#I love Mary I'm gonna get to voice her :3

[tieronecrush]

hot & heavy

chapter twelve: sunshine baby

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 6.7k

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, pet names (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl, mariposa, etc.), feeling familial and self-pressure, established relationship, spanish cause joel is latino, oral (m receiving), dirty talkkk king joel miller, soft joel, possessive joel, mentions of depression and symptoms, struggling with self, discussion of parenting, angst, arguing, i'm sorry </3

a/n: everyone go give @northernbluess all the love for always helping me with beta-ing AND cause we are gonna be writing a fic together :)))) more info on her monthly recap posted the other day xx love ya bestie! y'all enjoy this chapter (i have a feeling it will be RIP to my notifs)

Mid-week, your usual nanny family lets you know that they won’t need you for the day and to take the day off. With no other plans, you decide to visit Joel at his work site for the day to bring him lunch. You throw something together and head out from the neighborhood, calling him on speakerphone. It rings a few times before the line clicks and his voice projects from the small speakers on your cell phone.

“Hi, Mari baby. What’s going on? Is something wrong? You never call when you’re working.” Joel’s side of the line is filled with background noise, men shouting, and construction sounds of hammers, saws, and machinery.

“Hey, J. Nothing’s wrong, I actually have the day off. Kristie called this morning after you left to say she was staying home for the day so I’ve got nothing to do,” you hold up your phone as you come to a stoplight, “So I thought I would come to visit you for a little bit. I made you some lunch. Where are you at today?”

Joel’s smile is evident throughout his response, his voice getting louder to be heard over all the noise, “We’re at the Maple Avenue site. Right at the corner of Lake St. Not too far from home, so I guess I’ll see you soon?”

“I will see you in, like, ten minutes. Already on my way.” The two of you make a bit more conversation before Joel has to hang up, saying that he has to go tell someone ‘how to correctly install a support beam’.

“Alright, gotta go, sweetheart. Love you.”

“Love you too, J. See you soon.”

Exactly ten minutes later, you’re pulling up outside of the work site, confronted with the vague shape of a house with the framing up. You grab the cooler bag from your passenger side and climb out of the car, crossing the road and walking up to the younger of the two Miller brothers that you see standing in front of a table of plans and chatting with an employee.

Tommy looks up and grins when he sees you, clapping the other guy on the back to grab his attention, “Look who it is! Y’know, George, you better tell the guys that they better thank this woman right here — she’s the one who’s made Joel less insufferable.”

With a roll of your eyes, you stride up to Tommy and give him a hug in greeting before stretching out your hand to introduce yourself to George. He excuses himself to get back to his task at hand, leaving you with Tommy and waiting for Joel.

“So what d’ya bring me, sis? If you bring a treat, better have enough to share with the class.” He grins mischievously and reaches for the cooler in your hand.

“Eh, none of that, Tommy! If you ask nicely, I’ll give you the food I so graciously brought for you.” You smile and set the bag on the makeshift table of folding saw horses and a plank of composite. Unzipping the bag, you pull out the extra food you made for Tommy and pass it over, laughing when he pulls you in for a squeezing hug.

“God bless you, Posey, I was gonna have to have a gas station lunch today with the amount of shit we have to get done.”

“Quit squeezin’ the shit out of my girl, Tommy.” Joel’s voice fills your ears and you laugh when Tommy pulls away, happily picking up his sandwich and unwrapping it to take a large bite out of it.

“Hey, just thanking her for feeding me, too. Also, this is good as fuck.” He points to the food in his hand while Joel sidles up next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and kissing the top of your head.

“You’re welcome, Tommy,” you reply, grinning before turning to your side while Joel gently squeezes your shoulder. “Do you have some time for lunch now? Or should I wait around for a bit?”

Joel shakes his head and smiles, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on your lips, “I’ll make time for you whenever, darlin’. Think everyone can survive for a bit without me.”

“Y’all are too much. I’ve never seen my brother like this, Posey. Please continue to keep him happy cause he’s a much better boss these days.” Tommy laughs loudly when Joel shoots him a look of annoyance, the younger Miller turning to head into the framed home to check in on the rest of the work being done. Joel picks up the cooler bag from the table and takes your hand, nodding toward the street.

“C’mon, Mari, we can eat in the truck bed. Probably better than a construction site.”

The two of you sit on the edge of the truck bed, eat, and chat about the day. Joel mentions how much work he has left for the day, clearly stressed about getting enough done before he has to leave to get Sarah. You offer to pick her up from camp and bring her home, planning to make dinner so Joel can stay longer to get some extra tasks checked off his to-do list before the weekend.

After finishing up your meal, the two of you walk back up to the site, Joel taking you on a tour through the bones of the house. He explains the vision for each room and the finishes he’s going to propose to the family building it. You follow along with him, smiling at his enthusiasm as he gestures about bay windows and oak flooring.

When the two of you are standing alone in what will at one point become a bedroom with a view of the tree-lined backyard, Joel pauses and turns to you. Taking your hands in his, he looks down at them as he laces your fingers together before meeting your eyes with a tender smile.

“Y’know, I could build somethin’ like this for us one day. We could find a piece of land we love, maybe a little bit further out of the city to get some more space. Really make it our own…”

A squeeze of his hands reassures him in the moment, matching his sweet smile with your own, “That sounds wonderful, J. But I have to say, I like our house now.”

Your smile grows wider when Joel’s does, his brown eyes catching the midday sunlight and creases at their outer corners deepening along with his dimple. He pulls you into a tighter embrace, kissing you gently before nudging his nose against yours.

“Te amo, mi Mariposa.”

“I love you too, J.”

Music is playing from the CD player when Joel walks through the door later than he usually does. His shoulders are tense, his back is aching, and all he wants to do is sink down onto the couch and relax with you and Sarah. Toeing off his work boots and tossing his keys onto the entryway table, he bites back a smile hearing the slight commotion that is you cooking — some of that noise contributed by Sarah messing around with everything, too. 

The next song clicks over on the tracklist, the beginning notes of ‘Sara’ by Fleetwood Mac, a favorite in the Miller home since his little girl was born. He remembers singing it to her when she was an infant, letting her dance on his toes when she was younger. It’s been a while since he heard it, and walking to the doorway into the kitchen, a wide grin stretches across his face. The deep, dull ache in his muscles lightens at the sight of you dancing with Sarah, singing all of the words to her and her singing along with what she knows.

“Said Sara, you're the poet in my heart…Never change, never stop…” your voice carries over the stereo, Sarah’s popping in on the last two lines. Joel stands to the side, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches the two of you twirl around the island. At one moment, you catch his eyes and beam brightly at him, waving him closer and reaching out a hand for him to join.

He does just that, scooping up Sarah with a grunt to hold her in his arms while you rest a hand on his shoulder and one on Sarah’s back. The three of you move and sing together, the butterfly in Joel’s chest rapidly pounding its wings and bouncing against his rib cage.

This is all that matters, this is what he envisions for his future. Small moments like this, altogether, his girls — and maybe another baby or two.

A simple life.

The next couple of weeks are packed with nights spent between all three of you, weaving your unit tighter together. Board game night with Sorry and Monopoly, and a sore loser Joel who insisted that the official rules be read aloud, even in the instance that his own daughter was the game winner — only just pushing him out of the top spot.

There was another evening spent at the arcade and bowling alley, a rainy day that washed beyond sunset. All of you ran from the truck into the building, shaking off the droplets before weaving your way through the games until the bag of quarters you and Sarah had gathered dwindled completely. A round of bowling was played, Joel being ‘generous’ (his words) to allow the bumpers to be put up for Sarah…and you.

The latest evening, Friday night, was spent alone with Joel while Sarah was at a sleepover. Your parents were out of town with friends for the weekend, and Chris was out with some college buddies who were visiting Austin, leaving the house free for you. Joel came over, crawling into bed with you after another long day at work, and the two of you languidly spent the evening shifting between random conversations, lying together quietly, running ghostly touches over each other until the tension snapped. Intermittently, the air between the two of you would heat up, leading gentle touches to be filled with more pressure and building up until the room was filled with breathy moans and begging.

Joel unravels you once with his hands, another with his mouth; the third time he reaches for you, soft and low pleadings to fill you up, you flip him around onto his back. Trailing kisses down his bare torso, you stop at his waistband and peel away the cotton of his boxers from his sweat-sheened skin. A long sigh deflates his chest when you take him into your mouth, his precum and your saliva mixing in slick as you work your head up and down at a steady pace. He’s propped against your headboard, pillows shifted behind him, and a mesmerized, open-mouthed, and heavy-breathed look on his face as he watches you. His voice hits your ears in your focus on his pleasure, the things he’s compelled to say flooding between your legs all over again.

“Fuck, Mari…”

“Tu puta boca perfecta…(Your perfect fucking mouth…)”

“Such a good girl, a perfect fucking girl. Bet you love this, don’t you, mi zorrita? Love sucking my cock and makin’ me feel so good.”

“Gonna come — oh fuck, sweet girl, gonna let me come down your throat? Let me see you swallow it all, Mari baby?”

Your name leaves his lips in a breathless moan, his come shooting in thick ropes and spilling onto your tongue as he finishes. Lifting your head off of him, you show off the pool of it on your tongue before swallowing it and giggling as he quickly pulls you up for a sloppy kiss.

At the stroke of midnight, the two of you are treading water in your pool, only illuminated by the bulb string lights running across the pool deck. The water is warm from the sunlight simmering over it all day, the perfect bath temperature surrounding your bare bodies as you mess around. Evading Joel’s arms, teasing him as you swim away before he corners you, a satisfied smirk on his face when he stalks up to you and towers over you, tilting your head back with a dripping wet hand. He leans down to kiss you deeply, stealing the air from your lungs with its delicate intensity.

The light bounces off the surface of the water, reflecting in his eyes as you hold his gaze and silence falls over the two of you for a handful of heartbeats.

He speaks in a hushed voice as if any louder would shatter the moment, “M’gonna marry you. Gonna give you whatever kind of life you want — a house, babies, I’d move across the world with you if you wanted. Middle of nowhere. Whatever you want, Mari.”

A smile grows on your face, droplets littering your face as you match his volume, “The only life I want is one with yours.”

It’s morning on a Saturday and you’re rushing around the kitchen, sloshing coffee in your half-full mug and waiting for your toast to pop out. You have only about twenty minutes until you had promised to meet Joel and Sarah at his truck in his driveway, the time counting pressuring you, especially considering you’re still wearing your pajamas and have a bad case of bedhead.

There’s a brief moment to breathe as you take your finished toast out of the toaster and stand in front of the island to butter it, reaching for the jam as your mom walks in from the living room. You glance up at her before continuing your task, passing her a greeting that she returns while refilling her coffee mug.

“Oh, sweetie, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something.” Your mom turns toward you, leaning back against the counter. Your stomach flips at the statement, nerves at the ready to start to hear something along the lines of ‘So you and Joel…’ But that doesn’t come; instead, your mom continues with a different line of questioning. “You know Sherri’s son that was about a year older than you all throughout school?”

“Um, yeah, I think so. Isn’t his name Ollie?”

“Well, he goes by Oliver now, according to his mother, but yeah that’s him.”

Another look is exchanged when you glance up at her, picking up a piece of your quick breakfast and taking a bite. You speak with a mouthful, “Okay, so what about Oliver?”

There’s a look that your mother has given you over the years of being her daughter. It’s a smile, but not any old smile that she gives out willy-nilly. No, this is a smile for specific situations. When she really wants you to hear her out, to do what she’s suggesting — if you can even call it that. Most of the times she’s used it on you, it’s left you no choice but to follow through on what she wanted.

The look on her face is exactly that right now.

Along with that persuasive face, she stands from her place at the counter, striding over to you and resting a hand on your shoulder while she looks you in the eyes.

“Well, sweetie, you have been home for nearly the entire summer and I haven’t seen you with anyone but your college friends a couple of times or Joel and Sarah. And I mean, they’re lovely people, but you probably shouldn’t be spending your entire free time with a nearly ten-year-old girl and her dad…”

Inside, you find yourself flipping straight to anger, ready to defend those two with your life, to defend your actions by telling your mother everything. How Joel isn’t only Sarah’s dad, how he’s the man you’re in love with and have been in love with for the last few years. How Sarah isn’t your ten-year-old next-door neighbor, how she isn’t only a little girl you nannied for a summer. She’s a light in your life, a wonderful addition that you’ve received on top of your love for Joel. Sarah’s become like — like a daughter to you.

All of these words die in your throat, fearing the outcome — disappointment, possibly resentment from Joel, and confusion and likely anger from your parents for keeping such a secret. Instead, you continue to listen to your mother’s request.

“I was talking to Sherri about you, and she said that Oliver moved back from Chicago to Austin this summer, about a month ago, and he’s been looking for some people his age to hang out with — is that what y’all young people call it now? Basically, she said he’s been looking for a girlfriend. I thought, knowing he’s a sweet boy, that maybe you would be interested in meeting up with him?”

“Uh—um, I don’t—” you ramble, feeling your cheeks heat up in the scramble for a legitimate excuse.

“I mean, you don’t have to say anything now. But I got his number from Sherri so I’ve got it if you want to reach out to him. She said she chatted to Ollie—I mean, Oliver, and he said he remembered you and would absolutely be interested in gettin’ reacquainted.”

That same smile paints your mom’s face, tilting you in the direction of simply agreeing to get her to stop. But then your mind flashes you an image of Joel, laying next to him a few nights ago in bed with his boyish grin, giddy like a schoolgirl when you casually said ‘I love you’ to him before going to sleep. That is what you’re thinking of when you address your mother again, a smile of your own on your face from imagining your man.

“I’ll think about it, Mom,” you say, a flat out lie to appease her. You finish up your breakfast and down the rest of your now lukewarm coffee, rushing around her to the basement door leading to your studio. The answer is enough to satiate your mother, her returning with her filled coffee mug to the living room and leaving you to finish your mad dash to get ready for the day.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry! I woke up late and then I was trying to eat breakfast quick and my mom came in and was trying to talk to me and I still had to get ready—” you ramble as you rush across your yard to Joel’s driveway where he is awaiting next to his truck with Sarah already seatbelted in the back row. Joel holds his hands up and laughs, interrupting your train of explanation.

“Woah, woah, slow down, Mariposa. You’re like a minute late, we’ll still make it on time.” He nods to the truck, leading you around to the passenger side and opening the door for you, lending a hand for you to get up. While Joel rounds the front of the car again, you turn around in your seat after belting yourself in, smiling at Sarah.

“Hey, sweet pea. Excited about your softball game?”

“Hi, Posey! I’m excited, but also I know that Daddy’s gonna get annoyed about something the umpire does or the other team, so I’m sure he’ll get yelled at again.” Your head snaps to Joel when he climbs in, guilt all over his face as he cringes. The engine rumbles to life as it turns over, and the three of you start the drive across town to the tournament fields. 

You shake your head and roll your eyes, turning back to Sarah. “Don’t worry about him today, I’ll keep him in line so y’all can have one game without him gettin’ too competitive for you all. You just have fun with your teammates and do your best.”

“Hey, I always want her to jus’ do her best. And I want the other team and the umps to do their best and not make poor calls or crappy plays.”

Sarah laughs at your playful back and forth, the two of you resigning the conversation to listen to the radio. Joel reaches across to take your hand in his, resting them both in your lap while the breeze from the open windows blows your hair around.

Before you know it, Joel is pulling into a parking spot at a park district site, the screams and laughter of children melding with the clink of metal bats and soft thuds of softballs landing in leather gloves. It pulls you back to your childhood, endless summer weekends spent across the state of Texas for your younger brother’s baseball tournaments.

Sarah whips off her seatbelt and scurries out of the car, running across the grass to meet her teammates at the dugout of their assigned field. Joel chuckles to himself and shakes his head, cutting the engine and turning to you.

“Ready to witness some riveting sportsmanship?”

“Well, from what Sarah said, I think I’ll have to keep an eye on you for your sportsmanship. Are you really one of those dads?” You lift an eyebrow, a smirk held back on your face.

“Maybe…”

With a shake of your head, you reach over and pat his thigh, warning him, “Be a good boy, and we’ll get some ice cream after. Deal?”

His thigh tenses under your touch, a quiet puff of a sigh leaving his parted lips. He shakes himself out of the daze, licking his lips and holding your eyes, “Do I get something else if I’m a good boy?”

“Maybe…” You throw his response back at him, peeling your hand from his leg with a satisfied smirk, and climb out of the truck to follow him toward the bleachers. Joel makes a detour to drop Sarah’s bag at the dugout, wishing her luck while you send her a wave from the seating area.

Climbing up a few rows, you shoot a friendly smile to the other parents there, all of them giving you a curious look. Settling on the bench, you rest your hands on either side of you, gripping the bleacher out of anxiety. The sun is beating down on you this afternoon, but it is nothing compared to the scorching stares you can feel from everyone around you, especially the mothers. A cool relief only comes when Joel makes his way over, stopping halfway up to you to chat with a couple that greet him cheerfully. You watch the umpires prepare the field, popping the rubber bases into place. The next moment, you hear your name called, following the sound to see Joel waving you over with a grin.

Carefully climbing down, Joel reaches out a hand when you’re close, helping you down to stand on the aluminum beam in front of him.

Introducing you to the couple seated in front of you, you share a smile with them while Joel’s hand rests on your waist, “This is Adam and Maria, they’re the parents of Sarah’s friend, Katie. Adam and Maria, this is my partner…”

You tune out the rest of the quick introduction when Joel uses your name, feeling a flip of your stomach when he drops the title so nonchalantly. You haven’t heard him say anything but ‘girlfriend’ in a lighthearted manner to Sarah or Tommy, and this feels way different. The word is definite, solid, and much more committed than the flippant terminology.

Getting out of your distraction, you make light small talk with Adam and Maria before Joel excuses the two of you as the game is about to start. He follows you up to the same spot you were holding before, sitting down next to you and tuning into the game immediately. Nothing more is said about how he introduced you, the tiny, one-word difference saying much more to you than any explanation could.

As Sarah’s team takes the field, Joel raises his hands and claps loudly, calling out encouragement, “Let’s go, Comets! Y’all got this!”

Sarah’s positioned at third base, with an ideal view of her from where you’re at on the bleachers. The game’s start is delayed from a change in the other team’s lineup being sorted, the pause in the fanfare causing Joel to turn to you and wrap his arm around your lower back. Wordlessly, he leans in for a chaste kiss, smiling sweetly when he pulls away and pushes his sunglasses back down on his nose.

“Didn’t get to give you a kiss when I first saw you.”

Instead of responding, you lean into his side when the umps break from the circle with the two head coaches and both of your focuses turn to the field with the first batter up.

It’s a fairly standard game until the top of the fifth inning. The field umpire called a batter safe at third after Sarah tagged her first, Joel standing up immediately and gesturing wildly as he yelled toward the field.

“What are you blind, ump? She clearly landed the tag before number twelve’s foot was on the bag. I could see it clear as day from here and I’m way older than you are, kid!”

The umpire crosses his arms, giving Joel a warning look as he strides over. Sarah stands at her base, shifting her weight back and forth uncomfortably as the girl running the bases gives her a glare. You can tell Sarah’s turning into herself, the unwanted attention making her second-guess in the moment. Every young girl has been there before, and it makes your stomach turn knowing the feeling she’s having.

“Sir, I’d appreciate it if you keep your thoughts to yourself and take them up with the head coach at the end of the game. We’re all trying to play a fun and fair game, and I’m calling everything how I see it.” The umpire stands at the fence in front of the bleachers, projecting his voice up to Joel. He can’t be any older than nineteen years old, likely a college kid with a summer job. And definitely not one that pays enough to fight with a man like Joel.

“Calling ‘em how you ‘em? You really must not have great eyesight then, son, ‘cause that was a horrible call. I’ve got reading glasses in my car, d’you think you need ‘em?” The last line gets a few laughs from surrounding parents, and one glance over to Sarah again and you see her talking to her coach, shoulders slumped and arms limp. Her face tells you she’s asking for something, a gesture toward her father standing on the bleachers.

“Sir, if you keep this up, I’m going to have to eject you from the field area.”

Reaching up next to you, you wrap your fingers around Joel’s wrist and tug harshly enough to draw his attention. One look into his eyes with a subtle glare — invisible to most bystanders but communicating everything it needs to in the moment to Joel. He resigns with a sigh, waving his hand up in understanding as he takes his seat again.

Speaking only loud enough for him to hear, you give him a playful pinch and roll your eyes, “We’re leavin’ if you pull shit like that again, ‘cause you’re mortifying your daughter and it’s not a good look to be kicked out of your kid’s little league softball game, J.”

He rolls his eyes in return, the reprimand getting him riled up again, “But that was such a bullshit call, Mari. I couldn’t let the ump—“

“You can and you will. Sarah’s here to have fun, and you’re here to watch her have fun. If she gets serious about wanting to play softball and wants to join a league outside of the park district, have at it arguing with umpires and coaches. Cause you’ll be surrounded with other parents doin’ the same shit.”

“And how d’you know that?”

“I was a witness to the dramas of travel baseball for, like, seven years of my life. Dragged to tournaments for Chris every weekend over the summer. And saw plenty of dads like you.”

Joel laughs and shakes his head, leaning closer to speak low in your ear, “Sweetheart, I don’t think there’s a dad out there who’s like me…At least I hope there isn’t, ‘cause then what’s my appeal to you?”

You snort out a quiet laugh, shoving him away lightly before jesting, “Convenience. Barely had to walk fifty feet to find a hot dad. Didn’t need to prowl the baseball games anymore.”

“Convenience? Is that all it was?” He fakes shock and disappointment, a slow shake of his head until he breaks out into a cheeky grin, “Should’ve moved sooner.”

“Well, not that much earlier, manther.”

“Manther? Enlighten me, Mari.” Joel gives you a curious stare while his arm makes its way around your back again, resting at your lower side next to your ass.

“The male equivalent of a cougar. You’re a manther.” Beaming up at him, you laugh as he pinches your side, acting offended all the while he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“Only for you, Mari baby, only for you.”

The Comets, Sarah’s team, won the game 6-4. To celebrate, the team agreed to meet at the Tastee-Freez nearby to hang out and get some ice cream. The drive there was filled with Sarah and Joel recapping her plays, and a strong scold from the younger Miller about the older’s argument. You kept to yourself, smiling along with the jokes shot between them, sitting back to admire the two of them.

You never could have expected this kind of life with them when you saw their small family moving in from your front living room window. 

Joel reaches over, takes your hand, and links your fingers together with a soft squeeze. When you turn to him, attention focusing away the road in front of you while the truck rolls to a stop at the red light, Joel meets your eyes with a tender look. His mouth lifts at the corners, pursing his lips as he brings your hands up to kiss the back of yours. The small gesture and the glint in his eyes fill your chest with a warm rush of syrupy ooze, enough heat to spread to the rest of your body and between your ribs, and leave you with tingling nerves.

The parking lot is packed when you arrive, Joel opting to park along the side of the road in the mix of grass and gravel. Hopping out of the car, Joel is quick to get around and take your hand again, pressing his lips to the top of your head as the pair of you walk behind Sarah up to the snaking line filled with her teammates and their families.

“Remember our first date here?” Joel inquires, tilting his head with a growing smile.

Chuckling, you nod and reciprocate his smile, “How could I forget? You got a butterscotch-dipped cone, weirdo.”

“Hey, if I remember correctly, you’re the one who polished off my cone and I took yours. So quit knockin’ the butterscotch dip, Mari,” Joel’s voice is dripping with nostalgia, the date you two had two years ago feeling like a lifetime ago. While the line moves forward, you lean back against his chest, and his hands find your sides, skating up and down along the fabric of your sundress. In front of you, you reach out and rest your hands on Sarah’s shoulders, smiling when she leans back into your touch. Her tiny frame sways drowsily in your arms, one of your hands reaching up to play with her curls gently.

“Feelin’ tired, Sare Bear?” Your chin tucks into your neck to look down at her and she looks up, nodding slowly and stretching her arms in front of her. Reaching your arms around her shoulders, you hold her comfortably against her chest, the three of you in a tight-knit row in line. “Well, you’ll get a sugar high from the ice cream and then you can crash at home after you hang with your friends. You just give us the word and we’ll head home, yeah?”

Joel orders for the three of you at the front of the line, refusing your offer to pay and shooing you off to find a spot to sit. Sarah eyes a table of her friends and you nudge her side, nodding and telling her to go sit with them, “I’ll survive with your dad myself, I promise.”

Sarah giggles and jogs off, leaving you to find a spot at a small table for you and Joel. He drops off Sarah’s sundae to her before he makes his way over to you, handing off your chocolate-dipped twist while he keeps his butterscotch cone. It’s always easy conversation for the two of you, discussing plans for the next morning about when to leave to take Sarah to the aquarium and what to do for dinner when you’re home.

Things are simple. Reminiscing on old memories while making new ones, watching Sarah laugh and smile with her friends.

“So, what are you gonna do when she’s a teenager?” You inquire, taking your attention away from Sarah’s posse and focusing back on Joel.

“What am I gonna do? I think you mean what are we gonna do? I’m gonna need all the help I can get, and well, you’re the one who’s been a teenage girl before.” He gestures to your cone with his, and you reach it out to switch with him. Continuing to snack on his vanilla and butterscotch, the two of you talk about what you were like as a teenager and what you think Sarah will be like.

Before you know it, your cones are completely gone and you’re left with a pile of sticky paper napkins. Sarah walks over, plopping down next to Joel on the bench of the picnic table. The three of you chat for a bit longer before heading back to the car, en route to home for the evening.

Sarah’s tucked upstairs in bed, Joel’s sock-covered feet bouncing down the stairs that you hear from your place in the kitchen, finishing up your wipe-down from cleaning up dinner. Joel plops down on the couch as you walk back into the living room, greeting you with a sleepy smile and an arm-lifted to invite you in.

Happily, you cuddle into his side, giggling quietly as he pepper kisses across your profile while you flick on the TV. Mindlessly channel searching, you’re reminded of the conversation with your mother from this morning, and remember how you wanted to tell Joel all about it.

Sitting up and turning to him, you laugh quietly as you start to recollect, “Guess what I forgot to tell you this morning?”

“Hm, what, baby?” Joel answers, trailing his fingers along the bare skin exposed from your camisole.

“My mom came into the kitchen as I was makin’ breakfast and she told me about this kid, well, I guess he’s not a kid anymore, but anyways, this kid from high school that was a year older than me and is my mom’s friend’s son. And she was saying how good he’s doing, how he just moved back here from Chicago and is looking for people to hang out with, and then she gave me this look — oh my god, if you could see this look she does, it’s like she’ll completely shatter if you don’t do what she’s asking of you — and she tells me that she got his number. For me,” you guffaw, shaking your head before continuing, “And I mean, that look, I just couldn’t say no and so I told her I would think about it—”

“You would think about it?” Joel interrupts, sitting up straighter and brow knitting together as his voice grows half a decibel louder.

You squirm in your seat, cringing at the harshness in his voice and inching away to look him in the eyes, “Um, yeah. I mean I couldn’t just come right out and say ‘no’, she would ask me a million questions why.”

“Okay? And?” Joel removes his arm from around your shoulder and tilts his head in disbelief, exhaling out a laugh as he shakes his head.

“And what, Joel? Was I just supposed to tell my mother about us?”

“Well, no, but you could have said somethin’, Mari. That’s not very fair to me—”

“What would you have wanted me to say? You aren’t ready, Joel, or at least that’s what you said, and I have been more than willing to wait but I know my mom and I know she would have picked up on something if I said no.”

“What am I supposed to think when you’re telling me this, too? Like it’s some joke, ‘Ha ha. Isn’t so great and funny my mom tried to set me up with some other guy?’ That’s not funny to me.”

“Oh my god, are you serious right now? It’s not like we’re a joke to me, I just thought it would have been a little bit of a chuckle for us. I don’t want anyone else, Joel, and I thought you would have known that by now. If anything, I should be the one feeling some type of way about having to lie to my mom about my relationship status cause you don’t want to tell them yet.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have the capacity to deal with your parents right now, I’ve got my own business to run and my daughter to take care of and you've got your own shit—”

“Don’t. Don’t even start with that, Joel. You’ve had the same business and daughter for the last two years and you’re still not ready when I’ve fully committed myself to you and been as vulnerable as I possibly can with you. I am trying really fucking hard to get better for you, going to therapy and possibly starting medication. I don’t know what else would make you feel ready. Us being married? We kind of need to tell them before that point. And also, you seem more than ready to tell everyone else in the world. Your daughter knows, your brother knows, random parents at Sarah’s softball game know. Why can’t I share you with the people in my life?”

Joel groans and leans his head back, reaching his hands up to press the heels of his palms against his eyes. You can’t help but roll your eyes, standing up and crossing your arms over your chest as you look down at him on the couch. After a moment of silence, he drops his hands and opens his eyes, looking up at you with a dead stare.

“I can’t do this anymore. Not right now.”

“And when are we supposed to do it?”

“I don’t know, Mari! I. Don’t. Know. But I do know that I can’t do it right now, and I don’t want to do all this right now.”

“Oh, so everything in our relationship is operating on the basis of ‘when you’re ready’.”

“Quit bein’ ugly, this isn’t like us.”

“It doesn’t feel like it right now. I don’t know what else you need to be ready to be fully a part of my life, Joel. We're always going to have shit going on, life is never going to get to a perfect place.”

“Mariposa, I love you, but I don’t want to do this right now. I’m going to bed.” Joel shakes his head to himself again, pushing up from the couch and rounding the coffee table. He brushes against you, hand bracing on your side while he gets past you and heads up the stairs, leaving you in the dark.

Only the glow of the television illuminates the room, tightness in your chest as you glance around the otherwise empty room. Tears fill your eyes, a trembling hand reaching for the remote to turn off the screen and the sound, punishing yourself in the lonely silence for a few minutes before tiptoeing up the stairs. At his open doorway, you tentatively linger within the threshold, Joel’s form slumped on his side but adjusting its position and breathing unsteady — still awake.

Without a sound, he sees you standing there before he lifts the covers, a normally welcoming invitation with a smile and a ‘C’mere, Mari baby.’ Instead, you walk on eggshells to the bed, slipping under the covers before he drops them on top of you, his arm tucking against his side. When you open your mouth to speak, he rolls over, back facing you. As you fall asleep, you study his broad shoulders and the curls at the nape of his neck, itching to reach out and touch him, show him your care, tell him about your love. Apologize for everything, promise to continue the seemingly endless wait until he’s ready. But you tell yourself you have to stand your ground on this and just discuss everything later like he wants.

Later. Always later.

taglist:

@beskarandblasters @undrthelights @swiftispunk @joelsversion @asirenbyanyothername @ellenmunn @ja-ehyun @sw33tp1xie @marisemonteiroo @brunetteeras @bongsrconfusing @addictedtotlou @angie2274 @pedrostories @pedroholic @theelishad @johnwatsn @elissaaa @felicityofbakerstreet @atinylittlepain @northernbluess @cannolighost @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @peppesgirl @pastawench @brittmb115 @anoverwhelmingdin @spishsstuff @wolfbook87 @mswarriorbabe80 @harriedandharassed @decemberdolly @laiisleitte @fierce-bab @vickie5446 @tbniarq @vee-bees-blog @thereaperisabitch @spidermanfrog @belliezz @joelsflannel @cartoon-garbage04 @bianqueee04 @nostalxgic @xyzstar @cumberpegg

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno MayProWriMo, which we're halfway through, whaaaat. take heed: I'm gonna call this one nc-17/nsfw/explicit; also smol cw for John being a middle-aged white dude who tries hard.]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) 16: experiment (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

'The true method of knowledge is experiment.' -- William Blake

John's birthday do turns into a Rosie-themed party, but he doesn't mind. He's chuffed, truth be told. And not at all biased.

Luckily, all the other adults present are also not at all biased, so she has a willing audience for her various toddler antics, and throws herself into them full-speed.

'Perfect,' John says aside to Sherlock as Rosie demonstrates to the twelfth guest how to use her new rocking horse. The thing is solid. 'She'll wear herself down and pass out as soon as I put her to bed.'

Sherlock glances down at him from where he'd been watching a folded-up Stamford give the toy horse a few rocks before listing to one side and plonking down onto the carpet dramatically. 'You have plans?' he deduces easily while Rosie's giggles spin through the air.

John clears his throat. 'Possibly.'

Sherlock's lips curve into a smile, even after he turns his focus back to the room. 'Indeed.'

---

'In the spirit of science, there really is no such thing as a 'failed experiment.' Any test that yields valid data is a valid test.' -- Adam Savage

In true contrarian form, Rosie fights the fight of the exhausted and over-stimulated when John tries to start her bedtime routine after finally shoving all the guests out the door. He gets more water on him than she does during her bath, she ends up with backwards jammies on because she absolutely refuses to wear them any other way, and she has declared her disgust with every single one of their normal bedtime stories before he can blink.

John loves her to the ends of the earth, but he's suddenly feeling some strong nostalgia for his bachelor days. Very strong. Very. Strong.

A few moments before his patience is truly drained to nil, there's a knock on the door and Sherlock sticks his head in. 'Rosamund?' he asks, walking over and meeting her gaze. 'What's all this?'

'Don't want bad story!' she exclaims with watery eyes, like the idea is tantamount to state-sanctioned torture.

Sherlock glances at John, who just shrugs wearily. 'There's no accounting for taste.'

Sherlock snorts. 'Alright, Watsons. Here's the plan. Watson the Elder will go have a bath and some tea, and Watson the Younger will listen attentively while I tell the most riveting story of all time.'

He tucks her blanket back around her and she settles a little at his touch. Then he starts in with That Voice, and she's no match. 'Long ago, there once was a woman named Marie. She was from a land far, far away called Poland.' John makes a noise, and Sherlock in turn makes a shooing motion at him.

Plodding his way down the stairs, John muses that all of Sherlock's Rosie stories have involved female protagonists, usually non-fictional. They're not a particularly outwardly 'woke' bunch, the residents of 221 Baker St, but John reckons it's the little things. Like raising a daughter with heroes like Marie Curie.

It's not something they've even discussed, as her caretakers, and affection for Sherlock hits John hard in the chest. He's the luckiest bastard in the world, he really is.

---

'Argument is conclusive, but it does not remove doubt, so that the mind may rest in the sure knowledge of the truth, unless it finds it by the method of experiment.' -- Roger Bacon

That appreciation is still lingering when John exits the loo in his bathrobe to find Sherlock sprawled on the kitchen table, which is a new one, reading a book that looks about as old as the earth itself.

'Feel better?' he says without lifting his eyes to John.

John nods, approaching him. 'You left out the part where Marie Curie died of radiation poisoning, yes?'

'Obviously,' Sherlock says, easing his legs over the edge of the table until he's sitting on it like a normal person, but still reading. 'That will keep until she's at least four.'

'Right. What's the book about?' John asks as he makes his way between Sherlock's knees.

Sherlock holds up a pointer finger. 'One moment.'

John shakes his head with a small smile, then without really considering it he rolls his palms up Sherlock's thighs. The detective is still wearing his party trousers, fine wool John really doesn't want to know the cost of, and it feels smooth and satisfying under his skin.

He leaves his hands at the top of Sherlock's thighs, pressing lightly into small spaces. Sherlock coughs. 'If you distract me, it'll take even longer.'

John raises his hands. 'Fine, fine. I'll just be in bed.' He lowers his voice a little. 'In your bed.'

Sherlock goes very still, eyes staying glued to the page. But his thighs tighten around John when he tries to back away.

John chuckles, and debates the merits of keeping his hands to himself. But before he's decided, he's interrupted.

'Done,' Sherlock announces loudly, slapping the book shut and putting it down on the table with only a modicum of care. He pulls John into him immediately, but his brow is a little furrowed. 'Do you mean it?'

'We've shared beds before,' John strings him along with.

Sherlock tuts. 'John Watson, don't be coy, it doesn't suit you.'

John sobers, and then nods. 'I want… ' He goes for the plain truth. The opposite of coy. 'I want to sleep in your bed, and I'd prefer it'd be after some orgasms.'

Sherlock makes a noise John's not sure how to interpret.

'If you want,' John adds lightly. 

Crystalline eyes search John's face. 'Aren't you tired?'

His smile blooms slowly. 'Yeah, I am. But not too tired for this.' He reaches up to cradle Sherlock's face in his hands, and kisses him, slow and steady, feeling the beat of his heart.

---

'If I experiment enough, I get a deeper understanding.' -- Terence Tao

The first word gets drawn on Sherlock's right hip.

John's left index finger traces eight letters while his right hand tucks into Sherlock's pants and draws them down and off, his mouth following then trailing along hot, hard skin. He knows Sherlock's watching, and likes the idea that he's being at least a little unpredictable.

He's not done this before, but he's done this before. His tongue, and palate, and salivary glands adjust without much fanfare.

The second word, also eight letters, is then stencilled into Sherlock's right thigh, where the hair is downy, and the tendon cords under John's hand.

'John--' Sherlock murmurs roughly. 'What--'

John, on a whim, tries a thing with his tongue, and Sherlock cuts off with a groan. Then John finds himself so involved he forgets to do the next word until Sherlock pulls him up into a tight embrace.

John lets him, because it leaves him in the perfect position to tongue the ten letters into Sherlock's long, exposed neck.

'John, really. Your penmanship is--' His breath catches as John uses a few teeth. '--terrible.'

John huffs a laugh, genuinely amused. 'Doctor, remember?'

'No excuse,' Sherlock says blithely, then starts pulling away.

John is unashamed to admit he tries to stop him, tries to keep him close. Sherlock's gaze softens, and he leans back in.

'Not going further than this bed,' he says against John's mouth. 'It's just that I have something I wish to do.' He smiles, slow and long, and says, 'You did just have a bath, did you not?'

John searches his face, feeling scorched down to his toes at the implied invitation. His thumb traces the fourth word, only four letters, into the thin skin of Sherlock's unbroken wrist, and Sherlock's eyes widen fractionally.

'Perfect,' Sherlock says, then captures his mouth in another kiss. 'Turn over.'

'Your fracture,' John protests. 'It isn't fully healed.'

Sherlock rolls his eyes, and John is reassured he's still the same as he ever was. 'Which is why you should turn over. I'm going to kneel at the foot of the bed. That alright with you, Doctor?'

 'Oh, hell. Yes.'

The fifth word-- Well, John is surprised it took this long for the tables to turn, really, but the fifth word gets bitten into the rounded flesh where John's upper thigh tucks into his arse, before he has a chance to rise up onto his hands and knees. All seven letters, nibbled precisely into sensitive skin while Sherlock's uninjured hand teases at the goal.

'Jesus God,' John mutters weakly. 'Sherlock--'

'Up,' Sherlock says with a tap. John levers himself into position with a grunt, and barely has time to steady himself before Sherlock licks into him.

'Fuck,' he hisses, almost surging forward but being caught round the hip by Sherlock's good hand, steadied.

And then absolutely taken apart.

'Sher--' he falters, ages and a moment later, panting and trying to hold onto his clanging heart. 'Please, come here, I want-- I want you to come with me-- Oh, fuck.''

Sherlock's groan reverberates into him, and John falls onto his forearms, arse held in the air purely by strength of will. He'll congratulate himself later.

When Sherlock pulls away and climbs back onto the bed, John is caught in a messy web of lust and turns over just enough to pull Sherlock down onto his side. 'Please,' he says roughly, reaching for Sherlock's prick. 'Can I--'

'Yes,' Sherlock hisses, seeking out reciprocation. 'Whatever you want.'

And they sync up without too much struggle, racing to bring the other pleasure, and John can't quite remain tethered when he feels Sherlock's tongue tracing the sixth word over his heart. 'Sherlock,' he whispers. He tenses, and it's over; he's awash with sensation and floating away.

---

Seven steps of the scientific method: 1) Question 2) Research 3) Hypothesis 4) Test 5) Analyse 6) Conclusions 7) Communicate.

'You know,' Sherlock says enough moments later that John can focus on him again. 'The seventh step is debatable.'

John smirks sleepily, reaching blindly for his pants to wipe the majority of the evidence off their skin. 'I'd say communication is the most important part, actually.'

Sherlock huffs; John feels it on his temple and decides he's not moving for a while. And it takes a while for Sherlock to say what John can tell is brewing in his mind, anyway. It's alright. He can wait.

'What was that about, truly?' Sherlock finally asks quietly.

'Well,' John says, thinking as he traces figures, meaningless figures this time, into Sherlock's arm. 'Sometimes experiments are about demonstrating a known fact that’s already proven. '

'And this one proved…?'

John's hand comes to a stop. 'Oh, come on, you know what.'

Silence stretches after that statement, and John finally raises his eyes to meet Sherlock's. A smile spreads across his face at what he sees there.

'Just that I love the hell out of you,' he says matter-of-factly.

Sherlock lets out a stream of breath he'd apparently been holding. 'A reasonable conclusion,' he mutters, bringing their mouths together.

John grins, knowing exactly what Sherlock is saying with those words, and lets him have it.

[❤️]

[uncouth-the-fifth]

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

read it on ao3.

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

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 4th.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me,” you push.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mom is just as skilled at spoiling the moment.

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

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

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

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

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

You snap your phone shut and follow him inside.

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam pulls a face. “Final Destination style?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

INDIANAPOLIS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - Dec. 4th, night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FLIGHT 424 - Dec. 4th.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He twists to meet eyes with you. Expecting you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt that static every time you felt Sam.

_

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

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

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

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

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

Until you’d felt that demon with your Gift.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You need to be sure. Consequences be damned.

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

_

She died screaming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even now, she’s still burning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 5th, night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s—”

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

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

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

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

You mumble something non-committal under your breath.

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

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

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

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

In. Bzzzsh. Out. Bzzzsh.

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

[paintbrushnebula]

Here's a buncha my personal Gwen Stacy Headcanons that no one asked for but I'm giving anyway :3 I wrote a Butt Ton and I hope y'all like really 'em 🐧

Gwen was a very tough, reckless kid growing up. She tripped and fell a LOT because she liked doing stunts and parkouring on literally everything, but she'd never cry. George was always scared of Gwen getting hurt from her stunts but he was impressed (if a little freaked) by how she'd get right back up afterward like it was nothing. Gwen was just a very naturally durable child. She'd always have at least one band-aid on her somewhere.

(My sister wrote this one): As a result of her absolutely Tasmanian devil type recklessness, George would cut her hair SUPER short as a child, like pixie hair type short to avoid having to always wash out the bugs and dirt and leaves and wood chips and literally anything she grabs and just goes "Savin this for later yo" in her hair. (She still stuck stuff in her hair and honestly liked the short hair better cuz she could run faster, but ey it reduced the expenses on baby shampoo SIGNIFICANTLY) n she wasn't allowed to grow her scruffy little spike head hair long again till she was like 8 poor georgie was struggling for ideas he's just a guy HES JUST A GUY MAN !!!!!

Gwen begged George for a penguin as a pet when she was 5 but was told that penguins can't be pets. She played club penguin almost every day until middle school. She starts playing it again after they defeat the Spot. Margo plays it with her all the time. Gwen was absolutely appalled when she discovered that Club Penguin is discontinued in Miles' universe.

Yeah she's 100% patching things up with Glory, Em Jay, and Betty after Beyond the Spiderverse. The Mary Janes become a successful niche band very quickly now that Gwen is fully committed and she even performs as lead vocalist every now and then. Gwen eventually starts writing and singing songs of her own for their shows. She also starts spending more time with them outside the band.

Gwen and Peter's favorite childhood activity was making home videos. Peter's videos emulate Bill Nye the Science Guy; he'd showcase all these experiments/prepared presentations and ramble on about them pretending he's this world renowned scientist. Gwen's videos are her doing crazy stunts on her skateboard, or inspecting exotic bugs/lizards with her bare heckin' hands and talking to them in funny voices. They'd each film the other's videos. They stopped making them when they reached middle school; life just got harder for the both of them due to increased bullying, Gwen becoming Spider-Woman, and Peter's mental health getting worse. Gwen still has their old video camera with all their videos still intact, but since Peter's death, she hasn't been able to bring herself to watch them again.

She loves saying "yell heah"/"yell hes"/"what the yell"/"aw yellll nahhh" a lot

Big fan of action/neo-noir/crime thriller movies: John Wick, Sicario, Baby Driver, Nightcrawler, Pulp Fiction, Batman, etc. Just any piece of fiction with Misunderstood Action Person who's always On The Run, hunted by the law but just trying to get by, struggling to survive in an unjust system. Toootallllyyy doesn't hit close to home for her.

PC gamer? Yell hes.

She's a surprisingly talented voice artist/impressionist with impressive range. She already figured out how to perfectly mimic Hobie's cockney British accent after like a week. She never forgets a voice and can do quickly do impressions of lots of famous fictional characters. She'll come up with all these funny voices to make Miles laugh or prank call people. She LOVES prank calling people.

Part of George's motivation for letting Gwen take up ballet was so that she could learn proper balance/coordination so she'd be more careful when performing all her stunts. I think that Gwen used to be naturally clumsy until ballet taught her proper agility. He thought that if she was gonna be a little daredevil, then she could at least be able to catch herself before her face is slamming into the pavement.

Gwen is a big nickname-giver. She calls Miles "Bambi" (he looks like a baby deer to her), Margo is "Mars Bar", Peni is "Panini", and Pav is "Pavlova." She mostly nicknames people after food really.

She's not really a candy person but she is definitely a junk food person. M&Ms, Cool Ranch Doritos, Pringles, soft drinks (favors coke), Reese's, Cheez-its (her favorite), Oreos, and your typical fast foods.

After the Spot fiasco is over and she and Miles are months into their relationship, Gwen starts putting on a bit of weight. Not that much, but her form fills out enough to be noticeable. I like the idea that she becomes so happy with herself post-Beyond that she indulges herself a little, yknow? She takes an immediate liking to Rio's food and Rio is always giving her extra leftovers to take home or packs her something to eat during Spider-missions. She doesn't become aware of the extra weight until Miles' clothes start fitting her a little tighter than she remembers (he's very skinny after all). She's very happy with her new shape and chooses not to lose it (mostly because she refuses to have to eat less which honestly same)

Going back to the home video headcanon; Peter actually recorded one last video the night before the prom. In the video, he presents the vial containing the lizard serum to the viewer and explains his plan to drink the serum so he can get revenge on everyone who bullied him at the school. The way Peter enthusiastically presents his plan in the video is eerily similar to the old science videos he recorded as a child. At the end of the video, he rambles about how excited he is to become "special like her," but he doesn't elaborate further; anyone who isn't Gwen won't know who he's talking about. Since Gwen hasn't opened that video camera to this day, she has no idea the video exists (I don't know if she ever sees it).

I'll post the next part of that 'Gwen Stacy is Sick' comic tomorrow I promise XD

[starsunderwaterr]

Comfort with the Idols + Agents! (pt. 1)

Hey guys! I really do apologize for the late posts. Trying to manage my time better. Not even gonna hold you all, my week's been pretty ass, and I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we could all use a little bit of comfort from our favorite cephalopods. Enjoy guys, love you ♡

I'll just be doing Squid Sisters for this part bc I am currently on a plane traveling home and I am off the extremely desired two hours bro

All characters are 18+

Minors DNI

Callie!

Welp

Girlie knows exactly when you’re upset

She can just read you that good because she’s the same way way herself

She can tell when you’re upset based on your body language, and she’ll do her best to be there for you

She’ll start by sending a few texts, but of course, it depends on the situation

‘Heyyy!! I noticed you were really off today and I just wanted to make sure you were feeling okay!!! (≧◡≦) ♡ let me know if there’s anything I can do to help!! ♡ ♡’

She doesn’t always want to press, but if you let her in, she’ll be all over you (in a good way)

Anything you need, she’ll get, and she means it

Water, candy, your favorite takeout place, a gun

In all seriousness, if you ask her to come over, she will bring a whole bunch of your favorite comfort things, go on a whole spending spree just for you so that you can feel better

She's definitely gonna make you something hot and warm, grab a blanket, and sit down with you on the couch to talk

Will take your hands and hold them with such gentle care omg>>>

Her hands are also super soft???? Like, girlie takes such good care of her skin

So she's holding your hands and she's just looking at you in your lil sad burrito

The softest voice, "Hey, it's gonna be alright. Tell me what's going on..."

You can't help but tell her, she's just so comfortable to be around

Halfway through telling her, you burst into a sob, and instantly her arms are around you

Will hold you gently but securely so that you feel safe

Will rub your back and kiss your head

Is like,,,, scarily calm but genuinely worried about you, especially because it's not every day that you break down in her arms

“It’s okay to cry, (Y/N). Just let it out. I’m here.”

Her voice is always so gentle and calming, and she’s surprisingly a good listener when things get serious

Holds you until you tire yourself out, and even then, she’s not going to let go unless you make the move or say so

And she’s really going out of her comfort zone for you, since she gets extremely antsy after sitting for long periods of time, so she really does care for you

Will stay with you for however long you need, grabs you anything you ask for

Will try to sympathize with you through her own stories and whatnot

“You don’t ever have to hide it from me because eventually I will figure it out anyways!”

Okay nah but like why is it actually cute when she threatens you like that

Causes your chest to swell just a tad

Will literally stare at you before saying like the sweetest/most adorable thing ever

"You know I'm really happy I met you. I know I don't say it enough but thank you for being my friend and so much more."

Will literally bring you to tears like-

You had a bad day but your girlfriend just swoops in and brings you a care package, cuddles, AND A HEARTFELT MESSAGE LIKE HUH??????

We fr love Callie, she a real one <3

Marie!

So, Marie is observant, but maybe not in the way you'd think

She will notice changes in your behavior, but she doesn't say anything until it concerns her (AKA when she can get enough evidence to tell that you are not normal HDSHHHD)

Will notice you get either really quiet or way too bubbly (even if you are naturally)

Eyes you suspiciously and will stare into your soul before then having her aha moment

“So there is something wrong, you just didn’t want to tell me.”

You can’t really keep a poker face after that, I’m afraid

She’ll stare into your soul and glare at you (lovingly, of course) with her arms crossed over her chest

“Come on, (Y/N). Can’t fool me with that crap.”

Will soften up though once you respond, especially if you try to push her away or get snappy

“You don’t have to tell me, of course, but… I am worried about you.”

If you want your space, she’ll leave you be, but she’ll check up on you after a few hours

She knows the importance of and loves her alone time, so if you want it, she will, by all means, give it to you

After a few hours, she stands in the doorway, knocking softly on the doorframe, “Hey (Y/N)?”

Marie is usually very dry and nonchalant, but she has some care in her voice

Will look at you with soft, saddened eyes as you’re in your little sad burrito, trying to remain as gentle as she can be

Walks over and just scoops you up, even if you're heavier than her, SHE'LL MAKE IT WORK OKAY-

Holds you in her lap and will cradle you close

and yes her face is bright red and she's embarrassed but she's doing this for you bro

Will gently stroke your head and kind of hum gently as she does

I see Marie as a sort of grandma type (I mean, Callie calls her one all the time-) so I can see her literally holding you and crotcheting or something while you just relax against her

Will occasionally mumble something about a stitch pattern and kiss your head, or she'll talk quietly with you as she does it and holds you

Might crack the occasional joke to try and cheer you up

Will be stitching you a little cat/bunny hat, will look back at it, then at you, then back at it again, then back at you and just-

"Yeah, you'll look reallll ugly in this.-"

LIKE MS. GOWRL-

Will give you a look like YOU DID SOMETHING LIKE WHAT-

It works tho bc girlie gets you giggling out of pure confusion and caught-off-guardness (yes, that's a word bc i said so)

She doesn't actually mean it tho, I mean, come on, you're her partner of course she thinks you're gorgeous

Obvi if you're really upset she won't say that, but her dry and emotionless humor is a love language she uses to try and cheer you up

She loves you fr fr <3

[shininglynxie]

Alright, now that the English version of the Now or Never Seven song is out, I'm gonna share my thoughts and analyze it a bit.

Spoilers ahead! In case you haven't listened to it yet, you can watch the video here. If you'd like to hear the song in-game first, I reccomend skipping the post entirely.

I'll get my general impressions on Three Wishes out of the way first and then share my analysis of the lyrics.

I really like how this song starts with the idols that are always on the left during the news singing, with the ones that are usually on the right following, and then all of them singing in unison! It's just really cool to hear!

I really enjoy how they've tackled the themes of past, present, and future in each of the idols' verses. My favourite would have to be Deep Cut's, though, as their verse tackles the future from an almosst folk tale-like perspective, which is very in character for Deep Cut and their music. I also love that each idol gets to showcase their individual singing styles in their groups respective verses. All of the harmonies that idols share in this song are lovely! It's just so great to hear all of their voices together like that. This one harmony they have in the end is the best one ,though. It's just so beautiful!

Now I wanna highlight some one-off things I like about some parts of this song.

I really enjoy Pearl's rap part! Her lines feel very in character for her, and I love that!

These Deep Cut lines are also very cute and sweet! They really show just how close their bond is!

Now, let's do some lyric analysis. All of this is just gonna be my thoughts and ideas. I can't know for sure what the exact intentions behind any of these lyrics was.

We're starting off with the Squid Sisters' verse.

"We've come far, you and I, on our journey" - This line to me seems to be a nod to the more mature characterization that the Squid Sister have in Splatoon 3. Alongside, naturally, acknowledging the fact that they're longstanding Splatoon characters.

"Did you think back then we'd be here? Guiding others in our shoes?" - This line feels like the Squid Sisters directly acknowledging the people right around them - Off the Hook and Deepcut - other idols, who were no doubt inspired by them. Besides that, this lyric also almost feels like an acknowledgment of all the octarians, who the Squid Sisters have guided with their performances of Calamari Inkantation.

"Words you write, line by line, showing us your sights. Passed down to us so we sing them today, we feel you still." - These lines seem to be a nod to Callie and Marie's heritage in the Calamari County, as well as Calamari Inkantation, as it is a song that was passed down onto Callie and Marie that they still sing to this day.

Now it's time for Off the Hook.

Let's get the obvious out of the way first. Here are all of the lyrics that show just how gay Pearl and Marina are for each other: "My brightly burning radiance drew you to me", "I've been searching, all of my life, finally I've found my north star. My heart's synced up, a satellite, orbiting wherever you are.", "With you, nothing can stand in my way", "Having you by my side makes today perfect."

The line "My heart's synced up, a satellite, orbiting wherever you are." could also be a reference to Off the Hook's space-themed Splatoon 3 outfits

Lastly, it's Deep Cut's verse.

Like I mentioned above, it seems to me that Deep Cut's lyrics here are very folklore inspired, and they talk about the future from this sort of fantastical fictional perspective.

Like, for example, the hardships that you may face in the future are seemingly likened to monsters and forces of evil in such lines as: "Till we reach the lair where evil lies in wait!" and "The monsters that we face ahead?".

Shiver and Frye seem to almost put themselves in the shoes of the hero of a folk story in these lyrics in general.

The use of the word journey in the line "What in the world could be at the journey's end?" makes me think of the hero's journey which is a common story structure in folk tales.

The line "What will we find in the land beyond the sands?" treats the future almost like a goal to be reached by the hero of a tale.

Whew, that's it, I think. All in all, I absolutely love this song, and I'm very excited to hear all the other Grand Fest music that will undoubtedly be a part of it!

If you've read all the way until the end, thank you! If you enjoyed this ramble of mine, I do suggest you stick around, as this won't be the last. I'm sure of it.

[acesofspadess]

Start of Something New

a/n so it starts!!!!!!!!

Worth The Risk Masterlist

summary: An early morning start leads to the start of something new...

The comfort of your best friend's bed would always amaze you. She had the perfect princess bed, the perfect princess room. It must have been nice growing up like a princess. You wouldn’t know. You didn’t have a sob story family, not really you'd say. You lived with your grandparents, your birth parents were never in the picture. Your grandparents spoiled you the best they could, which was more than enough for you, but it was nowhere near Beverly’s lifestyle, but you still got a lot.

It seemed this aspect is what brought you two together. You met in Year 7 when you complimented her Mary Janes. You ended up sitting next to each other and 3 months later for your birthday she bought you a matching pair. When her birthday came around you crocheted her a sweater using her favourite colours. She wore it almost everyday that it was cold. 

Beverly’s brother Bentely, was 2 years older than you both and welcomed you into the family like his own sister. You had pretty young grandparents thankfully, and the Williams absolutely loved them. The Williams on year as a Christmas gift helped renovate some of the stuff in your house to better the home, but kept it in a way their seemed nothing changed at all. You were a short train ride away from your home in Hazel Grove to the Williams in central Manchester, so you were always switching houses.

Because of that, it was well known to the Williams siblings how much you were always singing, even when you tried to hide it. 

“Autumn, wake up.” Beverly shook you as you slowly opened your eyes. You expected to see the sun glaring at you through the window, but it wasn’t. “What time is it Bev?” you had a deeper voice to begin with, but with the lack of use and sleepiness it sounded like you just came from a rave. “Early. Now get up and put some clothes on, we've got a surprise for you.”

“Who is we?” 

~~~

Bev was truly a blessing, she had taken every measure to learn how to deal with your curls. You now guessed her wanting to wash and braid your hair overnight was for whatever you were currently getting ready for.

“Good Morning Fall, a fine July 10th no?.” you were met at the bottom of the stairs with Bentely. “Are you in on this too then?” he nodded, handing you a mug of tea. “Thank you Meadow, and why was the date needed?.” you teased using his fake name. He called you ‘Fall’ a play on your name and you called him 'Meadow', the meaning of his name. 

“Okay are we ready?” Beverly trotted down the stairs holding two shirts. “What are the shirts for?” you asked noting that one of you would not be wearing it, and you had a strange feeling it was you. “Oh me and Ben are gonna change when we get there. You got your keys?” She directed the last bit towards her brother who shook them for her to see. “Okay lets go.”

“Go where?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It didn’t take long for you to realise where you were going when the stadium popped into view. “You two are taking the piss right now. Why are we here?” you started panicking. You were at the Fountain Studios, the place of the X-Factor. “Surprise!” Bev cheered from the passenger seat handing you a travel cup with steaming tea inside. “Meadow, why didn’t you tell me?” you whined and he laughed. “Mom paid me,” he shrugged. And you groaned. “Mom’s in on this too? I don’t even know what to sing.”

“New York State Of Mind.”

They both said at the same time and you threw your head back against the back seat. “I'm gonna fail.” you cried and Bev rested her hand on your knee. “If you don’t make it through we’ll take you shopping.” You shrugged her hand off with a laugh. You finished your tea and walked through the lot to get in line. You were singing to the siblings as you walked through the long line. It felt like forever and no time at all before you were getting your paper with your number on it. “230408. When you get famous I wonder how many people are going to get tattoos of it.” Bentley joked and you laughed, “You have to get it first though.” 

The rest of the wait had you nervous until you ran into someone. “I’m so sorry I wasn't paying attention.” you immediately started apologising. “No you’re alright.” he laughed and you joined him. “Autumn.” you held your hand out. “Harry.” he shook your hand before you introduced who you guys were with. You all chatted on until the very last moment, you even met a boy named Zayn whom you had taken a picture with. You and Harry had little interviews shot and were giggling the whole time. 

Harry went right before you and you were there to give him a hug when he came off stage headed to the next round.

You were next and the siblings made sure to give you a hug before you went on. “Youll do great.” Bev whispered before you were walking on stage. You were met with cheers from the audience and you felt really good for just those 5 seconds.

“Hello.” you spoke into the mic looking at the three judges. “Nice to meet you, what's your name?” 

“Um, I’m Autumn Solace.” When you said it you heard cheers and wondered if it was from Zayn and Harry’s familly. Simon looked back at the audience and you smiled. “How old are you Autumn? Nicole asked before Simon.

“I’m 15.” everyone awed as you said it and you smiled bashfully. “Okay so tell me a bit about you.” Simon asked and you wracked your brain for any information. “I work at an  ice cream shop on Saturdays but I make clothes in my free time” you decided to say, to which Simon looked surprised. “What kind of clothes do you make?” Nicole asked and you turned to her. “All kinds really, I made my best friend a knitted sweater, but I'll put old clothes together to make something new.”

“When do you have time to do all this with school?” she gasped confused. “Well I just finished my GCSEs so I'm going back to college in September.” the audience gasped because you were a year early. “Wow, and what are you gonna study?” Simon spoke up instead of Nicole.

“I want to study Business, Law, and Physcology, and maybe an art,  I'm not sure yet.” Everyone cheered and Simon looked shocked. “So what are you doing here?” he questioned. “Um, my best friend signed me up without telling me. She knew I wanted to go on but would never sign up myself.” 

“Why did you want to come on this show?”

“My mum said I was a good singer. And my friends thinks so.”

“Okay well mums usually don’t know.” Everyone, including you, laughed. “Well exactly, so I wanted to hear it from people who know.” Simon seemed to like your response, “do you think you can do it?” 

You thought for a second, “I think I can do it for where I’m at, but with help I'm sure I can do a lot better.” Suck up to them, you heard Bev’s voice through your head. “Okay, what are you going to be singing?” 

You looked to Bev and she nodded, “New York State of Mind, by Billy Joel.” The audience clapped and the judges looked shocked. “Okay, let's hear it.” 

The ending of one of your favorite songs played and you waited for your part to come up

It comes down to reality

And it's fine with me 'cause I've let it slide

Don't care if it's Chinatown or up on Riverside

As you changed into higher pitch the audience cheered and you kept going

I don't have any reasons

I've left them all behind

I'm in a New York 

The riff came naturally and you surprised everyone including yourself

State of mind

You held onto the last note as the music finalised and the room went up in applause.  You gave a short bow as Simon asked Louis what he thought. “I'm glad we got to hear your voice in such a song. For 15 you have such a nice voice.” He complimented you and you smiled. “Thank you.” 

When Simon asked Nicole you knew it wasn’t good by her face. “I mean I agree with Louis but I think you're still so young, you don’t have enough experience or confidence yet.” you thanked her still as the audience booed him. “Yeah someone in the audience just said rubbish and I have to agree with them.” Simon replied and you couldn’t help the grin that painted your face. “Cause you know, the show is designed to find someone like you, whether you're 15, 16, it doesn’t matter. I think with just time you can be really good.” Hearing those words was unbelievable from someone of his power. “Thank you so much.” The audience cheered loudly before Simon was going down the line.

“Louis?”

“I like you Autumn, so i'm going to say yes ”

“Nicole?”

“For all the right reasons, I'm going to say no.” The boo’s that go around were louder and more proficient.

“I don’t think they booed you loud enough there.” Simon egged on the audience who booed once again but louder.  

“And I think you’ll be happy to be hearing,” Simon started and you froze. “That I agree with Louis.” the music played again as you thanked them with a big smile. “Thank you so much!” and you walked off stage into Beverly’s awaiting arms. When Bentley hugged you he spun you around and you laughed with tears clouding your eyes. “We told you you could do it!” you laughed all together and as you headed to walk out you saw Harry and his family. 

“Congratulations!” Anne was the first to spot you and pull you in for a hug. You immediately felt at home in her arms. “Thank you so much.” you pulled back from her and waved to Harry who finally came over to you. “You did really good.” he shyly answered to your beckon. “You did amazing your self.” You watched as he blushed looking down. “Ill see you around then yeah?” you asked and when he nodded you gave him a side hug before you being pulled away by Bentley saying Beverly was ready to go shopping. You turned around last minute to see him smiling with his family before looking back up at you and you smiled before he was out of your sight.

Worth The Risk Masterlist

tags:

@youcan-nolonger-run @ravenclawdirectioner

@luxiorchive @maeflowers653  @purple9950 @forkmeniall @nathalielovesonedirection @hopsydaisy @shortie-niya 

[lousypotatoes]

But They're Always Tryin' To Waste Me

Pt. 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

Song Recommendation:

Mary On A Cross - Ghost

"So what'd ya think?"

"I'm sorry, but what the fuck was that!?"

"You call that a commercial? Seriously what in the actual fuck is wrong with you!?"

Y/N and Vaggie glared at Alastor in anger.

Charlie and Vaggie were sitting on the couch, while Y/N was standing to the side, the three of them just finished watching Alastor's terrible commercial.

"Uh yeah, one note..." Charlie said awkwardly. "Alastor I mean - First off, thank you so much for making this, seriously amazing, but um maybe the tone is a bit...off?"

"A bit? He made the hotel look like a complete joke!" Y/N said.

"We want people to want to come here," Charlie explained. "This makes it look ummm..."

"Bad," Vaggie bluntly said. "The word you're looking for is bad.

Y/N nodded in agreement.

"Funny, I was going for hilarious!" Alastor said.

"It explained nothing about how we're trying to save these sinners," Y/N spat. "Which is the whole fucking point, by the way."

"Y/N is right, Alastor." Charlie reasoned. "The commercial was to let sinners know we are trying to help them."

"Well, my dear, I haven't been active in Hell for some time, and everyone remembers me from my radio show!" Alastor said. "The proper medium to express oneself! But you insisted on this noisy picture box advertisement, so I had a little fun with it."

"Oh fun. You had a little fun with it?" Vaggie snarled. "Well, this is not what we want to represent us. When you showed up here a week ago, you told us you would help run this hotel!"

"Instead, you're mocking us," Y/N added, her arms crossed. "No one's gonna come to a place where a powerful Overlord like you thinks is a fucking joke!"

Suddenly, Angel raised his gloved hand.

"What now?" Y/N groaned.

"If'n ya filmin' a commercial," Angel Dust said. "Can I suggest you take better advantage of the talented celebrity you have right here?"

"Angel, you're a porn star." Vaggie said.

"A famous porn star!" Angel corrected. "I'll have the horniest sinners knockin' down these walls to get in!"

"For the last time, we are not filming you sucking another's guy dick as a commercial!" Isabell said tiredly, getting up and walking over to the bar, needing a drink.

"Why not? Sex sells, don't it?" Angel asked. "I swear if you film goin' at it with mister fancy talk-creepy voice here, you'd be rollin' in participants willin' to stay at this tacky hotel."

"Haha! Never going to happen!" Alastor laughed.

"What'll it be?" Husk asked, wiping down the counter.

"Literally anything that makes me forget about Alastor." Y/N groaned.

"Now you know how I feel," Husk grumbled, pouring Isabell a glass of scotch.

"Mmm, that's good," Y/N hummed in delight, finishing the whole thing. "Pour me some more, please."

"Alright," Husk said, pouring more into the glass.

"Hey, I have a question." Angel said suddenly. "If freaky face over there is so powerful, then why can't he just make people stay here?"

"Oh, trust me, I can!" Alastor said ominously.

"Why do you think I'm here?" Husk said. "You actually think I'd be cleaning bottles and listening to you fuck's bitch and moan all the time if he wasn't forcin' me?"

"I like being forced." Niffty said suddenly, making Y/N almost spit out her drink.

"Keep that to yourself, Niff." Husk said.

"What, you don't love being here with me, Whiskers?" Angel asked.

"Call me "Whiskers" again and I'll jam that bottle down your throat! Husk exclaimed.

"Kinky," Angel said suggestively. "C'mon keep talkin' dirty."

"Angel, please let Husk do his fucking job," Y/N sighed. "And no, we can't force sinners to stay here, they have to choose to."

"I'm choosing to be here, and I think it's all stupid," Angel said. "We're in Hell, Toots. That's kind of the end of the road, ain't it?"

"Well, maybe it doesn't have to be." Vaggie said. "Just because nobody has made it out before doesn't mean it's not possible."

"And if you think it's stupid, why don't you just leave then?" Y/N asked.

"'Cause I need a place to crash and crack's expensive." Angel answered.

"Of course you would say something like that." Y/N scoffed.

"Vaggie! Y/N! Holy shit!" Charlie exclaimed suddenly.

"Ahh! What?" Y/N and Vaggie said at the same time.

"Get over here!" Charlie said, gesturing for them to follow her.

"What's going on?" Y/N asked as her and Vaggie followed Charlie.

"My dad just called. He said that the leader of the Angel Army wants to meet. He asked if I could go instead." Charlie said, very fast.

"But-But the extermination just happened," Vaggie said. "What could they want this soon after--

~cue music~

Charlie: I can do this, somehow, I know it. I'll get Heaven behind my plan.

Vaggie: Charlie wait!

Charlie: There's just no way, I could blow it. Not this once in a lifetime chance.

Vaggie: It's just a meeting.

Charlie: To change their minds, and touch their hearts. Or whatever angels have.

Vaggie: This could be bad

Charlie: Cheer up, Vaggie, this could be swell. Something tells me that today will be a happy day in Hell!

Y/N: Okay, hun, just don't sing to them.

Angel: That bitch is halfway down the street.

Y/N: Is she-?

Angel: Oh, she's dancin'.

Vaggie and Y/N: Ugh, no!

~end music~

"Oh, I really hope the meeting goes well," Y/N said.

"Yeah, me too," Vaggie mumbled.

"Is everything okay, Vaggie?" Y/N worried.

"Yeah, I'm just worried the angels won't listen to her,"

"I'm sure they will," Y/N smiled.

Sprawling herself onto the couch, Y/N thought of the best idea.

"Oh my God, Vaggie!" she said, sitting bolt upright. "I just had the best idea ever!"

Alastor, Husk, Angel, and Niffty were all sitting on the couch in front of Y/N, Vaggie standing beside her.

"Okay, so Charlie is dealing with something super important right now," Y/N paced. "So, while she's gone, we are going to make a new commercial. One that represents her vision and our goal here."

Angel lazily raised his hand, a smirk on his face.

"Angel, if you say anything about us making a porno for the commercial, I will cut you."

Angel put his hand back down, a small frown on his face.

"Any questions?" Y/N asked.

Nobody said a word.

"Great, now we need a camera, Alastor?"

Alastor snapped his fingers and an old-timey camera from the nineteen thirties appeared in Y/N's hands.

"I meant a video camera," Y/N grumbled.

Alastor hummed in disapproval, but snapped is fingers again, this time a modern video camera appeared in Y/N's hands.

"All right, let's go!"

Y/N watched from the sidelines as Vaggie filmed a scene with Husk and Angel.

"And...action!" Vaggie whispered.

"'Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, can I help you with anything?'" Husk read, the script right in front of his face.

"'I've been a bad boy, and I need a big, strong daddy to put me in my place...'" Angel said, climbing up onto the bar. "'On the path to redemption."

'"Well you come-'"

'"Oh yes!'"

'"...To the right place.'"

"Cut!" Vaggie called out.

"Okay, Angel you need to be less horny, if that's even possible," Y/N criticized.

"And Husk, can you maybe not have a script in front of your face?" Vaggie asked.

"I ain't no act, I can't memorize this shit!" Husk angrily.

"Well, we could improv this shit, baby cakes. Rawrr." Angel purred.

Husk then pushed off Angel off the bar, landing with a big thud.

"Whoops," Husk said.

"Husk, come on!" Vaggie said.

"Okay, we'll just come back to this scene," Y/N dryly said. "Husk, Angel, uh, just work on it a little more."

"I'm not makin' and promises," Husk said.

"At least try to work on it," Y/N frowned. "Please?"

Husk looked at Y/N not liking the frown on her face.

"Fuck, fine," Husk grumbled.

"Thanks," Y/N smiled.

"Niffty you're up!"

Niffty sat on the floor, trying to stab some cockroaches with a long, sharp needle.

"Alright Niffty," Vaggie said, trying to get Niffty's attention. "Niffty? Niffty!"

Niffty finally started to listen.

"Your line is, 'We have the cleanest rooms.'" Vaggie said gently. "Okay?"

"Got it! I'm ready!" Niffty exclaimed.

Vaggie started to record, Y/N watching the scene from behind her.

"Action," Vaggie said.

Niffty's face went black, her one eyeball staring into the camera.

Y/N, Vaggie, and Angel stared at her with confusion and a little bit of fear.

"Uhhh..cut,"

Niffty giggled. "How was that?"

"Niffty, sweetie, you have to actually say the line," Y/N explained. "Let's try this again."

"Okay!"

"Action,"

Niffty's face went blank again, making Y/N pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"You're doing great, Vagina," Angel whispered.

"Cut!" Vaggie snarled.

"Okay, um," Y/N mumbled. "Maybe we can fix it in post."

"Do you even know what that means?" Angel asked.

"Yes, I know what it means!" Y/N snapped.

"Uh-huh," Angel said.

Before Y/N and Vaggie looked at the tape, Y/N decided that she needed another drink.

It was her fifth drink that day.

"Y'know, you should really slow down," Husk said, pouring her some whiskey.

"Slow down on what exactly?" Y/N snarked.

"This whole thing your doin'," Husk grumbled. "Tryin' to please everyone. You're just gonna exhaust yourself."

"It's kinda my job to make sure everyone here is happy," Y/N sipped on her drink. "Besides, it's for Charlie, so I don't care what happens to me in the process."

"You should," Husk said. "That kind of shit is important."

"Maybe to other people, but not to me," Y/N mumbled. "I stopped caring about what happens to me a long time ago."

"Hm, been there," Husk murmured.

It was silent for a moment, Husk looking down and Y/N drinking her whiskey.

"I should probably get back to Vaggie," Y/N got up. "Thanks for the drink, and the advice."

"Uh-huh, anytime," Husk said, pouring himself a drink.

Y/N smiled to herself and walked off.

Y/N and Vaggie sat in the living room, watching the footage they recorded on the TV.

"This was the worst idea I've ever had," Y/N cringed.

Vaggie groaned in agreement.

"Seems like you two are having a bit of trouble there, hm?" said a voice suddenly.

"Ugh, este pendejo...why are you even here?" Vaggie said.

"For the entertainment," Alastor said, sitting down next to Y/N, making her scoot away. "I came here because I love seeing wasteful souls struggle to accomplish something meaningful and fail spectacularly. Like you two are doing now!"

"Good job!"

Y/N picked up the camera and began recording. "Here's Alastor, a pompous piece of shit who-"

The video camera started to glitch and spark, making Y/N gasp and drop it.

"I wouldn't try that my dear," Alastor said sinisterly. "This face was made for radio!"

Y/N scoffed, not at all phased by him.

"That's it! I don't give a fuck who you are. If you're staying here, you're going to help. Because it won't be so 'entertaining' to watch over an empty hotel will it, asshole?"

"Fair enough," Alastor said. "I'll tell you what! Let's make a deal."

Vaggie laughed sarcastically. "Do you think we're that stupid? Making a deal with a demon like you?"

"Not for your souls, just a simple deal," Alastor replied. "I do this for you two, and you never ask me to engage with this frivolous television technology ever again!"

Y/N contemplated her what she would say.

"Or...Charlie can come back to absolutely nothing!" Alastor said smugly. "The choice is entirely up to you two."

Y/N sighed. "Fine. Vaggie?"

Vaggie nodded her head in agreeement.

Alastor took the video camera, making is disappear in a swirl of green smoke.

"Now then," he said, snapping his fingers.

Suddenly, movie cameras and lights appeared, shadow demons were behind the cameras. Everybody's outfit changed into something more like Alastor's taste, which was obviously from the 1930's.

Y/N stared at her outfit in delight, quite liking how it looked on her.

"Alright everyone!" Y/N exclaimed. "Let's make a fucking commercial!"

Vaggie and Y/N waited by the front door, while everybody else was sitting in front od the TV.

Finally, they heard the door open.

"Charlie!" Vaggie said, running up to her and hugging her.

Y/N automatically knew something was wrong when she saw the look on Charlie's face.

"How did it go?" Y/N asked. "Did they listen?"

"Oh, uhhh," Charlie listened. "They sure did...hear it! But, um..."

"Oh! Come here," Vaggie interrupted, grabbing Charlie's arm. "We have something exciting to show you."

Y/N followed behind as Vaggie pulled Charlie over to the couch.

"Alastor pulled some strings and it's about to air," Vaggie said, as Y/N stood next to Niffty.

"I pulled a few limbs too!" Alastor laughed.

"Wait, the commercial?" Charlie asked. "You all made a new one?"

"It was Y/N's idea," Vaggie said.

Charlie looked over at Y/N with the brightest expression on her face.

"Oh, don't give me all the credit," Y/N blushed.

"It was one of my better performances, if I do say so myself," Angel said.

"That's...that's amazing!" Charlie said, tears in her eyes.

"Shh, it's starting!" Angel said.

"Welcome to the Hazbin Hot-" Y/N said on the TV before it got interrupted by a news broadcast.

"Are you fucking serious?" Y/N angrily shouted.

Everyone else besides Husk and Alastor had the same reaction as her.

Besides Niffty, of course, she was laughing happily and clapping.

"Breaking news in Hell today!" Katie Killjoy said. "We have just received word from the Heaven Embassy that the next extermination is sooner than ever before."

Y/N's eyes widened in fear and disbelief.

"Do you know what that means, Tom?" Katie asked.

"No. What does it mean Katie?" Tom Trench replied.

"It means we're all royally fucked!" Katie said, climbing up onto the news table, her neck bending in a scary way.

The next show on the TV showed the extermination countdown going from three hundred fifty eight days down to one hundred seventy six days.

"Wait...what? Why!?" Angel asked in disbelief.

"This has to be some sort of sick joke," Y/N muttered in fear. "It has to be."

Everyone in the room (beside Niffty) all had a panicked look on their face.

They were all thinkin the same thing.

"We are literally going to die,"

IM SORRY THAT IS TOOK ME SO LONG TO UPLOAD

MY AMAZON PRIME LOGGED ME OUT AND IVE BEEN REALLY BUSY WITH MOVING IN AND PACKING

thank you for everyone who stayed patient :)

stay safe and drink lots of water <33

xoxo, Izzy

Taglist 💃

@mysticwitchcraftco @diffidentphantom @wendigonamecaller @barrythestrawberry041 @jx3-xd

@froggybich

[a-trick-or-two-with-lepers]

I finally watched Swedish Christ Superstar

Remember how I did a whole deep dive into the 2018 one? Yeah well, I was gonna try to do that with this version, but it is so unbelievably, completely, utterly, insanely unhinged that I just had to have my post about it match the energy. So without further ado, here are my literal first reaction notes to Jesus Christ Superstar (2014 Swedish Arena Tour).

Overture-

• Ooh the stuttering guitar is so metal

• Love the outfits, give me more apocalyptic leather headbanging nonsense

• Love how the choreo goes with the music rather than pure immediate chaos

• Admittedly the orchestra could be a bit better, but not terrible

• The shopping cart is my favorite character

• This feels almost interpretive

• Ok. Jesus is hot

• Draculacore

• Is he orgasming?

• I think that's an appropriate tone to be set

• I will say, I like productions with more color, but I see the style they're going for and I don't dislike it

Heaven on their minds-

• I like how they translated the lyrics to sound good in Swedish

• Also gives extra context and connotation to the words

• Love judas' mesh top!

• Really good singer wow

• This is how the song is supposed to be sung!!!

• I like boys with long hair hehehehe

• Symbolic that jesus is sleeping while judas is trying to get him to listen. Shows how closed off and resigned to his fate he was

• And also how no matter how hard judas tried he would never really be heard

• Painted nails!

• The subtitles said fuck? Lol

• I seriously love this guy's voice

• Oh my god they're so boyfriends

What's the buzz/Strange thing mystifying-

• Jesus is serving so much cunt

• So. Much. Touching.

• AHAHAHAHAGSVSBAZHDVWH THEYRE SO BOYFRIENDS HWWGGA

• Yes Maria feed him that orange

• "A man like him" you mean... 💅?

Everythings alright-

• I really like Mary's voice and look

• Mommy vibes fs

• He's in the shopping cart hhahahaha

• The masculine urge to sleep in a shopping cart while wearing shades

This jesus must die-

• Caiaphas sounds like a toad LMAO

• "It's seduction! It's blasphemy!" -Christians watching this 😭

• Caiaphas saying "STOP" such a jumpscare

• They kept the jesus is cool line and for that this is now one of my favorite productions

• AND THEY SAID IT TWICE AM I IN HEAVEN??

• Well I won't be after watching this 😌

• Caiaphas has a pretty cool voice ngl, my timbers are shivered

• HELIKOPTER 🚁 HELIKOPTER 🚁

Hosanna-

• A bit faster rendition that's neat

• Interesting how judas is participating in the fray

• It's so nice to see his character happy for once though

• The jesus balloons are killing me

Simon zealotes/poor jerusalem-

• Ooh it's a fight

• The ladies are sangin and dancin 💃

• THEY SAID FUCK AGAIN

• Well okay I'm just gonna give up on the notion that this play will be family appropriate in any manner, it's better that way anyway

• Pretty cool how the choreo is militaristic, as well as the costuming

• They way Simon is pronounced 😃

• I am unilingual my brain is incapable of not making a joke about that

• Jesus your nail polish is chipping baby fix that

Pilates dream-

• Love pilates robe, very pretty

• Ok but the sparkly suit is better

The temple-

• Fuck counter: 3

• They have a bit more speaking in this version which I really don't mind

• The lyrics make it really clear how the crowds used their connection to God to justify their actions, an issue which is still prevalent today

• Annas shaking that tail go off

• Jesus jumpscare

• He called it "A whorehouse" 💀

• The beggars all have little hand lights, that creates a really cool effect

• Wow the music got really fast

I don't know how to love him-

• Yayy Mary hi Mary hi 😍🥰👋

• Da smoochy???

• Judas ain't gonna be happy bout this

• Her voice is so good!!

• Interesting how jesus is awake for this

• ITS JUDAS HE'S PEEKING

• Uh oh

Damned for all time/blood money-

• OH NO

• MY BOY GOT SLAPPED

• HE JUST WANTED A SMOOCH

• Ok now it just feels like he's betraying him cause he got rejected 😭

• Annas is such a little shit oh my god

• He's giving Draco Malfoy vibes somehow

The last supper-

• Act 2 baby here we go

• Okay so he's dragging them to absolute hell, love that for you jesus

• The girls are FIGHTING!

• "Tell us what happened to the good vibes" I'm loving this translation

• Judas actor once again killing it, he has a really lovely rock voice

• The apostles throwing shade at judas and planning to blame him in the gospels 😙🤌

• This shit crazy

Gethsemane-

• Ok I'm gonna try to be serious for this once

• So far pretty good

• The lyrics are hitting the important parts of the song I feel

• HE GOT THE NOTE!

• Pretty damn good

• My bias still lies with Neeley but that wasn't gonna change really

• I like how he made the g5 actually part of the song rather than separating it. This whole performance is actually very natural and easy to watch

• The last verse goes so incredibly hard

• *rips shirt open*

• 👌

The arrest-

• Here it is the kiss

• Here we go

• Literally the only part of this play I'd seen before

• Okay that's just. So romantic. JESUS kissed JUDAS! What a twist!

• "Why did you date a whore" goddamn

Peter's denial-

• Annas is basically the main character he's in so many songs

Pilate and christ-

• "Yeah we know you're 'hot'" I mean 😏

• Fuck counter: 4

• My notes are seriously lacking I apologize

King herods song-

• Herod is me I am Herod

• Me in my robe on a Monday morning imposing judgement onto others:

• Did they just use a slide whistle?

• Goofy ahh sound effects 💀

• "Fine I'll do it myself- look, no hands 😚"

• He's my favorite

• Herod being silly and goofy:🤪

• Jesus: 😐

• Loved that

Could we start again please-

• Fuck counter: 5

• Not the song I expected it to be in tbh

• Maybe it doesn't hold the same weight in Sweden

• "How are we going to explain it so it looks good on paper?" This is a new angle that is actually really interesting, and reminds me that the Bible is pretty much ancient RPF

• Yay they included the ensemble

Judas death-

• "For one measly kiss" I'd call that kiss a lot of things but measly does not come to mind

• He is talking to jesus instead of christ

• Something tells me this production is not very religious 🤔

• Which I am very ok with

• He's goin through it

• He's got the rock screams going on 🤘love it

• RIP Judas, too gay to live 😔

Trial before pilate-

• He called Jesus a clown, bitch this isn't Godspell

• Ouchie

• That's a lot of blood

• It's easy to overact in the role of pilate and this guy isn't doing that, which is good

Superstar-

• I prefer when Judas is wearing white in this song, but the glittery red robe kinda slays ngl

• And once again judas is a pretty boy

• They kept the "jesus christ, Jesus christ, who are you what have you sacrificed" line in English

• Oop the robe is off

• Get those dance moves judas damn

• This is insane

• What is happening

• Why am I turned on

John 19:41-

• Ooh this is rather scary

• The way its literally just him on stage suffering is pretty intense

• IT IS FINISHED

Hope you enjoyed sluts

[thehugheslover]

So High School Luke Hughes x Singer Reader

This song is written by the amazing Taylor Swift and for today's story I am going to have it being the readers song enjoy

Presses the recording button

August 31st

"Ok so I am going to be showing my boyfriend my new single So, High School from my album that is Called The Sparks Between Us that comes out September 9th(you look at Luke and you both giggle a little) and I will be getting his reaction to the song"you said. Are you ready to here it" you asked him. "As ready as I will ever be" he said.

You start the song

I feel so high school

Every time I look at you

I want to find you in a crowd

Just to hide from you

And in the blink of a crinkling eye

I'm sinking, our fingers entwined

Cheeks pink in the twinkling lights

Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me

I'll drink what you think and I'm high from smoking your jokes all

damn night

The brink of a wrinkle in time

Bittersweet sixteen suddenly

I'm watching American Pie

With you on a Saturday night

Your friends are around, so be quiet

I'm trying to stifle my sighs,

cause I feel so high school

every time I look at you

But look at you

Are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me?

It's just a game, but really

I'm betting on all three

For us two

(Luke starts laughing because in a interview he did he got asked to Kiss Mary or Kill 3 singers you as one of them and he said he would Mary you if he could.)

Get my car door, isn't that sweet

Then pull me to the backseat

(You both started laughing because after you announced your relation ship to the public you two were caught kissing in the backseat of your car)

"This line is my second favorite line in the song" you said and than started the song again

No one's ever had me

Not like you ...

(you look directly at Luke after the line and you both smile at each other")

You pause the song once more

"Ok now this is by far one of my favorite lyrics that I have written in my music career" you said and played the song

Truth, dare, spin bottles

You know how to ball

I know Aristotle

(after that line Luke kissed your head and pulled you into him close)

Brand new, full throttle

Touch me while your bros play grand theft auto

It's true, swear, Scout's honor

You knew what you wanted

And, boy, you got her

Brand new, full throttle

You already know, babe

I feel like laughing

In the middle of practice

Do that impression you did of your dad again

I'm hearing voices, like a madman

And in the blink of a crinkling eye

I'm sinking, our fingers entwined

Cheeks pink in the twinkling lights

Tell me 'bout the first time you saw me

I'll drink what you think and I'm high from smoking your jokes all

damn night

The brink of a wrinkle in time

Bittersweet sixteen suddenly

I'm watching American Pie

With you on a Saturday night

Your friends are around, so be quiet

I'm trying to stifle my sighs,

cause I feel so high school

every time I look at you

But look at you

Truth, dare, spin bottles

You know how to ball

I know Aristotle

Brand new, full throttle

Touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto

It's true, swear, Scout's honor

You knew what you wanted

And, boy, you got her

Brand new, full throttle

You already know, babe

You already know, babe

The song ended and you turned to Luke.

"So what did you think of the song" you asked

"I did not like it I loved it and I love the little nod to me playing hockey and you not knowing a single thing about it" he said and you just laughed and pecked his lips and ended the video

[ohmyenjolrass]

my ranking of every production i have seen (or listened) of jesus christ superstar

we are getting closer to holy week so IT'S THAT TIME OF THE YEAR. this is a remake of this post.

as always, sorry for any grammar mistakes, english is not my first language. also, this is my personal opinion, any other opinion is also accepted :)

without further ado, let's get into it!

1. Jesus Christ Superstar (1973 movie)

YOU CAN'T OUTDO THE DOER.

everything in this movie changed my life. literally.

it was the first time i actually saw jesus christ superstar represented visually (i had only heard the 2007 madrid version before). the overture scene is one of my favourites of all time, the concept is amazing.

the cast is SUPREME. carl anderson is one of my favourite judas of all time; he is an excellent singer and his interpretation is E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. also, yvonne elliman and ted neely are amazing. both their interpretations are absolutely gorgeous.

i love the costume design also (mary magdalene's dress AND JUDAS' OUTFIT FOR SUPERSTAR), i feel like it really fits the 70s vibe and i love that jesus is still dressed as, well, jesus.

overall, it is an amazing production AND the original so 10/10 without a doubt.

2. Jesucristo Superstar (2007 Madrid)

i may be a little biased by this one but HEAR ME OUT. it is an impressive production. i grew up listening to this soundtrack in my parents' car and i feel like it is one of the best cast recordings of all time. the lyrics of this version are different from the 1975 spanish one, but they are equally amazing.

costume design for me in this one is also a bonus, because i love how everyone is dressed as people dressed in spain in the 2000s. also, i like that jesus doesn't wear a tunic, i don't know why lol. one of my favourite costumes is the priests' outfits.

now, the cast. WOW. ignasi vidal is my favourite judas. it is not even up for debate. he is AMAZING in everything he does, BUT JUDAS. his role. his 'heaven on their minds' ('el cielo los cegó' in this production) is on repeat in my brain 24/7. also, miquel fernández, who plays jesus, IS STUNNING. he was my first celebrity crush. his voice and acting is something else (you should really check out his 'gethsemane'!). lorena calero plays mary magdalene, and apart from being THE MOST GORGEOUS WOMAN ON EARTH, i want her voice to sing for me every day of my life.

this production is truly something else, and i feel like it is great heritage from the 1975 version. again, i encourage you to see it! (10/10!)

3. Jesus Christ Superstar (2012 O2 Arena)

LISTEN. i know in my last post i said it wasn't one of my favourites. BUT AFTER A REWATCH, i have a lot to say.

first, setting. how the scene is organised is the coolest. i love the tents, i love the stairs, i love the screens. everything. i feel like it is the best setting (without counting the movie because they are literally IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DESERT).

now, cast. TIM MINCHIN, LOVE OF MY LIFE. i'm not gonna say anything new, his judas is amazing. he plays the part so effortless it makes me think i can do it to. ALSO, BEN FORSTER. i know i talked shit about him before, but i really didn't know how to appreciate him. i love you, bensus, sorry for anything i've said before. mel c still doesn't sit right for me as mary magdalene, but her voice is truly beautiful.

costumes, right. i love how jesus is both dressed in black and white, not only in white. also, JUDAS. serving looks the entire play. one thing i have to say, mary's outfit was not made for me. i love the vibe, but not really my thing.

in general, good production, amazing singers. 9/10.

4. Jesus Christ Superstar (2012 Broadway Revival)

I DISCOVERED AMERICA WITH THIS ONE. OH MY GOD.

josh young ABSOLUTELY blows my mind. his voice, his outfit, his angst, EVERYTHING. he is stunning and i would give my life for him. also, chilina kennedy????? WHATEVER YOU SAY, SWEETHEART. i swear she is a dream, her voice, her acting, HER FACE.

one thing i really liked in this version was the scene, and also the little screen that was saying like '3 days until passover'. i think that was very original and guiding tbh lol.

if i have to say something that i didn't like is paul nolan as jesus. i liked his acting and his voice is pretty, but i feel like his gethsemane was lacking something and it wasn't really my favourite.

also, the dynamic between jesus, judas, and mary in this version was one of the sweetest ever. i loved loved LOVED it.

all in all, 7.5/10!

5. Jesucristo Superstar (Spain, 1975)

i haven't seen this version but i heard it when i was little as well. i still prefer the 2007 spanish recording, but this one is amazing.

camilo sesto's gethsemane never ceases to amaze me. his voice and the pain in it are truly heartbreaking. also, ángela carrasco's voice???? life-saving. i swear everyone who plays mary is GORGEOUS and an amazing singer.

the lyrics are well-translated and the 70s vibe throughout the whole album is absolutely stunning.

now, negative points. teddy bautista as judas is not my favourite. his voice is amazing but i think it is not made for me. however, his passion and interpretation are truly something.

i have to give it a few more listenings to this so i can get a better opinion, but in general, 7/10!

6. Jesus Christ Superstar (2000 movie)

well, after a year, this has gone down a few positions.

what to say, let's see. the scene was cool. i feel like they did a lot with very little decorations. it was original and well-used.

now, the cast. renée castle is a dream. she is absolutely stunning, as a person and as a singer. her voice is just so soothing and relaxing. and tony vincent as simon is SO HOT. the rest, well...

glenn carter is a pretty good singer, but i feel like lots of his songs lacked a bit of something. he is a good actor (never seen a sadder jesus), but i think that there are other jesus that i like better.

now, jerôme pradon. interpretation, 10/10. singing, well. could be better. i love his acting throughout the whole musical, and also his evil twink vibe. however, his voice kinda makes me nervous??? i don't know how to explain it but maybe it wasn't the role for him, i don't know.

costume design was questionable to say the least. i gotta say that judas' outfit is so cool but WHO HAD THE THOUGHT OF PUTTING JESUS ON CARGOS. costume department found arrested.

after giving it a few rewatches, 6/10. enjoyable but not the best.

7. Jesus Christ Superstar: Live In Concert (2018)

this was a bit of a mess, to be honest. let's go first with the positive points.

SARA BAREILLES, MY LORD AND SAVIOR. she could sing me her grocery list and i would listen to her. she has such a captivating and calming voice and she's an amazing performer.

also, norm lewis. that man is just *chef's kiss*. brandon victor dixon is also amazing as judas and i feel like he deserves more recognition. his damned for all time is one of my favourites.

moreover, the set. i think it was very modern and the vibe was so cool with the orchestra in the scaffolds. also, i feel like the public played a very important role in this performance and they really knew how to use it.

costume design wasn't my favourite but we have seen worse.

now, negative things. JOHN LEGEND. my guy could not play jesus and i think he knew it too. his gethsemane sounds like i sound when i sing it in the shower. his acting was also pretty questionable. don't get me wrong, he is an amazing singer, but i feel like he shouldn't play a role that requires reaching high notes.

also, i feel like alice cooper could have done a much better job as herod. he is lacking that dorky, humoristic element that i think is essential in that song.

i gotta say this gets bonus points for glitter. i love glitter. overall, 5.5/10. would rewatch only for sara bareilles.

and that was everything! another year, another ranking. i hope you enjoyed it and tell me your opinions too! see you next year x

[mlobsters]

supernatural s14e1 stranger in a strange land (w. andrew dabb)

pre-ep recap being ac/dc shot down in flames much better fit than metallica's nothing else matters from 13x01 vibe-wise and matching the pace of the clips. good job, guys. and smooth segue to it being on in the car

s14e1 / the matrix

wtf jackles, what is this speaking voice/cadence. reminds me of keanu reeves?? usually when i make really out there sound associations, i'm a little high. but that is not the case today. he's acting more like an agent than neo, but getting the keanu vibes :p i can't think of what movie specifically i'm thinking of. the devil's advocate and constantine are the other two keanu movies i've seen a bunch, but i dunno

never good when i'm pulling a clip in the first few minutes 🥴 gonna be a 2-3 day watch i'm guessing.

also don't really understand the styling choices. i get that it helps make a big visual difference between michael and dean, but like. dude wasn't dressing like this old timey fancy man with a flat cap in the au world. is this 20s-ish? never seen peaky blinders but this seems kinda similar? reading about collar pins and bars now. lol

is this the grief beard i've heard about. well maintained, if so

MARY Sam, we’re gonna find him. Ketch is working that thing in London. Castiel is in Detroit. I know it’s been three weeks since Dean… Something will break. It has to. SAM Yeah. Yeah, you keep saying that.

so like why does sam need to be in charge and involved in this vampire thing with this bunker full of people? they were fully self organized and fighting before they came here. even if sam is de facto leader for whatever reason; delegate, my guy. no help to anyone if you're not sleeping. call jody in, i bet she could talk some sense into him. also vaguely funny that we're all Team Family Go! but the family i connect with the most for them is jody and her girls

CASTIEL Does any demon know where Dean Winchester is? KIPLING I’m sorry, did you just say you lost a Winchester? Because, one -- that’s… interesting. And, two, how is that you lost Dean? I thought the two of you were joined at the… [Kipling glances down in a suggestive way.] …you know, everything.

in a way i wish i could have watched this without any knowledge of fandom because my knee jerk response is, ew. because i just don't see anything between dean and cas, i have a hard time grasping they're even close, i've just tried to accept it because the show tells us all the time. but maybe i could have come around to it more if i didn't know about the screaming zeitgeist that is destiel. or maybe i'd have the same reaction, i don't know. but anyway perpetually disgruntled knowing that my reaction is always colored somewhat due to fandom. i try to watch objectively but i know my feelings on things outside the show color my feelings of stuff inside the show

oh, cas. what have you gotten yourself into this time.

mmmk

SISTER JO Why would he say “yes” to you? MICHAEL Love.

short and sweet

man i know jackles is trying to do something different but i do not enjoy the way he's speaking as michael. ok now i'm getting umm. brad pitt in interview with the vampire?? like when he's talking to what's his face. for the interview. lol. christian slater! kind of slow, flat fairly emotionless narration.

um. how in the world is nick's soul in his vessel? didn't crowley remake it or whatever? or did he not die at any point in the ... 7 years intervening between lucifer dumping him in s5 and getting popped back in during s12

from 12x13 CROWLEY I managed to pervert that spell. So your essence wasn't sent back to the cage, but instead, we found your discarded vessel a few years ago… repaired it, improved it, making it a fitting final home for the real you.

whatever, man. nothing makes sense to me anymore. also thinking about jimmy novak called being possessed by castiel like "being chained to a comet" - for all those years

NICK Ow. I don't get it. I don't understand how Lucifer could die and I could live. SAM Yeah, um… I think that maybe it's because the archangel blades were made to kill the archangel inside a-and not the person they, uh -- NICK Possesses and uses to almost end the world twice?

sure. SURE. that makes sense. not at all how anything else ever works on this show, but sure! i mean, i love mark pellegrino too but come on, guys.

SAM Stop saying that, please. MARY What? SAM “It's gonna be fine,” that everything's gonna be fine, we're gonna find Dean, and -- MARY We are. SAM You don't know that. Dean's gone, and we have no idea where he is or -- or if he's even still alive. You know, Michael could have… burned him out or… worse, and… MARY I know. I know he's out there, scared and alone. I know. I know he might never come back. Never think I don't know that. But -- I can't -- I have to think about the good, Sam, because, if I don't, I will drown in the bad. For Dean's sake, I can't do that. We can't do that.

that's fine and reasonable but it's also reasonable that sam doesn't want to hear a baseless placation.

jack getting a grandpa bobby now too apparently

completely zoning out on this demon monologuing. why did they bring the girl along who isn't a hunter. what happened to the devil's trap bullets? and couldn't they make the bullets made out of the angel blades they had on the au world? because with all the dead angels they surely must have a stockpile. wouldn't get this several minute action sequence with fake tension though so

SAM Enough! There will be no new King of Hell. Not today. Not ever. And if anybody wants the job, you can come through me. Understood? (breathing heavily) So, what's it gonna be?

lol okay

SAM It's the -- It's the magic egg that kicked Lucifer out of the President. I thought we could use it on Michael, but -- Ketch can't find it. So, that's another dead end, which is just awesome.

i'm glad the show remembered because i completely forgot about that thing. thanks for preemptively ruling it out

CASTIEL Sam, are you all right? SAM Yeah, I've been better. I've been worse. You? CASTIEL I'm -- I'm just sorry. I should never have gone to those demons. SAM Cass, I -- No, I-I-I don't blame you. I… Honestly, I-I wish I'd have thought of it first. If it meant finding Dean, I-I'd work with -- I'd do anything.

❤️ take what i can get. (still need to sleep, sammy)

MICHAEL Now, you -- you know exactly what you want. You don't pretend to want to help people or save the world. Your want is pure and simple and clean. And that's why you are worth saving. That's why we are going to work so well together. Because you -- you just want to eat.

LOL what. michael loves vampires!

!! omg lol i just reread my 13x23 with my whole "can't kill michael now that he's wearing dean" is that the whole reason we get pellegrino back as nick, so we can find out that archangel blades don't kill the vessel?? 😂

[cheeto-flavoured-pasta]

Writer Q&A Tag Game

I was tagged here by @bluberimufim and here by @squarebracket-trick!

Gently tagging @hyuccubus, @sunset-a-story, @full-on-sam and anyone else who wants to join

1 - What motivates you to write?

I'm going to sum it up like this: I have ideas hopping around in my brain. At some point, they hop around too much to the point where I go feral over them and know they have to be turned into something full and whole and tangible because I love them too much to just keep dreaming about it forever.

2 - A line/short snippet from your work or someone else's (please credit).

(I'm going through a "I hate my writing and everything looks like it sucks but I can't figure out why aergsgdfkjhgjh" phase, so maybe doing this could help.)

[CW// Mentions of suicide.]

"Yeah." He swallowed. "Big surprise. I chickened out last minute, but the others actually went for it and succeeded. They were too determined." Through the crack in the door, I spotted him burying his face in his hands. "Sorry, this is so sudden. I just… I can't deal with this place. Hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Can't stand it here. So I thought the only way to get out was to just — oh, fuck, what's the point of trying to explain?" His voice cracked. "Nobody's gonna get it." I paused, biting my lip. Comfort wasn't my strong suit, but I'd dealt with suicide before. I knew what it was like, sitting next to someone who tried to end it all. I'd sat next to my sister on the balcony of our old home, next to the kitchen countertop where all her pills lay, almost swallowed whole, listening to her vent her heart out and hold onto me. This was something I had experience with. This was something I could handle.

3 - What OC makes you smile each time you think of them?

I'd say either Marie or Cillian, or both, since they're kind of a package deal; you can't have one without the other.

(Skipping ahead a little bit, let's head to question six).

6 - What is something in the writeblr community that is most enjoyable?

It's hard to pick one, so I'll list a few. Personally, the writing positivity and encouragement/support blogs (e.g @iloveyou-writers) tend to be my favorite whenever I'm going through a tough time, and with that are the wide range of advice and perspectives you can get from different writers. I find it hard to find other writing friends in real life, so having a community on Tumblr makes me feel like I've found my people, and I'm grateful for that.

8 - What's a piece of worldbuilding in your story that you're proud of?

Worldbuilding has always been a pretty daunting task, but creating the history and past conflicts in my world, despite it sounding so simple, is something I'd say I'm proud of. Not for any grand reason, but just for doing it and finally getting over that obstacle I didn't like before.

9 - What's some advice you'd give to other writers going through a rough patch?

Personally, I'd say that the best thing you can do when going through a rough patch with writing is to read. And I know it's not a very deep and profound piece of advice, but whenever I'm going through a rough spot, I find that taking a break and perusing someone else's work is what I need for my brain to start working again (no wonder I feel like shit lately; I've been neglecting this myself...). Writing is, essentially, reading your own work back to yourself as you're creating it, and sometimes, your brain needs a break from that. It needs variety, and the best way to achieve that is to read other things.

[ripeteeth]

for the book asks--15 please! and also 20 if you don't mind a double ask <3

15: recommend and review a book.

Okay, so you KNOW what book you're gonna get for this lmao.

TO EVERYONE OUT THERE, PLEASE READ FRANKENSTEIN BY MARY SHELLEY.

I swear, that book UNHINGED me. I will never be the same. God, fuck, I can't believe I lost my 48-tweet love song to Frankenstein and why everyone should read it, but I cannot believe that at all of 19 years old, she could pack so much pathos and humanity in only 250 pages. It's everything. It's a spoiled terrified young twink brat only just realizing what he has brought into this world, that this squirming, naked, needy thing is his alone. His responsibility. And he flees into the night, a terrified new mother, desperate to pretend it never happened. I cannot ever stop thinking about the fact that she wrote this at 19 years old, all of about 18 months after losing her firstborn infant, who died during the night while Mary slept. How much of herself did Mary see in Victor? In the Creature? I lose my mind at the way Victor and the Creature are seen in popular culture, as this mad old scientist and his lumbering dumb awkward creation, when in reality Victor is all of about 22 at MOST when reanimates the Creature, all up there in his weird creepy attic apartment lab. He's a college dropout. An obsessive mess. And he abandons his child in his son's moment of need.

And the Creature! He's so passionate and eloquent, haunting and wounded. This should be the man who dogs our steps and keeps us up at night. This preternaturally strong man, who is largely impervious to cold and is wicked fast, who had each of his body parts chosen for their special beauty by Victor, but there is something about him, a living corpse with crepey skin and watery eyes, lips as dark as a dead man's, that terrifies everyone he comes in contact with.

And this is the thing!!!! He is not a monster. Look at him, turned out, born into that accursed attic with nothing. He could not yet see. He did not know language or how to defend himself, feed himself, warm himself, care for himself. He was left to die. But he stumbled along, covering himself with a coat he stole from the attic as he fled, naked and cold, and learned to start a fire, to feed himself on berries and plants, he taught himself to speak, read, and write simply by observing - and he observed humans from afar and yearned only to be loved and accepted. To be one of them.

It's such a fundamental, heartbreaking story. It shatters me. It compels me. I can't ever get them out of my head. Two men who damned each other, Victor by denying his creation the very real care and comfort and humanity that he owed to someone he brought into the world, and the Creature who sought to reduce Victor to that same state by killing everyone he loved, so that Victor would be like him, isolated and miserable. Alone.

And yet, even in the end, they're entwined. Victor's death ends the purpose of the Creature's life and he mourns his father-creator, even after all of it. It's such a complicated story of parent-child relationships, of the exploration of new boundary-pushing science, of pseudo-incestuous themes and tones between two men who have knotted themselves up so well into such a perfect tangle, that they can never be picked apart.

20. what are things you look for in a book?

Hmm. Good question.

I like to be fascinated. I love beautiful prose, but I'm particular about it and am not generally fond of it being too precious or purple. I love things with a bit of monstrosity that get into the gross and horrible details of life, like J.G. Ballard's Crash and John Gardner's Grendel, two absolute favorites. I love books that fuck with narrative structure and keep me guessing, like Italo Calvino's If on a winter's night a traveler and Julio Cortázar's Hopscotch. I love a certain sense of interiority and confessional voice, like Jeanette Winterson's Written on the Body, Olga Tokarczuk's Drive Your Plow Over The Bones Of The Dead, and Ocean Vuong's On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous. I love things that make my skin crawl but have a certain compelling beauty, like Patrick Süskind's Perfume: Story of a Murderer. I love a sense of awe and hope and hushed connection, the way Susanna Clarke's Piranesi left me.

[marypsue]

fic writer self-recs

I was tagged by the lovely and talented @titleleaf!

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favourite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers.

I'm gonna try not to just reproduce the same list from the last time I did this (although I can't fucking find it, so who knows), and also shine the spotlight on some that I think don't get as much attention but that I'm still very proud of anyway!

(But also, the road goes ever on. It's always gonna be the road goes ever on.)

1. house rule #3 (MCU Thor, Avengers [2012])

“Darcy,” Jane says, firmly. “Breathe.” “I am totally breathing,” Darcy protests. “Look, after you offered me the job, she bought us a bottle of sparkling wine and thanked me really cryptically and I basically haven’t seen her since. And in that time, Selvig’s dropped off the map, and a supervillain calling himself Loki who could be her fraternal twin pops up and starts chewing German scenery in a helmet that looks exactly like the one in this book.” Darcy sits back in her chair, bouncing off the back. “Also, I told her about this professor who was a total pain in my ass, and like two weeks later he was on leave for ‘undisclosed reasons’ and he still hasn’t come back.” “This…could all be a coincidence,” Jane says, lamely. “Oh yeah. Same way that weird homeless guy you kept hitting with your car showing up inside that storm was all a coincidence,” Darcy says. “Oh, my god. I’ve been watching ANTM highlights with a supervillain.”

I love Darcy Lewis, I think the narrative voice in this one hits her sense of humour just right, and it makes me astoundingly nostalgic for the early 2010s.

2. definitely not bfu rpf (definitely not Buzzfeed Unsolved/Watcher Unsolved?)

“Even Scully took it seriously when the shadow government gave her cancer, man,” Bryan says, when he sees the glitchy footage. “There – okay, there are two issues with that line of logic,” Zane says. “First, cancer. That’s detectable by current medical science. It’s not exactly a matter of belief. Second, Dana Scully is a fictional character.” “So you won’t get an exorcism?” Bryan says, sounding defeated. “Bryan, my dear, I think you already know the answer to that one.”

Back when the Watcher guys were still attached to Buzzfeed, there was a really popular fandom trope that went around that Shane was secretly a demon. However, nobody seemed to have taken the next logical step - that if Shane was a demon, he wouldn't believe it.

(I don't write RPF, because I tried it and felt weird about it, but I just had to get this written, so I changed everybody's names to something that rhymed with the real-life people's names. Legally Distinct Buzzfeed Unresolved.)

3. Girls In White Dresses (Supernatural)

Mary’s the first to appear in the kitchen doorway, pistol raised, eyes flinty. But she pauses, just for a moment, when she sees Dean, and Jess’ stomach drops. Whoever - whatever - Dean really is, he at least hadn’t lied when he’d said he was Sam’s brother. He’s Mary’s son. And Mary’d just had to watch, helpless, while one of her sons died. Mary’s going to hesitate. But Jess can already tell that Dean won’t. By the way Dean's grinning, she can tell he knows it too.

I had to unfridge some of SPN's many, many freezer-burned women. Also it was so much fun to try to think up ways to hurt all of them emotionally as badly as the show likes to hurt its big strong men emotionally. (Lady Gaga voice) It's equality.

4. i hold with those who favour fire (Crimson Peak)

Perhaps she looks too long. Perhaps her eyes are playing tricks on her, perhaps it is only the lingering warmth of the body melting away the fallen snow, but it seems there are more autumn leaves gathered under Edith’s frozen form, more reds and golds spilling from beneath her nightdress and her hands and her golden head. The leaves flicker and dance, as though caught in a high October wind, though any such wind would be stymied by Allerdale’s protective walls. It isn’t until the hem of Edith’s gown begins to blacken that Lucille sees that what she had taken for autumn leaves are flames.

This one was written for a prompt meme where I asked for a character and a monster/mythical being, and wrote something short connecting the two. I should do that again, that was fun.

5. Boiling a Frog (Rick and Morty)

“It’s strange,” she says, tipping the contents of her cup carefully into the drain under the vending machine’s dispenser and crumpling the cardboard cup in one hand. “None of this feels really...real. Like, Grandpa Rick should be here complaining about how hospitals are breeding grounds for superbugs and how sitting in waiting rooms is pointless because unless you’re a doctor, there’s fuckall you can do to help anyway.” Morty suddenly looks uneasy, but Summer’s not sure if that’s because of what she said or because of the coffee. “I’m glad he’s not,” he says, and then looks horrified.

I broke up with this show when it became clear it was going to wallow and spin its own wheels and suck Rick's dick forever and that at least one of its creative minds genuinely seemed to think that was great and smart and good storytelling and if you didn't love it then you were just too stupid to appreciate his brilliance. But every once in a while the show managed to do something really interesting by approaching something heavy and awful sidelong with absurdist sci-fi and gross-out humour in a way that just worked for me.

I tried to do that here and found out just how hard it is to get a handle on that tone of almost manic energy with total black despair oozing out around all the edges. I think it really turned out, here, and despite no longer having any interest in anything to do with the show, I'm proud of it.

Also, I still love Summer.

I'm going to tag @daddygrandpaandthebeaver, @bixxelated, @marzipanandminutiae, @definitely-not-a-bug, @aquitainequeen, and, as usual, anybody who'd like to do it!

[strangefable]

Fic number two for the Far Cry 5 Anniversary Exchange, hosted by @detectivelokis, written for @sinnerburrito. This time for Nick Rye.

Title: Pregame to Proposal Rating: Gen/light Teen Word Count: 822 2 of 3

Nick fiddled with the label of his beer bottle and shifted nervously on his stool. The Spread Eagle was full of the usual crowd, just like any other night in Fall's End.

But this wasn't just any night. Not for Nick. He glanced around. At least none of the Seeds were here; he was grateful for that.

"You seem nervous," Joey's voice was light, teasing. She smiled at him from the stool next to him. He suspected the smile was a bit smug, but he chose to ignore it.

"Yeah, man. Careful, or you'll fall off that thing." Danny leaned around his partner to grin at him.

Nick rolled his eyes at the both of them. "Look, you'd be nervous too, don't start on me now."

Mary May appeared behind the bar in front of them. She set down a tray and frowned slightly at the three of them. "What's the matter?"

Danny smiled at her. "Oh, nothing, just teasing Nicky boy, you know how it is."

Joey chimed in. "Yeah, got one hell of a shiny rock burning a hole in his pocket today." Nick decided she was definitely smug.

Mary May lifted an eyebrow and turned back to Nick. "That so? Already?" Her tone sounded skeptical.

Nick frowned at her. He straightened his back and folded his arms across his chest. "Hey! When you know, you know!"

She chuckled and set another beer down in front of him. "I didn't say it was a bad thing, Rye. Just didn't expect you to go so quietly."

He gawked at her as the others joined her in laughing. "Hey, now, you're not questioning my--"

Mary May held up a hand and shook her head, cutting him off quickly. "Not at all, Nick. We've just never seen you this smitten before."

Nick grumbled and ducked his head, hiding behind the brim of his cap. "Ain't like that. Kim's just…"

Joey dropped her hand on his shoulder. "It's good, Nick. We're just happy for you."

"Yeah, assuming she's crazy enough to say yes!" Danny chimed in again, waving his beer bottle in the air with a grin and a wink.

Nick winced slightly and let out a groan. "Well, I sure hope she will. You'll never let me hear the end of it if she don't." He tugged on his cap, then fidgeted with his sunglasses, tucked into the front collar of his t-shirt.

His friends all laughed as Joey patted him on the back. "You've got nothing to worry about. That woman is crazy about you." She put on an exaggerated pout. "Even denied my attempt to flirt with her." She shook her head sadly.

Danny groaned loudly, shaking his head. "Oh, please, Jo, you didn't use even a quarter of your usual charm."

Nick shot them both unamused looks. "Hey now…"

"Give him another beer, Mary May. And put it on my tab." Joey nudged Nick's ribs. "You know as well as I do I couldn't bark up that tree even if I wanted to."

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But tonight is… And well, I'm…" he waved his hands at the air. "Well. It's a big deal, you know?"

She nodded. "You're gonna do great. Sweep her right off her feet. She'll love the ring. Lord knows she loves you. Don't let us get in your head." She leaned over and shoved his shoulder with hers.

"Pull it together, Rye, here she comes." Mary May whispered, her eyes directed toward the door behind Nick.

Nick coughed, scrambling on his stool, patting his pocket and trying to collect himself.

Kim's hand came to rest on his ball cap before he could finish turning around. "Hey there." She leaned around him and kissed him firmly on the lips. She stepped back with a smile.

He stared at her, his face breaking into a grin. "Yeah…" He shifted around and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Hi."

She brought her hands to rest on his shoulders. "So what's up, sugar bear?" She winked as she watched his ears turn pink.

"Nothin'! Let's uh… let's grab a couple an' go outside. It's a nice night. Maybe look at the stars, you know?" He hoped to God his voice didn't squeak or crack too much.

She pursed her lips and gave him a suspicious glance. "Well, all right." She leaned to the side to look behind him. "That okay, Mary May?"

The bartender let out a laugh and handed two fresh bottles across the bar to Kim. "Go on, then."

Kim turned and Nick followed, his hand still on her waist.

"Get her, Nicky!" Danny heckled.

"Have fun, you two." Joey's voice rang with mirth and barely contained laughter.

Nick shot his friends a quick glare over his shoulder before the door swung shut behind him and Kim.

Tonight was The Night, and he didn't want anything to ruin the surprise.