#whineychests

[jtownraindancer]

gabriel x reader: i need some guiding light

[been going through a dry spell, so attempted a couple archangel song sprints. first was gabe with 42]

*

He had wandered for centuries.

Centuries spent living under the guise of a deity he was not, pretending to be more manipulative than he was meant to be, of being far more conniving and fearsome and ferocious-

As the centuries blurred together, as millennia morphed into one single breath, he started to lose track of where Gabriel had ended and where Loki began.

When the apocalypse was finally looming over all of them- Not the recurring cycle of Ragnarok- which he had had nothing to do with the last three times thank-you-very-much- he found himself being forcefully dragged back into the drama of his family, helpless when faced with the inevitability of his original purpose.

The Archangel Gabriel, destined to toot his horn and call the battalions of the Host to arms, the heralding of a new era.

He loathed that destiny, despised the story his Father wanted him to play out.

A Father Who couldn't even stick around to reassure His own children when they needed Him most.

The Winchesters would not, could not, convince him to fight, nor would they ever truly convince him to choose a side.

No- Gabriel had no one left to fight for, nothing in the entire Universe, in the entire Cosmos, worth risking his own divinity and Pantheon for.

Except, perhaps, the curious, wide-eyed, stupefied soul peeking around Castiel's shoulders, watching warily as the Archangel paced restlessly within his fiery prison.

A single glance, the gentle press of his Grace in your general direction-

Your admiration and disbelief were enough to give him pause, your respectful recognition and humility in his presence enough to soften his tone, posture going lax as he nodded towards you in acknowledgement.

The bashful smile that greeted him in return- full of reverence and captivation and cordiality- was enough to convince him, a brilliant beacon of hope in epochs of despairing dread.

It was an innocent trust he knew he did not deserve, but it was enough to smother his resolve, offer his assent.

He would do what was necessary to end this war, to prevent whatever bloodshed he could, to help rip his Dad's script apart while avoiding his brothers as much as possible-

Because there was still someone who believed in him.

Whether it was for the Angel he had been or the god he had chosen to become-

You had faith in him.

He finally had something to fight for.

*

[jtownraindancer]

Sam: We need to have a talk about professionalism. Dean: (standing on top of a table with Jack and Cas) Those are some mighty brave words for a guy standing in lava!

[jtownraindancer]

Jo Harvelle x Reader: Led Zeppelin

*

While the Roadhouse served primarily as a Hunters' bar, you had come to claim it as your personal pedantic paradise.

First appearances hinted at animosity, a behemoth towering over you. When you first entered the dark room, taking in maple columns and recently refinished flooring, you found yourself more at ease, and soon enough your initial visit was ending with a familial warmth you had not anticipated, a standing offer to swing by anytime.

You had presumed the offer to be a mere offer of hospitality, the casual invitation of a retailer to their consumer. During your second visit, however, the lithe blonde whose name you had already forgotten had guided you to a private table, the tall supports on either side of the booth allowing you your necessary quiet, with just enough murmuring of other patrons to keep firmly rooted in the present.

With another successful night of studying in, you secretly vowed to visit as often as possible, your tired yet contented gaze following the retreating figure of the establishment's young owner.

Each visit after found the two of you growing more acquainted, and on those rare days when you were the only other person in the bar, she would join you, spending hours discussing the paranormal, teaching you about creatures and beings far beyond basic human understanding, sharing stories of her heroic father.

She grew to know you as well, taking an interest in your books, learning your class schedule and your favourite drinks. Sometimes, you would come in to find food waiting for you, the steam off of freshly prepared pretzels a welcome sight after trudging through autumnal sludge and showers.

Your grades had improved dramatically since your study sessions had commenced, the simple serenity of the dark oak countertops and the velveteen greens of the billiards tables wrapping their secure familiarity around you. There were rarely disruptions here, many of the Hunters passing through keeping their business quiet, sharing hushed stories and lore over tawny bottles and liquid gold.

For the first time in some time, the bar was empty, save for you and Jo. It seemed that the approach of Samhain often brought with it more supernatural activity, demons and ghosts doing their damnedest to breach the void and wreak havoc among the living.

The Hunters you had grown most familiar with-The Winchesters, Ms. Bradbury, Mr. Singer, Mr. Ross and his partner Mr. Lassiter, even Jo's own mother- had become more like friends in recent months, and it was slightly disconcerting that you may miss them before you went home for Fall Break.

Your hostess had any sense of discontent dispersing soon enough, humming along to Led Zeppelin as she worked on inventory, the familiar rhythm of classic rock and tinkling glass and sharpening blades a persistent beat to which you could study.

Jo's voice sometimes still carved its way past your concentration, the vaguely discordant refrains evoking a small grin as you once more turned to watch her work, enraptured by modest revolutions and the slight swaying as she simply continued to be.

You were lost in the whimsy of it all- the halo cast over her shoulders from the led strip behind the bar, the tug on her white t-shirt as her arms moved from one task to the next, the lingering scent of your beer cheese and soda.

The moment was so surreal, so pure and innocuously humane.

The Roadhouse had become your paradise, providing you the extraordinary glimpse into what Heaven must surely be.

*