#sighs oh my god i love dykes.......

[finalgirlguy]

muna pictures that drive me genuinely up the walls insane

[doctorbitchcrxft]

A Very Supernatural Christmas | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: discussions of childhood trauma lol, discussions of religious trauma lololol, canon violence, canon gore, talking about Dean's deal sad face

Word Count: 7223

A/N: One of my favorite episodes of all time ever. I am so excited to share this with you guys. Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of the support. I love y’all!

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In the middle of nowhere in Michigan, you and Dean posed as FBI agents investigating a holly jolly potential case. 

“Um, my daughter and I were in our beds,” the woman before you shakily explained.

“Mike was downstairs decorating the tree. I heard a thump on the roof, and then, I heard Mike scream. And now I’m talking to the FBI.”

“And you didn't see any of it?” Dean questioned. 

She shook her head tearfully. “No, he was… he was just gone.”

“The doors were locked? There was no forced entry?” you asked. 

“That’s right,” she replied. 

“Does anybody else have a key?” you suggested. 

“My parents.”

“Where do they live?”

“Florida.”

Sam then walked out of the house. “ Thanks for letting me have a look around, Mrs. Walsh. I think we, uh, got just about everything we need. We’re all set.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Dean told her. 

The three of you started down the steps. 

“Agents?” Mrs. Walsh called.

You turned to face her. 

“The police said my husband might have been kidnapped.”

“Could be,” Dean shrugged. 

“Then… why haven’t the kidnappers called? O-Or demanded a ransom? It’s three days till Christmas. What am I supposed to tell our daughter?” she began to cry.

“We’re very sorry,” you said empathetically. You watched the distressed woman turn to go back inside, and the heavy Christmas wreath on the door clunked against the door when she shut it. 

“Find anything?” Dean asked Sam as the three of you walked away from the house. 

Sam sighed. “Stocking, mistletoe… this.” He took something out of his pocket and dropped it into Dean’s hand. 

You inspected it. “A tooth?” you asked upon seeing the bloody bone. 

“Where was this?” Dean looked up at Sam and away from the tooth. 

“In the chimney,” Sam replied. 

“Chimney? No way a man fits up a chimney. It’s too narrow,” Dean grimaced. 

“At least, not in one piece,” you winced. 

“Alright, so, if dad went up the chimney—”

“We need to find out what dragged him up there,” Sam finished. 

***

Christmas had never been a completely happy time for you. Growing up Catholic, there was always a hint of, perhaps, fear that came with the holiday. The idea that Christ was supposed to come again, and his second coming would mean the end of the world was unsettling to you, even as an incredibly pious child. 

Working jobs around the holidays always managed to recreate that unsettled feeling for you. Something so gruesome like the case you were dealing with now around such a happy holiday always made you nostalgic for a childhood you never had: an innocent one. 

Around your motel room, Sam was pinning pictures of demons up while you researched on your laptop. The door opened, and Dean came inside. 

“So, was I right? Is it the serial-killing chimney sweep?” Dean smirked, carrying a brown paper bag.

Sam mirrored Dean’s expression. “Yep. It's, uh, it’s actually Dick Van Dyke.”

Dean looked confused, but you snickered. 

“Who?” Dean asked. 

“Dude,” you said, “Mary Poppins?”

“Who’s that?” 

“Oh, god, you’re hopeless,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“Well, it turns out that Walsh is the second guy in town grabbed out of his house this month,” Dean explained. 

“The other guy get dragged up the chimney, too?” Sam asked. 

“Don’t know. Witnesses said they heard a thump on the roof,” Dean shrugged. “So, what the hell do you think we're dealing with?”

“Actually, I have an idea,” Sam replied. “Uh, it's gonna sound crazy.”

“What could you possibly say that sounds crazy to me?” Dean deadpanned. 

“How ‘bout evil Santa,” you smirked.

Dean considered a moment before nodding. “Yeah, that’s crazy.”

“Yeah… I mean, I’m just saying that there’s some version of the anti-Claus in every culture,” Sam said while he showed Dean drawings of the creature. “You got Belsnickel, Krampus, Black Peter. Whatever you want to call it, there’s all sorts of lore.”

“Saying what?” Dean looked incredulous. 

“Saying, back in the day, Santa’s brother went rogue and now he shows up around Christmas time, but instead of bringing presents, he punishes the wicked.”

“By hauling their ass up chimneys?” Dean snorted. “So, this is your theory, huh? Santa’s shady brother?”

Sam shrugged. “Well, ah, I’m just saying, that’s what the lore says.”

“Santa doesn’t have a brother. There is no Santa.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re the one who told me that in the first place, remember,” Sam sassed at his brother. 

Dean looked down, seeming to feel a little guilty. 

Finally, Sam sighed. “Yeah, you know what, I could be wrong. I gotta be wrong.”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”

You and Sam were confused. 

“I did a little digging. Turns out both victims visited the same place before they got snatched,” Dean explained. 

“Where?” Sam asked. 

***

The place Dean was referring to was a cutesy little craft fair called “Santa’s Village.” Children played and people bustled around wearing Christmas costumes. 

“It does kind of lend credence to the theory, don’t it?” Dean remarked, looking around himself. 

“Yeah, but anti-Claus? Couldn’t be,” Sam replied. 

“It’s a Christmas miracle. Hey, speaking of, we should have one this year,” Dean suggested casually. 

You remained quiet, feeling almost sorrowful at his statement given he’d discussed bringing this up to Sam with you.  

“Have one what?”

“A Christmas.”

Sam scoffed. “No, thanks.”

“Aw, c’mon, Sam,” you said, swallowing your emotions. 

“Yeah, we’ll get a tree, a little Boston market, just like when we were little,” Dean continued. 

“Dean, those weren’t exactly Hallmark memories for me, you know,” Sam reminded his brother. 

“What are you talking about? We had some great Christmases.”

“Whose childhood are you talking about?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Sam.”

“No! Just… no.”

You and Dean were both surprised by Sam’s petulance. “Alright, Grinch,” Dean snarked. He walked ahead, and you remained by his side. 

“What’s Sam talking about?” you asked quietly. 

“Ah, I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I mean, Dad was out all the time, and Sammy and I fought… a lot… as kids, but I didn’t think it’d scar him.” 

You turned back to Sam who still seemed lost in thought. 

“Hey, Scrooge,” you called, which seemed to shake the younger brother out of his own head, “you comin’?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m with you.” He caught back up to you and Dean. 

“What are we looking for, again?” Dean asked him. 

“Um…” Sam trailed off, “lore says that the anti-Claus will walk with a limp and smell like sweets.”

“Great. So we’re looking for a pimp Santa,” Dean said dryly. “Why the sweets?” 

“Think about it, Dee,” you replied. “If you smell like candy, the kids will come closer. Which is wrong on just… so many levels.”

Sam chuckled. 

“How does this thing know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice?” Dean questioned. 

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Dean turned toward a man dressed as Santa taking pictures with a child whose mother stood close by. “Maybe we do,” he noted.

***

Later that night, you and the Winchesters were just about to confront and kill who you thought was your Krampus. Fortunately for the Santa actor from earlier in the day, you realized the man was just a lonely old creep. 

After an uncomfortable rendition of “Silent Night” that Dean led you and Sam in singing in an attempt to explain why you were in the creepy Santa’s house, you slumped down in the backseat of the Impala.

“Well, back to square one, I guess,” you sighed. “Also, Dean, couldn’t you have picked a song you actually knew the words to?”

“Hey, I did know the words,” he replied, beginning to drive off. 

“Yeah, all two of ‘em,” Sam chimed in. 

You giggled. “Hey, Sam?” you asked. 

“Hm?”

“Why do you hate Christmas so much?”

The younger brother sighed. “(Y/N)...”

Dean took the opportunity to jump into the conversation. “I mean, I admit it. Y’know, we had a few bumpy holidays when we were kids.”

“ ‘Bumpy’?” Sam scoffed. 

“That was then. We’ll do it right this year,” Dean tried. 

“Look, Dean. If you and (Y/N) want to have Christmas, knock yourselves out. Just don’t involve me.” Sam shifted in his seat to face the dark night that had fallen outside of the car. 

Dean grumbled, “Oh, yeah, that’d be great. Me and (Y/N) making cranberry molds.”

You knew Dean wasn’t actually opposed to just enjoying Christmas with you, but he wanted to involve his brother.

***

“Wanna smoke?” you asked Dean. 

Sam was still wide awake in his bed, and you and Dean had some things to talk about without the younger Winchester present. 

He nodded and followed you out of the room. 

Despite the lack of snow on the ground, you were bundled in one of Dean’s hoodies to protect you from the slight chill in the air.

“I think you’re turnin’ me into a fiend,” Dean commented as you lit your joint. 

“Well, I’d rather you smoke a plant than drown yourself in booze,” you replied, a slight tremble in your voice from the cold. 

“I meant to tell you earlier,” Dean began, taking the joint from you and looking at the ground, “you’ve got a real beautiful voice.”

You laughed softly and hopped up on the trunk of the Impala. “You’re only sayin’ that ‘cause you and Sam are terrible.”

“I’m serious,” he said, blowing the smoke at you playfully. 

You scrunched up your nose and shut your eyes to avoid the puff. When you reopened them, you found Dean staring at you with that confusing expression again. After all this time, you still couldn’t place what that look meant. 

“What?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips. 

He shook his head, still admiring you and smirking. “Nothin’.”

“So, do you want me to talk to Sam? About Christmas?” Dean’s intense stare was making you nervous, and you needed to break it up with the conversation you initially wanted to have with him. 

“Nah,” Dean shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll come around.”

You opened your arms to him and gestured for him to come lean against you. He turned his back to the Impala, and you wrapped your arms around him. You kissed his shoulder before placing your chin on top of it. The two of you just sat like that in silence in the cold, enjoying each other’s company while getting lost in thought. 

“What was your Christmas like? As a kid, I mean?” Dean asked, breaking the silence. 

You picked your chin up off his shoulder and stuck your hands in your pockets. “Oh, gosh,” you sighed. “It was always a little less ‘candy canes and Rudolph’ and a little more ‘fear and condemnation’.”

Dean jumped up on the trunk next to you and turned, clearly a little surprised by your answer. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged. “Christmas always kinda felt like a threat to me. Y’know, ‘Jesus is gonna come again’ and all that.”

“That’s… weirdly dirty,” Dean commented. 

You gently nudged his shoulder with yours. “Perv. Meaning Jesus is gonna come back to life and, like… destroy the planet. My mom always said Christmas was a reminder that this is not our true home.”

“This, as in, earth?” he asked, genuine intrigue in his eyes. 

You nodded. “And we’re all gonna end up being judged. And if you don’t believe or follow the commandments, you’re sentenced to Hell.”

“Jesus,” Dean grimaced. “That’s a little dark to be telling a kid.”

“Tell me about it,” you smirked. “But… if that’s the truth, at least we know I’ll be seeing you again.” You turned to him, smiling a little lopsidedly.

He tried to return your smile, but his heart wasn’t in it. “I’m scared, (Y/N).” 

You nodded. “I know. Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head. 

You took a moment to let his mind recover from his anxieties. “What were your Christmases like growing up? You said they were good, but you never told me why they were good.”

“Uh, let’s see,” Dean began, reflecting on something in his memory. “There was this one time when Dad was supposed to make it back from a hunting trip. He’d promised Sammy he’d be home for Christmas. But, uh, Dad never showed.”

You looked at him sadly. 

Dean’s eyes remained focused on his hands in his lap. “I was maybe twelve. Sammy was eight. And on Christmas Eve, while he was asleep, I went out and found this really nice house.”

“You did not!” you scolded playfully, knowing exactly where he was going with this. 

“I did,” Dean chuckled. “Only, I didn’t know they were chick presents. Sam was pissed when he got a Barbie instead of the green army men he’d been asking for.”

“You did the best you could,” you reminded him.

Dean shrugged. “And, uh, since he never made it back, Sam gave me the present he was planning on giving to Dad.” He thumbed the amulet around his neck and showed it to you. 

“That’s so sweet,” you smiled, a tinge of nostalgic sadness behind your smile. “My little brother and I always gave each other what we could. Normally, it was just stupid little things from the gas stations around or something.” You smiled, remembering your brother fondly. “When he was seven, Steven gave me a little bracelet. He stole it out of a girl’s backpack pocket when she was waiting for her parents to finish booking a room in the motel lobby. He was a great pickpocket; you guys would’ve gotten along great.”

Dean chuckled. 

“But anyway, uh, it was a little friendship bracelet. I was so upset when I grew out of it,” you said. “Biggest regret of my life is burning it with his body.”

Dean nodded somberly. “Why’d you do it?”

You shrugged. “I kept telling myself, ‘He doesn’t live in the stuff. Keeping his stuff doesn’t keep him alive.’ And I’d grown out of it, so I figured, I’d never have any use for it again. But, uh, I was an angry teenager. I was so angry at him for so long after he killed himself. I definitely threw the bracelet in the fire in a moment of anger.”

Dean just stared at you, and once again, you couldn’t read his expression. 

“You keep giving me that look,” you said, staring deeply into his beautiful eyes. 

“What look?” he asked. Dean clearly knew what you were talking about, as his face hadn’t really changed from the look in question; there was simply a slight tease behind his eyes on top of it. 

“That look,” you said, giggling. “It frustrates me so much ‘cause it’s, like, the only facial expression on the planet I can’t read.” “Then, I’m definitely not telling you what it means now,” Dean taunted, still smirking. 

You rolled your eyes and hopped off the car. Dean grabbed your arm and spun you back around to face him, putting you back on the trunk and standing between your legs. He kissed you deeply, hands eagerly trying to pull you closer despite there being no more room between the two of you. 

“Dean,” you said between kisses. “Dean—”

“What?” Dean pulled back just long enough to ask you and then returned to kissing you. 

“We have to go to bed now, c’mon,” you replied. 

“Aw, c’mon, not yet,” Dean groaned, trailing his lips down your neck. 

You sighed shakily at the feeling of his soft lips against the sensitive skin, and your eyes closed in content. “C’mon,” you whined. “I’m freezing.”

“Fine,” he groaned. 

***

The next day, another poor soul had gone missing. According to the son of the man who was abducted, Santa had dragged his father up the chimney. As you left the house, Sam noticed a wreath on the hearth he’d felt noteworthy enough to ask the grieving wife about. 

“Wreaths, huh?” Dean taunted, sauntering away from the woman’s house. “Sure you didn’t want to ask her about her shoes? I saw some nice handbags in the foyer.”

“We’ve seen that wreath before, Dean,” Sam said, ignoring his brother’s flippance.

“Where?” you and Dean asked in unison. 

“The Walshes’. Yesterday.”

Dean eyed Sam curiously. “I know. I was just testing you.”

You rolled your eyes, ducking down into the Impala. 

***

“I’m an idiot,” you groaned, dropping your head back.

Sam sat up from behind his laptop. “What, why?”

Dean turned to you from his spot on your shared bed as well. 

“That smell,” you said. “Guys, we’re not dealing with Krampus.” You laughed at your own stupidity. “I should’ve known it from the wreath on the door at the Walshes’ house!”

“(Y/N), would you cut to the chase?” Dean asked dryly. 

“It’s meadowsweet,” you revealed. 

Dean whistled mockingly. “Wow! Amazing. What the hell is meadowsweet?”

“It’s pretty rare, and it’s probably the most powerful plant in pagan lore,” Sam replied. 

“Pagan lore?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Meadowsweet’s for human sacrifice. It’s kinda like chum for the gods. The gods are drawn to it, and they’d stop by and snack on the nearest human.”

“Why would somebody be using that for Christmas wreaths?” Dean wondered. 

“Almost every Christmas tradition is pagan, Dee,” you replied. 

“Okay, Ms. Catholic, I thought it was Jesus’s birthday,” Dean snarked, a smile playing on his lips.

“No, uh, I had to unlearn that when I left the Church. Jesus’s birthday was probably in the fall. Yule was the winter solstice festival the church stole and renamed ‘Christmas.’ ‘Cause, y’know, eurocentrism. Hooray,” you explained. 

Sam added, “The Yule log, the tree, even Santa’s red suit; that’s all remnants of pagan worship.”

“How do you know that? What are you two freaks gonna tell me next? Easter bunny’s Jewish?” Dean remarked. 

Both of you rolled your eyes. 

“So, you really think we’re gonna be dealing with a pagan god?” The older brother quirked a brow. 

“Yeah, probably Hold Nickar, god of the winter solstice,” Sam noted, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Dean huffed, “And all these Martha Stewart wannabes, buying these fancy wreaths…” 

“Yeah, it’s pretty much like putting a neon sign on your front door saying ‘Come kill us’.”

Dean deadpanned, “Great.”

“Wait, Hold Nickar makes sense, though,” you chimed in, something dawning on you. “Guess what he gives you in return?”

“Lap dances, hopefully,” Dean smirked. 

You gave him a look. “Mild weather.”

Dean looked out of the window. “Like no snow in the middle of December in the middle of Michigan.”

“For instance,” shrugged Sam. 

“Do we know how to kill it yet?” Dean asked. 

“Have you met me? That’s all I’ve been looking for the past hour.”

“While you work on that—” Sam turned to his brother, “we got to figure out where they’re selling those wreaths.”

“You think they’re selling them on purpose?” Dean questioned, sitting up on his bed.

“Feeding the victims to this thing?”

Sam sighed. “Let’s find out.”

“You keep workin’ your pagan-god-killin’ angle, (Y/N),” Dean told you, moving over to you. “Sam and I ’ll be back soon.” He gave you a quick kiss on your forehead, and your cheeks heated at the brief contact.

***

“How ‘re you supposed to kill a god, (Y/N)?” Bobby droned through the phone.

“I don’t know, dude, that’s what I’m asking you,” you sighed. “I mean, I’ve been pouring through this shit online for hours. I’m ready to pull my fucking hair out.”

“Lemme make a few calls, kid, and I’ll see what I can do,” Bobby said. 

“Thanks, Bobby. You’re the best.” You sat back in your chair and clicked your phone off. 

Almost as if on cue, Dean burst through the door with Sam trailing behind him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the older one drawled. “Got somethin’ for me?”

“I wish. Just sent Bobby lookin’,” you replied. “Got anything for me?”

“Actually, yeah,” Dean said. “That store we went to? Turns out, lady named Madge Carrigan gave ‘em to the store for free. How much do you think a meadowsweet wreath would cost?” 

“A couple hundred dollars, at least,” Sam answered while you clacked away at your computer looking for Madge Carrigan’s home address. 

“Sounds pretty suspicious,” you said absentmindedly. 

“Remember that wreath Dad brought home that one year?” Dean laughed while he took his jacket off.

“You mean, the one he stole from, like, a liquor store?” Sam responded, an unimpressed expression crossing his features. 

“Yeah, it was a bunch of empty beer cans. That thing was great. I bet if I looked around hard enough, I could probably find one just like it.” He sat on the bed closest to you and went to lean over and look at your computer. 

Despite the fact that you were still on the phone, Sam asked Dean, “Alright, dude… What’s going on with you?”

You stopped typing, and both you and Dean sat up to face Sam. 

“I mean, since when are you Bing Crosby all of a sudden?” continued the brunet. “Why do you want Christmas so bad?”

“Why are you so against it?” Dean challenged. “I mean, were your childhood memories that traumatic?”

Sam’s voice became heavy with emotion. “No, that has nothing to do with it. I-I mean, I-I just… I don’t get it. You haven’t talked about Christmas in years.”

“Well, yeah.” Dean’s voice had less of an edge. “This is my last year.”

Sam huffed out a quick breath. “I know. That’s why I can’t.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, I can’t just sit around, drinking eggnog, pretending everything’s okay, when I know next Christmas, you’ll be dead.” The near-casualness Sam spoke about Dean’s almost-five-month-out deadline with made your breath catch in your throat. “I just can’t,” Sam finished, voice almost too quiet for you to hear. 

The three of you went silent. To distract yourself from the heaviness in the room, you went back to typing on your laptop to find Madge Carrigan’s address and any information on her that suggested she really was your bad guy. 

You could feel Dean staring at you, though, and you knew he needed you at that moment. So you shut your laptop and got into bed with him. He laid against your chest, and you kept your arms around him tightly. Soon, you drifted off to a dreamless sleep. 

***

The next day, you and Dean headed to the Carrigan’s home. Sam stayed behind to research and see if you had missed anything in your search the night before. The house you arrived at was decorated with cutesy Christmas decorations and screamed the 1950s “American dream.”

“This is where Mrs. Wreath lives, huh?” Dean remarked, looking around. “Can’t you just feel the evil pagan vibe?” He rapped his knuckles against the door. 

A blonde, middle-aged woman in a sweater opened it. “Yes?” she answered sweetly. 

“Please tell me you’re the Madge Carrigan who makes the meadowsweet wreaths,” Dean said. 

“Why, yes I am,” she smiled widely. 

“Ha! Bingo.” Dean turned to you with a grin. 

“We just moved into the neighborhood,” you lied, gesturing between yourself and Dean, “and we were mingling with the Sylars the other day. They had one of your beautiful wreaths on their fireplace. He and I were immediately in love with it.”

“You were? Well, isn't that meadowsweet just the finest-smelling thing you ever smelled?” Mrs. Carrigan’s smile had not lessened since she opened the front door; it was creeping you out. 

“It is; it sure is,” you replied. “But the problem is that all your wreaths had sold out before we got the chance to buy one.”

“Oh, fudge!” she pouted. 

“You wouldn’t have another one that we could buy from you, would you?” Dean questioned.

“Oh, no, I’m afraid those were the only ones I had for this season.”

“Aww…” you whined, deflating. 

“Tell me something, why did you decide to make them out of meadowsweet?” your partner asked. 

A man who you assumed was Mr. Carrigan came down the staircase behind the woman as she answered, “Why, the smell, of course! I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything finer.”

‘She… already said that,’ you thought, but you kept the smile plastered on your face.

“What's going on, honey?” Mr. Carrigan asked his wife. You noticed his outfit of choice was a cardigan and slacks, and he held an old-fashioned pipe. The two reminded you very much of “Leave it to Beaver.”

“Well, just this nice couple asking about my wreaths, dear.”

“Oh, the wreaths are fine,” Mr. Carrigan affirmed. “Fine wreaths. Oh, care for some peanut brittle?” He held out a tin, and Dean took a piece. 

You gave him a harsh glare, preventing him from raising the brittle to his lips. Politely, you bid the couple goodbye and kept Dean from snacking while he started to drive.

As soon as you got out of the line of the Carrigans’ sights, you took the peanut brittle and chucked it out of the window. 

“What was that for? I’m hungry,” Dean whined. 

“Evil pagans, Dean,” you reminded him. “I don’t want you to get magical food poisoning.” You kissed his cheek and sat back in your chair.

He considered for a moment but finally seemed to admit defeat when he hung his head, a small smile and a blush rising to his cheeks. 

***

That night, you and the Winchesters headed back to the Carrigan’s home. “ ‘O Come All Ye Faithful” played from somewhere down the street, and the soft glow of Christmas lights on strings shining through the dark night almost made you feel like a child again; falling asleep in the back of your family’s station wagon while your mother hummed along to the Christmas tunes on the radio. 

An evergreen stake was hidden in your jacket’s inside pocket; Bobby was becoming your favorite person with his seemingly endless amounts of contacts and information. Sam had informed you and his brother that the last place the Carrigans had lived, three people disappeared, too. 

You followed Dean into the living room of the dark home after he picked the lock. He turned around and whispered, “See? Plastic.” He gestured to the couch and other furniture  still covered in sheets of it.

You headed down the hallway where ornaments and snow globes rested on shelves on the wall. You made your way into the kitchen where Sam and Dean were looking at a lock on the basement door. Dean picked it, and you followed him down the stairs. You did your best to avoid making the stairs creak as you did so. 

You shined your flashlight around and realized the basement was less of a storage room and more of Hannibal Lector’s playroom; a bowl of blood and bone sat at the end of a bloodstained wooden table just big enough to fit a human on that had shackles outfitted to each of its corners. You backed up along the wall, only to bump into something that moved. You yelped in surprise and wheeled around to see a leather bag wriggling around, as if a person was inside it. 

Suddenly, you felt a hand on the back of your shirt, lifting you up, and you screamed. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean yelled. 

You wriggled and kicked with all your might, but Mr. Carrigan was too strong. He turned you around and held you to the wall by your throat, and you clawed at his hand to get away from him. However, slowly losing air, you were unsure whether the best strategy was to fight or to conserve your oxygen. 

“Gosh, I wish you kids hadn’t come down here,” Madge smiled sweetly.

***

Slowly, your mind began to awaken. Your limbs and head felt heavy, and the light seeping in through your closed eyes felt painful. You blinked a few times, soon able to fully open your eyes and look around. 

You jerked a little in your seat but soon realized your hands were bound to the chair. You turned your head to the left to see Dean tied up shoulders slumped, and on the right, Sam. You supposed the two boys were tied back to back and your chair was tied sort of in between the two. However, you couldn’t see anything going on behind you. 

“Dean? You okay?” you asked frantically when you heard him groan. 

“Yeah, I think so,” he grumbled. 

“How ‘bout you, Sam?” 

Sam just hummed in response. “So, I guess we’re dealing with Mr. and Mrs. God. Nice to know.”

“Yeah,” Dean murmured, breathing deeply. 

You heard approaching footsteps coming from behind you. 

“Ooh, and here we thought you two lazybones were gonna sleep straight through all the fun stuff,” you heard Madge giggle. 

“Miss all this? Nah, we’re partiers,” Dean snarked. 

You heard Mr. Carrigan take a puff from his pipe. “Isn’t he a kick in the pants, honey? You’re hunters, is what you are.”

“And you’re pagan gods. So, why don't we just call it even, and go our separate ways?” the older brother suggested. 

“What, so you can bring more hunters and kill us?” Madge laughed, voice still sugary sweet. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you went snacking on humans, now, huh?” Sam shot back.

“Oh now, don’t get all wet,” Mr. Carrigan scolded gently. 

“Oh, why, we used to take over a hundred tributes a year and that’s a fact.” You turned to the left to see Madge put a napkin on Dean’s lap. “Now what do we take?” She did the same to you. “What, two? Three?” And then did the same to Sam.

“Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew here make six.” Mr. Carrigan took another drag from his pipe. Funnily enough, you hadn’t seen him light the thing once yet. 

“Now, that’s not so bad, is it?” Madge crooned. 

“Well, you say it like that,” Dean sassed, “I guess you guys are the Cunninghams.”

“You, mister, better show us a little respect,” Madge instructed, and you could see her leaning down to try and intimidate Dean.

“Or what?” you remarked, trying to crane your neck around to look at the Carrigans. “You gonna eat us?”

“Not so fast,” Mr. Carrigan responded. “There’s rituals to be followed first.”

You turned to Madge, who looked excited. “Oh, we’re just sticklers for ritual.”

“And you know what kicks off the whole shebang?” Mr. Carrigan taunted, walking around in front of you.

“Let me guess.” The glare you delivered was challenging. “Meadowsweet.”

Mr. Carrigan nodded. 

“Oh shucks,” you mockingly pouted, “you’re all out of wreaths. I guess we’ll just have to cancel the sacrifice, huh?”

“Oh, don’t be such a gloomy Gus.” You could hear Madge rustling around as she spoke. Suddenly, a wreath was put around your neck. You attempted to bite Mrs. Carrigan’s fingers to no avail, and she just tapped your nose in response. “There. Oh, don’t they just look darling?

Mr. Carrigan smacked his lips. “Good enough to eat. Alrighty-roo. Step number two.” You heard the sound of a knife being released from its sheath. 

Sam started mumbling, “No, no—” to which you and Dean cried his name. 

“D-Don’t!” Sam wailed. 

“Leave him alone, you son of a bitch!” Dean shouted. 

You struggled even harder against your binds.

“Hear how they talk to us?” Mr. Carrigan tsked. “To gods? Listen, pal, back in the day, we were worshiped by millions.”

Mr. Carrigan walked around to you holding the bowl, and you started to panic just a little. 

“Times have changed!” Dean growled. 

“Tell me about it. All of a sudden, this Jesus character is the hot new thing in town. All of a sudden, our– our altars are being burned down, and we’re being hunted down like common monsters.” Mr. Carrigan walked back behind what you assumed was the kitchen counter.

“But did we say a peep? Oh ho ho, no, no, no, we did not. Two millennia,” Madge continued for her husband. “We kept a low profile; we got jobs, a mortgage. Wh- What was that word, dear?”

“We assimilated.”

“Yeah, we assimilated. Why, we play bridge on Tuesday and Fridays.” The woman walked over to you holding the bowl with Sam’s blood in it. “We’re just like everybody else.”

“You’re not blending in as smooth as you think, lady,” Dean snarked. Madge ignored your partner’s comment. “This might pinch a bit, dear.” With that, she sliced into your arm deeply. 

“F-Fuck!” you screamed. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean yelled. “Get your hands off her!”

“Oh, my goodness me! Somebody owes a nickel to the swear jar. Oh, do you know what I say when I feel like swearing?” Madge waved the knife around in your face as you panted in pain. “ ‘Fudge’.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” you sassed. 

“Oh, god, you son of a bitch!” Dean howled, and you assumed Madge had cut him up, too. 

“Get away from him!” you yelled, creating brush burns on your arms from how hard you were pulling on your binds.

“You kids have no idea how lucky you are,” Mr. Carrigan said. “There was a time when kids came from miles around, just to be sitting where you are.” He came to a stop in front of you holding a pair of pliers.

“What do you think you’re doing with those?” you asked, chest heaving in panic. 

All he did was smile in response. 

“You fudging touch her again, and I’ll fudging kill you!” Dean growled. 

“Very good!” Madge praised just before you heard your love groan in pain again. 

You had no time to focus on Dean because Mr. Carrigan grabbed your hand. 

“No, no, don’t!” Sam begged from beside you. 

“Get off me!” you cried, and your cry soon turned into a scream as the god painfully pulled your index fingernail off. 

“Oh, we got a winner!” Mr. Carrigan exclaimed happily. He disappeared from your line of sight again, and you dropped your head back on your chair. Your finger and arm were throbbing, and you couldn’t help but cry. 

“I swear to god, (Y/N), I’ll fucking kill them,” you heard Dean mutter through the white hot pain roaring in your ears.

“What else, dear?” Madge cooed. 

“Well, let’s see. Uh, fingernails, blood. Oh! Sweet Peter on a popsicle stick,” the man laughed. “I forgot the tooth.”

“Oh, dear!”

“Merry Christmas, guys,” Dean said, out of breath. 

You turned your head to see Madge and Mr. Carrigan advancing on Dean. The man held the pliers up and grabbed Dean’s chin harshly. “Open wide… and say, ‘Aah’.”

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. 

“Somebody gonna get that?” Dean asked around the tool in his mouth. “You should get that.”

“Come on,” Mr. Carrigan finally said. 

You knew you had to act fast, and you started working the knife out of your sleeve as soon as the doors shut behind the Carrigans. Silently, all three of you got out of your binds. You hid with Dean behind one of the kitchen doors. 

“Now, where were we?” you heard Madge say. 

You pulled a drawer out to hold the door closed and trapped the Carrigans in the kitchen. Almost immediately, the couple was attempting to open them. 

You made your way over to Sam at the other end of the kitchen and leaned on the door beside him.

“What do we do now? The evergreen stakes are in the basement!” Dean whispered. 

“Well, we need more evergreen, Dean!” Sam replied. 

You looked over at the tree in the corner of the living room. “Guys. Bingo.”

Dean smirked excitedly. “Sam, help me get this.” He had his brother assist him in moving the large cabinet next to the door in front of it.

While the boys worked, you pushed the Christmas tree over and broke three large branches off it. You tossed one to both boys who caught them with ease. 

Gripping your stake tightly, you waited with bated breath as the house went silent. Suddenly, Mr. Carrigan tackled Dean to the ground. Madge grabbed your shoulder before you could help Dean and wheeled you around. “You little thing,” she chastised. “I loved that tree.”

You raised your stake, but she hit you hard and threw you back onto the plastic-covered couch. The woman stalked toward you, and you whacked her to the ground with the branches of your stake. You scrambled to your feet before she could recover and stabbed her through the chest with your stake.

“Madge!” Mr. Carrigan screamed just before Sam stabbed him with his own makeshift stake.

You moved to stand beside the two boys, chest heaving from the effort. “Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals,” you breathed out at the dead bodies at your feet. The two boys huffed out labored laughs before Dean slung his arm around your shoulder and began leading you out of the house. 

***

“How’d you keep Dean from finding this stuff?” Sam asked.

You pulled a few plastic bags out from under the bed you shared with the older Winchester. “He doesn’t look under here unless it’s for his shoes. I’ve been making sure they’re next to mine by the door every night,” you explained with a smile. You handed one of the bags to Sam. “It’s not much, but I found a crappy dollar store down the road. I was hoping you’d change your mind.”

Sam looked down sheepishly. “You do get why I was… hesitant, though, right?”

You stood up and nodded. “Absolutely, I do.”

He gave you a lopsided smile. 

“C’mon,” you said. “Oh! I almost forgot!”

“What?”

You stooped to pull out the little plastic Christmas tree from under Sam’s bed and held it up with a wide grin.

***

Dean returned almost an hour later holding a six pack. “What’s all this?” he asked, almost in a sort of daze as he looked around the decorated room.

You continued to busy yourself with making eggnog while the brothers talked.

“What do you think it is? It’s– it’s Christmas,” Sam replied.

You walked over to Sam with a cup of your concoction.

“What made you change your mind?” Dean asked him.

“Oh, thanks,” Sam told you without answering his brother.

“Lemme know if it needs more of a kick,” you said. 

Sam took a swig and coughed. “Nope, all good.”

“Yeah?” you grinned.

Sam nodded and smiled. 

Dean came up behind you and slipped an arm around your waist, his hand landing just above your ass. He smirked down at you and took the other cup of eggnog from your left hand. He gulped almost half of it down, unfazed by the strong whiskey taste. 

“Well, uh, have a seat. Let’s do… Christmas stuff, or whatever,” Sam awkwardly said. 

You sat beside Dean on the couch next to the small Christmas tree decorated with car air fresheners. Sam pulled up a chair across from you. 

“All right, first things first,” Dean nodded, and you handed him the two packages he’d wrapped shoddily in brown paper bags. “Merry Christmas, Sam.” Dean handed him one of the two bags.

Sam smiled widely. “Where’d you get these?”

“Someplace special,” Dean smirked. At Sam’s deadpan expression, Dean continued, “The gas mart down the street. Open them up.”

“Well, great minds think alike, Dean.” Sam brought out two packages wrapped in newspaper. He gave the first to Dean. 

“Really?” Dean asked, eyes shining with surprise. 

You left Dean’s arms momentarily to reach under the couch and brought out two packages daintily wrapped in brown paper. You handed one to each of the boys, and they handed their gifts to you. “You didn’t have to get me anything, guys,” you said. 

“Yeah, we did. Shuddup,” Dean remarked, smirking. 

You relaxed back against him while Sam opened his gift from Dean. “Skin mags!” he laughed. “And shaving cream.”

“You like?” Dean questioned.

Sam smiled and nodded. He then opened the gift from you. “Oh, no way!” He held up the Staind cassette tapes you’d gotten for him to add to Dean’s collection for long drives; especially for when Dean was gone. 

You grinned widely as he admired the tapes. “Okay, Dee, your turn,” you told him. 

He chuckled and unwrapped Sam’s gift to him. “Look at this! Fuel for me and fuel for my baby.” He held up a candy bar and a bottle of oil, and you laughed. “These are awesome,” the older brother said. “Thanks, Sammy.” 

“Okay, now mine,” you beamed. 

“Oh, holy shit,” Dean breathed out while he opened the Bowie knife you’d gotten engraved for him. On the hilt of the blade were his initials, and the handle was engraved to look just like the side of his prized Taurus pistol. “Jesus, (Y/N), this is—” he couldn’t seem to find the words, instead opting to place a long kiss on the side of your forehead. 

At last, you opened yours. Sam gave you the second book in a series you’d been reading on Greek myths, for which you were eternally grateful, but Dean’s gift truly floored you.

“Where’d you get this?” you asked, fingering the small beaded bracelet Dean had given you. 

“Off some kid in the lobby,” he smirked.

Tears filled your eyes at how close of attention he paid to you and your stories. 

“There’s something else in there, too.” 

You looked up to Dean with complete admiration before rummaging around in the bag once more. You pulled out a ripped piece of paper from the notepad at a motel you’d recently stayed at with the words, “Redeem on Dean’s expiration date.” You looked up to him in confusion.

“It’s, uh, for this,” Dean revealed, thumbing the amulet around his neck. “I want you to have it.” 

You threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He returned your fierce embrace, pulling you impossibly closer across his lap. 

“Merry Christmas, Deano,” you whispered into his shoulder.

Dean pulled away from you and kissed your forehead. He then held his eggnog up to cheers you and Sam. “Merry Christmas, guys.”

The three of you sat in silence sipping your drinks before Sam broke the quiet. 

He looked quite sad as he began, “Hey, Dean, y—” but Sam cut himself off, sighing and shaking his head. “Do you feel like watching the game?” he finally asked.

Dean grinned in relief. “Absolutely.”

You clicked on the television before settling into Dean’s side. He lazily thumbed your hip and sighed in content. Sam turned his chair to face the television.

***

Later that night, long after Dean and Sam had gone to bed, you were still wide awake. Snow had begun softly falling outside the motel room window, and the moonlight reflected off the white blanket over the Impala beautifully. Wrapped in a blanket, you made your way over to your duffel bag. You hadn’t taken the bracelet that Dean gave you off, and you were still holding the piece of paper to “redeem” when Dean was gone. 

You took your wallet out and slipped the piece of paper into the see-through pocket where your ID sat, and there it would stay until this was all over. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[estrellami-1]

Steddie Week 2023

May 28th Prompt: Free Space

Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Day 5, Day 6

@steddie-week

(Warning for queer slurs, but spoken in love, if that makes sense?)

“I hate you,” Robin hisses, eyes glassy. She covers her mouth, shakes her head. “Steve. Holy shit.”

He’s looking at her with an unreadable expression. His eyes are also glassy. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s gonna love it. Fuck. Fuck you, dingus, I didn’t want to cry today.”

He laughs, then, and gathers her into his arms. “Thanks for letting me practice on you, Robbie.”

“I’m never doing that again. Holy shit.”

Steve smirks. “It’s alright. I promise to cry whenever you practice on me for Vickie.”

She pinches his side. He elbows hers. “Let me know when you decide to do it, yeah? I’ll steal Jon’s camera.”

Steve snorts. “Just borrow it like a normal person, Robs.”

“Literally when have I ever been normal.”

“…Fair point.” He shifts. “You think he’s gonna like it? For real?”

“If he doesn’t like it I’m taking your nail bat and practicing with his head.”

“Robin, oh my god.” He laughs, probably more than the joke warrants—especially considering he’s not entirely sure she’s joking—but he’s so relieved. “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too, dingus. Just tell me when.”

“Um. Tomorrow night, actually. I’m taking him back to Hawkins, to the quarry.”

She makes a face. “Why there?”

“It was our first date. We had a picnic.”

“Oh my god,” Robin says, then her eyes widen. “Wait. Steve. Steve. You have a ring.”

Steve laughs, digs his hand into his pocket. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”

“Oh, fuck you,” she says, grabbing at his hand and peeling his fingers open, grabbing the ring as soon as she can, turning it and inspecting it. She frowns a little, looking intently at the inside. “What-”

Steve smiles. “I love you in Elvish.”

“You’re both suck dorks.” She looks up at him, smiles. “He’s gonna absolutely love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You know he’s head over heels for you.”

Steve blushes. “I still don’t know how.”

“Because you deserve it, dingus, you’re a good guy. A really good guy. And, according to everyone who likes guys, you’re extremely attractive.”

Steve laughs. “Thanks, Robin.”

“You’re welcome.”

A key in the lock startles them, and Robin slips the ring back into Steve’s pocket a second before the door opens. “Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie says, smiling at Steve, before turning to smirk at Robin. “Hey, freeloader.”

She squawks and launches herself at him, clinging on like a koala. “I’ll show you freeloader.”

“Oh my god get off of me you weigh a ton, Stevie, baby, help me!”

Steve just laughs. “You brought this upon yourself, babe.”

“Ah!” Eddie winces. “Jesus, Robs, elbows! In my spleen! How the fuck did you even do that, you fucking contortionist?”

“Dick.”

“Dyke.”

“Faggot.”

“Jesus fuck,” Steve mutters, eyeing the two of them. “It’s impossible for there to be peace when you two are together, isn’t it?”

They both look at him and answer simultaneously. “Yes.”

They both laugh as Robin drops off of Eddie, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she ruffles his hair. He grins and kisses her forehead before moving to embrace Steve, wrapping him in a hug and kissing his temple. He sighs, long and content. “It’s good to be home.”

Steve chuckles. “Was today that bad?”

“No, just long. Dinner?”

“In the oven.”

Just then the timer dings, and Robin races past them, yelling over her shoulder, “I’ll get it!”

They both chuckle, then Steve kisses Eddie’s cheek. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

“We’re going to Hawkins tomorrow.”

Eddie’s brows scrunch up. “What?”

“Hawkins. Tomorrow. I’m the one with hearing loss, babe.”

“Actually, with your hearing aids, I’m pretty sure you can hear better than I can.”

“Fuck off.”

“Mmm, no. Something about how you love me.”

Steve softens. “Something like that,” he agrees, pressing a soft kiss to Eddie’s lips, swaying them in place, like they’re dancing. “I already called off for you. And for me. It’s overnight, but just for a night. We’re gonna drive back the next day.”

Eddie smiles. “Am I ever gonna understand what goes on in your head?”

Steve laughs. “You already do. Sometimes you know me better than I know myself.”

Eddie nudged Steve’s nose with his own. “Something about how I love you.”

“Something like that,” Steve agrees, then lets Eddie seal their lips together.

That is, until a knitted potholder flies into their faces. “Dinner time,” Robin says brightly when they break apart, like she isn’t the reason for the airborne potholder.

“And you’re sure you can’t tell me why we’re going to Hawkins?” Eddie wheedles for what feels like the millionth time.

“Nope,” Steve says happily, popping the p. “You’ll just have to wait. Enjoy the suspense. I am.”

“You’re only enjoying it because you know where we’re going,” Eddie argues.

“Exactly,” Steve says, then takes Eddie’s hand. “You’re gonna love it, Eds. Please stop worrying.”

“I’m not worrying,” Eddie says, then slumps when Steve just turns an eyebrow on him. “Okay, maybe I’m worrying a little. But only a very little!”

Steve chuckles. “Sure, babe.” A few minutes later, he reaches up to turn the radio down. “How’d you feel about no music for a while?”

“Okay,” Eddie says immediately, looking at Steve. “Are you okay? Headache?”

Steve smiles, brings Eddie’s hand up to his mouth to kiss it. “No headache, I’m okay. I was actually wondering if you’d read to me for a bit.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “You brought a book?”

Steve hums. “In the backseat, blue bag.”

Eddie reaches back and rifles around for a minute, then looks at Steve with a delighted expression. “I’m kissing you as soon as you stop driving.”

Steve chuckles. “Duly noted. Start wherever you want.”

Eddie blinks. “I’m in the middle of this one.”

“I know.”

“You won’t have any idea what’s going on.”

“I like listening to you.”

“You’re a sap,” Eddie says, even more delighted. “Holy fuck, I love you. Okay, um, I’m on chapter ten. The choices of Master Samwise. Frodo was lying face upward on the ground and the monster was bending over him, so intent upon her victim that she took no heed of Sam and his cries, until he was close at hand. As he rushed up he saw that Frodo was already bound in cords, wound about him from ankle to shoulder, and the monster with her great forelegs was beginning half to lift, half to drag his body away.”

He continues reading, getting more and more into it, affecting accents for the different voices, slowing down for some parts and speeding up for others, and Steve thinks his heart might burst for how much he loves this man.

They arrive in Hawkins before too long, and the first thing they do—just like every time they have to go into Hawkins for whatever reason—is visit Wayne.

Eddie blinks when he opens the door. “What the fuck?”

Steve and Wayne share a look borne of knowing Eddie. “You alright, Wayne?”

Wayne waves him off, makes a face at his cane. “Fine. Slight accident at work, fell wrong, banged my hip. I still get around fine and I didn’t want you two worryin’ none.”

“That’s our job, old man,” Eddie says, pulling Wayne into a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you boys, too.” He hugs Steve next. “C’mon in, make yourselves at home, y’know the drill. Steve, you wanna grab us some beers?”

“Love to,” Steve replies with a chuckle, following Wayne inside.

They talk and catch up for a few minutes before Eddie excuses himself to use the restroom. “Your stuff’s in the pantry,” Wayne murmurs to Steve. “Want to run it out to the car before he gets back?”

“Oh,” Steve says, like he just realized. “I asked after you’d fallen, didn’t I?”

Wayne hums noncommittally. “Not like I minded. Was just about goin’ stir crazy with the time off work.”

Steve chuckles, leans in to hug Wayne, and goes to put the bag in the car.

A few minutes later they’re hugging goodbye. “Robin’s here to take pictures,” Steve murmurs in Wayne’s ear. “I’ll get her to drive you up to Indy for the dinner tomorrow.”

“‘Preciate it,” Wayne says, clapping Steve on the back before turning to Eddie. “Get in here, boy.”

Eddie laughs and hugs his uncle. “Love ya, Wayne.”

“You too, kid. Take good care of ‘im, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “We’ll see you later.”

“Mhm. You kids have fun.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at Steve as soon as they’re back in the car. “That wasn’t what we came down here for.”

“Nope,” Steve agrees. “You’ll see soon enough, Eds.”

Eddie sighs and collapses back into his seat. Steve just grins, wholly in love.

Soon, though, he sits up again, interest piqued. “Are we going to the quarry?”

“Got it in one.”

“Steve,” Eddie says slowly, suspiciously. “What are we doing here?”

Steve doesn’t answer for a few minutes, just plays with Eddie’s fingers with one hand, the other on the wheel, his eyes never leaving the road. “Remember the first time we went to the quarry?”

“Must’ve been eight years ago, now, huh?”

“Just about,” Steve agrees. “We were just kids, terrified and halfway in love and no clue about how our lives would turn out. But we made it. Against all odds, we made it.” He glances at Eddie, smiles. “Thought it would be kinda poetic, coming back here.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees softly, rapt attention on Steve.

“So,” Steve continues, shrugging. “There’s some stuff in the back. Thought it might be nice to have a picnic again. Just to take some time off and remember how it was back then, think about where we were versus where we are.”

“Ugh,” Eddie says, glassy-eyed. “What have you done to me, I used to be cool.”

Steve laughs. “You’ve always been a nerd, babe. Pretty sure I’m the only one who thinks you’re cool.”

“Well, joke’s gonna be on you when we have a kid and they think I’m the coolest dad ever.”

Steve blinks, smiling even as Eddie freezes beside him. “I bet they will, Eds.”

That small sentence is enough to release the tension coiling inside Eddie, flowing out and leaving him looking at Steve, besotted.

Steve parks and they make their way to the edge, a mirror of all those years ago. Steve unfolds a blanket and lays it out, thrusting the bag at Eddie. “Here, start getting the food out, please.”

Eddie’s eyebrows steadily climb higher as he unpacks. Sandwiches, fruits, brownies, and drinks. Both of their favorites, and Steve makes a mental note to do something for Wayne soon, because nobody deserves the actual angel that is Wayne Munson.

They eat and talk and joke around, and kiss—a lot—and just as they’re finishing, the first raindrop splatters down.

Steve looks up, dismayed, to see dark clouds all around them.

Eddie whoops and jumps up, packing everything up and stuffing it back in the car, before running back to Steve and swinging him around in a hug, laughing. “What,” Steve says, but he’s laughing too, because he can’t not be happy when Eddie’s happy.

Eddie stops, sets him down, and grabs both his hands, looking Steve in the eyes. “Do you remember a few days ago when we were watching Singing in the Rain?”

The last time they’d seen the movie was at least four months ago. “Sure.”

“And you were sighing, all forlorn, and I asked what was wrong? And you said you thought you would’ve liked to dance around with someone in the rain?”

Steve can’t help the laugh. “I’m in love with your brain. That was at least five years ago, Eds.”

Eddie frowns. “No, that can’t be right, that was like, a week ago.”

Steve laughs harder. He can’t tell if the water on his cheeks is rain or tears. He doesn’t really care. “It was at least five years ago,” he assures his boyfriend.

“Huh,” Eddie says, shrugging. “Okay, well, I waited and waited and waited and it never worked out. It either always rained while we were asleep or while we were at work, or if we weren’t either of those things, it was a thunderstorm, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna take you out in that. So.” He grins, wide and unashamed, and bows, offering Steve a hand. “May I have this dance?”

Steve’s going to die and it’s going to be Eddie’s fault. His heart is just going to give out one day because it can’t take how much he loves Eddie. “Of course,” Steve answers, taking Eddie’s hand, and Eddie lights up, dragging Steve into a crushing hug and pressing their lips together in a bruising kiss. “I love you,” he murmurs against Eddie’s lips. His breath hitches. “I love you so much.”

“I love you so much,” Eddie responds softly, wiping away Steve’s tears. “Happy?”

“Beyond,” Steve answers, floundering for a way to tell Eddie exactly how he’s feeling. But then Eddie smiles at him, and his smile is wobbly, and Steve suddenly knows Eddie knows exactly how he’s feeling.

They sway together for minutes or hours or days, Steve doesn’t know or care, letting the rain on the leaves and the ground be the rhythm they move to, an unhurried dance that somehow means everything.

The rain eventually lets up, and Steve pulls away after a few minutes, so they’re holding hands. “I have a question.”

“Okay.”

“We’ve known each other for a little over eight years now. We saved the world and managed to fall in love in the middle of it. The Shire was burning, we defeated Sauron, and I carried you out of Mordor. Against all odds we made it out alive, and against all odds we made it out of the Shire, and against all odds we made it together. It’s been eight years and every one’s been an adventure. Every day has been an adventure with you. And I may not know what our lives may hold next, but I know whatever the adventure is, I don’t want to do it without you by my side.” He kneels, pulling out the ring, and Eddie gasps, tearing up.

“Stevie-”

“So,” he continues. “Eddie. I know we can’t legally get married. I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to, but I don’t care. I don’t need the government to tell me who I can and can’t marry. I love you, baby, and if you’ll have me, I’ll love you forever. Will you fuck the government and marry me?”

Eddie’s shaking. “That,” he manages after a minute, “was metal as fuck, baby.” He sniffs, shakes his head, and laughs. “Of course. Of course I’ll marry you. We’ll flip off the whole of the government together.”

“Hell yeah,” Steve says, grinning, and stands. “Before you put the ring on, though, there’s something I want you to see.” He turns it, points out the inscription on the inside, and Eddie tackles him with a yell, and they both go down laughing.

“Baby,” Eddie manages after a minute. “Holy shit. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks rhetorically, and they both watch as he slides the ring onto his fiancé’s finger.

It’s a perfect fit.

[badass-queer-couples-battle]

⚔️⚔️ Sword gays showdown, grand finale ⚔️

*Camilla fanart by @friendamedes, used with permission

Propaganda:

For Camilla:

she prefers dual-wielding two short blades but can fight with pretty much anything. she's ambidextrous she's autistic she's even sex-repulsed ace. she sighs longingly when reunited with her weapons. she's from planet academia and dresses like an off-duty librarian. literally one of the most iconic moments of the entire series is when she gets challenged to a duel and absolutely wipes the floor with her opponent even though she doesn't even like rapiers that much. 'swords don't lie.' 

OK I’m sure you’re getting just about every character from The Locked Tomb but Cam is my favorite. She's a nerd AND a jock. She is in this deeply intense and loving and unhealthily codependent soulbond partnership with her best friend second cousin and prince. She is smart and deadpan snarky and fights like a grease fire and I have never been able to get that line out of my head.

For Gideon:

she's incredibly good w/ her two hander and less good with her rapier but she's still pretty good!! she is a horny lesbian who's taste in women seems to exclusively be "girls who have tried or are going to try to kill her". she's a redhead. i love her

Gideon’s a HUGE Butch lesbian and literally always wanted to use a broad sword. Specifically a broad sword. She said fuck rapiers. Uhhh literally dies to save the girl she cares for and the sword she uses then becomes like an altar for said girl. Gideon Nav Supremacy <3

oh she is the most badass swordswoman lesbian in media. she’s her gf’s cavalier, defends her in battle, she’s incredibly butch and buff

C'mon shes THE sword lesbian like... canonically 

Loves her broadsword more than anything on her home planet and practices whenever she can. Spoiler it’s possessed by her mom. Gave everything so her best enemy could eat her soul and become the new saint. The character of all time child of two separate threesomes, child of the god emperor, she’s dead, she’s butch, she’s a dork, she’s doomed by the narrative. She’s my favorite.

girlie is literally the swordswoman supreme. she’s the cavalier primary to her necromancer. she has a fuckoff huge longsword. she gets absorbed into another person SPECIFICALLY to swordfight for them. in a gay way too.

While everyone else was developing common sense, she studied the blade. This dyke's main weapon and true love is the long sword, but she's also passable with a rapier. The sword is, in her own estimation, pretty much all she's good for. That and her smoking hot bod and terribly charming sense of humor. 

"While we were developing common sense, she studied the blade." (Direct quote from the book). She's the most useless lesbian to ever exist, and she's obsessed with an absolute wet cat of a woman. Learned longsword mostly on her own and is such a genius with the sword she learned rapier in a few months (by personal experience, it's really really hard)

Most badass broadsword wielding lesbian easily slaying bone monsters and evil space wasps

The cavalier to her necromancer. very gay. in a complicated codependant lovehate relationship with the only other person her age she knew growing up.

For Xena:

It is HER! The OG woman with a blade! 

Her show was so iconic that any lesbian over the age of 30 knows her IMMEDIATELY because this show probably helped her have her awakening. Fandom foremothers and fathers rise up and get your gal a title.

An all around badass, bisexual woman, comfortable with many different bladed weapons. Her show was so much better than Hercules people forget his exists.

Xena is one of the OGs: once a baddie who turned good, she's a warrior who uses swords, daggers, and her trusty chakram to defeat evil and defend the innocent, while traveling with her kickass girlfriend Gabrielle. 

She has many skills

[katieaki]

My ✨ post-apocalyptic Lesbian Cowgirl Mailman choose-your-own adventure✨ has just updated! Read it here for free on my Patreon and vote in the poll! There is a summary of the first part, here, the second part, here, and the third part, here. They have everything you need to know about Lou, her requited-but-complicated love, the religious assassin who just beat the tar out of her, the worst person she's ever met, and the ill-advised journey she is on! There is also now a discord where Pony Express readers from all across god's green internet can gather, here! Lou really flexes her incredible acting skills in this one. I guarantee you'll be impressed. We also get some teen content, if only just a little. Close readers who've also read my other work may also be rewarded with an accent-related detail that says something about another irritable country dyke in my lineup.

Read the update for free on my patreon & vote on what happens next! Excerpt below the cut.

“Are you from like, Travertine, Devil’s Elbow, Cloverleaf way?” Artie asked, gesturing with three fingers to indicate the cluster of towns. They were barely towns, really, more like loosely grouped homes, farms, and rural industry that were large enough to each have their own shrine, pantry, schoolhouses, and Pony Express stations, but not much more.

“Yeah,” Lou said, surprised into letting the ‘curse’ talk lie. “How did you know?”

“Your accent,” she said.

“I don’t have an accent,” Lou said. She involuntarily covered her mouth with her hand. “Y’all have accents.”

“Wait, don’t tell me which one. Let me guess,” Artie said, excited. She pushed her hair out of her face and thought hard for a moment. “Okay. What does a bird lay?”

“An egg?” Lou said.

“‘Aig’,” Artie repeated.

“That’s— that's not what I sound like,” Lou protested.

Artie ignored her and continued. “The feeling when you wanna go to sleep?”

“Sleepy,” Lou said. She knew what Artie was trying to get her to say, but she didn’t want to play along anymore. Artie was having too much fun with it and Lou was beginning to feel cross-grained.

“Come on,” Artie said, looking over the top of her new, cursed sunglasses at her.

“Tired,” Lou said, begrudgingly.

“‘Tarred,’” Artie repeated. 

“Okay, stop making fun of me,” Lou said. “I get it. I’m country as a turnip green.”

“I’m not making fun. I’m investigating,” she said. “Besides, I like it. Your accent. And I like turnip greens.”

Lou didn’t say anything, just lifted her hat, smoothed her sweaty hair back, and put it back on her head. They were quiet for a while and Lou hoped Artie had decided not to pursue the question any further.

“The thing you write with? The ink one?” Artie said finally, with a little smile.

Lou heaved a heavy sigh and glared at her. She just smiled back, looking at her with those huge, dark eyes. “Pen,” she said, finally.

“‘Pin’,” Artie repeated, visibly delighted that Lou was still playing along. “Cloverleaf?”

Lou’s eyebrows raised involuntarily. How did she know that? “You had a one in three chance,” Lou huffed.

Artie leaned back with a big grin. Lou instinctively looked away from her teeth. “Anyway, don’t be embarrassed about being a country girl. Johnny Knives is inaka, too.”

“How did you know?” Lou asked.

“About you? I don’t know. I’ve been all over the place and I like hearing people talk. And my dad is from near Travertine,” Artie said. “I guess, me too, but. It’s complicated. Anyway, you got a stronger accent than her. So it was easy. I feel like the pin-pen thing is so Cloverleaf. Oh, and how you say golly like that all the time. ‘Gol-lee’. Very Cloverleafian.”

[lotties-ashwagandha]

Could you write an adult Van x f!reader where Van takes care of Reader who's got a fever? <3

LOVE’S EMBRACE

pairing: van x fem!reader

word count: 903

notes and warnings: i am so unbelievably in love w this woman oh my god my vintage movie dyke

Coughs racked your body, suffocating you as you curled closer into yourself.

You hadn’t left all day. Despite your protests, Van had insisted that you stay home from work. You had insisted that you were fine, that it was just allergies, but going into a fit of coughs upon getting out of bed proved just how fine you really were.

The coughing finally subsided. You closed your eyes, attempting to find sleep, but you knew without a doubt that it would evade you. Though your body wanted rest, your mind wouldn’t let you have it. Shut up in the bedroom while Van worked, you were bored, starved of comfort, of entertainment. It felt like eternity you had been laying there.

You didn’t want to bother Van. She had done so much for you already. She’d made you breakfast, had brought you medicine for your fever, and had offered a million times to close the shop for the day to stay in bed with you. It was out of your own pride and insistence on being okay that you had shut her offers down, but now you were wishing that you’d taken them.

It wasn’t as if she was terribly far away. The shop was connected to where you lived, you could have gone and found her within a few minutes if you’d had the motivation. But every movement made you feel like you were going to be sick, and when you sat up your head started spinning.

Van had told you she would come back at lunch to check on you. It had only been about an hour since she had left, but already you were missing her, wishing for noon to come when she would take her lunch break.

The room started spinning. Sitting up, you put your hand across your stomach, gauging just how bad you really felt, if it was worth trying to move into the bathroom in case you vomited.

As you contemplated your options your stomach calmed, and you laid back down, pulling the blankets over your head. Unable to fight the will of your body, you let yourself be taken by sleep.

You woke to the feeling of the bed shifting beside you. Your skin burned under the covers from the fever. Rolling over had you almost in tears from the effort and pain it took to do so, but when you did you realized it was worth it, for Van was there laying next to you.

She offered you a small smile, reaching over to run the back of her hand over your forehead. She sighed, shaking her head. “You’re burning up again.”

She sat up, moving off the bed. You caught her wrist, trying to keep her with you, for she was the only source of comfort you’d been able to find all day.

“I’m just getting you some more medicine,” she assured you, kissing your knuckles, and you relented, letting go. “I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, watching her leave. The few minutes it took her to retrieve the medicine and water you needed felt like an entire lifetime. You refused to let yourself fall back asleep until you were back in her arms. The medication might take your fever down but Van was the only thing in the world that made you feel the least bit better.

Quickly you swallowed the pills when she came back, knowing that the sooner you took the medicine the sooner she would allow you to rest again — the sooner she would be beside you.

You collapsed back onto the pillows and watched in a fever-induced daze as she crawled under the covers and shifted to lay beside you. You curled into her, resting your head on her chest and allowing the rhythm of her heartbeat lead you back into restfulness, back into whatever sense of peace you could get. Her hand ran soothingly up and down your back, lulling you slowly back to sleep.

You remembered the shop, that she would have to leave soon, and all of a sudden you were wide awake.

“Don’t leave after your break,” you said hoarsely, your throat burning as you spoke. “Stay with me.”

Van smiled, checking her watch. “I dunno, there’s this other really hot woman with a fever out in the shop that I think I might have to tend to.”

“Not funny.”

She ran her hand through your hair, shaking her head in amusement. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

“Don’t turn on any cringe vintage movies while I’m asleep, either.”

“‘Footloose,’ is not cringe.”

“Is there any movie that has song lyrics that go ‘kick off your Sunday shoes,’ that isn’t cringe?”

“Go to sleep,” she said, mildly offended, reaching for the TV remote. “This fever has you delirious.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it hurt your throat and sent you into a small fit of coughs. It didn’t matter, so long as she was with you, looking after you, by your side. Her touch soothed the fire that burned your skin, silenced the ringing in your ears. The room came back into focus as you looked up at her, tracing her scars with your gaze, with your love.

Even the terrible opening credits of Footloose, though you would never admit it, helped ground you as you finally allowed yourself to drift into sleep, protected and cared for eternally in the embrace of your love.

-

-

-

taglist: @ladyveela @thedeconstructionist @cordeliass @paulsonsratched @goodeday2u @traumatisedfangirl @christies-fleur

[cindybermanfics1978]

Trapped

Pairing: Cindy Berman x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing, slight smut???

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: you and cindy get trapped in a neighboring cabin.

You were walking around camp, minding your own business until a girl catches your eyes as her boyfriend glares at you.

"Dyke!" He shouts.

You turn to him and put your middle finger up, causing him to turn in the other direction and leave. You continued to stare before you took a seat on the picnic bench.

"Go fuck yourself, asswipe." You curse under your breath whilst looking down, before seeing a pair of legs standing in front of you. Looking up, you see Cindy above- smiling like always. You hated it.

Ever since Cindy became a goody two shoes and started dating Thomas Slater, you knew she never was the same or liked you back which made you break into a million pieces and so you decided to find something else to do with your time.

But you two never expected to be trapped in a cabin together.

"So, I see you're messing around with Sunnyvalers again. You already got your second strike- do you know what would happen if you left?"

"What am I doing wrong? You're the one who's over here getting in my business." You say getting up from your seat.

Cindy follows you as she starts ranting about you getting in trouble. In that moment, you felt like Ziggy as you make your way into your cabin.

Standing in the middle of the cabin and watching Cindy closing the door behind her, still ranting. The two of you stop bickering as something loud barricades the door from the outside.

"What the hell was that?"

"I-I don't know," Cindy says as she walks over to the door and tries to rattle the knob.

She can't get the door to open as she can feel the heavy weight. She curses under her breath before leaving the door and sitting on your bed, you sit next to her. The two of you sit there awkwardly as the day slowly passes and soon eventually the two of you begin to talk. ~~~ It's been three hours since the two of you got stuck, you sigh while shuffling in your spot then grabbing your book from your bag. Cindy leans against the wall and sighs, trying not to swear out loud but it slips out.

"Dammit. Why isn't Tommy coming to rescue us? Surely, he must know that I'm gone. I'm his girlfriend, he should know."

"Ugh! Here we go again."

"Why are you so ...so mean? Is there something wrong with me and Tommy being together?"

"Yes, everything's wrong." You say. "I don't want to say it because you won't feel the same way- so I'm gonna keep my mouth shut."

The way you said made Cindy kinda mad, she glares at you before expression softens. Cindy stands up, she jumps on top of you and grabs your book from your hands, and drops it to the floor. You cross your arms, pout, and look away before she rests her finger under your chin gently making you look into her eyes. You uncross your arms and rest them on Cindy's waist as she leans in closer.

You freeze. Cindy fucking Berman is straddling you.

"Are you a lesbian, Y/N?" Cindy asks as you look away as tears form in your eyes. She wipes them as you glance at her. She gets off of you and moves away. She decides to look for another way out, trying to get away from this awkward moment.

"Yes," You quietly say.

"Huh? What did you say?" She asks, looking towards you as you begin to sweat.

"Yes, I'm a lesbian, Cindy. I'm sorry for not coming out prior."

"No, no. It's fine, Y/N. I am sorry for not coming to you first. To be honest, I've been hiding my sexuality as well. I've faked my sexuality because no one wants a lesbian goody two shoes gossiping about different people."

"Oh, my god. Cindy."

She shushes you when she hears scattering, she moves over to you as you wonder what's going on. She looks out the window and tries to open it, but nothing happens. She thought she heard Tommy out there but she then has an idea pop into her head.

"Fuck it. Y/N, I'm in love with you. Would you like to be my girlfriend?"

"Oh, Cindy. Yes. Yes! I will be."

"Great."

Cindy brings you into a kiss, her hands roam your body as you kiss her harder. She drags you over to your bed and you two plop down on the mattress, still kissing. She removes your shirt, then kissing again.

She shimmies out of her shorts, then straddles you. You giggle at her before pulling her face toward yours when you hear the door open.

"Holy shit. I'm so sorry." Tommy says.

Cindy and you part ways and get dressed as she fixes her hair, looking towards Tommy as he chuckles. He sees you and Cindy, his eyes go wide.

"I hope you don't mind." Cindy shyly says.

"No, I'm okay with it. Just still in shock."

You and Cindy walk out of the cabin, hand in hand, heading to the mess hall to get some food, not knowing that it's midnight already. You and her sit alone together, she smiles at you then take a bite of her food.

"I'm thankful right now." You say.

"Me too. I'm glad we are together, but also happy that someone saved us. Even though you didn't want it to be Tommy you should be happy about it."

"I am, just still a little embarrassed that he walked in on us almost doing it."

"Yeah, but at least we're not stuck and actually out and safe."

"Same. I can't sleep in my cabin tonight after getting stuck."

"Come sleep with me, you'll be okay."

You two clean up and sneak into her cabin and curl up together then fall asleep on each other. Even though things were awkward and weird today, you both manage to come clean with the truth. You now know who Cindy really is.

[shaunsummers]

Two Dykes Went Up to Georgia

"Hmph. You think I get tired of spending time with you?" Lilith knew what she meant but the repetition flew by with little acknowledgement. Sure, it was the same old hole in the wall time and time again; but it was nice on every occasion. Shaun, undoubtedly, had everything to do with that. With her, any casual outing or a night in provided charm and entertainment. Even something as simple as patio smoke breaks could turn into its own thing. "You're easy. I love that." She smiles, giving a little reassurance with the cup of Shaun's cheek.

The creeping warmth between them, however, failed to pass unnoticed; but Lilith kept her lips sealed of its existence. She wouldn't ruin the sweet moment. Not to mention an urge she couldn't fulfill. In time, sure enough, her want would return to baseline; but as for now, she couldn't even humor the thought. With all that had surrounded her life, the temptation of sex was little more than a memory.

"But you seem set on sweeping me off my feet. So, let's go." A gleam brings color to her eyes as she leaves her touch with a parting kiss into Shaun's hair, begrudgingly forgoing any effort to change her attire; she couldn't bring herself to let Shaun suffer what would surely be a long winded display of choice paralysis.

"You know, I could even collab with Lilith. If we combined all our dog shit exes, it'd be like a red flag data base. Scratch that, we'd need Siren, too; because, oh my fucking God, I could never. Imagine if we put all those red flags into an AI. It'd generate a super mega sentient fuck boy. Crazy but, you know what, you're right. Lucky me, I didn't end up in a trailer somewhere in the back end of Appalachia, with my hair in curlers, smoking Virginia Slims, and not knowing if that was one of my kids that screamed or a wendigo. Wouldn't that be a nightmare? I'd definitely be on coke in that scenario." In a brief moment of reflection, Robin casts a glance into the mirror with a sigh. It would be so nice, though, to have a special someone that wasn't a complete ass hat. Why was that so hard? She couldn't find the answer within, only a sudden craving for mimosas.

---------

What must've been a passive statement for Lilith, in contrast, gripped Shaun's chest with its warmth. It was difficult to take her eyes off of her, and maybe the comment on being 'easy' could've been taken poorly in another time, with another person, but it was the way Lilith looked at her that deflected her from sinking into any doubt. No one had ever really looked at her like that. At least, not that Shaun could remember. It was unnerving how pleasant it would be to do nothing at all but stay here, hold her, and be contented with it. On that front, she understood the meaning of Lilith's words.

"I do recall warning you about that." Helpless to her lure, Shaun saunters in behind her with a giddy smile as she scoops Lilith into her arms to take her off her feet, quite literally. "You look gorgeous, by the way." With a light laugh, Shaun gives into the temptation to steal one more kiss from her, beaming like a fool in the eagerness to escort her out and onward towards the plans she'd made. "Do you have everything you need? I packed a cooler in case we get food." And to keep the bottle of champagne she'd buried in the ice cool, but that was a later surprise.

"Coke? Probably meth." Quinn chortles at the vision of Robin as some trailer park octo-mom. It was hard to picture as any sort of reality, though. "Can't see it. You're too fuckin' weird to end up makin' Superbowl nachos for some douche-nozzle and 2.5 kids. He'd 'disappear on a hunting trip' way too fuckin' fast."

Twisting the cap back on the ointment, Quinn straightens with finality. "Finished up here, though...Wait, you think wendigos are real?"

[foragain]

“oh, yeah. you were like… the biggest dyke in town,” my friend says, laughing, and i sigh in admittance. i went on to talk about my first girlfriend; all the maybes, all the makeouts, and everything else that went on behind my dad’s god favoring eyes. “that’s at least five different girls!” “yeah.”

you see, i never said i love you back to that first girlfriend. and none of the other girls were mine — i certainly wasn’t theirs. these were my teenage years, and every waking moment was spent trying to get out of my house. away from my mother. divorce is ugly when it’s codependent and none of your friends understand why you cry when the girl on tv swallows the pills.

all of this to say it was a lot of fooling around. most of those girls went on to have husbands, and maybe they could like women still but, at the time, i was an experiment. and that was okay by me. because the one girl i actually said i love you too was never a girlfriend. she was a best friend.

would you believe me if i told you i dated her cousin? that word is doing some heavy lifting — dating in the way kids do, where you’re pressed together like barbie dolls, because you’re the girl and he’s the boy. only, he was no ken, and barbie was standing behind him doing the pushing.

i went along with it best i could, but no one warns you how clingy teenage boys are. it’s funny, the movies and books had always told me it was the girl, and yet, here i was with a leech. he never left my side. never stopped touching my hair. i’d cringe and say “not now” and he would whine like a dog.

“he’s just so… weird.” i lamented. my best friend leaned over me on her bed and laughed, “just give it time!”

one summer at the lake, every day, he came looking for me. and every day, i hid with her. “why don’t you spend time with him?” she’d ask, and i’d shrug, and go on pulling her into the water. eventually, she stopped asking, and i stopped letting him touch my hair.

i didn’t understand that i loved her, then. so i didn’t understand why i didn’t like the boy. there was no thought behind it, because every thought went into her. we spent so much time together, it’s almost impossible to convey; every weekend. every birthday. every theme park, beach, or movie trip. we cuddled at night and held hands in public and laid under an open window talking about the stars and what they could mean.

she was the most amazing girl i’d ever met. and then i moved.

it’s not regret that i feel. we have our own lives, and we’re both happy. but my heart wonders, is it sad? is it sad that she’ll never know? and i gently remind it that it’s bittersweet. not sad.

every time i move somewhere new, i put her postcards up on the tac board. “to the bestest friend in the whole wide world,” it reads, “you’re the first person i want to see when i get home!”

[stackthedeck]

do you have any thoughts or headcanons ab trans matt? he’s so special to me and i love projecting my gender conflict onto him

oooh okay here's my hot take Matt could be both a trans man or a trans woman and both options are interesting and exciting but this is all trans guy Matt and it went really long so send another ask for trans girl Matt. Also the headcanons all use he/him pronouns even before Matt comes out but that's how I think about my gender

Matt realizes he's a boy very young. It's the 90s, there aren't exactly words for what he's feeling yet, at least no words he's hearing from his catholic father or community. He's labeled as a tomboy and everyone ignores it, figures a little girl growing up with just a dad is going to be a bit butch. Matt can get away with wearing his hair short and wearing boy clothes because "well it's just easier for her dad, poor thing"

and then the accident happens and Matt's blind and people stop commenting about how he looks because you're not going to tell the blind kid they're doing gender wrong. And then his dad dies and he's in the orphanage and everything feels wrong. He's grieving his father and his senses are flooded with too much and he has to wear the catholic school uniform and grow his hair out, and he can't explain why but that feels just as terrible as the scratchy sheets and the wailing sirens at night. He's grieving every part of himself and he has no words for it

At his confirmation, Matt chooses St. Michael as his confirmation name. "The archangel is an odd choice, especially for a girl, but this is her confirmation and the poor girl has already been through so much." Matt chose Michael because something about that strength, being a warrior of God, holy and set apart called to him. But also he's already experienced so much death, why not the angel associated with it, why not strive to have the scales balanced, to find justice?

It briefly crosses Matt's mind that maybe he should be a nun. He brings the idea up to Sister Maggie who tells him in no uncertain terms that he's too angry, too passionate, he'd suffocate in a convent, and he needs to be out in the world. Matt says he likes the idea of not getting married, keeping his hair short under the veil, long robs that cover his body. Maggie says that he can't join just for the outfit and "it might not seem like it now, but one day, a girl like yourself, you're going to be a heartbreaker, just like your father." And Matt says he doesn't want to break any girls' hearts. Maggie sighs and tells him that it's fine if he likes girls, but technically he's supposed to be breaking boys' hearts. Oh well, he can do that too, but... Matt can't quite articulate why but something about the people he likes, how he likes them feels off? Like there's a piece of the puzzle of his attraction missing. spoiler alert: it's gender. He likes both and he knows he's not supposed to but for some reason, his brain has put boys off limits even though it should be the other way around. Because he's a girl, right?

Stick doesn't help with this gender confusion in the slightest. When Matt trains with Stick he's allowed to trade the school uniform for pants. Stick yanks on his ponytail one too many times during a sparing match and Matt just steals his sword and slices it off. Stick smacks him for dulling the blade, but he's proud that the kid is losing all attachments. And Matt likes that pride, that tiny scrape of affection. And that's the thing, it feels like Stick gets it, feels like his hatred for feminity could let Matt slip into masculinity. Stick doesn't call Matt by his given name, doesn't call him girl or miss, he's just kid. Stick doesn't pull his punches. The girls at school just whisper behind his back, call him a try-hard, a blind freak, a dyke. Stick just hits him. It's so much easier being not a girl. It hurts, but the pain goes away when the whispers don't. But Stick leaves because Matt is weak and emotional. Even with all the training, he's still that scared little girl he found crying in the orphanage. Being a girl always felt wrong, but now it hurts.

It's well into his teen years that Matt confesses to Father Lantom that he's probably gay and Father Lantom says that's alright even though it's the late 90s, it most certainly isn't the Catholic Church's stance, but it's Father Lantom's stance. Matt says he likes boys too, maybe he can marry a man and have kids and be a good Catholic wife. Lantom says that he thought Matt wanted to be a lawyer, no reason to give that up. But Matt also says sometimes he wants boys but like in the way he wants to be a boy, not just do the things they do, but be seen as one, look like one. He doesn't know what he looks like, but he knows that it's changing, rebelling against him, his skin itches with the way it just doesn't feel right. He doesn't have the words for it, but his body is wrong, but God doesn't make mistakes. Father Lantom says, "we are made in His image" and Matt's heart sinks. Right, to complain about how he looks, it's vanity, it's pride, it's desocrating creation. Father Lantom says, "the wonderful thing about creation is that it changes, that God gave man the ability to choose and create just like Him. You were made in God's image and likewise, you can make yourself reflect the image of God. Isn't that what we teach you, to reflect God?" Matt gets really quiet and nods. "I was thinking about maybe a new name?"

It's challenging to get the right resources, it's really not until Matt is 18 that he can even start the transition process. Father Lantom and Sister Maggie help, and the church help. New York is pretty progressive so by the time Matt's done with undergrad, he's got his name changed and all the gender change paperwork done and he's been on t for a year. He feels guilty about changing his name, it's one of the last things he has of his dad. But in the end, he chooses Matthew Micheal, a good Catholic name. He's still got a piece of his dad, he's a Murdock boy, after all, and he's got the same devil in him that his father did. He still has that money his dad left him, he got a full ride for undergrad, but now he has to choose. Gender-affirming surgery or law school? He chooses law school and hopes that his roommate in law school isn't a bigot.

his roommate isn't a bigot. Matt got paired with Foggy because they're both trans. Which would feel like discrimination on Columbia's part, but it's such a relief for both of them that they can't be mad.

Matt binds so unsafely, especially when doing Daredevil stuff. He hates his body, he's doing Daredevil to punish himself, to indulge his worst impulses. Of course, he's binding with bandages, his ribs are already fucked, might as well get flat as hell. Even though he doesn't want tits, he doesn't want top surgery because he'd have to take days, maybe even weeks off being Daredevil. But whatever, it's not like he has the money for it. Elektra comes back into his life after the second time dying and flashes her black card and is like "hey babe, I'm going to pay for anything you want to make up for all the hand nonsense." Elektra pays for his top surgery and offers a few other surgeries too and covers his Daredevil patrol while he recovers.

With the suits and the years on t and just the general confidence, Matt passes really well. He's definitely brought girls back to his place and they left thinking he's cis, just with a weird dick and a very talented mouth.

Foggy buys little pride flags for the office and puts a trans flag on all of their desks. Karen comes in and is "oh did you guys do that for me?" and they're like "what?" and she's like "oh, you guys didn't know I'm trans?" and Matt and Foggy are like "holy shit us too?" How it didn't come up for at least a solid year is a mystery and a miracle

[dykeyote]

I have 2 sleep but some t4t marisol x salem hcs mayhaps?

YES YES YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i love them sm ..... my lovely sweet darling girls

OKAY SO i thinkt hat marisol is out as trans when they get together . but salem enters the relationship as a cis butch lesbian ORIGINALLY shes just a cis woman . however the more she thinks about gender and hir relationship to lesbianism she begins realizing that she kinda has more of an attachment to Being A Dyke than she does to Being A Woman . and honestly sees herself as a butch and a boy and not a girl

which is dismaying to her at first shes like oh god is marisol still going to want to date me . like salem Knows marisol is trans and wont be like upset but shes worried that she wont be able to see her the same . BUT SHE DOES!!!!!!!! and salem can be the she/he/ze butch boydyke the world needed <3 love love

i think salem has always been very into lesbian history but ze grows to be more and more into trans history as he comes out and she likes infodumping about it to marisol (: i think they like putting a lot of traditional queer elements into their relationship ..... theyre butch4femme and have a lot of those elements in their dynamic .... sighs i love them

i think they help each other with their t and e shots <3 salems a bit squeamish around needles so ze appreciates the help with it because otherwise ze get a little nervous . marisol honestly is totally fine with needles but she just likes her butch taking care of her <3 ... sighs romantically i love them

[babbushka]

Take this request however you’d like! A Flip’s titty appreciation post? Just about how he enjoys them. Whether it be sleeping on them, enjoying just looking at them when the Mrs is around, touching on them just randomly while you’re together. A little somethin’ somethin’ along those lines? 🤠

A/N: Lol when I first read this prompt I thought you meant you wanted some appreciation of Flip's tits!! I was like oh yeah, someone's gotta put a bra on that man lol! But then I read it again and realized that's not what you meant lol. I hope you enjoy this short fluffy something!

1k, warnings: mentions of pregnancy, and Flip being handsy and obsessed with tits but it's not smut really lol

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“God, today -- fucking -- !” Flip slams the door a little more aggressively than he intends to, taking in a deep breath to really emphasize, “Sucked!”

What a nightmare work had been, Flip thinks with a deep scowl, as he steps out of his shoes and jacket, leaving them in a disheveled heap on the floor, before going back and righting it because he knows you’d be pissed if he left it like that.

“Is that my honey I hear?” Speaking of you, Flip is a little bummed that you’re not right at the door to greet him like you are most days, because he sure as shit could use a kiss or a dozen right about now.

“Ugh.” Is all he manages to get out, before going on a hunt around the house for you, incorrectly heading into the kitchen first, hoping that dinner might be ready for him. It is, but you’re not there, and you’re more important, despite his growling stomach.

He hears you laughing a little at his theatrics, following the sound of your voice into the living room, where you say those four magic words that make all his bad days turn into good ones, “Aw cheer up, here, wanna see my tits?”

Like magic, his mood is improved, and he makes his way over to the sunken living room where you’ve got reruns of the Dick Van Dyke show to keep you company as you iron. He leans against the arch that separates the dining and living rooms, and watches as you put the iron up on its little stand, away from one of his dress shirts that you’d been working on.

You make a little show of it, unbuttoning the blouse you’re wearing one button at a time, your shoulders giving a little shimmy that makes your tits bounce as you let it drop into the to-iron pile, unclasping your bra tantalizingly slow. Flip can’t help but chew on his lip, the anticipation of seeing your perfect tits nearly killing him.

The torture only lasts a few more moments though, before you let the bra drop altogether, and Flip takes three big strides across the living room to get his hands on you, the way they’ve been itching to all day while he was stuck undercover with these fucking guys on this new fucking case.

“God ketsl,” He breathes out a low whistle, getting his palms full of your flesh and kneading your tits, “You’re a stunner.”

“I know.” You give him a cheeky grin, but Flip shakes his head, leaving down to kiss you all over your face -- your cheeks, your neck, your throat, making his way down in an awkward sort of bend, an attempt to get your nipples in his mouth. You laugh a little and swat at his shoulder, and he straightens up out of fear of accidentally bumping into the iron.

“No no, I mean really. How the fuck did a guy like me ever get you?” Flip backs you away from the ironing board a little, pushes you against the back of the couch, never once taking his hands off your chest.

“You don’t look half bad either.” One of your hands begins combing through Flip’s hair, short soothing scratches against his skull as you tease, “In fact, in the right lighting, you’re kinda handsome.”

That gets a chuckle out of your husband, and you’re pleased, glad that whatever had been bothering him at work was no match for the power of your presence.

“What are you doing?” Flip’s eyes are starry when he looks at you, rubs his nose against yours.

“Putting together a model airplane, what does it look like I’m doing?” You roll your eyes, leaning up to press your lips to his, always forgetting how much you miss him until he finally comes home from his stressful and dangerous job.

“Honey you can’t expect me to look anywhere other than right...” Flip grabs your tits in his palms again, getting a better grip on them to push them together and smack smooches to the tops of them that his fingers can’t quite cover, “...Here.”

“Alright hold on cowboy,” You laugh, pushing him away for a moment to much protesting, instead leading him over to the couch properly, nudging for him to, “Lay down.”

“No, you first.” Flip arranges and rearranges the cushions so that your back is supported, and the small act of care has your playful mood softening into something a tiny bit more tender.

Feeling stupid that you’re just in bottoms, you take them off, laying down on the couch in your underwear. Flip doesn’t bother taking his clothes off too, but that’s alright with you, he’s wearing his soft shirt and those worn jeans of his, nothing’s going to be abrasive against your skin.

“Careful, they’re a little tender right now.” You encourage him to lay down on top of you, mindful of the small baby bump. Your tits have gotten bigger from the pregnancy, and even though Flip was always a little too into them before he knocked you up, he’s all too excited to get his face snuggled against them now.

“They’re perfect.” He sighs out, trying to find a good spot to get one of his hands cupping your left, his face resting on your right.

“Are you comfortable?” You joke, knowing that he could live right there if you’d let him.

“Mmmmmhm.” Nuzzling his nose against your nipple, he kisses all over the spots that he can reach with his mouth, his body tucked up against you. The hand on your left breast gives gentle squeezes, and you smile fondly down at him, kissing his temple, before carding your fingers through his hair once again.

“You know, I’m not so sure you don’t have a complex.” You tease, and unexpected laughter shakes through your husband’s frame.

It’s not that he’s always been a tits guy, Flip doesn’t think. It’s always just been you, your body drives him crazy. The stash of wet white t-shirt polaroids he has of you in his desk could probably get him fired if anyone ever went snooping, there’s just something about the feeling of your nipple hardening against his tongue that makes his life so much better.

“You’re probably right but I don’t want to be confronted with that right now.” He grumbles, and you grin, knowing that whatever is going on in that brain of his, you’re encouraging, because how could you ever say no to your lumberjack of a man when what he wants is so easy to provide?

“Fair enough.” You muse, twirling some of his shaggy hair around your finger, “Will you help me with the ironing? It’ll go by faster if you put the shit on the hangers.”

“You bet your ass I will ketsl...in a minute.” Flip wedges his face into your cleavage, pushing your tits together once again to smother himself between them, “I just want to lay here for a minute.”

Rolling your eyes fondly, you reach down to the extension cord where the iron is plugged in, and press the power switch. At some point, he’ll have to get off of you so the two of you can eat dinner, at which point you can turn it back on, but you know that as the rain picks up outside, Flip is not going to be getting up anytime soon.

That’s alright with you, you think, happy to hug him and watch tv together on the couch for a while, and maybe, if he gets worked up enough, have a little sex. You can’t blame him of course, you think with a big smile, you are, after all, a stunner.

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Tagging some Flip loving friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @caitlin-was-here @icarusinthesea @princessflip

[peachbear88]

The Greatest Love Story

A/N: Inspired by this lovely image I saw. I'm making this into a high school angst AU that takes place in like the 1900's. For the record, I know Steve isn't a bad person but this is an AU and I need one of those... You know, guys for this story so.... Yeah! Sorry! BTW, the second poem is not written by me, it's written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning and I stole some quotes from Shakespeare.

Warnings: Angst, homophobia, swearing, character death.

Word Count: 3.2k

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Reader

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You scale the ancient wooden stairs of your small school. avoiding eye contact with anyone. The stares you receive from others are painfully obvious as you speed walk towards the library, seeking shelter from the judgmental glances from your peers.

"Hello dear," the kind librarian greets you as you walk past her towards your corner of the library.

You don't respond, quickly ducking behind the massive shelves, hoping to spend as much time as possible in your safe space before the classes start. Placing back your old books, you scan the shelves, until a particular title catches your eye.

"Love Poems by Women?" You murmur, flipping through the worn pages.

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A giant dusty book lands on the librarian's desk, making her look up.

"May I take this out?" You ask, your tone emotionless, cold yet tentative. The librarian smiles gently at you handing you back the book.

"Of course dear. Happy reading." You give her a small, thankful smile before dashing out of the library door. The halls are partially empty, save for the kids that skip class, hanging around in the hallways and dark alleys after school.

You duck your head, avoiding eye contact as you pass the group leaning against the lockers, most importantly, the hazel eyed beauty that could snap your neck in half, Yelena Belova.

"Hey!" Your head snaps up. Big mistake. You lock eyes with the famed blonde and you drop your head immediately, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks.

"Y-Yes?"

"Look at me when I'm talking to you." She snaps. You peek at her from the corner of your eye, her sleek dress pants catching your eye.

"Interesting outfit choice," you note before you can stop yourself.

"What did you say?" She demands and you gulp, backing away.

"N-nothing." She slowly steps towards you, backing you into the lockers.

"Get to class. And don't ever let me see you again идиот (idiot)." You hurry down the hall towards your classroom, tripping in the process as you repeatedly look over your shoulder, watching as Yelena turns back to her friend group.

---------

"She was cute," Natasha points out as Yelena reclaims her spot leaning against the lockers. "Why do you feel the need to tease her so relentlessly?" Yelena rolls her eyes, grabbing the flask of vodka back from her sister.

"She's annoying. I don't like her." Natasha smirks.

"Sure. Whatever you say."

---------

You let out a sigh of relief when the bell rings.

Your classmates flood out of the classroom, jostling each other aside in their rush to get home. You quickly sprint out the door, eager to get home, safe and sound when a hand grabs you by the arm and pulls you into a dark alley behind the school.

"Hello there girly..." A deep voice says. You gulp. The boy steps into the light to reveal Steve Rogers. One of those people that take pride in hurting others, a bully, your tormenter.

"W-what do you want?" He smirks, stepping closer to you.

"Well, a little birdie told me that someone had an encounter with a specific blonde this morning." You flinch when he grabs you by the throat, pinning you to the wall. "You wouldn't happen to be... I don't know, one of those dykes would you?" Your eyes widen and you shake your head vigorously as he laughs. "Oh man," he sputters, choking through his laughter. "Wait till the school gets ahold of this-"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence because a fist connects with his face, sending him reeling backwards.

"What the-" A strong hand wraps around his throat, pushing him backwards till his back connects with the wall.

"Listen to me you маленькое дерьмо (little shit), if you ever even think about coming near her again, I will sneak into your house at night, gut you like the fish you are and paint the school with them." Yelena warns in a surprisingly calm voice. Steve's eyes widen and he nods his head frantically until she lets go.

"Crazy bitch!" He spits, backing away quickly. You shuffle your feet, looking down at the ground as she watches him run.

"T-thank you." You mutter, not daring to look her in the eye. She sighs.

"This better not become a daily thing Y/L/N." You nod feebly. "Get out of here." You quickly pick your bag back up and sprint out of the alley, leaving Yelena by herself,

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"I'm home mom!"

"Welcome home sweetie!" Your mom pokes her head out of the living room.

"How's your book going?"

"As great as a woman writing a book can be." She chuckles forcibly. There's an awkward silence before she continues. "Your father came by today." She pauses as you swallow, feeling like something lodged itself in your throat.

"And what did he want?" She frowns at your tone.

"Sweetie, I know you don't like him but he's still your fa-"

"I don't have a dad," you growl, picking up your bag. "My dad died when he chose to abandon us." She watches as you climb up the stairs, sighing and rubbing her temple.

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You flop onto your bed, dropping the thick dusty buck onto the bed. You spend the rest of the afternoon reading through the poems until your mom calls you down for dinner.

It's an awkward dinner, quiet, only the sounds of dishes, chewing and utensils filling the room.

"I'm going to bed." You say after washing the dishes, not bothering to wait for a response.

That night, you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of your room.

"Love poems by women." You mutter, an idea popping into your head. You quickly sit up, flicking on your lamp and pulling out the book and a pen.

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"Good morning dear," the librarian greets you like she does every morning.

"I'd like to return this book." You reply coldly, passing her the book once again. She smiles gently at you.

"I hope you enjoyed your reading." She says while passing you, returning the book to its original shelf.

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"Hello hon, can I help you with anything?" The librarian asks the dirty-blonde haired girl.

"No, thank you." The girl sends the librarian a tight lipped smile before returning her attention to the shelves. A ripped leather cover catches her attention. Love Poems by Women. She smiles, pulling the book from the shelf. Flipping open to the title page, a neat cursive catches her eyes.

Love flows between beings Gift from the gods Curse from the demons The missing part of every person Destined to be opposites Love is flexible Yet some seek to objectify love Love is not for the weak willed. - Aristophanes

The blonde haired girl hums, pulling a pen from her jacket's pocket and discreetly writing in the book, right next to the poem.

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Terrible.

That's the only way to describe your day. You received your essay back, ecstatic to see that you had received an A. Steve on the other hand had absolutely flunked. Instead of dedicating his time to studying, he decided to beat you up as a way of taking out his frustration.

You ended up limping out of the women's toilet, your leg flaring up whenever you moved, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

"Hi sweetcheeks," the librarian murmurs, her eyes trailing down your injured leg.

"'Ello." You quickly duck behind the shelves, pulling out the book you were looking for. Your brows scrunch together in confusion as you see a messier scrawl next to your handwriting.

Reality hits hard

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

- Orpheus

You smile letting a light laugh slip from your lips. A sweet titter revealing the little girl underneath your cold, traumatized exterior.

Quickly, you grab your pen from your pocket and begin scribbling.

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The air is knocked from your body as your back makes contact with the floor.

"Listen here dyke. I don't like you alright," Steve growls into your ear as Tony cracks his knuckles. "So here's what's going to happen: Everyday you're going to meet us here and," he pauses, cracking his neck. "Help us relive some stress." He smiles wickedly before punching you in the stomach, making you double over in pain.

Your eyes flutter shut as they deliver blow after blow 'till they finally stop. You tentatively open your eyes to see Yelena tackling Steve to the ground as Tony stares at them, eyes wide.

"I. Told. You. To. Leave. Her. Alone!" She screams, pummeling Steve with her fists. He groans, unmoving. You watch in terror as Tony picks up a trash can lid, sneaking up behind her as she punches Steve in the face.

"Watch out!" You scream, taking Tony as well yourself by surprise. She looks up to see you slamming into Tony sending him flying into the nearby wall of the alley.

He crumples, unconscious.

"Are you okay?" You mumble, limping towards Yelena, who's clutching a blood gash on her arm.

"'M fine,' she grits out. You shake your head, grabbing her wrist. She flinches but doesn't push you away.

"You're not okay. Let me help you." You plead. She stays silent and you quickly take her silence as a yes, leading her to the front steps of your home. You rummage through your back pack, finding a large wrap of bandages that you kept after your daily beating from Rogers and his friends.

She winces as you wrap her wound swiftly.

"Gentle!" She growls and you stare back at her defiantly.

"Well maybe if you would stop moving, it'd hurt less!" You retort and she shuts up, staring off into the distance. You dab the cut with a small bit of alcohol before wrapping the bandage all around her arm.

"Thank you." She whispers, giving you a small smile. Reaching out, she gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as you flinch back. You quickly, shovel the bandages and medicinal alcohol back into your pack, not noticing the hurt look on her face.

"No problem. The least I could do since you saved me." You reply bluntly, swinging the bag over your shoulder and slipping through the door.

"Wait-" She sighs as the door slams shut in front of her.

You exhale, leaning against the door as you try to catch your breath.

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Yelena sighs exasperatedly, tugging at the collar of her dress shirt.

"What's wrong little sis?" Natasha smirks, plopping down next to her.

"I got hurt and Y/N patched me up." Natasha jumps up, eyes wide.

"You stained your new shirt?" She groans shaking Yelena violently. "God I'm going to kill you!" Yelena grabs her sister, stopping her.

"You're missing the point!"

"Oh yeah? And what's that?" Nat challenges, flopping back down on to the couch.

"She patched me up!" Nat's eyes widen.

"Oh. Oh." She inches closer to her sister, nudging her playfully, much to Yelena's dislike. "So are y'all like," she winks at her sister insinuatingly. "A thing?" Yelena scrunches her brows in confusion.

"A thing?" Nat rolls her eyes, sidling closer to her.

"Yes. A thing. An item? Lovers?" She shrugs, missing the way Yelena blushes.

"In her dreams," Yelena snorts, leaning back into the couch.

"If you say so..."

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"Morning pumpkin!" The librarian chirps.

The blonde girl ignores her, breezing past her towards the the shelves at the very back, peeking over her shoulder quickly before pulling an old, leather bound book from the shelf.

She flips the leather cover aside to reveal the title page. Next to her messy, distorted scrawl was a neat, distinctive cursive once again.

Speak low if you speak love

- Aristophanes

She smiles gently, chuckling as she shakes her head.

"Shakespeare of all people," she whispers, her accent thickening. Pulling a forgotten pen from the shelves, she begins writing,

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The highlight of your day became going to the library and reading the little messages scrawled in between the margins of the book by Orpheus. Like:

If music be the food of love, play on

Or

Her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love.

They made you smile on a daily basis, sometimes even eliciting a rare light laugh.

"Good morning sweetpea." The librarian greets you, not expecting a response. To her surprise and yours, you muster a small smile and a wave.

"Hello." You can feel the librarians shocked eyes following you as you round the bookshelf corner to find Steve, eyes wide, mouth open in shock as he stares down at something in his hands.

Your heart plummets. A book with a soft leather cover, yellowed pages. The book of poems.

You lunge for it but he step sides you swiftly, raising the book above his head.

"Speak low if you speak of love huh? I'm not surprised you know Shakespeare, you're such a nerd." He sneers, waving the book above his head.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about." You stutter, backing up. He grabs you by the collar of your shirt, lifting you into the air.

"Don't fuck with me!" He growls, dropping the book and kicking it to the side. "Who's Orpheus?"

"G-Greek hero. Musician." You stutter and he slaps you, hard. You can feel your cheek swelling under his fiery gaze.

"Don't even try me. Who. Is. Orpheus?"

"I don't know, I swear!" You mutter, wincing when you accidentally bite your cheek.

He drops you, watching as you scramble to your feet, backing away.

"This isn't over you little shit. I'll be back for you," he warns, giving your book one last kick for good measure before storming out of the library with Tony and Bucky on his heels.

You fall to your knees, silently sobbing as you crawl over too the book, dusting it off and hugging it to your chest.

Yelena sighs, her heart breaking as she watches you curl around the book protectively, lying on the floor.

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"Where are you going?"

Yelena turns to find Nat, leaning against the school stairwell doorway, watching her.

"Just up to the roof. Need some fresh air," she lies, avoiding Nat's gaze. Nat lifts Yelena's chin up, staring into her eyes, boring into her very soul. Yelena squirms under her gaze until she finally lets go.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay." She smiles sadly at her little sister. "Just-" Her voice cracks as she pats her sister's shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Don't worry. I won't." She gives Nat a brief hug before hiking her pants up and starting up the stairs.

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"Ah, well look who decided to join the party!" You look up from the ground to see Yelena, your eyes clouded with pain.

"No..." You croak but Steve pays no attention to you.

"Come to save your love Yelena?" He sneers, dropping you to the ground. "Or should I say... Orpheus?" Your eyes widen as you watch him advance towards her, pushing her closer to the edge of the roof.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She deadpans and Steve chuckles.

"Sure. If you won't admit, I'll just have to settle for destroying you from the inside out instead." He grabs her by the arm. "I haven't forgotten what you did to me." He points at a long thin scar along his jawline.

You watch as Tony sneaks up from behind Yelena, striking her with a metal bar. She crumples, falling to her knees.

"Hold her." Steve directs and Bucky dutifully grabs you by the arms. He holds Yelena's chin in between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him. "Now you watch as I destroy the one thing you love the most." Tony tosses his the metal bar and Steve prepares himself before swinging it like a baseball bat.

There's a sickening crunch followed by your scream as the bar makes contact with your ribs.

"Stop!" She struggles, her eyes never leaving your broken body as he hits you over and over again. "Please! Leave her alone!"

Steve smiles evilly, locking eyes with her before swinging the bat again. Another scream. Blood trickles down your face from your nose.

"Is that right? Did the famous Yelena Belova just beg me?" He smiles cruelly before pushing you down on your back, his foot on your chest. You scream as he increases the pressure, your broken ribs digging into your lungs.

Yelena screams, kicking Tony's legs out from under him before punching Steve in the jaw. She grabs the iron bar before it hits the ground, clobbering Bucky in the stomach before kicking Steve in the stomach.

"ты сука (you bitch)!" She steps on his face swiftly, taking satisfaction in the groan of pain he emits before turning to you, gently cradling your face.

"Wow... That was pretty badass," you mumble and she laughs, tearing up. You reach out, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Don't cry." She frowns.

"I'm not crying."

"You are too." You smile, wincing in pain. "I didn't know you knew Shakespeare."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let this happen." You frown, caressing her face, forcing her to look at you.

"Hey, hey. It's fine. Don't worry. I'll be fine." You attempt to smile reassuringly but it comes out as more of a grimace. "Listen, if I don't make it-"

"Don't say that! You can't leave me!"

"Shush, listen you thickheaded poet. If I don't make it, go back to the book." You instruct her. She frowns but you can her off. "Promise me."

"But-"

"Promise me."

"I promise..."

"Good." You smile at her, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, your eyesight blurring. "Wait for me okay?" Your eyes flutter shut.

"No! No Y/N! Come back!" She shakes you roughly, sobbing when you don't respond.

----------

Yelena watches as your body is carted off under a white sheet. Nat stands to the side, watching as her sister stares off into the distance, all life drained from her body.

Go back to the book.

She stands, slowly trailing towards the library, her eyes bloodshot, cheeks caked with dry tears.

"Hi dear," the librarian greets her, discreetly wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. "What a shame. She was a lovely girl."

"She really was the best." Yelena agrees quietly, giving the librarian a small, comforting pat on the back before moving to the back of the library where she finds the book, lying on the floor.

Yelena,

I believe that we are the greatest love poem ever written. I love you always,

Y/N

A choked sob escapes her lips as she stares at the page. You knew. You knew the whole time and you didn't even say anything. A pair of soft arms wrap around Yelena's stomach as she lets go of the dam, her cries echoing throughout the library.

"I'm sorry..."

I'm sorry...

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Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @trikruismybitch @ima-gi--na-tion @nicole-rayleigh-hot @olsensnpm @peabrain112

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Trigger warning: period-typical homophobia and associated slurs

Part 1 | . . . | Part 37 | Part 38 | Part 39

Allison smiles at Eddie as they listen to Steve bicker with Dustin. Eddie glances at her, sees her smiling, and looks… disgusted. “God,” he says with a sneer, “you thought we were serious? That we’re some fags? You thought you could have your picture-perfect little dream life, didn’t you?”

Allison feels fear tingle down her spine. She gets off the counter and makes her way around the island, angling it between her and Eddie, letting her get close to the sliding doors that lead to the backyard.

Just then Steve comes back in, and Allison pleads with her eyes. “Steve? Bubba?”

“Sorry, Allison,” he says, though he doesn’t sound sorry. “You thought we’d accept you being a dyke?”

He and Eddie begin to laugh, and as tears prick at her eyelids, she feels behind herself for the door, throws it open, and steps outside.

Except she’s not outside. She can feel herself calming down slightly as she recognizes the hallway: it’s the one on the way to Cassidy’s room. “Cass?” She calls timidly, wiping her eyes. “Cassie?” She opens the oh-so-familiar door and freezes in the entryway. It’s not Cassidy’s room; it’s a room she’s never seen before. It looks like a meeting room. Her father is at one end of a long table, her mother just to his right. Steve’s to his left, with Eddie to his left, and Cassidy is on her mother’s right. The rest of the table is filled with friends and acquaintances from school, all staring at her, judging her.

She takes a step back. “Daddy?” She asks, like she’s five years old again.

Richard Harrington sighs. “Honestly, Allison, I thought we raised you better than this. Your mother and I didn’t raise you to throw your life away like a prostitute.”

“Dad, I love her,” she pleads.

Cassidy scoffs. “Do you? When you forgot my birthday? When you got me earrings for our anniversary? When you keep dragging your feet about everything?”

Allison gapes. “I- I didn’t- we celebrated later,” she tries weakly. “You said you loved the earrings. And I’m- I’m not trying to drag my feet-”

“Allison,” Cynthia Harrington says, spreading her hands. “We just want what’s best for you, darling. Come with us.”

The rest of the table starts murmuring, with us, come, come with us, and Allison’s heart kickstarts in her chest before she runs out of the room.

She ends up on a cursed-looking landscape, with dead earth and red sky, sticky vines and prehistoric-looking beasts.

She sees a clump of dead trees and sprints towards them, hiding in between them as best she can.

“Allison?” She hears, and her heart thumps in her chest, but how can she be sure?

“Alli? Baby?”

She turns around to see Cassidy trapped under a fallen tree, and she gasps. “How’d you get here?”

“Please,” Cassidy groans, tears tracing down her cheeks. “Please help me, baby, it’s on my ankle, I think it’s broken-”

“Cassie,” Alli sobs, falling to her knees next to her. “I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.” She does her best to lift one end of the log off of Cassidy, enough so Cassidy can wiggle out. When she’s out, Allison drops the log and wraps Cassidy in a hug. “Baby,” she whispers. “Baby, I’m so scared.”

“I know you are, sweetheart,” Cassidy says, but it’s not Cassidy, and Allison steps back and looks up with a gasp.

“W-what- who- who are you?”

His face contorts into a sickly grin. “I have many names,” he says, raising his arms as if to embrace her again. She eyes him distrustfully. “None of them will make any difference to you, though, since you’ll be dead before you can use them.”

She pivots on her heel and runs, ignores everything she can that isn’t her feet pounding on the dead earth. She suddenly hears a bit of music, which is so unlike anything she’d experienced in this place that she instinctively turns to it. It sounds almost like Steve.

“Darling, you got to let me know,” the voice sings, “should I stay or should I go? If you say that you are mine, I’ll be here till the end of time. So you got to let me know, should I stay or should I go?” Then the voice starts speaking. “C’mon, Al,” it murmurs. “You gotta fight, please. I just got you back, c’mon, I can’t lose you again. Not this soon. I won’t let him have you, Al, but you’ve gotta fight too.”

He starts the next line, and she suddenly sees something like a portal in front of her. As she gets closer, she can see herself, floating off the ground, eyes rolled back in her head. Steve’s standing on the counter, trying to reach her ear to speak. “Bubba,” she murmurs, running as fast as she can. Something tells her to look behind her, but she knows it’ll cost her speed, so she doesn’t, just runs to the portal and jumps through, back into her body.

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[theebaudelaire]

Yogurt

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

You call a truce between you and Wanda Maximoff.

Word Count: 1,903 (not sure because I had little trouble copying and pasting it)

AN: First time writing So it won’t be the best. Think of this as a trial run you know testing the waters a bit . Anyway I hope you’re okay with this. I tried my best to write in G!n Reader instead of fem. I might’ve missed some mistakes

Wanda Maximoff, How do we even start describing her?

She’s good company to have around, She is a great cook. She is lovely but it seems like she doesn’t trust me as much as out teammates.

First, Clint is like a dad to her. Second, Nat is her sister she never had. Third, Steve is a uncle in a sort of way. Fourth, Vision Don’t even get me started on him. He’s a droid alright but Wanda seems to have more respect for him. Lastly, (Y/n) Mhm Sad Y/N.

Wanda treated them like a friend she had just met. Someone she knows but not sure she could trust them.

Yes I am talking about me, I would say I’m an alright person to be around. If I was someone else besides me, I would be best friends with me. I wasn’t good with holding down conversations but who cares, Am i right? I feel like I’m a tad bit overconfident in myself right now but that doesn’t harm anyone.

The whole team seemed to trust me the first few weeks I was here but Wanda still seems like she never got around me. But a whole different story for Pietro, Me and Him got along fine. NO NO!, GREATLY THATS THE WORD. You never thought a cocky guy would be best friends with a diffident person. A weird match but it helped me get out my shell a bit.

Me and speedy would do a lot of pranks on the team, Harmless pranks to be exact. On this lovely sunny day we were gonna do another to you know ruffle someone’s feathers a bit. So we of course woke up early but Romanoff of course beat us to it.

“Y/L/N! What are you doing up this early dear?”Natasha says when I walk into the kitchen. She gives me that infamous smirk that she always does.

“You know.. Training! Training with Piet.”

She hums contently and looks at me “Alright Be safe!” I walk out the kitchen and lead to P’s room.

“Y/N! Did you get it?”

“No, Nats there” Pietro looks at me for a while and speeds past me. He comes back before I could even move from my spot.

“I got it!” Pietro hands me the Mayo Jar and Some Yogurts.

“So how do I start on this?” I look at Pietro

He says “Clean out the yogurt and Scoop some Mayo to put it in there.”

“Alright!” I walk to the bathroom and clean out one of the yogurts and hand them to Pietro. After a few minutes we have finished most of the yogurts. Pietro speeds off to them back in the fridge while I am heading back to my room. I take off my shirt and get into bed. After a few minutes of silence, Pietro knocks at my door. I walk up to the door and open but I hear a different voice from his.

“Y/N” Wanda says, I look up at her. “Wanda! H-How are you doing today?” I say as I lean against the wall hopefully feeling cooling than I think. She laughed, I didn’t think that I was that stupid looking. She cleared her throat and I looked back at her. Her leafy eyes was looking straight at me. There was silence between us for a while now.

“Y/N! Wanda!” Pietro says, Me and Wanda both break from the unspoken staring contest to look up at him. “Hey! Piet What’s up?” I was the first to speak up

“Hello Pietro” Wanda said right after. Pietro looked at me and back at her. “Why is your shirt off?” I look down my torso and realize why it had become awkward between Me and Wanda.

“Oh I was just taking a nap the shirt I wore was kinda smelly from being around you P!” I walked back into my room and went to put on a new shirt from closet. I walk back out to the Maximoff Twins. We walk to the lounge and Wanda walks in front of us.

“What was up with you and Wanda?” Pietro asks

“She just knocked on my door, I think she needed to say something before you interrupted.”

“Ask Her”

“What?, why won’t you ask her she’s your twin.”

“Yeah but she’s the one who she wanted to talk to and plus maybe you can tell her about your crush on her.”

“No, I have no idea of what you’re talking about.. I don’t like your sister. I thought about it for a while. Yeah I think she is attractive but I wouldn’t date her. It’s not like I would melt like ice cream in the sun around her. I got lost in my train of thought and bumped right straight to her. I looked up at her and She looked right back at me.

Oh I was wrong. I got lost in every detail of her face. Her green eyes and Her-

Wanda snapped her fingers and said “Are you okay?”

“Yes! absolutely I am just gonna get a yogurt. You want one?”

“Sure, Yea” I walked out and got two yogurts out the fridge. I walked back to the lounge and threw one yogurt at Wanda. I sat down next to Pietro and cleared my throat.

“Hey, You walked so fast I wasn’t able to catch up.” Piet said and laughed.

“I think you’re right.” I opened the strawberry yogurt and sighed.

“Wait.. You like my sister!?” He smiled and looked at Wanda.

“Yes Maybe, I’m not sure but I think I do.”

“I think she’s gonna hate you.”

“Why? I’m an okay person to be with.”

“Yes, I agree on that but yogurt.” He points at her while she was opening the yogurt.

“What?… oh OH!” I practically yelled at this point. She looked up at me curiously.

“Wanda, Maybe we should trade yogurts. I’m not a big fan of strawberry. “Sure.” she replied and gave me the Mayo filled yogurt. She went back to reading her book.

“Pietro, help me out here.”

“No, can do my friend. You’re on your own for this one. He stood up and walked to his sister. They spoke in their native language for a few seconds and Wanda stood and sat down next to me. I tensed as soon as she sat down. Pietro noticed and said “Wanda, Me and Y/N have to do something really fast, We’ll be back in a couple of seconds.

I stood up and asked “Hey, It felt rude to just switch yogurts so you can also have this one.” I handed Wanda the container of “yogurt”. I walked with Pietro and he laughed.

“Why are you laughing at me?”

“Yogurt.”

“Yogurt? Oh my, WHY WOULD YOU LET ME DO THAT.” P laughed at me and I ran back in. Just as soon I went in, Wanda brought a scoop up to her mouth and expecting the delicious taste of vanilla yogurt. But that never happened, Instead She was greeted with the taste of Mayo. She spit it out and glared at me.

“Hey! Wanda, uhm don’t get mad but-”

“Y/N if you don’t start running now you’re dead” She said with no hint of playfulness. I zoomed right out almost as fast as speedy. I ran to Pietro’s room and He giggled.

“I’m dead”

“No you’re not, she’s just messing around. Plus it’s not like she can kill you.”

“P, she can move things with her mind and has deadly red things that can kill hold someone hostage.”

“Mhm, You wouldn’t mind if she kept you hostage though.” He smiled lightly while I turned slightly red.

“How do i fix this?” Pietro walked up from his bed.

“Do something cheesy. Like something from the shows she watches.”

“I don’t watch a lot of shows so what’s something simple i can do?”

“Here!, Get her some snacks and call a truce.” He hands me a couple of dollars.

“What does she like?”

“You’re smart, You’ll figure it out.”

“That was so helpful.” I walk out his room and heads to mine. I grab a hoodie and head outside to borrow one of Tony’s cars. I sit in the driver seat not knowing what to do but it dawned over me. Something from Sokovia. I sure she misses it especially after it got destroyed.

I drove two hours and a half to arrive at this little shop that sold Sokovia treats. On my way back I picked up some dvds of shows Pietro mentioned before like The Dick Van Dyke show, Bewitched, I Love Lucy and The Brady Bunch. I put them all in the basket and headed to Pietro’s room.

“What do you think?” I smiled

He smirked at me “I think it looks great.. You know you could’ve just wrapped yourself in wrapping paper and I could’ve dropped you off I think she would like that better.”

I laughed “Haha So funny. I’m gonna give it to her now.”

“Better move fast don’t want her to fall asleep now.”

I checked the time, It read 10:12 PM. Funny how fast the day went by. I walked up to her room and took a deep breath before I knocked. She opened the door and her eyebrows slightly lifted.

“Y/LN? What are you doing here? Are you gonna bring another yogurt because if you are I don’t want any.” She said with a slight of bitterness and was about to close the door.

“Wait.” I stopped the door with my hand and continued “ I want to call a truce and I have something for you.”

“And what is it?” She asked curiously. I raised the basket full of Sokovia Treats and some dvds.

“I’m sorry for that I just got caught up with something and I didn’t realize it before Pietro reminded me.” I gave her the basket. She examined the basket and gave me a weird look.

“And also I didn’t do anything bad to the basket so don’t worry.” I was getting ready to leave but then she stopped me.

“Hey, Do you wanna come inside and watch this with me.” She said holding one of the DVD’s

“Ye-Yeah sure.” She stepped away from the door and let me in.

A few months after that we fell into a routine. I would come to her room and watch a movie or a show that I haven’t seen before and talk.

I was went into her room. “Hey Wanda!.”

“Hi!, Are you ready to watch?”

“Yeah, I’m ready whatever you’re ready.” She ejected the disc and inserted a new one. While the disc was loading up, We talked and once she make a stupid pun I made a stupid mistake.

“God, this why I love you.” She looked at me with wide eyes I saved myself by saying “You-your personality!” Awkward silence settled between us but quickly melted as the night went on.

The next few weeks, It was weird. She no longer invited me to watch and spent all her time with Vision. I wasn’t jealous in any sort of way, Pietro was the better twin anyway.

“Pietro, What’s up with your sister?”

“She’s still ignoring you? Why did she even start in the first place.”

I thought about it. “I have no idea. Maybe you can ask her what’s going on with her and Vision.

“Sure I wont bring you up don’t worry.” I smiled and she speeded out of here. After a few minutes he came back. He patted my back and said something something I never wanted to hear ever.

“Vision and Wanda are together.”

[blackacre13]

oh no this is too late for tomorrow, but I just thought about it: the heist crew at pride

It's never too late for a pride fic! I know it's August, but happy Pride! Here you are:

“Do you think they’d go for it?” Debbie asked, looking at her wife in the mirror as she scrubbed at her stubborn eyeliner furiously with a makeup wipe.

“You’re kidding, right?” Lou grinned, meeting Debbie’s eyes. “They’ll probably be even more excited than we were at the idea.”

“God,” Debbie sighed, leaning against the tile wall of the bathroom. “When’s the last time we even went?”

“It’s been literal decades,” Lou chuckled.

“Ooh, San Francisco,” Debbie breathed, followed by a giggle as Lou leaned against her, kissing her forehead softly.

“Dykes on bikes,” Lou winked as they shared a gentle laugh, Debbie lacing their fingers together.

“Let’s text the girls.”

The Australian pulled Debbie into their bedroom before throwing Debbie onto the bed with a grin and then diving in herself, rolling them over to grab her phone and pull up a group text as the brunette cuddled into her.

Lou: NYC Pride tomorrow. Who’s in?

Constance: Seriously?!

Constance: Sick.

Tammy: Are rugrats allowed? If so, I’m in!

Amita: Okay, but what do I wear as an ally?

Nine: Dope. What time? I’ll bring V.

Tammy: On second thought, how much PDA are you and Deb planning on? Don’t want my kids to have to clean up my vomit all day

Daphne: Rosie and I are in

Daphne: and out (;

Constance: Pregame at mom and dad’s?

“This is going to be the best,” Lou grinned, holding Debbie tight.

“And also a disaster,” Debbie laughed as three more texts from Constance rolled in asking something about tacos and matching sneakers and playlists.

Lou clicked her phone’s screen off for the moment, tucking it under her pillow as she smiled down at Debbie.

“Did you ever think we’d get to go to Pride as wives?” The blonde asked with a soft smile.

“I didn’t know if we would,” Debbie admitted. “But I did hope. Idiot partners but only fuck buddy Lou and Deb seem so far away now.”

“I’m glad they got their shit together,” Lou hummed.

“Took them long enough,” Debbie smirked, rolling over a bit to face the blonde. “The real question is: what are we going to wear?”

Lou groaned, pulling a pillow out from underneath their heads as she buried her face in it.

“Baby, you love getting all dressed up,” Debbie teased.

“Yes, but I’m old and married and I just want to stay in bed until we fall asleep,” Lou mumbled under the pillow.

“I’ll help you pick something out,” Debbie decided, getting excited to thumb through some outfits. “Better now than in the morning anyhow. You know Constance will bust in here at the crack of dawn on a skateboard.”

Lou made a noise, but didn’t move.

“Or Tammy will send herself in, kids first.”

That got Lou moving as she nodded her agreement with a grumpy “You’re right” as Debbie extended her hand, helping Lou out of the bed towards the closet.

“I can help you get undressed too,” Debbie winked, playing with Lou’s shirt as Lou flicked on the closet light. “You know, just in case you need any help with that.”

“How can I say no to that offer?” Lou grinned, dripping Debbie into a kiss.

************************************************************************

“Rise and shine, motherfuckers!”

Debbie and Lou looked up from where they were leaning against the counter sipping their coffees to, sure enough, see Constance skateboard in donning a pair of rainbow hightop with pride flags on her cheeks and a giant pride flag swirling behind her like a cape.

“Easy Con, it’s not even 9am dude,” Nine groaned, rubbing at her eyes as she trailed in slowly behind the younger woman with her sister in tow, who gave an excited wave.

“Sorry, I’m late!” Amita called, barreling through the door with two trays of coffees. “Tammy’s right behind me with bagels and shit.”

“Late?” Debbie asked, raising an eyebrow as she took a long sip from her mug.

“Figured you two would be asleep so we moved over to the parent-free group chat,” Amita shrugged.”

“Or Fucking,” Nine added with a wink.

Debbie and Lou shared a look, but didn’t elaborate.

“You riding in the parade, dad?” Constance asked, motioning to the helmet on the counter.

“Is there any other way, kid?” Lou grinned, standing up straight to reveal her full leathers, several pride pins tucked into her ensemble below the pride flag she was wearing as an ascot with her usual array of chains on top.

“And mom?” Constance smirked.

“Reporting for duty,” Debbie saluted, showing off her new white leather jacket that Lou had called “impractical but sexy” with a simple pride shirt underneath. “As ride or die, I think it’s my obligation to ride…or well, die I guess.”

“Oh, Daphne,” Amita sighed as the group turned to take in the newly arriving Daphne and Rose.

“What?” Daphne rolled her eyes. “As the penultimate lipstick lesbian, I have to give the people what they want,” she smirked, brushing her fingers against the long pink dress and her signature off the shoulder jacket that never quite seemed to make its way to her shoulders. “A Rose Weil original.”

“Of course,” Lou nodded.

Rose looked uncomfortable but happy by Daphne’s side, worrying herself with the hem of the dress as she frowned, eyeing the pin cushion she’d left on the coffee table as if she might make alterations on the go.

“I brought flag stamps for everyone,” Constance spoke, excited.

“Oh, the kids will love those!” Tammy squealed, coming in the door with two big brown bags of what the group assumed were bagels as her kids scurried in.

“I think that’s all of us,” Debbie grinned. “Should we put on some pump up music or wait until after breakfast?”

“Do it up, mama!” Nine cheered as Constance hollered.

“What should we play?” Amita asked.

“Something gay,” Rose offered.

“Something good,” Lou corrected, grabbing Debbie by the waist and smiling at their makeshift family. “Ready for some chaos, honey?”

“Always, baby,” Debbie grinned, her heart fluttering happily in her chest.