re okay. Goddamnit, you better be okay-“

“I’m okay.” You smile into the air. It would be nice to be able to grab his face between your hands and kiss his nose, but even if he was here, that would be against the rules. “Your brother called.”

There’s a long, static pause. “Sweetheart, I’ve been with Sammy all day-“

“Wrong brother, De.” You sigh, and push out the words as fast as you can. “Adam. He’s alive. In Minnesota. He called the burner phone you left in my car, and I’m close, so I’m going to pick him up and bring him to Bobby’s. You should get home soon though. After the case.”

There’s another pause, and then- “The fuck you’re going to Minnesota alone, it could be a goddamn trap-“

“Maybe.” You shrug. “But I’ve got both knives, and I’m already on I-90.”

“Then get the hell off it-“

“Dean. I’m going. You can’t stop me.”

“I can send Cas-

“You think Cas can stop me?”

“Goddamnit-“ Dean snaps your name, a tension in his voice that you haven’t heard in a long time. “I’m trying to make sure you don’t get yourself goddamn killed without me there to help-“

“I can hunt perfectly fucking fine on my own, Winchester.”

“I know that, but-“

“I’m going because you’re not here.” Your voice is raising slightly, and you glare ahead at the road. “They can hurt you, they can’t hurt me. I’ll be fine.”

“What if you’re not.” Dean hisses, and whatever background noise was on when he picked up is gone. He must have moved to fight in private. “You- You can’t get fucking hurt, Princess-“

“I know I can’t.” You say coolly. “That’s the point.”

He huffs out a dry laugh. “That’s not what I meant and you fuckin’ know it-“

“Dean.” Your voice is harsher than you mean it, and he falls silent. “We’ve done this before. I am perfectly fine on my own-“

“But you shouldn’t have to be.” 

You swallow, a hot and heavy lump forming in your throat. You don’t want to fight. Not really. Not now, when you miss him and love him and everything hurts just as much as always. 

Not ever. 

“Sorry.” Dean mutters. “Didn’t mean to shout, you’re just- Son of a bitch, you need to be here Princess. With me. And I can’t- If you-“

“I know.” You mumble, moving one hand off the wheel to rub at your wrists. Sick. Only making things harder. “I’ll be careful, De. I promise.”

Dean sighs. “I know you will, sweetheart. Just- If you need me, pray to Cas and he’ll zap me over-“

“I know.”

He grunts, and it doesn’t sound like he’s convinced. “Call me when you’ve got him, or I’m leaving these dumbasses to govern themselves.”

“Ooo, a revolution. You’re a kind king, Mr. Winchester. The people love your taxing system and patronage of the arts.”

“Nerd.” Dean mutters, but there’s a softness to his voice that makes you feel molten. “Pinky promise you’ll call.”

“Pinky promise. See you soon.”

Love you.

You don’t say it. You’re not allowed to say it. 

But you can think it, and hope he feels it. Hope that, all the way across the country, Dean knows that you’re going to be fine, because you have to be. You always get through it. You always go back to him. The address Adam gave you might look suspiciously like a church—god fucking damnit, it’s almost certainly a trap—but you’ll get back to Dean.

You always do. 

Adam’s a scrawny kid, sitting awkwardly on the dais. He’s a sort of tangerine orange color, starting in his stomach and burning up like fire in a chimney. He might be a little taller than Dean, but he’s built more like Sam. Hair a little darker than Dean’s, eyes bluer than Sam’s, and it’s not fair to already be comparing him to them, but otherwise you’ll just be seeing John. John’s nose, and mouth, and eyes. The features of the man that tried to kill you. That should have killed you. That kept you away from Dean. And they’re the same nose and mouth and eyes Dean has, but you love Dean. On him, they’re the best features in the world.

So it’s for Adam’s sake that you look at him and think Dean’s mouth. Sam’s jaw. Otherwise the Silver might start to flare. 

You’re going to have it enough trouble keeping it down as it is. 

Because standing at the dais is an angel. Broader than Cas, a little less electric, his rainbows running with an ugly, muted brown. 

Zachariah. 

You sigh, stopping at the front of the pews and crossing your arms over your chest. “I fucking knew it.”

Zachariah grins at you, ugly and shark like, and it’s only for Adam’s sake that you don’t let the Silver burst up and rip everything apart. 

He says your name, clapping his hands together with a mockingly cheerful tone. “You are infuriating, you know that? Think that you always know best, even when you’re walking into my trap-“

“Pretty shit trap.” You mutter. “I don’t think you were aiming for me, douche-bucket.”

Zachariah scowls. “Douche-bucket. I’m assuming that’s from our lovely Dean, right? His little… turn of phrase.”

You don’t answer—Zachariah can wait—and your attention flicks to Adam. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Adam whispers, his eyes wide on yours. “I just wanted to see my mom, I didn’t mean to- I don’t know. I’m not sure what’s happening.”

Zachariah scoffs. “Well, don’t try to figure it out. This is beyond your understanding, kid-“

“Oh, shut up.” You snap, and Zachariah’s eyes narrow.

“You have a nice voice.” Adam cuts in before Zachariah can speak, and you blink at him. “And- You’re- I like your hair.”

“Uh, thanks.” You frown. “You working with employee of the month?” You jerk your head to Zachariah, and the angel’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t answer that,” he orders, and Adam just keeps gaping at you. “And you,” he hisses your name, and you fix time with a bored stare. “You are- Such a fucking brat-“

“Sorry. Should’ve been nicer to Dean, he might have given you his real number, and you wouldn’t be going back empty-handed.”

Zachariah’s jaw twitches, and he takes a deep, heaving breath. “For your information, I will not being going anywhere empty handed. Had I hoped for Sam and Dean? Yes. But honestly,” the smirk creeps back onto his face, and a chill runs deeper than your bones. “You’re better. Bigger game, harder to catch. Boss will be pleased. I might even get a promotion. And, here’s the best part.” He raises his fingers, ready to snap. “This will be way more effective.”

He snaps, and you almost stumble forward. 

Ellen. 

Battered and dazed, a wear in her dark green, but Ellen-

You must call out to her and not hear it, because Zachariah tsks, and holds a finger to his lips.

“I wouldn’t talk to her right now. She’s a little… confused.”

Your jaw clenches, the Silver starting to rise, and while Zachariah’s smile doesn’t falter, his brown does do an odd stutter. Like a short-circuit or fritz in a power line. 

“Now,” Zachariah hums, taking a slightly step back and moving Ellen in front of him. Fucking pussy. “Here’s the deal I was going to offer Dean. Adam walks, Ellen walks, even little Sammy walks, and all he has to do is say yes. But I think-“ He pauses, frowning slightly. “He’ll want to talk to you. Sam and Dean… They’d be a problem-“

“They’re not coming.” You snap, grabbing the Blade out of your jacket. The Silver has to remain down, for Adam and Ellen. You can still cause a lot of fucking damage. “It’s just you and me-“

“We both know that’s not true.” Zachariah scoffs. “Dean at least is going to be trying to get to you, and Sam will help him. I can’t track them, but I can tip off some very angry hunters where they’re going- Yeah, it’ll be easier like this.”

Your eyes widen as Zachariah raises his hand again, the Silver turning and blistering right under your skin. “Like-“

The word is barely out of your mouth when Zachariah snaps his fingers, and the Silver rips out.

It crashed up with less warning than usual.

It’s still a second too later.

You’re everything. More than everything. Parts of you are things you don’t have names for, and a lot of you is light, but just as much is darkness. And you’re made of lava somewhere very dark and hot and lonely, and the Earth is spinning around you but you’re also every smallest bit of grass that feels so big in comparison to the bugs, and you’re the vastness of the water in the ocean, but also the vastness of every space between the stars, and neither of them feel bigger than the other. 

Mostly, you’re a song being played in an old car—old to other cars, young to the pavement it’s driving on and the trees it’s passing, barely an infant to the sky over its head—and the hands gripping a wheel so tight they’re going to strangle it. 

You love those hands. It would be nice to hold them. They’re Golden.

But you’re not you anymore. And you’re following them all the way down the roads, time somehow too slow and too fast all at once. You can see the dusty old church, and there are two hunters loading shotguns, and the shells are building themselves up to burst through a skull. The Gold is driving right to the church, and you need to stop it, but you’re too much and you don’t know how to control it all.

Then, as the Gold walks through the doors of the church, the Purple at his side, it all falls back down. You’re you again, and you can feeling the Spiderweb burning, but it’s not offline. More… confused. Straining a little more powerfully through your chest as you crash into yourself.

And you’re in the most beautiful garden you’ve ever seen.

Water that looks a little more like crystal, sunshine weaving through heavy leaves over your head, angled perfectly to spark at rainbow in every bit of mist. The flowers are blooming with heart and star-like patterns, made of colors you’ve never even seen. A familiar iridescent apple is hanging over your head, growing from a single, weeping tree that seems to be bleeding silver sap. You turn slowly—you’re not sure where you are, but it’s not Minnesota—and stop when your eyes land on an angel. 

There’s no wrath in him. Not like the other angels you’ve seen. His grace runs with green—a little lighter than Ellen, a lot softer than Bobby—and he’s big. Less electric, and more rooted. Wings twisted like branches, and eyes like knots on a tree trunk.

He says your name slowly. Your Enochian name. And when you stand a little taller, he gives you a kind smile.

“You can relax. I can’t do you any harm.”

You swallow. “Can’t?” 

“None of us can. Even the Angels that believe we’ve truly been left to ourselves…” He chuckles, shaking his head. “They are not foolish enough to try and touch you.”

“Because I’m the Magdalene.” You say carefully, and the angel shrugs. 

“Yes, but not quite.”

They must train angels to only speak like bridge trolls. “I don’t know what that means.”

“You are the Bride.” He says simply, and the Silver flares, running right to the tips of your fingers. “Being the Magdalene is, according to him, more of a cruel trick that was played, long ago. He’s told me he thinks you didn’t need the boost.”

“The- What?”

“I’m not sure,” he shrugs. “I don’t get to know everything. Only what I’ve been told.”

You open and close your mouth a few times, and the angel lets out another soft laugh.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just heard so much about you. I forgot you wouldn’t know me. Joshua.” He extends his hands—he’s not in a vessel, it’s all hands—and gives you another smile. “I’m the gardener.”

“Oh.” You say a little stupidly, giving his hand a tight shake and looking around once more. Strange flowers. Everything too perfect, with no actual environmental logic to the botany. You should’ve gotten it sooner. “And I’m in the… Gardens. Of Heaven?”

Joshua hums, and gives you an approving nod. “He did say you were smart.”

You don’t really want to know the answer. You’re still going to ask. “He?”

“God. He likes to…” Joshua pauses, watching you carefully. “Talk to me.”

“And he’s- Told you about me?”

Joshua frowns at you, tilting his head. “Of course he has. He’s been lonely for a long while, and- Well. From what I understand, he’s very happy you’re finally here.”

“Did he…” Deep breath. Too much to deal with, and you don’t feel dead, but you’ve also never been dead before. “Send me here?”

“No,” Joshua sighs. “I believe that was Zachariah. He can’t kill you, so you were sent to me.” He pauses. “I would be on your way, before he comes looking. He’s always been a bitter fuck.”

Your lips twitch in surprise, and you’d very much like more of Joshua’s opinions on the angels, but- 

“Dean.” Your voice is barely a breath, and your arms wrap tight around your stomach. Like you’re trying to keep the Spiderweb trapped in your body. “I- He’s-“

“Dean Winchester is dead.” Joshua says softly, his words moving a little faster as the Silver starts to riot and tear back up. “But he is fine. From what I understand, two angry hunters went after Sam with a little angelic help, and he was… collateral. But God does not wish for him to remain here.”

“Here?” You whisper, squeezing yourself until you’re not sure you’re breathing. “In- Heaven?”

Joshua nods, and you let out a slow, shaking breath. The map. The stupid fucking map Gabriel took away from you, that you’d had about half memorized. You’re in the garden. That means-

Joshua clears his throat. “You want to find him.”

Of course you want to find him. All there ever is to do is find Dean. “Yeah. Where’s, um-“ You pause. Heaven’s made like a sphere. The Gardens were at the center, on the map. All roads in, with the only way out—according to a note that had been in the margins—growing in the roots of God, because the place was designed like the world’s worst, most magical escape room that you could never actually escape. Problems for later. “Where’s the tree?”

“The tree?” Joshua gives you another amused look, and points behind you. “Be careful. It’s old.”

“All of this is old,” you mutter, turning to frown at the bleeding-silver apple tree. “Do I just climb it?”

“Usually one must make an offering, if you’re not accompanied by myself. But I think it will make an exception for you. Just touch it.”

“Cool.” You mumble, and Joshua clears his throat. 

“I would be careful. Once you get to the rest of Heaven, it will be different for you.” You turn back to him with a frown, and he pushes on, his voice still gentle. “For most humans, it is their greatest memories from life. But you are not dead, or human.”

“I’ve heard.” You sigh, raising your hand up carefully. Dean. You need to go to Dean. “Do you, um- Want to come with me?”

It’s an awkward question, and Joshua just shakes his head with a soft smile. “I wish I could. But I like my plants, and they like me. I am… Hopeful for you, though. He seems to think you tend to be different, than he wants you. But you are bright. Good.”

You’re not good. You know, better than anyone, that you are far from good. You still give Joshua a small smile and last thanks before you let the Spiderweb start to light up, and you press your palm to the bark of the tree. 

Dean. You want Dean. 

And it’s all a blur, and you’re everything once more, but you can see Gold. Leaning on the doorway of a motel room, rubbing his neck and saying low words you can’t quite make out. Moving a little forward to be closer to whoever he’s looking at, then grinning like he’s won the lottery when they step to the side, and he can shuffle into their room. He’s looking at the floor and She—it’s a She, you can see shiny hair and hear a musical voice, and you want to hate Her but he looks so happy, and you can’t hate anyone that makes him happy—places a hand on his chest to shoves him onto the bed, and you- This feels like something you should know, and you’re so close-

Something that’s white and wrathful and bright grabs you before everything can come into focus. Yanking you back with so much force as a hollow scream for Dean breaks from your throat, and the Gold flares, but then it’s gone.

Your eyes shoot open, and you’re not in a motel room. 

You’re in a saloon. A big, wide saloon with fancy trim and a creaking floors, low music playing from a scratched-up record player. There’s sunlight that makes the dust seem like it’s swirling in the air. You’re wearing a flowing dress with your knife strapped to your upper thigh, but there’s no monsters here. Nothing but old, dusty bottles on shelves, the music that you somehow know buy heart and you’re humming to yourself in perfect time, and-

“Hey, Princess.” A hand slide to hold your waist, and the moment you turn, he’s there. 

Dean’s grinning down at you, light sparkling in his eyes. He’s wearing a cowboy hat, dressed completely like a character in one of his old movies that he loves to make you watch. And he’s so close, and he smells like grass and spice, but not cinnamon.

And he’s not Golden.

Heaven will be different for you. 

This isn’t your Dean.

It’s an imitation of him, from a fantasy. From the back of your head and rawest little bit of your heart that truly believes—in another world, where everything was less complicated—you could have Dean.

And you do. In this world. Because before you can say a single word he’s leaning down and kissing you. Slow and soft, like he’s done it a million times before, and he plans to do it a million more. His free hand grabs your chin and tips it back slightly, his low chuckle vibrates in your chest as you moan and twist to fully wrap your arms around his shoulders. 

“Was gonna asked if you missed me.” He mutters, grinning against your lips. “Think I can figure it out myself, though.”

You giggle, shaking your head and dropping your brow to his chest, keeping your eyes squeezed shut. Just for a second, if this is heaven, if this is all you ever get, you want to have it. “I did. Always do, De.”

“Always, huh.” His arms wrap fully around you, his lips brushing a kiss on your brow. “That’s a big promise, baby.”

Baby. I love you, baby. 

“It is,” you whisper, your fingers curling on his shirt. “Don’t want to make it to anyone else.”

The world rumbles. Whatever stopped you from finding Dean—the real Dean—isn’t happy with you. And you think you know who. He might have been watch you your whole life.

You’re not quite ready to think about it yet. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper to Cowboy-Dean, even though he won’t understand what you’re talking about. “I- I’m really fucking sorry, for all of it. For making you worry and drive and die for me, and making you wait and getting mad and being stupid and reckless and-“ You take a shuttering breath, holding him a little tighter. He might not be Golden, but he’s built like Real-Dean is. All the same muscle and softness. It’s close enough. “I- I’m sorry-“

Cowboy-Dean mutters your name, tipping your head back with an open, adoring look on his face, his thumb running slowly down the bridge of your nose. 

“I’m sorry,” you gasp out, grabbing his hands to keep them on your face. “Dean, I- I’m- I’m so sorry-“

“I know you are.” He mutters, swiping the tears away from your cheeks. “But I don’t mind doing that, you know. Taking care of you. You do the same for me, and I love you, Princess. All the way down.”

I love you. You know I love you, baby.

You let out a long, slow breath, and lean fully back into his arms. You’re not quite sure how to do this, but the Silver isn’t suffocating here. In Heaven, it’s almost back to how it had been before you lost Jo. Humming and bright, right under the surface, ready to be called forward at your will, as you need it. 

And you need to find Dean.

So you focus, and let the Silver bleed out, and already different from the tree. You’re more in control. You’re everything, and that includes something whatever glowing, misting fabric is weaving this whole world together. You can do this. 

You squeeze Cowboy-Dean three times, before he’s gone. If this is every bit of your heaven, you’re not going to be able to take it. 

And it isn’t. 

Not quite.

You miss your first shot. Your eyes open, and the Silver has just given you another fantasy. You sitting in the back room of that church in Chicago, a younger looking Dean laughing with you as he steals the Body of Christ bread, covers it in Nutella and something fluffy and white, and hands it to you with a wide, proud grin. 

“Sammy found this stuff while we were in Virginia.” He explains. “Supposed to taste like marshmallows. Thought you’d like it.”

“Aw, Deano.” You smile, taking a large bite, and it’s not real but it tastes so good. “You think of me?”

“All the time, Princess. You, uh- You think of me?”

You nod, resting your head on his shoulder. “All the time.”

This one has to go, too. But you miss again. And again. And again. A lot of the times are just you and Dean, but more of them have a cast of side characters. Sam groans as you and Dean appear in his doorway—the fantasy seeming to be Dean didn’t leave, that first time, and everything was easy—and grumbles about how a week’s notice would’ve been nice. Bobby glares at a pale Dean across a table, and you roll your eyes because you know he’s not going to shoot Dean. He likes Dean. He just doesn’t like, in this fantasy, that you’ve been running around with John’s boy behind everyone’s back. And you don’t have any powers, and you can’t see the Sky, and you’re just Bobby’s daughter. Both of them are there in your treasure hunting fantasy, and when you pull that one apart and push it back together you’re in-

The Roadhouse. 

Sitting at the bar. 

Across from Jo. 

“You know, I never should have encouraged y’all.” She wrinkles her nose. “If I walk in on y’all suckin’ face one more time, I’m gonna shoot myself.”

You swallow, barely able to speak over the lump in your throat. “Jo?”

“Yeah?”

“I- I’m sorry.”

“For what, being gross? I ain’t mad about it for you, but now that Dean’s not holdin’ back I can see his boner all the fuckin’ time-“

“For not saving you.” You cut her off with a whisper. “I- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Jo just gives you a strange look and shakes her head. “Did you sleep last night? I’m fine.”

You can’t speak. You need to say something, to try and grab her even though she isn’t real, and bring her back. To hug her and sob a million more apologies. To do anything but stare at her and let a million words die in your throat about how you don’t know what to do. This is all so hard, and you just need a friend, someone to tell about the Men of God and Lucifer and Death and Crowley, and you have Cas for some of it but you want Jo-

The Silver is moving too fast. The pain pressing on your chest—made of Jo, she’s gone but she’s here, and you failed her and she doesn’t even know—is racking through your whole body, and you don’t want to go, you can’t go but you don’t know how to control it. It hurts and you’re sick and you miss her, it’s beating out of your chest and you have to say something, but the words keep turning to sobs in your throat. You should’ve done more. Been better. You fucking failed and what goddamn use are you if you’re so powerful but you can’t save Jo-

She’s gone before you can stop it. You’re everything again, but it feels wild. Furious. It all hurts—it always hurts, but now you can feel it like you’re the wound and the infection and the scar and the venom—and everything reforms differently. Faster.

Brighter.

This isn’t one of your fantasies or dreams. You’re back in what you’d been wearing in the church, and when you press your hand to your jacket, your knife and the Blade are still there. The room itself is a lot. There’s fire dancing in the air and grass under your feet, waterfalls making up the walls and a throne. A large, pure white throne made of light, high up on a dais of flowers and diamonds and marble. And when you climb up to stand before it, it glows brighter. 

And there is it. On one arm of the chair, shifting in the light without pain. Like it was designed to be there. Has always been there. 

Your name is written places in Heaven. 

On God’s throne.

“Wow.” A voice says from off to the side. “I gotta hand it to you, this is smart one. Nobody’s been here in a long time.”

You turn, and standing a few steps down on the dais is the Blue. Still blond and a little short, still grinning at you with open amusement, rocking back and forth on his feet as he waits for you to respond.

“Gabriel,” you whisper, and his grin widens. 

“Give the lady a cigar! She put it together! I doubt it was all by yourself, Dean and Sammy probably snitched, but I’m proud of you for telling them about our little rendezvous” He takes another step up, but still doesn’t move to the dais. “But, I do have to say, you didn’t listen to me at all.”

You scowl, your hands moving to your jacket on instinct, and Gabriel’s eyes widen, his hands raising up in surrender. 

“Hey, I’m just here to talk, no need to get stabby-“

“You stole my phone, and my notes.” You snap, grabbing the Blade. It looks sort for bioluminescent. Too many problems. “You stole my books.”

“I- I did to that. But, I was trying to help you, this isn’t your fight unless you make it your fight!”

“It is my fight-“

“Right, cause of your family.” Gabriel sighs. “You know, you are a stubborn little one. Sort of a spitfire. I get what they’re seeing in you-“

“Uh huh.” You’re a little sick of being called little, or hearing how people want you. You’re bigger than the fucking universe. And you’ve never cared how people want you, because you just want Dean. “Give me one good reason not to stab you.”

“My charming personality?” 

Your eyes narrow, and Gabriel winces.

“Fine, you’re mad at me. I get that. But I looked at your notes! It’s some pretty impressive stuff, and-“ Gabriel’s hands go higher as you take a step forward. “I was wrong! I was super fucking wrong! You’ve been tearing through the apocalypse like it’s a hacked video game, sweetheart, this is great. We’ll be home in time for dessert, if you keep this up.”

He sounds genuine, but you don’t trust it. So you stop moving, but keep the Blade in your hand. “What do you want, Gabriel. Aren’t you supposed to be hiding from Heaven.”

“That’s true, I am, but this,” he gestures around the room. “Doesn’t count. This is heaven back when Daddy was hands on. I didn’t even know the door was still open anymore, but I shoulda figured you’d shove your way in. Warning signs don’t really seem to be effective on you.”

You frown. “There’s no warning sign-“

“This whole place is a warning sign. Barbed wire, moat of crocodiles, whole shebang. But you just walked right in, so I followed. All I want is to talk, and this is the best place to do it.”

“To talk.” You echo back slowly. “Are you going to knock me out again?”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “You know, you really should let that go-“ You take another step forward, and his words stutter. “Understandable if you don’t, though. Fair. If it helps, what I pulled was a one-time, Earth specific trick. Won’t work on you up here.” He eyes you wearily. “And I really am here to help. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick an angel blade in my eye.”

You pause. Help. You don’t need help, but you also aren’t getting anywhere close to finding Dean. And, somehow, you seem to have the upper hand here. Over an archangel, in fucking heaven. If he lies, or tries to knock you out again, you’ve got the Blade. You’ll just stab him. “Help how.”

“You’re not gonna,” Gabriel makes a jerking movement with his hand, nodding to the Blade, and you shrug. 

“Not if you’re really here to help.”

“Alrighty, I can work with that. Down to business.” Gabriel claps his hands together, taking a cautious step up, but still not all the way to the dais. “Like I said, looked at your notes. Men of God, soul studies, Magdalenes, translations. You really are a smart cookie. I think you could put this together by yourself, if you got the little push-“

“Gabriel.” You hiss, and he sighs. 

“It’s right under your nose, sweetheart. Chasing Death and Pestilence, chopping off good ol’ Famine’s finger. My brothers aren’t going to be killed by your two bumbling Americana poster boys, and they ain’t dumb enough to not keep precautions against you. But they can be trapped. Put in time out. Shit, Luci got sent to the corner for thousands of years.”

“The-“ You frown, your grip tightening on the Blade. “What.”

“Think about it,” Gabriel says your name in Enochian, grinning up at you. “He got out, Mikey’s gotta kill him, that’s the whole thing. Dad’s not going to step in, he likes watching us beat each other up. Even tapes it to sell. But, he also like his loopholes. Fail safes. Little puzzles to keep us all busy while he fucked around. You think he’d just destroy the cage after it was open?” You open your mouth, and he shakes his head, raising a hand. “You’re smarter than that.”

You pull your lip between your teeth, biting until it stings. “There’s a back door.” You mutter, watching Gabriel carefully. “Another way to open it, and send someone in.” 

“Good girl,” Gabriel laughs, giving you a mock applause. “Of course, you’re gonna have to get Lucifer into the cage. I’d wish you good luck with that, but I don’t think you’ll need it. You’ve always liked finding other ways.”

Deep breath. He’s not taunting you—no more than seems usual—and that is helpful. But- “Why are you helping now. You wanted to stay out of it, Sam and Dean-“

“Sam and Dean,” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Are dramatic, self-righteous, annoyingly convincing little asshats. I probably would’ve flipped for them eventually, they’ve got this kinda street dog charm that coulda won me over. But this? It was mostly from watching our lovely Castiel.” He gives you a wide grin. “You know, he doesn’t understand what you are, not really, but he’s following you all the same, rather than some ancient orders from a deadbeat Dad. And I think he’s onto something. I think you deserve a choice, and that’s not gonna happen if this train keeps rolling. Actually, I’m not sure if it’ll happen at all, but Mikey and Luci ain’t gonna help. Plus, I love love. And you,” He lets out a low wolf whistle. “Are way too sexy for my dad.”

The chill rolls through your bones again, and the Silver is burning. Rolling and turning like a storm, not trying to burst out, but strained. Distressed. You don’t even know how to say anything, how to be anything but everything, and you heard Gabriel’s words, but you didn’t really hear them, and you can’t-

“Easy girl.” Gabriel says, raising his hands again. “I’d like to go back underground without being erased.”

You frown. “Back-“

“There’s no way I’m sticking around for the finale. Not my scene. You give me a call, I’ll answer, but only you. Don’t go writing my number on bathroom stalls. And hot tip, don’t be afraid to ask for some help. Not my help, obviously, but some help.”

“I don’t-“

“Also, you’re doing this all wrong.” Gabriel nods around the room. “You think about who you want, Heaven’s gonna want to please you. Try thinking about where they’d be. Their happy memories. Once you get that, you can go wherever you want, babygirl. World’s your oyster.” Gabriel shoots you a wink. “Good luck. Remember, call me.”

You open your mouth—to scream, to protest, to demand more, he can’t just say all that and fuck off—but nothing comes out, and Gabriel vanishes, leaving you alone once more. 

The steps are shocking soft, like sitting on a blanket, grass in the summer. You draw your knees up to your chest, dropping your brow with a low, deep breath. The Silver is still illuminated in your body, buzzing right under your skin and—for maybe the first time in your life—the pain is numbed. Not gone, but numbed. Like it’s being drowned in the Silver, or burned away by the light all around you. This feels like a good time to cry. To let out the guttural howl that’s been building in your throat. You don’t know what to do. You lost Jo, again. And God.

You don’t want to think about that one. Not right now. And it might be why the scream doesn’t come, why the pain remains something a little too far for you to really feel. It’s all too much, just on the right side of overwhelming to sear you together by force. 

You’ll get through this. You’ll get back to Dean. You always do, and then you’ll fall apart. After you save Ellen and Adam, after you find Sam and Dean—and maybe shove them both for dying like idiots—you’ll fall apart about it all.

Don’t be afraid to ask for some help. 

You tip your head up, and squeeze your eyes shut. “Dear Castiel, who art it,” you pause. This is so fucking stupid. “Wallingford, Connecticut. Get over here, please.”

There’s a rustle, and when you open your eyes Cas is standing over you, frowning around the room. “Where did you bring me?”

“Working theory?” You say, pushing to your feet. “God’s old throne room.”

“How did you-“

“Don’t know. Sam and Dean-“

“Are dead.” Cas sighs, and it’s good to know he has the same feelings about it. Dumbasses. “I’ve been guiding them, but they get sidetracked rather easily. And much of my guidance had to come from Earth, as my powers are-“ Cas glances down at his hands, frowning slightly. “Were, diminished. But I am not feeling any weakness now.”

“That might be me,” you mutter. “I need your help, and this place seems to like me.”

“Ah.” Cas’ frown deepens, but he doesn’t push it. “I’ll be able help you to Sam and Dean, if we remain together-“

“It’s not just Sam and Dean.” You tuck the Blade back in your jacket, looking around the room one last time. Your gaze falls back on your name, written on the throne, and you take a deep breath. Heaven wants to please you. “Zachariah said it would be better like this. That the boss wants to talk to me.”

Cas frowns. “Michael?”

“Probably, yeah. He had Ellen and Adam, I think he just killed them to stash them here. We’re going to have to get to them one at a time-“

“Sam and Dean’s heavens have merged. We will be able to retrieve them together.”

“Oh. Good.” You frown at the air, rubbing at the scar on your palm. “I think if we can work out just one of everyone’s happiest memories, I’ll be able to move to their heavens, and you can just hop around, so it’ll be best if we split up. We can meet up at Sam and Dean, you grab Adam, I’ll get Ellen and Jo-“

“Jo?” Cas cuts you off with a frown, and you nod. 

“If we’re bringing people back, I can get Jo, and-“

Cas says your name too gently, and your nails dig into your skin. Whatever he’s about to say, you really don’t want to hear it. “I do not believe Jo Harvelle is here.” His words come a little quicker, and it might be because all the fire in the room had burned a little brighter, right as the Silver started to wail in your body. “She is not in hell, either. But she’s… blocked.”

You shake your head, clenching your teeth. “I’ll get through the block, Cas-“

“We do not have the time.” His voice is firm, and he’s holding your glare. “Michael may be hunting you, and Zachariah is after Sam and Dean. You are powerful here, but you’re unfamiliar with the systems and roads of Heaven-“

“I’ll be fine-“

“It is not you I am worried about.” 

Sam and Dean and Ellen and Adam. “But whatever’s blocking Jo-“

“Is strong. You will likely be able to break through it, but it will cost us time. Time we do not have.” Cas sighs. “You called for my help. I am offering that, and advice. I will not be able to stop you, if you choose to aim for Jo instead of the others. But a soul is needed to bring someone back. And we know where everyone else is stored.”

You fucking hate this. This whole day has been shit. Everyone’s giving you pieces of a puzzle you don’t really want to solve anymore—not as the picture comes together, and it’s more and worst then you’d dared to think about—and your groceries are probably fucked, and you miss Dean, and Bobby’s going to kill you when you get home, and you’re failing Jo again, and Adam and Ellen-

Ellen. You can’t fail Jo and Ellen, again. You’ve already razed Jo just by being near her. You can’t allow the same to happen, again, without ever really apologizing to either of them. 

“Fine.” You mutter, rolling your neck and glaring at the ceiling. “You can get Adam?”

Cas nods, and there’s unmistakable relief washing all over his face. “Yes. I will meet you with Sam and Dean.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “Cas?”

He frowns at you, and you give him a small, sad smile. 

“Don’t die.”

“I will do my best.” Cas gives you an awkward nod in return. “Good luck. I will see you in, hopefully, about fifteen minutes.”

There’s a whoosh, and then he’s gone. And you can do this. Heaven wants to please you—not the time to think about why, or what the fuck that means—and you know what you need to do now. Ellen’s happy memories.

All you can think of is Jo. And it’s splitting open a strong ache in your chest, making your fingers curl to try and protect her blue from the sights of Heaven. But Jo is the same to you that she is to Ellen. Family. And Ellen had told you a few stories, on nights you’d stayed at the roadhouse to hang out with Jo. She’d made you a rootbeer float and talked about how Jo got to ride a horse once, and it was the happiest Ellen had seen her since her dad died. 

The Silver starts to build outwards, and you can see it. Covered in an odd, shimmering veil, but there. Ellen with a beer in her hand, watching a blonde girl ride a horse that’s ten times her size. Both of them are smiling, and there’s a soft breeze that’s offsetting the flat heat of the summer. 

You turn back once, as the Silver started to leak out around you, and the image become clearer. Just to check that it was real. That your name is really right there, written on what can old be the throne of God.

And it is. 

Then it’s gone, and you’re caught in what feels like a soft tide for only a second, before you fall onto soft grass.

The sun is blinding for a second, and you have to squint to look around you. Baby Jo has wandered deeper into the field, and for a second you want to chase her down and bring her with you too. And you know it wouldn’t work—just like in the Roadhouse, that’s not your Jo, just an echo of her—but that doesn’t stop the ache from cleaving your ribs apart. You can hear her laughter on the wind, and it’s a sound you don’t think you’re ever going to hear again. 

That almost shatters you. You can’t afford to stop or slow down right now, but you’re never going to laugh with Jo again-

A hand brushes hair away from your face, and you turn to see Ellen frowning at you, your name soft on her tongue. “What are you doing here, honey?”

You swallow, your voice barely a rasp. “I- I’m here for you.”

“For me?” Ellen frowns. “I’m busy, I’m takin’ Jo to get ice cream after this. You can come with us, but you look…” She pauses, tracing her hand back over your face with a frown, and you swallow down a weak sob. “Tired. What happened?”

It would be so nice if you could just not tell her. If you could leave her here, happy, forever. But you don’t trust Zachariah to let her stay in peace. And you can’t shake the sight of her in the church. Pale and bruised, swaying slightly and unsure of what was around her. Broken.

You won’t fail twice. You won’t.

“You’re dead.” You whisper. “Zachariah found you, and hurt you. I- I don’t know why- But I didn’t stop him and I’m sorry-“

A weak, strangled sound breaks through your throat, the world going a little blurry, and Ellen pulls you into her arms. You don’t deserve to hug her back, you’re the one who got her hurt and killed. But you’re tired, and the physical pain is numb, but the ache is bigger than you know how to handle. So you bury your face in her shoulder and let the tears fall. 

“It’s okay,” Ellen hums your name, rubbing your back, and you shake your head. Nothing’s okay, it’s all too much, and too complicated, and you don’t know what to do- “I guess I shoulda known I was dead. Jo ain’t been this young in a while.”

Another broken sob shakes your body, and you don’t know if Ellen knows that Jo’s- That you- That-

“And I remember the church.” Ellen sighs. “Remember all of it, now that you’re sayin’ it.”

You swallow and lean back, blinking away the tears from your eyes. “I- I’m sorry.”

Ellen frowns. “Bout what?”

“Jo.” Your voice is barely a breath. You’re not even sure how you’re speaking at all, with the feeling of iron in your lungs and ash in your throat. “I- I tried to save her. I promise, but I couldn’t, and I shouldn’t have done the plan at all but I- I’m sorry-“

Another hollow noise breaks out and Ellen shakes her head, brushing the hair from your face. “I don’t blame you. Don’t think she’d ever blame you either. I was always happy you two found each other, even though I wasn’t a fan of her huntin’… I just wanted her to be happy. And you were the only real friend she had. I know you loved her like a sister, honey, and I don’t doubt you tried to save her.”

“But- You vanished-“

“Cause I was furious at everything that hurt her. Not you.”

“But I-“

“Dean told me you stayed with her to the end.” Ellen whispers, giving you a sad smile. “That you didn’t want to leave her at all. She wasn’t alone. And you killed the angel that killed her. Better than I could’ve done.”

You shake your head, your voice bitter. “Just one of them. Other one got away.”

Ellen sighs. “It was that bald asshole that grabbed me, wasn’t it. Zachariah?” You nod, and she scowls. “He’s seemed like a shitbag. You gonna kill him too?”

“I’d like to.” You mutter, sniffing up the last of the tears. She doesn’t blame you. Even if she should, she doesn’t, and you can do this. Focus. Get her out. You won’t fail again. “But he’s going to be looking for me, he-“

“Wants you to talk to the boss.” Ellen frowns. “God?”

“Michael. I’ll explain more later, but we have to go. Cas is meeting us at Sam and Dean-“

“Sam and Dean?” Ellen’s brows raise in surprise. “How’d they end up here?”

“Angry hunters and another trap. Cas will be able to resurrect you all, I think I jumpstarted him or something. I might be-“ You pause. If you’re this powerful, if Heaven wants to please you, you might be able to pull off the angel’s back from the dead trick too. You’re trying to feel out the Silver. It still doesn’t hurt the same, and it’s not dormant, but- 

You don’t want to risk it. You might be able to pull off a resurrection, but you don’t know how. And if you fuck it up, you might infect one of them. Might make everything worse. It will have to be Cas.

Ellen says your name gently. “You okay-“

“I’m fine.” You reach out your hand, holding Ellen’s gaze. “Ready?”

She nods, but glances over your shoulder. “What about Jo? I know that ain’t her, but- If Castiel is bringin’ people back-“

“He needs the souls.” You mumble. And Jo’s is fucking blocked. “I’m sorry.”

Ellen’s throat bobs, and she lets out a long, slow breath. “Alright.” Her hand slides into yours, and you really don’t fucking deserve this. The trust that you’re going to do this right, and not get someone hurt. “This gonna feel weird?”

“Um, no?”

“C’mon.” Ellen says your name with a small smile. “Bobby raised you to lie better than that.”

“No.” You keep your tone dry, and Ellen chuckles.

“That’s better. You bringin’ us to Sam and Dean?”

“Yeah, I just, um- One second.” You squeeze your eyes shut, and let the Silver out slowly. It’s going to have to touch Ellen, but that’s just another thing you’re trying not to think about. You’re saving her, not infecting her. You’re just carrying her with you to Cas. You’ve never tried to do that before, though. You could fuck it up. You could just vanish without her, or land her in the wrong place, or fuck up and raze her soul in the process-

Don’t think about it. 

Just think about Sam and Dean. Their happy memories. You just need one, from either of them. And it can’t be your happiest memory of them—you have to remind yourself that, over and over, because all you can think of is playing Trivial pursuit with Sam in Bobby’s library, and sitting with Dean in the Impala, wiping a smear of chocolate milk from his lip as he grinned at you, and they might not care for those memories at all—so your best bet is something they’d told you about. Sam’s fourth grade visit to a planetarium. Dean getting to drive Baby for the first time by himself. Maybe one of those Vegas weeks Dean’s tried to get you to join last year, or an easier night at the roadhouse. A weekend with Bobby, or the only school dance Sam ever got to attend. 

Or one of Dean’s many fun nights, at bars or on road trips. That one girl Sam mentioned years ago, who he spent a whole week with when he said he was going on a road trip. Or the sex spree after he made the demon deal, while you were still running around the country avoiding Hell’s Assassin’s. A good memory with Sam from their childhood, like a Christmas or Halloween. Or maybe just something simple. Dean loves simple things, and he loves them with all his heart. Pie and music and sleep. Pretty things. Good, easy things. 

Things that you aren’t. That you’ve never been. And you really want to be in his Heaven. You’re best friends, and you know he’s at least a little attracted to you, but Heaven is a high bar, and you’re complicated.

You’ve always been complicated, and sick, and a lot more trouble to tame than you’re worth. 

You’re caught in the tide again, and you’re not quite sure where you’re going. You’re only the Silver—and a spot of dark green, tangled up and flowing with you—but, through the haze of colors and light, you can see it. Dean’s Gold, that you’ll love until someone finally muzzles you properly, and you’re only a feral, gnashing beast trying to rip off your collar and go home. To Dean. 

You love him. It’s really all you can think. And whatever white thing grabbed you before isn’t going to catch you this time. You won’t let it, because you need to get to Dean. 

And you’re yours again, just like that, as you crash down into his gravity.

You’re sitting on something soft, in a dark room. There are blankets over your head and, peaking through a gap, you can see a bunch of little, plastic stars stuck to the walls and ceiling and-

Those are your walls. These are your blankets. This is your fucking room, from right before Dean died. His I’m dying party that you’d hated, but gone to anyway. Because it was for Dean. And you’d loved him, just like always. 

“Was this a trap, Princess?

You turn your head, and there he is. Golden. Your Dean, the real Dean, looking a little older than he did when this had happened, but giving you the same boyish smirk he always has. The one you might rip Heaven apart just to see, every single time. You’re in his Heaven.

“This,” you swallow a lump in your throat, your fingers curling on your calf. “This is your heaven?”

Dean blinks at you. “Course it is. But I don’t think you’re supposed to know that, sweetheart, you’re just a memory.”

Your lips twitch, even as the Spiderweb glows so bright you think it might turn into all that you are. You don’t know if you want to kiss him or shove him or just hug him for a million years and never let go. 

“But you died like, right after this.” You whisper. “How is that Heaven?”

“You made me a blanket fort and said you didn’t want me to die,” he sounds confused. Like he can’t possibly fathom why this wouldn’t be heaven. “You trusted me about your family, and we hugged, it was awesome-“

“Uh, Dean?” The entrance to the blanket fort opens, revealing a ducked down Sam. Purple. The real Sam. He barely even spares you a glance, as if he’d expected to see you here. In Dean’s Heaven. “I think something’s happening. Cas is out here.”

Dean frowns. “Thought he couldn’t get into past the pearly gates to help us-“

“Says that he got a boost.” Sam tilts his head in your direction, saying your name. “She gave it to him. And she’s supposed to be here too. Cas is worried cause it looks like Ellen’s showed up, but they were supposed to come together or something-“

“Sam.” You keep your voice dry, and Sam freezes. “I’m right here.”

They’re both gaping at you. And you adore them, but for all the shit Dean has always given you about hunting alone, you’re not sure how they survived this long without you there all the time. 

“You can see me.” Sam says a little stupidly. “But this is, uh- This is Dean’s heaven-“

“And I’m me.” You have to fight down the flush on your cheeks. You’re not sure it works. “I must have taken Memory-Me’s place.” 

Dean clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with an almost nervous expression. “But you’re, uh- Have you been you the whole time?”

“Uh, only for like five minutes. C’mon,” you reach out a hand before you can think better. “We’ve gotta go, Dean-“

Your words fall into a yelp as Dean grabs your hand and yanks you forward, all the way into his lap. Your arms wrap around him on instinct, your face resting in the crook of his neck, and this really is your Dean. He smells like cinnamon, his Gold is everywhere, and his voice is hoarse in your ear. 

“Thought we lost you,” he mutters, one of his hands cradling the back of your head as the other squeezes your hips, as if he’s checking you’re real. “Son of a bitch, Princess, you were supposed to call me, and when we got to the church the Firebird was parked out from, and- I thought-“

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, bunching his jacket in your hands. “I- I’m okay. I’m not even dead, I just got sent to the Garden, and-“ You sigh, shaking your head against him. “I’ll tell you later. We have to go, Dean.”

He grunts, slowly detangling himself from you, but his hand slides back into yours in a second. One squeeze. Checking in. 

You give him a soft smile as he helps you to your feet, and squeeze back three times. I’m good.

I love you.

He gives a tight nod, and you step out of the blanket for to find everyone else awkwardly waiting for you. Sam gives you a nervous smile, Ellen’s looking around your room with a frown, and Adam is staring at you. 

Cas says your name, and you turn to find him sitting on the edge of your mattress. “Any issues?”

“Not yet. You think you can get all four of them?”

He pauses, then nods. “I will have to go two at a time. Just one resurrection requires effort, but all four them have intact bodies, and I feel… strong. I can handle it.”

You nod, and Sam clears his throat, raising his hand. 

“Can you guys explain what’s going on-“

“Once you’re alive, yes.” Cas pushes to his feet, and Dean scowls.

“Do you two rehearse this or something? I mean, Adam was dead this freakin’ morning, we can’t just move past that-“

“Dean.” You give him a firm look, and his mouth snaps shut. “We have to go. It’s not safe to linger-“

“Why?” Adam cuts in, earning a glare from Dean—which you want to laugh at, because he’d been pushing the same thing only seconds ago—and you sigh. 

“Because-“

“Of me.” Zachariah’s sneer cuts through the air, and your blood almost curls in your body. You don’t want to turn around and see him. You’re so fucking close to getting everyone out. 

But he’s there. And you’re fucked.

“This is very convenient,” he hums, walking around the room with a snake-like grin. “I mean, all of you in one place? And Castiel, too?” Zachariah laughs, and your grip on Dean’s hand tightens. “I mean, it’s like my birthday’s come early.”

“We do not have birthdays, Zachariah.” Cas mutters, taking a side-step to block Sam, Adam, and Ellen. 

His eyes meet yours for a second, and you give him a tight nod in return. You’ve got Dean. He’s got the other’s. 

“You always were so literal.” Zachariah scoffs, rolling his eyes at Cas. “And you shouldn’t be able to be here, either. I thought we made that very clear. Unless-“ Zachariah cuts himself off, turning his glare to you. “Of course it was you. Looks like the whore is learning some new tricks-“

“Hey.” Dean snaps, taking a step forward to block you from Zachariah’s view, and you love him but God, he can be such a fucking idiot. “Don’t talk to her like that, dickbag-“

“I get it, Dean. You’re a big, scary guard dog, and I should be running. But I’m not, am I? Because you’re just a meat sack that’s the perfect temperature, and she,” Zachariah lets out a long, pained sigh. “Is annoyingly the most important soul ever made. She’s my meal ticket. And I need her back, now.”

You swallow, and Dean tenses in front of you. It’s not brave to strong, to press against his back, and try to hide your face in his side. But it’s all you want to do. He’d be warm. Strong. Like a tree that shields you from the view of the Sky, all while keeping you shaded under its shadow. And you manage not to hide, but the pain is building back up as the Silver rushes just a layer under your skin. You don’t know what made the numbness stop. Maybe it’s the same thing that’s making you grab and rub your wrist, trying to keep the Silver down. You can’t explode now. Not here.

But Zachariah leans around Dean, his gaze locked onto yours and his lips twisted so horribly, and you choke on the bile in your throat. 

“Boss wants to talk to you,” he says the words like he hates them. You’re not exactly a big fan either. “And the rest of you,” he stands back up. “As much as I’d like to squish you under my shoe, it’s your lucky day.”

“Zachariah.” Cas says, eyes narrowed. “I am not going to let you touch them-“

“You can’t do anything about this.” Zachariah snaps. “You might be, if she,” his head jerks to you. “Knew what the fuck she was doing, but she doesn’t. And you might be able to break in a window, but I still have the keys, and a shotgun. So get. Out.”

You don’t get a warning this time. Zachariah’s snap is quick, and the Silver doesn’t get to react. The memory of your room vanishes. Sam, Dean, and Cas go with it, it feels like wind is ripping and biting at your skin for a horrible, split second before you land again. 

It’s not clear where you are, over the blur of the world. The Silver is more than burning. It’s molten, almost acidic, and it hurts. It all fucking hurts again, and you can’t really fucking breathe, and Dean. You lost him. His hand was in yours, but you were sick, and you’re a worse sort of pestilence that’s taking everything down with it, and what fucking use is being the Bride or the Magdalene or the Angel Killer or Death Raiser if you can’t ever fucking control it, can’t use it to protect instead of faltering and rotting-

Someone’s calling your name, but you can’t really hear anything over the ringing in your ears. One hand is pressed to the right of your heart, the other on your throat, and you’re not sure if you’re trying to strange yourself or feel for it. The Spiderweb. It’s not dark, not offline. When you press your fingers into the base of your throat, and the rioting of the Silver falters for a second—and the pain builds, but you’ve survived worse—you can feel it. Clear. Bright, and casting rainbow light around your rib cage. Even sharper than a moment before, because Dean isn’t in Heaven, but it’s because he’s alive.

He’s alive.

And if Dean’s alive, alive and on Earth, Sam and Cas are likely fine too. Zachariah said it was their lucky day. They’re okay. And you might need to be a little more worried about yourself.

Your name is repeated, with a little more urgency, and your vision clears as the Silver eases. Ellen is kneeling next to you—you seem to have fallen to the ground—and holding your face between her hands, her eyes scanning over your features frantically. Adam is standing off to the side, looking equally worried, but still mostly just gaping at you. All the furniture is embroidered. Gilded. Expensive. Maybe still Heaven. The Silver is still active, but the pain is too. Every color is a little brighter, but your eyes might just be adjusting. 

It doesn’t really matter. 

Just to test, you try to let a little of the Silver out. To see if you can expand, and turn Heaven to your will like before. 

The room shifts. All the fancy furniture turns to a well-worn couch and knotted wood table. The carpet turns into the rug in Bobby’s living room, and the tapestries on the walls turn to the old sunset painting Bobby keeps in his study. But when you try to push further, it’s like you slam into a wall. It doesn’t hurt, but it rushed through you like a small electric shock, and your eyes shoot open. 

Iron. It’s fucking iron, and it doesn’t do to you what it used to, but it still seems to have an effect. 

You’re trapped. 

Ellen snaps your name, and you blink at her. “You gotta tell me you’re with us-“

“I’m with you.” You mumble, dragging your nails over the skin of your throat. “We’re- Fuck.”

“The boys-“

“They’re alive.” You move slowly to your feet, rubbing the scar on your palm. “Most of them are.” You give Adam a small smile. “Hi.”

His eyes widen. “Hi. You, um- I still don’t understand what’s going on-“

“You’re collateral.” You mutter, scanning around the room. Not a lot to work with. You don’t know if you’re still in Heaven, even if you do escape, you can see the Enochian, etched into the wallpaper and wood. Ownership wardings. No praying to Cas. No getting back to Earth. “They want to talk to me, and I’ve been known to, uh-“ You sigh. “Cause damage.”

“Damage?” Adam takes a step forward, sort of looking at you like you’re some sort of fallen star. “To angels?”

“And others.” You tap your finger against one of the wardings, and it zaps. “Fuck.”

Ellen frowns. “What? You don’t think you can get us out?”

You shake your head. “I- I don’t know. I’ve sort of- teleported before, but only twice.“ Because something had been calling to you, the Spiderweb bursting in your chest, and you’d wanted to follow it all the way down. “And I can’t do it on command. Plus I’ve never- I needed Cas. For the resurrections.”

Ellen pauses. “Think you could try yourself?”

“Maybe.” You give her a tight look. “But I don’t know about two at once.”

Ellen lets out a long, heavy sigh, and Adam clears his throat. 

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on. I don’t know you,” he gestures to Ellen, before turning to you. “And Sam and Dean seemed close with you, and I know I’ve never actually met them, but I would’ve remember you if they’d brought you with them-“

“They didn’t.” You mutter, starting to move through the books on the shelves. When you open on, it’s real. With words, but they’re swimming a little on the page. Enochian. Better than nothing. “I was in Europe.”

“That where you went?” Ellen asks, and you freeze.

“I’m sorry-“

“Honey, I’m just glad you didn’t die, or blow somethin’ up-“

“I blew a few things up.”

Ellen laughs. “Anything important?”

And image flashes over your vision. A child’s soul, stained on the pavement and being delicately placed back into her body. 

Wait. 

Fuck.

Ellen says your name, and you can hear the frown in her voice. “You-“

“I’m okay.” You stand suddenly, the book tight in your hand. “I- I might have it. A way out. We just need to wait.”

They listen, but this is the kind of plan Dean would glare at you about. It’s a little insane. But you can do it. You can. You’ve done it before, even if it wasn’t exactly on purpose. Resurrection will be dicey, but there’s no reason to think you can’t do it. Until you’re violently and horrible proven otherwise, you can. You’re made to touch souls. Heaven wants to please you. And there’s no fucking use to any of it if you can’t do this, and get back to Dean. 

“Hi.”

You look up from your book, and find Adam sitting next to you with a nervous smile. “Hi.”

“You, uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, eyes flicking between you and the carpet. “Nobody ever told me what’s going on.”

“Oh, right.” You sigh, closing your book and tipping your head back. “Um- It’s the apocalypse. Michael and Lucifer are going to have a death match, but they need Sam and Dean’s bodies-“

“I know that, actually. The angel guy explained it.” He frowns. “He was, uh- Kind of a dick about it, though.”

You snort. “You have no idea.”

Adam nods, and gives you a strange look. “I was kind of wondering, uh- About you?”

“Me?” You frown at him. “Why?”

“You seem interesting.” He shrugs. “I mean, you showed up threatening angels with knives, and you were flying around heaven. I’m curious. I mean, how’d you even meet Sam and Dean?”

“They were on a case.” You shrug. “Ran into them, told them they were wrong about what they were chasing, fought with John about it-“

“John? You met my dad?”

Shit. “Uh, yeah.”

“Were you-“

“He didn’t like me.” You keep your words short, and a little apologetic, but Adam only frowns.

“Why? You seem cool, and you’re, uh-“ He blushes, and you’re not sure what the fuck is going on. “I mean, you seem very capable, and Sam and Dean trust you-“

“I’ve been hunting with Dean for years. And Sam’s like my brother.”

Adam pauses. “But Dean isn’t?”

Fuck. “It’s complicated.” 

“Oh.” Adam nods slowly, looking back down to his feet. “Sorry, I’m not trying to push-“

“You’re not.” You sigh, tipping your head back to frown at the ceiling. “It’s all a lot.”

“Right?! I mean, I’ve got memories that aren’t mine, and angels are after us, and I- You’re really pretty but everyone seems to hate you- And you smell like vanilla-“

Adam’s words die before you can even fully register them, and when you look up. He’s knocked out. Head lolling to the side, eyes closed, mouth still parted and breathing steady. Ellen is the same, sitting at the table. 

Then a deep voice that you don’t recognize says your name in Enochian, and your head whips to see Yellow. Pure fucking Yellow, with eyes and fists and wings, made of gleaming, wrathful light. A little brighter than the Blue and the Red.

Michael.

“I had to knock them out.” He says, although there’s nothing apologetic in his tone. “They can’t look at me like you. It would’ve killed them, and I don’t think that’s any way for us to be introduced.” 

You swallow, and there are too many eyes looking at you. It’s like the Sky, concentrated down in a crude attempt of imitation. Because Michael isn’t the Sky. You remember the Sky, from when you were younger.

He was a lot angrier, and a lot lonelier. 

“I am Michael.” He adds, extending a hand. “And I know you’ve met.” He frowns. “Zachariah. I apologize for him, he’s a hard worker, but a bit of what human’s would call an asshole.”

Behind him, you can see Zachariah frown, but he doesn’t say a word. It’s a little amazing. 

“I think you’re supposed to introduce yourself.” Michael flexes his hands, frowning down at you. “I’m Michael. The archangel.”

You blink at his hand, then back to his eyes, seeming to crawl all over your skin. “You made me lose my groceries.” Your eyes narrow. “And my car-“

“I returned your car.” He corrects. “It is on the outskirts of your wards, Dean will find it soon. I had Zachariah return him and Sam safely, as well as Castiel. I would have put your groceries as well, but those wards are…” He chuckles. “Strong. You are quite the bright little thing. I like you.”

Your nails are digging into your wrists. “Why?”

“You are quite likable.”

“No, I’m not.” You snap. “And I meant why would you do that. For me?”

Michael frowns. “You are likable. Maybe not to humans, but you were not made for them. You are beautiful and kind and firm. Resilient. Perfect."

“That’s not answering my question.”

“You are stubborn as well.” Michael laughs to himself again. “But what is family if not fighting-“

“We are not family-“

“We will be.” Michael shrugs. “That’s why I saved your favorite humans. Which I understand. You haven’t seen. You don’t know that they’re all really the same yet. But you’ll learn. I can help you, until he gets home. And I understand why my little siblings have been so eager to keep you out, but they haven’t seen either. All they know is that you’re the great descendent of the mistake. The error. They don’t know that it’s part of the plan.”

Your eyes flick to Zachariah. “The- What?” 

“The plan. My father’s plan. He doesn’t make mistakes-” 

“What mistakes.”

“Lilith.” Michael frowns. “The first wife. A Magdalene, made wrong. But she wasn’t wrong, she was exactly what she was meant to be. Lucifer did ruin her,” he’s spitting his words now. “When he knew what the safety of her line meant to our father, but it didn’t matter. You are exactly as you’re supposed to be.”

The Silver is swirling and shifting like a storm in your body. You have an idea of where this is going, and once again, you don’t want to know. You’ve spent your whole fucking like desperate to know, and now it’s here and you want to go back, go home-

“And I would have preferred to keep you out of this,” Michael continues. “But you are moving things along. And the sooner we kill Lucifer, the sooner he comes home. All you need to do is convince Dean, and everything will be as it should.”

“I-“ Shaking breath. You have to keep it together, even if it’s by a thread. Even if it’s just so Zachariah doesn’t see you cry. “I’m not going to tell Dean to say yes to you. Ever.”

Michael sighs. “But you will. It is the only way you’ll be allowed to keep him. If Lucifer wins, he will be tortured for eternity. Alone. In pain. When we win, you will be allowed to keep him until the feelings fade. I will even let you speak to him, if you please.”

Until the feelings fade. They’ll never fucking fade. They hit you like a comet in the middle of June, almost ten years ago, and they’ve hurt, and they’re complicated but you weren’t able to make them fade, even when you tried to make them by force. “Lucifer said the same thing.” You mutter, holding Michael’s gaze. “About letting me have Dean.”

“Lucifer is lying. And he knows that you will grow bored of Dean, one I am gone. He is not who you were made for. Your attraction to him is the human part of you, but that will die when you take your place. When you sit on his throne, and know what true love really feels like.”

He’s wrong.

You know what true love feels like. 

It’s going back. Every single fucking time. Even when it hurts, even when it’s complicated, even when you want to run. Even when something is chasing you, so you do run, and you go and go and go and never stop, until you get a little tired and you want to go home. Back to where it’s safe. Back to where you can sleep through a night and lean on them in the morning. Then they lean on you, and you’ve never felt more important. And when they’re gone, you wish they were there. And you see them everywhere when you’re apart, but you still go back. You can never think of doing anything else. 

And every time you’ve looked up at the Sky, you’ve only wanted to run to where he couldn’t see you. And he’s never held you. Never leaned on you. Never done anything but shove you and yank you away. 

Every single time you’ve looked at God, you’ve only wanted to fucking hide.

“I’m not made for anyone.” You say, your voice far too soft. “I don’t have a place, I’m from fucking Chicago-“

“Your place is here.” Michael cuts you off with a frown. “It is where you were destined to be. And you were made perfectly. To mirror him. You are the Bride of God.”

You can’t speak. And you think, that if time didn’t keep moving, you’d turn to stone here. Maybe melt into only the Silver, and try to stretch to a corner of the universe where you could build something safe. Or just hover over Dean like a halo, too intangible for God to see you, still strong enough to keep him safe. Alive. Happy. 

But time doesn’t slow. And Michael sighs, scanning over you slowly, and says words you can somehow still hear. 

“I know this is likely overwhelming, but it is what you are meant to do. And it will all feel like nothing, in another millennia. I will give you time to think, if that helps. Zachariah?”

“Um- Yes, sir?”

“Do with the humans what you want. No harm to the Bride, but if we need to kid, we can bring him back, and the other one,” he frowns at Ellen, and ice feels like it’s being shot into your veins. Painful and cold. 

Startling you out of your stasis. Ellen.

“I believe her time was up already. Send her back to her Heaven.” Michael dips his head to you. “I will see you soon.”

There’s a flash, and Ellen and Adam groan behind you right as Zachariah’s eyes flash on your, and you step to the side. You said you wouldn’t fail. 

So you won’t. 

“Move.” Zachariah says your name in Enochian. “I don’t care what God wants you for, I’m not playing game with a little girl right now. They’re going back, you’re staying here.”

“I think I’m good.” You shrug, reaching past your jacket for your knife. You don’t really want to touch the Blade right now. “I recommend you move. Now.”

Zachariah sneers. “I don’t take orders from you-“

“I don’t care.”

The blur kicks in, and you’re moving. You slice at your own hand, then let the Silver fall out of you, into the knife. Then you’re rushing across the room and driving it right into Zachariah’s gut. He roars and reaches for you, but you’re faster. Studying Enochian paid off. You smear your blood Zachariah’s brow, paint it into a crude sigil as you twist the knife, and press it. 

He’s gone.

For now.

“We need to go.” You spin on your feet, your attention turning to Ellen and Adam, gaping on the floor. “He won’t gone for long, and if he gets back I’ll have to try something else, and I don’t-“ The image of Anna, ripped up by far too much power, flashes through your head. “I don’t know what it will do to you guys. Just- Adam-“

You grab his shoulders and he stares down at you. “Wha-“

“Stay still,” You mutter, squeezing your eyes shut. Life. Think of life. The summer in Bobby’s yard, and the warmth of home, and Dean, grinning at you and talking and laughing and life. 

The Silver moves forward into orange, and you can do this. You have to. 

“Sorry.”

“Why are you-“

You grab Adam’s orange, and let out a soft breath. The Silver flows with it, soft and delicate, and Life. 

You open your eyes, and Adam’s gone. 

You fucking did it. 

But when you turn to Ellen, any light dies in your throat. 

Zachariah’s holding her to his chest, and angel blade pressed to her throat. Just like Jo had been. 

You can’t fucking breathe.

“I wish,” Zachariah spits. “That I could kill you, you bitch. But I’ll settle for this instead. Maybe then Michael will let me at least chain you up properly.”

His blade presses a little further, your wrists sting with a phantom pain, you’re starting to build out. Too big. To do what you need to do, you’re going to have to be too sick. Deadly. And you’re bubbling lava under the earth and the lightning storms on a planet far away, and you can’t come back down. You said you wouldn’t fail. You said you wouldn’t fucking fail. 

Ellen says your name, and you shake your head. It’s too much. It hurts too fucking much- 

“It’s okay.” She whispers. “I don’t have much to go back to. Never had much except Jo. Always thought I’d end up dyin’ for her, and I didn’t get to, but she still went loved. She’d want you to be happy.”

“No-“

“I don’t think you know what’s happening, lady.” Zachariah scoffs. “I’m killing you, and she’s going to watch, and that’s it.”

Ellen’s gaze doesn’t break from your, and the weight of every single star—hot and pained and burning with fury and life and death all at once—is pressing onto your chest. 

“I’m goin’ no matter what,” she says your name softly. “And I didn’t get to die for my girl. Let me die for you.”

A broken sound leaves your throat. “I- I’m sorry-“

“I know. I’m good though, honey. You’re gonna be okay.”

You won’t be. 

Because when the Silver bursts out, sinking into Zachariah and pulling him out—prying him from his vessel, pressing him down until he’s contorted and his ugly brown is just a writhing little thing, in pain on the floor—Ellen goes too. You don’t think she’s gone. The Silver seems to grab her green and toss it somewhere, like ash and dust in the wind, but she’s not here. Not where you can bring her back. 

You failed.

You fall back into yourself with a shaking breath, and there’s a hole in the walls. Something is roaring for you on the other side of it, and it’s making the Spiderweb sing, tugging on something a little to the right of your heart. And the Silver goes dormant—though not quite as immovable in your body—and it all fucking hurts again. 

You’ll get through it. You have to get through it. You’re not going to be okay, but you have to get through it. There’s no other option, because you’re too far in it now, and God-

Later. A problem for later. 

You grab Zachariah off the floor and put him a small jar, before you step through the door. It spits you out on the side of a dirt road, Adam knocked out in the dirt a few feet away, and you know you’re back on Earth. 

God is watching you. Only watching, as you sit at Adam’s side and send Bobby a text that you’re alive. Dean will probably come to pick you up, and you’ll have to apologize to him. A million times. For all of it. For freaking him out, for failing, for how you have to tell him about being the Bride, and Michael, and everything Gabriel told you. That alone feels like a lifetime ago. 

You stare at Zachariah in his jar, and your head starts to turn a little too fast. You sort of have the Silver. And you’re made to mirror God. You keep saying you won’t fail, and then you do, but this- It could work. And if it doesn’t, maybe you’ll just implode on yourself and take Michael and Lucifer with you.

But you don’t have a lot of time. And you need to move. 

“Crowley.” You look up into the night sky, and there’s a soft rustle behind you. 

“Hello, love.” He’s grinning, when you tip your head back. “You ready to make a deal?”

“I don’t want Death.” You mumble, your voice hoarse. “I want Pestilence. And  I’m not kissing you.”

“One Pestilence, coming right up. And don’t worry,” He drawls your name with a grin. "I won’t take your revulsion to me personally. I’ve heard about you and Dean Winchester’s little bond.”

You ignore the Dean comment. “We got a deal?”

“Seems that we do.”

You nod, and your gaze flicks up to the Sky. 

To God. 

Watching you. Waiting for something you’re never going to give him, as long as just one fucking part of you—even if it’s just a river of Silver, embedded in Dean’s Gold—remains your own. He can call you his bride all he fucking wants. You’re not going down with anyone but Dean. 

Ever.

End Note: Times like these She really wishes she was a drinker.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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[rosie-posie1313]

TASM Peter Parker Fic Recs

06/26/2025

⭒ Fatal flaw  by @pogueswrld

y/n is a former widow that found a safe home in New York with the Avengers and a fellow former widow, more specifically with a certain brunette doe eyed spider named Peter Parker. But lately, Natasha got caught up with the red room and taking them down alongside her sister, y/n figured it's only right to help out.

⭒ My Spiderboy by @myflicker

⭒ Fake Dating by @marauder-exe

⭒ Wrong Window by @/marauder-exe

You live a floor below Peter Parker, your boyfriend, and you get the sneaking suspicion he’s hiding something from you. You find out once you get a surprise through your window.

⭒ Peter Parker #2 by @gothicwidowsworld

⭒ ‘Tis The Damn Season by @imaginesfordifferentfandoms

⭒ Chemistry  by @its-an-obsession

Being on Broadway was a dream of yours since you were little, you loved watching musicals and plays with your friends and family. When you found out that you would be able to play your dream roll, you were super excited. After a few rehearsals you met Andrew Garfield. The two of you instantly hit it off when your director told you and the brown eyed boy to get to know one another.

⭒ Awaited Confessions by @/its-an-obsession

When you met Peter Parker, you never would’ve thought you’d fall in love with the brown eyed boy you called your best friend. He was different than other stupid teenage boys you had encountered throughout your high school career. As time ticked on, your awaited confession began to sink in, wanting to let itself go as it began to form into a loose canon. Little did you know, Peter felt the same way.

⭒ I’ll Crawl Home to Her by @embrassemoi

After a long day, all Peter wants is a bit of love and someone to take care of him.

⭒ Partners  by @mads-weasley

You and Peter Parker are best friends, but neither of you know that you are friends behind your masks as you fight the Lizard together. Will one of you figure it out or will your friendship come crashing down because of it?

⭒ Bittersweet  by @oswildin

Peter Parker lost you in his universe… Never did he think he would see your face again…

⭒ A bunch of coincidences by @spidey-webz

What are the odds to end up in a different New York where your brother acts strangely and you find a different, quite attractive, version of yourself? (Spider-Woman reader)

⭒ reminder of her by @/spidey-webz

You are Peter’s best friend, yet he is not the one to save you from a fall…

⭒ Dating Andrew!Spidey Would Include… by @bowieandqueen11

⭒ yeah right by @lunasdream

what if after the blip you don’t die and end up in another universe.

⭒ BEING FLIRTY BEST FRIENDS WITH PETER PARKER by @angelfic

⭒ Into Battle by @slowdownurdoingfine

⭒ Coffee Run  by @curseofaphrodite

Visiting the Stark Enterprises and being a tour guide to someone from another universe wasn’t as fun as it sounded. Especially since the man in question was adamant on scoring a date with you.

⭒ Memories by @multifandom-gabi

You’ve been stuck in a different universe for a while now. You seem to have no memory of where you came from. All you know is Dr. Strange has been trying to help you out, but he’s had no luck. You seem to lose hope, until one day, a familiar face comes through a portal. 

⭒ Welcome back by @kimmyiewrites

⭒ peter, won’t you be the one i really need? By @nghtwngs

you gift peter a new camera for christmas, but what will be his gift to you?

⭒ The Real Peter Parker by @upsideoffalling

Peter recalls the first time he really noticed you; when you defended him in class.

⭒ Missed Calls by @caramelcal

⭒ missed calls [2] by @/caramelcal

⭒ Attention by @/caramelcal

you and peter have already admitted your feelings for each other, but aren’t in a committed relationship yet so when you see another girl getting close with him, you can’t help but be a bit jealous and insecure.

⭒ Out of Focus, Eye to Eye by @irndad

⭒ Orbitational Pull by @/irndad

⭒ remember me by @softlymellow

Peter Parker had lost you in a different reality, but when he is brought to a reality with another Spiderman, he also finds you, but you don’t remember him.

⭒ The Click by @erule

you catch feelings for Peter Parker, but he’s from another universe.

⭒ Pretty Girl by @tomsparkyr

when peter finds himself in another universe like his, he never expects a pretty girl on the other side to completely throw him off.

⭒ Peter accidently hits the reader by @webslingingslasher

⭒ Negotiating by @literaila

you wake up on peter’s chest.

⭒ a constant state of bursting atoms.  By @/literaila

stranger danger, and all that, except, of course when its a superhero. (part two)

⭒ perishable hours  by @/literaila

peter reminds you how important sleeping is. and then proceeds to keep you awake.

⭒ just barely  by @/literaila

⭒ Contacts by @/literaila

"what do you think would happen if i tried?" he asks. "with my reflexes? i'd blink fifteen times before they even handed me the contact. i'd run out the door as soon as they got the solution out."

⭒ bandaids & kisses by @bartxnhood

after a few encounters with the friendly neighborhood spider man, you let him in on a little secret. your crush on your best friend, peter parker.

⭒ size issues by @spidernerdsblog

you prank your husband by getting the wrong size of bra just to see his reaction.

⭒ Doughnuts by @cosmal

you’re really excited about doughnuts. peter really wants to kiss you.

⭒ doctor pete by @/cosmal

you freak peter out to get his attention.

⭒ YOU BELONG WITH ME  by @slytherheign

you can’t help but feel insecure when you realize your best friend peter and the most famous girl in the school are keeping a sweet secret from you.

⭒ SPIDER-BOY by @spider-stark

Thinking he has no chance with y/n as himself, Peter begins approaching them as Spider-Man.

⭒ “standing on your tippy toes, frustrated you can't reach your lover's lips” by @flightlessangelwings

⭒ dating headcanons-peter parker by @mqctavish

⭒ Who Are You Really by @obislittleone

⭒ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐛 by @curseofaphrodite

imagine being tom!peter’s bestfriend while having a crush on andrew!peter.

⭒ 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 by @/curseofaphrodite

When Peter enters this earth, he stumbles upon you first.

⭒ 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐 by @/curseofaphrodite

when it’s time to say goodbye, you’re reluctant. 

⭒ 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞 by @/curseofaphrodite

best friends to lovers with our spidey

⭒ Redeemable by @empyreanwritings

You weren’t a do-gooder; the idea of saving the world gave you hives, if you were being honest. But you’d do anything to make sure Spiderman knew he was better than anger.

⭒ No Words Needed  by @genesisrose74

Peter’s love language is something of which he is very deprived. You’re his exception.

⭒ Movie Nights & Makeshift Medics by @/genesisrose74

It’s Thursday, and Peter doesn’t realize you’re in his room until he’s quite literally crawling through the window.

⭒ scenes from a modern romance  by @dameronology

everyone has stupid arguments, but it’s hard to stay mad at peter parker

⭒ thank you. By @saviorellie

⭒ Another Chance  by @mgparker

[masterlist]

⭒ A Quite Love by @maybe-its-britney-bitch

⭒ Near-Death Experiences by @parkersbliss

The moment Peter Parker stepped through that portal, you knew you were definitely screwed, but it wasn’t supposed to be this bad

⭒ Body Heat by @/parkersbliss

They do say if you’re ever cold that body heat is a great solution, wanna test that theory?

⭒ puppy dog eyes by @saviorellie

⭒ “THE FALL” by @lemon-boy-stan

peter couldn’t catch y/n when she fell, but maybe he could get a second chance to make things better.

⭒ Secrets Not Left Unshared by @stylesparker

⭒ Monsters of Men  by @/stylesparker

⭒ Kiss Me You Fool by @/stylesparker

⭒ Pictures by @dylcnobriens

⭒ Second Chances  by @wondergotham

⭒ Second Chances - Part 3 by @/wondergotham

⭒ It’s Always the Quiet Ones. by @nyeddleblog

Peter and you weren’t friends, but you definitely loved arguing.

⭒ right where you left me by @loeyparker

when Peter Parker falls into another world, you’re there to welcome him with suspicion and a drawn gun

⭒ how it should have been by @pctcr

reader wakes up in the wrong universe after dying in her original one

⭒ serendipitous salvation by @maximoff-pan

After everything he’s been through, Peter finds himself coming back to the one constant in his life: you

⭒ you are not to blame by @/maximoff-pan

From your universe, you’re spider woman. You lost your Peter Parker and it’s all but destroyed you. What happens when you end up somewhere else, meeting a look alike of your Peter, but from a different universe?

⭒ You are here by @violetrainbow412-blog

⭒ Photographs and birthdays by @/violetrainbow412-blog

⭒ Changes by @/violetrainbow412-blog

⭒ band-aid brand  by @kaylawritesfics

⭒ Daydreaming by @bristark616

Peter’s got it baaaaaad for his childhood best friend.

⭒ and then there was you  by @ptersparkers

secrets come to light when peter parker breaches the universe’s threshold and the last thing you expected was to fall for a stranger.

⭒ Crush by @/ptersparkers

peter has been visiting you as spider-man long enough to develop a crush on you. the problem? you have a crush on somebody else.

⭒ best friends by @/ptersparkers

you’ve always considered yourself peter parker’s best friend. but when his interest in mary jane complicates your friendship, it gets harder to hide your feelings for him.

⭒ In Another Universe by @mrshipsmcgee

After the events of No Way Home, our reader finds herself in the arms of a villainous green man.

⭒ your hand in mine by @s-r-writes

the three times Peter shyly held your hand in his, and the one time you not-so-shyly did.

⭒ pain relief by @luveline

spider-man likes you a little bit too much, and wants to help you get rid of your migraine - by whatever means necessary.

⭒ Peter Parker Masterlist by @heliads

⭒ TASM!Peter Parker Masterlis by @writings-of-a-hufflepuff

⭒ Gratitude by @eunoiathewriter

She expresses her gratitude to Spider-Man in a different kind of way, knowing exactly who he is.

⭒ undeniable chemistry  by @starrysoftie

it’s pretty obvious that you both like eachother

⭒ THE INTERNAL PRESSURES OF THOUGHTS AND AFFECTIONS by @donald4spiderman

peter isn’t sure why you make him feel the way you do. all he knows is that his heart races every time you say his name, and it’s bound to explode.

[wisps-writes-fic]

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Ship: Michael Robby Robinovitch x Jack Abbot

Prompt: What if Robby and Jack are not only work husbands but actually real husbands. Jack's ring isn't a keepsake for a dead spouse but his actual wedding ring for Robby. All just assumed. Something happens and we have the big reveal. What, how and why - you can decide!

~

Summary: Jack and Robby were both private individuals. It was no surprise their lives stayed hidden and their work stations stayed bare. Naturally finding a mini Robinovitch admitted to the ER one afternoon was an adorable surprise for the rest of the staff.

CW: Minor Injury

~~~~~

Victoria

The triage crowd was particularly brutal for no apparently reason and five hours into the shift, Victoria was ready to call it a day. An unfair moment of weakness, of course, while one of her attendings was seventeen hours into his double, but that was beside the point. “Patient name?” she heard a nurse ask from behind her, somehow managing to keep a warm smile in place.

"I need to talk with Dr. Abbot or Dr. Robinovitch as soon as possible.”

“Of course, ma’am. Our attendings will be happy to see you as soon as we can call your daughter back. If I could just have the information for her file.”

“My niece,” the woman corrected, sounding more impatient by the second. “Penelope Robinovitch.”

“Dr. Robby has a kid?” Victoria blurted. “I’m sorry, that was unprofessional. I’m Dr. Javadi. I can take you back now and we’ll page him if he isn’t on the floor.”

Walking them back to the nurses’ station she was efficient in finding an empty room for the girl and her aunt. “Perlah’s going to start with the basic vitals and assessment. I’m going to track down Dr. Robby for you.”

“Robby’s in trauma,” she heard just after the curtain shut. “What’s the case? I can step in.”

“Dr. Abbot. Actually, the woman who came in asked about you too. At check in. Did you know Dr. Robby has a kid? Penelope? She was just admitted.”

“Penny’s in one of our beds? Jesus, with what?” he barked.

She would take that reaction as a resounding yes. “Perlah’s doing the work up now. I brought her back when I heard the family relation. No paperwork yet.” 

“Go tell him what’s happening so he can see her when he’s done in trauma.” She nodded, lingering just long enough to hear him greet the pair waiting. “Hey, sweet girl," he said, voice softer than she'd ever heard it. "Show Daddy what’s hurting, yeah?”

Oh.

Oh.

Victoria smiled. This shift just got a little better. And a whole lot more interesting.

~~~~~

Robby

“Dr. Robby, I’ve got a four year old asking for you in central 2.”

“A four year old, or an adult with real questions?” he groused. “Cause I’m a little busy at the moment.”

“I know, but it’s Penny. Dr. Abbot’s already over there, but—”

“Stop babbling. What happened?” Javadi flinched at the harsh tone—the whole room did—but he wasn’t going to waste time apologizing.

“Pain in the arm from what I could see. Couldn’t put her coat all the way on before coming in, but it was wrapped around her enough I couldn’t assess swelling. Perlah and Dr. Abbot are with her. Her aunt too.”

He swallowed. The biggest house rule was no ED visits. His nephews could be rowdy, but they were usually careful if Penny got between them. “Give me five minutes.”

He was careful, of course, but efficient in finishing the sutures and disposing of his gloves and mask. A glance at the board over the nurses’ station told him the vague details. Name, age, minimized mobility in the right arm, no swelling. “Jack order an x-ray yet, Dana?”

“Just in case. Sounds more like nursemaid’s to me, though.”

“We’ll get the x-ray, then I’ll do the reduction if we don’t find a fracture.”

“Got it, Cap. Go see your girl.”

His final stop was the staff lounge to grab a popsicle from the freezer before joining his family. “I come bearing gifts. How’s my princess today?”

In the end, the scan came back clear. Collins took one look at their guilty faces and offered to be the bad guy, putting the ligament back in place. But then, no sane child could stay mad at Heather Collins for more than a moment. Clutching her second popsicle, she gave Robby and Jack both a sticky kiss on the cheek and skipped out of the ED hand in hand with her aunt.

“Like it never even happened,” Jack grumbled. “That’s a four year old for you. Alright, everybody, secret’s out. Now quit your staring and get back to your patients.”

The small crowd dispersed and Robby reached to squeeze his hand in passing, choosing to ignore Dana’s pointed smirk at the gesture.

~~~~~

AN: I headcanon after this happens Robby and Jack suddenly have like every single family photo they've taken taped up on/inside lockers, at their work space, lock screens, etc.

[veryace-ficrecs]

The Passenger (2023) Fic Recs Part 2

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

Find part 1 here!

Take The Back Seat by twoseas - Rated M

On Benson and Randy Bradley’s longest day, everyone gets to live. Eventually.

Matchmade by Coileddragon - Rated M

Benson Boudreaux is a veteran Jaeger pilot with a 100% kill rate in the Jaeger 'Savage Horizon'. The problem is he never keeps a Drift partner for long.

Man of the world by greendragon19 - Rated T

“You don't call, you don't write.” He crossed his arms over his chest feigning calm. Drawing Benson's attention to him. “And then I have to find out from my brother in law that you're getting released.” A myriad of emotion passed over Bensons features, recognition, annoyance, confusion, acceptance, a few others that Randy wouldn't dare to guess at. “Randy? The fuck are you doing here?” Randy smiled, dipping his head and looking up at Benson through his eyelashes. Something in the pit of his stomach warming at Benson’s voice and Randy’s name being the first thing he said as a free man. Twenty years after the shooting at the diner, Benson is getting out of prison. Randy goes to pick him up. Deals with somewhat more mellow versions of Benson and Randy after so much time has passed but both still equally co-dependent.

images of all that could be desired by pgndaze - Rated T

A week after Benson's death, a package arrives on Randy's doorstep.

Loves me like a dog by Syntheticpalindromes - Rated E

The woman at the school’s reception desk flat out refused to give them anything about Miss Beard, her hands laid on the countertop as she shook her head sadly. Big, plump bottom lip jutting out in what Benson might have known to be real sympathy if he had ever been presented with the emotion in a sincere way. Which he hadn’t. At least, that’s what he imagined, anyway. When she had removed her palms from the counter, the ledger beneath them had become stuck to one, slick with a nervous sweat that she hid all too well in the calm, collected way she had informed the boy she simply couldn’t give that sort of information away. The page was left greasy and she pointedly did not look at it. “And Mr. Bradley, I really think you’re doing the right thing. Good for you.” She had said, like she was his fucking grandmother. They don't make it to Miss Beard's place. Mr Sheppard lies in a pool of his own blood and Benson & Randy drive on, and on, and on, and on, and on.

Razor Sharp, White Teeth by mimomallow - Rated E

“I never watched that Twilight bullshit, Randy. Do you sparkle now or what?” or Randy has been starving since he was a child. Benson looks delicious.

did you get enough love, my little dove? by intheskywithamethysts - Rated E

The mop slapped wetly on the ground and slid across the grimy floor. Benson dug the head into the ground as hard as he could as he mopped. A sound like nails on a chalkboard ricocheted off the walls. It was agonizing to listen to. Benson didn’t care. It was the only thing louder than his thoughts. She’s not sleeping. She’s not sleeping. The sound of a door being pushed open. Two chimes. Footsteps. Benson looked up. “Hey, Benson.” Benson grunted and gave Bradley a nod as he entered. Well, at least he was working with Bradley today. (canon-divergence: Benson's Ma passes away the night before the beginning of the movie)

Side Effects May Include... by thenewgothicromance -Rated E

Listen, normally Benson’s not one to make somebody do drugs they don’t want. But they’re only three hours into the afternoon shift with another five to go, and if Bradley doesn’t chill the fuck out Chris will never stop bothering him. And if Benson has to listen to that all day, again, he is finally going to do something stupid they’ll all regret. It’s easier just to make Bradley take the pills.

Don't Forget the Joker by devovitsuasartes - Rated M

Randy had been driving home for about five minutes when he looked up into his rear view mirror and saw Benson staring back at him coldly from the back seat.

Can’t Help to Smile with those Eyes that Shine on Me (You’re Making Me Act Funny) by hellcat_shalalala - Rated T

"Thank you, Mr. Mustache Man.” She retrieves her blue crayon and scrapes it over the scribble of green she just made. “I’m sorry I dropped them. It was on accident.” A little smile twitches at the corner of his lips. Threatens to spread. He runs his tongue over his teeth to make his lips stop moving like that. “Them things got little legs," Benson continues dragging the mop. "Runnin’ off like that.” She’s delighted by that thought. “Little legs?” She repeats. She grabs one and twists it around trying to look for them. “Where?” He doesn’t respond. Just a laugh through his nose and a mindful push and pull of the mop, sweeping it under the seats. Yea. This is Bradley’s kid all right. or Randy has no babysitter for his four year old daughter, Seraphina, and has to bring her into work for his Saturday shift. His coworkers proceed to lose their minds over this new information. /pos Title is paraphrased lyrics from the song Picture Me Better by Weyes Blood

Doomsday is Close At Hand by riddlerapologist7 - Rated M

Randy’s eyes shoot open, he gasps for breath. He rips the comforter off of his body as he registers where he is: his bedroom. What? He was just at the diner. He could almost smell the greasy stench of the flat top grill mixing with the coppery scent of blood permeating the air. Could he have really dreamed everything that had happened? He reached up to feel his shoulder where he had been shot, where Benson had desperately been clutching to try and keep the blood from spilling out of him. He felt nothing, no wound, no pain, just the smooth skin of his shoulder and the cotton shirt he was wearing. He ran his hand over his chest, feeling his heart beat rapidly beneath his skin.

Ranson time loop au!! I'm not the first to come up with this idea, but this is my take on it :)

Erasure Poem (or, The Narrator Writes the First Draft of the Rest of His Life) by thenewgothicromance - Rated E

Randy almost doesn’t understand how it happened, even though he’s the one who started it. Three weeks ago he’d never had sex with anyone, had never thought about doing it with a guy, didn’t think much about doing it at all. And maybe that means there’s something wrong with him, but he’s not stupid—Benson is into him. And if Randy can use that to keep him calm, keep them on track for a little while, maybe Benson will come back to himself. Will shake off the shock, and tell Randy what the plan is.

Like Splinters Under Your Skin by pissedoffeskimo - Rated M

Maybe Benson doesn’t know exactly where he’s going or how long it’ll be before this whole thing reaches its inevitable, bloody conclusion, but he knows he’s taking Randy with him. (Canon divergent from Miss Beard's house)

cold blue summer by visceravalentines - Rated E

Elliot Sheppard, a third-grade teacher at Central Elementary, abused children for many years before being exposed and taking his own life. Now, twenty years later, the school is being demolished, and something has awakened.... Strap in for the cruelest summer on record. An homage to classic slasher movies with a summer romance flair.

the driver by visceravalentines - Rated T

They’re about 50 miles over the Missouri border when Benson asks him. “You think you could drive, man?”

Or, Benson trusts Randy to take the wheel so he can get some sleep, and Randy spends the night thinking about Benson.

[otp-after-dark]

Atwood helped me be brave. I only wish June got to be brave too.

I read The Handmaid’s Tale long before it became a television series, at a time in my life when I was quietly crawling out of trauma. I was meeting someone new. Someone who didn’t check all the usual boxes but made me feel seen. Truly seen. Alive in ways I hadn’t felt before. The story of June and Nick hit me in the gut because it mirrored that feeling. It gave me courage. It whispered that there was power in choosing a love that wasn’t safe, but true.

Then the show came along. And Max Minghella’s performance in Season 1… I mean, I fell. Hopelessly. I’ve loved many fictional men—Damon Salvatore, Logan Echolls—but Nick Blaine? He carved out a different kind of space.

Nick wasn’t the loudest. He wasn’t the most traditionally heroic. He was quiet, restrained, morally conflicted, and often relegated to the shadows. But in those silences, in his stillness, there was devotion. There was rage. There was love. He carried guilt and grief and longing in his body like it was armor, and still, he chose her. Again and again. Even when it put him at odds with the world he was surviving in. Even when it meant sacrificing his own safety, his status, his peace.

As a woman, it might seem strange to say that I saw myself in him, but I did. I saw someone who couldn’t always say what he felt, but who loved with terrifying intensity. I saw someone who understood that survival sometimes meant compromise, but that love, real love, demanded bravery.

But what deepened my connection to this story wasn’t just the romance. It was the idea that you didn’t have to follow the path that was laid out for you. That women could choose something different. That there was dignity and liberation in building a life outside the box. That loving messily, unconventionally, could be its own act of resistance.

And that womanhood didn’t have to be defined by motherhood. That you could be whole without bearing children, or without raising them. That your love, your worth, your capacity for care and strength and identity wasn’t contingent on being a “good mother” in the traditional sense.

But in the end, the story abandoned that truth. It elevated motherhood as the only valid expression of female strength and purpose, and it did so at the expense of women who live outside that mold. It erased the woman who loves deeply but cannot be with her child. The woman who chooses love that doesn’t lead to family in the traditional sense. The woman whose story is not centered on caregiving, but on surviving, resisting, burning it all down, and loving wildly while doing it.

In doing so, the story scapegoated the childless woman. The woman who doesn’t fit. The woman who dares to define herself outside of motherhood. It punished June for being that woman, for loving a man who didn’t belong in the picture-perfect frame. For wanting more than a white-picket-fence ending. For wanting freedom, not just family.

That message, the one that first made me brave, was lost. And I’m still grieving that loss.

I chose the unconventional path. I chose the complicated love. I chose the life outside the box. And I’ve never regretted it.

So it breaks my heart that the show abandoned that message in the end. That it framed June’s deepest, most complicated love as something to let go of. That it punished her for choosing a man who didn’t “fit” the traditional mold. That it silenced the radical power of what they were together. That it refused to let her say the words we all knew were true.

I wish she had been allowed to say it out loud. To name her love. To choose it. Loudly. Proudly. Bravely.

Because sometimes being brave means not going back to what’s easy or expected. Sometimes it means loving the complicated thing. Building the messy life. Choosing the partner who sees all your darkness and stays anyway.

Atwood helped me be brave. And if you’re standing at that crossroads, I hope you will be brave too.

For the life outside the box. For the love that doesn’t make sense on paper. For the version of yourself that feels most alive.

Even if the show forgot that in the end… I won’t. And I hope you won’t either.

[mona-risms]

heyyyy so likeeeee here me out ok…what if one day the Huntrix girls have like found their “successors” or whatever ya wanna call them right? And one of them has an older sister that Rumi just ya knowwwww…happens to fall for?(is this my KPDH oc’s…yes…BUT ANYGAYS-)

I named the sister oc Kara if ya wanna use that but…(idk you do you man…) ALSO… Um like if this could be a master list that would be great but idrc-

your doing great work man😼🫶

Unfortunately I don't. Really write for OCs 😓 unless it's been commissioned 😓 I don't think I ever specified anything in my rules though so that may be a lil on me. Thank you for the compliment though :333

But!! In general by the time they start selecting their successors and Rumi ends up having a crush on said successors' sibling, methinks Zoey and Mira would NEVER let her live it down. Bc let's be real the dynamic's like when a divorced parent and their child's teacher end up falling for each other it's so fucking funny 😭 they'll take the piss so hard 😭

She'll most likely think she's subtle, and even that's a 50/50 on its own when it comes to her own feelings, but she might try to suss out when she cam see or talk again to you under the guise of "ohhh I'm just checking how things are going family-wise ahahahahaha" this woman is NOT SLICK AT ALL what a loser (I love her forever I need to kiss her)

[milykins]

The Turtle's Song

Hello everyone, I'm sorry I haven't been as active on here lately, but I finally have something to post.

I'm working off of this prompt from the lovely @thelaundrybitch

The turtles have, and continually practice a "Turtle Song." Their mate(s) or potential mate(s) is the only human that can hear/ reacts to said song. That's how they know the person is "The One."

This is my take on that prompt with Mikey of course and how his song leads him to the one he's meant to be with. I put a bit of a fairytale twist on it too. This one-shot is from the perspective of a female reader.

TW: Mention of mistreatment toward the reader and one instance of physical abuse towards the reader.

Special thanks to @adebauchedsloth for giving it a once-over!

Please continue reading under the cut and let me know if you enjoy reading it. Thank you!

For most of his life, Mikey had been humming a song, a tune unique only to him and the person he was meant to be with. That perfect person he could only dream about having. It was a legend, an ancient tale he’d beg his father to regale him with at bedtime. The Turtle’s Song. He didn’t know whether it was real or not, but he’d wanted so badly to believe it was. The human princess falls in love with a turtle creature because, out of every suitor, none could identify her song except for him.

Michelangelo had always been a romantic at heart, and for a long time, he believed that the perfect person was waiting for him somewhere. He waited, hopeful she’d come along, but as the years went by and he got older, the idea of true love started to fade, and a harsh reality threatened to take hold. Maybe it was just a childish fantasy—something only found in fairy tales. No, he refused to lose hope! He couldn’t allow himself to fall into that dark pit of despair; he refused to.

Mikey was thirty years young, according to him anyway. For the most part, his life was good. He and his brothers had continued with their sheltered lives, but their presence as the protectors of New York was no longer a big secret. Mikey was a popular video game streamer and had a sizable online following. He didn’t bother hiding his face because what was the point? There were no longer any dangerous threats to worry about. He and his brothers had saved the city multiple times and taken jobs from Chief Vincent on a regular basis. Humans, for the most part, had accepted him and his brothers. The only thing left to do was to leave the sewers and live among them as proper citizens of New York.

Mikey knew his mate was out there. He could feel it! One day, she'd hear his song and come shining into his life like a beacon of hope. He tried to imagine how she would look. Beautiful, of course, no matter what she looked like, with eyes that shone with kindness and hair like silk. Somehow, he knew she was a woman—sweet and lovely, with soft curves and rosy cheeks. He probably spent an unhealthy amount of time thinking about this mystery girl, but who could blame him?! His brothers had already all found their mates, and he wanted it to be his turn.

One day, when hope was almost lost, he heard it. The song. He didn't realize it then, but his mate was stuck, trapped in a loveless marriage to another man.

-----

You didn't think things could get much worse. Your witch of a mother-in-law, yet again, had taken time out of her day to remind you what a useless and incompetent wife you were, and your husband had been acting as cold as ever. You'd cry if you hadn't grown numb to this type of treatment long ago. If you weren't financially dependent on him and in need of a place to live, you'd have left a long time ago.

It was clear you were both miserable, yet every time you brought up the topic of divorce, he refused and warned that you would be homeless if you left him. So, you stayed, enduring the cruel treatment for years like some housebound Cinderella character, since it was your responsibility to keep the house in order. 

You had been married for several years, and though you tried, it seemed you were unable to have children with him. Labelled barren and useless by your mother-in-law and husband, you’d all but slipped into depression, feeling broken and deserving of the contempt directed toward you.

There were two things that brought you comfort in your darkest moments. First, there was tending to the rooftop garden at the top of your apartment building, and second, a soft, familiar melody that you hummed as you went to sleep. You’d been humming it since before you could talk. On those nights, you had a recurring dream. It was always the same. You could never make out his face, but he was familiar, kind, and more than willing to take you away from all of this. You felt the outpouring of love and affection, so pure and beautiful it made you want to weep.

You couldn't shake the feeling that this was who you were meant to be with, and lamented the fact that he wasn't real. Such things didn't exist in real life, after all. No Prince Charming was coming to save you, and the sooner you accepted that, the sooner you would save yourself from any further heartbreak.

Still, you craved those dreams. Your only escape from reality was a pair of baby-blue eyes and the words, 'You are my mate.'

It seemed hopeless, as if things would never get any better, so you had to suck it up and keep it together as best as you could. Still, the dreams of your saviour kept that flicker of hope alive. You started hiding money from your husband, squirrelling it away in a metal tin to buy your freedom. You hummed the song while you worked, the melody bringing you comfort and helping you stay positive. You were careful not to let it show around your husband or his mother, in case they suspected anything.

One day, you were leaving, and nothing was going to stop you.

-----

On particularly lonely nights, Mikey often took to the rooftops for some peace, taking time for himself to think and reflect. It was one of those days when everything felt like too much. It seemed as though his brothers were being extra affectionate with their mates. Their actions, though not deliberate, only served to stir up unpleasant feelings of jealousy within him. He had to get out of there.

Moving swiftly into the night, Mikey decided to explore a little. For once, he allowed his instincts to guide him, jumping across rooftops and taking in the sights and sounds of the city as he went. He couldn’t explain it, but it felt like there was somewhere he needed to be right now.

His actions brought him to a charming little rooftop garden. Clearly, someone had invested time and effort into maintaining it, as the plants and flowers appeared lush and healthy.

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he saw her, and his song stirred deep within his soul. The moment was cathartic, and he instantly knew she was the one. Staying hidden in the shadows, he watched her tend the garden, humming to herself as she deftly snipped dead flowerheads and watered the plants that needed it.

Feeling his heart swell even more, Mikey’s eyes filled with tears as he was completely overwhelmed by emotion. She was humming the song, his song, like a siren in the night. After all this time, he’d finally found her, and she was just as beautiful as he’d always imagined.

Everything inside him was screaming to make his presence known, yet he remained frozen in hiding. How was he supposed to approach her without scaring her? He’d imagined this moment a hundred thousand times in his head, but nothing compared to actually experiencing it. 

He was almost ready to throw caution to the wind when he saw something that made his heart sink. She had moved close enough that he could see a wedding band on her left hand. His face crumpled with sadness when he realized she was taken. Someone had found her before he did, and from her demeanour, he could only assume she was happy.

He left quickly, crushed with the weight of his discovery. She wasn’t his, she’d never be his, and he would never experience the kind of relationship his brothers shared. Fated to be alone forever. He ran, tears streaming down his face until he could no longer see where he was going. He sobbed, clutching his chest with each heaving breath.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but she was meant for him, wasn’t she? He’d expected her to be wary at first, but ultimately come to her own realization that this was right. That they were meant to be together.

Another terrible thought crossed his mind. What if she had children? There was no way. Even if he had announced his presence, he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to tear the family apart. As much as it hurt, he’d just have to accept that this was never going to turn out the way he thought it would. 

He hated the idea of heading home, feeling like a failure and a loser, the only one of his brothers who would remain alone forever. The last shred of hope had been torn away from him the moment he realized he’d never have her.

For the next few days, he kept to himself, staying in his room and only coming out to eat or use the washroom. All attempts to speak with him were met with one-word answers or silence. Everyone was becoming quite concerned, but none more than their father, who was determined to get to the bottom of it. 

On one of Mikey’s trips to the kitchen and back, the old rat thumped his walking stick on the floor to catch his youngest son’s attention.

“You will join me for a cup of tea.” It was a simple request, yet one his son could not easily refuse. He could see his resolve was hanging by a thread and longed to ease his troubles, whatever they may be.

Hesitantly, Mikey followed, his footsteps heavy, as if even his small trip to his father’s room took more effort than necessary. He watched as his father lowered himself neatly onto his cushion and gestured for him to do the same.

“Kneel before me, my son.” Mikey did as he was told, still reluctant to speak as Splinter gently placed a small cup of tea into his hands. “Tell me what is troubling you. What has happened?”

Mikey knew that if he were to explain everything, he would break down completely. He sipped his tea and resolved to keep it together, instead directing his anger and frustration at the one person who could and would handle it.

“You lied.”

“To what are you referring to?” Was his father’s calm reply.

“You told us…” His voice was shaking a little. “That we would find our…” His hand clenched around the cup as he swallowed thickly. “The one who could hear our song…”

“Ah, your song? I assure you, I did not bend the truth in any way.” He sipped, ready for his son’s next outburst of emotion.

“YES, YOU DID!” Mikey slammed the cup down, causing the small wooden table to shake slightly from the force. “It’s never gonna happen for me! There must’ve been some mistake, some kind of fucking mixup because she’s…!”

Still remaining calm as ever, Splinter began to piece things together. Everything was about to be explained. “You have found her, haven’t you?”

Mikey’s lip trembled as he slowly nodded, furiously wiping at his eyes. “I was stupid to think it could happen for me…” His father patiently waited for him to explain, placing his aged hand upon his.

Speaking barely above a whisper, Mikey looked down at his knees. “She’s… she’s married… I saw the ring…”

Though his heart went out to his son, Splinter knew there had to be more to this. “Oh, my son, I can imagine the pain you must have felt, but I must remind you, fate makes no mistake. You must dig deeper if she is truly the one.”

I can’t...” he mumbled. “I’m not a homewrecker…” There was no holding back the tears that came streaming down his cheeks. His heart was broken, caught in a vice-like grip of despair. He angrily wiped at them until his father gave his hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Michelangelo, do not be so quick to mourn. You assume it to be a happy marriage, yet she, and she alone, is the only one who can hear your song. There are far too many unanswered questions that must be addressed. You must go back.” His words were firm with an air of finality.

His crying had stopped, his father’s words making him reflect on a few things. He was right; Mikey hadn’t stayed long enough to see the full picture. Could her marriage be a happy one? Maybe it wasn’t. In fact, it was entirely possible she married the wrong person.

Sucking in a breath, Mikey suddenly feared that maybe her husband didn’t treat her well. Maybe she was in trouble. “Dad, I..!”

“Go to her.” He sipped his tea calmly. “I sense that you are needed.”

Mikey was up and out of that room in a flash. His heart was pounding as he raced through the tunnels to the surface. Hold on, I’m coming!

This was it. You were finally getting out of there. Having gathered enough money, you packed a bag and waited for him to fall asleep before retrieving your stash. You’d placed it in a small metal box that you buried in the soil of the rooftop garden.

When you went to retrieve it, you were horrified to find that it was missing, no longer where you had carefully hidden it just days earlier. After a few frantic moments of searching, you heard mocking laughter behind you and froze.

“Looking for this?” It was your mother-in-law carefully holding the object in mind, a smug look on her face.

You felt your stomach drop as you stammered. “Th-that’s… how did you—?“ This was not good. You were screwed, and things were about to get even worse.

“I knew you were worthless, I didn’t know you were a filthy little thief, girl.” she spat. “Good luck explaining this to the police.” She was already pulling out her phone, and you were panicking.

“W-wait! I was just trying to-“

Slap!

It was your husband, having appeared behind his mother just as you were trying to prevent her from calling 911. “You steal from me? I gave you a home, food to eat, and this is how you repay me, you ungrateful bitch?!”

“I want a divorce!” You sobbed, holding your cheek. “Just let me leave!”

Mikey heard the slap and felt it reverberate through his very soul. Someone was hurting her, his mate, and in that moment, he saw red. Fuck staying hidden; she was in trouble, and he had to act now. 

Before you even had a chance to shed a tear, you heard his mother emit a blood-curdling scream and felt something rush past you with a swiftness that did not seem possible. Something resonated within you as your husband was knocked to the ground with a yelp of pain while clutching his nose. It was the song you’d been humming for years; you could feel it deep within your soul. Could it be...?

Your husband's mother was still screaming about a monster and yelling into the phone that she needed officers there now before it killed her son!

You felt absolutely no fear as you focused your gaze on the large creature? Turtle? Turtleman? Then he turned, worry and fear etched on his face, as he seemed to prepare himself for you to pull out your phone and call the police on him as well.

His eyes… bluer than the sky on a perfect summer’s day met yours, and you gasped aloud. You knew those eyes, you knew him! He’d finally come for you, and when he'd determined that you weren’t going to run from him, he quickly offered his hand to you.

“Come with me, I’m gonna get you outta here.”

You didn’t think twice. Taking his offered hand, you were swept into his arms and carried off into the night, away from the two people who had caused you so much pain, mistreated you for years, and were still faintly screaming in the distance. 

This turtleman was covering a lot of ground very quickly, but you held on tight, armed with the knowledge that you were finally safe.

Once both of you were far enough away, he gently set you on your feet and took a few steps back, feeling the need to give you some space while speaking very quickly.

“…Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to—the police were on their way, and he was hurting you and I just-“

You silenced him, holding your hand up. Now was not the time for explanations and regrets. You needed answers.

Clearing your throat, you began to hum, starting low and hesitant before increasing in volume and pitch to see how he would react.

Mikey stood rooted in place for a few seconds. Happy tears began streaming down his cheeks as he gently took your hands, his own low-pitched voice blending with yours until you both were humming and crying, overwhelmed with happiness and the joy of finally finding each other after all this time. 

“It really is you…” you smiled, managing to choke out the words.

Mikey squeezed your hands. He felt a mix of relief and inner peace as he managed to rein himself in emotionally. He needed to know why you seemed to know him already. “H-how come you weren’t scared of me?”

You did the same, taking a few deep breaths before speaking. “I dreamt about you, I knew your eyes and your voice, you told me you were going to rescue me and take me away from… him." You waited a moment before continuing, feeling the need to explain everything.

Now, Mikey was getting the full picture. Yes, you were married, but it wasn’t the happy union he thought. There were no children involved either. He listened as you spoke about how you’d been saving money for years, planning your escape, and how you’d been caught that very night. He understood you needed to keep up appearances beforehand, which meant wearing your wedding ring and acting the part of the meek little housewife. 

Said ring was most definitely absent now. You’d left it on his side table with a note.

“I’ve already got the papers in order for the divorce, I just need to—” Your final words lingered on your tongue as he tugged you close against his chest, wrapping his warm, muscular arms around you. The way he held you made you feel as if he was afraid you’d disappear on him—careful, gentle, yet reassuring.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered. “I should’ve found you sooner, I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that.” He spoke with such regret that it made you want to cry all over again. “I promise, no one is ever going to hurt you again.”

In theory, this was crazy. You’d only just met him and didn’t even know his name! Yet, it all felt right. Being in his arms felt so natural. You’d never experienced a feeling this with anyone before, and somehow, you knew he was being honest with you.

“What’s your name?” The words were whispered against his chest as you tilted your head to look up at him.

“Michelangelo, but call me Mikey… heck, you can call me whatever you want. What’s yours?”

You giggled, telling him your name in return before asking another question. “What is this? How did I know your song without ever meeting you?”

Now it was Mikey’s turn to speak, and he started from the beginning, weaving together the classic origin story of him and his brothers along with the old legend. “My brothers have already found their mates… I was the last one.” He finished quietly.

Oh, your heart just about broke hearing that. He’d been searching for you all this time.

“Hey… better late than never, right?” This was your attempt to lighten the mood, and it worked. He smiled and squeezed you a little tighter before letting go slightly.

“Um, I know this is a lot to take in, but is it okay if I take you home with me? I won’t send you back to them, but if you’re not ready, we could find a hotel for you or something.”

It was very sweet of him to be so considerate of your feelings and you took a moment to think over your options. You knew your now ex-husband would have told the police that a ‘monster’ punched him in the face and that his wife tried to steal his money, but you hadn’t actually taken any of it. You doubted he had a case anyway and found the idea of separating yourself from your hero to be quite unpleasant indeed.

“I’ll go home with you.”

The way his face lit up, you’d think he had just been told he won a million dollars. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into. It was all so fantastical and unbelievable, yet he was right here, standing before you like the lead character in a romance novel.

You thought he might kiss you to complete that little fantasy, but he shyly backed away from it and offered to carry you again instead.

Things moved quickly after that. Mikey took you into his home, a cozy underground lair where he and his brothers took refuge with their father and partners.

He narrowly evaded getting an earful from his older brother in blue as he stepped aside, letting you come into view. You shyly waved with a small “hello.”

He was warmly congratulated by everyone, as each member of the clan came out to greet you. They were so pleased and relieved that he had found you. Although the situation was complicated, you were assured that everything would be taken care of. It felt like another one of your dreams, how they all welcomed you so effortlessly. You’ve never seen this level of kindness and acceptance before.

His purple-banded brother, who was something of a tech genius, immediately began sorting out the situation with the police. It turned out that Mikey and his brothers had a partnership with the NYPD and thus had protection against incidents like this. No charges would be laid against you either, and your divorce would be finalized the next day. 

The brothers offered to retrieve your belongings, which you gratefully accepted. Some of your heirlooms were irreplaceable, and you wanted your clothing returned.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Mikey sensed that you were tired and guided you to his room to rest. You both still felt a little shy, especially when you borrowed one of his T-shirts to sleep in. He politely turned around to give you privacy to change.

Though you were tired, when the two of you lay in his bed facing each other, you found yourself full of questions. What did he like to do? His favourite foods? You wanted to know everything about him, and he was more than happy to explain.

He accepted you fully and completely, even after you told him you feared you couldn't have children. Mikey was quick to reassure you that there was no rush and it was likely that your ex was the problem, not you.

In the early hours of the morning, you had slipped into his arms again, feeling sleepy and content, with a sense of peace you had never experienced before.

“Mikey…? I want…”

He knew and carefully placed his hand on the back of your head. A gentle press of your lips to his, and he was gone, lost in the feeling of you. The song within you both ringing true in your hearts.

If you didn’t believe in fate before, you certainly do now. It was truly like a dream come true, and if you were Cinderella in this situation, then Mikey was Prince Charming, the perfect fit for you, just like the glass slipper.

The End

Taglist:

@danceingfae @thelaundrybitch @iridescentflamingo @redsrooftopprincess @ninnosaurus

@the-cauldron-witch @thepinkpanther83 @avery73 @adebauchedsloth @sophiacloud28

@definitely-canon @scholastic-dragon @truffle-reblogs @fyreball66 @yorshie

@jenuinelycurious

[coffeedepressionsoup]

Somebody Does Love | MYG - A Little More

Pairing - Yoongi x F!reader

Summary - "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Two people are in love but that is not enough because sometimes loving requires courage.

This is the one where their first date continues, and their work worlds collide (more like bump gently against each other). Part 10 of Somebody Does Love.

Series Masterlist

Genre - fluff, strangers to lovers, eventual smut and angst

Word count - 3.3k+

Warnings - kissing, some steamy shit, lovesick Yoongi, just sickeningly soft Yoongi (I might have over indulged, sue me!)

Ratings - 18+ MDNI

Taglist: @majiiisstuff @starlighttaek8 @yoongrace @proudnoona @7ndipity @ktownshizzle

A/N - I had planned to put it out on the 21st, but lmao—we're going to ignore the lost time and just rejoice in the return of the most perfect man in our lives. Not proofread. Fully vibed along, though.

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Yoongi sighed in contentment as he felt Y/N’s breath fan his neck. He meant what he’d said before—he truly hadn’t felt this at ease in months. So much like himself. So much like he belonged right here, like his life finally belonged to him.

He smiled down at Y/N and said with faux surprise, “Wah! Here I thought I finally found someone who liked me for me.”

“I may not like you for you, but I think I feel a little more than that,” she said softly, before he felt her kiss behind his ear.

A shiver ran down his spine as Y/N shifted in his arms. He could see the blush creeping up her face. Instinctively, he tightened his hold around her waist and asked, “What do you mean, Y/N?”

Y/N squirmed in his hold and, with a grin she was clearly trying to suppress, began fumbling with the remote, muttering a quiet, “Nothing…”

“A little more than like is surely not nothing,” Yoongi said with a smile, her words echoing sweetly in his tired, overworked, now entirely content mind.

It wasn’t that Yoongi didn’t understand the connotations. His heart beat twice as fast at the thought of “more than like” from the very person he’d been dreaming of—now in his arms, leaning against his chest.

He felt that “more than like” in his veins, in his bones. And he’d been hesitant to believe it was mutual, convinced it was a feeling only he harboured.

Y/N glanced up at his amused yet tender face and said, “Maybe it is,” though with no real conviction.

Yoongi was lost in the way her eyes sparkled with adoration. He could hardly believe his stars. That Y/N, this radiant, brilliant, maddening woman, was finally his. Well, she belonged to no one, and he never believed in claiming people. But the way she looked at him—as if he was all she’d ever need—left his knees weak. Good thing they were seated.

His gaze lingered on Y/N’s full lips, and his mind wandered to their first kiss. A spark that should have dimmed with time, yet somehow burned brighter with every one that followed. He saw that same longing in her eyes before she leaned up to kiss him.

As their lips met, Yoongi amended an earlier thought. The best feeling wasn’t holding Y/N in his arms, it was the feel of her lips on his. Soft, searching, hungry. More addictive than caffeine or nicotine, he was certain. When she bit down gently on his lower lip, a needy groan escaped him, raw and unfiltered. Before he could feel the slightest tinge of embarrassment, she clutched the front of his shirt and leaned in, anchoring herself to him like she didn’t want to let go.

Oh, so she likes that?

He let out another groan—this one rougher, deeper—as her nails grazed the back of his neck. She swallowed the sound like it belonged to her, kissing him harder, her hips shifting just enough to make him gasp. It wasn’t just passion anymore—it was presence. Like the world had narrowed to the space they filled together.

Despite the growing ache in his body, Yoongi noted this was the safest and steadiest he’d felt in years. There was no fear here. No pretence. Just them.

Still lost in the heat of the moment, Yoongi reached down, curled his fingers around Y/N’s thigh, and guided her leg over his lap. She broke the kiss with a breathless laugh and said, “I might crush you.”

He looked up, catching the flash of hesitation beneath her teasing words. She was deflecting—not out of disinterest, but fear. Of being too much. Of being too real. Yoongi knew that fear intimately.

He brushed his fingers gently along the back of her thigh and pulled her close once more. “Then crush me,” he murmured against her skin. “I’m right here.”

He buried his face in the curve of her neck, his lips trailing open-mouthed kisses along the line of her jaw and collarbone. Between each kiss, he murmured, “Crush me.” Kiss. “Break me.” Kiss. “End me.” Kiss.

“Yoong…” Y/N sighed, the sound caught between pleasure and something deeper, more tender, as her hips rocked slowly against him. Her fingers wove into his hair, tugging gently until he looked up again.

She was flushed, breathless, eyes wide, but there was something else there, too. Trust. Need. A fragile hope she hadn’t voiced out loud.

He cupped her face with one hand, the other still cradling her back, grounding them both. “You don’t have to hold back with me,” he whispered. “Never.”

Y/N’s eyes searched his face for a beat too long, like she was trying to memorise every inch of him. Then she smiled, soft and sure, before leaning in again, brushing her lips against his with an unspoken agreement.

The kiss deepened slowly this time. No rush. No edge. Just the language of two people learning the shape of something they weren’t quite ready to name. And with every heartbeat, Yoongi knew, it wasn’t just desire that tethered them. It was the terrifying, beautiful promise of more.

Then, suddenly, a sharp sound shattered the moment. A melodic noise. A ringtone.

As their lips parted, his eyes darted to the phone beside him. “Namjoon calling.” Not unusual—except Yoongi’s contact for him wasn’t “Namjoon.”

It was RapMon. It had been RapMon for over 15 years.

Y/N looked at the caller ID, raising a questioning brow, then shrugged as she slid off his lap. Yoongi adjusted himself quickly, trying to make his arousal less obvious.

She definitely saw the movement but said nothing. Instead, she tucked her hair behind her ear, cleared her throat, and answered the call.

“Hey, Joon!”

Joon? When did that happen? Yoongi disliked the bitterness behind the fleeting thought. He wasn’t an imbecile—Y/N could call anyone anything she wanted. He mentally scolded himself as he poured cognac into two glasses, different from the ones they were using earlier.

“No, no. Just having dinner with a friend.”

Y/N wore a pained smile as she battled the seam of her shirt with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone. That shirt could’ve been off her if the call had come in seconds later, Yoongi thought, while lightly bumping his knees against hers, hoping it might help her feel calmer.

“Oh? Are you sure?” he heard her ask, watching her grip the hem of her shirt tighter as she brought the phone closer to her ear.

“Sure, we can talk about it.”

She looked up, meeting his eyes, this time, a little calmer.

“Yeah, catch you then,” Y/N nodded.

“You too! Goodnight!” she said, ending the call.

Yoongi didn’t pry. Y/N cleared her throat before speaking. “You know the company’s writing workshop you all have coming up?”

Yoongi nodded, eyebrows slightly furrowed—he hadn’t expected her to suddenly bring up work.

“Namjoon called to ask if I’d be okay conducting a session on inclusivity,” she added.

Yoongi’s heart skipped a beat for several reasons. The biggest, it hadn’t even occurred to him that Y/N would be perfect for the role. The next, more petty reason, Namjoon had thought of it first.

Yoongi liked to believe he was a rational man, secure in his knowledge, merit, and masculinity. And he was. But something about the way Namjoon and Y/N interacted, with their shared love for the same books, mutual reverence for the same authors, and matching impulse to laugh at bad puns, threw Yoongi’s internal balance just slightly off.

If he were completely honest with himself, he felt like a lunatic. Listen to yourself, you ridiculous prick! He composed his expression as best he could and nodded along as Y/N explained that Namjoon wanted to discuss the process and logistics sometime next week.

“That sounds exciting, Y/N,” he said, offering a small but genuine smile. He really was excited, for her, and at the idea of seeing her around his workplace.

Y/N’s returning smile, though warm, didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“How do you feel, jagi?” The endearment slipped out before Yoongi realised, and he didn’t catch it immediately.

Y/N shrugged and took a sip of the cognac now in her hands. She didn’t seem to notice either.

“Honestly? Nervous. I’ve never worked with songwriters before.”

“We’re probably dumber than your grad school batch—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Y/N whined, but Yoongi’s shoulders relaxed as a smile spread across her face.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he murmured, inching closer to her.

Y/N chuckled, but the sound melted into a soft yawn she tried to hide behind her glass.

Yoongi caught it anyway. “Tired?”

“A bit,” she admitted. “And I have an early start tomorrow."

She stretched out her arms as Yoongi massaged one side of her shoulders slightly. "The final year students are presenting their thesis abstracts, and I promised I’d be extra nice," she added.

He frowned, just a little, “Then stay. You can sleep in, skip the morning session.”

Seeing Y/N shake her head with a smile, Yoongi added, “I’ll bribe your conscience with some leftover kimchijeon and fresh dark roast coffee.”

Y/N was touched by the offer, tempted by the warmth in his voice, but shook her head again. “I’d hate myself if I showed up late or hungover. I’ve been telling them to take their work seriously. I should, too.”

Yoongi reached over to take her empty glass and set it aside. “Then let me at least call a car for you,” he bargained. He had genuinely hoped he could convince her to stay the night, but he understood and respected the dedication she had for her work.

“I was going to hail a cab anyway,” she said, but Yoongi was already making a call. “But thank you. For this. For everything tonight.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just watched her as she gathered her things, her bag, her hair tie, the sweater she'd shrugged off at some point in the evening. Something about the finality of it made his chest ache.

She noticed. Of course she did.

“Yoongi,” she said gently, stepping closer. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“I know,” he said. “I just… don’t like watching you go.”

Y/N reached up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “And I don’t like leaving like this. But I also like keeping my job.”

“That’s very sincere of you,” he muttered, but there was a teasing edge in his voice now.

They walked to the door together, the hallway dim and quiet. As they took the elevator down, the city buzzed in the distance, a reminder that the world hadn’t stopped for them, even if it had felt like it did.

Yoongi guided her through another side of the building’s reception, towards the parking lot. “Text me when you get home?” he said, squeezing Y/N’s hands before shutting the door and nodding politely at Mr. Jang, who was already familiar with her address.

He watched the car zoom out of the parking area, watched until the taillights faded into the city. Then he walked back into the building with a sigh. For the first time in a long time, Yoongi felt something new settle in his chest that was not loneliness, nor emptiness, but the slow, sure unfolding of something more worth waiting for.

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Yoongi stirred awake the next morning to the familiar silence of his apartment. In the few laughter-filled hours Y/N had spent there, she had already left behind the mark of what he now craved. Something about her presence in his space had shifted the rhythm of his world.

But Y/N was gone.

Not gone, gone, of course. Just… at work. Yoongi couldn’t believe how dramatic and off-kilter his emotions and thoughts could feel at times. 

He sat up, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eyes. His head ached, but not from the cognac. It was the kind of ache that came from overthinking. From remembering how her lips felt on his, how her fingers had trembled just slightly when she reached for him, how her voice had dropped to that honest, vulnerable register when she’d said, “I think I feel a little more than that.”

God. That had done something to him. Stirred things that had stayed dormant for too long.

He padded into the kitchen, started the kettle, and reached for two mugs before pausing. A quiet curse escaped him as he put one of them back.

He really hoped Y/N would stay over last night. Not to finish what they started, not that he would not want that, but for her to just be by his side. 

When his phone buzzed, he nearly knocked over the cup of hot water in front of him. His eyes scanned the screen.

Y/N: made it to class. mildly hungover. lots of coffee. miss u already.

Yoongi’s lips curved up before he could help it. He leaned against the counter and typed back with one hand.

Yoongi: should’ve stayed. would’ve let you sleep some more.

Her reply came in the few seconds it took for him to mix the instant coffee in his cup.

Y/N: exactly why I left.

He laughed softly. He could imagine her soft eye-roll and teasing smile. It made him miss her more, if that was possible. 

He took his coffee and walked over to the nearby French window, letting the steam warm his face. Below, the city moved on, oblivious and loud. But inside, everything was still. Still and full.

He didn’t want to name the feeling yet, not entirely. But it was good. It was honest. And maybe, just maybe, it was the start of something that could last.

Yoongi sipped his coffee, thumb hovering over his phone before typing, “dinner tonight? my place.”

And for good measure, added, “Stay over?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yoongi was hunched over the keyboard, headphones slipping slightly off one ear as he tested another synth texture, low, warm, something that could cradle a lyric instead of overpowering it. The afternoon light slanted across the studio floor. He barely noticed it anymore; in here, time moved in strange ways. 10 minutes stretched into two hours, or 10 hours collapsed into two.

The electronic lock chimed, and the door clicked open behind him without a knock. Only one person did that.

“I come bearing life support,” Namjoon said as he walked in, holding up two iced Americanos like trophies.

Yoongi didn’t even look up at first. “About time,” he muttered, tugging his headphones down and spinning lazily in his chair. “I was starting to hear colours.”

Namjoon snorted. “You’ve been in here all morning?”

Yoongi hummed, sipping quietly on his coffee. “Where else would I be?”

Namjoon collapsed onto the couch with a familiar grunt, eyes skimming over the clutter—lyric sheets, open notebooks, hazy polaroids. “Out touching grass?”

“How regular is your daily meditation again?” Yoongi asked, slurping loudly this time. 

“Still more functional than your sleep schedule,” Namjoon said without missing a beat.

Yoongi cracked a half-smile but didn’t say anything, the silence between them stretching out in that easy, companionable way it often did—full of history, not awkwardness.

Yoongi took another grateful sip, letting the caffeine sit heavy on his tongue for a moment, before turning back to his monitor. The comfortable silence continued between them for a bit—the kind forged from years of shared grind and quiet admiration. Studio hours often passed like this. Few words, inside jokes, and more instinct than instruction.

But Namjoon didn’t come in just to vibe. Yoongi could tell from the slight bounce in his knee.

“So,” Namjoon began, far too casually, “I called Y/N yesterday.”

Yoongi didn’t flinch, but his grip on the cup tightened just a little. “Oh yeah?”

“Asked if she’d consider holding a session in the workshop. You know, the writing one next week. Thought she’d be a perfect fit to talk about inclusivity.”

Yoongi nodded once, slowly. “She mentioned it.”

Namjoon arched an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything right away. He leaned back, arms crossed, like he was settling into a lounge chair on the beach—relaxed, but waiting for the right moment to pounce.

“She said she was having dinner with a friend when I called.”

Yoongi shot him a look. “She has friends.”

“Mm,” Namjoon hummed. 

Yoongi tried not to react, but Namjoon’s grin widened. Of course, he caught that.

“Relax,” he added, voice lower, teasing. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“We’re not—” Yoongi began, too quickly. Then stopped. Bit the inside of his cheek.

Namjoon just raised his brows knowingly, eyes twinkling. “You’ve just got that smug ‘I wasn’t alone last night’ vibe.

Yoongi exhaled through his nose and turned towards the keys. “You’re annoying,” he muttered, but did not deny the allegations.

“Just observant,” Namjoon said, utterly unapologetic, pleased with his inference. “Anyway, she said yes.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do.”

Namjoon didn’t push. That was the thing with him—he’d tease, poke, gently prod. But never past Yoongi’s line. Never with cruelty. His silence now said as much as his smirk, ‘I see you. And I’m letting it be.’

Yoongi did not say anything for a minute, not because he didn’t have things he wanted to say, but because he could not figure out how to do it without revealing how much the idea of Namjoon calling Y/N first had bothered him.

He hated that it had bothered him. It was nothing. Rationally, he knew that. Namjoon admired Y/N. Respected her. Of course, he’d think of her for the workshop.

But still… Yoongi had known for months now what Y/N was capable of. The nuance in her language, the quiet provocation in her critiques, the way she talked about a subject, not like it was a lecture, but a lived truth. And yet he hadn’t thought of her. Why hadn’t he?

Yoongi shuffled slightly in his seat, stretching out his fingers above the keys. “She’s the best person for it,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Namjoon replied. “I’m excited to see how she handles the team. Honestly, she might intimidate the boys more than you do.”

“She intimidates me sometimes.”

Namjoon barked a laugh. “Good. You need it.”

Yoongi chuckled, eyes softening despite himself.

They slid back into the rhythm of their familiar silence. Namjoon began thumbing through a notebook of lyrics while Yoongi experimented with a looping bassline. 

Now and then, Yoongi caught Namjoon glancing at him, sideways, thoughtfully. Not suspicious, not probing. Just curious. Like he was quietly clocking a change in rhythm he hadn’t heard before, but recognised all the same.

And Yoongi? He let him. He let Namjoon see enough to know it was real, but not too much. It wasn’t time. Not yet. Not until she was ready. 

Every few minutes, though, his mind drifted. To Y/N’s soft smile as she teased him. To the warmth in her voice when she’d said, “I think I feel a little more than that.” To the tension in her shoulders when she’d answered Namjoon’s call. The way she’d exhaled slowly, like letting go of something she couldn’t name.

He was happy for her. Proud. She deserved to be seen for her brilliance, beyond the quiet corners they occupied together. Still, as Namjoon hummed a new melody beside him, Yoongi couldn’t help but think that he wanted to be the first to think of her next time. He wanted to be the first to think of her always.

He picked up his phone and unlocked it. A message from Y/N lit up the screen; she must finally be on her lunch break. “I’ll bring dessert then.” He typed a quick, “Can’t wait,” and got back to the keys, the smile on his lips spilling onto his fingers.

Namjoon looked up from his notebook, surprised to hear a string of aching hope, a shift from the solemn tone that had dominated the rest of their afternoon. “Yah, hyung, I think you got the bridge.”

[conelluwrites]

Poly Thangyu (Thanos/Nam-gyu) x Unspecified Reader

Warnings: Raw sex, Nam-gyu degrades you and Thanos

Other: Rewatching s1 rn, I miss you long haired Gi-hun, my beloved. I had to rewrite these cause Tumblr shit the bed. I obviously have a lot of thoughts on these two x reader

Words: 890

Requests open

Nam-gyu loves nothing more than to see you and Thanos worshipping his thick cock.  Thanos’ hand joining yours in cupping his heavy cum-filled balls.  Your lips moving up and down his shaft, tongues working in tandem around him.  His hands hold the backs of your heads, rutting himself between your lips.  Fuck he doesn’t want to cum, not yet, not like a damn idiot!  But he can’t hold back, not when you both look like a buncha sluts for him.  His cock pulses hard as his covers your faces in his thick cum while he smooshes your faces together in front of him.  God forbid you make out afterwards, swapping his cum back and forth.  It’s enough to make him hard again, er…  wish he could get hard again.  C’mon, don’t judge him!  He has a refractory period and-

Thanos is the glue that holds you three together.  He’s the one who brought it up to Nam-gyu, he’s the one who brought it up to you, and hell- he’s the one who dissolves disagreements!  He loves you both so much it sets his damn soul on fire!  You’re both his muse- his reason for sleeping and shitting and rapping.  He makes it obvious to people when you’re out public that he’s with the two of you, an arm over your shoulder or around your waist while slinging one over Nam-gyu.  It’s sweet, living like this.

He loves matching shirts, but it’s so hard to find one's for poly relationships!  He makes his own, no sweat.  He buys white shirts and dyes them himself in your favorite colors.  He writes on them with his shitty handwriting in puffy paint.  It’s hard to read, with him unable to erase the paint he just decides to cover up the writing by smearing puffy paint and trying again in a new color.  It’s not the prettiest, but he made it out of love!  Nam-gyu swears he won’t ever wear his, but he does.  He loves nothing more than to rub his fingers over the 3d paint while smoking.

Nam-gyu takes a bit to warm up to you, not that he hates you!  No, he could never, he’s had a crush on you for months now and now you’re a part of… of this!  He just hates the feeling of inadequacy.  He already hated the way men and women would gawk and fawn over Thanos, now he has to watch as men and women flock to you too- goddammit- it’s enough to make him angry enough to grab you both and drag you back home and remind you who you both belong to.  He’s never done it before, but he has definitely dragged Thanos away from a guy who was obnoxiously hitting on him and has sloppily made out with you to interrupt some woman who thought she had a chance with you- what a fucking joke.

When he does finally warm up to you, he’s like a damn puppy.  When Thanos is out of the house, it’s impossible to get away from him.  It would be annoying if it weren’t so damn cute.  His arms tight around your waist, walking step, step, step behind you.  His arm slung over your shoulder to hold you close to his body as you watch some dumb shit on the TV.  Anything to remind him that you’re here, you’re real, you’re not going anywhere.  When you and Thanos are both home together, oh man, he’s a real cutie.  While cuddling in bed he might prefer to be on the right or left, but just being on the couch he wants to be in the middle.  Wants to feel his beloveds so close to him.

Sex with both of them focused on you is always extremely passionate.  Clumsy hands at first from everyone, figuring out what feels the best for all of you at the same time.  It takes a few times, it doesn’t come together all at once.  But when you guys all get a hang of things?  Oh shit is it perfect.  Thanos cooing sweet nothings into the room while Nam-gyu grunts out rough degradation that sounds more like praise.  

“Tell us how much you like this, cariño, tell us how much you love us.”

“Yeah, you whore, tell us.  I- We need to hear it.”

Thanos loves seeing his precious loves spread out before him like a goddamn feast.  Both of you spread for him on the bed, whimpering and begging for his cock, his tongue, his fingers, his anything.  He can’t choose what he wants to do most, he’s a greedy, greedy man and if he could he’d do all three.  He knows he doesn’t have it in him though, it’s not possible with the way his cock is already throbbing just seeing the way Nam-gyu’s face is turning red in frustration and embarrassment and the way your eyes are practically begging for him to so much as brush your cheek.  When he finally decides what he wants- to taste you while he fucks Nam-gyu- he grunts while manuevering you two.  It’s annoying, but hey, he likes his loves to be spread like a porn.  He doesn’t care about holding back, how can he when Nam-gyu’s ass is squeezing his cock perfectly and you taste so damn devine.  Rest assured, he’ll make sure you both come for him afterwards.

[lunarruled]

Tensions were running so high in that room Kyleigh was afraid she might lose her shit and let the lycan handle this. Now there would be a surprise twist no one saw coming! The dead may be walking the Earth and trying to eat the living, but no one would have suspected a giant white wolf to come out of such a tiny person. But she held the animal back knowing that it would only draw even more attention to the room and that was not a story she was ready to share with Magna just yet. After a few moments of silence there was a sudden switch in the other woman's face, as if a light bulb had just gone off in her head and honestly Kyleigh couldn't wait to hear where this was going.

She might have actually jumped a bit when Magna finally spoke but damn if it wasn't one of the best things she had heard that day. A fire exit would surely lead them to safety, they all had to lead to the outside right? Or at least close enough to a door that they could make a break for it. Well shit there was the easiest solution Kyleigh had heard for getting the hell out of this prison! Now all she had to do was wait for the other shoe to drop like it always did. The half lycan didn't want to be a downer, but with the way things were going so far she was pretty sure something was going to ruin this latest development. Magna not remembering where the exit was definitely sucked, but that was pretty normal too. No one really paid attention during those things anyway, especially a prisoner that thought she was never going to see the light of day even if there was a fire behind bars.

Kyleigh was about to tell her to relax for a second, she was going to give herself a headache or worse when Magna went back over to the screens. Now that had to mean something. The dots were connecting with each other while she just stood there trying to figure out how she was going to help in all of this. Her eyes focused on the game room, surprised they let them have pool tables in prison. Wouldn't they have considered those things weapons? Or was it just Kyleigh that thought that way? Surely they checked the inmates from head to toe when they left there just like every other room that wasn't their cell. Keeping her thoughts to herself she listened to Magna figure out the overall layout of the place, finally feeling like they had a real plan.

"Dude that's awesome! I mean not that we're in here or anything but how you figured that out. Just looks like a bunch of screens to me, I would have wasted so much time trying to find a map or something."

As Magna began to draw them a layout based on the screens, Kyleigh began to calculate which rooms had more of the dead then the others. That way they knew which ones to not go in, trying to make their escape as easy as possible. She also scanned her bag to take count of supplies and did a weapons check.

"Hey do you think we should try the kitchen to see if there's more food in there? Looks like there's only two or three of those freaks trapped inside, we could take them out. Might be able to find some water too, anything really. Or do you want to just take the straightest route to one of those maps and get the hell out of here for good?"

A thought crossed Kyleigh's mind at the idea of them being able to get out of there; would Magna be able to make it once they were in the world again? Having no idea of how long the woman had been in there before all this happened there was no way for the half lycan to assess her survival skills. Yeah she might have learned some shit being in there, but those were prison skills. Would they be able to translate into outside life? How would she handle seeing one of those dead ones in the wild? Not to mention other people. Those were all things she would have to worry about once they were free of this place, if they did get free.

The silence that followed after Kyleigh's question was all that the other woman would need to know that Magna had never been sent to the Warden's office. And even if she had, this place was so huge, she probably wouldn't be able to find her way to that office without trouble. Magna exhaled deeply as Kyleigh went on, the woman's words beginning to anger her for reasons she didn't know. She was so glad she didn't tell her to shut up, because she almost did, but she knew they couldn't afford to lose their temper and fight with each other when neither of them would make it out on their own. Think, fucking think, where the fuck are the maps..

Staring at the screen proved to be useless, Magna thought, because it was impossible to say which one of those many offices was the Warden's office. She felt like throwing something at the screens in frustration just right before it dawned upon her. "There's a map right where the fire exit is!", Magna exclaimed. She remembered that. She remembered that fire drill from three months ago, when they had accessed the backyard of the prison through the fire exit. Remembered the large map on the wall, and remembered what one of the staff had said. While rambling of the history of this place, she had mentioned the number of the exits. "We got four fire exits. If whoever built this place had any brains, there should be maps near all of them!"

Magna remained silent for a moment, a hand running through her hair as she tried to think of how to get to one of the damn exits. How stupid it was they had to navigate the prison blindly to get a map. The irony of it threatened to make her puke again.

"The gaming room", Magna began, breathless, "I was there when the alarm began to ring for our fire drill a few months ago."

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if traveling back to the past. "They had those automated instructions that would play, giving you the directions to the nearest fire exit. It was.."

Damn it. Magna didn't remember shit. Placing a frustrated hand to her aching forehead, she realized that she didn't remember the verbal instructions. All she had was her muscle memory. She knew that if she were in the hallway with the door leading to the gaming room, though, she would be able to get to that fire exit intuitively. Magna could pull off things like that - or else, she probably would've died in this shithole a long time ago.

"What I'm saying is - I know there's a fire exit near the gaming room." Magna told Kyleigh, her voice finally taking on a gentler tone as the frustration began to think now that the puzzle pieces were coming together. She pointed to a room on the screens with billiard tables. "See? That's the gaming room." Her eyes widened as she took note of how the surrounding screens looked. Lucky for her, the door was soundproof, or her loud exclamation would've drawn attention as it all began making sense to her. "Oh Jesus! The screens are arranged in a system!"

The whole fucking time, Magna had not once thought about whether those screens were randomly arranged or not. They weren't.

"The gaming room's next to Ms Kowalski's office, on the left", Magna pointed out, gesturing to the image of said woman's office, a screen which was just above the gaming room's screen and to the right. She moved her hand to point to another screen showing a prison gym. "See that room here? The gym? That gym's next to her office too, but it's located on the right. And on the screens? It's one screen to the left, and above it. It seems to follow the same patterns for the other rooms. I knew that religious room was to the library's right side - on the screens it's left to the library, and right above it. The kitchen? You can only get there through the cafeteria. On the screens, the kitchen is right below the cafeteria. The same principle applies to the way the screens of other jointed rooms like that are arranged."

Retrieving the map she'd drawn from her bag and a pencil, she glanced at her new companion. "We don't need to go running around in this shithole like blind women looking for a map. We got one, right on the screens. Time to bring it to paper."

[themyscirah]

This is technically a Diana's age poll but I framed it partially around Julia's rescue because that's the event I need to contextualize and whether or not Diana is a thing yet is p important for my purposes. I would keep the Pérez run and postcrisis continuity in mind when answering this bc that's when this is relevant but I'd keep in mind that even though Diana is very young there (like early 20s) we don't know I don't think if she ages differently as a child (esp as a themysciran AND being made from clay) and in some versions she is older than she looks and was made earlier

Edit: I accidentally logic-ed this out in the tags lol 🤦‍♀️but feel free to still vote however you want. Going to publish this anyway bc I think I made some good points later in my tags

[doverstar]

actually I love Tentoo and he is the Doctor and it was the only ending for Rose that worked and it is a huge gift to be able to have the man she loves grow old with her, they were always heading for that, y'all be quiet. I 100% understand the angst but it's okay, they're okay, good ending-

[tallymali]

i have such a morbid fascination with those weird reddit dudes who rate their attraction to a woman by working out the ratios and proportions of her features. i want to know if it has ever occurred to them that this is not how other people experience attraction

[kindrewind]

"well. before you go calling up real estate agents — " van waves, slowing taissa down. slowing them both down. " — you should ask yourself where you want to be."

the compass of van's lingering desire for taissa points them in a direction at odds with their reasoning — the reasoning which tells them they can't answer this for her. no, they don't know each other anymore, so how could van realistically know the answer to that? "and — this," peering up, "seriously isn't my scene." not just the extravagance of taissa's lifestyle, but how this house screams with an intimate history that van has no place in.

they give taissa's hand a gentle parting squeeze. it isn't that van doesn't want anything to do with taissa. it's that they want so much more to do with her than what they can say out loud — than what they have admitted to even themself. their want is converted into a felt charge between them. taissa, in her absence, has had a way of crossing van's mind. in absence, van shoved those thoughts away. otherwise they would be wondering about someone, who, in the golden glow of successive accomplishments, was no way in hell wondering about van. why punish themself? why inflame the hurt? that was why she left them behind all those years ago.

taissa's presence has intensified their wonderings about her. the powerful sight of her, her touch bringing to the fore how it all was real — everything that happened to and between them. there is a cavernous ache in van that only taissa knows how to reach and understands the fathoms of, for better or for worse. as taissa looks at van, expressing her regret, they are overwhelmed by the realization that she is facing everything too. she's not running from it. she's not running from van.

the kid in them is overwhelmed by this. they're bothered by how she gave up on them and for how fucking stellar her timing is now. but there's also a mending from her words, her acknowledgements. an antiseptic sting, and a soothing. this is the kid with whom van perpetually argues, the kid who desperately wants to know the meaning of what's happening to them in the hopes that they will make some sense of it all, and understand why they are here — which is dangerous. there are risks involved in the pursuit of van and tai's kind of knowledge, in trying to make sense of what they have done. it doesn't always help to have answers.

that kid's in their ear now, asking what it means when one day you're diagnosed with months to live, only for weeks later, see the woman who you thought was the love of your life walk back into it. van doesn't want to rush into anything with taissa. van cannot afford to take it too slowly either.

they float a suggestion. it's noncommittal. at least, that's how they try to play it, cool: "thing is, i do need to get back — check in on business. if you wanted to tag along."

this is not the first time van has extended some offhand excuse to tai, to get her to stick around. to stay for just a little while longer. it began in ohio, 'you could shelve some of these tapes', and continued in new york. idled along a disconcertingly quiet, forested road where van gave tai an out to go to ihop — before everything devolved even more painfully. before they lost natalie. before lottie lost everything.

lottie. if they do decide to leave, it won't be for long because van won't neglect lottie either.

"just be for a few days." they murmur, taking careful measure. for their friends who need them. and against how taissa's impulsivity does appeal to van, in some way, their relationship to time considered.

van stretches forward, elbows on their knees. holding their face, it barely obscures their tired half-smile. "gotta warn you though, you'd be, like, totally at the envy of all my super cool collections." there's that kid again, speaking out across time. "dunno if you could take it." perhaps it's because they deeply need the dose of humor. these past few weeks have been terribly fraught, and van needs a little uplift. it's a callback to the hard-won play on which they used to rely, a light in the suffocating darkness.

van's smile plummets at taissa's question. are we good? are they? whatever they are to each other anymore. they sigh, "tai."

tonight, it feels like they've turned a corner — but onto where, exactly? as recuperative as words may be, they set intentions but fall short without a follow through. are they going to climb this mountain?

"we — we're on some road to figuring that out." they settle back on the couch. they tease at her need for control, "but ya can't drive all night." van holds tai's gaze. sinking into her eyes, they can feel with every nerve alive that they're both holding back.

does she?   she wants to.   but the truth is,  she probably can’t truly understand until she sees van back at their own home,  with much more open eyes this time,  because the first time tai was there with them,  she was focused on herself.    

instinctively,  she wants to argue,   tell van that it is and can be her place.  but she knows better,  knows van too well to know that she can’t bullshit her way through this.  she has to be honest.    ❝  no.  it’s not really my scene,  ❞   she admits,   shrugging her shoulders as a hint to let them know she’s trying to be realistic about it this.     ❝  but maybe this isn’t,  either.  ❞    it was, at some point.  some way.   but if taissa was being honest,  she has no real answer for people when they ask why she didn’t stray too far from her hometown.   maybe there’s part of her,  for the first time in so long,  that feels like she’d benefit from getting away from new jersey.   that doesn’t mean van should take her in,   nor does it mean ohio is the right place for her,  or that van should have be there with her as she tries to figure it out.   taissa also knows that for the first time since she was a teenager,  she’s not putting herself first.  she’s trying to put van first,  like she should have done a long time ago.

❝  i know it’s important to you.  ❞   that’s not the same empty statement she would’ve made without caring — she means it,  and she wants to know.   ❝  and i’m not trying to keep you from it.  i’m not.  i’d like to understand it, though.  understand…. you, who you are now,  ❞   she says,  because she knows they don’t know each other anymore,  as badly as it stings when van reminds her of it,  and as much as she tried to convince them both otherwise before.  but she wants to know them,  more than anything.   she knows she has to prove that, too.

her face falls,  and she’s quick to shake her head in defense.  it’s not a joke — but maybe it is an impulsive suggestion,  one she hasn’t completely thought through,  because before they make any moves,  she needs to know how van feels about it.

❝  van.  i’m not…  no,  i’m not joking.   i’m not trying to mess with you.   ❞   i’m not full of shit this time.   ❝  i want to try.  i want to get to know you again,  and —  yeah,  i want to figure out who the fuck i am in all of this,  too.   i don’t have all the answers.  ❞   something she never likes to admit,   and even saying it now makes her feel even more vulnerable,  but she needs to be honest with herself and she needs to be honest with van.    ❝  but maybe,  we can figure them out together.  ❞    because she’s promising them now:   she’s no longer deciding what’s best for both of them.   she can’t.   that’s how she hurt them before, too many times.

she doesn’t need the reminder that van’s sick—  she dreads it,  the idea that this is something they don’t have any control over.   but they’ve been there before,  leaving their fates up to outside ‘forces’ — and after what happened on her expedition,  she made a promise then to never let anything happen to van again,  even if it meant cheating the systems,  putting others in danger just to spare van,  taking control any way she could find that would ensure their safety,  even at the expense of others.   she knows that’s not an option anymore,  that this is beyond their control — she also doesn’t accept that.

she looks down,  because she doesn’t want to hear it.   but soon after,  she looks back up,  forcing herself to face it anyway,   her head slowly nodding.    they deserved more time together — time that taissa took from them,  a part of her still wishing van would’ve told her about her diagnosis before all this,  even if that’s not something she can put on them.  they didn’t owe her that.   

she lets out a sigh of relief when van actually does hold onto her hand,  taking that as enough hope that they may be getting somewhere,  even if taissa still feels in over her head.   she always feels most lost when she feels everything is out of her control.

her head leans into van’s touch, desperate to cherish it,  nearly chasing it once they pull away,  because she understands that van is starting to give in even if only slightly,   and she needs to hang onto this moment for as long as she can.   she opens her mouth to argue,  because it’s a process,  getting tai to this point of knowing she must be more open than she’s used to and finally take accountability for the things she’s broken between them,  and while she’s already talking,  she wants to get it all out so they can get somewhere.  but her lips purse together almost immediately,  because that’s the problem — this is not up to her.    so she takes a deep breath,  nodding her head again to tell van that she hears them.   ❝  okay,  ❞   she gives in.    ❝   i’m sorry.  this was a lot.  but… you were right.   we have a lot of shit to figure out,  ❞   she admits,  because she knows it’s not as easy as she wanted it to be,  and van was right to stop her and bring her back.   

❝   but we—  ❞    she pauses.  ❝  are we good?  ❞ they're not the 'we' they once were. she knows that, and she gives van a look that implies she that, too. but right now, she just needs to hear that.

[light-wrath-paradise]

Honest to god might go nuclear and just drop out of university.

Like fuck that noise I tried it didn't work out now it's time for plan "I get to live my life."