#i know we know for a fact that there were rewrites and he got cut out then but it's still crazy to think about

[deepfriedpaddymayne]

printing this out and putting it into an envelope to mail it to steven knight

[weirdmageddon]

i love these tags this person is so right

actually, can you imagine if dave was raised by B1 roxy?

i wanna get into this actually

(ok i had to spend a few hours rewriting this because IT DIDNT FUCKING SAVE AFTER FIVE HOURS OF WRITING WHEN MY COMPUTER UPDATED WHILE I WAS AFK so it would mean a lot to show this post some appreciation. i LOVEEE hearing what other people have to say)

even though these things mom does are presented in an extravagant, kitsch, jokey way, her intentions always came from a place of sincerity. she is simply Funnie

but rose reads too far into it and assumes things that aren't there, that her mother is passive-aggressively feigning interest in rose's interests simply because the things she does are so extra. "why do all of this if not to mock me"

im telling you right now if dave lived in this household he wouldn't assume antagonism, he'd go,

don’t forget who LITERALLY patented tangible jpeg artifacts as their post-scratch adult self and scattered shitty scummed up statue of liberties all over the planet. theres no way some of that overboard artful shit wasnt post-ironic / circling back around to genuine funny sincerity

dave's natural state is funny sincerity like roxy. he's had the natural capacity for this type of humor from the start and this is the direction he goes towards when he grows out of his brother's shadow by the end of the comic. dave and roxy share an earnest “so bad its good” type of humor

(lots more under the cut; the length of this meta analysis just got unwieldly with all the pictures and whatnot)

despite the alcoholism, roxy is a supportive mother. she's not the ideal guardian but hells of a lot more supportive of her kid than bro is. if she knew dave's interests she would totally indulge in them with some over the top silly goofy haha shit as a genuine gesture simply because she loves him

rose isn't too keen on it though. but she is more similar to dirk in her natural state of thinking of overthinking shit and assuming the worst, like the tags said

and yes dave got the sweet cuddly yet sometimes backhanded ouppy gene from roxy, probably even moreso lol

roxy's even said rose "sounds like girl dirk"

side tangent here, but this is something i wanna talk about.

i dont think bro should ever be in custody of children ever but if theres anyone who would be up to the task it's rose probably. i know she'd be able to keep up with him. not only does she have a defined personality (dave is more malleable and absorbs his environment like a sponge), if anyone can pick apart B1 dirk's batshit brain and probably be right on the money it's her. lil cal has been pumping patriarchal nonsense into bro's head and rose would be able to bring the fucking facts to the table without losing her own and being a living example of a badass little girl. i also don't think bro would try to force masculine roles onto rose like he did with dave, seeing as she is a girl, so she would actually have more of a leg up and get some passes that dave was never afforded. and rose wouldn't stand idly and accept any bullshit; she is no doormat. and i think this would earn bro's respect

but anyway, from this, couldn't we conclude roxy "sounds like girl dave"?

yeah okay. we havent even gotten into their penchant for funny typos or misspeaks, deliberate or otherwise

so, dave's environment

the sentiment "god you hope you can be as good as your bro at this some day" might have been genuine at the time when he idolized bro but of course he's not able to express that in any sort of sincere fashion because he's in dirk's fucking household. and this level 10 irony shit isnt doing dave any favors

his role models were the Internet and a vague idea of what Bro was like. So he built up his facade based on irony–not the literary definition of irony, as Rose might be quick to point out, but a popular concept of irony based on the idea that things that didn’t make sense actually made sense in some roundabout way. As a master of irony, Dave probably reasoned, he could see in a way other people couldn’t why a world that was scary and didn’t make sense really did make sense, and could therefore convince those people that he was superior to them. And he would wield his knowledge to maintain the appearance of superiority by calling everything ironic and pretending he didn’t care about things that didn’t make sense, and he would use walls of vaguely rhyming words to keep everyone at arm’s length so they wouldn’t discover his insecurities (source)

roxy's style is the embodiment of post-irony. being raised by mom lalonde would be like being raised by joel vinesauce ok

what can i say ….. (getting meta about this actually, hussie got these jpeg wizard wallpapers from a spyware website. link takes some time to load because internet archive)

rose is quick to read post-irony as actually being a joke/insincere, which in bro's case would be true. but i believe dave's natural instinct, outside of the influence of bro, is to read post-irony as genuine, which is exactly how mom serves it. we see this as early as act 3 from him; he understands her motives better than rose does herself:

and in act 6 intermission 2 i think it's pretty clear

but the thing is, it's always genuine from her. dave wouldn't have to second guess it because he's not one to naturally second guess someone's sincerity; that was learned due to his bro being virtually unassailable

there two types of ironies at play here:

seems like a joke, is actually genuine (roxy)

doesnt seem like a joke, is actually a joke (dirk)

you can make the argument that the second is is more psychologically destructive because it makes you question the reality of what is genuine sentiment and what isn't. dave never knew what was genuine and what was irony so he just sort of existed in this sincerity-ironic limbo and always did the opposite of what he genuinely felt on principle even if it always did originate from a genuine place.

"it just a joke bro i was just being ironic i dont actually x" is so much more trust-breaking and psychologically damaging than "wait are you being serious" / "i am being so fucking fr rn davy gravy" / "ok thats actually pretty fucking awesome. giant ass wizard statue" / "RIGHT"

how much about dave would change do you think? his character arc would be completely different for one thing, i think he'd have it good aside from mom's alcohol issues. he'd be left with the sweet and funny parts of him that we see at the end of the comic. the fake coolguy stuff is out, but this remains. this is dave in his element and we see it as early as act 1

he'd probably have no shades growing up in the lalonde residence* either cause those were given to him by bro straight out of the crater as an extension of his own cool image. and john gave dave ben stiller’s aviators for his 13th birthday to replace them so he could “spread his wings”

dave said he was wearing them for the ironies but i kind of doubt it. maybe post-irony but there was some reacharound to it being genuine because dave never put those pointy anime shades on his face again.

*though... it’s kind of hard to imagine him without his shades at all? B2 dave still got stiller’s shades from stiller himself so maybe getting them is a universal constant. i can imagine mom getting him them as a birthday gift cause shes pretty wealthy and probably could buy it out in an auction. but also itd be cool if john still gave him it as a gift

dave is actually a lot more genuine and easy to read than he lets on even when grappling with his upbringing with B1 dirk (again, see this post). this can be seen all throughout he comic but a good example is the evolution of thoughts about his interest in the preserved dead things in his room:

if B1 roxy was dave's guardian he probably WOULD have pursued paleontology because she wouldve indulged him in it and probably find it cool and worthwhile to pursue, instead of allowing dave to flounder under ironic detachment, being poisoned by irony to the point of gaslighting himself into believing he doesnt actually believe he thinks this shit is cool. even if it was indulged in this such a way; a superficially kitsch and ironic appearing presentation, it comes from a genuine place and inspires genuine interest. just read the comments.

basically, i think if B1 roxy raised dave, their relationship would have a surface level appearance of being bizarre or over-the-top but they’d have an unsaid mutual understanding that it’s completely in earnest and just build on each other's funny and absurd gestures of affection. rather than seeing it as one-upping each other, it'd more like collaboration of some silly bullshit that you take a step back and look at full and just say, "fucking incredible"

speaking of paleontology, mom had the proto-ectobiology lab. maybe they'd be able to use the equipment to appearify paradox ghost imprints of the dead shit to create paradox clones of things from the cambrian era??? sounds like a fun mother son bonding activity. and theyd actually put the sciencey shit in the household to use

oh god i know exactly the kinds of music shed listen too also growing up as a teen in the 80s. she on that (post)-punk/art rock/new wave/new romantic mtv stuff. XTC shit fr. this is a B-52S HOUSEHOLD. maybe the associates for the campy melodramatic flair. so he gets to keep the record on his shirt cause he is an enjoyer of the shit in her vinyl collection. dave would still gravitate towards musical expression and music itself but of more variety outside of just rap, with an 80s-90s, even 70s flavor due to mom’s influence. see this for perhaps a glimpse. ​she probably visited new york city a lot for business trips and because the music scene was cool as hell around that time, imports came straight from jfk airport, she probably got in on that a bit and have remnants in the form of vinyls and cassettes. in this way she could be distributing void to dave (influencing him with forgotten / presently irrelevant music). now he can REALLY rave about bands none of his friends have heard of. “hey davy grvay watcha listenin to” (he holds up vinyl cover) “omg snakefinger”

btw dave lalonde would look like this to me

[kimarii-00]

Honey would please write something like when Armando left his gf she is a hacker and a weapon specialist without saying anything turned out that's not the only person he left behind. ( Tiny a baby girl who like to hold a wooden spoon ) They meet again when they going to the ammo squad in bad boys for . Her Kelly are besties . Very very angst.

(I accidentally deleted the ask, but I wrote it down before I did so above is the prompt for this, asked by anonymous)

Regrets and Punishments

❥Summary: Armando knows he made a mistake. He knew when he decided that his mother was more important than his girlfriend. But he planned to return to her, he did. He never could’ve anticipated being gone for as long as he was. Seeing her face again was like getting shot: You get that adrenaline rush, yet the pain ends up biting you in the ass later on. Especially when he discovers what, or dare I say, who he also left behind all that time ago.

❥Warnings: Slow burn, kidnapping, language

❥Word Count: 2.7k

❥Part 1/2

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AN: I’m ngl I’m not sure if you meant that you wanted them to have a kid or not, but I wrote it just in case, let me know if that's not what you wanted and I’ll rewrite it! (I also gave the kid a name)

I think I’m going to make this a two parter because I kinda took this prompt and ran with it lol

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He never thought he’d see you again. As much as he didn’t want to, he accepted the fact that he’d fucked up your relationship when he decided to leave you in favor of helping his mothers’ dirty work. He didn’t even give you so much as a call after he’d left to let you know that he was even alive. He only hoped that you were doing fine on your own.

Nonchalantly, Armando walked through the door to the house of the people Mike and Marcus knew, not giving a damn about the warning to stay outside like Mike had told him to. No wonder a gun was drawn and pointed at him as soon as he stepped foot in the home.

“Woah, woah! Kelly-” Mike began his attempt to mediate the situation, “I asked you to wait outside for a second… Alright, Kelly, he’s with us.” Standing in between the gun and his son.

“He can’t be here.” Kelly retorted, keeping her gaze on the wanted criminal standing before her.

“This is my son, Armando.”

“I know who he is and that’s why he can’t be here,” The gun never faltered as she spoke with a solid, demanding voice, “I trust you with my life, but I sure as shit don’t trust him.”

“I trust him,” Mike confirmed.

“Then take him to your house.”

Dorn cleared his throat, trying to release some of the tension that had built in the room. Armando said nothing as Dorn came over to try to calm his girlfriend, and Mike took his son to the opposite side of the room.

Marcus sat down on the couch in the middle of the room and snatched up a bag of chips, “This is some dysfunctional shit.” He said, looking back and forth between the two duos.

They came back together after a minute or two. “She’s fine,” Dorn said.

“She don’t look fine…” Marcus expressed, taking in the obvious irritation and discomfort on her face.

“I’m fine.”

“Yes, you are.” Everyone turned in the direction of Armando, where he only opened the fridge to grab a drink.

“It’s the language barrier,” Marcus explained to Dorn.

“It was English!”

“It was definitely English.”

“I have to call someone. I’ll be back,” Kelly said, picking up her phone and already beginning to dial, “If I’m going to do this I’m gonna need another girl here. She’ll be able to help with the tech stuff too.”

“Is it–” Dorn began, but cut himself off when Kelly nodded, “Tell her to leave Demi at home, we don’t know what kind of shit we’re getting into.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you got the call from Kelly, you weren’t entirely sure what to make of it. She told you she needed you to come over, but when you asked her why, she only said something about “emotional support”. You’d tried to press her for more details but she only mentioned having some people over and needing your tech skills. After a while, you just decided you’d go, but not before you handled your own business.

“Demi, come here please!” You called out while folding another shirt, making a nice crease and adding it to your pile of similar neatly folded shirts.

The aggressive pitter-patter of small feet hitting your hardwood floors alerted you that the person you’d called for was on their way.

“Mama!” You felt the bed on which you were folding clothes dip a bit as a weight threw itself into the soft mattress. You smile when you set your eyes on the girl who is smiling to herself contently—your daughter.

“Mimi, mama has to leave soon,” You said as you picked her up and set her on your hip so you could continue to fold while holding your toddler, “Tiara should be here soon to look after you, okay?” You say, referring to your babysitter that you should probably be paying more considering how many times you’ve called her in the past week or so.

“Mama leaving… again?” Your heart dropped when you watched the smile fade from your daughter's face when she realized you were going to be gone and she was going to be left with the babysitter for what felt like the hundredth time. You always felt bad when things like this came up but… you couldn’t just blow Kelly off. Not after all she’s done for you.

“Yes… Mama’s leaving, I’m sorry baby but I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can okay?” You tried to cheer her up by giving her stomach a few tickles but your daughter was as stubborn as they come, her pout seemingly permanently stuck to her face.

The doorbell stole your attention and you gently set your daughter down. She followed you to the front door, and when you opened it her permanent pout was replaced with nothing but… confusion. You joined her in sporting this facial expression when you both looked at the stranger at your doorstep.

“Can I.. help you?” You ask the woman. She had a soft smile on her face, but for some reason, it didn’t seem welcoming.

“I’m your babysitter.” The woman replied.

“Um… I’m sorry there must be some mistake. My usual babysitter’s name is Tiara, I called her a while ago-”

“Tiara asked me to come here in her stead, she isn’t feeling too well, unfortunately. I’m a coworker of hers.” The woman explained, but you weren’t convinced. Tiara hadn’t mentioned any of this to you when you called her-

Just then, as you were about to make up your mind about whether or not you wanted to slam the door on the lady, you received a message from… Tiara.

3:34 Tiara (Babysitter): Hey, so sorry for the inconvenience but I’m not feeling good today, I sent over my coworker because I know you needed a sitter ASAP! Her name is Sara.

“What was your name again?” You asked, slowly taking your eyes off of your phone and to the lady, still wearing that smile on her face.

“Sara.”

You look her up and down once more before stepping to the side to let the woman inside. Your daughter hid behind and clung to your leg, only peeking out when she was sure the strange woman was not looking at her.

“Um… This is Demi,” You gesture to the girl who has glued herself to your right leg. You try to get her to say hello but she refuses. Sara stoops down to your daughter's level and tries to wave at her but Demi only scooches further out of sight. “The fridge is fully stocked, there are only a few weres, really: Don’t invite anyone else over, no drinking, oh and her bedtime is 8:30.”

“Please do not worry, I’m sure me and Demi will have a great time together.” Sara expresses, that damn smile still plastered on her face. There’s something about this lady that you just don’t like, but if Tiara sent her then it’s probably just you overreacting, right?

“Right… Could I get your phone number, just in case?” You say. She recites her number to you and you quickly enter it into your phone and save the contact, just in case of an emergency. You then turn around and kneel to look your daughter in the face.

“Be good, okay Mimi? I promise I’ll be back soon,” You say, giving her a quick peck on the forehead and a hug. She looks extremely hesitant and to be honest, so are you, but you’re already running late… “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Demi says meekly.

You smile and turn to leave.

If Tiara sent her, there shouldn’t be a problem, right?

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You parked in front of the house that your best friend and her boyfriend lived in. You had no guesses as to why she called you here, but if your technology skills could be useful to her, you’d want to help in any way you can.

You knock on the door and after a while, Kelly answers but stops you before you can go inside. “We kind of got ourselves in some shit, we’ll fill you in.”

She grabs your wrist, pulls you inside, and closes the door shut. The first thing that you lay your eyes on is the monitors that Dorn was sifting through. Pulling up various pictures of people and files that look confidential.

Should I even be here right now…?

“What's the situation?” You ask as you move towards Dorn.

“Remember when we told you all that stuff about Captain Conrad–”

“(Name)?”

You pause when you hear your name. The voice sounds so familiar you're almost scared to turn around and see who it was that called you. You think you know who it was that called, which is probably another reason as to why it takes you so very long to fully turn and face the man that has broken your heart time and time again.

It’s like the world stopped. All of a sudden, everyone in that room except for the man in front of you was irrelevant. There were so many things you wanted to say, yet no words left your mouth.

What is he doing here?

Why is he here?

All of the emotions flowing through you quickly became too much. Without a word, your feet guided you to the nearest room in which you could be alone.

“Do yall know each other?” Mike asked, but received no answer when his son went after the girl, “Do they know each other?” He asked in a more general way, but was met with nothing. The tension silenced everyone.

You ripped your arm out of the hand that had caught it when you reached the empty room. “Get the fuck off of me! What the hell are you doing here?” You exclaimed angrily. All of a sudden, all of those feelings you felt were entirely replaced by rage. Anger, directed at the man who’d left you without a second thought.

“I–” Armando began, but was cut off.

“Y’know what, I don’t care! Get the hell out of my face!”

“(Name), wait– stop,” He said, grabbing hold of your bicep when you tried to turn away from him again.

“You have some fucking nerve!” You growled, entirely in shock of the fact that he thinks he’ll just have a nice chat with you, “I haven’t seen your ass in years! Not a fucking call, or even a damn text! Nothing!”

“I know, I know, I didn’t plan on it being like that,” he pointed out. In actuality, he had no clue or reason as to why he followed you here. He knew he fucked up their relationship and a few words wasn’t going to change that fact. So why was he so desperate to get you to hear him out? He was never like this. It’s been years, why do you still have this weird affect on him?

“Yeah? Well I never planned on being abandoned by you, but look where we fuckin’ are now. Get the hell away from me,” You seethed. He had no clue how hard you were trying not to cry, “I said get the hell off of me!”

You snatch your arm from his grip. Deep down, underneath all of the anger that had boiled up to the surface, you’d missed Armando. You really did. Dealing with the pain of losing him, and never hearing from him until, well now. Taking care of Demi–

Does he even know about Demi? Does he know he’s a…

“Guys, so sorry to interrupt but we have a problem,” Kelly announced from around a corner. You hold eye contact with Armando for a few more seconds, trying to read his face but ultimately giving up. You didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. You stomp out of the room, and he lags behind you.

Upon entering the room where everyone was gathering around Dorn and his monitors, you see he is tapped into someone's security feed, which you quickly find out is Marcus’ and Mikes’ homes where their families were. Dorn was notifying the police to send backup and you realize that there are people attempting to break into the homes. Does this have something to do with their investigation with Captain Conrad?

Mike and Marcus grab their phones and quickly make calls, telling their people to hide, and leave their houses. You watch the cameras and watch as the masked men make their way into the two guys’ respective houses.

“Fuck, fuck!” Marcus says when he watches someone from his house grab a gun from a safe and hide the rest of the family in a closet. You can only home that whoever Marcus decided to trust with his family’s safety was skilled.

Everyone watches and commentates on the man's performance in the security feed, taking down the trespassers one by one until he is able to safely transport the rest of the family out of the house, but not before saluting to the security camera for us onlookers to see.

Mike is not so lucky, as he is not able to reach his wife in time to warn her and the girl who was with her at the time. We all have to watch when she’s easily overpowered and tied up. Mike is still on the phone with her, able to hear everything that’s going on.

A sudden devious voice sounds through the phone, one that was definitely not his wife, “Mr. Lowrey.”

“Who am I speaking to?” Mike lowers his voice and says in a serious tone.

“I think you know who you’re speaking to,” the voice says ominously, “I need your boy, and whatever evidence your beloved Captain has foiled away.” You eye Armando whose eyes were flicking back and forth from the phone to Mike, “And for that, you can have your wife. I’ll call you back with instructions.”

“Ah, shit…” Mike grumbles, but the man on the other side of the phone has not yet hung up.

“Ms. (Name), I know you’re there as well.” Your heart drops to your toes. What could this man want with you? “I’d go ahead and check the security systems for your house as well.” A beep was heard as the man hung up and your eyes widened. No…

He wouldn't, right? You had nothing to do with this operation.

Nevertheless, you pushed Dorn out of the way and pulled up your homes’ cameras, and scanned for anything out of the ordinary. You spotted Demi playing with dolls in her room. The only thing was that you couldn’t spot the babysitter, but you figured she must’ve been in the bathroom.

You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in.

“Who’s kid is that?” Armando spoke up. You looked over but didn’t fully turn around, fearing he’d already figured it out, and just wanted clarification. You were afraid. You were afraid that if he found out, he’d come back into your life. Demi’s life. You didn’t want to get hurt again. You don’t think you could handle him leaving you again, so you stayed silent. You left the question to hang in the air.

The breath you let out was sucked back in when you saw your front door open slightly, then all the way and three masked intruders walked in. “Fuck!” You exclaimed, snatching up your phone and dialing the phone number you’d received from the new babysitter before. She answered after one ring, which you were entirely grateful for, “Sara, grab Demi and get the hell out of there, now. Please!” You frantically spew out. You’d be surprised if she caught any of that.

There was no response on the other end until Sara spoke, “There’s people in the house?” She asked, too calm for your liking.

“Yes, so grab Demi and get the fuck out of there. Take the window if you have to, they’re searching the living room right now,” You say, watching the men search the living room and kitchen, slowly making their way down the hallway which they would find your daughter.

Again, no response. That is, until the chilling words made their way into your ears. “Finally, I was wondering when they’d arrive.” And she hung up.

Your eyes were blown wide enough to where you were sure you were going to start hearing colors and seeing sounds. You were speechless and your heart was racing a mile a minute as you watched the ‘babysitter’ pick your daughter up and… deliver her to the intruders.

You could only watch, helpless as your daughter was kidnapped.

What the hell just happened?

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

“Don’t touch me. We’re fighting.”

Quinn pleaseeee 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

I'm gonna put a warning on this because I like it so I don't feel like rewriting it. Warning: shitty relationship with father.

Drabble Masterlist

"Don't touch me. We're fighting."

Quinn didn't seem to care that you were pissed. But pissed didn't even describe the soreness in your jaw from clenching it so tight or the fact that your body temperature was elevated or that all you wanted to do was scream. Glancing over as he stood on the other side of the kitchen island, his face was as it always was calm, his thoughts were probably collected while your brain was firing off things to add to the fire if needed, he looked like he was in control of his body while yours was being controlled by the rage inside you. Looking at Quinn only pissed you off more so you just looked away.

After a minute, you decided it was best to walk away and cool off before you said something you'd regret. Quinn on the other hand, wasn't done fighting he wanted you to understand his point of view and he didn't wanna wait till morning. As you made your way down the hall you could hear Quinn's footsteps behind you.

"Wait Y/N, Let me explain." He went to gently touch your arm in hopes that you would stop walking away from him.

He got his wish, you turned around talking through your teeth you grunted. "Don't touch me. We're fighting."

Quinn has never pulled away from you so quickly before. Even with how angry you were at him it still hurt you how fast he pulled away. Quinn was looking at the floor, for the first time showing emotion since your fight started. "I was just trying to help."

All you could do is sigh. "By telling my father off?" you question defeat clear in your voice. "Quinn I've been over this with you, my family isn't like your family. You can't just voice your opinions to my dad, especially if it's you disagreeing with him or his choices."

Quinn looked up at you finally, he frowned his eyebrows in annoyance but you knew it wasn't at you. "Well I am mad at him. He shouldn't be allowed to talk down to you and blame you for not getting along with your stepmom when all she does is talk down to you. I couldn't sit there and let her talk down to you at dinner. Okay. And I guess I'm sorry for how it came up, but I am not sorry for standing up for you."

"Quinn I know you were trying to stand up for me. But I don't need you or anyone to stand up for me, especially against my family. Okay?" you ask waiting for him to acknowledge you.

"No. I'm sorry because how can you let them tell you that you aren't as far in your career as you should be as if they helped at all with the cost of college. Or the fact that all they did all dinner was telling you everything you were doing wrong with your life?" His tone was accusing and you found yourself taking a step back, your body was exhausted and all you wanted to was get out of this ichy dress and go to bed.

"I don't wanna have this conversation tonight." you begged.

"I just don't understand why do you even keep him around Y/N!"

"Okay since you seem to not be able to understand why I let them talk that way to you let me explain it to you so we never have to talk about this again got it?" you ask waiting for Quinn to nod his head before you continue. "Look my dad might be a piece of shit, but guess what he's my piece of shit father not anyone else's. Everyone always ask me for years 'Y/N if I were you, I'd cut him off why don't you.' For a long time I didn't have an answer for them but as I got older I do and it's this. Because he might be a piece of shit but without him I wouldn't be standing here physically because he is physically half of me. And I know you have lovely parents Quinn and brothers. But not everyone does and I am terrifed that if I do cut him out all the way vs seeing him three times a year like I do now. That one day I will get a call and he will be dead and I will have regret for not at least having him in some capactiy in my life. So because of that fear of regret because I know many people who have it now since their parents passed. I keep him around and if you can't understand that fine, not everyone does."

Taking a step closer to Quinn you add, "but whether you agree or not, you don't get to judge me for the choices I've made when it comes to the relationship between my father and I. Because that is exactly what it is." Pointing to yourself. "It's MY relationship not yours and you also don't get to make it more shaky then it already is by yelling at him in the middle of the steakhouse."

Quinn and you aren't sure how long you stood in your apartment hallway, it could of been seconds it could of been minutes. At some point Quinn looked at you and said "agree to disagree." All you did was nod and you both said true to your word you never talked about your father and your relationship ever again.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Sin City | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: arguing! angst! recovering from a sexual assault (please heed this warning), light smut (MDNI!!! 18+ only), mentions of suicide, canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 7341

A/N: His beautiful face I will scream and cry

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You and the brothers decided to bunk somewhere between Black Rock, New York, and Bobby’s house in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Although Sam knew about your relationship with Dean, Dean still got two separate rooms for you and the brothers. For a reason you couldn’t quite place, that bothered you.

He eventually did come to your separate room, and you immediately grilled him. “Why do you keep getting us two separate motel rooms?” Dean seemed stunned. 

“I mean, it’s not a big deal, but I don’t know… are you ashamed to be with me? Like, do you not want Sam to see us sleeping together? If you are, I’d rather you just tell me—”

Dean shook his head. “No, (Y/N), why would you think that?” he said. “I just wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable staying with Sam. And… I don’t necessarily wanna have sex in the bed next to my brother,” he finished. 

“Oh, so you thought we were gonna have sex tonight?” you questioned angrily. 

“What? No! I wasn’t—”

“Because sometimes I feel like that’s all I am to you, Dean! Like I’m just one of your fucking hookups!” you shouted. 

“Why the fuck would you think that?!” he argued. “When have I ever given you that impression?!”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because whenever we get in the doorway of emotional vulnerability, your solution is to have sex,” you chided. “Maybe because you can’t even tell me how you feel about me. I mean, I’ve poured my heart out to you, and I feel like you’re not even letting me in a little bit!” 

“Why is now the first time you’re bringin’ any of this up?” Dean responded. “Maybe if you would’ve talked to me about this, I could’ve fixed it before you freaked the fuck out on me.”

“Because I feel like if you really cared about me, I wouldn’t have to ask you to prove it to me!” 

“I thought that’s what I was doing!” Dean argued. “I mean, (Y/N), when was the last time you saw me even look at another girl?!”

“You looked at Bela!”

“You did, too!”

You considered for a moment, and unfortunately, he was right. 

“I mean, seriously. When’s the last time I’ve stayed more than a few nights with a girl? If I didn’t give a shit, I wouldn’t be here having this conversation right now. And I told you—!” he cut himself off, seeming to feel awkward. “I told you how I felt. Not in the most direct way, but still!”

“Dean, don’t you think I might wanna actually hear you say it before you go and die on me?!”

“So that’s what this is about. About my deal?” he scoffed. 

“It’s not just about your deal, Dean,” you huffed, “it’s about the fact that I wanna know you love me before you’re gone. I wanna… I wanna be yours, Dean. And I wanna know what’s going on in your head. God, I mean, is that so much to ask for?!” Your voice became louder again. “I mean, you’re gonna die in a year, and you’re acting like you’re goin’ to fuckin’ Vegas. I know you’re fucking terrified, and you won’t talk to me about it!”

“What do you want me to say, (Y/N)?! That I regret making that fucking deal? ‘Cause I don’t,” Dean shot back, and that stung you even more. “I am scared, okay? But I’m not gonna live every day whinin’ about it, either. And I figure, you got so much goin’ on in your head, I might as well not screw you up even more with my problems.”

“You’re right, I do have a lot going on. But you’re not gonna burden me with your problems, Dean,” you responded, voice still angry, but considerably quieter. “I want all of you—” you stepped forward and cupped his face in your hands— “the good, the bad, the ugly; all of it.” Tears welled in your eyes. “I love you. I do. And… I understand if you can’t say it back. I’m not gonna lie to you, it hurts, but I can also… try to understand if you don’t wanna say it.”

Dean grabbed your wrists and pulled them away from his face. He kissed the inside of your right wrist, brought both your hands down between the two of you holding them there, and stared down at you intensely. “I do, I just—” he grimaced in frustration, “I’ve never told anybody. Ever. Not even Sam.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Ever? Not even Cassie?”

He shook his head. 

“Damn.” 

“Do you get why it’s hard now?” he asked. 

You nodded. 

“And I— I do wanna show you. I’m trying, (Y/N),” he whispered, and your heart suddenly clenched with guilt, “it’s just…” Dean trailed off, unable to find the words. “I don’t wanna hurt you after what you went through.”

“I won’t break, Dean,” you replied, voice soft. “I’m a tough cookie.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I know.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, becoming serious once more. 

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Yeah, I do,” you insisted. “I’m… on edge. I should’ve brought this up differently.”

“Can’t disagree with you there,” he commented, “but I’m sorry, too. And if it really bothers you that much, we’ll have a sleepover with Sam next time.”

You giggled, remembering the stupidity of the origin of your fight. Slightly embarrassed, you covered your eyes with your hand. 

Dean took your hand away from your eyes and wound it around his neck, leaning down to kiss you. His kisses were always incredibly passionate and often quite fierce, but this one was different. It was tender and seemed to convey everything he couldn’t say aloud. 

You were surprised when he pulled away. “Where you goin’?” you asked as he headed to the bathroom. 

Dean turned around and cocked his head at you. “To take a shower…?” 

“You’re not gonna—” you gestured to the rest of you. 

He shook his head. “I thought that was what we just fought about.” “I mean, it was, but still. Just surprised, is all,” you shrugged. 

“This may come as a shock to you, but not all men are horny animals, sweetheart,” Dean smirked. 

You rolled your eyes. “The jury’s still out on that one.”

***

Later that evening, you were tucked into Dean’s side. His skin was smooth to the touch, and you loved the shaky breaths you pulled from Dean when you’d rake your nails along his abs. 

“You gotta stop doin’ that,” he groaned.

“Hmmm, why?” you smirked. 

“ ‘Cause,” he returned, the ends of his lips pulling upward. 

“That’s not a very good reason,” you said, trailing down closer to the edge of his v-line. 

Dean gripped your wrist and pulled you flush against him. “Such a tease,” he growled against your lips. 

You kissed him with a grin and pulled away after a moment. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop.” You laid against him, his head nestled under your chin and resting on top of your naked breasts. You found Dean really enjoyed using them as pillows. 

“Can I ask you something?” Dean murmured. 

“Anything,” you replied. 

“What happened earlier?” You knew he was referring to what happened with Willem Dafoe in the motel room. He must have felt you tense under him when he asked. “You don’t have to answer; it’s fine—”

“No, no,” you cut him off. “I wanna tell you.”

Dean pulled away from you and adjusted himself on his pillow until the two of you were eye-level in the bed. 

“The guard,” you swallowed, “he- he held my hands behind my back. Had me on my stomach. I just… I freaked out.”

Dean looked angry, but you knew it wasn’t at you. “I swear, I’ll fuckin’ track ‘im down and kill him—”

“No, no.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. 

Dean grabbed the hand you had curled into your chest and stroked it with his thumb. “What do you need me to do?”

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly.

“Is that why you freaked out about the sex earlier?” Dean asked. 

You nodded. 

“Jesus, (Y/N), I didn’t—”

“Dee, I know. It’s okay,” you answered, squeezing his hand. “And it’s not just that, y’know? I still want you to show me that you love me through means other than sex.”

Dean nodded.

“And I still… I still wanna have sex. We haven’t had sex in, like, four months, and it sucks for me, too. I mean, sex with you is like, the greatest thing in the fuckin’ world, but it’s just… it’s hard for me right now.”

He nodded, and then a coy grin spread across his face. “Is it really the greatest thing in the world?”

“Oh, fuck off,” you sighed dramatically, shoving him away from you and rolling to your other side. 

Dean’s arms wrapped around you, and he pressed kisses to your neck. “Hey, be nice,” he said between kisses, “or I’ll withhold the greatest thing in the world.”

You giggled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Watch me.”

Feeling brave, you turned your face toward him and kissed him passionately. You turned around to face him once more, and Dean rolled on top of you. He ran his hands all over your torso. He was careful to avoid your breasts, and you were grateful he was trying to respect your boundaries. 

You broke the kiss and grabbed his hand, guiding it to your right breast without breaking eye contact with him. A deep hunger filled his eyes, and he quickly leaned back down to kiss you fervently. He squeezed your breasts and kissed down your neck while you threaded your hands through his hair. When his lips reached your nipple, he looked back up at you. “Is this okay?” Dean asked.

You nodded, heat flooding you. The touch of his lips to your skin made goosebumps erupt all over you, and your back arched into him. 

Dean pulled your nipple between his teeth, teasing the bud with his tongue. You writhed underneath him, tugging at his hair, and the action only spurred him on further. 

When he moved further down your stomach, though, you began to get a bit nervous. Dean noticed your body tense, and he immediately looked up to you. “Are you okay?”

You began to cry. “I don’t know,” you admitted, bringing your hands to your face in shame. 

Dean immediately climbed off you and tried to pull your hands from your eyes. “What’s goin’ on? Talk to me.”

You looked at him with watery eyes. “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.”

“Sweetheart, we don’t have to. Not till you’re ready,” he assured you, running his hand along your hip.

“Yeah, but we don’t have that much time left. I want to before you—” you cut yourself off, shutting your eyes and taking in a shuddering breath. 

“Listen, we got ten months left. We’ll work our way up to it, okay?” Dean promised. 

“But what if you lose interest in me because I’m—” you tried to think of a way to phrase your next statement— “out of commission?”

Dean shook his head, chuckling. “Sweetheart, I love sex, and I love having sex with you, but it’s not the only reason I’m into you,” he assured you. “We won’t do anything until you’re ready.”

“But I thought I was, and look what happened,” you lamented.

“Just means you weren’t ready today,” he shrugged. “And I don’t blame ya. It hasn’t been that long, and you just had that thing happen today. It’s okay, seriously.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. 

Dean nodded. 

“You’re not lyin’ just to make me feel better?”

He shook his head. 

“Like, absolutely positive—”

“Oh, shut up, (Y/N),” he said, pulling you into him and tucking your head into his chest. 

You giggled and relaxed against him, wrapping your small arms around his waist. He kissed the top of your head, and you matched your breathing to the rising and falling of his chest beneath yours. Within minutes, the both of you were off to sleep. 

***

Over the next few days, Bobby and Dean worked on the Colt you handed over to the older man. Their objective was to figure out a way to have it back to being able to kill demons which you knew Bobby was planning on using to figure out how to save Dean from his deal. 

You and Sam were on research duty searching for demons. 

“Think I got somethin’,” Sam announced from the messy kitchen table. 

You and the other two men looked at him expectantly. 

“Dry lightning and barometric-pressure drop,” he continued. “Plus, some guy blows his head off in a church and another goes postal in a hobby shop before the cops take him out. Might be demonic omens.”

Dean shrugged. “Or it could just be a suicide and a psycho scrapbooker.”

“Meh, but it’s our best lead since Lincoln,” you added. “Where in Ohio?”

“Elizabethville. It's a half-dead factory town in the rust belt,” Sam replied. 

Dean sighed. “There’s gotta be a demon or two in South Beach.”

“Sorry,” Sam grinned. “Maybe next time. How's it going, Bobby?”

“Slow,” the older man responded. 

“I tell you, it's a little sad seeing the Colt like that.” Dean nodded toward the deconstructed marvel of weaponry. 

“Well, the only thing it's good for now is figuring out what makes it tick,” Bobby said, not looking up from the gun. 

“So, what makes it tick?” Sam smirked. 

Bobby looked up, not amused. 

Sam held his hands up in surrender, and you giggled. 

“So, if we want to go check out these omens in Ohio,” Dean began, standing up, “you think you can have that thing ready by this afternoon?”

You and Sam snickered while Bobby stared at him incredulously. 

“Well, it won't kill demons by then, but I can promise you, it'll kill you.” Bobby jokingly aimed the barrel at Dean. 

“Alright,” Dean smiled, “c’mon, we’re wastin’ daylight.”

“See ya, Bobby,” you said, grabbing your duffel bag off the seat next to you. 

You and the boys headed for the door. 

“Hey!”

The three of you turned back to face Bobby.

“You kids run into anything— anything— you call me.”

You nodded and left wordlessly. 

***

You met with a priest who, in fact, watched the man commit suicide. Something notable you learned from the priest was that the man went to church every Sunday up until about two months ago. The town had even changed; people just became “unrespectable,” in his words. Additionally, the other man who’d killed himself had changed, too. 

As you’d left the church, Sam had commented, “Two months ago, we open up the devil's gate; all of a sudden, this town turns into Margaritaville? It's no coincidence.”

Now, the three of you were heading a motel room. A shared one, at that. It made you happy to get to share the room with the boys, strangely; you guessed it just made you feel like less of an outsider and more a part of their family. 

As you opened the door, though, Dean’s voice turned you around. “Richie?”

You turned to see a man exiting the room across the hall. 

“I don’t believe it,” Dean said.

“Hey, Dean,” the man named Richie grinned, “Winchester, right?” A tall, scantily clad blonde with smudged eye makeup came up behind Richie. 

“This is my sister, uh, Cheryl,” Richie quickly explained. 

“Hey,” “Cheryl” smiled. 

Richie handed the woman some money, and Cheryl left. “Well, y’know, stepsister,” he awkwardly clarified. 

You laughed and shook your head while you plopped down onto the bed. 

“Come on in,” Dean said, leaving the door open for Richie. “This is my brother, Sam, and my girlfriend, (Y/N).”

Your heart swelled in your chest, and you were completely floored by Dean calling you his girl. The two of you had never discussed it formally, but you kind of liked how he just named it and claimed it. 

“Girlfriend, huh?” Richie teased. “You settlin’ down, Winchester?”

“No, never,” Dean replied. “She’s a hunter, too.”

“How do you two know each other?” Sam jumped in. 

“You were in school—” the older brother began.

Richie cut him off. “It was that succubus, in Canarsie right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean nodded.

“Oh, man. You should have seen the rack on this broad. Freakin' tragedy when I had to gank her,” Richie lamented, shaking his head.

“Whoa, whoa. Wait. Who killed her? If I remember, your ass was toast until I showed up,” Dean commented.

“Oh, I forgot what a comedian this guy was,” Richie scoffed, making you giggle.

“Richie, Richie, know what? I told you then, and I'll tell you again: you're not cut out for this job. You're gonna get yourself killed,” Dean said, his tone becoming serious as he spoke. 

Richie’s phone rang, and he answered it before he could respond to Dean. “Talk to me,” he said into the phone. He then whispered to Dean, “FYI, Winchester, words hurt.” He quickly finished his phone call, and you and Sam exchanged a glance while Richie did so. 

“So, you find anything in this town, anyway?” Dean asked. 

The other man shrugged. “Ah, no. I got nothin’.” He then seemed to realize Dean wasn’t referring to women. “Oh, wait a minute. You mean as in demons and whatnot?”

The older Winchester nodded as if it was obvious.

“No, I got nothing.”

Dean chuckled. “Typical. What about your sister back there?” 

“Oh, honestly? She definitely had the devil in her, but she wasn't no demon, you know what I'm saying?” Richie laughed, but became serious when he saw Dean’s deadpan reaction. “Right. Seriously. Church guy, hobby-shop guy; they were lunch meat by the time I got there. Hey, maybe they were possessed, but I can't prove it.”

Sam added, “Yeah, that's where we are, too. You know, let's just say that demons are possessing people in this town. Y’know, raising hell—”

“Yeah, but why would a demon blow his brains out?” Dean wondered aloud. 

“Well, for fun?” Richie suggested. “Y’know, he wrecks one body, moves to another. Y’know, like taking a stolen car for a joyride.”

“Anybody else left in the town that fits the profile— y’know, nice guy turned douche, still breathing?” Dean asked the shorter man. 

“There’s Trotter,” Richie noted. 

“Who’s that?” you asked. 

“Oh, she speaks! Lovely voice by the—” Richie cut himself off and cleared his throat awkwardly when Dean glared at him. “Well, he used to be head of the Rotary Club. And then, people say he turned bastard all of a sudden? Brought in the gambling, the hookers… Ah, he practically owns this whole town.”

“Know where we could find him?” Sam questioned. 

“Oh, he'll be at his bar in a few hours.”

***

Off Richie’s tip, the three of you set off for the bar he’d told you about. 

You were dressed in a mini skirt and tank top that showed off your cleavage, and opted to pair the outfit with a pair of sneakers. 

Dean had laughed when he noticed your shoes. 

“What?” you’d asked. 

“Just… you,” Dean had replied. “Wearin’ sneaks to a bar.”

“I’m not wearin’ my heels to go step in spilled beer and possible vomit,” you’d shrugged.

When you arrived at the bar, it seemed more like a club. People bustled throughout the street, most of them heading into one of the several bars or strip clubs lining the street. Some were staggering around drunkenly despite the late afternoon sun; a sight you’d usually see at three in the morning.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere, I guess,” you said to yourself, taking in your surroundings. 

“I thought you said this was some boarded-up factory town,” Dean said to Sam.

“It is. At least, it’s supposed to be,” the younger brother responded, looking uncomfortable.

A girl walked past you holding a cocktail and eyeing Dean wantonly. You glared at her, but Dean honestly didn’t seem to notice her. He moved to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. You smirked and wrapped your own around the small of his back. 

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let's do some research,” Dean grinned, guiding you toward the bar. 

Despite your stoic, often introverted, and guarded nature, you really did enjoy nightlife on the occasion; especially if a particular Winchester was involved. 

You were the first to step into Trotter’s bar, sliding out from under Dean’s arm to grab his hand and guide him through the crowded room. The bar was completely alive and seemed more like a club than anything. 

You turned back to see Sam looking uncomfortable and overstimulated, and Dean just smirked down at you with that trademark hard-to-read expression of his. When you turned back around, you nearly bumped into Richie. 

“Oh!” You jumped back in surprise. “Hey!”

The man was wearing an orange short-sleeved shirt halfway unbuttoned to reveal a white wife beater underneath. 

“Oh, Richie. Look at you,” Dean chuckled, shaking his hand. “Bringing satin back.”

“Oh, you like this? Try Thai silk. Canal Street,” Richie boasted. “You'd have to pay $300 for threads like these, easy. Cost to me? Fuggedaboutit.”

“How much is ‘forget about it’?” Sam chuckled.

“Ah, forget about it,” the man shrugged, clearly a little intoxicated. “That's Trotter over there. He sits there all night. Can't touch him.” He gestured to a bald, strong-looking man wearing a sharp suit. He almost reminded you of Kingpin from one of your little brother’s favorite Marvel comics. 

“So, what do we do now?” Sam asked.

“I’m thinkin’ I’ll go talk to the bartender,” you began. 

“Whoa,” Dean cut you off, “why can’t we have a little fun first?”

You deadpanned at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re here to work.”

“Yeah, but—”

You continued your deadfaced stare at him, and he conceded. 

“Fine,” Dean said. 

“May need some of your charm, too; who knows what she’s into?” you suggested, smacking Dean’s ass lightly. 

You smirked over your shoulder at him as you sauntered to the bar. You heard Richie comment, “You feel like sharin’?’ followed by a quick, “Don’t even think about it,” from Dean. 

You looked down the bar to see the priest you’d talked to from the church the latest victim died in talking to the pretty bartender. She turned away from him and to a customer further down the bar from you. 

“Father?” you asked. 

“Knew you kids would find your way here. They all do.”

“No offense, man, but what are you doing here?” you questioned.

“Like it or not, you go where your flock is,” he shrugged.

“Plus, the clergy drinks for free,” the bartender chimed in, handing the man a whiskey neat.

“True, and a certain bartender owes me a confession,” the priest jested. 

“Not in this lifetime, Father,” she replied.

“I better see your butt on Sunday,” he told her, getting up from his chair and leaving. 

“What can I get you, love?” the bartender asked you. 

You leaned up on the bar, pushing your breasts together slightly. “What’s your specialty?” you asked. 

“I make a mean hurricane,” she replied, smirking. 

“We’ll see about that,” you challenged. 

The bartender seemed intrigued by you, and she smiled flirtatiously as she went to make your drink. 

Dean came up next to you at that moment and wrapped an arm around your waist, hand landing close to your ass. “How’s it goin’?” he asked. 

“Just makin’ friends,” you shrugged, grinning. 

“Don’t get too friendly,” he warned. 

You snickered. Suddenly, something near the pool table caught your attention. 

“Hey, what are you doing?!” a man panickedly yelled.

You then noticed the man across from the panicked one was holding a gun. You nodded toward the scene. “Dean—” 

You set off toward the pair, but the man raised the gun and shot the other point-blank. The crowd immediately erupted into chaos as you sprinted over to the man who was raising the gun to his chin. 

Dean tackled the man to the ground, and Sam appeared beside you with holy water. He splashed the holy water on the man, but the man’s skin didn’t sizzle. 

“What are you doing?!” the man exclaimed. He suddenly realized what he'd done and began to writhe on the ground, crying, “He slept with my wife. That bastard slept with my wife!”

You took out your phone and called 911 while Sam and Dean kept the man in a sort of citizen’s arrest. 

When the cops did arrive, Sam seemed to get anxious again despite the bar’s emptiness. “Too many cops here. I say we roll.”

“Just be cool,” Dean encouraged. “Poor jerk. Only thing possessing him was a sixer of Pabst.”

“So, what's the deal, then? People in this town getting possessed or not?” Sam wondered aloud. 

“I don’t know,” you said, furrowing your eyebrows. “Maybe they’re influencin’ ‘em some kind of way?” “Yeah, maybe,” Sam replied. 

“You guys ready for your mug shots?” a police officer asked you and the brothers. Cued by your panicked expressions, the cop tried to soothe your worries. “The photographer's gonna be here in a few and take your picture for the local paper.”

Dean seemed relieved and feigned enthusiasm. “Be an honor, Officer. What a thrill!”

“Yep, time to go,” Sam said, standing.

“Wait a second. Wait a second,” Dean stated, looking around.

“What?’ you and Sam asked in hushed voices. 

“Where’s Richie?”

***

The next day, Dean couldn’t seem to keep his leg from bouncing under the table in his seat beside you at Trotter’s bar. He kept trying Richie’s phone number, but no response ever came. 

“You do realize there's red meat within striking distance, right?” Sam said, referencing the large hamburger sitting in front of Dean. 

“How many times I got to tell Richie he's gonna get himself in trouble?” Dean sighed. 

“Dean, he’s not your responsibility,” you assured him. 

“And you’re assuming he's missing. I mean, maybe he just bailed,” Sam added. 

“He’s a moron,” replied Dean. “I mean, he's a sweet moron, but he's not a coward. He wouldn't just bail. I got to go find him.”

“I’ll go with you,” you said. 

“You guys do that,” Sam said. “Meanwhile, I think I’m gonna trail this Trotter guy.”

“Yeah?” Dean questioned. 

“Yeah. I don't know. Something about the way he looked at me last night.

Maybe there is something going on here.”

***

You and Dean returned to your motel around midday after lunch with Sam at Trotter’s. 

“How well do you even know this guy, Dean?” you asked.

“Well, it’s like I said—” he began as you sat behind your computer screen, “he was toast until I found him. We had a few drinks after, but that was about it.”

You stared at him over the top of your computer screen. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” you replied, a love-drunk smile pulling on the ends of your lips. “You’re just sweet.”

“Shuddup,” he mumbled, looking embarrassed. 

“Seriously! You care this much about a dude you don’t even know that you’re having me track the GPS in his phone. It’s adorable,” you replied. 

He kept his head low, but you could see the smile Dean was fighting. “You’re… annoying,” he murmured. 

“Oh, really? I’m annoying?” you smirked, standing from your chair while your laptop screen began to populate with all of Richie’s previous locations over the last week based on his cell phone’s GPS signal. 

Dean caught you by the waist. “Yeah, you are,” he said. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and lazily dragged your nails up his back. He let out a few shuddering breaths. You leaned in to kiss him when a dinging sound came from your computer and forced the two of you apart. You headed back to the laptop and pointed at his last known location. You pulled an image of the coordinates up. 

“Corner of Piermont and Clinton,” you announced. 

“He did mention having plans with that bartender,” Dean said, “maybe that’s where she lives?”

You nodded. “Alright, let’s get goin’.”

You stood to leave, and Dean smacked your ass as you walked off. 

“What was that for?!” you squeaked. 

“ ‘Cause you’re a tease,” Dean smirked. “And still annoying.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and grinned. 

***

After conducting your investigation, you were charged with the task of staying behind to wait for Dean and the bartender. You hid in the shadows of the cellar with your handgun readied. 

You heard Dean’s voice suddenly coming down the stairs toward the cellar. “Looks like the maid's day off,” he commented. “Everything okay?”

You heard the woman kiss Dean, and you nearly jumped out of your hiding spot. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” the woman said. 

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Dean tsked, “Richie was a friend of mine. When I realized I could track the GPS in his cellphone, I swung by earlier. Gave him a proper burial. It's better than rotting in some skank's basement.”

You stepped out from the shadows then, and the bartender launched herself toward Dean. She was suddenly stopped by an invisible barrier. 

“Oops,” Dean smirked. He leaned down to the carpet and lifted the corner to reveal the Devil’s Trap you’d spray painted on the floor while Dean was gone. 

“Isn't that a buzz kill?” the older Winchester smirked.  “Sorry, sister, but you're going back to where you came from.”

“I don't think so,” the bartender laughed. 

You took out the book in your pocket and began to read in Latin. “Exorcizamus te, omnis—” A violent gust of wind blowing past you cut you off, and you saw the demon before you with her eyes closed as though in deep meditation. You recollected yourself and began to read again. “Exorcizamus te—”

The pages were then ripped out of the book by the breeze. The woman opened her eyes and grinned at you.

“(Y/N), look out!” Dean yelled. 

Just then, the bricks from the walls around you began to crumble inward. You dove toward the window to avoid getting hit by falling rocks. Dean rushed to you and helped you up. He turned his gaze to the demon in a glare. The demon grinned. 

“What are you laughing at, bitch? You're still trapped,” Dean growled. 

“So are you, bitch,” she sultrily said. 

“So, what, I send you back to hell, and we rot down here?” you spat. 

“Half the plan. Doubt you’ll be able to do that without your little book,” she smiled. 

“I’m sure I could figure it out,” you said. “Exorcizamus te,” you began with authority, “omnis immundus spiritus. Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii—”

Dean suddenly gasped out in pain and began to grab at his neck. 

You immediately stopped the ritual. “What are you doing?!” you shouted, sinking to the ground with Dean, “Stop it!”

“Stop trying to ruin my fun, then. You’re good, I’ll give you that,” the demon cooed, Dean suddenly able to breathe again. “But I thought Sam was supposed to be the brains of the outfit.”

“How do you know that?” Dean questioned.

“You Winchester boys are famous. Not Lohan famous, but, y’know,” she shrugged. “And you, (Y/N)—” she hissed out your name— “are making your own way through the circles, too.”

“Well, that's flattering,” Dean commented, “I'll be sure to let Sam know when he gets here.”

“If he shows up first.”

The two of you looked to the bartender, surprised. 

“What, you thought I was flying solo?” she asked mockingly. “You shouldn't underestimate, kids, it might be the death of you.”

You glared at her. 

“You can give me hard eyes all you want,” she replied, “but the fact remains, we just have to wait and see who shows up first… the cavalry,” she smiled, “or the Indians.”

***

“Anybody ever tell you how nice your ass is, (Y/N)?” the bartender drawled from the floor behind you. You stood on top of a cask of wine attempting to get cell reception through the small window daylight streamed in from. 

“Bite me, bitch,” you replied without turning to look at her. 

“Look, why don’t you relax?” she asked you and Dean. 

“Why don't you kiss my ass?” Dean flippantly responded. 

“Why, Dean, you're a poet. I had no idea,” she deadpanned. “Look, we won't have any effect on the outcome of this. We might as well be civil.”

“Civil, huh? Killing Richie, that was— that was civil? The guy was harmless,” Dean countered. 

The demon raised an eyebrow. “That knife he pulled on me? Didn't look so harmless.”

“Ah, a knife wouldn't hurt you,” Dean replied. 

“No, but it would damage this body. And Casey has such a fine body, I wouldn't want to see it ripped.” The demon stretched out lazily on the floor, arching her back. 

“Touching,” you said, jumping down from atop the cask when your efforts proved pointless. “But don’t pretend you have a heart. We know what you did.”

“Hey, I didn't pull any triggers,” the demon possessing Casey shrugged. 

“Yeah?” Dean barked. “You did something.”

“You want to know what I did?” the demon pushed herself into a sitting position. “What I really did? I had lunch.”

“Lunch?” Dean questioned.

“Me and Trotter,” she began. “He had a cheeseburger, I had a salad, and I just pointed out the money that could be made with a few businesses that cater to harmless vice. So Trotter built it, and man, did they come. Supposedly god-fearing folk, waist-deep in booze, sex, and gambling. I barely lifted a finger.”

“That’s it?” you scoffed. 

“You don't get it. All you gotta do is nudge humans in the right direction,” Casey continued. “Some whiskey here, a hooker there, and they'll walk right into hell with big, fat smiles on their faces. Your kind is corrupt, kids. Weak. Our will's stronger. That's why we'll win.”

“And that’s how this ends?” you pushed. 

“No. That's how it begins.”

“So, demons take over,” you continued. “And you’re convinced that’ll work… how?”

“Yeah, I thought the meek shall inherit the earth,” Dean piled on. 

Casey rolled her eyes. “Oh, according to your Bible. It's only a book, Dean.”

“Not everyone would agree,” Dean replied simply. 

You stared at him strangely, and he shrugged in response. 

“Because it's god's book?” Casey pressed. “Do you believe in god, Dean? I'd be surprised if you did.”

“I don’t know,” Dean said honestly. “I'd like to.”

“Well, god’s done a bang-up job in my opinion,” you said, unable to help yourself. 

“Finally, someone who makes sense,” Casey snickered. “I like you, (Y/N).” She returned her focus to Dean. “War, genocide; it's only getting worse. I mean, this past century, you people racked up a body count that amazed even us. It's our turn, now, and we're gonna do it right this time.”

Dean heard a noise and turned his face up to the grate you’d tried getting cell service from. 

“Don't be hopeful, Dean. You're not delivered. It's only the wind,” Casey commented. 

Despite yourself, you laughed. 

Dean and Casey turned their attention toward you. 

“Whose side are you on there, sweetheart?” Dean questioned, slightly pointedly. 

“Sorry. Demon or not, she’s funny.” You cleared your throat and regained your composure. “You keep talking about this ‘endgame.’ Pretty vague. How am I supposed to even know there is one?”

“Why would I lie?” she countered. 

“Demons lie,” Dean replied. 

“Some do. Some are true believers.”

“Believers in what?” you pressed. 

Casey scoffed. “What, you think humans have an exclusive on a higher power?”

Dean looked shocked, as did you. “You have a god?” Dean asked. 

“Sure,” the demon shrugged. “His name's Lucifer.”

You deflated and crossed your arms. “You mean the devil.”

“You don’t seem impressed,” Casey noted, seeming intrigued by you. 

“ ‘Cause I’m not,” you replied. “No offense, but he doesn’t exactly put the fear of god in me.”

“Well, he should,” she told you. “Once, he was the most beautiful of all god's angels. But god demanded that he bow down before man, and when he refused, god banished him. Tell me, how do you like bowing before lesser creatures?”

“Lucifer's really real?” Dean wondered aloud. 

“Well, no one's actually seen him,” Casey explained, “but they say that he made us into what we are, and they say that he'll return.”

“Oh, gimme a break,” you said, slumping to the floor. 

“What? Is faith such a laughable concept to you?” Casey remarked. 

“Absolutely,” you said coldly. 

“Well, you’d better start believing. A lot of you humans are in for a real treat when this is all over,” she said coolly. “Dick Cheney?”

“He one of yours?” Dean asked.

“Not yet. Let's just say, he's got a parking spot reserved for him downstairs.”

Dean laughed despite himself before pausing a moment. “Hey, speaking of downstairs… What's it like down there?”

“What, Hell?”

Dean nodded. 

“That's right,” Casey smirked. “You booked a one-way ticket with that deal.”

Dean laughed in discomfort, and you eyed him sympathetically. 

“You're not gonna like it, Dean,” the demon said honestly. “And, um, judging from the trouble you've caused, I don't think you'll be getting the presidential suite. No, it's a pit of despair. Why do you think we want to come here?”

Dean looked somber, as did you. You knew better than to reach your hand out to comfort him, and you just sat against the wall with your knees tucked into your chest.

A few moments passed before Casey spoke up again. “Kind of funny, don't you think? Three of us sitting here like regular folk.”

“Yeah, it's hilarious,” Dean deadpanned, “y’know, in that… apocalyptic sort of way.”

“You're all right, Dean,” Casey said seriously.

Dean scoffed, and you flicked your eyes between your love and Casey.

“The others don't describe you that way. But, you know, you're— you're likable.”

“Well, keep how much you like ‘im to yourself, sister,” you spat. 

“Jealous, are we?” Casey mused. “Don’t worry, darlin’. He’s all yours.”

“A demon likes me,” was all Dean could think to say. “Sorry, I don't know how to respond to that.”

“You could say thanks,” she mocked. “That deal you made to save Sam; a lot of others would mock you for it, think it was weak or stupid. I don't.”

Dean paused for a moment. “It's been kind of liberating, actually. Y’know, what's the point in worrying about a future, when you don't have one?”

Your eyes saddened upon hearing that. You cast your gaze down to the floor, knowing you’d cry if you looked at Dean.

“Still, a year left. You're not scared?” Casey asked. 

“Nah.”

“Not even a little?”

“Of course not.” However, you caught the briefest bit of hesitation in his voice. 

Dean then seemed to notice your sadness. “Hey, I’m—”

“Save it,” you said, feeling brave enough to look up at him. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Didn’t mean to cause any trouble in paradise,” Casey snickered. 

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” you asked pointedly. 

“I’m an open book,” the demon shrugged. 

“So, the gate opened. The demon army was let out. What now, huh?” you questioned. “I'm not seeing a big master plan here.”

“Honestly, there was a plan,” she replied. “Azazel was a tyrant, but he held us all together.”

“Azazel?” you and Dean asked in unison. 

“What, you think his friends just called him ‘Yellow Eyes’? He had a name. After you did him in—” Casey nodded toward you, “it all fell apart.”

You smirked. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

The demon cut her eyes at you in challenge. 

“So, what? No chain of command?” Dean pressed.

“There was. It was Sam. Sam was supposed to be the grand pooh-bah and lead the big army, but he hasn't exactly stepped up to the plate, has he?”

“Thank god for that,” Dean breathed out. 

“Again with god,” Casey groaned. “You think this is a good thing? Now you've got chaos, a war without a front, hundreds of demons all jockeying for power, all fighting for the crown. Most of them, gunning for your brother.” She looked toward a conflicted Dean, becoming incredibly serious. “For the record, I was ready to follow Sam.”

Before you could ask anymore questions, you heard Sam call yours and Dean’s names.

“Sam?!” you and Dean called, scrambling to your feet. 

“Looks like you win,” Casey smirked. 

You weren’t too sure that you actually had. “What’s that look for—” 

Your question was cut off by a loud pounding on the door. 

“Dean!” you heard Sam calling. 

“Sam!” Dean replied. “Sammy, down here! The basement caved in!” Sam’s voice appeared at the grate you’d been trying to get cell reception through. “Guys, hold on, okay? We’re coming.”

“Who’s we?” you asked.

“I’m here with the father.”

You whipped back around to Casey who seemed almost excited. 

“Sam, be careful—” 

And then suddenly, a gunshot was heard. 

“Sam!” Dean called. 

Then, the rocks covering the entrance to the cellar began to move aside. In came the pastor, who you attempted to rush. You were thrown to the wall and fell to the ground painfully. 

When you recovered, you stood to see the priest and Casey passionately kissing outside the Devil’s Trap. 

“You two?” Dean questioned, face twisting up in disgust. 

“For centuries,” the priest nodded. “We've been to Hell and back, literally.”

“Leave ‘em be,” Casey told the pastor.

He didn’t listen to her and approached Dean, grabbing him by the throat. You tried to rush him again, but you were held to the wall by the priest’s power. 

“Don't kill him. Let's just go,” Casey begged. “Please.”

Sam appeared at that moment and shot the priest without hesitation. Lightning emitted from the priest’s wound, eyes, and chest, and he slumped to the ground. 

“Sam, wait!” Dean told him. 

But it was too late. Casey suffered the same fate as the priest. You looked to the two real human bodies on the ground and mourned a little for both of the humans behind their demonic state. 

***

“I cannot believe you ransacked Richie’s stash,” you told Dean as he rolled a joint under the cover of night sitting on the hood of the Impala. 

“Well, not like he can use it anymore,” Dean shrugged. “Besides, it’s a tribute to him.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed. You took out your lighter and took the joint from your partner. While you lit up, Dean asked you a question. “What do you think? About what we did here; you think it made a difference?”

“I don’t know. Humans aren’t our job, but still,” you replied after taking a hit, “it’s kinda weird leaving knowing things may never be resolved.”

“Yeah, I mean, maybe these people do just want to really destroy themselves. Maybe it is—” Dean seemed to struggle for a moment to find the words, “a losing battle.” He took the joint back from you and took a hit. 

“Is that you or the demon chick talking?” you asked playfully, nudging your shoulder with his. Although, you knew he knew you were seriously asking him.

“Oh, it’s me,” Dean replied. “Demon’s very dead.”

“Well, had to be done, I guess,” you shrugged. “Sam was saving your life.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know, (Y/N),” Dean started, shaking his head and passing the joint back to you, “it was cold.”

“I agree,” you nodded. You took a deep breath and slowly let a cloud of smoke pass through your lips. 

“Back in Wyoming,” Dean began, “there was this moment. Yellow Eyes said something to me.”

You looked to him expectantly, taking a second hit. 

“That maybe when… Sam came back from, well, wherever, that maybe he came back different.”

“Different how?” you questioned, cocking your head to the side. 

“I don't know. Whatever it was, it didn't sound good. You think— You think something's wrong with my brother?”

You considered for a moment. You knew no matter how you answered, Dean wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew for sure. You opted for attempting to provide him comfort. “No. Demons lie. I'm sure Sam's okay.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

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

[miguelsslvt]

miguel o'hara x goth girl! spider! reader smut drabble

word count: 756

TW: nsfw, smut, overstimulation, y/n gets fucked dumb, creampie, fingering, spanish translated from google translate so it isn't very good i'm so sorry. and also it isn't exactly stated that y/n is 'goth', it's literally just heer style and i hate it sm that i write it like that i'm so sorry.

A/N: so basically i got requested to do a college au! goth girl x reader but i didn’t read the ‘college’ bit and i got a bit carried away so… here’s the shitty goth spider! reader whilst i try writing the college au!! anyways two posts in one night?? ahh! this is severely unedited and not even proofread, so i hope i did okay! i can always rewrite if you don't like it:). also i love doing requests so much, so pls give me more! welcome to the club! ^^

you were a smart girl. well, smart enough to notice the looks miguel gave you everytime you walked around spider society wearing your favourite black dress and fishnets. and you would be lying to yourself if you said the attention didn't make your legs tighten in anticipation.

you had your eyes on miguel since the first time you laid eyes on him when he recruited you. was it your everlasting hunger for male validation? maybe. was it the way his fingers flicked through tab to tab on his platform? most likely. was it the hunger you noticed in his eyes when he trailed his eyes along your figure? absolutely. that's why on the day you were supposed to come to miguel for 'monthly anomaly reports', you made sure to wear the short black skirt and fishnets you knew that would miguel drool. what? just because you were pretty didn't mean you were stupid.

after a beautiful walk around the graveyard near your home, placing some flowers on some empty graves, you decided to go back to the spider HQ, playing your favourite band, 'bauhaus'.

'spider goth. miguel would like you in his office.' your watch alarmed, as your smiled at lyla, nodding. before you walked into the office room, you made sure to fix your eyeliner so it didn't look too 'smoky' but smoky enough. you fixed your silver necklaces in place, as you walked in. 'yes miguel?'

fuck, that voice. miguel thought. he turned around slightly to take in your body. god, he could feel his dick twitch from just the sight of you. was it even normal to feel this way? 'sir? you seem a little.. distracted.' you said, tilting your head slightly. he smirked. if miguel was completely honest, he knew you knew how he felt about you. and the fact that you still continue to wear such provocative clothing around him, and the fact that you always give him that 'innocent' smile of yours was enough for him to know you enjoyed the attention.

'oh i think we both know why i'm distracted, spider goth-' 'y/n.' you cut him off. he seemed a bit taken aback. 'excuse me?' he asked. 'for you, it's y/n, sir.' you replied, walking up to his platform, your skirt riding up slightly as you sat on his desk.

god, he could take you right there. so he did.

✩★✩★✩★✩★✩★✩

'm-miguel!~' you moaned, eyes rolling back as he kept hitting that sweet spot inside you. your back was arched against the desk, as his hands held your hips roughly. your eyeliner and makeup was ruined, all over your cheeks as they were filled with tears. your fishnets were ruined, as your skirt was hitched up just above your ass, as miguel groaned in relief.

'god you don't know how long i've wanted this.. mi niña bonita~' he cooed, smirking as you gasped for air, holding onto the desk. (my pretty girl)

you had lost count on how many times miguel made you cum in just one hour, but right now you couldn't care. your legs were numb, mind was fuzzy and you could swear you were seeing stars. you fucked out dizzy expression urged miguel further, chasing both of your highs.

'g-god m-miguel g-gonna c-cum again..!' you moaned loudly, as miguel leaned closer to your ear, moving your jaw so he could see your dumb face.

you were drooling, crying, your hair and makeup was a mess. and mguel didn't think you could get any more prettier then this. god, and the way you clenched and gaped around him made him cum almost instantly. but he would wait. 'cum for me, that's it.. jodido tan tonto que ni siquiera puedes pensar, ¿verdad?' he teased, as he thrusts became sloppy once again. (fucked so dumb you can't even think, right?)

you reached you peak, letting out a loud gasp, as miguel held your jaw,his nose in your neck as he whispered to you. 'thaat's it.. that's my girl.. there you go..' he praised, prolonging your orgasm for as long as possible as he let his load in you.

it was alot, as you came down from your high, panting for air. miguel groaned as he pulled out, leaving a string of his cum and your juices out. he just let a deep breath, tutting. 'ay.. no.. mi dulce chica.. you're supposed you keep it inside. looks like i'm gonna have to plug it back in.' miguel said, sticking his finger inside you, making you squeal in overstimulation. (my sweet girl)

'let's take care of the mess you made, yeah?' he cooed, as you nodded mindlessly. there was one thing miguel will never admit, though.

and that's miguel likes it messy.

♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎

[idontknowreallywhy]

Shine

This little scene arose out of a discussion with @edutainer2022 about a headcanon we share re the boys’ Mom and this lovely fic.

Fluff, with the tiniest glimmer of sad (only just because I love her but she’s no longer with them).

Featuring tiny feral toddler Scotty and a very much besotted husband 💙🤍💕

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

The speaker paused, her eyes twinkling as they always did when she knew the punchline and couldn’t wait to tell it. She completed the joke to an appreciative roar of laughter, a smattering of applause and one enthusiastic whoop.

Jeff wasn’t convinced that more than 50% of the room could actually have entirely got it… niche was an understatement. She’d had to explain several recent controversies from the world of experimental astrophysics to him last night before he appreciated that that particular part of the twelfth rewrite of her speech was actually funny on three different levels… but it didn’t matter.

You didn’t have to be married to this woman to know she could read out a grocery list and carry the adoring audience along with her. There was a reason it was the keynote after all.

She’d been so nervous. Same as she was before every paper she’d presented in all the time he’d known her. She’d agonised over the content of every class she’d given, no matter how small. He’d watched her pace the floor for a fortnight, glaring at her tablet in between bouts of frantic typing and clutching at her increasingly wild hair as she growled “WHY ME?” at the ceiling.

“Because you’re brilliant and they love you.”

This had become Jeff’s habitual refrain as he multitasked to perfection - simultaneously reassuring his wife while retrieving their tiny son from the top of the bookcase, the window ledge or, on one notable occasion which thankfully she still knew nothing of - inside the fridge.

She’d huff, never believing him. And yet, as he presumed was the case every time, as soon as she started speaking she relaxed.

And she shone.

Dr Lucille Tracy hadn’t taken the guest lectureship with much thought to the actual ‘lecturing’ part of it at all. That was just the quid pro quo. The offer of a close collaboration with those at the cutting edge of her field, the unparalleled opportunity to continue her research with the help of the brightest young minds - it should have been a no-brainer.

In the ordinary circumstances of their life, however, it would have been far too much alongside the remote but demanding day job at NASA, the all-day-and-most-of-the-night job raising a toddler whirlwind and the exhausting 24/7 secret mission of growing his sibling.

Jeff melted a little more as the love of his life shifted her stance behind the lecturn and ran a hand absently over the rapidly increasing bump. Alright, so they were probably long past the covert stage of that one now… she complained she was heavy and slow but was overtly glowing with life.

Again, Jeff thanked the stars she loved so much (and which she absolutely refused to countenance having any impact on their luck whatsoever don’t be ridiculous, Jefferson) that he’d had a well-timed hiatus in missions necessitated by the development and testing of the longer range craft that would hopefully carry him on the next one. He’d taken some rather belated paternity leave and insisted she take up the offer. And here they were.

And she was good at it. Very good.

Jeff had done public speaking training both at college and for work and he knew every trick in the book. But there were things that couldn’t be taught. Some things weren’t tricks after all.

He got the respect, sometimes a little awe from the younger ones. People followed Jeff because they respected him, because he spoke persuasively and, well, because he told them to. They hung on Lucy’s every word because her natural warmth and playfulness drew them in and the fact she seemed somehow to care deeply for each of them meant they stayed. That what she said was brilliant was almost secondary. The fact they happened to be learning from the best was a by-product. People just wanted to be near her.

It was the very reason he’d walked straight past his usual table in the NASA cafeteria that day, and found himself sat amongst a group of strangers listening to her tell some story about a cat in the observatory… or possibly it was a raccoon… he forgot the details but it didn’t matter. He was caught in her orbit and hadn’t regretted it for a second.

Despite the fact this wasn’t even a lecture, only a welcoming speech and that frankly they’d listen to and love any old thing she could come up with - Lucy redrafted and redrafted right up to the last minute, searching for the perfection she felt she owed them. Jeff, more of a rock up and wing it kind of guy, was occasionally exasperated but couldn’t ever convince her it was good enough to leave well alone.

He’d finally persuaded her to grab a couple of hours sleep when Scott had scaled his patently falsely marketed ‘unclimbable toddler gate’ and leaped into bed between the two of them. The kid even wriggled in his sleep. Jeff supposed they should be thankful the tiny flailing elbow hadn’t given her a black eye for her big day.

Their son squealed and bounced excitedly in his Dada’s arms and pointed up at Mommy’s face smiling down at them from the enormous screen and then at the smaller 3D figure on the stage. Jeff knew he shouldn’t really have brought him, but both sets of grandparents had been unavailable and Lee had looked frankly terrified at the prospect of solo responsibility for preventing young ‘Steve’ from leaping off high objects. There were some things you just didn’t inflict on your wingman. He redirected the little guy’s kicking feet from the poor chap in the next seat and helped them find the ground but kept a firm grip on his shoulders

“I know, Scotty, she’s wonderful isn’t she?” He murmured. “But we have to be quiet so everyone can hear her ok?”

The little boy nodded seriously and stood, jiggling quietly between Jeff’s knees, his rapt attention on the screen, his little fists opening and closing by his sides.

Jeff had lost the thread of the speech for a moment, he already knew it so well he hadn’t really been listening to the words as much as the cadence of her voice.

Clearly everyone else had though, as a sudden swell of chattering indicated they were following her instruction to spend five minutes discussing some particular point with their neighbour. It was a cunning ploy to give her chance to take a breath, a swig of water and to check through her mostly abandoned notes to ensure she hadn’t missed anything important.

Jeff bent to help Scott retrieve the multitude of brightly coloured plastic aircraft scattered across the floor in front of them before they became a trip hazard. At least their seats at the far end of the front row meant there was plenty of room for a little chaos.

An elderly gentleman tapped him on the shoulder, a look of expectation on his face and Jeff raced to remember what the prompt had actually been about. He failed, but scrabbled to introduce himself anyway, basking a little in the spark of recognition at the surname and the fact that in this crowd it was his connection to Her that merited it, rather than the minor NASA-specific fame that was attached to anyone who’d spent serious time on Alfie.

He smiled encouragingly as his neighbour launched into an excitable tirade about gamma ray bursts and wondered how far through the five minute break they were. Maybe he should take the opportunity to sneak one of Scotty’s snacks out of the small bag stashed under his chair. As soon as there was a decent gap in this chap’s monologue he’d apologise and…

The atmosphere suddenly changed as the hundreds of conversations shifted in tone from academic to amused with a heavy smattering of “awwwww!” The garrulous gamma enthusiast stopped and looked up and Jeff seized his moment, grabbing a cereal bar with his left hand and reaching for his son with the other.

The right hand closed on air.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh he had messed up so very, very badly.

Reluctantly lifting his eyes to the only raised object in the room he was just in time to see the curly-haired Houdini complete his speed-toddle across the huge stage and leap into the arms of his crouching Mommy, who looked up and raised a mildly exasperated eyebrow in the direction of his guilt-ridden but helpless father.

He went to stand and approach the front of stage to retrieve his wayward offspring but she shook her head ever so slightly and stood up, hefting Scott a little higher so that his little legs straddled her swollen belly and turned back to the podium.

“I’d like to introduce you all, in person, to my most devoted research assistant. Some of you may remember him from such video conferences as “the one where the laptop learned to fly”, or “the one with the high pitched screaming” and not forgetting my personal favourite “the one with the minor explosion”… say hello to the nice astrophysicists, Scotty.”

There was more laughter, applause and a few more enthusiastic whoops. One of those might have been Jeff.

Scott, who had been making a grab for the microphone looked up at the sudden cacophony and blinked rapidly in the lights. He caught sight of his Dada and waved manically and Jeff couldn’t do anything other than wave back. His wife, free hand resting on the top of the podium, caught his eye and the soft little crinkles at the corners reassured him she wasn’t at all cross and the subtle little three-finger wave in his direction told him how glad she was he was there.

Lucy lifted her gaze to the rest of the audience and cleared her throat.

“Anyway… back to pulsars.”

The captivated crowd immediately silenced as she leapt again into the detail of the research group’s recent discoveries. She showed the way, they followed.

She carried them all with her.

Filled with pride, Jeff drifted to the sound of her voice and luxuriated in the invisible warmth she radiated, strong enough to bathe every soul in the room.

***

The assembled delegates laughed again and applauded and the speaker grinned. The noise died down slowly and he waited for absolute silence, eyes twinkling in the way they always had when he knew the punchline and couldn’t wait to share it. Of course, half the audience were TI employees and knew precisely what the CEO was unveiling - many of them had been working on it for months after all. And yet there wasn’t a metaphorical buttock in the auditorium that wasn’t perched on the edge of its metaphorical seat. It was just the way of things - he showed the way, they followed.

He carried them all with him.

“Anyway… back to that little announcement I promised you.”

There were a few whoops (one might have been Jeff).

The keynote speaker looked up and caught his father’s eye, the soft little crinkles at the corners revealing how delighted he was to see him there. Scott raised three fingers from the edge of the lectern in a subtle salute before continuing.

Filled with pride, Jeff drifted to the sound of his voice and luxuriated in the invisible warmth his son radiated, strong enough to bathe every soul in the room.

And she shone.

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

[fluentmoviequoter]

Lockdown

Pairing: David "Deacon" Kay x fem!reporter!reader

Summary: While covering a court hearing, you get taken hostage with your favorite S.W.A.T. sergeant.

Warnings: spoilers for S.W.A.T. 4x16 "Lockdown"; angst, fluff!!, reader is flirty

Word Count: 2.8k+ words

A/N: This is one of my top 5 favorite episodes and I'm actually planning another rewrite with one of the others! I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! (And thank you for telling me how good this episode is, you were 100% right about how good Deacon looked @katamcauley!)

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“Here’s your next assignment,” your editor says, laying a paper on your desk. “Civilian is suing the LAPD for damages, and the case is going to court tomorrow.”

“North L.A. County Courthouse?” you ask.

“Yes.” She sighs before adding, “And I already checked. Your favorite distraction isn’t set to testify tomorrow.”

“Boo. Can I have a different assignment?”

You bat your eyelashes as you ask, but she laughs and walks away without answering. Shaking your head, you begin reviewing the facts of the case. Covering court hearings is neither the best nor worst part of your job, but at least you get a break from the office for an hour or two.

✯✯✯✯✯

“So legal affairs confirmed that the defense attorney only needs us as rebuttal witnesses. Should be out of here in no time,” Deacon tells Hondo as they sign in after surrendering their weapons at the courthouse entrance.

“Yeah, okay, Deac,” Hondo answers sarcastically. “When was the last time you got out of court in no time?”

“Today would be the first.”

“Exactly. And it becomes less likely if your friend is working today.”

Deacon rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it.

“You know, I got to be honest, man, a civilian gets injured in a raid, and the officer who broke down the door admits he was at fault? I’m just not sure how I feel about being called in to testify on behalf of the city,” Hondo states as he walks through the metal detector.

“It’s not anything we haven’t done dozens of times before,” Deacon argues.

“S.W.A.T. was just there for support.”

As Deacon and Hondo near the courtroom door, someone calls, “Sergeants… Tony Jacobs, assistant city attorney. Thanks for coming in early. I know it’s a pain.”

“Eh, it’s not a problem,” Hondo replies, shaking Tony’s hand. “Beats dealing with the morning rush. Hey, listen, you seem to have a good amount of testimony for this case already. Why do you need us?”

“Cut right to the chase, huh? Well, frankly, what this woman is asking for in damages is excessive. Testimony from two S.W.A.T. sergeants could go a long way in the court. Just follow my lead on the stand. We’ll be out of here in a jiff. Our courtroom’s on the third floor.”

✯✯✯✯✯

After finding the courtroom, you sit and sigh in relief. You somehow managed to pick your most uncomfortable pair of shoes today, so you’re glad to sit in the courtroom for a while. Leaning over your notebook and taking a few quick notes, you don’t hear the door open.

Deacon and Hondo enter the courtroom, and Hondo sees you first.

“And he’s gone,” he hums as Deacon notices you.

Someone says your name and the underlying teasing tone alerts you to Sergeant David ‘Deacon’ Kay’s presence behind you. Smiling, you turn to greet him.

“Hello, Sarge,” you say, looking up at him. “You clean up nice.”

Deacon shakes his head before muttering, “So do you.”

“Are you testifying?”

Deacon glances toward the door, where Hondo is talking to the assistant city attorney. “That’s… to be determined.”

“Well, I hope you are because then I don’t have to take very good notes.”

“Why is that?”

“Because,” you whisper, leaning toward him, “it’s a conflict of interest.”

“You’re a journalist,” Deacon says, “I don’t think that applies to you.”

“My editor will beg to differ. If you’re testifying I may spend too long describing your big, brown, puppy dog eyes or how great you look in your suit.”

“Okay,” Deacon interjects, chuckling as he raises his hands. “Easy, Casanova.”

“I can’t help it Sergeant Kay,” you reply, fanning yourself for effect.

Hondo calls him over, and Deacon taps your arm as he says, “See you.”

“Promise?”

He chuckles again as he nods, turning away from you. Looking down, you wish you had chosen a different pair of shoes.

✯✯✯✯✯

“I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was having second thoughts about testifying,” Hondo states. 

“What’s the problem?” Jacobs asks.

“Feels like you’re using S.W.A.T.’s reputation to score points that you can’t get any other way.”

“I’m not asking you to lie, Sergeant.”

“I’m not sure I’m down to be used like that.”

“You’re kidding. You spring this on me right now? You’re a public servant, same as me. We both have obligations to the city.”

“No, we have obligations to the citizens, not the city.”

Jacobs steps away as Deacon approaches.

“You serious about this?” Deacon asks.

“I’m serious, Deacon. I’m just about done with ‘business as usual’ these days.”

Hondo turns to look into the courtroom, but Deacon’s gaze strays to you. You’re the “friend” Hondo referred to, and you and your editor know how you feel about him. If only you could find a way to tell each other.

✯✯✯✯✯

The bailiff walks out of the courtroom, and you turn to watch him exit, your eyes catching Deacon’s as he looks over, too. Deacon and Hondo stand quickly.

“Those are gunshots,” Hondo announces. “Sounds like downstairs.”

Judge Vang presses the alarm on her desk before announcing, “Everyone, stay where you are. This is an active shooter alarm.”

The door closes, and Deacon rushes to it, trying to open it before saying, “It’s locked, won’t budge.”

“Deac,” you call. “The panel on the wall controls the automatic door locks.”

“Your Honor, open that door right now,” Hondo demands.

You walk to Deacon’s side, murmuring, “She can’t do anything to override the lock after pressing the alarm.”

“We have a protocol, Sergeant,” Judge Vang replies. “This is my courtroom. I’m responsible for the lives in it.”

“And we’re responsible for the ones out there!” Hondo says.

Deacon taps your arm, nodding at you before returning his attention to the panel.

Hondo calls Luca, explaining, “Deac and I are locked down in a courtroom on the third floor. Active shooter protocol. The security system’s turned this place in a panic room, and we are stuck without firearms. What’d you find out about the shooters?”

Hondo walks to your side as Deacon pops the control panel open.

“Deac, we got four armed inmates downstairs. Sounds like a barricade situation. Luca, they make any demands?”

“There hasn’t been contact yet,” Luca answers.

Tan reads off their IDs, and you unconsciously lean closer to Deacon.

“We’re flying blind here, Luca,” Hondo says. “Listen, you’re senior man on-site. You are in charge now. The team is in your hands.”

Hondo ends the call, and Deacon continues working on the panel, glancing over at you when you take a deep breath.

The panel beeps as something clicks, and Deacon asks Hondo to try the door.

“You got it, Deac, it’s open,” Hondo whispers.

“Don’t go out there unarmed,” Judge Vange implores.

“We are not doing anybody any good locked in here.”

“I know you’re S.W.A.T. but there’s safety protocols for a reason. It’s best if we all stay put,” Jacobs adds.

“Listen,” Deacon says, stepping away from you. “The two of us are gonna go get the lay of the land. We’ll be back.”

“We will be back,” Hondo promises.

You grab Deacon’s bicep before he can open the door. “Do not get hurt out there,” you demand quietly.

Deacon raises his hand to cover yours where it rests on his arm. “I promise to come back for you. Nothing will happen to me because I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll knock three times, okay?”

You nod, releasing him and waiting by the door, kicking your shoes off as you impatiently away his return.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Sounds like they’re headed our way, taking hostages,” Hondo says as he and Deacon enter the stairwell.

“They’re desperate,” Deacon adds. “That means they’re dangerous.”

“No one’s safe, we’ve gotta evacuate.”

They enter a hallway as Deacon says, “There’s got to be a fire escape or some way out of here.”

“Deac, check the windows… A building covered in windows and none of them open.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You pace before the door, ignoring the whispers of the other people in the courtroom. Deacon is taking too long, and when he gets back, maybe you should tell him that your flirting isn’t an act, that you really mean it.

✯✯✯✯✯

After the third knock ends, you slowly push the door open, releasing a relieved sigh when Deacon steps inside. He pulls you into a quick hug before announcing, “We’ve got an exit plan. We found a set of windows on the other side of the floor.”

“No way,” Jacobs argues. “We’ll be sitting ducks out there. We’re better off here.”

“Listen to me, all of you,” Hondo calls. “The gunmen are breaking into rooms and taking hostages. They’re gonna be up here very soon. We cannot stay. You’ve got to trust us.”

“No way, I’m not going,” Jacobs replies.

“You’re making a mistake. Come on, let’s go,” Deacon says, ushering people toward the door.

As Deacon leads, you look him over, glad to see he looks exactly the same as when he left. It took getting trapped in a courtroom with him to admit that your obnoxious flirtations are a disguise for how much he truly affects you and how much you care for and adore him.

“I got ya,” Deacon promises as his hand slips into yours, leading you through the empty hallways.

He directs you to the window, bringing up the end of the line. When it’s your turn to jump onto the rescue pad, you stop and push back against Deacon, where his hand rests on your back.

“You aren’t jumping,” you accuse.

“Not yet,” he answers. “We need to help the other hostages.”

“Then I’m not leaving either.”

Deacon looks at Hondo, who only shrugs. He’s not getting in the middle of whatever you and Deacon have going on.

“I know this courthouse better than either of you,” you point out. “I can help.”

“You can stay on one condition,” Deacon answers severely. “Do exactly what I say when I say. If I tell you to run or hide or come back here and jump, you do it.”

You nod, taking Deacon’s hand as you whisper, “I promise.”

“Let’s go then,” Hondo says, pointing back to the window.

“Where are your shoes?” Deacon asks quietly as his hand moves to your lower back.

“I left them in the courtroom,” you answer as if it’s obvious.

✯✯✯✯✯

Running down the stairs behind Deacon, you press your hand to his back as Hondo signals for you to stop. Someone is shooting below you, and you’re glad to be with Deacon.

“We got to go back,” Hondo says.

“Tan’s texting,” Deacon alerts, walking further into an empty room to call him. “We heard gunshots. They firing at you guys?” he asks.

“No, not at us, just the rescue bag,” Luca answers.

Deacon looks over at you, knowing that his only choice now is to keep you close and safe.

“They’re rounding people up in here,” Hondo states. “It looks like all four of these guys are armed now.”

As Deacon and Hondo listen to the deputy explain where the key to the weapon locker is, you trace your eyes over Deacon’s face, letting his very presence keep you calm.

“That’s two floors down,” Hondo muses.

“Won’t be easy with them patrolling,” Deacon agrees.

“We just need time to get our guns, Luca.”

Deacon ends the call, wrapping his arm around you to lead the way.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon keeps you between him and Hondo, but after you enter the deputy’s office, he pushes you behind him as he looks through the drawers.

“Hey, that’s our courtroom upstairs,” Deacon points out, looking at the camera monitors. “There’s Jacobs.”

“Deacon,” Hondo breathes out, watching the men take Jacobs. “We should’ve tried harder to get him to come with us.”

“Hey, we didn’t have time. And listen, you deciding not to testify, that wasn’t exactly fair to him.”

“What, that wasn’t fair to Jacobs?” Hondo repeats incredulously. “What about the plaintiff? A city attorney shouldn’t be allowed to take a case and reassign it to bend justice.”

“All right, do some of these guys care more about winning than justice? Yeah,” Deacon admits. “But we got to work within the system.”

“We can’t do that anymore, Deac. What do you think?”

You point to yourself in question, surprised to be pulled into the conversation. Luckily, before you can reply, Deacon finds the key and pulls you into his side as he leads you out.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Door’s busted, they beat us here,” Deacon whispers, an arm extended over your waist as he keeps you against the wall.

“Be careful, they might still be in there,” Hondo warns.

You enter between them, sighing when you see the damage done.

“They have our guns.”

“Tan says Diaz knows we’re here,” Deacon says, looking at his phone.

Adrian Diaz yells, “Harrelson, Kay! We know you fools are down here. If you give up now, we won’t kill you.”

“Deac, give me your phone,” Hondo requests. “Give it to me.”

“Really going to make a call right now, Hondo?” you ask lightly.

Hondo slides the phone into his sock, tugging his pant leg over it. He points at you and then at the ceiling.

“Okay,” Deacon answers, nodding as he pulls you to the desk. 

Deacon stands on the desk, pushing a ceiling tile up and over. Hondo helps you onto the desk, and then Deacon lifts you up into the ceiling, following shortly behind you.

His hand finds yours as you wait in the dark, holding you gently. You listen as Hondo is taken away, and after a moment of silence, Deacon slides the ceiling tile away. He grips the rafter, lowering slowly and silently onto the desk below. Turning, he raises your hands, grabbing your hips and lowering you gently. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, his hands holding you firmly.

Nodding, you let him help you from the desk before following him.

✯✯✯✯✯

Standing beside him, you listen as Deacon calls his team, holding his hand in both of yours.

“Hey, it’s Deacon. Hondo’s been taken,” he reports. “Well, I managed to hide. Hondo gave himself up so we both wouldn’t get caught. We made it to the gun locker, but it was empty. They beat us to it. They were calling for us by name. Not sure how they knew we were here… They took Hondo to courtroom 1, first floor with the other hostages. Listen, I know Diaz set up a deadline. How much time we got? Tell me you guys have a plan… Wait a second, I remember three stairwells…”

You tune him out, preferring to focus on the feeling of him beside you rather than the danger of the situation. Looking down at his hand, you wonder if you’ll get to tell him.

✯✯✯✯✯

“They’re bringing my team in a helicopter,” Deacon whispers, waiting in a stairwell.

“And then what?” you reply.

“Remember your promise.”

You nod, squeezing Deacon’s hand. You trust him, and you will do anything and everything he tells you. Deacon releases your hand kindly, whispering for you to wait as he goes up the stairs.

“We’re good. It’s Deac,” Street whispers.

Deacon gestures for you to join him on the next landing.

“Hey. You all right?” someone asks.

“I’m good,” Deacon answers.

He puts a bulletproof vest over your head before pulling his own on. 

“Stay here.”

“But,” you begin, trailing off when Deacon cups your face in his hands.

“I will come back for you, every time. But I need you to stay here so I know you’re safe.”

You nod, mouthing, “I trust you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The door bangs open, hitting the wall behind it. You look around the corner slowly, rushing toward Deacon when you see him. He extends his hands, passing you your shoes. Taking them, you immediately drop them as you wrap your arms over Deacon’s shoulders and pull yourself as close as possible to him.

“Thank you for coming back. For keeping me safe,” you say against his neck.

“I’ll always come back for you,” he reminds you, his grip tight around your waist. “Will you let me take you to dinner for your bravery?”

Smiling, you pull back and counter, “Let me make you dinner for saving my life.”

“Good food and good company? Maybe I should save you more often.”

“Or you could just ask me on a date. Everyone else can see that I have a huge crush on you.”

“Let’s see how dinner goes first,” Deacon jokes.

“You’re not very good at this.”

“Then teach me your ways, Casanova,” Deacon replies, leaning forward to catch your lips.

Sighing against him, you’re glad you got this assignment and finally found the courage to admit how you feel about him to yourself. Now you must find a way to tell Deacon how you feel, though you think this kiss is a good start.

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

best friend! rafe? smut or fluff doesn’t really matter

and i’m never coming down

pairing(s): best friend!rafe cameron x best friend!fem!reader

warnings: pet names, two idiots in love

summary: things between you and your best friend start to change.

authors note: thank you for the request! i hope you enjoy :)

not edited

do not copy my works. i do not condone rewrites, translations, or edited versions. all my content is my content that i wrote.

not my gif

“which one?” you asked your best friend who was currently laying on your bed on his phone.

he looked between the two tops, squinting as if he was really thinking about this one. “the left one.”

“are you sure? you don’t think its too much?” you asked curiously. all you were doing was going out to eat with him, topper, kelce and their girlfriends.

he looked at it and then you. “no, i think you’ll look perfect in it.”

you turned quickly to put the other shirt back into the closet, but, also to hide the blush painting your cheeks.

“so what time are we leaving?” you questioned, turning back around and laying out the jeans you’d be wearing later.

he took his eyes off of you for just a second to check his phone. “whenever you’re ready.”

“rafe,” you looked to him. “i don’t want them waiting on me.”

he waved it off. “they don’t care. you don’t take long to get ready anyway. you know kelce’s girl takes like 4 hours anyway. they’re always late.”

you sighed and sat down onto the bed beside him, looking up at the butterflies stuck to your wall.

“what’s wrong?” he asked softly.

you looked at him and shook your head. “nothing.”

he glared at you. “c’mon, don’t give me that. i know when somethings up.”

he looked so pretty like this. his hair slightly messy and his quarter zip sweater framing his body perfectly while he tucked his lower half under your sherpa blanket.

“seriously, rafe, it’s nothing,” you said with a slight smile.

“next time you wanna gawk at me, maybe close your mouth or you’ll drool,” he joked.

you shoved his shoulder and chuckled. “i wasn’t gawking and i know for a fact my mouth was closed. don’t get too ahead of yourself, cameron.”

“you know, it’s okay to gawk,” he said.

your brows furrowed. “what do you mean?”

his blue eyes were boring into you. “i do it too.”

“to yourself?” you joked, stifling a giggle. “we all knew that, rafe.”

he rolled his eyes at you and flicked your forehead. “no, idiot. at you.” you raised an eyebrow at him. “don’t give me that look.”

“i’m not giving you any look,” you replied with a light laugh.

his eyes traced over your face before locking back onto yours. “why do you do that?”

“do what?” you asked curiously.

he huffed out a breath. “you change the subject whenever i say something like that, or you talk down on yourself all the time as if you’re not the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen, let alone know.”

“rafe,” you began.

he cut you off. “you don’t get it, sweetheart. you’re literally the most perfect person ever. i don’t even know why you’re friends with me or what i did to even deserve you.”

your eyes searched his expression. you knew when he was joking. you knew damn well. and right now, all you were finding was sincerity.

his hand reached up and tucked a loose strand on hair behind your ear. “can i kiss you?”

you didn’t trust that some random string of syllables would come out if you opened your mouth, so you opted for a nod.

and it was all you’d ever wanted.

his lips pressed to yours, softer than you could’ve ever imagined. he was so gentle with you almost as if he were afraid you’d break.

the hand that was once moving your hair was now cradling your jaw, pulling you closer to him.

it felt like a dream come true. that was until you had to pull away to breathe.

“you’ve got no idea how long i’ve waited for that,” rafe said with a big, toothy smile.

[saeslove]

YOU ALWAYS HAD ME — synopsis: what would you do if your hot best friend agreed to fake date you to make your ex-boyfriend jealous? will it ruin your friendship or will it prevail into something more?

⤿ [ 11 ] timestamps do not matter.

One of your favourite things you did growing up to find solace outside of your rowdy home was sitting by the porch, drinking in the starry night above you. Usually, you had company; your Persian cat, Kiki who has found herself a new owner; Gojo Satoru.

“What’s going on that pretty little head of yours?” Your thoughts, are instantly broken by the low yet smoky voice of the man you were falling in love with. — your best friend, your fake boyfriend.

“Nothing”

“Lies. I’ve been searching everywhere for you but then your kind mother told me this is your favourite spot.” You felt the plank beneath you creak and found yourself a new company.

“You were looking for me?” Your voice came out barely a whisper.

Tucking away the strands of hair behind your ear, “Yeah?.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

So did the clock.

10 minutes till Midnight.

“Can we end this, Satoru?”

“What?”

"You heard me."

"So that’s on your mind? Is that why you invited me here? To break up with me in front of your family's porch? Or did Toji text you back? I-"

"Satoru, do you want to know what I dislike about you?"

"If it's me stealing your chocolates, I'm sorry. Please don't end this"

You cupped his face, the warmth from the contact of your hands and his face kept you alive. He looks so cute with his face being squashed. His bright blue eyes on you, pouting.

"Wrong. I don't like it when you cut me off and you’re so dramatic ‘toru! Toji hasn’t texted me since forever! But it doesn’t matter anyway because I love you."

His pout, was instantly replaced with a smile like a kid who got candy from his mother.

"Then will you shut me up by kissing m-"

You threw your body weight on him, snaking your arms around his neck, playing with the underside of his undercut. It's so hot. Supposedly a small fleeting kiss immediately turned into a passionate heated kiss, outside your family's porch.

You gasped in surprise at the sensation of his hands tucking underneath your shirt, pinching your skin.

The kiss that breaks apart, left you both catching for air.

Removing his hands that previously rested under your shirt, sliding in your palms, stroking your hands with his thumb.

"You're so cute. I like the taste of your lips on mine. And I love you too, YN. Always have been, ever since high school. We grew up together so technically, I watched you grow up heh. Watching you have your first boyfriend broke my heart, but if that was the price for me to pay seeing you so happy, I'd gladly break my heart a thousand times over. But a part of me wished it was me who made you smile. So when he broke your heart, it was as if the whole world just crashed on me. You, out of everyone deserve so much love."

Like as if that wasn't enough to tug your heartstrings,

"YN, can I be your boyfriend? I'll love you with everything that I have, I promise."

“Here’s a pen for you baby”

“What for?”

“Hmm? To tick off the the rest of your checklist sweetheart”

hiiii …. 🫣🫣🫣 imcoming fluff chapters enjoy it while it lasts. i love them sm omg. pls ignore the fact that it’s almost feb.. and im posting abt new years HAHAHA the nicknames!!!! i hope it’s not too rush omds..

💞 in the title means new years special hehe

taglist: @hexrts-anatomy @k4romis @soy-garbage @avatar-of-procrastination @lees-chaotic-brain @pastatata @maybe-a-bi-witch @vivi-loves-penguins @reagan707 @iluv-ace @dazaisfavgf @tiredflame132 @dreamxiing @inorixonline

feedbacks and reblogs appreciated! 💕💕 pls be kind to me

series m.list | main m.list

@ satoluv do not plagiarize, translate, or rewrite my writings without my permission !

[usercelestial]

the whole queer eddie being included in a queer characters posts reminds me of like when people were wishing the bucktommy date scene got cut instead of the eddie and buck in Bobby’s room and eddie praying …when there is that whole random ass scene with no real adherence to the plot or the characters with polly the neighbour right there as an option for them to cut..but no they wanna cut the scene with the mlm queer couple (that many mlm queer men in this fandom love) all because they hate tommy, can’t handle a daddy issues joke, and the fact that it’s not eddie with buck

yeah ultimately a lot of their cries for activism and queer rep are performative. they do not truly care about queer characters or queer representation and i think most people could smell that from a mile away. these people have always been way more concerned with their own ship than with anything else. they like to pretend that if you don't ship The Thing or if you don't hate bucktommy then you must not want eddie to be queer or even like his character and that's. a thought lol. but i think it's really interesting why they've come to that conclusion.

like for me, i love eddie enough that i don't have to change his character to make him something that i like. i love eddie enough to allow him to be his own character outside of my own interpretation of his queerness and outside of his relationship with buck. but at the same time i also love eddie enough to see myself in him and create theories about his identity. these two things co-exist: seeing the character for what the canon shows me he is AND seeing the character for what i'd like him to be. i think most people are able to find the balance and be pretty normal about it. i think these people are genuinely so far deep into whatever they want the story to be that they have to rewrite canon to fit that perception of the character and feel threatened when that gets pointed out.

which again, like i truly do not give a shit if you do cherry pick canon, just don't come for people who are like hey you know that's just your headcanon right? like don't act like your own interpretation is better than anyone else's. it's not, it's still just an interpretation. i do read eddie as queer while still acknowledging that within the canon universe, he is identified as a straight man by canon. which makes my reading of him just a headcanon (aka canon in your head but not anywhere else), no less valid and important but still not the story they may be trying to tell.

i've talked about this a little bit before but i think a lot of the issue here is the idea of playing nice and remembering that this is all pretend which i don't think they've really had to deal with before. a lot of these people have never been confronted with another big kid on the block. their ship has kind of held precedent for a really long time, along with their headcanons and their ideas of what these characters are. so now that buck actually is bisexual and is dating a man, who isn't eddie, suddenly their entire worldview of canon breaks down.

now there's canon gay representation. now you don't have a moral argument to justify your ship bc that thing you've been begging for, "canon bi buck/more canon queer characters" does exist. so now what are you arguing for? just a preferred ship? no that can't be, it must be more than, we must be fighting for something bigger.

but now you're forced to confront that it's all just headcanons and vibes and theories that have ran unchallenged for years and years. so now you have a group of people who do not know how to grapple with the reality they are being shown vs the reality they've created in their heads clashing against people who are fans of the same reality the show lives in and don't really care about the non-canon anymore. which, if that's your prerogative, if you prefer non-canon stuff, then go for it, that's what fandom is for, but the issue here is that they view this as genuinely a threat. they don't want any other interpretation. it doesn't just feel like a threat to their ship, it feels like a threat to the canon world they've created about these characters. they see other people coming in excited for something that isn't their thing, and now feel like we're taking something away from them. they don't want to see canon anymore, even if it's something they used to claim they want. they don't want queer rep, they want to be proven right.

[pinkertinn]

hi im actually obsessed with don't leave baby eagle on read

would you ever write soemthing like that (like Ashley teasing him dynamic) where theyre messing around under a tablecloth somewhere? like handjob w gentle teasing and maybe praise?

Anon!!! Anon, say less. Teasing Leon? In a public place? Under a tablecloth? Maybe praise?

Quick get this off my table right now. I'm obsessed. Also, big thanks for reading my work. Makes my day!

Title: Fashionably Late, But Always on Time

Summary: Leon arrives late to a formal dinner, only to be teased mercilessly by Ashley under the table as they try to keep up appearances.

Tags: Flirty Banter, Public Teasing, Hidden Desires, Light Dom/Sub Dynamics, Humorous Embarrassment, Power Play, Slow Burn Tension

WordCount: 3,500

Rating: 18+ MDNI

story under the cut.

She sat at the long table, the clink of silverware and the low hum of conversation surrounding her like a fog. The evening was supposed to be dignified—impressive, even—but all she felt was the slow burn of frustration creeping up her spine. It wasn't the people or the event itself; it was the fact that he wasn't there yet, and she'd been left to fend for herself against a wall of polite small talk. Her phone buzzed in her lap for the hundredth time that night.

On my way, I swear.

She bit her lip, hiding her smirk behind a sip of wine. You’re late, she shot back quickly, her thumb tapping out the message under the table.

A few seconds later: Traffic. You'll survive. What’s the damage?

Her eyes darted up to catch someone talking animatedly about diplomatic relations. She hadn’t been paying attention for a good twenty minutes now, but she nodded anyway, pretending to care. Her thumb hovered over the screen. You’re paying for this. Big time.

The response came almost immediately: Depends. How mad are you?

She couldn’t help the grin pulling at the corner of her mouth as she shifted in her seat. He always knew how to push her buttons, and somehow, it was annoying and comforting all at once. She leaned forward just slightly, letting her fingers slide over the screen with a slow precision.

Let’s just say I have some ideas on how you can make it up to me. They’re not exactly presidential.

She could almost hear the way he'd laugh at that, the way his voice would drop lower when he finally arrived, teasing, a mix of apology and amusement lingering in every word. A subtle thrill buzzed beneath her skin at the thought of it—him showing up at this stuffy event, his tie loosened like he just couldn't be bothered to care about the formalities, eyes searching for her in the crowd. He’d probably head straight for the bar first, like always.

Her phone buzzed again. You’re killing me. Almost there.

Good, she typed back quickly, because if you make me suffer through one more story about NATO, you’re not leaving my place until Monday. She paused, deleting the last part and rewriting it: And we both know you’ll never make it out of bed if that happens.

Her heart beat a little faster as she hit send, the words bold but charged with the weight of everything that wasn’t being directly said between them tonight. The back-and-forth had a rhythm to it, one they’d mastered ages ago—teasing, playful, but always teetering on the edge of something more, something they both knew would come later.

The room felt too hot, or maybe that was just her, thinking about how this night might end. She shifted in her seat again, smoothing her dress as though it would help her focus on anything other than the slow ache building in her stomach. He had a way of leaving her hanging, just long enough to make her miss him, just long enough to make her want to drag him back down to earth when he finally showed up.

A text blinked onto her screen: I’ve got plans for you, too. You sure you can wait that long?

Her breath hitched, cheeks warming under the pretense of politeness as she quickly glanced up. No one was paying attention to her; they were all still talking, still engrossed in their own conversations, completely unaware of the tension coiling in her chest. She took a slow, deep breath, typing with steady fingers.

Guess we’ll see how long you last once you get here.

The anticipation gnawed at her, that familiar mix of frustration and excitement pulling her thoughts in a direction that had nothing to do with the formal dinner in front of her. She hated him for it—how easily he could do this, how he made her feel like a teenager sneaking glances at her phone under the table. She'd spent the last hour pretending to be invested in conversations that bored her to tears, all while her mind kept wandering back to him. He always seemed to slip in under her skin, no matter where they were or what they were supposed to be doing.

A quick glance at the clock confirmed it—he was SO late. And she’d definitely make him pay for it.

Her phone buzzed once more: Five minutes. Hold that thought.

She bit her lip, locking her phone and slipping it back into her clutch. Five minutes. He’d better be worth the wait.

Exactly five minutes later the heavy wooden doors at the back of the room creaked open, she felt it before she saw him. A subtle shift in the energy, like a current had swept through the air, crackling with something undeniably him. She didn't even need to look; she just knew. He always carried that kind of presence—an unspoken, irresistible pull that seemed to stop time for just a second.

He entered the room with effortless grace, his suit impeccably tailored, tie just loose enough to match the way she'd pictured him. His hair, slightly tousled as if he'd run his fingers through it in frustration during the drive, added an unpolished, rugged edge to his usual sharpness. It made him look more… raw. The casual way his fingers brushed the doorframe in a fleeting acknowledgment sent a flutter of anticipation through her. He never quite belonged at these formal events, but somehow, he always managed to make it work—damn well, too.

Her gaze flicked up, just for a moment. He was scanning the room, eyes sharp but relaxed, looking for her like she was the only person here that mattered. And when their eyes finally met, a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, his expression softening in that way that made her heart pound a little harder than she’d care to admit. He could be all business when he needed to be—charming the crowd, shaking hands with a firm grip, his posture straight and serious—but right now, his focus was locked on her.

He made his way over, stopping to exchange pleasantries, the occasional handshake, a nod to some official who probably expected him to be more engaged. But all the while, his gaze would flick back to her, lingering like a private joke shared between them across the room. The closer he got, the harder it became to keep her composure, her pulse quickening as he finally closed the distance.

"Sorry I’m late," he murmured, sliding into the seat next to her, his voice low enough that only she could hear. It was that voice—the one he used when they were alone, intimate in a way that made her want to forget they were surrounded by high-ranking officials and polished silverware. "Traffic was hell."

She didn’t look at him right away, though she could feel the warmth of him so close now, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the clean, subtle musk that was just him. Instead, she leaned slightly closer, enough that her bare arm brushed against the sleeve of his jacket, her lips barely curving as she whispered, "You’re going to regret making me wait."

He chuckled softly under his breath, a sound that sent a ripple of heat straight through her. "I’ve been regretting it since I walked through the door."

She barely had time to smirk in response before she reached up to her ear, fingers brushing over her earring as if adjusting it. Then, with a deliberate tilt of her head, she let it drop, the small piece of jewelry landing softly on the carpet under the table. She made a small, exaggerated sigh, leaning just a little closer to him.

"Oops," she whispered, her lips almost grazing the curve of his jaw before she leaned back, placing her hand on his thigh, pushing herself up slightly as she slipped out of her chair and ducked under the table.

He froze, the low conversation at the table above them seeming to blur into the background as she disappeared from view. She moved slowly, deliberately, taking her time as she reached for the earring that had “fallen,” her fingers grazing his ankle, then his shin. The proximity was dangerous, thrilling. He could feel the brush of her breath against his leg, her soft, teasing touch dragging higher, lingering near his knee.

Above, he cleared his throat, eyes darting around to make sure no one was paying attention. His body tensed under her touch, but his expression remained carefully composed. "You’re playing with fire," he muttered through clenched teeth, his hand gripping the edge of the table just a little tighter.

She didn’t respond, not with words anyway. Instead, she let her hand slide higher, nails grazing the fabric of his pants as she shifted under the table, taking her sweet time retrieving the earring. Her lips brushed the inside of his thigh, featherlight, sending a jolt through him that he barely managed to suppress. The anticipation of it all—the forbidden teasing in such a public setting—made the heat between them burn that much hotter.

Finally, she slipped back into her chair, the earring held daintily between her fingers as she shot him an innocent smile, like nothing had just happened. Her heart raced, adrenaline rushing through her veins, but she played it cool, setting the earring back in place with slow, deliberate movements.

"Got it," she whispered, her lips grazing just near his ear before she leaned back into her seat, though the warmth of her body still clung to him, an intoxicating reminder.

He exhaled, a little shakier than he intended, his fingers brushing her thigh beneath the table—a silent, fleeting promise that this wasn’t over. Not even close.

As if on cue, her fingers slipped back under the table, moving so casually it could’ve been mistaken for adjusting her napkin. The moment her hand made contact, he stiffened, a barely noticeable shift in his seat—except she noticed. She always did. Her fingers teased his thigh, just the faintest brush through the fabric of his pants, as if daring to see how far she could go without anyone around them suspecting.

"Relax," she breathed, lips barely moving, her eyes forward on the conversation around them as if nothing was amiss. The teasing glint in her gaze stayed fixed on the speakers at the table, but her attention was all on him, on the way he shifted under her touch. "You deserve a little distraction after keeping me waiting."

His breath caught in his throat as her hand inched higher, teasingly slow, tracing the firm muscles of his thigh with an almost affectionate familiarity. Every touch was deliberate, calculated, but still light enough to drive him insane with anticipation. Her thumb brushed up his inner leg, circling the sensitive area just above his knee, her hand resting there as if to remind him she was in control.

"You're lucky no one's looking under this table," she murmured under her breath, her voice low, barely above a whisper. Her fingers slid up again, grazing closer and closer to his growing hardness. She could feel the tension radiating off of him, the way his posture had stiffened, legs spread just a little wider to give her more room to work her mischief.

He shifted, turning his head slightly to glance at her, a mixture of warning and desperation in his eyes. "Don’t push it," he muttered, but his voice was strained, betraying how much he wanted her to keep going.

"Or what?" she teased, her lips curving into a smug smile. Her hand brushed over his bulge now, just enough pressure to make him twitch in response, his breath catching as she pressed her palm firmly against him, rubbing in slow, deliberate strokes. "You’re not exactly in a position to make demands right now."

He swallowed hard, jaw tightening, his hand gripping the edge of the table to keep himself grounded. She was relentless, fingers trailing lightly along the length of him through the fabric, tracing every inch as though she had all the time in the world. It was a dangerous game—one she was winning, and they both knew it.

"Good boy," she whispered, her voice barely audible as her hand squeezed him, a little firmer this time. His reaction was instant—his hips shifted, pushing subtly into her hand as if he couldn’t help himself. The praise hit him hard, that mix of teasing and genuine affection that always got under his skin in ways he couldn’t explain.

She leaned in closer, lips brushing his ear as she kept stroking him under the table. "You like it when I take care of you like this, don’t you?" Her voice was soft, almost sweet, a complete contrast to the filthy things she was doing beneath the tablecloth.

His breath came out in short, shallow bursts, the need building inside him with every subtle stroke of her hand. He wanted to reach out, stop her, or at least make her slow down, but the way she kept praising him, teasing him—it was making it impossible to think straight.

"You’ve been so good since you got here," she continued, voice dropping lower, more intimate. "Sitting here, pretending like nothing’s happening… but we both know you’re losing it under that suit." Her fingers curled slightly, pressing harder against him, her movements quickening just enough to drive him to the edge of control. "I think you like it, being all buttoned up while I do this. Makes you feel dirty, doesn’t it?"

He let out a quiet groan, barely audible but enough to make her grin in satisfaction. She could feel how hard he was now, the tension burning off him as she worked him with slow, rhythmic strokes. The urge to tease him even more, to push him just a little further, was overwhelming.

"Keep it together," she whispered, her lips brushing his earlobe. "Think of it like a stealth mission. Don’t get us caught... unless that’s what you’re after?"

He sucked in a breath, trying to maintain some semblance of composure, but her words were unraveling him, piece by piece. The gentle praise, the way her hand worked him over through his clothes—it was making it impossible to focus on anything other than the heat building between them.

Her fingers pressed harder, stroking him in steady, relentless movements, her thumb brushing over the head of his erection just enough to drive him insane. "You’re doing so good for me," she whispered, the words slipping out with an almost sultry affection. "Just stay quiet… and let me take care of you."

His breathing was ragged now, chest rising and falling as he struggled to keep his composure. She knew she had him exactly where she wanted him—on the edge, teetering between control and the desperate need for release, all while they sat surrounded by dignitaries and officials, none the wiser.

"You’re gonna pay for this," he growled out through clenched teeth, his voice low, filled with barely restrained need.

She smirked, leaning in one last time to whisper, "I’m counting on it." Then, with a final squeeze, she pulled her hand away, leaving him on the brink of madness, breathless and aching under the table, longing for something more.

As he regained his composure, the conversation at the table shifted, the voices of the other guests mingling like background noise, just as one of the older officials—a stern-faced man in his sixties—turned to him.

“Kennedy,” the man said, raising an eyebrow with a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “You’re cutting it a bit close tonight. Care to share what kept you? We were beginning to think you’d bailed on us.”

Leon’s face didn’t flinch; he’d been trained for this kind of thing—quick thinking, flawless execution. He straightened up in his seat, hands resting casually on the tablecloth, and offered a small, apologetic smile.

“Well, you know how it is," he began smoothly, his voice calm, not missing a beat. "Duty calls at the worst times, and traffic through D.C. isn’t exactly forgiving—especially when you’re coming from a briefing.” He met the man’s gaze, unflinching, the picture of professionalism.

But just as he delivered the perfect answer, he felt it—a sudden, deliberate squeeze against his thigh. Her hand had found its way back under the table, fingers pressing firmly, teasingly, right over the same spot she had been tormenting earlier. His body jolted involuntarily, and his breath caught in his throat.

He coughed—a sharp, sudden sound that made everyone at the table glance in his direction. His cheeks flushed instantly, a heat rising up his neck as the smooth façade he’d been maintaining cracked under the pressure of her playful touch. He glanced down, just barely, eyes narrowing in warning, but the smirk on her face was unmistakable.

Before he could gather himself, she chimed in, her voice laced with playful innocence. “I, for one, am just glad he never arrives early,” she said with a perfectly straight face, her hand squeezing him again just as the last word left her lips.

Leon barely managed to regain his composure, but the heat radiating from his face was unmistakable. He shifted in his seat, praying no one noticed the subtle tension in his posture. Ashley had retreated her hand, but the teasing, devilish smile on her lips told him she still wasn’t done. Not yet.

Once the spotlight shifted away from them and the conversation at the table resumed, he felt her lean in close again, her lips grazing the sensitive skin of his ear as her hand slipped back into his lap. His heart raced, the heat radiating from her presence, the delicate movements of her fingers, and the softness of her breath igniting something primal within him that he could no longer contain.

“You always come right on time for me,” she whispered, her voice low, sultry, the words laced with double meaning that sent a jolt of heat straight through him.

And just like that, his body betrayed him.

His breath hitched, barely controlled, as a sudden wave of intense pleasure surged through him—sharp and overwhelming. His hands tightened into fists under the table, his muscles going rigid as he fought to keep from making any sound, the sensation crashing through him with a force he hadn't expected. His heart pounded in his ears, his pulse throbbing as the world around him blurred.

He was coming, right there at the table, his body betraying him with a shudder he could barely keep in check. It was quick, desperate, and utterly humiliating, yet the rush of pleasure was undeniable. He clenched his jaw, his teeth gritting as he struggled to hold back any outward sign, but he could feel the wetness pooling against the fabric of his briefs, soaking through.

Ashley pulled back slightly, her gaze flicking over him knowingly, a hint of satisfaction in her eyes as if she could sense exactly what had just happened. And before he could fully recover, she leaned in one more time, her lips brushing his cheek in the softest, most delicate kiss.

It was innocent enough on the surface—just a sweet gesture, nothing out of the ordinary for anyone paying attention. But the pressure of her lips against his skin, the way they lingered, the suggestive warmth in her voice when she whispered, “I told you you’d pay for being late,” made it anything but innocent.

Leon couldn’t respond. His body still trembled with the aftershocks of release, his mind barely catching up to what had just happened, and he was left speechless, still flushed with both pleasure and mortification. The sensation, the intensity of it, made him dizzy.

Ashley, for her part, sat back in her chair, completely composed, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as though nothing had happened. She didn't even glance his way again, as if she'd already won, leaving him to stew in his embarrassment while the dinner conversation continued around them.

Leon swallowed hard, still processing everything, his gaze darting around the table to ensure no one had noticed his moment of weakness. But as Ashley shifted beside him, her hand lightly brushing his under the table in a silent reassurance, a warm comfort settled in his chest.

Despite it all, she had him—completely and utterly—and now they just needed to survive the rest of the evening. They waited patiently for the others to leave, cherishing their private moment amidst the surrounding noise. Finally, he turned to her, a hint of guilt in his eyes. “I’m really sorry for being late,” he murmured.

She met his gaze with a teasing smile, her eyes sparkling. “Don’t worry about it. I think we’re even now—after all, I made you arrive on time in front of everyone.”

[clerical3rr0r]

I’ve finally recovered from the latest episode of Malevolent enough to actually try to analyze it. It got very long and that’s not even all I wanted to say.

Malevolent 45 spoilers under the cut

First of all shoutout to Harlan Guthrie for making me cry. Was not expecting that tonight but I can’t even be mad about it because the storytelling was so good.

Second of all, the themes. Where do I even start?

As soon as they started talking about the Boy Brigade I knew things were going to take an interesting turn. As John and Arthur both point out, we rarely hear about Arthur’s childhood. He rarely thinks about it. It was a very difficult time for him and to an extent he treats it as if it’s best left forgotten. While it was a difficult time for him and it sounds like he has complicated feelings about much of what they were trying to teach him, it was where he made his first friend. That’s a good memory for him, and it always will be. In that and in other little moments there, he said he found hope.

Hope is a large part of this podcast and the entire point of this episode. When Arthur feels apathetic and discouraged by a lack of meaning, John reminds him that they can make their own and Arthur remarks that he feels hopeful. When Malam explains what he does, he says that children represent hope in this world. Hope is what he saw in the fire and what drew him in.

Personally, I’m seeing connections to season 4 when Arthur referred to John as a child. He meant it in the sense that John didn’t have the same emotional maturity as someone who spent decades living as a human, but it also works in the sense that John is so very hopeful. For all the horrors he’s witnessed, he hasn’t let them beat him down. Even when Arthur dies, he doesn’t stop fighting until he rewrites the narrative to bring his friend back to life. He still refuses to accept that Arthur will (probably) have to die eventually. And when Arthur brings up the admittedly good point that they could be on a fool’s errand, John argues that others might have failed, but they wouldn’t. It’s a simplistic, almost childish argument with no real logic behind it, but it worked. It was exactly what Arthur needed to hear.

Even though the fire had been lit for some time, Malam only appeared when Arthur had been cheered up while he was in the middle of talking about a point in his childhood where he found hope. I’m sure Faroe was a part of what led Malam to that fire, but Arthur’s newfound determination seemed to be the main lure.

And, of course, there’s Faroe. We know Malam can and has killed people in service of children. He did not harm Arthur. He simply spoke with him, granting him information and peace of mind. Faroe didn’t seem angry or resentful. She seems to be sticking around of her own free will. She believes in Arthur so much that Malam took notice and helped her help her father. Even after death, her belief in him empowered him to keep going in a tangible way.

If children represent hope, Faroe’s renewed presence has a double meaning. When she died, Arthur’s hope died along with her. All throughout the story, it was an accepted fact that she was dead and gone. Arthur had been without hope for a long time by that point. At least, he thought he had been. But even though Faroe was gone, she was with Arthur the whole time. Even if he couldn’t hear it or feel it, the hope was always there. The hope will always be there.

[mask131]

What Oz could have been: the 1939 movie

Last time I talked about what Disney's "Oz: The Great and Powerful" would have originally looked like, based on the first version of the script. But today I want to talk about THE big Oz movie, THE classic: the 1939 MGM movie.

Everybody knows this picture, it became iconic and cult, and is such a big part of culture today... Yet, you might be surprised to learn that the movie could have ended up looking VERY different from the one we know today.

Indeed, the "Wizard of Oz" script kept being written and re-written and re-re-written by a dozen of different authors and co-authors, to the point that when it came time to credit who was behind the script problems arose to find an exact name to put on there... If you want to know the detail: a first draft was by William H. Cannon, Mervyn LeRoy's assistant, before the contracts were set and when everything was just beginning. Once the project started, the first full scenario was written by Irving Brecher, but he was then overtaken by another project and replaced by Herman J. Mankiewicz, who worked for one month over the script until a co-author arrived in the form of Ogden Nash. Then a third author joined the team: Noel Langley (he was the one who had the idea of changing the Silver Slippers in Ruby Slippers, and he brought the idea that the three Oz companions would have counterparts as farm helpers in Kansas). HOWEVER Mankiewicz ended up quitting the team. He was replaced by Herbert Fields, who only stayed for three days and didn't change anything, before being also replaced by Samuel Hoffenstein, who also only stayed for a few days without modifying much (or anything). FINALLY Noel Langley gave back the final product of the writers' team... Which of course was edited, rewriten and modified by a second team, formed of Florence Ryerson and Edgar Allan Woolf. They were then brutally moved to another movie, and the script returned into the hands of Noel Langley to be again rewriten and adapted. One month before the movie started Noel Langley was given another co-author, Jack Mintz, and the second "final" scenario was delivered... Before being corrected and modified by a new author recently brought by Victor Fleming, John Lee Mahin. And THEN it was done!

Of the fourteen different authors that worked on the script, only three ended up being given credit in the final picture: Noel Langley, Florence Ryerson, and Edgar Allan Woolf.

The result was a project that varied wildly in production. In fact, while the final movie is still vaguely faithful though a bit loose adaptation of the original novel - the very first drafts of the movie had NOTHING to do with the original novel. The "faithfulness" to Baum's Wizard of Oz can be considered almost an accident as each rewrite got closer to Baum's story, only in an effort to get away from the older script... Anyway, here are some highlights and best-offs of the Oz movie we could have had:

The MGM movie has a lot of deleted scenes and songs, that were recorded but not included in the movie. Hopefully a lot of them were released online and can be easily found on Youtube, or elsewhere on the Internet. Most of them were cool reprises that were cut short for time: for example the song "The Wicked Witch is Dead" had a reprise after the death of the Witch of the West, sung first by the Winkies Guards and then morphing into the song being sung by the Emerald City denizens (fragments of this reprise were still used in trailers for the movie). There is also the very famous "Over the Rainbow" reprise that a scared, crying Dorothy was to sing while trapped in the Witch of the West's castle, before the Witch taunted her with an image of Aunt Em in the crystal ball. The reprise is REALLY touching and Judy Garland really put her best in there. There are also alternate takes which reveal a lot about what the movie was intended to be - for example we have alternate records of the "Lollypop Guild" which shows that the high-pitched voice of the final movie was actually an intent to create a "little boys" voice, to match the little girls of the Lullaby League.

The most famous of all these deleted songs is without a doubt the "Jitterbug" song. It was only cut at the last minute, and this brutal removal leaves bizarre remnants in the final movie (for example the Witch says she "sent a bug" to take care of Dorothy and her friends ; and when the Flying Monkey arrive they look sweating and exhausted). This was because originally the Wicked Witch of the West was supposed to send to the heroic party a magical bug (the titular "Jitterbug") that would have forced them to dance until exhaustion, so the Winged Monkeys could easily pick them up. This was however removed out of fear this would date the movie, and they were very much right... Because the entire pun on which the scene relies does not work anymore today: the "Jitterbug" being a specific style of dance very popular in the 1930s and 1940s, but that stopped existing beyond the 1960s. However the "Jitterbug song" earned enough of a fame to get included into the recent "Tom and Jerry" animated movie of "The Wizard of Oz".

Originally, a child-actress was envisioned for Dorothy, and the first choice was Shirley Temple. She declined (but she would later play the role of Tip/Ozma in a Marvelous Land of Oz production). When Judy Garland was cast, there were attempts at giving her a makeup that would make her look more like a child - but everybody pointed out it made her into a ridiculous "baby doll". The first plans were also to have Dorothy be blond, as she was in later Oz books.

Everybody knows the iconic, creepy look of the Wicked Witch of the West, but did you know she was supposed to be... beautiful? One of the main and biggest inspirations for the MGM movie was the huge success of Disney's Snow-White and the Seven Dwarfs. Since they attempt to recreate it, their original plan for the Wicked Witch of the West was to have her be a beautiful villainess evoking the Evil Queen of Disney. The original actres cast for this "glamorous witch" was Gale Sondergaar, and we still have shots of her in costume. However it was later decided to make the witch into an uglier, more grotesque character evoking a traditional fairytale hag. Mervy LeRoy was the one who wanted to have the "glamorous, sexy" witch but many (among which Arthur Freed) defended the idea that the witch had to be like Disney's old crone, not evil queen... So they decided to recast the role - leading to the arrival of the one of a kind Margaret Hamilton.

Speaking of the Wicked Wich: One of the original plans for the character was to have her be the Oz counterpart of... Aunt Em. Indeed, no Miss Gulch of any kind. Early on, Aunt Em was considered to be a meaner and colder caretaker to Dorothy, and the one who wanted to get rid of Toto - which explains why she became the Wicked Witch of Oz. (This idea was by Langley, the one who also had the idea of making Dorothy's companions into the farm-helps of Kansas) The Wicked Witch also had a son, Bulbo, an ugly and dim-witted man she wanted to make King of Oz, and who was... the counterpart of Uncle Henry. Later, when the character of Miss Gulch was created, she was given a son named Walter to match Bulbo, before the character was scrapped altogether.

The Jitterbug scene was actually a left-over of a much earlier version of the movie which would have put a strong emphasis on the "musical aspect". This version wanted Oz to be under the tyranny of a spoiled brat of a princess that would have outlawed all forms of music that were not classical music and opera ; young and hip Dorothy, however, would have brought the swing and the jazz from the 1930s USA and used it to win over the princess in a singing duel, and becoming a hero in Oz. Who would have played the princess? I had conflicting reports: some say Deanna Durbin (one of the early candidates for playing Dorothy, alongside Shirley Temple) was considered for the role ; others said it would have been Betty Jaynes playing a certan "Princess Betty".

The earliest version of the script we have (created by William H. Cannon) was heavily inspired by the 1925's Wizard of Oz movie (because yes, there were Wizard of Oz movies before the MGM one), and wanted to remove all forms of magic and supernatural from the story. The brainless scarecrow would have been a man so dumb the only job he could find was to scare crows in fields ; the Tin Man was supposed to be a heartless criminal that the law had forced to wear a suit of tin as a punishment, punishment which did encourage him to learn kindness...

Oh yes, everybody noted in the final movie how Dorothy favorizes the Scarecrow above the other companions. This is a remnant of the scenario drafts wher the final scene of the movie would have been the teary farewell of Dorothy to Hunk, as he leaves for agricultural college and she promises him to write him every day - implying a romance between the two...

People might note a bizarre editing during the scene of the companions freeing Dorothy - such as the door being axed down not corresponding to the door the group escapes from. This is due to yet another cut sequence: the door the companions axed down was to be a trap by the Wicked Witch, who was to imitate Dorothy's voice and song to lure the companions. Once she had captured the three friends, she would have used them as baits, forcing them to call out for Dorothy and to encourag her to take a magical "rainbow bridge" that appeared out of nowhere... Except said bridge would have been created by the Wicked Witch's magic, and while the rainbow was solid enough to walk onto for a certan distance, at one point it returned to being just light. The Witch hoped to kill Dorothy by doing this - but didn't count on the Ruby Slippers' magic actually preventing Dorothy from falling through the rainbow.

Before it was decided to have Glinda send snow to kill the cursed poppies, the original concept was that the Tin Man's tears would have awakened Dorothy (an idea that, as people pointed out, was reused in "The Wiz").

There was at one point plans for the Cowardly Lion to actually be just a... a regular lion that tagged along as a sort of pet with the team, and had dubbed lines, to be revealed as "Prince Florizel", a Prince Charming-type of character that had been cursed under the shape of a lion, and would in the end have married his lover, princess Sylvia (this version was one of Noel Langley's, and very influenced by traditional fairytales). This version most notably pushed Dorothy into being a secondary character: it was the Prince/Lion who was to kill the Witch, by somehow cutting her broom so it would fall into pieces while in the air. There was also a dragon the prince was supposed to fight. This version, being Langley's, was the one that included the Witch having a son (see above). In the older versions of this story, the Witch's plan to make Bulbo king of Oz was to have him marry princess Sylvia, heir to the Ozian throne (hence why Florizel's feud with the Witch is personal) ; later it was changed to the Witch planning to attack the Emerald City and dethrone the Wizard with an army of men, wolves and winged monkeys.

When the MGM learned that Disney was working on their own adaptation of the Wizard of Oz back then, there were brief talks of the two studios uniting their efforts to make a half-live-action, half-animated movie.

During the scene where the Wicked Witch threatens the companions at the cottage in the forest, the Witch was supposed to threaten the Tin Man by briefly turning him into a "beehive", aka filling him with bees, and after crushing one of the insects the Tin Man would have cried, causing his jaw to rust and be blocked.

Early on, there were plans to keep Oz as an actual magical place that truly existed - but the movie-makers of the time considered fantasy was not "sophisticated" and "serious" enough for the audiences, and so they added the entire idea of Oz being shown as a dream-world so adults could "buy" the movie.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Red Sky At Morning | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Discussions of healing from a sexual assault (proceed with caution if this is triggering for you!!! I love you!! Take care of yourself!!!), canon violence, canon gore, spitting insults back and forth with Bela, discussions of dead family members

Word Count: 7523

A/N: I snuck a New Girl reference in here… see if you can catch it ;) Also… there is heavy homoerotic subtext between Bela and (Y/N). Giving my loyal subjects what they deserve lmfao

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Your mind refused to let you rest after seeing Sam leaving in the middle of the night. Despite your exhaustion, you stayed near the window until you saw the car return to its original parking spot around three in the morning. And sure enough, Sam walked out of it, looking severely pissed off. 

‘I’m guessing he didn’t just have a bad hookup,’ you mentally remarked. You stewed for a few more minutes on what he could’ve possibly gone to do before sleep finally came to claim you. You settled into bed next to Dean with a yawn, and his lips twitched upwards in his sleep when you wound your arms around him. 

***

The next morning around seven, you woke up to see Dean shuffling around and packing. 

“Look at you, early bird,” you said dryly, stretching. 

He turned slightly over his shoulder and smiled at you. “We gotta talk about Sam.”

You sat up, immediately alert. “Yeah, I know. I saw him leave last night.”

“And now, one of the bullets is missing from the Colt,” Dean huffed. “Dammit, Sam.”

“Let me take the lead on this one, okay?” you urged Dean, moving to the bathroom to brush your teeth and messy hair. “Promise I’ll let you get your two cents in, but I wanna see if he’ll fess up to it first.”

Dean seemed hesitant, but you saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror nod anyway. He approached you and gave you a kiss on the side of the head; you assumed in assurance that he would do what you said. 

***

Night fell, and none of you had said a word to each other. You sat in the back seat, of course, and Sam was in the passenger’s. You leaned back on the cool leather with crossed arms, waiting for someone to break. 

Finally, you’d had enough. “Got somethin’ you wanna tell us, Sam?”

He turned to you, and it was evident he was playing dumb. “It’s not your birthday, is it?”

You quirked a brow, unamused. “No.”

“...Happy Purim?” he laughed. “Dude, I don't know. I have no idea what you're talking about—”

Dean cut him off, seeming not to be able to help himself. “There's a bullet missing from the Colt. You want to tell me how that happened? I know it wasn't me. I know it wasn’t her. So unless you were shooting at some incredibly evil cans—”

“Dean…” Sam sighed. 

“You went after the crossroads demon, huh?” you said as more of a statement than a question. 

“After I told you not to,” Dean added harshly.

“Yeah, well…”

“You could have gotten yourself killed!” Dean roared.

“I didn’t,” Sam argued.

“And you shot her.”

“She was a smartass!”

Dean waited a moment, trying to gain his composure. “So, what? Does that— Does that mean I'm out of my deal?”

“Don't you think I might have mentioned that little fact, Dean?” Sam scoffed. “No. Someone else holds the contract.”

“I do believe I already told you that,” you reminded the boys. “And no one will fucking say who.”

“Of course, our best lead would be the crossroads demon. Oh, wait a minute…” Dean snarked. 

“That's not funny,” Sam said dryly. 

“No, it's not!” Dean yelled. “It was a stupid fuckin’ risk, and you shouldn't have done it.”

“I shouldn't have done it?” Sam challenged. “You're my brother, Dean. And no matter what you do, I'm gonna try and save you. And I'm sure as hell not gonna apologize for it, alright?”

The rest of the drive to the next case you’d stumbled upon was completely silent. 

***

You and the Winchesters posed as detectives once more to interview the great-aunt of the woman who’d drowned in the shower. The witness seemed particularly interested in Sam, which you were struggling to hold back a smile over. 

“But I don't understand,” the elegant, elderly woman said. “I already went over all this with the other detectives.”

“Right, yes,” Dean replied. “But, see, we're with the sheriff's department, not the police department – different departments.”

“So, Mrs. Case—”

“Please.” The woman’s voice had suddenly dropped an octave, likely attempting to seem sultry. “Ms. Case.”

Sam looked intensely uncomfortable. “Okay. Um, Ms. Case, um, you were the one who found your niece, correct?”

She nodded. “I came home; she was in the shower.”

“Drowned?” Sam asked.

“So the coroner says. Now, you tell me, how can someone drown in the shower?” Ms. Case’s eyes refused to leave Sam. 

“How would you describe Sheila's behavior in the days before her death? I mean, did she seem frightened? Maybe she said something out of the ordinary, or—”

Ms. Case suddenly cut Sam off. “Wait a minute. You're working with Alex, aren't you?”

Before you could voice your confusion, Dean started talking. “Yep. Absolutely. That's—” he laughed, “Alex and us, we're like this.”

“Why didn't you say so?” Ms. Case grinned. “Alex has been such a comfort. But I’m sorry, I thought the case was solved.”

You shook your head. “No, not yet.” “I see.” The woman seemed a bit dazed.

Sam cleared his throat. “So, anyways, we were talking about your niece.”

“Well, yes. Sheila mentioned something quite strange before she died. She said she saw a boat,” the woman explained. 

“A boat?” you questioned.

“Yes. One minute it was there, then it was gone. It just disappeared right before her eyes. You think it could be a…” the woman trailed off, seeming to search for the word, “—ghost ship? Alex thinks it could be a ghost ship.” You noticed that the elderly woman’s eyes still had not left Sam. 

The younger Winchester seemed thrown off by her intensity, and he coughed awkwardly. “Well, um, could be.”

“Well. You let me know if there's anything else I can do for you—” she traced her hand down Sam’s slowly, and you and Dean had to bite back smiles— “Anything at all.”

***

Your laughter burst out as soon as you got down the street and far enough away from the house that the old woman couldn’t see you. 

“What a crazy old broad,” Dean chuckled.

“Why? Because she believes in ghosts?” Sam scoffed.

You and his brother laughed louder. “Look at you, sticking up for your girlfriend. You cougar hound.”

“Bite me,” Sam grumbled. 

“No thanks,” you smirked, “bet she will, though.”

“So, who's this Alex? We got another player in town?” Dean questioned.

The brunet shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Doesn't change our job.”

“And what looked like a ghost ship, right?” 

“Yeah. It's not the first one sighted around here, either.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Really?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Every thirty-seven years, like clockwork, reports of a vanishing three-mast clipper ship out in the bay. And every thirty-seven years, a rash of weirdo, dry-land drownings.”

“So, whatever's happening is just getting started,” Dean sighed. “What's the lore?”

“Well, there are apparitions of old wrecks sighted all over the world. The S.S. Violet, the Griffin, the Flying Dutchman; almost all of them are death omens.”

“So, what happens? You see the ship and then a few hours later, you pucker up and kiss your ass goodbye?” the older brother snarked. 

“Basically,” shrugged Sam. 

“Next step?” you asked him. 

“I gotta I.D. the boat.”

“That shouldn't be too hard. I mean, how many three-mast clipper ships have wrecked off the coast?” you replied.

“I checked that, too, actually. Over one-hundred and fifty.”

“Oh, great!” you sarcastically noted. 

You and the Winchesters approached an empty parking spot, and you got increasingly confused as you did.

“This is where we parked the car, right?” Dean asked. 

“For sure,” you nodded. 

“Where's my car?” Dean growled. 

“Did you feed the meter?” Sam questioned. 

Dean’s voice began to rise in a panic. “Yes, I fed the meter. Guys, where's my car? Somebody stole my car!”

“Whoa, Dean!” you said, grabbing his arm and trying to keep him from pacing. 

“Somebody stole my ca—” Dean bent over to clutch his knees to calm down. 

“The '67 Impala? Was that yours?” A familiar voice slyly asked. 

“Oh, you bitch,” you grumbled, looking up to see Bela Talbot.

“I'm sorry. I had that car towed,” she said. 

Dean shot up. “You what?!” 

“Well, it was in a tow-away zone,” Bela replied simply. 

“No, it wasn’t!” Dean argued. 

“It was when I finished with it,” she smirked.

“What the hell are you even doing here?” the older brother questioned pointedly.

“A little yachting,” she responded flippantly. 

You clicked your tongue, realizing something. “You’re Alex. Workin’ with that old lady.”

“Gert's a dear old friend,” Bela nodded.

“Yeah, right. What's your angle?” Dean cut his eyes at her.

“There's no angle. There's a lot of lovely old women like Gert up and down the eastern seaboard. I sell them charms, perform séances so they can commune with their dead cats,” Bela grinned.

“And let me guess, it's all a con, none of it's real.”

“The comfort I provide them is very real.”

Sam jumped in finally. “How do you sleep at night?” 

“On silk sheets, rolling naked in money,” she scoffed. “Really, Sam. I'd expect the attitude from him, but you?”

“You shot me!”

“I barely grazed you.”

“She is right,” you murmured.

Bela turned to you. “Cute. But a bit of a drama queen, yeah?” 

“You do know what's going on around here. This ghost-ship thing, it is real,” Dean pressed.

“I'm aware. Thanks for telling Gert the case wasn't solved, by the way,” she said.

Dean looked at her like she was stupid. “It isn't.”

“She didn't know that. Now the old bag's stopped payment, and she's demanding some real answers. Look, just stay out of my way before you cause any more trouble. I'd get to that car if I were you. Before they find the arsenal in the trunk.” Bela turned around and smiled over her shoulder. “Ciao.”

You and the Winchesters watched her go. 

“Can I shoot her?” Dean growled. 

“Not in public,” you and Sam replied. 

***

You encountered Bela once more the next day when another man had been killed. She was posing as a reporter, but you and the brothers managed to shoo her away from the victim’s brother. Unfortunately for him, he’d seen the ship as well. 

Thankfully, you’d gotten the car back, and you headed over to it after questioning the man. It was parked a distance off from the buzzing crime scene, enabling Dean to begin loading shotguns in the back of his car. 

“I see you got your car back,” Bela’s frustratingly beautiful voice cooed. 

“You really want to come near me when I got a loaded gun in my hands?” Dean growled. 

“Now, now. Mind your blood pressure,” she quipped. “Why are you even still here? You have enough to I.D. the boat.”

“That guy back there saw the ship,” you explained. 

“Yeah? And?” 

You blinked at her, slightly stunned by her coldness. “And he’s going to die. We have to help him.”

“How sweet,” she mockingly pouted. 

“What is wrong with you, man?” you asked her. 

She ignored you. “He's cannon fodder. He can't be saved in time, and you know it.”

“But why not at least try?” you argued. 

“Yeah, well, I'm actually going to find the ship and put an end to this. But you have fun,” she grinned tightly. 

Sam and Dean moved to either side of the car, but you weren’t done with her yet. 

Dean seemed to know what you were up to as he watched you intently, saying,

“(Y/N)—” but it was too late. 

“Look, I don’t know what happened to you to make you such a heartless bitch, but I really and truly hope you heal from it soon. ‘Cause you’re a completely miserable person to be around,” you called after her. 

She turned around to you sharply with her arms crossed. “Don't you dare look down your nose at me. You're not better than I am.”

You shook your head. “I don’t think I am. In fact, I know I’m not. But at least I own it and try to be better.”

“Come on,” Bela scoffed. “You do this out of vengeance and obsession. You're all a stone's throw from being serial killers. Whereas I, on the other hand, I get paid to do a job, and I do it. So, you tell me, which is healthier?”

“Oh, god, if I didn’t hate you so much, we’d be such good friends,” you said, a lilt of sincerity in your voice. “But I gotta tell you, man, I’m really not concerned with which is healthier. I’m not even concerned with which is more “morally ethical.” What just… puzzles me about you is how you think that nasty attitude shields you.

"These two might not be able to see it,” you continued, nodding at Sam and Dean, “but I do. You are quite genuinely disappointed in yourself. I get it. The economy sucks, the bees are dying, and movies are all pretty much sequels now. Gotta put food on the table some kind of way. But why do it your way when you can’t even stand to look at yourself in the mirror? Pride. Because without your money and your attitude, you know you’re not half the woman you claim to be.”

“You talk too much,” Bela spat, clearly affected by your words. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“All the time,” you smirked. “See ya around, Alex.”

***

Later that night, you and the Winchesters decided to stake out the home of Peter Warren, the man you’d spoken to earlier. He was next on the chopping block, and you desperately hoped you’d be able to stop the ghost in time. 

You knew that whatever Sam and Dean were talking about, they would catch you up later. And so, you decided to let your thoughts drag you into your own mind. 

You were aware of how harsh you’d been on Bela. The truth be told, you didn’t hate her at all. In fact, you admired her ambition. However, everything you’d told her had all been your real perception of her. You knew that everything about her was a facade. And for some reason, she really got under your skin. 

You supposed it was because you saw yourself in her. Maybe, if things had been different for you, you would have ended up just like her. Maybe you didn’t like seeing your reflection in her. 

“Hey, you!” someone called from outside the Impala. 

“I think we've been made,” Dean said to you and Sam. 

You followed him across the road to where Peter stood, yelling.

“What are you guys doing?! You watching me?”

“Sir, calm down. Please,” Sam coaxed, but to no avail. 

“You guys aren't cops!” he continued. “Not dressed like that. Not— Not in that crappy car.”

“Whoa, hey. No need to get nasty.” Dean cut his eyes at Peter.

“We are cops, okay? We're undercover,” Sam bluffed easily. “We're here because we think you're in danger.”

“From who?!”

“If you just settle down, we'll talk about it.” Sam led you and his brother into the gate, backing Peter closer to his car.

“Look, you guys just stay away from me!” Peter exclaimed, getting into the vehicle to drive it toward the gate.

“Wait!” you called.

“Hey, you moron! We're trying to help you!”

“Not helping, Dean!”

As the car approached the gate, it shuddered, coughed weakly, and died. 

“That can't be good,” Dean noted. 

“Not at all,” you replied. “Get the salt gun.” Next, you ran to the car to help Peter. In the seat behind him, a man with sunken eyes and dripping wet, long, black hair dressed in old sailor’s clothes appeared. Then, it was next to Peter in the passenger’s seat. You tugged on the handle with all your might, but it wouldn’t budge. Horrified, you watched as Peter slumped to the steering wheel with water pouring from his lips. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean called from behind you. 

You ducked just in time for Dean to fire at the ghost from the passenger’s side door. 

Reaching through the broken glass, you hurriedly unlocked the door. You immediately dragged Peter out onto the concrete and put your head to his chest, listening for a pulse. He had none, but you tried CPR anyway. Of course, it was no use. Defeated, you looked up at Dean with sad eyes. 

“Dammit!” he growled, kicking the car in frustration. 

***

You hadn’t spoken much after leaving Peter behind. It felt awful to leave him on the ground, but there wasn’t much you could do with his body if you wanted to evade suspicion. 

Luckily, Dean had found a house to squat in a few days earlier, and that was where you were readying for bed. 

The house had clearly not been lived in for some time, and you were thankful you made the brothers start keeping air mattresses on them for instances like these. 

You and Dean took the upstairs bedroom, and Sam slept in the one downstairs. The house was still furnished, but dust covered every surface. You decided to leave the cleaning for tomorrow and opted for a “ho bath” as your mother used to call them since you refused to step foot in the unclean shower. 

Cross-legged on the air mattress, the hair you were in the midst of combing through waved gently in the wind coming through the open window. 

“You wanna say it, or should I?” Dean raised an eyebrow at you as he entered the room after his shower. 

You tilted your head at him, confused. 

“You can’t save everybody, sweetheart,” he reminded you. 

“Dean—” You rolled your eyes. 

“What? Don’t gimme that. I know you were thinkin’ it,” Dean said, getting down onto the mattress next to you. He lounged back on the crook of his arm behind his head, leaning against the wall. 

You couldn’t meet his eyes and kept your body facing the open window on the adjacent wall. “I just… It feels like I can’t save anybody lately.”

Dean stared at you intently; you could feel his gaze burning a hole in the side of your head. 

You returned to brushing your hair, and he sat up to sweep it all over your shoulder opposite him. Dean kissed your newly-exposed neck gently, as if he was savoring the way you felt against his lips. Your brushing slowed, and you tilted your neck further to give him more access. 

He kissed up to your mouth; his kiss gentle there, too. When he broke away from you, Dean leaned his forehead against yours. 

“What are you doing to me, sweetheart?” His voice rumbled lowly in his chest, almost as if you weren’t supposed to hear him say that.

You responded by nudging his nose with yours and then pecking his lips. 

Something in the way the two of you kissed felt somber. Granted, almost every day recently seemed to have a somber element. Every day meant one step closer to Dean’s time being up. It was the elephant in the room that was only acknowledged for fleeting moments. And when one did acknowledge it, the other would beg for it to be over. While both of you knew talking about the situation was necessary, neither of you could bear it for longer than a few minutes every once in a while. 

You brought this up to Sam the next morning, who sat with you on the couch as the sun rose while Dean continued to sleep. 

“I think he just wants to be with you,” Sam said. “I mean, with Jess… when I was dreaming about her dying, all I wanted to do was be with her. To… reassure me that wasn’t real. Or, wasn’t real yet, I guess.”

You nodded. “And I don’t necessarily want to talk about it for extended periods of time. Talking about it makes me feel more in control, I think. I just don’t like feeling fucking helpless.”

“Trust me, I don’t either. And Dean definitely doesn’t. I tend to micromanage more than he does, but…” he shrugged, trailing off. 

“I have something else to tell you,” you began, wondering if you should even continue. 

“Go ‘head.”

“Back at that… prison. The guard I beat up? He, um, he raped me.”

“Oh, my god,” Sam breathed out. “God, (Y/N/N), I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine. That’s not the point.” You scrubbed your hands down your thighs anxiously. “I’m telling you because I don’t wanna talk to Dean about it. I mean, with the deal and everything else going on… I almost don’t wanna burden him with it? I mean, he knows, obviously, but… I don’t know, I just feel like I have no right to be struggling compared to him.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Sam scolded gently. “(Y/N), neither of us could ever imagine what that’s like. And if my idiot brother is making you feel that way—”

“No, no, he’s not—”

“—Good! ‘Cause I’d kill ‘im if he was,” Sam finished. It was honestly the most riled up you’d seen him in a while. 

“Thanks, Sammy,” you smiled weakly. “It’s just… it’s all so much right now. I wanna enjoy every second of my time with Dean. But between the deal and hunts and… that and everything else on the goddamn planet consuming me every second of the fucking day, it’s really hard to.”

Sam eyed you sympathetically.

Before he could respond, you took in a shaky breath, steadying yourself. “Anyway, what’s up with Peter and his brother? I know you researched ‘em yesterday while I was zoned out in the back of the car.”

Sam still seemed like he was wrapped up in your earlier conversation, but he knew better than to force you to keep talking about. “Oh, yeah, uh… they came into, like, a hundred and twelve million after their dad passed. That was really the only thing interesting. Everything else about ‘em was clean,” he informed you. 

“Huh,” you considered. “Any connection between the vics?”

Sam pursed his lips. “Far as I can tell, no.”

“Awesome,” you dryly stated. 

You then heard a groan come from upstairs as someone began to descend the staircase. 

“Morning, Dee,” you called up. 

All you got was a grunt in response. 

***

You sat with your knees pulled to your chest, wrapped by Dean’s arms as he held you to his side. The two of you were just sitting with each other and thinking; a pastime that you were becoming quite fond of.

Dean’s lazy circles he was tracing on your outer leg stopped at a knock on the door. 

You shot Dean a look and stood, grabbing your gun off the worn coffee table. You pressed it to the back of the door and peered through the peephole to unfortunately see Bela. At this revelation, you made a face at Sam and opened the door. 

She strolled right in. “Dear... god. Are you actually squatting? Charming.” Her self-satisfied smirk never left her face. “So, how'd things go last night with Peter?”

You refused to dignify her with a response as did Sam and Dean. 

“That well, huh?” she taunted. “If you say 'I told you so,’ I swear to god; I'll start swinging,” Dean growled. 

“Look, I think the four of us should have a heart-to-heart,” she sighed. 

“Oh, sure. We can sing kumbaya while we’re at it,” you quipped. “Cut to the chase, Bela.”

“Temper, temper,” she tsked. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Such as?” Sam questioned.

“I've ID'd the ship.” She unwrapped a leather case containing a quite elaborate file. She spread the papers within it across the table. “It's the Espírito Santo: a merchant sailing vessel; quite a colorful history. In 1859 a sailor was accused of treason. He was tried aboard ship in a kangaroo court and hanged. He was thirty-seven.”

“Which would explain the thirty-seven year cycle,” Sam noted.

“Aren’t you a sharp tack?”

You snapped, “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

She ignored your comment. “There's a photo of him somewhere…” she flipped through the file and finally settled on a picture of a much drier version of the man you’d seen last night.

Dean looked to Sam. “Isn't that the customer we saw last night?” 

“You saw him?” For once, Bela seemed surprised. 

“Yeah, that's him, except he was missing a hand,” the older brother nodded. 

“His right hand?” Bela questioned.

“How'd you know?” you returned. 

“The sailor's body was cremated, but not before they cut off his hand to make a hand of glory,” she explained. 

Dean childishly laughed. “A hand of glory? I think I got one of those at the end of my Thai massage last week.”

“Dean, the right hand of a hanged man is a serious occult object. It's very powerful,” Sam lightly chastised. 

Bela rolled her eyes. “So they say.”

“And officially counts as remains,” Dean considered. 

Sam’s eyebrows pinched together. “But still, none of this explains why the ghost is choosing these victims.”

“I'll tell you why. Who cares?” Bela said curtly. “Find the hand, burn it, and stop the bloody thing.”

“I don't get it. Why are you telling us all of this?” you asked.

“Because I know exactly where the hand is,” she nodded. 

“Where?”

“At the Sea Pines Museum. It's a macabre bit of maritime history. But I need help,” she said, closing up the file.

Sam crossed his arms. “What kind of help?”

The woman smiled. You hated how charming her smile was. You wanted to hate her so badly, but she was growing on you.

‘Definitely like a wart. Maybe a fungal infection,’ you thought.

***

“I hate this plan,” you said. 

“I don’t think you realize how often you say that,” Dean returned. 

You glared up at him while you helped adjust his tie. He looked completely beautiful, and you wanted nothing more than to keep him here with you and ravish his body. 

Bela’s brilliant plan was bringing Dean as her date and forcing Sam to go with Ms. Case to a charity event. However, given Bela and Ms. Case could only take one guest each, you were forced to sit this one out. Or, at least, that was what Bela thought; you knew she could’ve gotten you in if she really wanted to. You knew she was attempting to humiliate you or put you in your place after what you said to her. However, if there was one thing you knew, it was how to crash a party.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” Dean asked you. 

“You,” you smiled lopsidedly up at him. 

He smirked down at you and kissed you. He held you by your waist as close to him as he could get you, and you returned the gesture by gripping his lapels. 

“What is taking so long?” Bela called up the stairs, forcing you and Dean apart. “Sam's already halfway there... with his date.”

“So not okay with this!” Dean yelled back, and you giggled, resting your forehead on his chest.

“What are you, a woman? Come down already.”

Dean looked at you— for approval? For reassurance?— and headed down the stairs. He adjusted his cufflinks with you trailing just behind him in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Bela looked beautiful in her evening gown and glittering jewels, of course, and you hated her all the more for it. 

“Alright, get it out,” Dean encouraged you and Bela. “I look ridiculous.”

“Not exactly the word I'd use,” Bela sighed. 

Dean’s nose crinkled in disgust. “What?”

“Y’know, when this is over, we should really have angry sex,” Bela stated plainly.

“Don’t objectify him!” you cut her off; perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. 

Both Dean and Bela stared at you in questioning. 

“Let’s go,” Dean told Bela. “See ya, sweetheart,” he called back to you as he followed Bela out the door. He tossed one more longing look at you over his shoulder before closing the door behind him. 

You immediately sprinted back up the stairs and took out the evening gown you’d been hiding in your duffel bag. 

***

After having snuck into the party through a window on the back of the museum that security had neglected to cover a door anywhere near, you casually slipped down the hall into the ballroom. 

You could see Dean, Bela, and Sam bickering near the entrance to the grand ballroom, and you smiled lopsidedly at the sight. Sam then caught sight of you moving through the crowds of people toward them thanks to his superhuman height, as did Bela and then, Dean. Bela crossed her arms angrily, but you were focused on Dean and trying to fight a smile off your face. 

Dean seemed to be breathless. “Damn, (Y/N).” 

“Damn, yourself.” You turned to Bela. “Great party,” you commented, taking a glass of champagne off a passing tray. 

“Thought you were supposed to be waiting back at the house,” Bela replied. 

“And miss all the fun? No thanks,” you smirked, taking a sip and staining the glass with red lipstick. 

Ms. Case then came up behind Sam holding two glasses of champagne. Before he knew it, he was being whisked away by his date. You giggled at the sight, and Bela rolled her eyes. “C’mon,” she told Dean. 

You were delighted, actually. For once, you got to enjoy a fancy party without having to partake in the hunt or any sort of planning the heist. All you had to do was make sure no one got arrested. 

You hung back on a far wall, sipping your beverage and watching a disgruntled Sam dance with a very handsy Ms. Case. 

‘Dean would be pissing himself,’ you thought, giggling at the sight. 

The next thing you knew, the old woman was whispering in Sam’s ear. You had to cover your mouth with your hand to keep the laugh from bursting out. 

And then, your joy was smothered. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” a man said, having come up next to you. 

“Go away, please,” you snapped, beginning to feel tension grip your throat. You weren’t sure what it was about him, but he was reminding you of what happened to you at the prison. Perhaps it was the way he approached you?

“Okay, then, Jesus,” he muttered and was gone soon after. 

Your breathing began to slow, but your discomfort continued. Your heart rate remained elevated, and your mind felt in a fog. You returned your focus to Sam and Ms. Case once more trying to keep your mind grounded in the present. 

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your elbow. You whipped around and threw a punch, catching the attention of several people around you.

“Whoa!” Dean said, catching your wrist and dodging your fist. 

Gaze landing on those beautiful green eyes and freckles that you had come to love so much, your breathing finally slowed. You began regaining awareness of the world around you and tried not to shrink under the stares of the wealthy around you.

“Way to not draw attention there, (Y/N),” Bela commented. 

Eyes like daggers, your head snapped toward her. “Watch your fucking mouth,” you hissed.

She seemed to realize she’d crossed a boundary, and she backed off. “I’m gonna go get Gert a cold shower,” she quipped, her pride refusing to admit she knew she was wrong. 

You stared after Bela mindlessly, and Dean put his first and middle finger under your chin to turn your face back to him. Your eyelashes flickered, and he searched your face for clues as to what triggered you. 

Sam came up beside you and Dean. “Guys? Uh, hate to interrupt, but… let’s get outta here.” 

You and Dean followed his gaze to one of the women you’d seen whispering and pointing at you after you threw a punch at Dean talking to a security guard and pointing at your trio. Dean instantly grabbed your hand and began leading you out of the museum. 

When you arrived at the car, Sam turned to you. “You okay? Saw you try to deck Dean back there.”

“Yeah, uh… this guy just—” you ran a hand through your hair and sighed— “Nevermind. Let’s see the hand.”

Both boys dropped it, although you knew Sam would probe you further later. 

“Yeah, tell me I didn't get groped all night by Mrs. Havisham for nothing,” the younger brother commented. 

“I got it... Mrs. Who?” Dean wondered. 

You giggled. “Great Expectations?” you prompted.

Dean just stared at you blankly. 

“Charles Dickens?”

He blinked. 

“Dude, did you pay any attention in high school English?” Sam scoffed.

“Sure I did!” the older brother defended. “Caroline Stone sat in front of me; she was my tutor. Fucked her in the janitor’s closet and everything—”

“Oh, yeah, you were definitely paying attention to something,” you deadpanned, lightly flicking him on the shoulder. 

He rustled around in his suit jacket, rolling his eyes, and took out something wrapped in a handkerchief. Dean’s amused expression soon melted into aggravation as he did so.

“What?” you and Sam asked worriedly. 

The older Winchester held up a glass bottle with a miniature ship rocking around in it. “I'm gonna kill her.”

Behind Dean, you saw something on the horizon line. The museum was expectedly located near the water given its emphasis on seafaring history, and your heart dropped when you realized what was happening. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered under your breath. “Dean— Dean, I see it.”

“See what?” he asked, following your gaze. 

“The fucking ship, Dean. It’s the fucking ship,” you breathed out.

“(Y/N), that’s it,” Sam realized.

“What’s it?” you questioned frantically, eyes still on the water.

“Ms. Case said the Warrens? The brothers? It was rumored they killed their father for his money. And Sheila? She got in a car accident. Her cousin Brian was with her, and he died. That’s the pattern.”

You nodded slowly. “Killing family members. Awesome.” You shook your head, turning to the expensive car next to you. “Fuck!” you yelled, punching the door of the car. 

***

You paced around the room, Sam trying his best to keep you and Dean calm while he researched. 

“Y’know what, you’re right. I'm not gonna kill her. I think slow torture's the way to go,” Dean growled. “I’ll fuckin’ string her up, I swear to—”

“Dean, look, you gotta relax,” Sam sighed, although he seemed stressed as well. 

“Relax!” Dean laughed coldly. “Oh yeah, yeah, I'll relax. My fuckin’ girl’s just on Davy Jones’s hit list, and I can’t do anything to stop him because I lost the only fuckin’ thing we could use to save her. Fuck!” There was suddenly a frantic knocking on the door. Disgust burning in your eyes when you looked through the peephole, you opened the door for Bela. 

“Just let me explain,” she said. “I sold it. I had a buyer lined up as soon as I knew it existed.” 

Dean was completely furious, and he stalked around her. He made a shooting motion with his fingers which would’ve pulled a smile for you had it not been for your situation. 

“So you needed a cover for the charity ball,” you spat. “And we were convenient.”

She nodded reluctantly.

“Look, you sold it to a buyer. Just go buy it back,” Sam implored. 

Bela shook her head woefully. “It's halfway across the ocean. I can't get it back in time.”

“In time for what?” Dean questioned. 

Realization struck you, and you began laughing coldly. “Oh, okay. You saw it, too.”

She looked up at you, and for the first time since you’d met her, Bela looked terrified.

Dean whistled lowly. “Wow, you know, I- I knew you were an immoral, thieving, con-artist bitch, but just when I thought my opinion of you couldn't get any lower—”

“What are you talking about?” she cut him off. 

“We figured out the spirit’s motive,” Sam began, putting a photograph in front of Bela. “This is the captain of our ship. The one who hung our ghost boy.”

“So?” she prompted. 

“So they were brothers. Very Cain and Abel. So now our spirit, he's going after a very specific kind of target – people who've spilled their own family’s blood. See, first, there was Sheila who killed her cousin in the car accident, and the Warren brothers, who murdered their father for the inheritance. Then, (Y/N). And now you.”

“Oh, my god,” Bela breathed out, seeming to breeze right by the fact that you’d seen the ship, too. 

“So who was it, Bela? Hmm?” Dean taunted. “Who'd you kill? Was it Daddy? Your little sis, maybe?”

“It’s none of your business,” she defended weakly. 

“It is our fuckin’ business,” Dean snapped, suddenly leaning on the arms of her chair. “(Y/N) saw it, too. And I don’t give a damn about you. But (Y/N)... is…” he trailed off, shaking his head and hanging it low, seemingly overcome with emotion. “And you just sold the one thing that could possibly save her life.”

“Well,” Sam said, “maybe not the only thing.”

All three of you turned to face Sam questioningly. 

***

Kneeling on the soft grass beside the grave of the captain, you helped the boys set up a ritual circle under the light of the full moon. 

“Do you really think this is going to work?” Bela asked worriedly, standing to the side. She pulled her jacket around her shoulders tightly.

“Almost definitely not,” Dean grumbled, looking over at you. 

You smiled weakly at him trying to reassure him that you would be okay.

Thunder clapped unexpectedly, and the wind whistled around you. Rain began to pour, soaking you to the bone in an instant.

“Sammy! You better start reading!” Dean ordered, pulling you up from the ground and shielding you with his body.

The younger brother obeyed, and then, Bela shouted, “Behind you!”

Dean was immediately flung through the air away from you, and you wheeled around to see the ghost you’d seen at the Warren’s house. Before you could raise your gun to shoot him, he put his hands on either side of your head. Immediately, you began coughing up water. It felt like your throat was closing as the air slowly left your panicking body. 

Dean staggered over to you and tried to support you through your heaving, shuddering breaths. “Sammy, read faster!”

Black spots began to form in your vision, and you were sure it was the end. Then, the rain died down. The wind billowed gently, and the spirit’s head turned slowly toward a creaking sound.

“You... hanged me!” the spirit cried at his brother. 

“I’m sorry,” the captain responded pitifully. 

“Your own brother.”

“I’m so sorry!”

The spirit charged his brother, leaving you a sputtering mess on the floor. You heard the two men scream, and then, they both went quiet. 

***

After parting ways with Bela for the evening, you returned to the house for a few hours of sleep. However, laying next to Dean— the moon illuminating his freckled skin and occasionally-fluttering eyelashes, breaths deep enough to move his chiseled shoulders along with his chest— you couldn’t sleep. Since he’d drifted off about an hour ago, you’d been lazily stroking his hair; the two of you facing each other. 

Then, Dean took in a deep breath, stretching out on his back. It became clear to you that he’d woken up, though his eyes remained closed, when he kissed the inside of your wrist. Soon enough, his breathing became steady once more. He kept you snuggled tightly into his right side; legs intertwined and breathing beginning to mirror each other’s. 

And then, it hit you: you’d felt oddly at peace, as much as you’d tried to deny it, when the ghost put his hands on the sides of your head. Even when you were in excruciating pain— lungs burning and eyes watering— you were almost relieved. Because if you’d died tonight, that meant you wouldn’t have to live without Dean. 

***

Given your realization the previous evening, you wandered around in a daze all morning. You had never enjoyed depending on others. Needing help was so pathetic in your mind, and you refused to ask for it. Despite the way you encouraged Dean to open up and accept help, you couldn’t take your own advice. After your mother’s devotion to your father led her to standing by idly while her two children were beaten black and blue, you swore that you would never let a man rule your life in any sense of the word. And now, Dean was consuming you. 

However, this devotion didn’t feel hopeless. It didn’t feel messy. You didn’t feel your essence deteriorating while he hacked away, carving space and indelibly marking your soul. This devotion was welcomed. Allowed. Encouraged. You were willingly handing your beating heart to him, and you knew you could take it back at any time.

Before Dean, you never trusted anyone. You would never have allowed someone to walk beside you through Hell before you met him. Try as others might have, Dean was the only person to mesh harmoniously with your body, mind, and soul. 

When Bela came to say her goodbyes, though, you forced yourself out of your thoughts. After she’d thoroughly amused Dean with the ten thousand dollars she gave the three of you to repay her debt, she swaggered out of the door. You surprised even yourself when you followed her out. 

“Bela!” you called.

She turned back to you. “Sorry, darling, all out of goodies for the day—”

“I don’t want your money,” you cut her off. “I wanted you to know that… whatever you did, I understand. The boys may never, but I saw the ship, too. Whether we like it or not, we’re pretty similar; you and me.”

She seemed stunned by your admission. 

“Take my number,” you told her, pressing a piece of paper into her hand. “If ever you feel like slummin’ it for a crappy beer in a dive bar. Or if you run into any more ghost ships.”

That stunned Bela even more as you turned on your heel and headed back inside. 

*** “Seriously? Atlantic City?” Sam scoffed. 

Dean had you speeding toward a casino with the money Bela gave you as night fell that evening. “Hell yeah! Play some roulette. Always bet on black.” He paused for a minute, allowing the air to shift in the car. “Hey listen, I've been doing some thinking. Um... I want you to know I understand why you did it. I understand why you went after the crossroads demon.”

Sam sighed, much to your surprise. You figured he’d be thankful to hear Dean’s admission. 

“Y’know, situation was reversed,” Dean continued, “I guess I'd 've done the same thing. I mean, I'm not blind, I see what you're going through with this whole deal; me going away and all that. But you're gonna be okay.”

Sam looked upset at that. “You think so.”

“Yeah, you'll keep hunting, y'know, you live your life. You’re stronger than me.” At Sam’s scoff, Dean exclaimed, “You are! You are. You'll get over it. But I want you to know I'm sorry, I’m sorry for... putting you through all this, I am.”

“Y’know what, Dean? Go fuck yourself,” Sam spat. 

“What?” Dean questioned. You were stunned as well.

“I don't want an apology from you! And by the way, I'm a big boy now, I can take care of myself,” Sam continued his tirade.

“Oh, well, excuse me,” Dean grumbled. 

“So would you please quit worrying about me?” Sam shouted over his brother. “I mean, that's the whole problem in the first place. I don't want you to worry about me, Dean, I want you to worry about you! I want you to give a crap that you’re dying!”

“He does, Sam, knock it off!” you jumped in for the first time. After all, it was you that had planted the seed to Dean that he should have apologized to Sam.

Dean said nothing, and you could tell by the smirk on his face that he wouldn’t be displaying vulnerability with Sam again for quite some time. 

“So, that's it? Nothing else to say for you?” Sam pushed. 

“I think maybe I'll play craps,” Dean stated.

Outraged, Sam just stared at him in complete disbelief. He turned to the window, and you continued to watch Dean. His smile faded to a steely, difficult-to-read expression.

Sighing, you settled stretched out across the seat and crossed your arms over your chest. Dean’s eyes met yours briefly in the rearview mirror, and you saw a flicker of his real feelings— hurt, betrayal, fear— cross his face before his expression returned to unreadable. 

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

[fallloverfic]

Kabru's retelling of Mithrun's backstory: Story versus Memory

I'm sure it's been brought up before, but I find it interesting that a number of Mithrun and Mithrun-adjacent theories I spot depend on the premise that what we see of Mithrun's backstory during Kabru and Mithrun's time together is factual, rather than a modified version seen through the lens of Kabru's retelling with the specific goal not of being accurate to events as they occurred, but to convince Laios of "the danger in demons." (p.77, Delicious in Dungeon World Guide: The Adventurer's Bible by Ryoko Kui, English translation). Obviously a lot of manga spoilers below.

Perhaps the only part of Mithrun's backstory prior to his rejoining the Canaries told in visual comic format rather than text that we know is accurate to how it happened (or at least absent Kabru's agenda-driven retelling) is the comic about Milsiril and Mithrun in the first Adventurer's Bible, Mithrun and the caretakers in Daydream Hour (no narrator is given for these, they are simply events shown), and panels 3-6 of p.76 of the first Adventurer's Bible, largely concerning Obrin, in essentially the only time we see Mithrun thinking about his backstory given comic form while Kabru is listening (I'm not including panel 7 because that part is a neat explanation for what the demon did but it's speculative on Mithrun's part). I also think the first page of chapter 62 of the manga is accurate to Mithrun's retelling, right before Kabru complains the story has too many characters on the following page, followed by, "We should pare it down", and we see an image of presumed edited Mithrun surrounded by the now edited and nondescript "others" (with past!Mithrun looking upset/nervous about the editing):

We then get insight into Kabru thinking, "I should get it straight in my mind..." While you could argue this is Kabru simply cutting out extraneous details/set dressing like "everyone who was there but wasn't really involved in the story"/some comment about how Mithrun is not the best storyteller, it opens the way to, what I believe is, the fact that we really don't see a lot of Mithrun's actual backstory as it actually happened. It's also good to remember that Mithrun clearly disagrees about what is an extraneous and thus unnecessary detail, and what is not (I'll get to this later).

On p.169 of volume 9 of the English release of the manga, after past!Mithrun looks in the mirror, Kabru thinks, "That's pretty good plotting. Everybody loves a tragic love story."

You could say this is Kabru being genre savvy and/or respecting Mithrun's storytelling credentials at least for this portion of the story, or seeing this part of the story and being like, "Naw, that's good, that can stay", but it also just leads more into this narrative of, "Kabru is rewriting the story to suit his ends", with his ends being: explaining all of this to Laios in a way that will convince Laios about "the danger in demons." We are seeing Kabru's story, not Mithrun's memory, and those are two very different things.

Centrally, we get the very important p.186 of volume 9, where, after, "completing" Mithrun's backstory, where he's taken back by the Canaries after the demon injures him, Kabru looks at Mithrun in the present and asks, "--how's that?"

This implies that what we see immediately prior to this is a retelling of the story from Kabru's perspective, not Mithrun's. Kabru confirms this by saying, "I tried to organize your story in my own way. I got the gist of it, didn't I?" Mithrun replies, "The details are totally different." To which Kabru replies, "I edited those to make it a bit easier to understand. It's way too complicated." In the background is an image of all the elvish relationships, seemingly indicating those are the details that were edited.

From the next panel, we're also seemingly meant to conclude that the only thing Kabru edited out was, "how elf society is structured". But well... Kabru doesn't have a high opinion of Laios (with good reason, at least when it comes to listening to other people). He seems to want the story to be as simple to understand as possible. This is encouraged by p.77 of the first Adventurer's Bible, in Mithrun's section. Kabru says, "Let's pare the story down to what you want to say. It's too unfocused. The relationships are too complex." While this does again seem to indicate a criticism of Mithrun's story-telling capability with an emphasis on the fact that Kabru thinks Mithrun could tell his own story better... I find it interesting that Mithrun actually pushes back. Mithrun explains, "But if you cut that out, the punchline doesn't make any sense," and explains about his illegitimacy. Mithrun can see that Kabru has his own version of the story to tell, which is not Mithrun's, ie., the story from the perspective of the person who experienced it, rather than someone listening to a retelling decades later, and who only knows 1-3 of the people involved (Mithrun and Milsiril, and I guess Helki if you want to include her).

Kabru's response is, "We don't need that bit either. Ideally, even a child should be able to understand it. If we summarize it... ...it will be easier to show the danger in demons." Here we see that Mithrun and Kabru disagree on what details are important, but ultimately Mithrun is fine with what Kabru is doing because Kabru's goal is not about literally rewriting history, but rather convincing Laios of something.

And we see with heavy implication that Mithrun's story has been literally pared down from the large blob Kabru is holding to the tiny orb Mithrun holds between his fingers. It's "tidy" now. Interestingly, this comic seems to take place in the same area as p.186 of volume 9 (look at what they're sitting on in the last panel of p.77 of the first Adventurer's Bible, compared to what they're sitting on in ch. 62 of the manga when Mithrun says, "There's eggshell in it.")

This use of "you" and "we" by Kabru is also pretty common when someone thinks their goals are shared. Kabru thinks that Mithrun is fully on his side about the "point" of sharing the story - to convince Laios to stop - which isn't entirely untrue. But originally Mithrun was just explaining it because Kabru was insistent on understanding what was wrong with Mithrun's body, and Mithrun also wanted Kabru to stop acting so recklessly in the dungeon ("You wished, so the dungeon provided. It's not a coincidence. Don't wish often" - Mithrun to Kabru, Chapter 61, Volume 9). Kabru is the one who decided on his own that it should be used to convince Laios (hence, Mithrun's question about who specifically Kabru plans to tell the story to, rather than his simply listening to Kabru tell a story). Mithrun is clearly not entirely averse to it, or at least not enough to stop him. But that doesn't mean Kabru's goals in the telling are the same as Mithrun's.

For a direct negation by Mithrun of Kabru's story, there's one on p.76 of the first Adventurer's Bible:

At the start of the Mithrun comic, Kabru is telling the story about Mithrun's backstory, "It's hard to imagine from the way he looks now, but... [skip] ...back then, he was a perfect youth." And Mithrun literally breaks into the retelling to say, "No I wasn't." This is followed by a panel of Mithrun's alleged perfect "past self" (as dreamed up by Kabru) glaring down at him. While Mithrun goes on to explain that mentally he wasn't a great guy, which doesn't necessarily negate the visual Kabru was painting, it also shows that Mithrun disagrees with Kabru's retelling, though he ultimately agrees with or at least goes along with the purpose Kabru has: convincing Laios that demons are bad. It doesn't ultimately matter to Mithrun that Kabru is modifying the story to tell to someone else Mithrun doesn't know, other than it might make their goals simpler to a degree, maybe. Mithrun is pointing out inaccuracy while he is chatting with Kabru and any third party is absent (and also elaborating on his own self-criticisms).

Also what is that, "[skip]" replacing in panel 1 of p.76? Is that just a part Kabru edited for his retelling, or where readers should fill in the part we see with them sitting together in the manga in ch.62? Who knows? There's a lot of things you could fill in here.

I'm not trying to cast aspersions on Kabru's character. I don't think he really changed things all that much. The big details are likely accurate, and perhaps even most of it is accurate. I think Mithrun would take issue with Kabru, say, making up a lover for him, and Mithrun's retelling seems to include Sultha, judging by that chart with Mithrun and his thoughts of other people in his past (as well as his character chart in the first Adventurer's Bible calling Sultha "his beloved"), so it's likely Sultha existing is accurate, at least to some degree. And the Mithrun lore sections in the Adventurer's Bible elaborate more in ways that generally confirm what Kabru was saying. But I think it's good to question just how much of Kabru and Mithrun talking about Mithrun's backstory contains accurate detailed backstory for Mithrun, as most of it seems to be told through the questionably edited and canonically pared down lens of someone who wasn't even alive during it (Mithrun was taken from the dungeon in year 479, Kabru was born in 492), and demonstrates intent to heavily simplify for a stated purpose other than accuracy.

Mostly I just find stories within stories fascinating and it's always good to look at who is doing the telling and why, and generally people have agenda in these kinds of things, and that can change how stories play out. And understanding that perhaps there's a lot more to Mithrun's backstory even from what we see (rather than just the things that we want to go into, e.g., Mithrun's relationships with his parents, more about his brother, more about what Mithrun's life was like during his recovery outside what little we get in Daydream Hour and the first Adventurer's Bible), because most of it is perhaps fabricated to some degree by Kabru. It opens up a lot of doors to headcanons and fanworks.