#( and that's just never gonna amount to anything )

[kiplex]

You hated parties. They were loud, overstimulating, and there were too many strangers. So when Gideon invited you and Caleb to a party he was having you were hesitant to say the least. You thought having your boyfriend there, your emotional support Caleb, you would be fine; especially once you had a little bit of alcohol in your system. But alas, the universe has a different plan for tonight.

You're three cups of something deep, probably some vodka and a splash of juice, and glued to the side of the wall which were vibrating with how loud the music was, the hum of people yelling over the music certainly wasn't helping. Caleb was god knows where, the second you guys got to the party Gideon whisked him away to go take shots with him and some of the guys they went to college with. Your finger drums a consistent beat against your red plastic cup, your eyes scan the room for any sign of him. Sure, you could go and talk to people, mingle a bit but… Something in your stomach lurches at the thought of doing that.

You take another small sip. You pull out your phone check to the time. “You're Colonel Xia's girlfriend right?" Someone shouts to your left. He looked about the same age as Caleb. “Ah! Yeah! Yeah I am." Your voice wobbles, slightly startled. “Man, he is one lucky guy. I was assigned to his fleet shortly after he took over." The man extends his hand offering his name, that you definitely don't catch. Instead you politely smile, shaking his hand and yelling your name back over the music.

He starts going on and on about fleet stuff, with the amount of liquor in your body you really can't make heads or tails of it, you just politely nod. He wasn't a bad guy or anything, you just clearly were uncomfortable and didn't want to be there. When you feel a hand wrap around your waist, you nearly jump ten feet in the air. “Woah woah! Pips, it's me." Caleb's voice is soft in your ear. Your whole body immediately relaxes into his touch. “Oh Colonel! Good to see you off duty." The man you're talking to acknowledges his superior. “Good to see you too, if you don't mind I'm gonna steal her away for a bit." Caleb smiles at the man. You are always in awe of how charming and charismatic Caleb is naturally. He makes it look effortless.

The man nods, and Caleb grabs your wrist taking you to a free spot farther down the wall. His body blocks your view of the crowd, his cologne flooding your senses calming your nervous system down exponentially. " You okay pretty girl?” He asks, his hands cupping your cheeks intentionally making you maintain eye contact with him. Regardless you down cast your eyes. " I'm fine.” You answer, not wanting to ruin this night for him.

He rarely gets time off, let alone gets to spend it with his friends. His eyebrows furrow. " No you aren't.” He sighs, pulling you against his chest before wrapping his arms around you. " Pips, I've known you, your whole life. I know when you're lying to me.” He kisses the top of your head. " Let me ask you again. Are you okay?” He repeats gently. You shake your head no into his chest. "Not really, it's loud and I'm a little tipsy and… I'm sorry Caleb." Your eyes gloss over slightly, tears threatening to spill over.

He pulls you back a bit so he can look at you. “Aw you sweet girl, don't apologize. You've never really been big on this stuff. I'm proud of you for even tagging along with me. Even Gideon was singing praises about you being here tonight… I mean I did shove him for talking about my girlfriend like that, but semantics.” You giggle slightly.

Caleb kisses your forehead. " Do you wanna get the hell out of here?" He asks, grinning at you. “Are you sure? I know you don't get to do this often…" You mumble. He smiles, shaking his head. “I already got to hang out with Gideon for a while, besides my girlfriend is clearly overstimulated and trying to be brave for me. That's my job Pips, how dare you steal my thunder." He squeezes you slightly. You lean up kissing him gently. “Let's go home." He grabs your hand again, leading you through the sea of people out the door. “Oh also, if I see you talking to another man at a party again I won't be so kind next time, I can promise you that. " You roll your eyes, a dumb smile on your face. If you're being honest, you wouldn't have it any other way.

You can find my master list here

[what-username-where]

I still have never started a relationship without being asked out BY someone, and then not believing them until they repeatedly tell me that yes they ARE actually serious

and then I spend the entire time thinking oh god oh fuck when is the other shoe gonna drop when are they gonna start laughing at me for being so gullible to believe they actually liked me and reveal this was all an elaborate prank the entire time or that they just found me useful enough to put up with and play along so I'd keep doing things for them

Which unfortunately the only people who ever asked me out were a pedo, an entitled manipulative self centered emotional abuser, and a wildly out of control mentally ill asshole

All of whom I got incredibly attached to and planned on marrying and building my entire life around because at least having someone to indulge my highly romantic sappy touchy self would be better than just yearning from the sidelines my whole life and watching other people get things I'd dreamed about being able to have but never thought would actually be possible for me

because there was something innately wrong with me that other people saw but I didn't and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't fix it or even identify the problem

so I had to give up everything I possibly could give in order to make myself worth putting up with for other people and if I didn't I would spend the rest of my life isolated and alone because no one would want to be around me unless I was of sufficient benefit and service to them

Needless to say none of my exes helped that feeling at all

I still struggle deeply with it and have slowly come to accept that my friends are here because they genuinely enjoy me

but I still have the intense problems around romance and romantic relationships and feeling like the only way I'll ever have something close to what I want is by doing it myself quite literally and relying on my system for it

which while being amazing and wonderful and I love my system so much it still has some things that are physically impossible to do and thus leaves me with a longing just the same, whether that's a longing for another body for them to inhabit or longing for another person to be romantically interested in me both of which feel equally impossible

because no other person could possibly want to be anything romantic with me without either not knowing what they're getting into and later wanting to back out or wanting to take advantage of me because they know I'll stick around serving them a feast if they toss a breadcrumb my way once in a while

Which no amount of logic and comforting and repeating positive phrases and reassuring myself "I don't need a romantic relationship to be fulfilled as a person and that's a really toxic attitude to have" has ever really made go away despite my best efforts and years of therapy both professional and self guided

Man if you did that bullshit as a kid where you fake asked someone out to embarrass them or said your friend liked them I hope that shit haunts you somewhere inside now. I hope you know that never leaves the person you did that too. I've been out of school for 8 blessed fucking years and I still do not believe people when they say they like me or are attracted to me. Doing that shit straight up makes you a bad person. You completely destroy someone's ability to perceive themselves as loveable.

[wbb-fan92]

How The Night Ends

A/n: I just felt like writing this since yesterday’s jersey debacle was such a big day. I don’t write much, so this isn’t perfect but hope you enjoy.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: sexual content, 18+ only

Paige was on the court warming up for what was going to be a tough battle against the Washington Mystics. She was feeling good but undoubtedly a little overwhelmed with the constant comparisons between herself and the rookies on the opposing team. But today was a good day because Azzi was coming to the game, and any day that she got to see her girlfriend’s beautiful face in person was a good day.

Warmups were winding down, and Paige and her teammate, Arike, were going through their warmup ritual. It wasn’t anything important, but they liked to have a little fun back and forth before each game.

That’s when Azzi arrived and walked across the court and sat courtside, right in front of where Paige and Arike were passing the ball. Paige couldn’t help but get distracted by the way Azzi commanded the room. It’s almost like she was the star on the court tonight, not the other way around.

Azzi was wearing a pair of Paige’s jeans and a cropped white t-shirt that showed the faintest amount of skin—but enough for Paige’s mouth to water at the sight.

“You good?” Arike asked with a hint of laughter.

“What?” Paige said as she focused her attention back on her teammate, almost missing the ball that Arike threw at her. “Yeah, all good.”

As Paige and Arike continued their warmup tradition, Paige watched as a player from the opposing team, Georgia Amoore, walked up to Azzi and handed her a bright red Washington Mystics jersey.

Without hesitation, Azzi slipped the jersey over her carefully curled hair and over her white cropped t-shirt.

Paige watched as Azzi slipped the jersey on and caught Georgia as she coyly walked away from the scene of the crime.

“Hey, that’s cold. You know that, right?” Paige shouted as Georgia walked away.

Georgia glanced back over her shoulder and gave Paige a wink as she walked off the court.

Paige couldn’t do anything but shake her head in disbelief. Georgia was a friend of hers and Azzi’s—she knew that. And she also knew that Azzi was a DMV native and had always supported the Mystics.

It wasn’t the sight of the red jersey that flared something in Paige; it was the sight of another girl’s number across her girlfriend’s chest.

Paige looked over at Azzi. “Are you really gonna wear that?”

“Yeah, why?” Azzi asked with a teasing tone in her voice.

Arike watched the interaction and couldn’t do anything but laugh. She walked over to Azzi and dabbed her up while laughing. “You gonna pay for that, just wait.”

Azzi didn’t respond. She just smiled wide and kept her eyes on Paige the entire time.

Paige shook her head as the lights in the arena dimmed, signaling that warmups were over. She made her way to the tunnel toward the locker room as she caught one last glance at Azzi in another girl’s jersey as she walked away.

——

The game was a tough battle between two teams that wanted the win badly. Even after a clutch 3-pointer to send the game into overtime, Paige and the entire Wings team couldn’t secure the victory.

Paige was disappointed as she made her way to the locker room to change out of her jersey.

She didn’t even think about the game or what she would have done differently. No. All Paige could think about was how her girlfriend looked in that red jersey.

Paige knew that Azzi was just messing with her, but she couldn’t deny the fact that seeing Azzi in that jersey every time she glanced to the sidelines messed with her head during the game.

Paige had never been super territorial in their relationship, but she was feeling a little more today due to the fact that Azzi had just hard-launched their relationship the day before. That was her girl, and she didn’t want to see someone else’s name across her well-defined back.

Paige shook the thoughts out of her head and finished tying her ponytail up into a messy bun. She put on her sweatsuit while grabbing her bags to head out to the court to say hello to the friends and family that came to see her play. She was excited that her dad, and the two other adults who were like second parents to her, were in the arena tonight.

She walked out and saw Azzi standing with her parents, Katie and Tim. Paige smiled, seeing Katie in a blue Wings #5 jersey.

“Hey,” Paige shouted. “At least someone here still has a little loyalty.” Paige walked up and wrapped her arms around Katie.

“You did good, kid. We’re so proud of you,” Katie said as she hugged the girl tight.

Paige pulled back from the hug and stood in front of Azzi. She watched as Azzi opened her arms, waiting for Paige to melt into her like she typically did after every game.

“If you think I’m hugging you in that jersey, you’re crazy,” Paige said as she stared at her girlfriend.

Azzi giggled and reached her hands down to grab the bottom of the jersey and pulled it over her head.

When Azzi tossed the jersey back to Georgia, who was standing off to the side, Paige smiled and immediately lunged forward and crashed into her girlfriend’s embrace.

Breathing in deeply to take in the smell of her girlfriend’s perfume, she squeezed tighter while turning her head into Azzi’s neck.

“What was that?” Paige mumbled into Azzi’s neck, still not letting go.

“Huh?” Azzi replied nonchalantly, even though she knew exactly what Paige was referring to.

Paige pulled back from the hug to look her girlfriend right in the eyes. She squinted at her, almost disapprovingly.

“You wearing some other girl’s number now?”

Azzi smiled at Paige and reached up to put her hand on her bicep. “You mad?”

“Mhmmm,” Paige replied quietly.

“Don’t be. At least not here,” Azzi said, lowering her voice.

Paige swallowed heavily and nodded while she continued to make her way around the group to say hello and goodbye to everyone there.

She grabbed her bag and followed Azzi out the arena doors.

——

Walking into the hotel room, Azzi could feel the tension. She had decided to come back with Paige to the team hotel and stay the night, knowing she’d have to get up at the crack of dawn to drive back to Storrs in time for summer workouts tomorrow afternoon.

But one more night with Paige was worth all of the tired workouts she’d endure tomorrow and the next day.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” Paige said after dropping her bags onto the hotel room floor.

“Mmkay, I’ll be here,” Azzi said sweetly as she watched Paige saunter into the bathroom.

Azzi knew that wearing the Georgia Amoore jersey would turn some heads, but she thought most people would understand given the fact that she grew up here in the DMV.

She also knew that Paige would probably turn an eye up at seeing her in another girl’s jersey—and maybe she was sort of hoping it would elicit some kind of response.

Azzi loved Paige more than anything. She had even hard-launched their relationship via a phone case the day before. Being apart for so long these last few months had been torture for the both of them.

So yeah, maybe Azzi was intentionally trying to get a rise out of Paige so they could show each other just how much they really loved one another.

Azzi had changed out of her clothes and into a pair of shorts and a tank top. She climbed on top of the bed and picked up her phone and began to scroll, seeing all of the photos and think pieces of her in the jersey.

Paige walked out of the steamy bathroom wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a tank top. Her wet hair, now curled along the edges, lay below her shoulders.

Azzi looked up at her and immediately threw her phone to the nightstand. She noticed her girlfriend had decided not to wear a bra, nipples poking through the fabric of the tank top she was wearing.

“Come here,” Azzi said as she stared at Paige.

Paige slowly walked over toward the bed, climbing onto it and making sure she slowly crawled up Azzi’s body as she did.

Azzi shifted to the side so their bodies were pressed together, but neither was carrying the full weight of the other.

Azzi wrapped her arms around Paige’s stomach and buried her head into her shoulder.

“Are you mad at me?” Azzi mumbled.

Paige pulled back so she could look her girlfriend in the eyes. She brushed a dark curl out of Azzi’s face.

“I’m not mad. I could never be mad at you,” Paige responded. “I just really didn’t like feeling like someone else was claiming you in front of me.”

Azzi pulled Paige closer. “Baby, I’m yours. No one gets to claim me but you.”

Paige leaned in and forced Azzi’s chin up toward her. She placed a soft kiss to her lips and sighed.

“You are mine, and I don’t like everyone thinking you’re not,” Paige whispered.

Azzi giggled. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows after I posted that Instagram story yesterday.”

“Yeah, the team gave me hell about that,” Paige said shyly.

Azzi laughed and turned onto her back, bending an arm back behind her head.

As she did, her tank top rose up above her belly button and exposed the dark, soft skin that was beneath.

Paige immediately shifted her gaze down to look and instinctively reached out her hand to rest it onto Azzi’s stomach.

“So, you’re not mad?” Azzi asked, her breath becoming more unsteady.

Paige glanced at Azzi, who was looking at her with heavy eyelids.

“Do you want me to be?” she asked as she moved her palm, which was resting on Azzi’s lower stomach, further up under her tank top.

Azzi didn’t respond right away, because Paige’s touch was a little distracting.

Paige softly palmed Azzi’s breasts into one of her hands. “Baby, I said, do you want me to be mad?”

“I just—” Azzi started before sucking in a breath. “I just wanna feel you.”

“You want me to show you that you’re mine?” Paige whispered as she leaned in to kiss the soft spot beneath Azzi’s jaw.

Paige began sucking the dark skin of Azzi’s neck, soothing it with soft kisses each time.

“Tell me what you want, Az,” she said as she leaned up to lightly nibble the other girl’s earlobe.

“I want you to touch me,” Azzi said, breathless.

Paige turned her head and kissed Azzi hard. Their mouths opened up and both of them gasped when their tongues touched. They continued kissing while Paige reached down to tug at the waistband of Azzi’s night shorts.

“Lift up, baby,” Paige said as she pulled the shorts down around Azzi’s muscular thighs.

Azzi was desperate for her touch. As Paige backed away to remove her shorts, Azzi reached back up to try and pull her closer, not wanting to lose the closeness.

“It’s okay, baby. I got you,” Paige said as she leaned back down into Azzi’s space, lightly kissing her thighs as she did.

Azzi reached down and threaded her fingers through damp blonde curls as Paige continued licking and kissing her thighs.

“Please, Paige,” Azzi whined.

Paige tilted her head and glanced up, looking at the desperation on her girlfriend’s face. Paige almost lost her train of thought at seeing how beautiful her girl was laid beneath her. Suddenly she had a thought.

She leaned up further and kissed Azzi’s stomach. “Take this off for me,” she said to Azzi.

Azzi quickly reached down to remove her tank top and hurriedly threw it down off the bed. Paige laughed at her quickness.

Seeing Azzi bare beneath her felt like heaven. Paige leaned down and started a trail of kisses, starting at Azzi’s neck. She made her way down to her breasts, kissing and sucking each of them as she passed.

She continued to kiss down Azzi’s stomach, stopping briefly to swirl the girl’s belly button ring around her tongue.

She leaned back, taking in the sight below her. She pushed off the bed and stood up.

Azzi’s eyes snapped open as she felt the weight of the bed disappear. “What—where are you going?”

Paige grinned and walked over to the bag that she had dropped on the floor when they walked in.

She bent her knees to crouch down and dig through, smiling when she found what she was looking for.

She stood up, blue jersey in hand. She walked back over to the bed and crawled back up to Azzi.

“Sit up,” Paige said sternly.

Azzi’s eyes opened wider at the girl’s tone. She sat up in the bed, arms leaning behind her to hold herself up.

Paige reached forward with the jersey and pulled it over Azzi’s head. She pulled down the bottom over Azzi’s breasts and stomach.

“See this?” Paige said as she hungrily took in the girl in front of her. “This means you’re mine.”

Azzi nodded. “I’ve always been yours.”

At that, Paige tugged on Azzi’s thighs, making her top half fall back onto the bed. Paige leaned down and breathed in the scent of her girlfriend, already wet and glistening below her.

Paige leaned in and placed a kiss to both thighs before putting her mouth where Azzi needed her the most.

She licked a long line up Azzi’s center as the girl moaned beneath her.

“God, yes baby, keep going,” Azzi said breathlessly.

Feeling the hand in her hair, Paige continued to lick and suck on the wet folds, making sure to pay careful attention to the places she knew her girl loved the most.

Paige could live and die in this position, loving every second of hearing Azzi moan her name beneath her. For all the time they’d been together, she knew exactly what made Azzi cave.

Paige reached down and dipped a finger into Azzi’s folds to gather the wetness.

“Damn baby, you are so wet,” Paige said as she stuck a finger in her own mouth to taste.

Azzi didn’t respond, only moaned and lifted her hips to signal to Paige that she needed more.

“I got you, baby, just relax,” Paige said, knowing that Azzi sometimes tenses up when she’s really needy.

Paige pushed two fingers into Azzi and watched as the girl’s face contorted into one of pleasure. As she continued to thrust into her, curling her fingers as she went in, she watched Azzi wriggle and moan beneath her. She grinned, looking down at the #5 across the girl’s chest.

“Say that you’re mine,” Paige said as she pushed deeper, feeling Azzi’s walls begin to pulse.

“Fuck, Paige—I’m yours, only yours,” Azzi struggled to say coherently. “I’m so close, P.”

Hearing Azzi say she was close, Paige just needed to feel all of her. She removed her fingers and adjusted her position so she was sitting criss-cross applesauce on the bed.

She pulled Azzi’s bottom half on top of her lap. “Come here, baby,” she motioned for Azzi to lean up.

Azzi, dazed and confused, leaned up and wrapped her arms around Paige’s neck as Paige pulled her in closer, Azzi’s legs wrapping around Paige’s waist.

Azzi looked her right in the eyes, and Paige almost melted right then and there.

“Hey baby,” she said as she kissed Azzi’s lips softly.

Paige reached back down, feeling the wetness that was pouring out of Azzi onto her lap now.

With one hand around her waist and the other in Azzi’s pussy, Paige worked her fingers in and out, making sure to rub her thumb across Azzi’s clit at each thrust.

Azzi was meeting her thrusts as she leaned her forehead onto Paige’s shoulder for leverage.

“Yes, Paige, don’t stop,” Azzi said as hot breath continued to fill the small space between them.

“Good girl, I got you, baby,” Paige said as she continued her movements and leaned her mouth up to suck on Azzi’s neck as the girl fell apart.

Paige used her hand around Azzi’s waist to pull her in closer as her other hand continued to meet Azzi’s body as it shook.

“Yes, P, god—you feel so good,” Azzi moaned as her body felt the much-needed release.

Paige slowed her movements as she felt Azzi’s body relax.

Azzi breathed out heavily and collapsed against Paige. “Fuck—that was—” not able to finish her thought.

Paige chuckled and lifted the girl off her lap and laid her down gently on the bed. She hopped off the bed, hearing Azzi whine beneath her.

“Hold on, baby. I’ll be right back,” Paige kissed her softly before walking toward the bathroom.

Azzi could hear the water running, but she was still pretty dazed from her release. She felt the bed dip, signaling that Paige was back.

Paige lightly tapped her thighs. “Spread ’em for me, baby.”

Azzi let her legs fall open on instinct, and Paige took the warm washcloth and began wiping Azzi’s folds clean, making sure to clean up the area on her thighs that were now sticky and wet.

When she was done, she tossed the washcloth onto the floor and climbed up next to Azzi and snuggled close.

She rubbed the hair away from Azzi’s forehead. “Baby, you okay?” Paige asked as she kissed her temple.

“Oh yeah, feel great,” Azzi began to mumble. “Just can’t move my body.”

Paige chuckled and pulled her closer. “I would say you can take off my jersey now, but I think maybe I’ll leave it on.”

Azzi turned toward Paige and brought her hand up to her cheek. “You know I love you, right?”

Paige grinned. “Of course I know.”

Azzi leaned in to kiss her softly. “No really, like I’m so in love with you. No one else ever crosses my mind,” Azzi took a breath as she started to say more.

“I need you to know that I’m yours, and I’m always gonna be only yours, no matter what jersey I have on,” Azzi said sternly to make sure Paige understood.

Paige felt so many emotions that all she could do was lean forward to kiss her girlfriend as they lay there tangled up in each other.

“I know, don’t worry. And I’m not mad, I was just playin’,” Paige said as she caressed Azzi’s face.

“I ain’t saying I like seeing you in another girl’s jersey, but I’m not worried about who gets to do this to you and who doesn’t,” she said as she motioned between them.

Azzi laughed as she kissed Paige’s lips.

Paige sighed into the kiss. “I’ma miss you tomorrow when you leave, baby.”

Azzi nodded in understanding. “I know, I always miss you. Two more weeks, okay? I’ll be down in Dallas with you soon.”

Paige looked at her, eyes squinted. “And you’re only gonna wear my jersey from now on, right?”

Azzi grinned and carefully chose her next words. “Not if the night ends the way this one did.”

[carmenlikeme]

The decision to have a second child with Robby isn't an easy one.

You both want to. Your first baby was and still is your biggest blessing; you would never regret them, and there wasn't a moment when you didn't think about having another baby. At least two children. Three, if you felt like you could survive not sleeping for over 12 consecutive years.

But your first pregnancy had been so difficult for you, you had doubts.

Well, Robby had doubts.

During your first trimester, you were barely able to drink water before wanting to throw up. Dana recommended some anti-nausea medication, and Robby decided to pick up the least amount of shifts he could to make sure you were okay, always by your side, and just right behind you as you collapsed on the tiled floor.

Your second trimester was a bliss, full of cute pictures, early maternity shoots, and an intimate gender reveal where Robby cried his eyes out after finding out he was gonna become a girl dad. Endless purchases and moodboards for the nursery. You couldn't ask for anything better.

Then, the third trimester came, and with that, the early-onset preeclampsia.

You spend most of your days in bed now, just standing up to go to the bathroom, and even then, you're being looked after when you walk, even for a few steps. When you are close to 34 weeks, you both decide to admit you to the hospital for monitoring, and Robby feels so much better knowing you're only a few floors away.

That's why he looks so stressed, speaking to Dana about how you both want it, but you might consider adoption to avoid putting you at risk once more. Javadi is close by, and before she can stop herself, she opens her mouth to speak.

"Dr. Robby, did you know that 13% of preeclampsia cases are attributed to paternal factors? There's this study that says that while women's genetics are the most important, if the father was born from a pregnancy with preeclampsia. It's generally attributed to 13% from the father, there's another..."

"Hey, crash! I need your help!" Santos interjects, pulling her by her sweatshirt and dragging her away against her will.

Robby stands still next to Dana, who isn't sure if she should kill Victoria just yet. He pauses, tries to find something to say.

"Is that true?" he asks.

"What's true?" Samira joins the conversation, a tablet in her hand. "Mr. Murphy is ready for discharge."

"Javadi just said preeclampsia can be attributed to paternal factors," he says, his tone is almost sarcastic.

"Oh, yeah. There are a lot of new studies about that, also about how paternal diet, mental health, and exercise habits can have an impact on a pregnancy. There's also a greater risk of a premature birth if the father is over 45, so..."

The rest of the conversation and the day go by in a blink. Robby goes home defeated. And there you are, the TV is on, but you're fast asleep with your baby girl on your chest. He smiles, and for a moment, he forgets about the thing that almost made him spiral.

You wake up 30 minutes later. He's cleaning, and you're sure there's a new load of laundry already in the washer. You want to stand up, but your baby is just so comfortable there, you don't wanna wake her up.

"Good morning, love," he says when he walks back into the room. He leans in, careful enough not to disturb his daughter, and kisses you softly. "I missed you two."

"Thank god you have the weekend off," you whisper. "She didn't take a nap today."

"Well, she's almost one. She wants to conquer the world, but her body isn't letting her. Now that she's walking, she'll be unstoppable."

He sits next to you, and even as careful as he is, your baby wakes up. Her bright eyes open, Robby immediately grabs her from your chest and pulls her onto his.

"Show daddy your new shirt, baby," you say. She's still sleepy, but immediately cries when she is far away from you. She cries and tries to crawl back to you immediately. "This kid, she wouldn't even let me go to pee for two seconds."

She sits up on your lap, and it's only then that Robby pulls down her shirt to see it. His hand stays there, frozen, as he reads the words over and over again. He feels like choking up. It's like you're both back in your old apartment, cramped in the tiny bathroom as you wait for the pregnancy test results.

Best Big Sister.

He doesn't know how long it takes him to turn to you, but there you are, holding a pregnancy test that says "Pregnant. 3-4 weeks". You're crying, and he doesn't know when he started crying with you.

"Surprise!" you whisper, choked up. "I guess it's happening."

He kisses you again, this time he takes his time, despite how much your daughter babbles and screams. Just for a second, he kisses you like the world is about to end in just a moment.

"I guess it is."

Nothing matters, just for a second. It's just him, you and your little family.

© CARMENLIKEME 2025. All rights reserved. Do not repost, modify or claim as yours.

[robbysreaders]

i needed to write something outside of the series i've been doing recently and this just tumbled out of me. I worry Jack is a little ooc here but guess what! idc! ;)

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader

word count: 700ish

You keep a similar schedule to Jack. Well—not exactly. That would be a bit nuts. But you are a night owl, which is why it’s not the least bit surprising when your phone buzzes with his name at 1 a.m. And why you don’t hesitate to pick up.

“An actual booty call? How retro.” “Hiiiiiiii,” he drags out, cutting you off mid-sentence. There’s a smile tucked into every syllable, the kind that always makes you feel like he’s happy you answered. You catch the faintest slur in his words.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” you ask, laughing. “Heeyyyyy, I’m being good. I’m being soooocial. I’m bonding with my coworkers. I thought you’d be proud of me, not judging me.” “I could never judge you, Jack. If anything, I’m jealous of you. Or maybe just your coworkers…” “I would like to see you. But also, I can’t take my truck…”

“You can come over,” you offer. “I’ll call you an Uber?” “Welllllll that’s the other thing. I don’t wanna get towed… and we’re near your place. So I could walk to you, and then we walk back, and you drive my truck.”

You hear a voice in the background—Robby, you think—grumble, “You don’t even let me drive your car.”

“Jack, this is a lot of logistics for 1 a.m.” You rub your eyes. “Drop me a pin. I’ll walk to you and we’ll figure it out.” “Baaaby, you know I don’t know how to do that sober, much less in this state. And you’re not walking alone.” “Okay, compromise: you text me the name of the bar and we stay on the phone.” He sighs. “Fiiiiiine.”

Four blocks later, you step into a packed bar to the sound of cheers. Way more of Jack’s coworkers than you expected. You would’ve changed out of your sweats if you’d known. But then Jack spots you, and his whole face lights up like you’re the damn sunrise. He wraps his arms around you like he’s been waiting all night.

“Let’s get a drink for the lady!” someone yells. You wave them off. “I’m gonna have to pass. I have work in six hours, so I’m just here to get this drunkard home. Anyone else need a ride?” A chorus of playful boos goes up before Jack cuts them off with a single look. “Alright, call your Ubers. Be safe.”

You leave together, and he steers you two blocks toward your apartment—where his truck is parked.

“For a man who spent an ungodly amount of time in school,” you say, “you might be the dumbest person I know.”

He opens the driver’s side door for you. “What’d I do this time?” “We’re two blocks from my apartment. You could’ve parked in my guest spot. There’s always room.” “I didn’t want to assume,” he says, suppressing a hiccup. You roll your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

You climb into the truck, and he shuts the door behind you with exaggerated care. He fumbles his way around to the passenger side and climbs in, sighing loudly as he slumps into the seat.

It smells like him in here—clean and faintly smoky, like laundry detergent and cedar and something a little spicy that lingers in the upholstery. You reach over and buckle his seatbelt for him because he’s too busy humming along to whatever classic rock station is playing low from the speakers.

“You’re so helpful,” he says, leaning his head against the window dramatically. “I don’t deserve you.”

“No,” you agree, starting the truck. “You don’t.”

You drive the two blocks mostly in silence, save for Jack softly singing along to the guitar solo. When you pull into your building’s guest spot, he doesn’t move to get out. Just turns toward you, slow and heavy-lidded.

“You look really pretty,” he says. “Like… offensively pretty.”

“Okay, now I know you’re drunk.”

“I’m serious.” He leans his head back against the seat and sighs. “I was watching the door all night. Every time it opened I thought—maybe that’s her. You didn’t even know where we were or that I was out but I was hoping. Isn’t that dumb?”

You glance at him. He’s half-asleep already, lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks.

“No,” you say quietly. “It’s not dumb.”

You sit there for another minute, the engine ticking as it cools. Then you shake his arm gently.

“C’mon. Let’s get you upstairs.”

[ogwintersmind]

Current boyfriend — Katsuki.

Katsuki hated TikTok with a passion. He had the app on his phone of course- only because you insisted he follow you and he needed to keep up with the trends or whatever. Still, he never really used it.

BUT ever since the two of you had gotten together he'd fallen victim to every trend you decided to participate in—so when the 'current boyfriend' trend started making its rounds, you already knew you had to do it. Katsuki was sitting at the table, eating after a long work day and a shower, minding his own business. But of course - any amount of quietness he had absolutely required his wife to come and "ruin" it by bothering him.

"Kats," you approached him with that innocent expression and that sweet sweet voice - it's all an act of course, and he knew it. "I wanna make a nighttime routine video for my TikTok. With you in it, okay? Please?" He rolled his eyes and let out a long huff, the kind that always came right before he gave in to your whims.

"You're always putting me in these dumb videos," he grumbled, his eyes never leaving his food. Then he spoke again, "yeah, we can film it. Just let me finish eating and we can start.”

Pertect. He'd fallen right into your trap. Like he always does.

You grabbed your phone and turned on the camera. "Okay! I'm gonna film the intro now though."

"Yeah, yeah." He muttered. Still not looking up from his plate (fatty).

The camera focused on Katsuki's side profile as he ate, and you started the video. Putting on that innocent act of just filming. "Hey guys! A lot of you have been asking me for a nighttime routine, so l'm gonna do one tonight. Oh, I'm also gonna have my current boyfriend in the video too."

You barely finished speaking when Katsuki froze mid-bite. Slowly, he turned his head to look at you. "Current? What the fuck? Delete that."

The two of you locked eyes for a long moment. Neither of you is saying anything. You were already trying not to laugh.

"It's just a saying," you shrug. "It's not that serious." Katsuki's expression was one of disbelief. "Just a saying? First of all, never have I ever been so fucking offended." He set his chopsticks down with purpose. "Second, make sure you're listening to this very carefully— I am your husband. Your literal fucking husband, and not only are you reducing me to your BOYFRIEND when we've been married for a year, but you're reducing me to your current boyfriend at that. What, are you gonna have a new one tomorrow?" He was genuinely so pissed off at you right now.

"Turn the damn camera off and try again. I'm actually not joking, Reader." You shut the camera off and give him a small chuckle. "It's just a joke, crybaby. It's a TikTok trend." Of course it was.God, he was so tired of you doing these stupid trends on him. " Yeah, whatever, get out of my face. You're so annoying." He continued eating with a slight smile on his face, knowing that later, you and your supporters would be making fun of him and his reaction in your comments.

Thanks for reading!

I know I haven’t posted in a while 😅 I’ve been very busy (lazy) .

I was gonna do multiple characters but I got too lazy so if you want that then let me know !

see you in the next one friends ♡.

XO- winter ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

I need more of that sad little teleporting hero 🤍

referring toooooo

The hero stared at the blinding screen of their laptop, at the millions of statistics they had to work through.

Their burning eyes dared to drift to the time display at the bottom of the screen which informed them that it was already three in the morning and they realised slowly, agonisingly, painfully that those files needed to be done by the end of the week or else they’d fall behind.

Although they had been sitting at the desk for over five hours, they felt like they had achieved very little.

The amount of files didn’t seem to decrease — quite a contrary development to the increase in mistakes they found while scrolling through several reports.

They swallowed.

With patrol, training and normal working hours, this was a little overwhelming. They had trouble with sleeping. Trouble with orientation. Mundane things like shopping and cooking, cleaning or laundry were annoyingly demanding. On top of that, caring for their own wounds became stupidly difficult.

Still staring at the screen, they blinked several times.

It wasn’t ideal at the moment, but they could do this. They had to do this. Other heroes didn’t complain, other heroes didn’t fall behind. If they wanted to help people, if they really wanted to do good, they had to live through the tough times as well as the good times.

Sometimes they just wondered when those good times would finally approach them. When those soft days on which everything felt easier, when those sunny and quiet days would finally be here. The hero wondered what it would feel like to be successful. To save people on a daily basis. To do good. To be admired, to be loved.

They wondered if they would ever feel anything besides this crushing solitary fatigue that knocked them out at six in the morning. They closed their eyes, just for a few seconds.

Their wrists were hurting. Their back burnt. They told themselves to relax. To take things slow. They needed to focus. They needed to think about something good, something comforting. Something that gave them strength.

When they opened their eyes, however, they quickly realised that they were not sitting in the kitchen anymore.

They were standing in a dark room. Instantly, their knees gave out under them and they fell to the ground, their metabolism unprepared for the sudden shifting position. Their arms could barely hold them up.

The hero cursed quietly under their breath as it dawned on them that they must have teleported into their bedroom again. They stood up anew on shaky legs, bumping against the bed, and frowned as a headache formed like bruise. They didn’t remember shutting their blindfolds.

And then, suddenly, they froze completely. They heard a groan. Shuffling bedsheets. Now, the hero was wide awake. Fear and panic overwhelmed them quickly and they supposed they’d die of a heart attack any second now.

The light on the nightstand turned on.

And the hero wanted to sink into the ground and never appear again. This wasn’t their room at all.

“What the hell are you doing here?” the villain asked. They were clearly half asleep and visibly upset about being woken up.

The hero’s eyes widened, their heart dropped.

“I’m so sorry,” they said quickly. “I didn’t — I…I’m sorry, I teleported here, I don’t know why.”

The villain turned around in their bed, hiding their eyes from the light on the nightstand.

“Whatever,” they mumbled. The villain stretched out their arm and tried to turn off the lamp. They struggled and groaned again until it finally did turn off, leaving the hero in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” the hero whispered again. “I…don’t think I have the energy to teleport back.”

“Did that superhero abuse you again?” the villain asked. Their face was buried in their pillows, so it was quite hard to understand them.

But the hero had heard it. Of course they had.

“…they’re not—”

“I’m not gonna argue with you,” the villain said. They turned in bed, as if their enemy wasn’t standing in their bedroom.

“…can I take the couch? Just for a few hours? I don’t have any money for a taxi. No shoes, no jacket, I…” They dug their fingernails into their palms. Whenever the villain brought it up, it became realer. It wasn’t something the hero could put gloss on and call it a day.

Abuse. Was that really what it was? Or just a demanding job? Something a hero had to endure?

“Haven’t cleaned the couch yet,” the villain said.

“Oh.” Silence. They doubted they could borrow the villain’s shoes. They doubted they’d even fit. Their apartment was on the other side of the city.

“Are you injured?” the villain asked. Their voice was softer this time.

“No,” the hero said. They had a couple of bad bruises and the headache wasn’t that pleasant either, but they figured the villain was interested in the very bad stuff.

“Good,” the villain sighed. “Do you teleport when you’re having nightmares?”

“I used to,” the hero admitted. “How did you…?”

“Just a guess. Hop in.”

“Sorry?”

“Get in the bed or go back home. Your choice.” The hero stared at the darkness of the room. They couldn’t see the villain. Could barely feel their presence at all.

And yet. And yet, the villain was close. So very close. After standing there for a whole minute, an entire horribly long minute, they moved. They took off their socks first, then their pants. They decided to keep their shirt on to maintain their decency.

As the hero stood there at the edge of the bed, they hesitated. Wasn’t this against the rules? Was sharing a bed allowed? Did that go against any regulations? They worried their bottom lip between their teeth.

“Just come here,” the villain mumbled and the hero obeyed silently, letting themselves sink into the mattress and pillows of the villain’s bed for some reason. The villain promptly threw the blanket over the hero and to the hero’s surprise, took a hold of the hero’s hand. “Relax.”

“I’m trying.”

“You’re not. You’re overthinking everything. Close your eyes,” the villain whispered. The hero did so. “Think of something calm. Something that calms you. The sound of waves. The forest, maybe?”

The hero’s muscles relaxed. Their pain ebbed gradually. They did think of something like that. Someone like that.

“Soften your breathing.” The hero did so. Their thoughts were drifting away, leaving behind the warmth the villain radiated under the blanket and the feeling of their hand in the hero’s.

Inexplicably, the hero was asleep within the next few seconds and the villain’s gentle words echoed in their mind, but they came from very very far away.

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

a whole bunch of people keep going "ohhhhh world war 3, trump is dragging us into world war 3 and we're headed straight for a nuclear apocalypse"

and I'm like "nah dude, I am way less worried about world war 3 than I was a week ago"

because the math goes like this:

iran + nukes = greater chance of ww3

iran + no nukes = lower chance of ww3

so thank you for being rational about this, you are (as usual) a bastion of sanity in the midst of the lunatic asylum known as tumblr

Good rule of thumb, the castrophizers are rarely right about anything. I learned this when I was very young when my grandma would say things like "tomorrow you're gonna find me dead on the floor if you don't behave" and she somehow never dropped dead. People like to jump to the most horrific outcome they can think of to try and get you to do what they want, and the moment that horrific thing doesn't happen, they lose all credibility. The amount of people who don't seem to realize that is staggering. Oh, and as I write this, apparently WW3 actually broke out!

Haha, just kidding, Iran capitulated and not a single American life was lost. So much for the latest World War 3.

[daddymaster21]

Somehow I managed to reblog this without actually putting a single note. Good job, me. Okay!! Second chapter!!! Pls Thea I’m so excited and scared and SCARED IM SO SCARED

1. I understand that golf takes a stupid amount of skill, but goddamn is it the most boring sport in existence

2. She got that Bucky Barnes walk

3. Babe you know I love you and I’m on your side, but standing in a blizzard is ABSOLUTELY stupid.

4. Calling it now that Adam is a Man of God. He’s gonna be the one that ends up betraying her, bc you said that the men of god always betray the magdalenes.

5. LMFAOOOO WEEDING HER BEDROOM. GARDENERS HATE TO SEE HER COMING

6. We should eat an apple. That definitely falls under the something stupid category, but I’m SO curious about the apples.

7. I mostly hate sports, but volleyball is fun to watch.

8. Even though golf sucks, she would absolutely kill at it. Actually, I think she’d kick ass in pretty much every sport.

9. Me too, girlie. If this man was in front of me making dumb jokes, I could not be trusted

10. Okay. Look. I’m sorry for this, but you’ve activated the Ramble. There aren’t any signs of death because on the whole, death isn’t like the other horseman. He’s not power-hungry or reckless or flashy. He’s cold and inevitable, and people aren’t dying en masse in any particular place, because he doesn’t have to kill them. He just has to wait.

11. Real. Milk sucks, cookies are delicious.

12. Dean grocery shopping and cooking and generally being a husband and girl dad 🫠

13. I can’t lie, I’m still ruminating about you saying I was the only one who caught that princess still talks about Jo in the present tense. Cause you wouldn’t have pointed out me pointing it out unless it meant something WHAT DOES IT MEANNNNN

14. Oop not that being addressed immediately after lmao

15. Oh god. The middle for the first name is fucking ROUGH.

16. I would ALSO like you to kill Zachariah, girlboss

17. John Winchester they could never make me like you

18. GET THAT BITCH. DONT EVEN LET HIM TALK, JUST DESTROY HIM IMMEDIATELY

19. Girl idk how to tell you this, but she kinda does always know best

20. Douche-maggot is my personal favorite. I feel like Ben in particular would enjoy that turn of phrase.

21. Look dude, no matter what happens, there’s literally no way this will go well for you. Cut your losses and run.

22. LMAO THE BRIDGE TROLLS COMMENT HAS ME CACKLING. SOMEONE JSUT GIVE A STRAIGHT ANSWER, WE BEG OF YOU

23. No one in the history of supernatural has been tortured with the torture like the torture Chuck will be tortured with. He’s truly my most hated character.

24. STOP NO STOP HIS FANTASY LITERALLY BEING HER FUCKING HIM AND HER NOT EVEN REALIZING IT OH MY GODDDDD

25. Girl if Chuck is The Sky, I’m DEFINITELY gonna dismantle him. I hate him so muchhhhhh

26. Gabe!!!!! My beloved!!!!!!!!!

27. You know what? We love a man who can admit he’s wrong.

28. That’s the perfect way to describe the boys, actually. Ten points to Gabriel

29. Girl I know this is a Dean story, but if it doesn’t work out with him, I would absolutely jump Gabe’s bones

30. I just have to say, heaven wants to please you is an incredibly raw line. If I ever start a band, that’s what our first album will be called

31. Our poor groceries!!!

32. Ah. My one weakness — being forgiven and shown compassion.

33. I love them so much, they’re such dumbasses

34. Girl I KNOW Dean was panicking bc he thought she was her when he said he loved her

35. I stg hunters are incapable of listening to anything without asking a thousand questions (me too though)

36. Cas is so autism-coded, and I love that for him

37. Lmao the archangels being the primary colors is great

38. Girl the angels all on some shit if they can’t see the absolute devotion she has for Dean

39. Absolutely the fuck not. I would rather be shredded into chicken than marry Chuck. Nope. Not happening. Absolutely not.

40. Thea. Please Thea, don’t do this to me. You can’t kill Ellen and Jo in the same way, PLEASE.

41. OKAY Ellen’s not dead. Or, well, not permanently dead. Counting that as a win.

42. LMFAOOOOO WE HAVE HIM IN A JAR. LITERALLY THATS THE FUNNIEST THING THATS EVER HAPPENED

43. Crowley bout to be the biggest demon ever, my man just made a deal with the bride of god

Final thoughts: Chuck is going down, and when it’s over I’d like to be double teamed by Dean and Gabe, please 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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[undyingdecay]

you said requests are back open, so i’d love to hear your thoughts on anal with bob/yelena/walker. doesn’t have to be all of them, could be just one. for funsies, ill elaborate on how i think each of them would view anal

walker totally gets off on the humiliation of not being able to fuck your pussy. he’s relegated to the “dirty” hole because he’s less than you. he can never get close enough, can never rise to be your equal, and that gets him going more than anything.

for bob it’s probably worship. he wants to feel every part of you. i think he’d get riled up from the prep. all the time you spend getting ready and the initial discomfort of the act? that’s basically you returning his devotion in kind. i think the vulnerability is another huge factor. i think he’d take full advantage and soak in the feeling of having you so exposed and trusting of him.

for yelena i think it’s an act with tangible results that she can dedicate herself to. there are so many online resources and toys to take advantage of, and she does. she’s going spend an inordinate amount of time training you to enjoy anal. i also think that when she does anal play, she purposely neglects your clit and vagina. she gets a kick seeing you desperate and squirming.

sorry if this is too much. thank you if you do decide to do anything with this. i love your work! 🫶

(your intuition is actually insane because i had anal for all of them pre written for something else, i was only gonna do one character but might as well use the writing then let it sit in drafts)

john’s an asshole. that’s the truth of it. a hot, mean, broken little thing walking around pretending he isn’t still a boy who can’t live up to the men around him. the idea of him being allowed inside you but only like this? it makes him sweat. it makes his cock ache, twitch against his thigh when you tell him — no, command him — to get on his knees and earn it.

the whole thing’s humiliating in a way he secretly craves. that he’s not good enough for your cunt, not worthy of the softness and heat of it. that he’ll have to settle for the “dirty” hole, take what you give him and thank you for it.

and he does thank you for it. filthy little prayers spilling from his mouth while he’s splitting you open slow, thick hands bruising your hips. he’d probably get so desperate he’d cry about it, rutting into you with sloppy thrusts and saying things like “thank you, thank you, god you’re so fucking good to me.” it’s shameful and you love him for it.

nd bob’s sinful in a way. you had it right from the start. he’s the kind of man who looks at every inch of you like it was made for him to love. the idea of getting to have this part of you? a place so vulnerable, so intimate you wouldn’t trust it to just anyone? it undoes him.

he’s obsessed with the prep. gentle fingers, soothing touches, kissing your thighs and belly while you relax for him. the way your body clenches around him, that faint sting of discomfort giving way to soft, pliant warmth — he could die like this.

it’s not about dominance with bob. it’s about connection. about you trusting him so much you’d let him see you like this, let him touch you here. he’d hold you close through every second, kissing your shoulders and murmuring sweet things like “so good, baby, you feel so good, thank you for lettin’ me do this.”

he probably comes way too fast the first time and apologizes for it while you stroke his hair and tell him he’s perfect.

yelena’s a menace. a calculating, mean little thing who takes so much satisfaction in breaking you down methodically. she treats it like training — she gets toys, lube, hours of online research. she makes a spreadsheet.

and she denies you. not cruelly — okay, maybe a little cruelly — but because she loves the power trip of it. knowing your clit’s throbbing and untouched, your pussy aching for attention while she’s working your ass open with steady, patient precision.

she probably makes you beg for it. makes you admit how desperate you are, how good it feels. she doesn’t let you come until you’re flushed and crying, fingers twitching against the sheets. and when you finaly do, it’s with her hand buried between your thighs, a smirk on her lips and a low “see? knew you’d like it.”

yelena leaves marks. bites on your throat, bruises on your hips. she’s rough in the best way, and when it’s over she’ll kiss the sweat off your neck and order takeout.

[spitefulsatanfics]

🕯️ 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖, 𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 𝕀𝕥𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗 — 𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕟 𝕎𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕟 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 🕯️

"You’re the one thing I can’t lose." — Dean Winchester, trying not to panic when you’re ten feet out of sight

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (She/Her)

Rating: T / PG-13 — Canon language, extreme amounts of soft-grumpy-boy devotion, implied cohabitation, protective instincts turned up to 11

Tone: Canon-adjacent, overprotective boyfriend energy, domestic fluff, ride-or-die romance, emotionally repressed but loyal to the death

Written by: 🖤 Little Devil — ⌘ Written and published: June 26, 2025 ™

Based on: Supernatural — Seasons 2 through 6 (canon-compliant, 17+)

✧ 𝟏. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 ✧

Dean doesn’t talk about his feelings. But he does clean your gun, tune your car, and fix the wobbly leg on your nightstand without saying a word.

Drabble: You wake up and your silver knife’s been sharpened, polished, laid out neatly beside a note that just says: “Don’t forget this. Love—D.” You smile. You didn’t even ask. Dean will never say “I’m worried about you.” He just prepares you like you’re going to war. And in his head? You’re the most important soldier he’s ever sworn to protect.

✧ 𝟐. 𝐒𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 ✧

Dean’s never believed in forever. But now he’s folding your laundry and thinking about what kind of curtains you might like.

Drabble: It’s a Tuesday. No monsters. No mayhem. Just the smell of cheap coffee and your sock stuck in his sleeve. He doesn’t say it, but the idea hits him out of nowhere: I could do this forever. He looks at you — hair messy, wearing his flannel. And he’s never wanted anything more terrifying in his life.

✧ 𝟑. 𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲? 𝐇𝐢𝐦? 𝐍𝐨. (𝐘𝐞𝐬.) ✧

He acts like he doesn’t need to be near you 24/7. But if you leave the room for too long? He’s pacing. Quietly. Dramatically.

Drabble: “Where were you?” His voice is casual — too casual. You glance at the clock. “Bathroom, Dean. It’s been ten minutes.” He shrugs. “Could’ve died in there. I don’t know.” You arch an eyebrow. He looks away, mumbles, “Didn’t hear you breathing.” And suddenly you realize — he wasn’t being dramatic. He was worried.

✧ 𝟒. 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐫 ✧

He feels when something’s wrong. Even if you say you’re fine.

Drabble: You plaster on a smile after a rough hunt. Dean sees right through it. Later, he’s wordless — sliding into bed behind you, arms wrapping tight like a second heartbeat. “I’m not gonna make you talk,” he says into your hair. “But you don’t have to carry it alone.” You don’t answer. Just squeeze his hand. He doesn’t sleep until your breathing evens out.

✧ 𝟓. 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 ✧

Dean knows how you take your coffee. He makes it before you wake up. Every single time.

Drabble: You shuffle into the kitchen. He’s already got your mug in hand. “Two sugars. Dash of cinnamon.” You blink. “How do you remember that?” “I’d remember your blood type if it meant you smiled at me.” He says it too fast. Like he’s covering a wound. And then… you smile. He won’t look at you, but his ears go red. Totally worth it.

✧ 𝟔. 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥 ✧

If you’re in danger, Dean goes unhinged. Rational thought? Gone. He’s a force of nature with a singular focus: you.

Drabble: You’re missing for four minutes during a hunt. Dean loses his mind. He’s calling your name, gun drawn, voice low and deadly. The second he sees you — muddy but fine — his knees almost give out. He pulls you in hard, breath ragged. “You don’t get to die, sweetheart,” he rasps. “That’s my rule. You. Don’t. Die.” And for once, his fear shows.

✧ 𝟕. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 ✧

Dean forgets to flirt with waitresses. He forgets to flirt at all. His world just doesn’t revolve like it used to.

Drabble: “You didn’t even notice the bartender,” Sam teases. Dean grunts. “Why would I?” Sam laughs. “Because she was staring at you.” Dean shrugs. “I only look at one girl like that.” He doesn’t say your name. He doesn’t have to. You’re across the bar, laughing at something on your phone. Dean’s already looking at you like the sun just blinked back into existence.

✧ 𝟖. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐑𝐚𝐭 ✧

Your stuff ends up in the Impala without you noticing. Lip balm. Your playlist on a burned CD. A photo of you in the visor.

Drabble: You find your old flannel tucked under the passenger seat. “Dean?” He shrugs. “Figured you’d want it. Sometimes you get cold.” You find your hair tie on his rearview. “I like it there,” he mumbles. Then the photo in his glovebox. Folded. Worn. “Been in there a while,” he says, eyes distant. “Just... makes me feel like you’re always with me.”

✧ 𝟗. 𝐁𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐨𝐠 ✧

He always ends up on your side of the bed. Half-awake, unconsciously clinging like you’re the only thing anchoring him.

Drabble: You wake up to find his entire body halfway across the bed — head on your pillow, arm around your waist like a vice. “Dean,” you whisper. He groans, nuzzles in. “M’bed too cold without you,” he mumbles. “You have your own side.” “Don’t want it.”

✧ 𝟏𝟎. 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐢𝐟 𝐇𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 ✧

Dean doesn’t want to need anyone. Not after everything he’s lost. But with you? He can’t help it.

Drabble: You get hurt. Not badly. Just a scratch. Dean’s hands are shaking when he bandages you. You ask him what’s wrong. He just looks at you, voice low: “I don’t do good without you.” You pause. “I’m still here.” “Don’t ever not be.” It’s not a demand. It’s a prayer.

✧ 𝙁𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙏𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩:

Dean Winchester doesn’t fall in love. He crashes. Bleeds for it. Claws his way through the dark with his fists clenched around your name. He’ll never say “forever” — but he’ll live like it’s already true. Because to him, you are the safehouse. And he’ll guard you with everything he’s got.

✧ The End ✧

[dizziful-clown]

warning this is gonna be a ramble fest (tldr i love the woodwards a normal amount and every time i think about them i cry a little)

i love the woodwards so much. im gnawing at the cages for more content of them. they care for each other deeply but have trouble showing it. bill wants whats best for alice but it causes him to be overprotective and infantilizing. alice wants to mend her relationship with bill after the divorce but she cant open up without feeling misunderstood leading to her lashing out at her father.

starting with not your seed its the best hatchetverse song imo. not just cuz it sounds good but cuz it makes me depressed everytime. from alice saying she wanted to live with bill to bills adlibs during the song to the entire "why does it hurt to love you" section. after the song ends bill almost kills himself because he feels like her getting infected was all his fault and he cannot live in a world without her daughter. he doesnt go through with the decision but alice takes the gun he drops and shoots him instead (which is even more depressing after the events of watcher world)

speaking of watcher world they really get into detail how strained the relationship is between bill and alice. alice refusal to open up about anything and bills refusal to hear alice out ultimately leads to their strained relationship. AND THE ROLLERCOASTER SCENE URGH ITS BEAUTIFUL. bill trying to calm down alice from a panic attack and understand her interests is very sweet :((( and how they both break out of blinkys spell out of love. people mention bill breaks the spell after seeing alice having a panic attack but alice breaks out of the spell during her panic attack. who was once her kind father who would do anything to protect her was now chasing her and threatening to break her legs. she was probably thinking how her last words to bill were "i hate you." she was filled with guilt and regret cuz no matter how much she argued with bill she never hated him. AND ALICE FOLLOWING BILL ON INSTA AT THE END FUCK THEYRE SO SWEET. when alice looks at her phone he says he wont pry on her anymore just for alice to follow him ourrgh :((((((

[violetcamryn]

HTTYD Headcannons

*These are all SFW headcannons but i definitely have some NSFW headcannons in mind for later as well*

AN: Gonna buy myself a Netflix subscription in like 6 days so im gonna binge watch the entire movie series and TV series all over again

- Tuffnut has a fidgeting problem. No matter the time of day or what task he’s doing, he will somehow always find something to fidget with. It’s usually a belt buckle or a spare scrap of metal, but he has been known to fidget with his pillow in his sleep (Snotlout noticed it first, and never lets him live it down)

- Snotlout THRIVES on words of affirmation. It’s his love language. No matter the mood he’s in, if you tell him he’s doing a good job at something, he will immediately have the biggest boost of courage and confidence (and he will be thinking about it for the rest of the day, including while he falls asleep that night)

- Ruffnut is absolutely queer of some sort in my mind. I know she’s canonically totally boy-crazy, but I can absolutely see her crushing on one of the viking girls too. Like staying up late at night talking to herself about what’s-her-name while hanging upside down from the rafters.

- Astrid has a habit of picking at the skin on her thumb when she’s stressed (which is often, considering all the stuff that happens on Berk). It’s gotten better but sometimes she still has to consciously stop herself from picking at it again (Astrid has so much to worry about constantly, I can’t blame her).

- Tuffnut + Snotlout COMEDY NIGHTS. Every few days to a few weeks, the boys will host a comedy night (which mostly consists of them being the only people telling the same jokes over and over and getting pity laughs). Everyone shows up anyways (mostly for the food).

- Fishlegs needs to have his feet under the blankets at all times when he sleeps, or else the entire night he’ll be worrying about waking up to a dragon munching on his toes (valid worry, with the amount of dragons he’s fostered over the years).

- (RTTE) Heather is a chronic insomniac. She has been for her entire life. Usually when it gets really bad she’ll just sleep on the roof of whatever building she thinks is most comfortable (and most distracting from the racing midnight thoughts).

AN: my first time writing anything that i actually posted 😅 hope it’s not too bad

[crispys-records]

that new thunderbolts promo art

its cornplate hour my loves, lets analyze the new thunderbolts* promo art

starting off, of course, with the composition of it

they use sentry, and the rest of the promo is completely black. black, obviously, is the void. and what stands out? bob, the sentry. in bright, bright gold. a really nice way of making him a center focus, something your eyes are naturally drawn to before anything else. youve never met this specifc character before the movie, so obviously hes going to be a main selling point.

and the fact that hes entirely basked in gold isnt lost on me either. hes the one in the image with the most gold on him. sure, its a nod to how important he is, but also how powerful he is compared to everyone else.

the use of gold highlights is especially interesting in this image.

we have the sentry, obviously, totally covered in it. but also yelena and john, who have a pretty similar amount of gold on their person. yelena, in her hair. john, in his shield. they're the centerpieces to which the development of bob's power is built on.

yelena, the kinder one, the one who builds up his confidence while simultaneously and accidentally breaking him down by admitting his worst fears, that hes useless and life sucks.

john, the ruder one, who throws insult after insult and has no intention of babying the civilian, which, sure, might hurt bob but also heals him, because john doesnt treat him any differently from the others.

in the movie, this is more obvious, because theyre the only two whos shame rooms we see. and then we have bucky

the smallest, barely noticable hint of gold in his arm. and this is important. because bucky plays a critical role in this movie too, and the gold is a direct understanding of that. hes the leader, hes the one who we cut to the most, who agrees to bring everyone together to take down valentina. hes important, just not as much as the other three. and yelena and john are important, just not as much as the sentry.

notice how bucky is also in the center next to bob? well, hes the leader of the team when they approach the tower, so of course he'd be in the center.

anyway i love this stupid movie im gonna be so annoying abt it forever

[hummingbird24220]

Sharp Tongues, Sharper Blades (Part 5)

Yes i did a self indulgent part 5 - sue me. Im mid way through Marineford and it is KILLING ME >:( I need everyone to be happy, friends and hold hands and kiss each other a little bit.

You weren’t sure what you expected from Buggy the Clown.

But the second you stepped aboard his garish, glitter-splattered ship and saw the sheer amount of fireworks, banners, and one very nervous crewmember holding a cake that said “WELCOME SWORD MOM”—you realized this was going to be a lot.

“WELL WELL WELL!” boomed a familiar voice, echoing across the deck. “If it isn’t the legendary, the magnetic, the dangerously sharp—”

You raised a brow. “If you say ‘sexy,’ I’m leaving.”

Buggy staggered mid-strut. “I was gonna say sparkly!” he lied badly. “Obviously.”

He was in full showman mode—arms wide, cape flapping dramatically despite zero wind, and a grin that was both smug and slightly terrified.

You folded your arms. “You’ve been licking your blades.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“They told me.”

Buggy froze.

One of his swords—strapped to a juggler’s belt—whispered smugly in your head: “He said it enhances the flavor of battle.”

You gave him a withering stare.

“I—okay, maybe once! Or twice! Or whenever they taste like victory!”

“They taste like salt and irresponsibility,” you muttered, yanking the nearest blade from its sheath and inspecting the edge. “And this one’s chipped from being thrown into a wall.”

Buggy huffed. “That wall deserved it.”

You sighed, pulling out your tools. “Alright. Show me the rest. And no more tongue.”

—

The hours blurred together.

Buggy had more blades than you expected—knives, sabers, a pair of scissors you weren’t entirely convinced were for fighting—and you set up a mobile forge on the deck using scrap metal, a very confused crewmember, and your ever-handy firestarter kit.

Buggy hovered the entire time.

He paced. Commented. Asked you five times what a tang was. Tried to juggle your hammers (you stopped him with a glare). And slowly… you started to realize something.

He wasn’t just chaos.

He was kind of… endearing.

Like a weird circus dog who kept barking but just wanted a nap in the sun.

He gasped dramatically when you pulled out the throwing knives.

A whole set—sleek, sharp, balanced to perfection. Polished with your signature burnish and engraved with tiny stars on the hilts.

Buggy nearly wept.

“These… these are beautiful,” he whispered, holding one up like it was a sacred relic. “Do you… do you love me?”

“No,” you said. “But I do love good metallurgy.”

He cleared his throat, straightened up, and pointed dramatically at the crew.

“THIS,” he bellowed, “calls for a celebration!”

You raised a brow. “Please don’t say it’s a blood sacrifice.”

“No! No, no, nothing weird. Just a… totally normal… totally tasteful…” He coughed into his sleeve. “...celebration of your hotne—TALENT. Talent! I said talent.”

You smirked. “Sure you did.”

“I DID,” he insisted, face going red under the paint. “I’m just... celebrating the sharpness of your mind! And… uh… arms.”

You patted his shoulder. “You’re lucky I like you, Clown.”

Buggy blinked. “You do?”

You smiled, returning to your forge. “Against my better judgment.”

Buggy turned away, clearly trying to hide the stupid grin taking over his whole face.

From your belt, one of the new knives whispered proudly: “He’s glowing.”

Yeah.

You noticed.

-

The party had been—against all odds—fun.

Buggy’s crew didn’t know how to do anything halfway. There were fireworks. Confetti cannons. A knife-juggling contest (you judged). And at one point, someone tried to roast a fish with sparklers.

Somehow, you ended up dancing—twirling in circles with mismatched pirates under glowing paper lanterns, laughing until your stomach hurt, mug in hand, soot on your cheeks.

And Buggy?

Buggy never left your side.

He hovered. Fussed. Repaired a banner just so it wouldn’t fall on you (it still did). Tried not to look like he was watching you every time you smiled.

Even when you caught him juggling the knives you’d made for him—again—and you shouted, “THOSE ARE FOR THROWING, NOT FOR DROPPING,” he’d only winced, flashed you a sheepish grin, and said, “It was accidental.”

You didn’t believe him. But you forgave him anyway.

—

You were leaving the next morning.

Your little boat was packed, tools tucked away, Whitebeard’s repaired forge folded down like a secret, and your hair tied back against the sea breeze.

You were standing at the edge of Buggy’s ship, preparing to disembark, when he found you.

Not with trumpets.

Not with shouting.

Just… quietly.

He padded up, fidgeting with his gloves, mouth opening and closing like he was swallowing half a dozen punchlines he couldn’t figure out how to say.

You turned to him. Smiled.

“Well, I survived. And nothing exploded.”

“That was one time,” he muttered, then paused. “…Okay, three.”

You laughed. “You’re not so bad, Buggy.”

He blinked. Visibly startled.

Then huffed, crossing his arms with a dramatic flair. “Don’t say stuff like that. I have a reputation.”

You tilted your head. “A reputation for glitter?”

“For terror,” he corrected, then shoved something toward you before he lost his nerve.

“Here.”

You blinked. Took it.

A pair of gloves. Leather. Worn in, but clearly taken care of. Not fancy—practical. Stitched with thick thread, reinforced at the palms. And painted with little clown motifs around the cuffs that looked very hand-done.

“For your hands,” he said quickly. “Y’know. Sword stuff. Forge stuff. You said you burn yourself sometimes. Which is dumb. But—”

You looked up. He was red under the makeup.

“If you’re wearing something of Shanks,” he muttered, almost pouting, “you should have something of mine, too.”

Your chest ached a little.

You slid the gloves on.

Perfect fit.

You flexed your fingers, then gave him a crooked smile. “Guess I’m part clown now.”

Buggy sniffed. “You wish.”

You stepped into your boat, wind catching your coat—Shanks’ coat—gloves on your hands now, gifted from Buggy, the world’s most dramatic disaster.

You raised a hand as the crew waved behind him, the sky already streaked with twilight.

“Bye, Buggy.”

He tried not to look too soft when he waved back.

“Come back sometime!” he shouted. “Or—or at least send me another knife!”

You turned toward the horizon with a grin.

“Only if you promise not to lick it!”

“NO PROMISES!”

And just like that, you sailed into the night—coat billowing, gloves snug, another piece of yourself tied to another strange, chaotic pirate.

One more ridiculous man thinking of you as you vanished over the waves.

One more string in the web you’d been weaving across the world.

Because the swords weren’t the only ones whispering anymore.

The people were, too.

-

You should have known.

You should have known the peace wouldn’t last.

After so much laughter, after glowing blades and glittery pirates and mango-sweet farewells—you should have known.

Because that night—quiet, star-flecked, soft as silk—you weren’t watching the shadows.

You were watching the sky.

And the Marines?

They were watching you.

You didn’t see it coming.

You’d made camp near a quiet cove, just you and your tools, a small fire crackling while your gloves dried nearby. You were humming softly, a blade resting in your lap, whispering its secrets to you. Not a scream. Not a sob. Just stories.

You liked those nights.

But then came the boots.

The hands.

The sound of metal drawing from sheathes.

By the time you stood, you were surrounded. A circle of white and blue uniforms. Faces like stone. Swords drawn—not for battle, but punishment.

“Don’t move.”

You didn’t.

Not because of fear.

But because you were confused.

“What’s this about?” you asked, even as they stepped forward. “Is this about the Vivre Cards? I can pay a fine.”

One of them grabbed your wrist.

You didn’t resist.

You didn’t have to.

Your Devil Fruit—the Blade-Whisper Whisper Fruit—was never meant for fighting. Never meant for escape. You could talk to swords. Not command them. Not bend them.

You heard their thoughts.

You couldn’t stop the hand that held them.

They didn’t even bother with sea prism cuffs.

Just a chain.

Heavy. Cold. Iron biting your wrists.

You still didn’t understand.

Not until they dragged you through the dark halls of a marine stronghold—some off-the-map fortress you didn’t recognize—and threw you into a stone cell that stank of rust and silence.

You sat there for what felt like hours. Or days.

Time blurred.

When the door finally opened, you looked up.

And the commanding officer stared at you like you were a rabid animal.

“You’ve made too many powerful friends.”

You blinked. “What?”

He stepped closer. “Yonko. Commanders. Warlords. Pirates who listen to you. Trust you. Let you near their weapons. You’ve inserted yourself into dangerous circles.”

You frowned, confused. “I just fix things. I’m not—”

“You are a liability,” he spat. “An information hazard. A rallying point. A walking breach in the balance.”

Your mouth went dry.

“This… this is a mistake.”

He smiled coldly.

“Your execution is in three days.”

You blinked.

“Oh.”

That was all you could say.

Oh.

What a lame way to go.

Not in the belly of a sea king. Not in a dramatic forge fire. Not falling from the heavens on a dragon’s back.

No.

Just… caged. Quiet.

Forgotten.

The beatings came next.

Not to kill.

Just to remind you.

The food stopped coming. The light stopped reaching your cell.

But the swords…

The swords wept.

The ones they used on you—standard issue, factory-forged, barely touched—still cried.

“We’re sorry.”

“We don’t want to hurt you.”

“You helped us.”

“We don’t understand.”

They screamed into your skull with every slash. They begged with every cut. One of them trembled so badly it nicked its wielder’s hand by accident.

And you—shaking, bruised, half-starved—curled into the corner of your cell.

Not from pain.

But from grief.

Because for once, you couldn’t save them.

You couldn’t save any of them.

And the swords cried louder.

-

The sky was grey.

Not stormy—just still. Soft clouds layered like mourning cloth. The air held no heat, no chill. Just quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet where the world already decided you wouldn’t be part of it much longer.

They dragged you from your cell.

Chains still cold around your wrists, boots scraping against broken earth. You didn’t fight. What was the point? You couldn’t out-run this. Couldn’t out-talk it.

You’d been condemned not for what you’d done…

But for who you knew.

For what you meant.

They led you across a clearing—remote, secluded, just as promised. A stage of cracked stone and rotted wood. No crowds. No spectacle. Just an execution out of sight, out of mind.

No one would even know you were here.

You were forced to your knees.

The wooden platform groaned beneath you.

Your hair hung over your face, blood still crusted on your cheek. Your hands—those same hands that used to heal swords and whisper back life into steel—were cuffed and shaking. Bare. Your gloves had been taken.

You stared at the boards below you. At the grains of wood blurred by tears you didn’t have the energy to shed.

How did it come to this?

You remembered a forge. A hammer. The hiss of quenched metal. You remembered laughter. Mango juice. Glitter bombs. Yoru calling you a cretin. Ace sitting beside your fire. Buggy handing you gloves with paint still drying on the cuffs.

You fixed weapons. You listened.

And now—

Now you were a threat?

Your head was yanked forward. Harsh hands. Cold fingers.

The executioner stepped up behind you.

You didn’t even glance at them.

But the blade in their hands—

You heard it.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll make it quick.”

“May you be reborn where blades sing kindly.”

The sword rose.

You closed your eyes.

This is it.

You waited for pain.

Waited for death.

Waited for silence.

But instead—

There was a snap.

A twang.

And then—

Nothing.

You opened your eyes.

The blade hadn’t landed.

It hovered, suspended in air just inches from your neck.

Coated in something translucent. Shimmering.

Sticky.

Your brow furrowed.

“…Gum?”

The executioner tugged, grunted, cursed.

The sword wouldn’t move.

You blinked, slowly lifting your head.

The guards were panicking now, stepping back, scanning the horizon, barking confused orders.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Because in the distance—cutting across the shoreline like a golden sun rising from the sea—

Was a ship.

Bright.

Stupidly shaped.

Roaring across the water like a laughing storm.

At the bow—

A lion’s head.

Wide-grinning.

Majestic.

And familiar.

You stared.

Disbelieving.

A broken whisper tore from your throat.

“…Sunny?”

And then you felt it.

A pressure in the air.

Heavy.

Wild.

Alive.

Something you hadn’t felt since that night on the deck when you joked about squirrels and Zoro’s shirtless mirror routine.

A presence.

Louder than words.

Bigger than life.

It hit you like a wave.

You smiled, broken and stunned.

“Oh my god… they came.”

-

It should have been over.

You were supposed to die.

Quietly. Forgotten. Just another name struck from the record.

But the sword never swung.

And now—now the air was alive.

The ground trembled beneath you as more ships broke the horizon. Not just one. Not two. Dozens.

Your breath hitched.

There—cutting through the waves in bright red, glittering chaos—was Buggy’s ship, music blaring, cannons loaded with fireworks and pride.

Beside it, sleek and elegant as a blade drawn under moonlight—Mihawk’s skiff, the black flag of death fluttering. Yoru vibrated with disdain for the cheap Marine swords around you.

Then—the Red Force, majestic and lazy-looking as ever, but with Shanks standing on the bow, hand on the hilt, eyes glowing with fury.

Behind them—white sails. Big. Towering. Like a ghost.

The Moby Dick.

And Marco was already in the air, flames trailing behind him like a comet of vengeance.

Your head swiveled.

There—the Thousand Sunny, sailing fast and furious, a lion’s grin wide and defiant, as if daring the world to stop it.

“Y–YOU!” the Marine officer barked at no one in particular, “WHAT IS—WHO ARE THESE—”

A glint above.

P-TING!

A sniper round exploded the execution stand’s platform post beside you, splinters flying. The sword fell harmlessly from the executioner’s hands.

Your eyes widened as the line trailed back, far above… to Usopp, standing proud and furious atop the Sunny’s mast, goggles down and sniper locked.

“GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF OUR SMITH!”

And just like that—

Chaos.

The first cannonball exploded against the Marine barricade. Mihawk flicked a hand and split a wall with Yoru like paper. Buggy's crew screamed battle cries like circus performers on bloodthirsty sugar highs. Marco hit the ground in a blaze, and swords all around you sang.

They reached for you in your mind—swords you knew, ones you mended, ones you calmed in the night, ones that once wept in your hands.

“They came.”

“They came for you.”

“We told them.”

You were too stunned to move. Knees buckled. Drenched in confusion and pain.

And then—

Luffy.

He landed in front of you with a crack of rubber and rage, grabbing your chains and snapping them like they were wet twine.

You gasped, falling forward, but he caught you with both arms. You blinked at him, dazed.

“…Luffy?”

He grinned—wide and full of sunshine—but his eyes were glinting with tears and fury.

“We thought we lost you,” he said, voice shaking. “But we didn’t.”

He held up something in his hand.

Tattered.

Crumbling.

A piece of paper—faded, burnt at the edges, barely hanging on.

Your Vivre Card.

Your piece.

You stared at it, realization dawning slow and aching.

And behind Luffy—Sanji, Zoro, Robin, Chopper, Brook, Nami, Franky—every one of them was already in the fray, fighting through Marines like waves parting around fate.

You blinked at the card, hoarse.

“…The cards.”

Luffy nodded. “You gave ‘em out. All of ‘em.”

Your mind reeled.

Buggy had one. Shanks had one. Marco. Mihawk. Crocodile.

Even Crocodile was here, emerging from a haze of sand like a bitter, well-dressed ghost, scowling as if this whole thing inconvenienced him.

You stared in disbelief as he cut down a Marine and snarled, “You owe me blade oil.”

“You all came… for me?”

Luffy beamed. “Duh.”

Around you, the swords howled.

And for the first time in days, you didn’t cry because you were hurt.

You cried because you were loved.

-

The battle was over faster than it had any right to be.

The Marines—outnumbered, outgunned, and out-devotioned—fell like paper before a storm. No one dared call for reinforcements. There wouldn’t have been time.

Now, silence settled heavy over the island. The field smoldered. Ash and heat clung to the air like sweat.

But no one left.

No one moved.

The execution stand was gone, splintered to memory. The only thing left in its place was you—still kneeling, still shaking, surrounded by chaos, legends, gods of the sea—and somehow, still the center of it all.

And that center was tense.

You could feel it—see it in the twitch of Mihawk’s eye as he glanced at Buggy. In the way Crocodile's coat rippled just so, his hook twitching like he was ready to gut someone just to feel control again. Shanks’ hand drifted to his hilt. Zoro’s eyes flicked toward Mihawk like instinct.

The temperature dropped by degrees.

Tension crackled.

A beat away from—

Nothing.

Because the weapons didn’t move.

You felt it in your chest like a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You heard it, too—in that way only you could.

Swords that once burned for blood now hummed with warning.

“No.”

“Not here.”

“Not now.”

Crocodile’s hook didn’t rise. Mihawk’s Yoru sat still. Even Zoro’s trio remained quiet, unflinching.

They weren’t just holding back.

They were… refusing.

You blinked, wide-eyed, gaze sweeping across the deck, the clearing, the battlefield now turned into something else entirely.

The Yonko.

The Warlords.

The villains.

The friends.

All of them were standing here—not because of a bounty. Not because of power. Not even because of war.

But because of you.

You’d fixed their blades. Listened to their swords. Whispered into steel and soot and sorrow. You gave them care when the world only gave them blood.

And now?

They wouldn’t fight.

Because you were in the middle.

You were still kneeling.

Still dazed.

Still…

Breathing.

You finally exhaled, chest tight, everything catching up to you in a crashing wave. The tears started before you realized they’d begun.

A hiccup of relief. Of disbelief.

You laughed once—choked and breathless.

“…Kaido and Big Mom didn’t even show,” you wheezed, shoulders trembling. “Thank god.”

And then your knees buckled.

You didn’t even fall so much as melt—legs weak, vision blurry, the sheer weight of it all crushing down like the sea. The beatings. The cell. The blade. The voices.

The love.

All of it.

Overwhelming.

Surreal.

You were crying. Sobbing. And for the first time in what felt like years—you weren’t crying in fear.

You were crying from happiness.

From shock.

From being alive.

And then hands—so many hands—reached out.

Ace grabbed you first, arms warm with fire and panic. “I got you,” he breathed, frantic.

But Luffy dove at the same time, grabbing your other side. “No—I got them!”

Zoro and Sanji bumped shoulders, both reaching in. “Back off, cook.” “They’re falling, moss-for-brains—”

Buggy flailed, trying to shove past. “MOVE, PEASANTS! I HAVE GLOVES ON THEM!”

Crocodile scowled. “You’re all idiots.” And still tried to lift you.

And Shanks—cool, calm, red-haired menace—just waded in with a smirk, casually elbowing Buggy aside. “Make room.”

There was a loud bonk.

Then a shout.

“STOP TOUCHING ME—”

“YOU TOUCHED ME—”

“OI I SWEAR TO—”

“MAYBE IF YOU WEREN’T SO SLOW—”

The squabble erupted right over your collapsing body, a flurry of elbows, complaints, and one nose honk that definitely came from Buggy.

You couldn’t help it.

You laughed.

Through tears, through the ache in your ribs, through the haze of disbelief—you laughed. Laughed like an idiot.

Because you were alive.

You were held.

You were loved.

And all around you, the greatest pirates on the sea were bumping heads trying to catch you—because somewhere along the way…

You became someone worth saving.

Someone swords wept for.

Someone they couldn’t let go.

And in the middle of it all, dazed and tear-streaked, you whispered:

“…I was just fixing things.”

And Luffy grinned down at you, hugging your side like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.

“You fixed us, too.”

-

The battlefield, if it could still be called that, shimmered with the heat of aftermath.

No one moved to fight.

No one even breathed wrong.

You were cradled in the chaos—held by too many arms, supported by too many hearts—and every direction you looked, someone was there.

Buggy blinking tears behind his nose. Sanji lighting a cigarette with shaking fingers. Zoro’s hand subtly on your back, steady as stone. Ace whispering something soft against your temple. Luffy, just beaming—like this was what he lived for. Crocodile hovering protectively, like he couldn’t figure out why. Shanks, eyes crinkled, quietly watching, letting everyone else have their turn.

And then—

A soft cough behind the crowd.

You turned your head—slow, aching, teary—and saw a black coat flicker at the edge of the circle.

A tattooed hand adjusting a hat.

Law.

He didn’t say anything.

Just offered the tiniest nod, like a secret shared only between those who’d crawled out of death’s mouth and lived to breathe.

Behind him, pirates of all colors and sizes filled the edges of the field—Buggy’s crew grinning ear to ear, Shanks’ lot elbowing each other like proud uncles. Marco hovering mid-air, flickering with flame. Even Whitebeard, impossibly alive, standing tall with a grin like thunder on his face.

“I knew they’d raise hell for you,” he said, voice booming with pride. “Didn’t know it’d be this fun.”

You could barely manage words. Your lips trembled.

“...Thank you,” you whispered. Then louder. “Thank you.”

It was all you had.

The only thing your heart could manage.

But they heard it.

And then—off to the side—Mihawk sighed.

You turned just as he stepped away from the crowd, already walking.

Yoru shifted on his back.

Twitched.

Then—

CLANG.

The sword wrenched itself free of Mihawk’s back and hurled toward you.

Everyone gasped.

You didn’t flinch.

The blade stopped just short of you, quivering mid-air, vibrating with emotion.

You touched it gently.

She sobbed in your mind.

“You’re alive.”

“I missed you.”

“I thought—I thought I’d never hear you again.”

Your breath caught.

“…You split the island.”

“I screamed.”*

“I screamed for you.”

You gripped the hilt with shaking fingers.

The moment shattered like glass.

Because then—

all the swords started trembling.

Rattling.

A chorus of voices poured into your head, overwhelming and deafening, a surge of relief, rage, joy, confusion—

“I felt it!”

“You were hurt—why didn’t they protect you?”

“You promised you’d come back!”

“I knew you wouldn’t die.”

Some blades even sneaked closer—tugging gently from scabbards, sliding across the grass on their own. Like children too shy to approach but too desperate to stay away.

You were crying again—but not because it hurt.

Because it didn’t.

Because you weren’t scared.

And then—

A shift in the air.

Something new.

Gasps all around you.

Sanji froze mid-smoke. Zoro stiffened like lightning hit him. Shanks’ grin faltered.

Because suddenly—

They could hear them too.

Buggy stumbled back, eyes wide. “Wait—wait—was that my dagger just now?! It talked?!”

Zoro’s eye twitched. “Why is Wado saying she likes me now?! I THOUGHT SHE HATED ME—”

Sanji stared at his saber in horror. “Did you always think my shoes were tacky?!”

Shanks blinked down at Gryphon as it whined softly and pressed against his hip.

Crocodile’s hook hummed, grumbling in his ear like a disgruntled dog.

Even Mihawk turned—eyes slightly wide—as he heard Yoru sobbing faintly in a voice no longer just for you.

They were all hearing them.

Their weapons.

Their partners.

Their oldest, sharpest companions—

Speaking.

Because of you.

Because you’d pulled that thread tight enough, tied it through forge and fire, through every repair, every whisper, every kindness.

And now?

The swords were finally heard.

And you?

You were at the center.

Where you’d always belonged.

[ifwebefriends]

Just got back from seeing Elio and AAAAAH IT WAS SO SWEET AND CUTE PLEASE GO SEE IT so I’m just gonna write down all the thoughts I can think of the movie with gradually decreasing coherence (spoilers below)

Honestly it’s so real that Elio in his time of grief got so deeply attached to something that brought him comfort in his darkest times, can relate

I was kinda expecting/dreading Glordon to turn on Elio due to a perceived betrayal due to the whole bargaining chip thing like “was I really your friend at all?” but I was really pleasantly surprised when they didn’t do that! They stayed friends the whole movie!

This is more of a me thing but despite the movie literally being in outer space, the scope of the movie felt smaller than I anticipated? I guess I kinda expected Elio and Glordon to like go on the run hopping from planet to planet and I would have liked to see that, but I’m not faulting the movie itself for it since the marketing wasn’t very good and the movie was really good for what it was

The horror bits! Oh my god. They were so weirdly good and just the right amount of scary for me. The scene where Olga follows clone Elio’s hair down the hall and into Elio’s room had my jaw ON THE FLOOR

LORD GRIGON!!!! - he is the one dad ever who went to therapy he was such a good character it took me COMPLETELY off guard when he ripped his armor off to hold his dying son like MY GASTS WERE FLABBBBEREDDDDDDD it felt the same as that one part in Bluey’s The Sign where Bandit ripped the sign out of the ground IT WAS SO SWEET IM DEAD

I LOVE how Olga wanted to be an astronaut and she did end up going to space in the end I love that for her

The movie kinda like gave me this weird existential feeling of like “are we alone in the universe” but like not in a bad way. I haven’t really thought much about like aliens before but I don’t know, I think this movie might have changed that for me

THE PART WHERE THE ALIENS MESSAGE WAS ON ALL THE SCREENS AAAAAAH I LOVED IT I DONT KNOW WHY BUT I LOVED IT SO MUCH

I really like the whole thing about like “needing” to go into the carapace to become bigger, stronger, scarier so you can participate in the adult’s world but in doing so you lose true connections with people because you can never show your vulnerable soft side again like it feels like an allegory for masking/unmasking it was kinda cool

ELIO AND GLORDON WERE FUCKING ADORABLE AND I LOVE THEM SO MUCH AND I JUST WANT TO LIKE GIVE THEM HOT CHOCOLATE AND BLANKETS IF ANYTHING HAPPENED TO THEM I WOULD BLOW UP THE WHOLE COMMUNIVERSE AND THEN MYSELF

Speaking of the communiverse the ambassadors were cool but like damn when it really came down to it they were kinda useless fr 🤣 (this isn’t a complaint I’m just taking the piss lmao I’m tired)

Oh yeah the universal manual was SO ANNOYED that no one wanted to know the meaning of life and he like sighed every time OMG THIS DIVA I SEE YOU

THE CLONE BODY HORROR WAS ACTUALLY INSANE like clone Elio CUTTING HIS FINGER OFF AND PUTTING IT BACK ON and clone Glordon GETTING FUCKING SHOT and then clone Elio MELTING IN THE ARMS OF THE GUARD IT WAS CRAZY I KINDA LOVED IT

Also it was kinda cool how chill the clones were about everything like clone Glordon was just like “yeah I’m getting put in a murder machine idgaf :)” and clone Elio was like “chat this has been fire but I’m gonna turn into plant fertilizer now byeee 👋”

Oh lord grigon finally snapping during the negotiation bc Elio was insulting him as a parent AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I’M LIKE THAT WAS A COOL DETAIL IN RETROSPECT

Also mad respect to Olga for going off on the Academy ppl like “naw it’s fucked that you let this shit happen to my nephew” YES QUEEN SLAY

I like how Elio like Legend of Zelda’d his way out of the prison cell idk that was just cool to me

“Ok, bye, I love you” AAAAAAAAAH RIJRFNRNRFRB I CANT WITH THAT

Yeah so like, overall, while not Pixar’s best movie, Elio was still a really damn good movie that was just fun and sweet and cute and warmed my cold little heart if you’re like autistic or queer or just like space or like Pixar movies you should really go see it in theaters if you can, we need more original movies like this oh my god

The visuals were also REALLY GOOD it was so pretty to look at

So yeah Elio good movie I saw it and you should too okay bye I love you