#cas has direct experience

[dessertbird]

Daily Destiel 💙💚

Like an angry bear! Let Dean drink his coffee first. 🐻😳❤️

[entirelysein-e]

『 Their hand slips 』

☼ synopsis: Their hand (almost) slips and puts a strain on your relationship

☼ characters: Toji, Yuuta, Inumaki

☼ wc: 4.3k

☼ cw: dark content! fem!reader, Toji being a good husband and almost snapping, getting pushed by Rika and slapped (accidentally during a playfight with Inumaki), Toge using his technique on you, overall sogginess, hurt to comfort

☼ notes: I am by no means glorifying domestic violence - this fic is not about this topic. If you or a loved one experience abuse in a relationship please reach out to the police or a qualified counselor / hotline for help!

ˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹ Toji:

Being with Toji has always been a rollercoaster of emotions but you never doubted his love for you, despite him being rough around the edges. Yes, he might disappear for days, sometimes weeks after a fight but he never once lifted his hand or indicated that he would physically hurt you. If the fight was over something dumb you would usually end up in the bedroom to get his anger out in a fun way while making up again.

You don't even know what started the fight today, was it the dishes he didn't do? Perhaps he left the laundry in the laundry machine? All you know is that you've been screaming at each other for well over an hour, your throat already sore but you wouldn't stop now. Toji was just beyond annoyed at your little tantrum, at least that's what it was to him. “I said I'll take care of it, didn't I? The day isn't over yet” he tried the calm way at first, his jaw clenching in frustration when you screamed back how tired you are from work.

Things carried on like this for a while, Toji losing his cool after you screamed at him right away and he started to scream back until you were only throwing around profanities. At least until you said something you shouldn't have “No wonder your last two wives left you, you live like a damn pig”. It wasn't too bad but it was a sore topic for him and his hand raised… simply staying up in the air without ever connecting to your face but it was enough for you to flinch away. Toji's jaw tensed up further, his teeth almost cracking from the pure pressure when he realized what he almost did - crossing a boundary that should never be crossed and you looked at him like he's a monster now. Perhaps he was and you were right, make it three wives, it's deserved now that his hand almost struck you.

Ever so slowly he brought his hand down from its spot up in the air, trying not to startle you further when he reached to cup your cheek, the anger in his eyes turning to desperation. Out of reflex you flinched from his touch, your body still in flight mode from almost getting struck by him and Toji recoiled his hand quickly while nodding to himself. The anger flamed up behind his eyes once again upon realizing just how bad he had fucked up. Anger rose up and he couldn't contain himself any longer “FUCK” he roared, making you stumble backwards just to get away from him before he punched a hole into the wall. You barely recognized the man in front of you since he'd never been this violent around you or directed at you. The thought of drawing a single breath of air scared you with him raging around and you simply held your breath, your entire body shaking like a leaf in a heavy storm, but before you found your voice again he stormed out of your shared home, grabbing his coat on the way out of the front door.

Relief was the first thing flooding your mind when you finally felt like you could exhale once again, the air less tense with him out of the room and upon looking around your usually tidy kitchen, you saw the battlefield he'd left behind. The hole in the wall gaping and your favorite candle holder, the one he gifted you simply because you thought the cat warming its paws looked so cute, now on the floor and shattered into hundreds of small pieces. You didn't care much for the cushions laying around or the chairs scattered across the room but you cradled the severed porcelain head of the small cat to your chest as you fell to your knees when the first wave of shock wore off. Toji had left. He's gone now and given how both of you crossed boundaries and he almost hit you, didn't give you much hope for his return. A bitter laugh crossed your sobs when you thought of the small candle holder scattered and how it represented your broken relationship.

After what felt like an eternity on the floor you had the courage to get up once again, slowly putting things back to where they used to stand before picking up each and every piece of Tojis present. You needed to get your mind off of his departure, he sure would return - latest when he had to get his things- you told yourself, trying to calm the mess that was your head. Dedicated you brought he pieces to the living room where his show was running as always, your favorite background noise in your daily life and piece by piece you glued the little candle holder back together until it looked somewhat what it used to and it gave you hope - perhaps you could do the same to your relationship?

Once the distraction wore off you found yourself sitting on the unusually empty couch, sitting on his favorite spot and the silence was deafening, the show stopped playing a while ago, Netflix asking you if you're still watching and the tears started to form in your eyes once again. Perhaps he will be back soon? Your hope wore thinner with every hour that has passed, only hoping that he will come back eventually one day at this point. Sure, you've had worse fights with him but it never got physical, this one felt much more charged and intense than all the others before so perhaps he's sick of the constant fighting, sick of you…

Slowly you sunk your face into the pillow on the couch and brought your knees to your chest as you wept, his show now playing once again to bring you at least a little comfort as you drifted off into a restless slumber, the moment where he almost struck you replaying in your head over and over again.

Toji wandered around the Block at first, contemplating to get drunk out o his mind and simply disappearing out of your life forever since he has nothing to offer to you but his heart and body, but now he wasn't sure if that was enough - if he was enough and he hated these thoughts. He could have any woman he wanted so why is he so damn attached to you? Answers didn't come by as he sat down in the park and gulped down a cheap beer but the longer he sat there the more reasons he found just why he was with you and how you made him feel things no one managed to ignite in so long. It was clear to him that he would need to go back, that he would need to fix things with you, for his own sake because he'd be lost without you once again.

By the time Toji got up from the old bench at the park it was almost morning already, the bird chirping softly in the trees and he took a deep breath in, preparing himself to lose you once and for all since he couldn't force you to forgive him after ever but he would promise to be better, he vowed to be a good partner and later on to be a good husband to you and not once did he make you regret trusting him since he was always nothing but good to you. His posture was slightly slouched when he entered the apartment, ready to find the mess he left behind in the kitchen but it looked as if nothing ever happened here - aside from the hole in the wall that felt like a plow to his guts. That could have been your face, realization setting in once again over what happened and how badly he damaged the trust in this relationship with his cowardly reaction.

Shaking his head at his thought he made his way back to the front door, only to be met by your weak voice somewhere behind him. “Toji?” was all you asked, your voice sounding tired and so fragile from hours of crying and he flinched, dreading your next words. “Don't leave… please,” You continue and sit up now to look at him. “I'm just here to get my thi- you want me to stay?” He sounded rather surprised that you didn't send him out, cussing him and his entire bloodline out as he got his things. Toji was so prepared for rejection he didn't even consider you would want him to stay, but you did, so he dragged himself over to the couch where you sat, waiting to face him. Your bloodshot eyes shocked him, have you been crying all night over him? Over the situation or perhaps the divorce you'd surely want?

“I'm sorry,” was all that he croaked out, his ego crushed and the confidence that usually radiated off of him was entirely gone, he was nothing but a miserable pile in front of you in this moment. It took you a minute or two to fully register his words - his apology and you simply nodded, knowing he wasn't great with words and especially apologies. Silence fell upon both of you once again, unsure how to go on from here, both of you uncomfortable with the situation. You were the first to find your words again, having spent the night thinking about what you wanted and ultimately what you will say to him but right now this was all thrown out of the window when you looked at him and reached out for his hands, trying to show that you're no longer scared.

“Listen to me. If you ever raise a hand to me again, Toji Fushiguru, I will cut out your heart and eat it for breakfast, do you understand me?” You asked with a much more secure voice and it almost scared him because he knew you took that threat seriously, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips now. “That's my wife,” he chuckled a little, wondering if he extinguished your flame with fear but you weren't one to crumble, not from him or his foolish actions.

Unasked Toji whisked you up into his strong arms and carried you to the bedroom, refusing to let go of you for even a second as he smothered you between his arms and chest. Things weren't okay and they won't be for a while but at least you knew that he was willing to work on himself and you were willing to stay, so things could be alright again one day.

ˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹ Yuuta:

You were always Yuuta's first priority and he never failed to make it clear that you knew that there's no one and nothing that's more important to him than you. Yet he had to save the world as usually, exorcizing a curse here, helping out there and more often than not you found yourself alone in your shared home, talks limited to texts and phone calls. He tried his hardest to make sure you're always on his mind even if he's not physically with you, especially then but you slowly felt like this wasn't the case. It felt like he was running away from home, from you to be alone, to be with Rika rather than you for the old days sake.

This gut wrenching thought became especially painful when you ran into him in the grocery store when he claimed to be on the other side of the world and not in fact in the same grocery store or even the same city. You didn't want to cause a scene, not there out of all places so you abandoned your shopping cart and walked out, ignoring the hurt puppy look from your boyfriend. Dropping the chocolates he held previously he charged after you “Wait, please. Let me explain!” he called after you and caught up with your rather fast pace but you didn't pay any attention to him, fearing the worst.

And sometimes your own mind can be the worst enemy as you now convinced yourself that Yuuta was leading some sort of double life, a secret life hidden away from you and you didn't want to see his face for a second longer. When the young man held onto your wrist to get you to stop running from him it felt as if your skin was burning, quickly tugging your hand out of his grasp and glaring at him. “Stop causing a damn scene, Okkotsu” you hissed under your breath and Yuuta knew he was in trouble by the way you only used his last name, so much venom behind your words. All he wanted to do was surprise you with your favorite flowers and some sweets since he was home almost an entire week earlier and he didn't understand the tantrum you were throwing at that moment. Yes, he did lie to you and told you he won't be home for at least another 5 days but he was already on his way back to you, his home. Was he wrong that he wanted to surprise you just to have you jump into his arms five days earlier than initially planned?

The walk home was awkward and silent, the air around you two charged with strong emotions and unspoken words - words none of you dared to speak until the front door to your apartment was closed and you whipped around, facing him with an expression full of anger and hurt. “Why did you lie to me? Am I not good enough for you anymore?” You immediately asked, letting your inner fear take over instead of trying to think rationally but Yuuta immediately shook his head. “It's not like that, I promise!” His voice was rather submissive, hating to have fights with you, especially out of the dumbest reasons but you couldn't contain your anger, your presence alone making him take a step back. He knew you would never lay a hand on him but the air around you was so thick he feared to suffocate if he couldn't keep some distance. “Don't come at me with that bullshit, Yuuta. You promised not to lie to me and here you are… avoiding me despite being back. Do you have someone else? Do you miss Rika so much you can't bear to be with me?” You questioned, taking steps towards your boyfriend despite his silent plea to keep distance. It's unfair of you to bring Rika up in this situation, both of you knew this but you didn't care. The way he was always talking about her started to gnaw at your heart, slowly building a deep insecurity that you're just someone he settled for because he couldn't have the one he wanted. Perhaps he found a better replacement? That was your initial thought when you saw him smiling to himself at the grocery store. Little do you know he was thinking about your gleeful smile when he came home early.

Yuuta barely opened his mouth after what felt like an eternity of silence when he reached for your hands, hoping you let him explain, hoping you calm down enough to start thinking rationally. “Please, just listen, okay?” He started, his voice small since he didn't want things to escalate, fearing to lose you as much as you feared the same. You were his anchor, his safety vest out in the ocean that kept him afloat when everything was against him. He made the mistake of touching you, trying to get closer to you when you were so charged and it made you feel crowded, pushing him off of you so he let go of your wrists. He would have let go if only you asked, showing him he made you uncomfortable but before he could stop it, it was already too late.

Rika pushed you away from him, much harsher than he would have ever allowed and he recoiled, backing away from your curled up body after you were sent flying against the wall, several feet behind you.

The sight of your body on the floor and the little noise you let out upon the collision shattered his heart. Sure, Rika just wanted to protect him from harm but you would have never seriously hurt him and he was in shambles, trying to figure out what to do now that one of his biggest fears became reality. It took you a few seconds to realize what had just happened, just sitting up and blinking at Yuuta who looked paler than usual, his body frozen to the spot as he watched you with wide eyes. The way you looked around made him aware of how dizzy you must feel since your head hit the wall - at least there was no blood on your hands when you checked the back of your head reluctantly.

“Yuuta?” You asked him as you teared up, knowing that it was just an accident. The young man snapped out of his trance-like state upon hearing your voice, softly asking him for comfort but he couldn't give that to you, not if he was the one who hurt you in the first place.

His head snapped around, looking for a way out of there, perhaps he could jump out of the window or would it be too high? The sound of his heartbeat picking up was deafening, the only thing he heard in that moment and it only fueled the anxiety further. But it was your utterly desperate voice calling out to him once again that snapped him out of his fight or flight reaction, panicked eyes finally looking at your teary ones and his body reacted on its own. Without a further moment passing he dropped to his knees beside you and cradled your body in his arms, holding you close. You knew he didn't hurt you and it was just a reaction of Rika so you weren't angry, but your body still hurt as you wept into his embrace, body trembling with each sob that wrecked through it. “I'm so sorry my love” kept falling off his lips like a whispered mantra as he gently rocked you back and forth in his arms in hopes that it's enough to calm both of you down - even if it's just a little bit.

Hours later and neither of you had moved. You were still cradled in Yuuta's lap, arms wrapped securely around you and he still looked at you as if he just broke the most valuable thing he ever owned. “I’m sorry that I made you angry,” you eventually broke the silence that just felt heavy to you but he quickly shook his head “don't… it's not your fault I lost control,” he began and kissed your temple, his lips resting against your delicate skin for a moment before you felt them move as he continued to speak. “I should have told you I'm home earlier, the flowers would have been a surprise regardless, I'm sorry I made you doubt my love for you.” He whispered against your temple, earnest regret in his voice. Yuuta knew he was gone too much lately and if the roles were reversed he would have had doubts as well so he couldn't blame you.

Unsure how to answer, you nod softly and your hands clutch onto him just a little tighter. “We will make things better,” you eventually mumble, reassuring the both of you that despite what has happened, things will be okay again and you can work past this accident.

ˑ༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹ Inumaki:

You never felt scared or threatened by Inumaki, he was always more than sweet to you and despite his cursed speech you never feared anything. He fell in love with you the day he found out you learned sign language for him and hasn't left your side ever since. You two were inseparable to the point of his friends automatically speaking of the both of you instead of just an individual and it was you who understood his few words better than anyone.

Laughter echoed through his small apartment when he pinned you to the bed with just one hand, the other traveling down to your sides to tickle you. Your laughter was one of his favorite noises, your smile his favorite sight and he wished he could tell you, scream out how much he loves you but he would never dare to say such things out loud, scared it manipulates you somehow and you're with him against your will. That was his worst nightmare, one that often haunted him at night and he woke up distressed while frantically searching for his phone. It's the same over and over again “You're with me because it's what you want, right?” He texts and awaits your answer as he picks the skin on his fingers anxiously. “I’m with you because my heart chose you” you tell him every time before his phone even unlocks - already knowing what plagues his handsome head.

Your sweet giggle brought him back to the little play fight you two just had and the way you were trying so hard to overpower him despite knowing you would never succeed. This thought never scared you, since you knew he would never use it against you or hold you down when you wouldn't want it. It was all just playful banter until he wanted to catch your wrist after you freed it but miscalculated, sending his hand right against your cheek with such strength the slap echoed off the walls followed by your whimper. You didn't need to push him off of your body, Inumaki got up right away, the tears that started to form in your eyes causing him to panic slowly. He frantically tried to sign “I'm sorry it was an accident” over and over but it felt like his hands knotted up by the speed and you didn't look at him, turning away as the tears started rolling down your cheeks. You weren't mad at him, knowing it was an accident but it still hurt you - the tears only a reaction of your body to the stinging pain that traveled through your face.

But the way you refused to even look towards him frustrated the young man and despite his efforts to get your attention you simply rose from the corner of the bed and left the room. Of course he was chasing after you, tapping you, holding your wrist, whining… he tried so hard to get just a sliver of your attention when you clearly didn't want to give that to him right now and he felt wrongfully punished. “Stop crying and come here” these words slipped past his lips with such desperation, he couldn't even stop himself before saying them out loud and his hands slapped over his mouth the second he realized what he'd done.

No matter how hard you tried to stop yourself, your body acted on its own accord as the tears dried and your feet walked over to him. Your face was one of utter shock and betrayal that he would do this to you, accident or not.

Inumaki pulled your body close and held you in a tight embrace despite every fiber in his body screaming not to do it, it felt so wrong to him but he needed you to forgive him, for accidentally hurting you, for putting you through manipulation. When he pulled back he was met with your face full of hurt and anger, which he deserved. “Please hit me back. We can be even” he signed once, twice… but you looked away, pinching the bridge of your nose as you took a step back to put some space between the white haired man and yourself. You wanted to scream, to explode at him but you collected yourself and looked at him with a cold expression. “Can you just stop?! I don't care that you hit me,” you started but lost your cool quickly and it came out more snappy than intended “we were play fighting, it happens. But you can't just crowd me and demand me to do things… and you surely can't fucking manipulate me!” Your voice rose in volume at the last part since this hurt you more than the accidental hit to your face.

Inumaki looked at you like a kicked puppy, eyes big and his face sinking into the collar of his sweater further so he can hide. He was beyond ashamed for his actions and didn't want to speak, the desperation clouding his mind and forgetting for just a split second that his words have immediate consequences and despite his best effort of not speaking, he can mess up.

With trembling hands he started signing apologies, begging for your forgiveness over and over until his shoulders started trembling and in a last effort he signed words unclear but you knew what he meant “please hold me” You whispered as he signed it and sighed. Realizing that he's more affected by this than you were and that he really had no malicious intentions you pulled your lover close, comforting him and yourself as his arms wrapped around you tightly, hands clutching to the fabric of your shirt. “Love” he mumbled out aloud, knowing this one word won't make you do anything but it was the first time you heard him say that he loves you out aloud. “I love you too” you whispered back, cheek still aching from the way his hand slipped but right now your heart needed healing from the betrayal of getting manipulated. Both, you and Toge were sure that this was a cut in your relationship but the bond you shared will act as a bandaid and you will be okay again, especially since he will be more careful now.

Networks: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @houseofsolisoccasum

[kwimii999]

Previous updates : #1 - #2 - #3

Previous polls : #1 - #2

Note : this project is going to take me some time because of the reasons under here. Most of it is based on how I want townies to generate and making CAS an easier and less time consuming experience for everyone !

I'm a college student 😭

I have to make sure they look fine for the townies more so that if you use random sim fixes or simler's core mod to get rid of pudding faces, they won't look out of place

I have to make sure each and every preset can be used with one another, so I actually have rules and numbers that I need to respect for the sliders I modify ex. : most of the noses height are set to -50, because it looks good on both genders and all ages and fits the new headshapes and their new height

I have to make sure that even though they're generic, they're also different from eachother and don't have same face syndrome

I have to make sure that they're diverse and find the right balance

Certain sliders I have to add manually (that takes time) because they do not get exported with the Face Preset Editor

As I said in previous update, I will only release this when I'm fully done with every single presets of each category : eyes, mouths, heads and noses, since it's easier that way for me and better for you guys as well :)

What's different this time ?

Well I've opted for a different approach, remember when I said I wasn't going to change the look of the original head presets ? well I changed my mind, since I've been asked to include defined headshapes a few times which I said I would do in a different set of non default face presets but I decided that doing this way instead would be better since it could include defined headshapes but also the other headshapes (Oval, Square, Round, Slightly Longer) - (Excluding the World Adventure's asian presets, they will recieve their own modification)

For the heads everything has been changed to : 2 Ovals, 2 Heart/Defined, 2 Rounds, 2 Squares, 2 Slightly Longer. (10 in total) The same shapes won't be identical of course.

For the eyes, they need small modifications

For the mouths, It needs more of a balance and diversity

For the noses, they need a complete overhaul

All the new flavors

There is now 6 flavors for version 2 of the headshapes with all the polls I've made. Thank you for all the answers by the way it really helps direct this project to better understand what you guys may want :)

Without SmoothFaceNormals

Flavor 1 - Base game compatible

Flavor 2 - Male neck fix

Flavor 3 - Male neck fix + Neck width smaller + Longer necks

With SmoothFaceNormals (Slider set to a specific number for all headshapes, won't be too high)

Flavor 4 - smoothfacenormals

Flavor 5 - smoothfacenormals + Male neck fix

Flavor 6 - smoothfacenormals + Male neck fix + Neck width smaller + Longer necks

What do you mean by longer necks though ? This is what I mean :

How do the headshapes look so far ?

Well, since I'm close to completing flavor 1, since it's the base of every other flavor and needed so I can work on the others. I've choosen my sims Owen and Shana to showcase them on both genders and the young adult life stage.

V.2 - Flavor 1 - Base game compatible

I'm so close to finishing the headshapes I just need to make some faces rounders and some more different from eachother and I should be done with the flavor 1 (For reference this is like my 10th WIP.... )

Question - 1 " Why are the presets not in order (ex. Oval 1 then Oval 2) " - Answer : That's because I'm unable to figure it out :(

EA Default headshapes

In addition

So, they won't immediatly come with the thumbnails once they're out because apparently there's 2 thounsand image files ??? 😀........... I ... BYE. I'm not even sure I wanna do them anymore lol.

[pink-sparkly-witch]

All She Wants, Part Three (Finale)

Summary: Dean’s experience with the wrong hormone suppressants makes him feral. The only person who can get him out of it and save his life is Y/N, the omega he had been mating with for years until she left six months ago. Without a claim and with no prospects of Dean ever giving her one, Y/N finally had enough and broke the bond they’d forged in their years together and left him, but with Sam now begging her to go to Dean and save his life, will she go, or will she leave the green-eyed alpha to his biological fate?

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Female Omega!Reader

Rating: 18+ Only

Bingo Square: Alpha Gone Feral for @j3bingo

Warnings: tw: dub con claiming, omegaverse, A/B/O, A/B/O dynamics, language, ruts, feral alpha, agitation, aggression, smut, rough sex, biting, oral sex (f rec), fingering, p in v sex, hair pulling, heavy angst, aftercare, fluff

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Here we go… the super angsty finale of this alpha!Dean mini-series! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leave a little comment. It really does fuel our muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

You can catch up here!

My Masterlist     AO3     Ko-Fi

Y/N’S POV

The knocking on your motel room door startles you, and you grab your gun from the waistband of your jeans and cautiously step towards the door. Flicking the safety off, you place the barrel onto the wood and cautiously open it just enough to see who’s on the other side.

“Sam? Cas?” you gasp, throwing the door open wider.

“You should be more careful, Y/N. We could be demons or shapeshifters or any other kind of monster,” Cas speaks first, and you blink at him, amused, as always, by his directness.

“Nice to see you, too, Cas,” you smirk, opening the door wider to let them in.

“Hey, Y/N,” Sam says as he leans down to hug you. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Sam,” you smile as you close the door behind them. You know whatever this unplanned visit is, it’s about Dean.

“You seem healthy,” Cas states, tilting his head to the side and frowning as if searching for something. “And yet—”

“So!” Sam interrupts quickly. “How have you been?”

“Fine…” You narrow your eyes at the alpha’s strange behaviour. “This isn’t a social visit, is it?” You finally ask.

“No,” Cas confirms, and you don’t know if you’re glad he’ll get straight to the point or if you’d prefer Sam to dance around it all a little more.

“Dean.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement. You knew from the way your stomach dropped the second you saw them that this wasn’t a good news visit.

“I asked Cas to find you,” Sam said softly.

You and the younger Winchester have stayed in touch since you left the bunker, but you agreed you wouldn’t tell him where you were, and he wouldn’t ask. It was one thing for Dean to find out they were talking, but it’d be another entirely if he knew Sam knew where she was.

“What happened?” Your mind goes to the worst possible scenario, and you try to fight the rising nausea. 

“Dean has been taking store bought suppressants,” Sam says, and you feel your blood boil.

“What? Why? Why would he be so goddamn stupid? Did he know what they’d do to an alpha in his situation?” you fume at the men as you pace the threadbare carpet.

“No. He knew they weren’t suitable long-term, but the side effects he experienced weren’t typical,” Cas answered.

“I thought it was a mix of the drugs and rejection sickness and that it’d ease over time,” Sam says calmly and quietly. “But I think he suffered some kind of chemical reaction to them, and by the time I found out what he was taking, it was too late.”

“Too late? Sam, what are you saying?” You’re terrified of what he’s so anxious to tell you.

“He’s feral, Y/N,” Cas finally puts you out of your misery, and while it’s bad news, it’s not the worst thing they could’ve told you. “But I don’t understand why you are not.”

It’s not an accusation. The angel is just curious about alphas who mate with but don’t claim omegas. To his literal knowledge, an alpha finds an omega, they mate, there’s a claim, an unbreakable bond, and pups. Your situation with Dean had always intrigued the celestial being.

“Because I’ve been taking the suppressants I should. Prescribed by a doctor. Why didn’t he do the same thing?” Contrary to the angel’s question, yours is accusatory as you look between Sam and Cas.

“You know what he’s like, Y/N. He doesn’t talk about these things, and I didn’t know until a few days ago. He’s been overcome with guilt for how he treated you, and I think…” Sam trails off, noticing from the look on your face that you know what he was alluding to.

“You think this is some kind of self-sacrifice?” you ask in disbelief. Dean is well known for his self-depreciation, and it’s something you’ve seen and heard from him many times, but this? “No… No, I don’t believe that. Why would he put himself through that just to go feral anyway? Why not just lie down and let it happen on its own?”

“You really want me to answer that?” Sam asks, and you frown.

“Sam, you can’t be serious! Dean is not doing this to punish himself for hurting me. There’s no way,” you argue, but you know the green-eyed alpha better than he knows himself. It does sound like something he’d do to himself—some kind of fucked up repentance for his behaviour.

Sam only shrugs, and you sigh, knowing you’ve both come to the same conclusion.

“So, what? You want me to go to him? Get him out of this mess?”

“You’re his mate. Only you can get him back from this,” Cas says, and you laugh bitterly, taking the angel by surprise.

“I bet Dean loves that!” you scoff. “Anytime I told him that like it or not, we’re mates, he shot me down in flames!”

“I know he hurt you, and I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, and Dean knows it too. He told me not to look for you. That he doesn’t deserve your help, but I’m asking you to think about it. Please?”

“I don’t know, Sam. If I go to him, you know what it means, right?” you check, not convinced either of them fully understand what they’re asking of you.

“I do,” Sam responds.

“And you know it’s pretty much a done deal that he’ll claim me in his feral haze? And then when he comes to, he’ll regret it and reject me? You’re asking me to sacrifice myself for him? Because I won’t survive his rejection, you both know that, right?”

“He’d never reject you, Y/N,” Cas confirms what you know in your heart, but it brings no comfort.

“Oh, because a forced claim and being stuck with someone who doesn’t want me is a better fate than dying from rejection!”

“He does want you. He loves you. He just can’t—” Sam starts, but you interrupt with a scoff.

“Give me what I want. I know, Sam. He’s told me that so many times it’s imprinted in my memory!” You huff, quickening your pacing.

You want to say no. You want to protect yourself and your fragile heart that’s still trying to heal, but you know if you were the feral one, Dean would already be here, doing everything he could to get you through it—even claiming you just so you’d survive.

He doesn’t deserve to die, and yet, you don’t deserve to be someone’s mistake, but you can’t see any other option. If you don’t go to him, he’ll die. If you go to him, and he doesn’t reject you, you’ll be miserable, but you’ll both be alive.

“Fuck!” you yell in frustration. Once again, you feel that self-loathing that only Dean seems able to bring out of you. You hate yourself because you still love him even after everything, and you’d sacrifice everything to save him.

“Where is he?”

Walking up to the secluded cabin, you shiver at the deathly silence surrounding you. As if being this deep in the woods isn’t ominous enough, there isn’t even a bird chirping or an insect buzzing in the heavy air.

You’re so deep in the woods that the midday sun can’t even breach the trees. You drove as close as you could, but you’d had to abandon your car about a mile back. This is probably the safest house Bobby had ever found, and you have to admire Dean for choosing this one to hide out in.

Sam had given you the key. At first, you’d been shocked he’d lock Dean in with no way to escape, but you knew feral alphas aren’t to be taken lightly. There had been cases of ferals going on murder sprees, and the green-eyed hunter would never risk putting people in any kind of danger.

“Dean?” you call out as you knock on the door. “It’s Y/N. Sam found me. He said you need my help.” With no response, you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for being too late, and put the key in the lock.

Pushing the door open slowly, the sour smell of Dean’s feral rut slams into you, and immediately your body begins to respond to the distressed alpha. Your skin tingles, heat floods your veins, and slick pools at your entrance. You’ve never been more grateful for a heat to come on as you are now. If it didn’t, Dean could seriously hurt or even kill you trying to get himself out of this.

“Omega,” Dean growls from the doorway of the bedroom and with one look at his bloodshot eyes, you know there’s little to no humanity in him right now.

“Alpha,” you whimper and bow your head in submission.

“Mine,” he groans in front of you, and you jump, having not heard him move across the room.

Dean buries his head in your neck and inhales your scent, gasping as if he’d been suffocating, and your scent is his oxygen.

“My ‘mega,” Dean snarls and slams you against the wooden door. You whimper at the pain and remind yourself not to fight. If you fight, things could get ugly.

Pawing at your jeans, he tries to undo them, but in his desperation to get at you, he can’t grasp the little brass button and punches the wall next to your head in frustration.

“Hey,” you purr, placing a hand on his cheek and smiling as he leans into your touch, “It’s okay, Alpha. Let me.”

Loosening the button and pulling the zipper down, you kick off your shoes, slide the denim from your legs and step out of them. Moving to your shirt, you begin pulling at the material when Dean slaps your hands away.

“No!” he growls. “Mine.”

Dean isn’t gentle when he claws at your shirt, grabbing the neckline with both hands and ripping the cotton from your body. The groan that rumbles from his belly when your lace-covered breasts are exposed to his gaze has slick soaking through your underwear.

He wastes no time placing his lips on the tops of your breasts, biting and sucking the sensitive skin, marking you in a way he never has before. Dean pulls the cups of your bra down and quickly finds a hard nipple, and you groan from his overzealous assault.

You whine as the alpha pulls away from you, but before you can complain further, Dean lifts you on his shoulder and carries you to the bedroom.

“Strip,” he orders as he places you back on your feet, and you don’t dare disobey or take your time removing your bra and panties. 

“Good girl,” he praises as he takes his clothes off, and you wonder if just being here is making him a little less feral. “Get on the bed, Omega.”

Again, you don’t dare take your time and quickly crawl onto the bed and wait for his next instruction. Dean kneels at the bottom of the bed, pulls you down by your ankles, and pushes your knees down to the mattress.

“Mine,” he growls as the scent of your slick reaches him, and he lowers his head between your legs. He’s not gentle, anything but, and his longer stubble scratches and jabs at your soft, sensitive skin. It’s sore, yet you quickly fall apart on his mouth.

Before you fully come down from your high, Dean’s fingers are inside you, and he’s sucking and biting his way up your body. When this is over, your skin will be an interesting spectrum of colour; you can already see patches of red on your breasts from earlier, and Dean’s not done with them yet as he goes back to sucking and biting your nipples.

As your forced heat takes over, the pain from Dean’s bites and rough hands ease, and all you can feel and hear now is desire and pleasure and growls and snarls, and Dean, mumbling mine over and over again while his teeth nip at your neck.

“Present, Omega,” Dean growls as he pulls back from your body just enough to let you turn around. You crawl further up the bed and lean forward onto your elbows. You unintentionally wiggle your ass as you get comfortable in your new position, making Dean growl deeply and spank your round cheeks.

You feel his hands slide up your thighs and over your ass. His touch soothes and cools your heated skin. When he finally slams into your slick, aching pussy, it’s hard, rough, and deliciously painful.

Dean is fully feral, and there’ll be no stopping him until he comes out of the rut in five or six days. You know it won’t be pretty, and you won’t come out of this unscathed. At least your heat is making you feel like a wanton whore.

As your humanity is overtaken by omega, much like Dean’s is with alpha, your last thought is being grateful for being in a cabin in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere.

It’s been six days, and Dean still pounds into you like there’s no tomorrow. Your heat is starting to wane, but hasn’t subsided so much that you won’t still be pliable under his hands. Still, at least the heat fog is beginning to lift, and you hope it’s a sign that Dean’s rut is finally ending.

It took four knots to get him out of his feral state, but his rut is intense, and he’s insatiable. You suppose the combination of suppressants and being feral will do that to an alpha. 

“‘Mega,” Dean grunts as his hand slides up your spine and grips your neck. “So good for me, baby girl.”

His praise makes you purr, and you feel his hand slide from your neck into your hair and wrap his fist around it, making your body turn to jelly. Dean tugs your hair, and you’re forced to raise to your knees, your back pressed against his chest, and he pulls your head to the side by your hair, exposing your neck to him.

It’s already black and blue from the gnawing he’s been doing there this past week, but this is different. He’s scenting you and licking your mating gland and whining. Dean loves licking and kissing your neck, but not like this. It feels different. There’s a change in the atmosphere, and his thrusts are brutal and stuttered.

You try to move, try and get him away from you, but he snarls and yanks your hair painfully, keeping a hold of it so you can’t move.

“Dean,” you whimper, and he snarls again at the use of his name, and you know he’s not as far out of this rut as you’d hoped. “Alpha, please,” you beg, but it’s useless. He’s too far gone again. His mouth is sucking on your mating gland, and he’s growling and grunting as his knot swells and catches at your entrance.

“Please don’t do it, Alpha. It’s just the rut. You don’t want this… you don’t want me, please!” you cry. But as his knot slips inside, locking you together, your head falls back on his shoulder, and when his teeth break your skin, you scream your release and lose the little self-control you had earlier.

Coming down from your high, you notice that Dean is still latched onto you, and you can feel blood dripping down your neck. The sudden rush of hormones and pheromones from the claim makes you reach another orgasm, and this time, you take the alpha with you. Grunting and growling, Dean’s release coats your walls, and you let the blackness take over.

When you come to, you’re on your side, and Dean is cleaning and soothing the wound on your neck with gentle licks and soft kisses. You’re still locked together, and every twitch of his cock catches your G-spot and fills your womb with even more of his seed.

A brief thought that he could’ve gotten you pregnant crosses your mind, and you hope the fates aren’t so cruel as to have this be when you get your wish of pups; not like this.

The last week finally catches up with you, and the lullaby of Dean’s whines and whimpers, combined with his soft kisses, lull you into a deep sleep.

The sun’s warmth on your face begins to wake you from sleep. Your muscles feel heavy, and Dean’s lips caress your back and shoulders.

“Morning, Omega,” he rasps behind you, sliding a warm hand over your hip, and a pang of dread settles in your stomach. You’re tired, every muscle in your body is screaming at you, and your pussy is in agony from a week of rough pounding and knots courtesy of the alpha pulling you closer to his body. If he’s still not out of this rut, you don’t think you’ll survive another round.

“Don’t worry,” Dean chuckles. “I’m not feral anymore, and the rut has gone.”

You’re confused, wondering how he knew what you were thinking. You don’t think you groaned. In fact, you’re pretty sure you didn’t even move. Your body is too sore to even tense up.

Then you remember Dean claimed you and that he did it while in a feral rut. 

As your whole world comes crashing down around you, you do the one thing you’d rather die than do in front of Dean.

Cry.

DEAN’S POV

Devastation. That’s all he can feel radiating from the omega next to him. When he woke an hour ago, he’d been happier than ever. The second he claimed Y/N, there was a shift, and all felt right in the world.

He thought—naively, he now realises—Y/N would be happy. It’s what she wanted. What she needed, but the sheer anguish from her tells a different story. The worst part of all this is the shame he feels for claiming her without her consent and the knowledge that now, she’s stuck with him whether she wants to be or not.

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay,” Dean tries to soothe her and presses his lips to her shoulder. “Y/N, look at me, please?” She remains on her side, facing away from him and crying, and the alpha in him takes over. His omega is in distress, and he needs to fix it. “Omega, look at me!” he growls lowly, and watches as Y/N obeys his order and timidly rolls onto her back.

Dean’s jaw drops, and he’s disgusted with himself as he takes in her abused torso. There are a couple of bites and bruises on her back and shoulders, but it’s nothing compared to what covers her neck, breasts and stomach. There’s so much bruising that barely any skin has been left unblemished. As he scans further down her body, he can see the same damage over the tops of her thighs and between her legs.

“Baby girl, I’m so sorry. I—” Dean can’t finish; he has no words for what he did to her. He immediately gets out of bed and fills the tub with hot water. There’s only so much he can do for her out here in the cabin, but the safe house is stocked with first aid supplies, medication and dry and tinned food. 

When the tub is full, he shuts off the water and walks back into the bedroom, seeing Y/N still lying on her back and seemingly void of all emotion. Whether it’s on purpose to shut him out or she’s in shock, Dean’s not sure.

Walking over, Dean lifts her from the bed and carries her into the bathroom. He lowers her into the hot water and bathes her gently, mumbling words of comfort, hoping she can hear him and that she can find it in her to forgive him.

Y/N’S POV

After tenderly bathing you, Dean left you to soak in the warm water a little longer, telling you there were clothes in the wardrobe and that he’d make something to eat.

“Please eat with me, omega. You need to get your strength up, and we need to talk,” Dean had begged before he left, closing the door but not fully so he could still keep an eye on you.

He was right; you do need to talk. And eat. You feel weak and lightheaded and desperately in need of something to take away the pain that’s pulsing through every inch of your body.

When the water has lost its warmth, you climb out and wrap yourself in a towel, avoiding the mirror in the corner. Dean’s reaction earlier is enough for you to know you’ll burst into tears if you see it for yourself. And you can’t bear to see his claim on your neck when it was given under duress.

Pulling clothes from the wardrobe, you choose the softest and biggest things you can find. You know from the smell that the sweats and t-shirt are Dean’s, but you’ve always gotten comfort from his scent, and you suspect you’ll get even more from it now.

Coming out of the bedroom, you follow the noise towards the main part of the cabin and find Dean spooning pasta into bowls in the kitchen.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” he asks, stopping what he’s doing to give you his full attention.

“Sore,” you chuckle, pulling out a stool. You hiss and wince, the throbbing—and not the good kind—between your legs getting worse for a few seconds as you sit.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean… I hate that I was so rough. That I’ve hurt you,” Dean says as he pushes a bowl and fork towards you.

“You were feral, Dean. It’s not your fault,” you reply, and you mean it. It’s really not his fault.

“It is, though, sweetheart. If I had taken the right suppressants, I wouldn’t have gone feral, and I wouldn’t have claimed you without your consent.”

“I knew what I was signing up for when I came here. I’m just sorry you’re stuck with me,” you smile sadly. “And if you want to leave, I get it. I know I’m not what you want—”

“Would you stop saying that?” Dean interrupts. “I do want you. I have always wanted you. I’m scared that tying you to me will put you in danger.” The desperation rolls from him in waves, and you know he’s telling you the truth. You can feel it. “I want you, Omega. I want this. I don’t regret claiming you. I regret doing it against your will, and if you want to leave me… reject me… It’s what I deserve, and I’ll let you walk out of here right now, but please stop saying that I don’t want you, Y/N. You’re all I want.”

The chemical bond you now share with Dean is overwhelming. He feels more deeply than he ever lets on, and regret over the non-consensual claim is putting it mildly. He’s distraught over it, and his feelings are so strong that you can almost hear the thoughts in his head telling him he’s stupid and he’s fucked things up before it’s really started between you. You can’t take it. You can’t let him think you don’t want this too.

“You’re all I want too, Alpha. The reason I got so upset when I realised you could feel how I felt is because it was a rut claim, and we’d be stuck together and miserable and resentful, and I didn’t want that for either of us, but I could never reject you, Dean. I love you too much.”

The relief that washes over him makes you smile, and because of your new bond, you know he knows every word is true.

“I love you, Y/N. I’m sorry I couldn’t admit it before, and I’m sorry I didn’t give you what you wanted sooner.” Dean slides off his stool and comes to your side with a tube of cream in his hand. “Now, let me see that claim. It needs something on it, sweetheart.”

You tilt your head to the side and pull the neck of the shirt down, exposing the angry, swollen bite mark. Dean gently covers the wound with the medicated cream, and you hiss at the sting.

“Sorry, baby girl.” Dean winces, feeling your discomfort as clearly as you can. “Now, eat and then bed, Omega.”

“Just to sleep, right?” you ask, scrunching up your face and wriggling in your seat at the thought of him going anywhere near your pussy for at least a week. “No sex?”

“No sex,” Dean laughs. “You need to rest, sweetheart, so just lots of cuddles and closeness and bonding and sleep.”

THE END

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @maliburenee @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

John Kettler: Chief of The unSUCCESSFULS Invisible Staff

John Kettler is out after only three (3) months on the job. No sympathy for anyone who partners with these two (2) bullies. You're either too lazy to read a book or maybe you like to help bullies.

"Joshua lives with his wife in Santa Barbara, CA and holds an MBA from Clemson University with an emphasis on Entrepreneurship and Innovation."¹

Richard Eden for Daily Mail: When the Duke of Sussex appointed Josh Kettler as his grandly titled chief of staff earlier this year, it was said that he was the perfect man to 'guide' Harry 'through his next phase'. However, the Daily Mail understands that Mr Kettler has suddenly quit his job after scarcely three months, amid much intrigue. Josh Kettler is no longer working for them,' a source in California told this newspaper today. The timing is a particular blow to Harry and his wife Meghan as Mr Kettler would have been expected to accompany them on their 'quasi-royal tour' of Colombia, which kicks off this week."

The total number the Sussexes have lost since they married in 2018 is said to be at least 18, with nine or more having left since they moved to California in 2020.

Mr Kettler was seen entering St Paul's Cathedral with the duke for the anniversary service, which was attended by figures including Harry's uncle, Earl Spencer, but no other members of the Royal Family.

Later that month, Mr Kettler was a key figure on the Duke and Duchess of Sussex's three-day 'tour' of Nigeria and was by Harry's side as he met government officials in the West African country. His role on the visit was said to be a foretaste of what he would achieve in the future.

Prince Harry and Meghan with Mr Kettler (circled) by their side. His role on the visit was said to be a foretaste of what he would achieve in the future.

¹Bio: "Joshua Kettler is an experienced executive accelerator, organizer, and confidant. Seasoned in guiding C-suite functions, critical cross-functional program management, high-level strategy development, and board of directors / investor relationship management. Focused on bringing unparalleled products and experiences to customers while working in lockstep with leaders, executing on their vision.

Joshua spent the better part of a decade with Patagonia, a leader in outdoor apparel, serving as a trusted resource and right hand to the Vice President of Global Sales and Customer Experience. He helped direct all revenue driving strategies and operations worldwide, spanning seven major markets and $1B+ in yearly revenue. His efforts included managing the organization's workflow, prioritization, and oversight of regional GMs, while providing input on critical decisions including distribution strategy, customer touch points, internal and external communication, organizational structure, and personnel matters.

In 2021, Joshua shifted is focus to start up ventures, becoming Chief of Staff to the CEO of Better Place Forests and most recently joining Cognixion as Chief of Staff and Head of Strategic Partnerships, helping to accelerate and support the transformative AR / BCI company.

Joshua is an avid trail runner and skier, and a steadfast supporter of conservation and the environment. Joshua lives with his wife in Santa Barbara, CA and holds an MBA from Clemson University with an emphasis on Entrepreneurship and Innovation."

[callsignspark]

change your ticket home

a top gun maverick AU

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Sherrie McHone (fem!OC)

summary: After a successful business trip on the West Coast, two Wells Corporation engineers have problems getting back home. Thank god for Bradley Bradshaw, a man who is determined to make their hours waiting in the terminal as enjoyable as possible. And if he and his pretty travel companion (and colleague) get closer along the way? Well that’s just a bonus.

warnings: difficulties of being a woman in a male-dominated field, minor misogyny from coworkers, yearning, pining, Bradley being an absolute sweetheart, it's vaguely alluded to but Sherrie is named after the Steve Perry song, American Airlines bashing bc this fic is based on a real and horrible experience I had a few years ago. and yes, the title is from the one direction song.

word count: 9.8k | masterlist

note: happy saturday! this has been in the works for almost a year and I'm so thrilled to finally be sharing it! this is dedicated to @gretagerwigsmuse, who gave so many wonderful ideas and has continually been a cheerleader for this fic. happy birthday!

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 06:36 AM PST | San Diego, CA

“If I fake a heart attack, we can get out of this meeting, right?”

She looks over at Bradley sprawled in the uncomfortable café chair in his navy suit, his arm slung over the back of her chair. He’s down to just his crisp, white button-up, jacket, and tie abandoned within the first ten minutes of the call.

“Suck it up, we’re almost done.” She rolls her eyes. “And Martin knows you’re a supremely healthy thirty-two-year-old, so no, I don’t think that will work.”

“Sherrie…” His whine is cut off by her hand covering his mouth as she unmutes her microphone and mentally praises his decision to sit so close to her. Not having to pull out both laptops was just an additional perk on top of her ability to silence him.

“That’s correct, Sean. We got them to agree to a small batch trail run for the connectors. We’ll be working together on running them through environmental testing before committing to a full contract.”

“And why are they agreeing to that? Because frankly, it makes no sense to me why they would want to do that.”

Bradley straightens up, his eyes narrowing at the Teams box showing the older man’s initials. “Well, Sean, as Sherrie explained before. Harris hasn’t produced connectors like this before, and they’re interested in the test results, specifically the shock data. So they agreed to take on half the burden so they can use the information for their own use. If this works how we think it will, this will be a huge boost for their business, even if the patent is shared.”

She looks at him, half admonishment and half appreciation, always a little bit amazed when he had her back, no matter how many times he had done it. “The contracts team is drawing up the final agreements and negotiating with their team next week, so best case scenario is we have reports with usable data by the end of the summer. Worst case, it’ll drift into the middle of Q1.”

“That’s great work you guys did out there, thank you. Alright, I think that covers everything we had to talk about today. McHone, Bradshaw - have a safe flight back, and everyone have a good weekend!” Martin ends the call before anyone can add anything.

Bradley laughs. “God, he’s just as sick of Sean as I am. I can’t wait until he retires.”

“He’s not that bad; you’re just grumpy because you had to dress up for the staff meeting, and then Martin said cameras off today.”

“I am upset about that! I will be logging yet another suggestion that we should have casual Fridays and casual travel policy. But I’m more upset because he talks down to you all the time! Like you haven’t been carrying this department on your back since we started ten years ago!”

“Carrying is an exaggeration, Bradley.” She looks up from where she’s putting her laptop away. “I think you have time to change into something comfy before we board.”

“American Airlines Flight 2307 from San Diego to Charlotte, Boarding Group A can now board.”

“Or not.” She giggles as he groans, reaching over to pull her other air pod out of his ear. “Come on, it’s a long flight; you can sleep on the plane. Just be thankful you’re not wearing an underwire bra and heels.”

“I don’t know how you do that.” He mutters, shooing her away when she tries to pick up her carry-on, throwing it over his shoulder alongside his own.

“I don’t either. I’m going to get a massage when we get back to Boston.”

“Ohhh, a massage sounds nice.” He subtly sticks his elbow out for her grab, which she gratefully does, letting his tall frame guide her to their gate. “You know you didn’t have to wear heels, right?”

“You should shut up while I’m still thankful you yelled at Sean for me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sherrie leans her head on his arm as they wait in the priority boarding line, one of the perks of traveling on the company’s dime. Normally, she would worry about being more professional while carrying her work bag that had the Wells Corporation logo embroidered on it, but she can’t bring herself to care. Yesterday’s meetings ran late, and the following client dinner had kept them out until almost midnight. After packing, going to bed late, and having to get up at 3:30AM to get to the airport, she was exhausted.

She takes her bag before they scan their tickets, not fighting when he grabs it again on their walk down the jet bridge.

“Where are you sitting again?”

“I’m in 16C.” She snorts at Bradley’s pout. “What? You knew we weren’t going to be sitting together.”

“But I’m going to be bored all the way back in 21D by myself.”

“Bud, you’re going to fall asleep in the first 30 minutes like you always do, and then I would be stuck for the next four hours with you leaning and drooling on me.”

Bradley whips his head around, “That is a baseless accusation. I do not drool!”

“You 100% definitely do drool, I’ve seen it.” Her smirk widens when his attempt to fight back is cut off by the flight attendants greeting them.

He ushers Sherrie on first, politely nodding to the flight crew before following her down the aisle, ducking down to whisper. “I do not drool.”

“You absolutely do drool. You also snore.”

She can feel eyes on them as they shuffle down the aisle, making eye contact with an older woman who raises her eyebrows in appreciation at the hunk of a man behind her.

This happens everywhere they go.

Bradley is such a gentleman, always opening doors and carrying her bags, that people never believe the two are just friends and coworkers. She’s had complete strangers fight with her when she says there’s nothing between them. Unable to accept that it’s just platonic.

As much as she wishes it could be more.

After years of learning all the little details of each other, she knows they would be good together. Their decade-long friendship allowing her to thoroughly analyze how well their personalities would mesh. They share the same beliefs and have the same interests; they even have overlapping friend groups. They’re made for each other.

On paper.

In reality, it will never happen.

She won’t let it.

“Is this good here?” Bradley’s question interrupts her weekly internal spiral; his big brown eyes blink at her over his shoulder as he puts her bag into the overhead compartment.

“That’s fine. Can you grab my water bottle out of the side pocket?

“Here ya go, ma’am. I’ll meet you by the water foundation when we land, okay?”

She nods, smiling as he hustles back to his seat to avoid a family almost flattening him in their haste to get to their assigned seats.

Her seat neighbors haven’t arrived yet, so Sherrie sits down without bothering to buckle, tucking her work bag under the row in front of her after pulling out her plane kit. Her pencil case from college that she’s repurposed to hold her headphones, phone charger, gum, hand sanitizer, and a few other small necessities.

Her phone buzzes as she’s storing her water bottle and the little bag away in the pocket of the seat in front of her.

Bradley is woken up by his seat neighbor hitting his arm as he reaches to grab a drink, nodding at the guy’s apologetic face before trying to get comfortable again. Alan talked way too much at dinner last night, and it was a struggle to stay awake during the project manager’s third round of gushing over how brilliant and profitable Sherrie’s proposal would be for both companies.

“Sir? This is for you, do you want it?” The muffled question is accompanied by someone shaking his shoulder. He peels open his eyes to see the flight attendant holding out two packets of Biscoff cookies.

His face must be confused enough for the short woman to take pity on him. “Your friend up there said these are your favorite and asked me to give hers to you.”

His heart warms up, taking the treats and saying thank you. He enjoys the cookies, washing them down with the ginger ale he also got, thinking about how well Sherrie knows him. He forces himself to wait for them to finish snack service before he gets up to use the restroom.

“Thank you.” Bradley revels in the way Sherrie jumps when he pops her headphone out, purposefully brushing his lips against her ear. “Hmmm, you were right, your seatmate is cute.”

She glares up at him, a smile threatening to break through. “Isn’t he? He fell asleep five minutes after take off, just like you.”

“Yet, another baseless accusation!”

“I heard you snoring.”

“You shouldn’t lie in front of small children.”

“His mom said he’s seven months old; I don’t think we have to be concerned about teaching him to lie while he’s still in a car seat.”

“Probably shouldn’t chance it, though. Say I don’t snore.”

“You just said I shouldn’t lie. Should probably go to the bathroom before you start holding up traffic.” She puts her headphone back in, wiggling her fingers at him before going back to reading on her phone.

It gives him the strangest sense of déjà vu.

Tuesday, March 25, 2005 | 10:43 AM EST | Charlottesville, VA

“…and he said you had already-” Bradley cuts himself off, realizing she can’t hear him. He chuckles; he should have known better than to just walk up and start talking.

He doesn’t know Sherrie McHone very well. They had taken all the freshman intro to engineering requirements together, and this year their classes had split into their chosen disciplines. His mechanical, hers electrical. But he knows her well enough to know that she can pretty much only be found without her headphones during class.

He remembers the first time they spoke last semester after he accidentally walked right into her. He had told Danny it’s because she’s so much shorter than him, but it’s really because he wasn't paying attention.

Sherrie had only taken one earpiece out to make sure he was okay before continuing onto her class, seamlessly weaving between upperclassmen as she shoved her headphone back in.

“Sherrie?” No response.

He lets out a tiny huff and checks his watch. Normally, he wouldn’t care that she’s clueless to his existence even as he’s right beside her, but he’s got a class soon, and he’s still two buildings away. So he does the only thing he can.

He pops her headphones out and steps back for fear of getting smacked.

Her head whips up, narrowing in on him freakishly fast. “What the fuck, Bradshaw?”

He’s surprised to learn that she knows his name.

“Sorry, Sherrie! I’ve been trying to talk to you for like five minutes, and you somehow haven’t noticed, but I’ve got class in 15 minutes, so I needed to get your attention.”

“Oh…” Her green eyes widen in surprise, the apples of her cheeks turning a light pink. “Sorry about that. What did you need? Wait. How did you find me?”

A fair question.

“Khondker told me where you sit.” He partially fibs.

All semester he had been watching her disappear after EE221, the one class they shared. It had taken him a while, but he was pretty sure he had found her secret study nook in the electrical engineering wing of the building. Their TA had only confirmed Bradley’s theory of where he could find his fellow sophomore.

“I don’t understand this last section we’ve been learning, and Khondker said you had already finished the homework and could help me. So could you?”

“He didn’t help you?” Sherrie raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

“He tried.” Bradley scratches the back of his head, remembering how frustrated the patient man had been after his third attempt at explaining. “I just really don’t understand circuit loops. And he thought having a classmate explain it to me would make it stick. That or he was just so sick of me, he’s pawning me off.”

He watches her think, her pencil rapidly tapping against her notebook, making him nervous.

“I don’t want to be rude, but if you don’t understand current loops, I’m not sure how much help I can be. I understand the material, but I’m not a miracle worker.”

Her bluntness makes him smile. “I’m not expecting miracles, just help with the homework. If you have time.”

“Okay, just as long as you don’t get your hopes up too much.” She grabs a bright pink notebook and opens it up. “So, I’m usually free-”

“I don't want to interrupt, but I do have to get to class, so could we figure out a time later today?”

“Sure, I’ll be here until my class at four. Feel free to sit down if I’m not here; it just means I’m grabbing food.” He nods, backing away. “Wait! Bradley! Go down this hall and out the side door. You’ll be like halfway there already.”

“Awesome, thanks!” He starts to jog down the hallway, looking back to see her putting her headphones back in. Waving back when she smiles and wiggles her fingers at him before going back to her homework.

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 3:16 PM EST | Charlotte, NC

“Our flight got delayed, and I’m hungry.”

Sherrie jumps, not expecting Bradley to get that close to her face three seconds after she exited the bathroom.

“Okay, I could eat. Where do you wan-”

“Auntie Anne’s.”

He’s walking away before she can even process what he said. She allows herself one second to appreciate the way he looks, walking through the concourse - navy slacks fitting his legs perfectly and all their bags thrown over his broad shoulders - before she’s clicking along after him.

“Bradshaw!” He freezes and turns, almost taking a lanky teenager out with her backpack. “Oh my god, Bradley! Be careful! You almost took that kid’s head off.”

His smile is sheepish as she shuffles them over to the wall. “I did not do that on purpose.”

She giggles and takes her backpack from his shoulder. “Yeah, I kinda figured. But you should have seen his face. His life flashed before his eyes. All sixteen years.”

“I can carry that Sherrie.”

“That’s okay, I got it. No! Bradley!”

He ignores her, smiling at her frustrated little stomp when he hands over her tan, cross-body purse out of her work bag. “You just carry that and make sure I don’t take out any toddlers or old ladies.”

“How am I supposed to do that if I’m ahead of you?” She snarks as he steers them toward the food stands.

“You’re smart; I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Bradley laughs when she mocks him under her breath. “I can hear you, smartass.”

“You were meant to, Bradley.”

His heart flutters at the teasing wink she sends over her shoulder. It’s been twelve years since they became friends, and he still feels like that 20-year-old kid who was nervous to talk to the pretty red-headed girl he had a crush on.

He can feel eyes on them as her heels catch people’s attention, and he finds himself glaring at men who are shamelessly staring. Her shoes aren’t loud as they click along on the tile floor, but it’s hard to ignore the beautiful woman striding along in business casual.

It happens everywhere they go.

Sherrie has always been beautiful and painfully unaware of her effect on men. It never matters where they are - at work, the rare baseball game he forces her to attend, happy hour with their friends from school - she always catches attention. It doesn’t bother him because she never reciprocates, and he’s always the one to give her a ride back to her apartment.

Even if he wishes it was their apartment they were going to.

He’s watched her change over the last decade, seen her grow as a person. He’s risen through the ranks with her professionally, the two of them matching each other step for step with each promotion and raise. He’s publicly assured her that her hair still looks good as it’s deepened color with age, now less red and more auburn. He’s privately appreciated the way her body has changed, softer and curvier than when they were kids. Her wide hips are a frequent star in his daydreams.

It's the only place where they’ll ever be in a relationship.

He knows they’d be perfect together. Old friends who know each other so well they don’t even have to talk to communicate sometimes. Whose attitudes fit together like puzzle pieces, perfectly in sync with each other. He knows it won’t happen. Can’t happen.

“Grab us a table, and I’ll get the food.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t fight her about paying, knowing this will be covered under their per diem. “Don’t forget my-”

“You’re frozen lemonade, I know!”

Bradley rolls his eyes at the hand that waves over her shoulder, settling their bags at a table and keeping an eye on Sherrie while sending an update to Mav.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard. He wants to tell his uncle the whole situation - that he’s not afraid to flirt with Sherrie.

“Everything okay?”

Bradley looks up to find her eyebrows furrowed as she sets a tray down.

“All good. Just sending my family an update that we’re delayed.”

She nods, sitting in the chair across from him. “Here’s your mini pretzel dogs, with mustard and a frozen lemonade. This is my pretzel nuggets, cheese sauce, and Diet Coke. Oh! And I got us these cinnamon sugar pretzels to share!”

“Thank you for remembering the mustard.”

“Bradley, when have I ever forgotten the mustard? Here, take some napkins.”

He shoves an entire mini pretzel dog in his mouth in lieu of answering her question, which they both know the answer to. Never. She has never forgotten his love for pretzels with mustard.

They eat in comfortable silence, the way only two friends can, occasionally dunking into each other's sauces as they scroll through their phones.

“Hey, how is your da- oh Bradley! You got mustard on your shirt!” His head snaps down to his shirt, groaning when he sees the yellow blob on his white button-up.

“Fuck! This is new, too!”

Sherrie dives into her bag, muttering about a stain stick, a triumphant noise escaping when she comes up successful. Scooting closer to him, she’s hit with a wave of nostalgia as she helps him clean his shirt.

Friday, April 6, 2007 | 10:12 PM EST | Charlottesville, VA

“You should’ve been gone, knowing how I made you feel!”

Sherrie’s head pops up from the lab reports she’s grading.

“And I should've been gone, after all your words of steel!”

She knows that voice.

“Oh, I must've been a dreamer! And I must've been someone else!”

She knows that voice very well.

“And we should've been over!”

She rushes for the front door, hoping and praying that the idiot she’s become close friends with this year isn’t actually outside her townhouse.

“Oh! Sherrie, our love holds on! Holds on!”

She whips the door open and, sure enough, drunkenly singing to her neighbor's house is Bradley Bradshaw.

“Bradley!” She hisses at him, ignoring the flutters in her stomach when he points his big, goofy grin towards her and not the tulips the soccer girls next door planted in front of their bay window. “What are you doing? It’s 10 PM!”

“You didn’t come.”

“First man to ever care about that.” She mutters, snorting at her joke.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing. What are you doing here?”

His puppy dog eyes are vicious, and she has the urge to slap her hand over her eyes so she doesn’t succumb to their power. “You didn’t come to the party!”

Sherrie sighs, she thought he might be disappointed she didn’t come to the annual Sigma Chi Easter Bash, but she never thought he would actually notice her absence. Or that it would result in a drunken serenade.

“Bradley, I told you I had a lot of grading and might not make it tonight.” She gently reminds him, stifling a laugh when he trips over his own feet while standing still. “You okay?”

“I have to pee. Can I come in?”

She’s pretty sure he’s just making excuses but lets him in any way; she doesn’t need to deal with him getting a public indecency charge on top of everything else. “Shoes off, Bradshaw. Bathroom is right here; I’ll be in the dining room.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He sloppily salutes her, losing his balance and thunking against the wall, one shoe still on.

Sherrie just blinks at him before returning to her spot at the dining room table, holding in the laugh threatening to escape. She settles in her chair, focusing on the mediocre reports her students had turned in.

“I washed my hands!” Bradley’s abrupt entrance startles her. “Can we have a snack? I’m hungry?

She watches in amusement as he shuffles to her fridge, riffling through the shelves before opening the freezer and gasping.

“I love pretzels. Can we make these? Please?”

The box of pretzels belongs to her roommate, but she’s not strong enough to deny Bradley’s big brown eyes two times in a row so she makes a mental note to buy Amna a new box the next time she goes to the store. “Yeah, we can. But no touching the oven when you’re drunk. Go sit down.”

“I’m not drunk!” He argues even as he follows her directions, plopping himself at the table and nosily leafing through her done pile. “Wow, lots of red here.”

“Bradley! Don’t look at those!”

“Why not?”

“Would you want some random student looking through your homework?”

His rebuttal gets cut off by the oven beeping, announcing it’s up to temp. After she pops the tray in the oven, she turns and catches him appreciating the pj shorts riding up her shapely legs.

“What?” Her head cocks in confusion.

“Nothin'… cute shorts.”

“Thank you.” He watches in fascination as she snips at him even while her cheeks turn pink. “It’s almost like I was dressed for comfort and not planning on being interrupted.”

“But you’re glad I’m here, right?”

“I’ve had worse company on a Friday night.” She nudges him out of her chair. “While those are baking, go find something to watch, and I’m going to finish grading this report.”

“Such a responsible TA.”

Pride fills his chest as Sherrie snorts at his joke and goes back to work. They’ve officially been friends since last year, but he still tries his hardest to make her laugh. She's always so busy and stressed, and she does the cutest little snort-laugh when he catches her off guard.

He puts on a random movie, just grabbing a VHS case with the Disney logo on the side, before plopping on the couch. “Is there a reason you have so many kids movies?”

“Those are Jayla’s, she collects them.” Sherrie answers, never looking up from the table. “What did you choose?”

“It’s a surprise!”

“You don’t remember, huh?”

“Nope! I’ll be quiet now.”

She hums a thank you in his direction, and Bradley keeps his promise, watching her work and staying quiet until the timer goes off. His chin hooked on the back of the couch; he follows her movement through the kitchen as she pulls the pretzels out and transfers them to a plate.

“Can I have mustard, please?”

“Sure can.” Sherrie smiles at his dopey smile as she makes her way to the couch. “Here, take these, then we can eat.”

He gulps down the painkillers she drops in his hand, chugging the rest of the apple juice after they’re gone, smiling when she absentmindedly praises him for listening. He shoves a bite of pretzel in his mouth and mashes the play button, and is pleasantly surprised to find A Bug’s Life was the mystery choice.

“I love this movie,” he garbles through a pretzel. “I love how Flick wins over the princess just by getting a chance to show off his true self.”

“That was shockingly wise for the drunk man sprawled on my couch.”

Bradley thanks her, already a bit more sober but not enough to pick up on her teasing. “So, why didn’t you come? Grading really couldn’t wait?”

“It probably could have, but I’m not a partier, Bradley. You know that.” She dips a piece of pretzel in the mustard. “Besides, I really didn’t think you would notice I wasn’t there, Mr. Popular.”

“You’re the only person I invited; of course, I noticed when you didn’t show up.”

“Really? No one else? Why?”

“I know it’s almost finals, but I wanted to hang out without any books in front of us; that’s all we do lately. Study. Plus, you’ve been extra stressed about something that you don’t want to talk about, and I just wanted you to relax since you won’t talk to me about whatever is bothering you.”

“That’s sweet of you, Bradley. It’s not that I don’t want to tell you; it’s just that my family has been…” She waves a hand through the air, a deep sigh escaping. “It’s complicated. I’m trying not to think about it too much.”

“Well, I’m here if you do want to talk.”

“Thanks bud. How about you? How’re your parents?” She takes one last chunk before nudging the plate in his direction and settling back into the corner.

“Mom is good; she’s close to being considered cancer-free. I think we’re gonna throw a party when she gets there.”

“That’s awesome, Bradley! I’m glad she’s doing so well. How’s your dad?”

“Mav isn’t my dad.”

A record scratch plays in Sherrie’s head as she freezes. She knows she’s heard Bradley talk about his dad, and she’d seen photos of his parents the one time she had visited his frat house last year. He had specifically pointed the photo out, telling her it was his parents. She had even been next to him when he was on the phone when he said “dad” to the person on the other end.

“My dad died when I was three. Mav is- was his best friend. I call him dad sometimes because he’s the closest thing I’ve got.”

Sherrie feels her heart break as Bradley sniffles and sadly shoves a mustard-covered pretzel in his mouth, unshed tears clumping his eyelashes. She’s never seen her friend like this before; she’s experienced many other emotions - frustration, joy, confusion - but the pain creasing his brow is new.

Comforting crying people has never been her forte, but instinctively - almost like they moved without her permission - Sherrie’s fingers run over his hair. Gently stroking the sun-streaked waves as a few tears escape down his cheeks and she scoots closer, letting her body press into his side and hoping the proximity helps.

“I’m sorry for crying on you.” He quietly apologizes after a few minutes of tears.

“S’okay. Family can be hard sometimes.”

“Complicated.”

“That too.” She hums, not moving as he swipes at his eyes and leans against her more, his head resting on her shoulder in a slouched position that can’t be comfortable.

“I love Mav; he’s my dad in all the ways it matters. It just sucks that my actual dad won’t be here for graduation. Like, I know he’s missed so much of my life already, but something about him missing college graduation is worse than everything else. It’s just so unfair; I barely remember him, but I just- I just miss him so much, Sherrie.”

Her heart cracks in half at the whispered confession. She can’t even imagine the pain of losing a parent at such a young age. The inability to remember one of the people responsible for giving you life, all memories fuzzy and most built from second-hand recollections of those who can remember. So she says the one thing she would want to hear.

“Tell me about him.”

Sherrie knows she said the right thing when his red-rimmed eyes brighten, and he immediately launches into a beloved story detailing his father’s love of pranks. She listens dutifully — laughing at the right moments and asking questions when Bradley gets carried away, forgetting that she doesn’t know all the people in his story — and feels her heart warm more and more. She’s always liked Bradley, probably more than she should, but it’s hard not to like him. He’s considerate, smart, and funny, not to mention handsome.

Thankfully, before she gets lost in thoughts of broad shoulders and strong jawlines, a big glob of mustard drops on Bradley’s t-shirt, abruptly cutting him off. The two stare in silence at the yellow condiment sitting on the black cotton shirt, somehow surprised at its appearance, before breaking down into giggles.

“C’mon Bradshaw,” Sherrie grabs his hand, pulling him off the couch. “I have a Tide pen we can use on that mess.”

Bradley follows her up the stairs and into the bathroom, teasing Sherrie about the way her tongue pokes out when she focuses. She takes the gentle taunts, grateful he’s focusing on that and not on her pink cheeks or the way her eyes keep darting to his toned stomach. She’s not sure it was completely necessary for him to strip his shirt off, but she won’t be complaining.

“Well,” A few minutes later, she interrupts his rambling story about a slip and slide. Or she thinks that’s what it’s about; she missed the first part. “I think this is as good as I can get it.”

“That’s okay; it’s not like it’s new or anything. Thanks, Sherrie.”

She steadfastly ignores the pounding heart in her chest as miles of golden skin gets covered back up, trying to not feel too disappointed by its disappearance.

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 3:56 PM EST | Charlotte, NC

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Bradley complains a bit too loudly, ears going hot when several pairs of eyes curiously dart toward him, but his focus doesn’t stay on that for very long when he catches the face Sherrie makes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

He squints suspiciously as she avoids eye contact. He usually takes her at her word and doesn’t push, but the frown pulling down the corners of her pink lips sets off bells in his head. “Sherrie, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Bradley. I’m fine.”

He grumbles at her lack of response but settles again in the spot they had claimed after finishing their snack. The gate was still packed, but they had found a prime location with outlets; the only downside was having to sit on the floor, something that is getting harder the older they get.

Bradley scans the area, trying to scout out some open chairs for them to grab, while Sherrie goes back to the movie they’ve been watching on his phone. His eyes drop away from the chairs in surprise when she scoots closer and leans on his shoulder. It’s not uncommon for them to sit close like this at home in Boston, sides pressed together, but she makes a point to be professional when they’re on travel.

“Hey,” he gently nudges her side, concern rising when she doesn’t lift her head, choosing to tilt her neck back, looking up at him with tired eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Panic grips his chest when tears start forming, clouding her green eyes. “Sherrie?! What’s wrong?”

“We were supposed to be halfway home by now, and I’m so uncomfortable. I’m sorry, Bradley, I’m just so tired.” She whimpers, hiding against his bicep.

It hits him like a glass of cold water. Of course, she’s uncomfortable. She’s been walking around in heels and her pantsuit since 4AM California time after getting maybe three hours of sleep. His suit and shoes are comfortable and easily wearable for twelve-plus hours, not to mention the jacket and tie that were ditched sometime after the mustard incident.

“Oh, Sherrie, it’s okay. Let’s go change, yeah? Then we’ll find a quieter place so you can close your eyes and maybe get some sleep.”

“But the policy…”

Bradley resists the urge to roll his eyes at her insistence on rule-following. “In the nicest way possible, Sher, fuck the policy. You’re uncomfortable, and I care about that way more than I could ever care about a stupid, archaic policy.”

He stands, unplugging their phones and gathering their bags on his shoulder before turning to his best friend, who is still on the floor. “C’mon, we’re putting comfy clothes on.”

“But Bradley-”

“No arguing.” He interrupts, helping her off the ground and directing them back towards the restrooms. “We’re not going to sit in our suits for god knows how much longer.”

“But Bradley, I don’t have anything to change into. We had such a packed schedule I didn’t bother to bring normal clothes.” He ignores the thumping of his heart when her hand grabs his forearm, warm fingers slipping under the edge of the rolled-up sleeve as she tugs to slow his pace. At that information, he slides them out of the flow of traffic and over to the wall, Bradley pressing her against one of the columns lining the concourse atrium.

“You don’t have any regular clothes? What about your pajamas?”

“I have a pair of leggings because I was going to do a training run in the gym last night, but that’s it. I can’t wear my pjs because… well, they’re not appropriate for public.”

“Your leggings are clean, though, right?” He asks, ignoring the thoughts of what non-public appropriate pajamas might look like.

“Well, yeah, dinner went so late I barely had time to sleep before we had to be up. I guess I could buy a shirt at one of the SmartShop- what are you doing?”

Bradley peers up from his knees, where he had started digging in his bag. “I’m grabbing one of my shirts for you. Would you prefer a t-shirt or a sweatshirt? Actually, you’re definitely gonna get cold, sweatshirt for you.”

He pulls the worn, gray crew neck out, shaking it out before handing it over.

“You still have this?” The disbelief in her voice makes him laugh.

“Of course, I still have that! Relay was always my favorite event of the year. And that year was my favorite one.”

As the philanthropy chair of Sigma Chi, part of his job was to sign the brothers up for volunteer events and fundraisers. With his mom’s diagnosis, he ensured their schedule included the campus’ annual Relay for Life event, pouring as many resources as he could into the fundraiser that directly helped advance cancer research.

“Wait, but why was junior year your favorite?” She asks, brushing her fingers over the cracked, screen-printed logo.

“Because that’s the reason we became friends, Sher.”

Surprised green eyes meet sincere brown eyes, a thousand words said in the silence of their stares, both remembering the lead-up to that day in April so many years ago.

Bradley’s eyes widen in panic as everyone at the gate starts moving as a herd. They had finally found seats to relax in after changing, the group of passengers waiting with them shrinking as time went on. And now, with only ten minutes until boarding, their gate has changed again.

“Sherrie, wake up!” He feels bad shaking the snoozing woman off, but they have to move with the group to make it to the new part of Terminal A in time for their flight. “C’mon, honey, they changed the gate again — we gotta go!”

“What are you- again?! Shit!” She wipes the bleariness from her eyes, slinging her bags over her shoulder and grabbing the hand he holds out.

The two coworkers, along with fifty of their fellow passengers who have stuck this out, speed walk down the first branch of the terminal. The entire group picking up the pace when turning the corner towards the second branch where the new gate lives. By the time they hit the second branch, everyone is practically running — time ticking down to boarding — no one wanting to miss this flight.

As if the blob of Flight 1121 passengers racing toward the end of the terminal didn’t garner attention from other gates, the entire terminal is staring by the time they reach gate A28, and several people start yelling in frustration.

“This is unbelievable!” An older gentleman’s unhappiness is interrupted by three simultaneous updates pinging everyone’s phones.

Bradley’s head drops back in disbelief, wrapping his arm around Sherrie when her head thunks against his chest. He doesn’t even get a chance to comfort her before the gate agents are making announcements about getting people on other flights, providing hotel rooms, and the vouchers that will be shared.

“Again, we apologize, but if you have flexible travel plans, we ask that you please go to the end of the line so those with time constraints can be taken care of first. Thank you for your cooperation, folks!”

“Well, that’s us, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Sherrie blows air out of her lips, a mischievous smile taking over her face. “Hey, at least this means extra per diem money.”

Bradley laughs as they move to the back of the squiggly line that’s forming, letting her take the bags so he can step away to call to update their supervisor and then his pet sitter. It only takes a few rings for his boss to pick up. “Bradshaw! What’s up? You okay?”

“Hey Martin, all good. Just wanted to let you know that our flight has gotten supremely delayed. We won’t be home until tomorrow morning sometime.”

“Jesus, do you guys need anything?”

“Nah, we’re good. The airline is putting us up in a hotel for the night and giving vouchers for a bunch of stuff. Just called to let you know and for a heads up on the expense report.”

“Well, that is the most important part!” Martin’s honking laugh makes Bradley chuckle as he glances to check on Sherrie’s progress in line. “How’s Sherrie? She good?”

“Yeah, she’s good. She’s holding our spot in line for getting new tickets and stuff.” And it looks like she’s made friends already, he silently adds, smiling at her interacting with the elderly couple in front of her.

“Good. Alright then, I’ll see you on Monday, but let me know if you guys need anything. And hey! If you two end up in the same hotel room — remember what I said on your first day!”

The line goes dead, and so does Bradley’s smile, his stomach churning like it does every time he remembers his first day at the Wells Corporation.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007 | 11:15 AM EST | Boston, MA

“Will you calm down?”

“I can’t, Bradley. What if no one likes me? What if I fuck up?!” She hisses, working to appear calm as they wait for their supervisor to show up, but failing.

“First of all, we’re starting together, so you have at least one person that likes you. And you’re great, everyone will like you. Second, there will be mistakes, but we just graduated — they’re not going to let us do anything alone because we don’t know anything yet.”

Sherrie nods, tucking her hands under her legs and trying to breathe. Bradley’s words are encouraging, but he doesn’t know how difficult her internship was last summer. The older engineers she shadowed treated her like a glorified coffee girl and secretary. Even when she had pointed out a mistake they all had missed, there was no change — just the addition of making her type their reports to see if she could catch something the non-engineer tech writers would miss.

This is a brand new company, but misogyny wasn’t unique to Waite Green Construction. Every woman has to work twice as hard to prove her worth and intellect, no matter her age or experience. She’s just hoping her onboarding mentor will be the only other woman in the department; it would be the perfect way to gain a professional mentor once she’s out of the probation period.

“Good morning, kids! How was orientation?” Mr. Teresi walks into the conference room.

Bradley shakes his hand first, “It was good, sir. Nice to see you again.”

“Good to hear! Learn lots of new things.”

“Yes, I think we can be considered experts on trade secrets now.” Sherrie jokes, focusing on making sure her handshake is firm but not too firm.

“Wonderful. So, I’m guessing you two have been introduced, but just in case you haven’t. Bradley, this is Sherrie McHone; she’s an electrical engineer. And Sherrie, this is Bradley Bradshaw, a mechanical engineer.”

“We actually went to school together, sir.”

“We’re friends,” Bradley adds, the two of them exchanging small smiles.

“Oh, great! Well, that makes things easier getting started. Now let’s go over my plan for the two of you, and then we’ll get lunch, my treat for your first day.”

Their supervisor talks for half an hour, going over things they’ll need to be trained in and their first assignments. By the time he’s done, several notebook pages have been filled and highlighted with things that need to be looked up.

“Alright!” The older engineer claps, rubbing his hands together. “I’m sure your brains are overloaded with information, so go drop your things at your desks, and we’ll head to lunch.”

The recent graduates gather their notes and head for the door, quietly talking about a training they’ll be attending next week when he stops them. “One more thing, guys. They never mention it during R&D orientation, but I feel it’s necessary to mention it to new people. Here at Wells, there isn’t a fraternization policy among non-management coworkers or between any employees in different divisions. But we are a fairly small department, so keep in mind who you interact with and what impacts that may have at work.”

Sherrie feels the blood drain from her already pale face as her brand new supervisor stares at her the entire time he speaks, ignoring Bradley completely. She’s going to be sick. Less than four hours into the first professional role of her career, and it’s already happening.

This is the moment it starts, she thinks, her heart pounding in her throat as she robotically nods. It’s never the men that get these warnings. It’s always the women. Always us. Always me.

“I don’t care about that. But there are some people who will, even though they shouldn’t. And I want you guys to have the best experience here you possibly can. You’re both extremely bright, and I’m excited about your futures. I don’t want you to get bogged down by the opinions of others. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” They answer in unison before filing out of the conference room.

“Sherrie, don’t worry about that. He’s just-”

“Trust me, Bradley. I know exactly what he was saying. I’m going to use the restroom, and then I’ll meet you guys at the elevator.”

“Sherrie…”

But she ignores her friend, shrugging her purse over her shoulder and keeping her face neutral as she heads for the single-stall ladies’ room. Fighting to hold the tears back until she’s inside for fear of being perceived as emotional. A quality no woman can afford to have in a professional setting.

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 8:05 PM EST | Charlotte, NC

“Hey, everything? Martin says hi.”

“We’re good! This is Mr. and Mrs. Ludden; they’re going to visit their newest granddaughter. How’re Sophie and Louis?” Bradley smiles at the excited way she introduces them, putting a steadying hand on her back when she bounces up on her toes.

“Oh, congrats! They’re good; Marie can watch’em one more day, problem.”

“Good, we’ll have to get her a thank you present for the short notice.”

“You didn’t tell us you guys had kids!”

Bradley and Sherrie freeze in place, eyes widening in surprise at the older woman’s words.

“Oh- uh- we-” Sherrie giggles awkwardly. “Sophie and Louis are our cats; we don’t have kids.”

“I’m so sorry!” Mrs. Ludden gasps, hand covering her mouth in shock while her husband groans her name.

“Louise, how many times do we have to do this before you stop making assumptions?”

“It’s okay, innocent mistake,” Bradley assures them.

“Well, they’re such a cute couple. I just thought they would have adorable children, too!”

“Actually… we’re not…”

“Oh, lord. Let me guess. You’re not dating. You’re just friends.”

“Coworkers too, but we were friends first.” Sherrie suppresses a laugh when the older gentleman rubs a hand over his eyes in exasperation.

“Don’t even start, Clayton!”

“I wasn’t going to, dear.”

Bradley can’t help the laugh that escapes at the comfortable ribbing they give each other; it reminds him of his friendship with Sherrie. The easy way they tease, never going too far.

“Would you two like to join us after we get rebooked?” Bradley asks. “We’re going to use our food vouchers tonight to grab dinner before we head to whatever hotel they put us up in.”

The four adults move through the line, chatting about small things and comparing pictures of grandkids and cats. It’s a nice way to spend the time, especially when they get to share judging looks when a woman throws a tantrum and yells at the gate agent. But soon enough, they’re walking back to the main concourse and deciding what food to get.

“No, stop. You just sit here with the bags, and I’ll grab the food.” Bradley gently pushes Sherrie back into her chair, rolling his eyes as he talks over her protests. “I know. You want mac and cheese, Diet Coke, and whatever pulled pork flavor looks best.”

“He’s sweet,” Louise says, watching the two men make their way over to the BBQ place.

“He’s annoying.” Which makes her companion laugh. “Yes, he’s very sweet. I’m lucky to be such good friends with him.”

“Can I ask why the two of you aren’t together? He even knows what food to bring you.”

“It’s just never been like that between us. We’ve always just been friends. And he’s annoyingly smart, so he always remembers what I order.” Sherrie half smiles, pushing down the pain in her chest at the harmless curiosity, watching Bradley laugh at something Clayton says as she remembers the first time he remembered one of her favorites.

Saturday, March 4, 2006 | 1:34 PM EST | Charlottesville, VA

“Thanks for meeting me on a Saturday, Bradshaw. It’s just such a busy semester.”

“No problem. You know you can call me Bradley, right?”

“Oh, sorry. Do you not like being called Bradshaw?” Sherrie blinks when a bottle of Diet Coke and a small bag of Skittles is set on the table in front of her. “What’s this?”

“Your favorite snack.”

“Right… but why?”

“Because you have that about 50% of the time when we meet up to work on this project. Now, I finished transcribing the interview with Commander Buck last night. Did you want to- Sherrie?”

She shifts her focus from the food to the boy across from her in the study nook they’ve claimed as theirs for the semester. “Why do you remember my favorite snack?”

“Because we’re friends?” Brown eyes look into hers, equally confused.

“We’re friends?”

“I hope so; otherwise, this is gonna get awkward when you hug me in a minute.”

“Why am I going to hug you?!”

Bradley laughs at her flabbergasted expression, but it doesn’t hurt her feelings like it does when other people laugh at her. Something about the tone of the laugh makes it feel like he’s laughing at her, but rather with her, and she just doesn’t know the joke yet.

“Because as team captain, I am happy to announce to the Relay Chair that Sigma Chi has officially raised $5,000 thanks to your idea.”

“Bradley, that’s incredible!” She doesn’t feel silly when she bounces around the table to hug his neck, rocking them back and forth in excitement.

“Well, if you think that’s good - let me show you what we’re anticipating to raise this month…”

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 10:12 PM EST | Charlotte, NC

“I just don’t understand how we’re having such bad luck!”

Sherrie rolls her eyes as he unlocks the door. “Bradley, breathe. You’re being very dramatic right now.”

“How is “we’re out of rooms” a legitimate reason for the hotel to give? Not that I mind sharing with you, but like how is that possible? The airline specifically works with them to book rooms for things like this! And the airline! That gate agent who wanted to book us to fly into Hartford and then drive the rest of the way to Boston! That's insane!”

“I don’t know, the Bradley flying into Bradley joke was pretty funny.” She mutters, clicking the lights on as she checks the cleanliness of the room.

“It wasn’t.” Bradley pouts, flopping onto the bed closest to the door. “Do you want to shower first?”

“No, go ahead, but I’m going to wash my face first so I can do a face mask. I’m so dry from the airport air.” He listens to the sounds of water running and the quiet humming as she carefully applies the drenched sheet to her skin. “All yours!”

“Thanks, Sher. I won’t be long.”

He showers quickly but takes extra time cleaning his teeth, his mouth feeling gross after the long travel day. When he comes out, he’s surprised at how cozy the room feels. With only one lamp on, the air conditioning set low to keep the fan running, and an old movie on the TV, it almost feels like they could be at home in his living room. They silently move around each other, Sherrie heading to the bathroom with a pile of things while Bradley organizes his things for the morning, wanting to get as much rest as possible before their early alarm.

He scrolls through emails and texts while he waits for her to shower, turning the television off since he knows there’s a small chance of either of them making it five minutes after they kill the lights. He's updating Mav on tomorrow’s travel plans when Sherrie comes out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel. Bradley sees her packing things out of the corner of his eye, not fully paying attention until he plugs his phone in.

“That’s what you wear to bed?”

“Bradley!” He laughs at how she jumps, her hands coming down to cover her shorts.

“What? They’re cute! Very pink.”

Her face goes as pink as the pajama set she’s wearing. “Stop making fun of me!”

“I’m not! You know, I love strawberries.” He can’t help the way his eyes roam up and down her body, admiring from the spaghetti straps on her smooth shoulders to the scalloped edge of her shorts. “I see why you didn’t want to change into those at the airport.”

“Oh my god…” She huffs, climbing into her own queen bed and stuffing herself under the sheets. “You set an alarm, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. Want me to turn the light off?”

“Please. God, this day cannot be over soon enough.”

He chuckles and turns the lamp off, listening to her shuffle around in the sheets as she gets comfortable. It’s quiet for a few minutes, and he can hear her breathing leveling out, but he can’t keep quiet; the conversation at the airport running through his mind.

“Sher?” It takes a second, but she quietly hums in response. “We have to talk about it again.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Sherrie-”

“No, Bradley. We talked about this two weeks ago. Nothing has changed since then.”

“Yes, things have changed since then. You interviewed for that principal engineer position. Which if you get-”

“I’m not going to get it. They’re going to pick Trevor.”

“They’re going to pick you. You’re the best person for the job!”

“That’s not how it works, and you know it.”

He’s silent, the crushing weight on his chest feeling heavier when he hears her sniffle.

“Oh, Sherrie…” He slips out of his bed and into hers, wrapping the woman he loves in his arms. He lets her cry, knowing she’s frustrated and exhausted, only speaking up again when she’s calmed down. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“No, I’m sorry, Bradley. It’s not fair that we’ve been dancing around this for so many years, and I keep saying no. You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to be with you. Not a coward like me.”

“You’re not a coward; you’re one of the bravest people I know, Sherrie Anne McHone. I know how critical people are of women, in this field especially. And I love you, so I don’t mind waiting until we’re in a position that you’re confident won’t jeopardize your career. So, we’ll wait to hear about the job, and once you hear that you’ve gotten it, I’m treating you to the nicest dinner in Boston.”

“Bradley, we don’t know-”

“I know we don’t know. But think about how it would be if it does. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

“But what about-”

“Doesn’t matter, honey.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.” Sherrie mumbles, cuddling further into his side, making it clear that he wasn’t allowed to leave.

“I know, but it doesn’t matter, whatever it is — we’ll figure it out.”

Saturday, July 16, 2016 | 10:32 AM EST | Somewhere over Virginia

“She’ll take a ginger ale; thank you so much.” Bradley balances his apple juice, the two packets of Biscoff cookies, and the bubbling soda he got for Sherrie. The smiling flight attendant moves past their row as he turns to his row companion.

They’re finally on their way home after waking up to more delay announcements. The additional time meant there was time to get coffee and some fruit from the hotel before their taxi back to the airport arrived, and the Luddens had even stopped to chat for a second at the gate, excited that they had gotten bumped up to first class since the flight was nearly empty.

All things considered, it had been a good morning even though Sherrie was insisting on working during the flight. Bradley is sure it’s an attempt to ignore their talk from last night, not wanting to dwell on the emotional moment when things are still so up in the air.

He looks over at the woman he’s known since he was eighteen, overwhelmed for a moment by how little things have changed since the first time he ever noticed her. Bradley fondly watches as she furiously types, hunched over her laptop with headphones, playing what he knows is eighties hair bands.

Her nose wrinkles in frustration, and suddenly it’s 2003 again, and he’s trying to get the attention of the red-haired girl whose table has the only empty chair left, something he desperately needs since this book can’t leave the library. He’s unable to get her attention and resorts to knocking on the table, heart skipping a beat when the prettiest green eyes he’s ever seen blink up at him. Bradley gestures at the empty chair, silently asking if he can sit, and is grateful when she nods because her smile is making his knees wobble. For the next hour, he tries to take notes for his paper, but he keeps getting distracted by the beautiful girl across from him. Bradley isn’t sure if he’s upset or happy when she packs up her stuff and leaves, giving him a little wave when she notices him watching her.

That had been thirteen years ago, and her intense focus still distracts him, but he’s not afraid to interrupt her this time. Fingers rub her arm that is covered in his sweatshirt again, but this time, he knows it smells like her shampoo instead of his cologne. Her smile still sends his heart skipping when she looks up at him, her pretty eyes widening in joy when she catches sight of the red snack packaging and the plastic cup holding her second favorite soda.

“Thank you!” She whispers, leaning across the empty middle seat in their row to kiss his cheek. “Oh, and we should go out to lunch when we get back! I want to try that new noodle place that opened in Southie.”

He just smiles when she immediately gets back to work; cheek puffed out from the cookie she stuffed in her mouth.

Maybe she’s not avoiding our talk from last night.

Thursday, August 11, 2017 | 2:15 PM EST | Boston, MA

“You got a minute?” Bradley knocks on the edge of her cubicle. It may be a different floor of their building, but all of the office space is the same dated stuff from decades ago.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“First of all…” He ducks down and presses a swift kiss to her plush mouth, still trying to make up for all those years he couldn’t. “And don’t say anything because I already checked before I did because I wanted to kiss my girl.”

He chuckles at the pink spots that shine on her cheeks. It’s been a year since Sherrie snagged the promotion, and they officially became an item, but she still turns a little red whenever he says something sweet.

“Second, you are all packed, right?”

“Yes, why?”

“I was gonna swing by the apartment and get our bags so we can head straight to the airport after work.”

“You took the afternoon off? Why?”

Bradley was expecting this question and smoothly fibs. “I worked the hours out with Martin for this week so I could run a few last-minute errands. Do you want me to grab snacks?”

“Okay, Mr. Secrets. When you’re at home, could you water the ivy? I forgot this morning, and I don’t want it to die while we’re gone.”

“Of course! Need me to do anything else?”

Sherrie hums, staring at the ceiling as she thinks. “One more kiss?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bradley happily complies with her request.

“Okay, now you have to go. I have to finish prepping for this meeting where I get to yell at Sean.”

“That’s my girl. I’ll pick you up later. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Have fun with your mysterious errands.” Sherrie teases, and Bradley smirks back, knowing how much she would be freaking out if he knew what he would be doing while she professionally reamed out their least favorite colleague.

“Thanks, honey. Text me if you think of something.” Sherrie waves over her shoulder, already zoned back into her work.

Bradley doesn’t dare look at his buzzing phone until he’s safely on the elevator, pleased to see confirmation texts from their hotel and the airline. Would it be cheesy to quietly propose in the airport that was a catalyst in their relationship? Maybe, but he knew Sherrie would love it. He’s just hoping the TSA didn’t call out the ring that would be hiding in his carry-on.

#deltasupremacy I also want to give a special thanks to @sometimesanalice, who gave so much encouragement through the texts despite having no idea what I was writing - you're the best! tagged some friends and most those who interacted with the original announcement post for this fic all those months ago!

tagging: @gretagerwigsmuse @sometimesanalice @laracrofted @theharddeck @hangmanbrainrot @hangmanssunnies @thesewordsareallihavetogive @princessphilly @katieshook02 @atarmychick007 @kmc1989 @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @misfitpeach @luckyladycreator2 @scarlettwidow19 @mini-bee-bee @midnightstarqueen @shamelessghostwagonwobbler

divider credit

[ljblueteak]

From The Beatles site X

Culver City, CA (February 20th, 2024) -- Today, Sony Pictures Entertainment (SPE), Sam Mendes, and Neal Street Productions announced a groundbreaking creative endeavor to tell the story of The Beatles with four distinct theatrical feature films. The project marks the first time Apple Corps Ltd. and The Beatles – Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr, and the families of John Lennon and George Harrison – have granted full life story and music rights for a scripted film.

As conceived by Mendes, who will direct, the four theatrical feature films – one from each band member’s point-of-view – will intersect to tell the astonishing story of the greatest band in history.

Image

SPE will finance and distribute worldwide with full theatrical windows in 2027. The dating cadence of the films, the details of which will be shared closer to release, will be innovative and groundbreaking. 

Mendes will direct all four films and produce alongside his Neal Street Productions partner Pippa Harris and Neal Street’s Julie Pastor. Jeff Jones will executive produce for Apple Corps Ltd.

“I’m honoured to be telling the story of the greatest rock band of all time, and excited to challenge the notion of what constitutes a trip to the movies,” said Sam Mendes.

“We intend this to be a uniquely thrilling, and epic cinematic experience: four films, told from four different perspectives which tell a single story about the most celebrated band of all time,” said Pippa Harris. “To have The Beatles’ and Apple Corps’ blessing to do this is an immense privilege. From our first meeting with Tom Rothman and Elizabeth Gabler, it was clear that they shared both our passion and ambition for this project, and we can’t think of a more perfect home than Sony Pictures.”

“Apple Corps is delighted to collaborate with Sam, Pippa and Julie to explore each Beatle’s unique story and to bring them together in a suitably captivating and innovative way,” said Apple Corps Ltd. CEO Jeff Jones. “Sony Pictures’ enthusiastic support, championing the project’s scope and creative vision from the start, has been invaluable for all of us.” 

“I know I speak for our CEO Tony Vinciquerra, who was instrumental in making this happen, and every Sony Pictures Motion Picture Group colleague around the world when I say: ‘yeah, yeah, yeah!’” said Tom Rothman, Chairman and CEO of Sony Pictures’ Motion Picture Group. “Theatrical movie events today must be culturally seismic. Sam’s daring, large-scale idea is that and then some. Pairing his premiere filmmaking team, with the music and the stories of four young men who changed the world, will rock audiences all over the globe. We are deeply grateful to all parties and look forward ourselves to breaking some rules with Sam’s uniquely artistic vision.”

[wanderingcas]

since ao3 is down and we're all suffering here's chapter 1 of my destiel lighthouse keepers fic (not the prologue. that's a secret)

title: where there is darkness pairing: dean/cas summary, written badly, because i did this in 2 minutes: Cas is trying to escape his past by taking a job as a lighthouse keeper. Little does he know the love of his life is waiting for him there. Historical au. Gay sex later. Just read it.

Chapter 1

 1949. Autumn.

The bus drops Castiel off on the outskirts of Kittery, just over the bridge connecting Maine and New Hampshire’s borders over the water. He watches the bus as it hisses, lifting its aching joints and meandering down the windy highway 101. 

Castiel decides to stand for a long moment, staring out into the empty field.

Behind him is Kittery Foreside, the center of town: beyond it, the harbor, with the lighthouse just a speck in the distance. It’s a clear afternoon, not quite twilight, so he was able to track the dot through the window as they crossed the bridge. 

But now, he’d rather stare at the field and the deep blue of the sky as the sun sets. 

In his left hand is the official letter detailing his new job. In his right, a leather suitcase containing everything he now owns (three outfits, one wool sweater, a toothbrush—and a stack of letters, stained in the left corners where he dropped them accidentally into a puddle). 

He watches a seagull’s trajectory as it lands on the fence post, scratching at a wing with its beak.

A lighthouse keeper—arguably an insane job to take, considering he has no experience. But the sailing portion on his resume (from a handful of times he sailed at his family’s lake house as a boy) seemed to set him apart from the rest of the applicants. And the job was going to put him exactly where he wanted to be: away from society. Away from people.

Taking a sharp breath, he turns on his heel, and follows the road to the town center, street lights illuminating the pavement in the twilight. 

There’s only one hotel that took his reservation at such short notice; as he fills out the registration form, the bellhop eyes his lack of luggage suspiciously. 

Swallowing a nervous lump in his throat, Castiel takes the key from the woman at the front desk. “Do you have any recommendations for somewhere to eat this time of night?”

“Only thing open on a Wednesday night is the Roadhouse, sir,” the woman says as she files his paperwork behind the desk. She shoots him a smile. “It’s good food, though. Place is almost as old as the town itself. I recommend the lobster rolls, personally.”

“Thank you, uh…”

“Bela,” she replies. 

“Bela,” Castiel repeats. “Can you tell me which direction to go?”

Pulling out a map, Bela splays it on the counter, uncapping a pen. 

The Roadhouse is clear on the other side of town, across yet another bridge. The amount of islands that the area is divided into baffles Castiel. It’s well past dark when he arrives, pushing the door into the warm embrace of the diner. 

A rush of nostalgia hits him as he realizes it’s similar to the one in Boston that he frequented, just a couple of blocks from the parish—their similarities extend even to the paraphernalia on the wall. Whoever owns this diner seems to have an obsession with John Wayne, just like the ones in Boston. 

“Be one sec!” a waitress calls as she flies past him, a tray of drinks balanced on her shoulder. “Just pick an empty one!” 

Dutifully, Castiel slides into a chair by the window, setting his cold hands on the table. He glances around at the buzzing diner; there are more people than he expected, considering that the town seemed to already close its eyelids as the sun went down. A family with two whining toddlers are crammed into a booth in the corner, another taking up multiple tables shoved together, kids running around and chasing each other as their parents snap at them to sit down and eat. Other tables are filled with men in fishermen’s overalls and boots, a group of women poking at their plates of food, babies in their arms. 

One baby, held by a woman in a plaid dress, coos and holds out his hands towards the plate. The woman smiles down at the baby, kissing the top of his blonde head.

Castiel’s heart constricts and he looks away before the familiar tears can prick at his eyes.

“Whaddaya havin’?” 

Castiel whips up his head at the same waitress from before, blinking. “Oh. I don’t have—”

“Ah, damn it, I didn’t give you a menu did I?” she says with a roll of her eyes, pulling out a plastic one from underneath her arm and setting it on the table. “Sorry, the dinner rush is crazy on Wednesdays. You wouldn’t think it, my brother had the big idea to make Wednesday the day we offer crab at market price, so everyone’s goin’ nuts.” 

Castiel stares down at the menu, feeling a little shell-shocked, and realizing he hasn’t had a proper conversation with someone for weeks—especially not someone so energetic. “Should I not order the crab, then?” he asks, solemnly. 

“Not order the—?” She lets out something closer to a snort than a laugh, smacking his arm. “Oh, you’re yanking my chain, huh? No, order the crab if you want, damage is already done. I’ll just give you a minute, okay? Oh, and name’s Jo, if you need to yell at me across the room.”

Before Castiel can reply, she’s already walking away at a quick pace, ponytail swinging. 

He orders the lobster roll when she finally comes back around to his table twenty minutes later; when he explains it was on Bela’s recommendation, Jo scoffs, “And you trust her?” She waves a hand at his raised eyebrows. “Whatever, she’s right, actually. Lobster was fresh caught this morning, too. Any fries with that roll to keep it company?”

Castiel nods, handing the menu back to her. “And an iced tea.” 

She takes the menu, narrowing her eyes. “Say… if Bela gave you the recommendation, does that mean you’re staying at the inn?” 

Castiel sucks in a breath. The lines he rehearsed are already slamming into his head like a film playing too quickly. “Yes. I just got into town.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, welcome! What brings you to Kittery?”

“A job.”

When Castiel doesn’t elaborate, Jo leans in, smile conspiratorial. “And what job would that be?”

Castiel considers lying. But he already has enough lies to keep track of. “Second assistant keeper at Whaleback Lighthouse.” 

Jo’s eyebrows shoot up her brow, and she says, emphatically, “Oh. The stag light, out on the harbor? Really?”

“I don’t seem the type?” Castiel jokes weakly. 

Jo doesn’t even try to hide the way her eyes scrape up and down his suit and trench coat, more tax accountant than sailor. “No, actually. Not at all.” 

“I’m trying a career change.”

“Uh-huh.” 

“I have sailing experience.”

Jo purses her lips. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

It was beginning to feel like he was interviewing for the job all over again. Castiel crosses his arms on the table and stares her down as intimidatingly as he can: the same stare he gave the children when they forgot lines of their catechisms. “Is that all?”

“Hey,” Jo says, hands raised, “just making conversation. I’ll go put in your order.” 

Castiel watches as she makes her way to the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder at him as she goes. There’s a small window where the orders are passed between the kitchen and whoever is at the counter: Castiel can see Jo talking to another man through it as they glance intermittently at Castiel. 

He scrubs a hand over his face and curses under his breath. Lying would have been the better option.

The news spreads like wildfire: from Jo to the cook to other patrons in the diner to an older woman at the till. They all stare at him with curious glances, sizing him up. When Jo delivers his lobster roll, Castiel can barely eat it, his stomach is so twisted up in knots.

Someone is going to ask questions; investigate. Or, worse, someone is going to recognize him from the papers. His suitcase is still at the hotel; he could run back to his room, grab it, get out of town. He could just ditch the suitcase altogether if it weren’t for the damn letters. He curses himself again for not putting them in his pocket. He begins to fish out his wallet, fingers shaking as he pulls out a few bills because he can’t just add dine and dash to his list of offenses, but the walls are also closing in and everyone’s looking at him and—

A man appears beside the table. Castiel stares up at him, eyes wide, hands hidden under the table.

He’s wearing waterproof overalls and gumboots, like the rest of the fishermen types at the adjacent table. He scratches his beard and narrows his eyes as he sizes up Castiel. 

Castiel wonders if he could take him in a fight. Based on Castiel’s lack of fitness and the size of this man’s arm, his guess is a resounding no.

“You the new keeper at Whaleback, huh?” he asks. 

Castiel wills his voice not to shake. “Yes.”

The man stares at him for another long moment, frowning, scratching at the dark beard peppering his jawline. Finally, he sits down at the chair across from Castiel, leaning toward him. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Castiel asks, frowning. 

The man shakes his head. “Just… watch yourself out there. Okay? Place isn’t exactly… normal.”

Something akin to cold water rushes down Castiel’s spine, extinguishing the fire of anxiety freezing his limbs—people aren’t wary of him. They’re wary of his new place of occupation. He almost laughs with relief. 

“I can manage,” he says, placing the bills back into his wallet. “Thank you.”

“No, see, there’s—” The man blows out a gust of air. “The Principal Keeper, you see. He ain’t right in the head.” 

“I’m sorry, who even are you?” Castiel snaps.

“Cole!” 

Both Castiel and the man turn their heads in time to see the older woman from the register approach and cuff Cole over the back of the head. “Spreading rumors again, huh? Got nothin’ better to do?” 

Cole crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair with a scowl. “Not rumors if they’re true, Ellen,” he mumbles.

“Then the next thing you can gab about is how I kicked your ass across this diner and out onto the street,” Ellen snaps, smacking at his shoulder. “Go on, get up and join your buddies, you good-for-nothin’.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Cole rises, then points his finger at Castiel. “I mean it, okay, guy? Just watch yourself around that psycho.”

“That’s enough out of you,” Ellen growls, shoving his back as he goes. She hooks a thumb over to the table of fishermen. “Ignore those superstitious idiots. They latch onto a Jonah in town and don’t stop talking about it.”

“A Jonah?” Castiel asks.

“That’s what they call anyone who’s bad luck enough to stop them from getting a catch.” Ellen shrugs a shoulder. “But they’ve had the best fishing around here in decades since Dean Winchester rolled back into town from the war, so it’s just prejudice.” She nods down at Castiel’s plate. “Lobster roll no good?”

Castiel blinks down at it; he’d forgotten the food in front of him. “Just haven’t had the chance to try it yet.”

Smile sympathetic, Ellen nods over to the counter. “If you want, we can move you over there. Then the eyes of the town will be on your back. Easier to ignore.”

Despite himself, Castiel’s lips quirk up into a grin. “I like that idea.”

With a wink, Ellen scoops up his plate for him, holding it aloft as she weaves through the tables. “Sorry about them,” she says over her shoulder to Castiel as he follows. “You’re not exactly the first keeper this year to come into town for the job, so they’re just a little excitable.”

Castiel slides onto the stool at the counter, frowning. “I thought the job just opened up last month?”

“Oh, it did.” Ellen rounds the corner to the other side of the counter, depositing Castiel’s plate. She quirks her lips, thinking for a moment. “You’re the fourth, I think.”

Castiel gapes. “Fourth?”

“This year, at least.”

“I…” Castiel works his jaw to find the words. “Did they—are they…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, too absorbed in the image of his body splayed out onto the rocks as an ending to this story.

“Oh—no,” Ellen scoffs, waving a hand. “They didn’t die. It’s a dangerous job, but people don’t die… often. No, these men quit after a few months. One didn’t even last a week.” 

Because she keeps glancing at his plate, Castiel picks up the lobster roll and takes a bite. Perfectly salted lobster and toasted bun explodes flavor in his mouth. He makes a mental note to thank Bela profusely for the recommendation. 

He realizes, two bites into his food, that he forgot to pray.

He frowns, wiping his face with a napkin, inwardly chastising himself. That kind of thing doesn’t matter anymore.

Jo skips up to stand beside Ellen, placing her empty tray down on the counter. “What are we talking about?”

“Don’t listen to her about it, either,” Ellen tells Castiel firmly, taking the tray. “Jo’s got fanciful notions about the sea.”

“Oh, we talking about Whaleback?” Jo’s eyes glint mischievously as she leans forward to say to Castiel in a lowered voice, “It’s haunted, you know. That’s why all those keepers quit. Only the Winchesters stay there ‘cause they got used to the ghosts by now.”

“I see,” Castiel says slowly. 

“But, hey, kudos to you for trying it out,” another voice says, patting him on the shoulder. Castiel balks at the man who’s suddenly appeared next to him, a hand offered in greeting. “I’m Ash, Jo’s brother, Ellen’s reluctant son. Nice to meet ya.”

Castiel rubs his temples and sighs. “This is beginning to feel like a circus.”

“Let me give you the skinny,” Ash says, pushing back his hair that’s somehow short in the front and long in the back—something Castiel can barely get his mind around. “Lighthouse used to be totally normal, right? Besides the normal rumors that lighthouses just always have. Daddy John Winchester and little brother Sam Winchester looked after it while older brother Dean Winchester was off fighting the Nazis—he came back and that’s when things started getting weird.” 

Weary from traveling and the overall conversation, Castiel decides to tuck into his lobster roll, hoping that if he doesn’t reply, they’ll all go away. 

“Tell him what happened with his uh, uh—what do you call it?” Jo asks, snapping her fingers.

“Oh, yeah! Dean’s agoraphobia,” Ash says. “Shifts at the lighthouse are usually 25 days on, 4 days off, right? Well, Dean stopped going to shore more and more, until he just stopped leaving the lighthouse altogether. Don’t think that kid’s been out since—what? ’47?”

“Of course he has,” Jo says with a roll of her eyes. “He stopped coming to the mainland when his dad died last year, remember?”

Castiel lifts his head at that one. “He died?”

“Yeah,” Ash says, shaking his head. “John Winchester—he was the Principal Keeper for, what, twenty years at least. Fell over the railing on a clear day. Since then, people keep sayin’ they see weird things—like a woman in a white dress walking up and down the landing, lights flickering on and off during a power outage… Weird things like that. But people are jumpy after the war, they need something to talk about. Get their minds distracted.”

Castiel sipped at his water, mulling over the information. “Who was on shift with Mr. Winchester when he fell?”

Jo grimaces, exchanging a look with Ash. “Dean was in the kitchen when it happened. Saw his dad falling past the window.” 

“He’s Principal Keeper now,” Ash adds. “So you’ll be serving under him. Sam Winchester is the first assistant. And Adam, their half brother, still in high school—he helps out from time to time, picks up shifts if Sam needs it. But now, with you here…” Ash lets out a chuckle. “Well, as long as you last, anyway.”

Castiel takes another long gulp of water, wishing it was beer so he could calm his jangling nerves. “The Coast Guard didn’t tell me I was walking into a situation.” 

Ellen, who stayed on the sideline of their conversation, comes back to lean against the counter. “Officially? You’re not.” She points her finger at Castiel. “Loyalty runs deep in this town. No matter how weird Dean gets, he still fought for this country and he’s done a lot of good for the town since. So any sideways look or word against him, and people will sooner run you out of here than take your side. Got it?”

Castiel sets down his iced tea. He nods. “I got it.”

“Good.” Ellen leans back, arms crossed. “That all being said—if you last after a shift, be sure to visit here while you’re on shore, okay?” 

“Yeah,” Ash chimes in, “we’re placing bets. So last at least two shifts so I can stay low, okay?”

“Or at least three,” Jo adds. She nudges his elbow on the counter with her own. “Don’t worry, champ, I got faith in ya.” 

Incredulous, Castiel scoffs into his water. “Yeah. Right.”

The bell to the diner door rings, heralding a group of sweaty children in baseball uniforms and their parents. The sudden flood of people distracts Ash and Jo long enough for Castiel to finish his lobster roll in peace. When he’s done, he places a ten dollar bill, enough to cover the meal and then some, beside his plate as he shrugs on his coat, winding around the crowd clamoring for a seat to sit.

He hunches his shoulders against the damp shock of cold, blowing warm air into his hands. Living in Boston was cold, but not like this: here, the very air feels hostile, stealing your breath to toss into the harbor’s winds. Castiel paces down the main street, past the dark windows of a flower shop, antique store, and a movie palace. At the end of the road, nudged up a slight hill, is a drug store—and a payphone tucked in beside it. 

It’s a bad idea. He knows it’s a bad idea. But then he thinks of the letters in his suitcase, and the answer is made for him. 

Picking the phone off its cradle, he dials for the operator and asks to make a collect call to Boston, fighting the tremor in his voice. 

The line trills once. Twice. Castiel’s palms spring sweat despite the cold. On the fourth ring, the receiver is picked up. 

“Hello?” 

Hearing his sister’s voice releases the vise that’s constricting his chest. “Anna,” he chokes out.

There’s a long silence on the other end. Then: “You have to be kidding me.” 

“I know I shouldn’t be calling—”

“I told you not to. I’m hanging up.”

“Just—” Castiel clutches the phone tight to his ear, his body a taut string. He can hear forks clinking in the background on Anna’s end. They’re probably having dinner. “How is she?” he asks, unable to hold the words back. “Her and—”

“They’re fine,” Anna says with a sharp sigh. “Listen, someone could be listening in. It was stupid to call. Don’t do it again.” She pauses. “You get in okay?”

“Yes.” Castiel closes his eyes against the sudden tears that spring into his eyes. “I start the job tomorrow.”

“Good.” Anna’s voice is gentler as she adds, “They’re fine, little brother. Just—don’t call again. Okay?”

“Okay.” Castiel can hear a familiar laugh over the line. He quickly slams the phone back into the cradle; an instinctual reaction. 

Panic, fear, sorrow—it all mounts in his chest as he stumbles away from the payphone, blindly down the road. His feet find their path away from the downtown, toward a cluster of trees and green overlooking the harbor. 

The lighthouse is on now, its lens bright and twirling across the water like a ballerina suspended on a string. Castiel follows the movement as he breathes unsteadily, desperate to catch his racing heart.

Eventually, as it always does, his pulse slows. The fear, the panic—it all leaves his body like water trickling off a ledge. Regret and shame remains, pooling sourly in his gut. 

The water below is dark, murky. It would be so easy to get lost in, with one step in the wrong direction. 

He stares at the lighthouse for a moment longer. Then, with a straight back, he turns away and walks back toward the town.

****

As with most things in his life, Dean has a love-hate (but mostly hate) relationship with this lighthouse. 

It’s easy to take care of on sunny days and clear nights, but it’s grueling during a storm or fog. Sun shines through the window in the midday, providing warmth, but it’s ever-loving cold the rest of the time. 

It provides him with shelter from the outside world. 

But it traps him in, like a caged animal. 

Love, hate—day in and day out. And right now, standing against the railing of the balcony with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips and the wind whipping at his back, it’s hate.

The light’s ready for the dusk that’s beginning to settle on the harbor. Dean’s cleaned the lens and brewed the meths. He turned on the tap, set a match to the mantle. The routine is so familiar, he could do it in his sleep. The light rotates behind him, illuminating his back briefly before turning its watchful eye to the rest of the harbor. 

Bright, dark. Bright, dark. Around and around like a carousel. 

Him and this lighthouse go way back, like a bad relationship that he can’t quit. When John moved him and Sam to Kittery and started work on this light, Bobby would bring Sam and Dean to visit during the fortnightly supply runs. Every visit was like a further punch to the gut to remind him of what he’d lost. It wasn’t like the light they’d all lived at when Dean’s mom was alive, with a cozy house that always smelled like freshly baked bread. This was a cold, sterile environment that smelled like three guys living in close quarters. And John—

He could barely look Dean and Sam in the eye when they visited. 

After a few months at Whaleback, John seemed to relax into the work and his smile came more easily, but Dean would smell the whiskey on his breath.  

After a while, Bobby stopped taking Sam and Dean at all.

The lighthouse took John and swallowed him whole. During his brief few days of shore leave, he’d just sit with a bottle at the table. Dean came to dread it, since it meant that the money he’d squirreled away in the coffee can on top of the cupboard would inevitably be pilfered for booze money.

Dean doesn’t know why he’s thinking about all of this, or about John. Maybe it’s because of where he’s currently standing. 

Muttering a curse, Dean pulls the zippo out of his pocket and lights the cigarette.

“Got you.”

Dean turns as his brother comes onto the walkway, collar popped and hands deep into his coat pockets. His cheeks are already pinched red from the cold. 

Dean adopts an easy posture, arms settling on the railing as he leans back with a grin. It hides the bitter taste of nostalgia still on his tongue. “I said I wanted to quit, not that I was going to quit.”

Sam rolls his eyes, then joins Dean at the railing. “Light all set?”

“Yup. Everything’s good. Go get some shut-eye.” 

“I thought it was my shift tonight.”

Dean shrugs a shoulder. “Not tired. I can take the whole night.”

“You took the whole shift last night, too,” Sam says with a frown. “What about that chamomile tea Bobby brought last week? Did you try that?”

“Not drinkin’ a flower. I’ll sleep the old-fashioned way.”

“Clearly that’s not working.”

“I’ll take the shift tonight.” Dean levels his brother with a stare. “Okay?”

Lips twisted into a frown, wind sweeping at his hair, Sam suddenly looks like a younger snot-nosed version that had that same miserable look when Dean tried to tell him that Dad volunteered himself for a double shift that month. Before the Coast Guard took over during the war, things were more relaxed—less regulated. John was able to take all the double, triple shifts as he pleased, drinking himself stupid with all the bootlegged liquor in the cellar. 

It always upset Sam, when their dad didn’t come home. He was a sensitive kid. 

Just like all those years ago, Dean’s heart is punched out with a desire to make that frown leave Sam’s face.

“You wanna sneak back with Bobby tomorrow when he comes for the supply run? Go see Eileen? I can cover things here.”

Sam rolls his eyes with a scoffed laugh. “That’s a pretty terrible first impression to make on the new keeper Bobby’s bringing in.”

Fuck. Dean had forgotten about that. “That’s tomorrow?” he asks with a wince. 

“Yes, and we need him to last more than a week, unlike the last guy. Otherwise the Coast Guard is not going to let us have a say in who comes or stays anymore.”

“Last guy was a pansy,” Dean grumbles around his cigarette. 

“You punched him in the face, Dean.” 

Dean glares out at the thin line of the distant shore and doesn’t reply.

“Since you’re a vet, they’re taking it easy on us,” Sam continues, “but Bobby was talking to someone up in a higher rank the other day and—I think this is our last chance.” He clears his throat. “Your last chance.”

“The hell you mean?” Dean asks, drawing up to a straight back. “They’re gonna sack me?”

“Move you, I think. To a solo light on the shore.”

Dean throws up a hand. “Well, fine. Let them. What’s the problem?”

There’s that miserable look again. Sam won’t raise his head as the unspoken words hang between them. Dean stays silent, challenging Sam to say it. 

“You know what the problem is, Dean,” Sam quietly says. 

Yeah. Dean knows. He knows that without Sam, Dean at a solo light would probably end with him hanging from the rafters. 

Blowing out a drag of smoke into the wind, Dean hunches back over the railing. “I’ll try,” he concedes. “But if he’s a dumbass—”

“Then I’ll train him,” Sam interjects. “You don’t even have to be in the same room as him. We’ll put him on the early morning shifts, make him sleep in the afternoons.”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Make him stay in the service room listening to the radio.”

A grin forming on Sam’s face, he adds, “Tell him that shore leave is ten days instead of four so he stays off the lighthouse for longer.” 

“Yeah, the Coast Guard won’t notice that.”

“Whatever it takes for you to cohabitate with this guy, I say we do it,” Sam says with a shrug. “Get creative.” 

Dean makes a move to flick the stub of his cigarette away; Sam grabs his arm to stop him. “I just cleaned the gallery, Dean.” With a scowl, Dean tosses it into the ocean instead.

Sam runs a hand through his messy hair and sighs, the disapproval evident in his frown. “Need anything before I go down to the bunks?”

“Nah. Get some sleep, Sammy.” Dean gives his brother a smack on the chest in dismissal. “I’ll wake you for the morning shift.”

“Okay, but actually wake me this time. Don’t let me sleep in until nine.”

Dean taps out another cigarette from the carton he fishes out of his pocket. “No promises.” 

“And let me actually make breakfast tomorrow, too!” Sam calls before he disappears through the door.

“I would if your eggs weren’t shit!” Dean barks back. His words are snatched up by the wind. He turns back toward the ocean, clicking the lighter as he holds it up to the cigarette butt. “Seriously, who raised you?”

Blowing out another puff of smoke, the cigarette still caught between his teeth, Dean eyes the shoreline. Their new keeper is probably staying at Bela’s place, if it’s still even running. The inn nearly went under last year after her parents declared bankruptcy. He ran with her a few times in high school before he cut town—she was sharp around the edges. Misunderstood. Just like him. 

He remembers the new guy’s resume. It had stood out to him among the rest, mainly because he seemed the least qualified. Didn’t make sense at all why the Coast Guard chose him as the new rookie, when five men before him—way more experienced, to boot—didn’t last.

No family, no money. Maybe that’s why they took him. That’s better, for these stag lights—bunch of single men with no families means there’s a better chance of them staying. It’s why the Coast Guard is itching to get a new keeper for the light, what with them eyeing recently married Sam, and Eileen, who’s in the family way.

It would make more sense for Sam to leave, get a position at a light with a house. Where he could see his family every night. 

What Sam and Dean used to have, before Mary died.

Dean runs a hand down his face, letting out a curse. Whatever the word is for wishing for a time that he can’t get back to, ever—that’s what tonight is. Memories he didn’t ask for turning around and around in his head like a wheel. That’s what the sea does when you look out into it: shimmers back at you, showing you what you want to see. And sometimes what you don’t. 

The door behind him creaks open again. With a grumble, Dean lets out a breath of smoke, a reprimand on his tongue for Sam to get the hell to bed. 

A bang echoes through the air. 

Dean drops his cigarette in surprise, whipping around to face the door. It yawns open, mercilessly blowing in the wind, banging against the side. Dean strides over to it and pulls it firmly closed before it breaks one of the windows. 

The lens, green and opaque, flashes across his eyes; he squints as the light rotates away. Turning back to the railing, spots dotting his vision, he sees a shadow. 

One taller than him, broader; stumbling toward the railing with a groan. 

Dean closes his eyes, briefly; chest constricting. A trick of the light. It happens.

“It’s haunted!” one of the failed keepers had shouted as he stuffed his clothes into a carpetbag, stumbling down the stairs. “This place is fucking haunted!” 

But that keeper had got it wrong—it wasn’t the lighthouse doing the haunting.

It was the person inside of it.

[mybrainproblems]

can you expand on what you mean about 12x22 and berens? i’ve never really looked at the writer patterns before but i’m intrigued

so jensen did a solo panel at JIB 8 in 2017 and an earlier question prompted him to recount his experience having difficulty connecting with the mary & dean relationship in s12 and the character motivation behind it. (and i think he's correct in saying that fans picked up on him not gelling with it which actually works in some episodes but feels off in others.)

anyway! berens was on-set when they were filming 12x22 "who we are" and jensen told him "oh god i get it now!" with the "i hate you, i forgive you" speech (that dean's character arc was him needing to forgive mary) and berens had no idea what he was talking about.

hopefully this embedded correctly to start at the right time code, but if not, he starts talking about it at 19:45

which yes, there's the possibility that berens was just yanking jensen's chain* about not realizing the "i hate you, i forgive you" was the thesis of mary & dean's relationship arc in s12. but also i really am inclined to believe he didn't realize he'd tied up the whole arc bc berens has been such a chronic dean misunderstander over the years. like folks will talk about dean as the "angry man" in late seasons and... that's mostly berens, baby!**

and i know you didn't ask but this is why the confession falls so flat for me. it rings hollow bc this is the writer who has done more than anyone else in the last few seasons to make dean an un-likeable prick. i do like the confession as a radical act of self-love (that "having" doesn't matter and "being" is more important) but as cas confessing his love to dean? yeah, i just can't buy it given the other stuff berens wrote over the years and the narrative framing is just off. much like the finale, it's tragedy wearing an ill-fitting ballgown and looking in a fun house mirror.

so, in summary (x)

* this is a bit unkind, but jensen is such a consummate pro that i would not be surprised if the "maybe he was yanking my chain" was a way to save face for berens since jensen has disagreed with him on his episodes before.

** i did not jive with 14x20 "moriah" until i re-watched it without the baggage of 14x18 before it (14x19 isn't great but does set up the "logic" of dean's actions in 14x20; never 5get that cas wanted to put jack in the cage... how is that different from a ma'lak box?). i think berens was just not a good fit for spn and especially not the direction they were going in during dabb era. i'm not a big fan of him in carver era either but he fit the vibes and direction way better.

[thezenanna]

Your bridge started to burn when you ran all across it.

Patreon | prints | portfolio | commission | Buy Me a Coffee

story behind this weird erie looking illustration (if u dare)

I recently had a bad fallout with a fellow tattoo artist friend whom I treasured so deeply like a twin sister (she looked exactly like me). I think it's neat when you're surrounded by people who are good for you (i.e, people who respect your experience, supports your growth, but won't hesitate to call out what you can do better as well as learn from you).

But it sucked when the person I realized was good for me wasn't at all genuinely good for me.

She burned away every single bridges down to the last one which is me.

If you bump the brightness on your device to max, you can faintly see an eye lurking in the background. It was a drawing I did of her eyes.

She was and still an amazing artist. Her personality was fierce unlike my soft one. People kept mistaking us as twins everywhere we went. So we started bonding like sister. I've always longed for an older sister figure in my life. She thought that I was much better than her actual younger sister. We made a promise that if we ever did something the other didn't like, we would say it to each other's face instead of hiding it and risk it piling up til one day one of us couldn't take it anymore. She was caring and helpful to me. I've always been attentive and treated her with utmost affection (more than my actual brother even).

I could say as many admirable things about here as well as her flaws. I saw her flaws but I looked away, or at least tried to think the best of her, such as coming up with some reasonable explanation for her unreasonable actions sometimes. I was mentally justifying her problematic behaviours with other people in other words. The way she treated other people wasn't okay sometimes, and I would say something to made her feelings valid and kept my actual opinions to myself, while receiving a much different story from others. It was working until it wasn't. I didn't see it coming because I would never thought one day she would direct those problematic behaviors right back at me.

She is a narcissist. I won't go into details what exactly she did to me, but it was enough to tell me that she didn't treasure me as much as I did to her. Hells, she never really treasured me at all. I felt deeply betrayed. I'm the kind of person who wears their heart on their sleeves, so the whole thing left me devastated for weeks, even a bit now still.

My girlfriend and my other tattoo colleagues who actually care about me pointed out and analyzed how she was gaslighting me and using me. She literally had problem with each and everyone in the studio and now me, the person who has been the most affectionate to her. They didn't want to intervene because they respected my personal life choices. My tattoo mentor sort of predicted the whole thing for awhile as well. I still would like to believe that she did actually cared about me at one point but then it turned into something else selfish.

All that said, I didn't regret loving her like my twin sister. I would not change all the things I did for her. I'm a firmer believer in love and kindness are what make people even though it sucks that some doesn't think of them so. My mentor asked me if I was trying to to fix her when I was close to her. I said no, I never thought of her broken to begin with. I just felt like she was so alone and she seemed like she lacked a lot of love, so I was happy to give her.

She could have been the greatest, but shame she just had to go burn down all the bridges and pushed out everyone.

That being said, I still believe in love and kindness, and will open the doors happily for everyone who comes into my life, even if it means risking my heart.

I'm most proud of myself for not quitting art, for still getting up in the morning knowing that I lost a sister. Even when I wasn't producing any commercial illustrations that benefit my career, just drawing alone has been quite meditative in helping me process my feelings peacefully, as well as giving me something to do, keeping me away from moping in bed.

[fearsmagazine]

SAW THE MUSICAL: THE UNAUTHORIZED PARODY OF SAW Extends Off-Broadway and Announces National Tour.

After an astonishing New York run this Fall, SAW The Musical The Unauthorized Parody of Saw has extended its run Off-Broadway at AMT Theatre (345 West 45th Street) through Jun 23, 2024. It will also kick off a national tour in LA with a six-week run beginning Feb 29 at the Hudson Theatres Mainstage (6539 Santa Monica Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90038 in Hollywood) SAW The Musical: The Unauthorized Parody began performances Off-Broadway on Sept 16, 2023, with its New York Opening Night on Sunday, Oct 1, 2023, and was called "Hilariously Absurd" by NPR. The run is extended through Jun 23, 2024, in Midtown's Theater District.

Danny Durr as Gordon and Jill Owen

The National Tour stops include Los Angeles, CA (Hudson Theatre Mainstage, Feb 29- Apr 7, 2024 ); San Diego, CA (Tenth Ave Arts Center, April 10 – 28, 2024), Las Vegas, NV (May 1 – 5, 2024), Portland, OR (Alberta Abbey, May 15 – Jun 9, 2024), Greely, CO (Union Colony Civic Center, June 2024), Chicago, IL (Jul 26 – Aug 18, 2024). Exact dates, locations, and tickets can be purchased by visiting www.sawthemusical.com/national-tour.

One of the most thought-provoking horror films of all time now is…a musical. SAW The Musical hilariously captures the events of the first movie, parodying the Saw that started it all, following from where Lawrence Gordon and Adam Stanheight find each other for the first time in the bathroom trap. Will they follow "the rules" as they discover each other's secrets? Will they escape the game in time and saw right through? A love story with fluidity (and lots more fluids), SAW The Musical: The Unauthorized Parody of Saw is Little Shop of Horrors meets Avenue Q, pushing the boundary on sexuality and how to love. [Parental Advisory: Explicit Content]

"SAW The Musical: The Unauthorized Parody of Saw brings the iconic horror film to life on stage with a wickedly funny twist. Now is the perfect time to laugh at the macabre as we blend horror and hair-raising laughter, creating a unique musical experience that's both hilarious and thrilling. Get ready for a love story entangled in traps, secrets, and unexpected humor, pushing the boundaries of entertainment with a dash of explicit fun." Cooper Jordan, Creator, and Producer

Created by Cooper Jordan (DEX! A Killer Musical, The Rat Pack Undead), SAW The Musical has a book by Award -Winning Writer Zoe Ann Jordan (Virtuoso - NYCHFF) and music & lyrics by Patrick Spencer & Anthony De Angelis (An Axemas Story), and directed & choreographed by Tony Award Winner Stephanie Rosenberg (Easter Bunny HOP! LIVE; Co-Producer: Moulin Rouge! The Musical, Anastasia) with music direction by Leigh Pomeranz (DEX! A Killer Musical) and fight direction by Dan Renkin (All My Sons, DEX! A Killer Musical). The Musical is produced by Cooper Jordan, Saw The Musical Parody LLC, Stephanie Rosenberg, Merciful Delusions Productions, Panit Chantranuluck, June Rachelson-Ospa, and more to be announced. Cooper Jordan is the Lead Producer.

SAW The Musical: The Unauthorized Parody of Saw (New York) stars Danny Durr (National Tour: A Christmas Carol, Tony-nominated War Paint) as Gordon, Adam Parbhoo (NY: Home's Kitchen) as Adam, Gabrielle Goodman (NY: Open, Stay) as Amanda/Alli/Jigsaw and Voiceover for Detective Tapp is by the late Donnell Johnson, with Swings & Understudies; Andrew Caira (New York: The Importance of Being Earnestly LGBTQ+, Regional/Tour: Atlantic City Blues Brothers), Patrick Voss Davis (Film: Lucky Louie. Regional: Newsies), James Lynch (New York: Baby Powder), Thomas Skea (Film: Out of Water), Morgan Traud (Regional: Mame), Jessica Morilak ("A Sketch of New York") and Keaton Barry. SAW The Musical's National Tour Casts will be announced in 2024.

For an updated schedule, National Tour tickets or to purchase tickets, please visit SawtheMusical.com.

[meabh-mcinness]

I would very much like to ask you about something soft if you please.

I would very much like to see iruma who has been turned back into a toddler seeing the reader and balam as his parents!

Like just little baby bluebell iruma happily holding balams and readers hand as they walk down the hall of babylus.

Just reader also being protective over iruma(epically right now with what our boy is going through!) Just giving him the love and car he really didn't get from his parents.

Just soft family times! Is all I want!

Thank you for taking the time to read this and please have a good whatever time you currently have and thank you for reading.

Thank you so much for requesting this. I didn't realize how much I needed babyboy Iruma until now, and managed to get this out in time for Mother's Day! Also, happy Mother's Day to all the great mom's out there, especially @snippychicke who is the best discord parent ever.

Main Masterlist

Family Day

Despite your very anti-kid-abuse views, you very much wanted to throttle Schenell. The kid was a genius, no doubt about it, and you were very proud of him for being able to do this at all. You just weren't entirely happy about the consequences or that it happened to your son specifically.

Having been on your way to Shicirou's classroom to drop off the textbooks he ordered, you'd been quickly distracted. A loud explosion sound followed by lavender-coloured smoke pouring out into the hallway from a room a few doors up. After working here for months, you weren't too concerned (even Orias-sensei somehow had a student set the astronomy room on fire just last week), until you realized which door it was up ahead. That door didn't belong to a classroom, but a battler room.

Iruma's battler room.

Heart pounding, you dropped the textbooks and raced for the door. Images floating through your head of what could have happened. An experiment went wrong, Kirio sneaking back in, a different intruder having crept in? Atori swept through your brain uninvited, you could quite easily see the thin spindly man sneaking back in after failing to grab Iruma once.

One hand on the door, throwing it open further, the other reaching to grab the dagger Shichirou had gifted you. Iruma injured, Iruma being eaten...

"Iruma!" ... Iruma?

You blinked in surprise as you took in the scene before you. On the ground in front of a lab table covered in vials and beakers of different substances lay Schenell. The newly turned third year who was obsessed with the student council president if you remembered correctly. One of the vials, partially filled with a liquid the same colour as the smoke you saw before, was clutched in his hand. A look of despondency etched onto his face as he stared at a pile of clothes lumped together on the floor in the middle of the room.

Iruma's clothes, your mind supplied, with no Iruma in sight.

You were about five nanoseconds away from attacking the third year and demanding where your son was when you noticed the clothes were squirming and making noises. No, you suddenly realized, it was babbling.

A tiny head poked out from the pile with a familiar shock of blue hair attached to it. You blinked once, twice, and then shut the door, trying to comprehend what you saw. Opening the door again, you once more took in the scene. Yup, it was still the same. Only now, that tiny head was turned towards you.

The wide, shimmering blue eyes of your son stared up at you. His scythe-shaped ahoge started to wave fast in excitement as he recognized who you were. Short chubby arms suddenly appeared next to his head, rising up towards you. Tiny hands grasping in your direction in the universal sign of 'up' babbling at you all the while. You were almost certain you heard the word 'ma' leave his lips. You hadn't even registered moving, but the next thing you knew, you were lifting him up into your arms, his now oversized shirt wrapped around him under his armpits. Coos leaving your mouth at how adorable he was.

A shuffling noise caught your attention and your instincts immediately had you clutching Iruma to your chest, almost baring your teeth at the possible threat. Only to remember Schenell's existence. A quick glance had you confirming that it was indeed the third year moving to get up. He looked almost in tears as he stared at the mostly empty vial. You would feel bad if he had been working in a safe environment for potion-making, and if your child wasn't a victim of his shenanigans, again. As cute as Iruma was in this form aside.

"Mama," a voice called to you, tugging on a free strand of hair to get your attention, or perhaps just to play with the shiny strands. Looking down at the toddler in your arms, the first thing you noticed was the matching set of glimmering azure eyes staring at you. One petite fist was wrapped around your hair, the other clutched to your blouse, and it took everything in you not to squeal at the sight. 

OK, so maybe you were a little happy about the consequences.

"Yes, Iruma?" you answered with a smile, taking the hand holding your hair so that it can latch on your own much larger one instead. He was just so tiny now. Before, he had stood at around your height, and now he was less than half that. You were very tempted to take pictures, only that would require putting him down. Which was an obvious no-go, how could you possibly let this cutie down?

"Mama...upset?" Iruma asked, eyes so wide and bright before dimming at even the possibility of upsetting you, turned to stare at your clasped hands as if contemplating if it was OK.

"What? Honey no! Of course, I'm not mad at you." Your hand quickly moved to cusp his large cheek, watching them puff up as his came with and subsequently was squished in-between. Your thumb started rubbing the side of his face in a gentle, rhythmic manner. Starting from the top of his forehead, continuing down his cheek until you hit your own hand, before starting the whole process over again. He leaned into the touch, almost purring as he nuzzled you. You felt your heart clench, if you weren't reassuring him, you just knew you would implode from the cuteness that was a toddler Iruma.

Perhaps instead of strangling Schenell, you would subtly give him some kind of reward instead.

Speaking of, you saw him slowly inching his way towards the door of the Magical Tool's Battler, out of the corner of your eye.

"Schenell if you move one more muscle I will have you in detention until the end of the school year." His entire body froze, but you could see in his eyes that he was deciding whether or not it would be better to run anyway. You were known as one of the nicer teachers, after all, surely your detentions couldn't be that bad?

"With Kalego-sensei." you continued on. The fight immediately left him as he slumped down to his knees. It really paid that Kalego was the strictest teacher in the school sometimes. You almost felt bad for the headache you were about to cause him with this. Almost.

Still, now what to do? Iruma, as charming as he was, couldn't stay as a toddler. Especially if whatever had been done kept him permanently as one until it was reversed, which meant you needed the reversal now. You really didn't feel like trying to contain the entire misfit class from killing the third year or constantly trying to steal Iruma.

You turned to fully face Schenell, eyeing him up. He certainly looked dejected, but was it because he had been caught doing something, again, or did he genuinely feel bad? Well, there was one way to find out. Taking a deep breath, you tried to gather your thoughts. You didn't want to scare Iruma after all, but Schenell would 100% try to worm his way out of it if you were too soft.

"Explain."

Clearly sensing the danger, Schenell launched into an explanation of what had happened. In his endless quest of gaining Ameri's love, he had decided to try appealing to her maternal side and had attempted to create a de-ageing potion, only to be startled when Iruma had popped out of one of the piles of artefacts. Probably trying to sort through them still, even after a year of doing so. Evidently, the potion had worked, made obvious by Iruma's now rather small form. The resulting explosion sound of Iruma turning younger had been what had drawn you in.

And now you were here, with a 14-year-old toddler in your arms (and wasn't that a weird sentence to think) and a third-year to discipline. A sign left your mouth before you could stop it.

"And do we have the antidote to said potion?" You asked hopefully. Maybe you would be lucky for once and this entire thing could be swept under the rug before it inevitably exploded into something bigger. And it would, it always did when Iruma was involved. The blank stare on Schenell's face before it fell into realization quickly answered your question in the negatives, dashing your hopes. Of course, he didn't. He probably hadn't even been able to test if it actually worked yet when Iruma had accidentally intercepted him.

A sigh left you as you thought over your options. You could of course call Sullivan, but somehow you had the feeling that he would try and prolong Iruma's exposure as a toddler rather than fixing it. You understood entirely of course, having adopted Iruma as a teenager meant even you hadn't got to see him in his full child stage before. This was a rare opportunity to exploit, being able to enjoy that stage. Unfortunately, your rational side argued back that Iruma didn't deserve to be left in this form. Especially when you knew you would have absolutely hated to be left as a toddler had this happened to you. So Sullivan, and by consequence Opera, would probably be your last choice for once.

This left you with either the other teachers or locking Schenell in this room until he came up with a cure. While it would be equitable to have him fix his mistake, it could also take a very lengthy time. Who knew how long he had been working on this one, much less how long it would take to make the reversal?

Which left you the other teachers, but who to ask that wouldn't squeal to Sullivan? Dali-sensei as the overseer of the new magic battler would be a good choice, he likely knew of something similar or at least the process of reverse engineering magic to get results. He was also one of the biggest gossips of the entire staff. This meant the entire school would somehow know within five minutes, and you would have a hoard of students and teachers to fight off when they inevitably tried to get a glimpse of him. 

Momonoki-sensei was also possible, as someone who came from a family whose bloodline magic was to master all magic types it was entirely possible she had some kind of reversal type she could use. But could magic reverse potion effects? It was certainly possible, but you simply didn't know enough of the two subjects to be certain. This event was a rather forceful reminder that you needed to do a lot more research to catch up to even the basics of the Netherworld. 

Kalego was also an option, while grouchy and strict, it was quite obvious that he cared for the entire misfit class, with Iruma as a particular favourite. He fully believed in helping students to the best of his abilities and leaving one as a toddler would go against that code, and as a rank Chet, it was entirely possible he had access to more powerful magic than Momonoki-sensei at rank Zayin.

The problem with those three teachers boiled down to one thing. Not a single one of them knew that either Iruma or yourself were human. While you didn't believe any of them would actually eat you(well Dali-sensei was honestly a wild card), you didn't know if they would run straight to Border Patrol either. Especially with the knowledge that Kalego's older brother was the second most powerful member there. Familial ties were usually worth far more than some being you just met.

Which led you to your last and most preferable choice. Shichirou was also a rank Chet, had knowledge in healing magic (even going as far as making his own salves and tinctures), and already knew of your rather human status. It was highly likely that if he didn't already know a solution, he could contact someone who would without exposing either of you.

And if you got to spend a little extra time with the demon you were courting as a result, well, that was no one's business but your own.

Mind made up you shifted Iruma to be carried fully on your hip with only a single arm for support and dug through your pockets for your hellphone. Pulling out the small device, you shot off a text asking if Shichirou was free to help you with a 'little problem' in Iruma's battler room.

Pausing you glanced at Schenell again, an idea forming. Well, it's not like you couldn't have the third-year demon working on a reversal potion for detention while also working on the problem with Shichirou. It would be both opportunistic for the third year and punishment if you set it up with the right teacher. Such as a waspish guard dog, who just so happened to be looking over detentions this week and was already in a foul mood from dealing with Robin's familiar class this morning.

With a smile at Schenell that probably came off a bit more villainous than meant given the way he paled further, you sent off another text to Kalego letting him know that he would have another student joining him after school and that you would give the full story later. Followed by another text to tell him that Iruma would not be attending his afternoon lessons today.

You had barely seen the return text of agreement from Shichirou when you heard the clacking of talons clicking against the floor and felt the vibrations of his heavy feet hitting the ground before Shichirou rounded the corner into the room. The tall demon still had to duck his already slouching frame into the room, gloved hand grasping the doorframe to keep balance as he did so. 

Briefly, you wondered what it must be like to be so tall, before shaking the thought away to focus on the situation at hand. 

"Hel...lo...?" He blinked in surprise at the scene before him. And you supposed it was a rather odd one. You standing there, with a child on your hip, phone in hand, as you stared down a student before you.  You gave him a tired smile, as Iruma wiggled to lean back out of your arms to look at the newcomer. His eyes went wide and his ahoge started wagging again once he noticed who he was looking at. 

"Papa!" he cried out while reaching his arms towards the gargoyle, squirming in your hold to reach him. Both Shichirou and your eyes widened in shock at Iruma's words. Your mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out as you looked back and forth between the wiggling toddler and the flabbergasted demon. 

Shichirou's eyebrows were raised to his hairline, and you were certain that if his mask was not in the way you would see his jaw drop open. "Pa...Pa?" he muttered as he slowly took staggering steps towards you. You turned so that you were better facing him, and in hopes that maybe Iruma would settle down before you dropped him. 

Shichirou's eyes were darting back and forth between you and Iruma, and you could see the gears turning in his head. Before you could ask what he was thinking, Iruma jerked hard enough to reach Shichirou now that he was closer that you had almost dropped Iruma, quickly shifting your arms to have a new hold on him. Shichirou even crossed those last few steps quickly, arms stretched out slightly just in case you had. 

You really didn't want to let him go, nerves still a little strung out from your earlier fear that something had happened, but you trusted Shichirou. He would never willingly harm either of you, far more likely to harm himself long before he hurt you. With a small sigh, you shifted Iruma once more before turning your attention back to Shichirou. 

"Would you like to hold him?" Shichirou gave you a startled look as if the thought hadn't even crossed his mind despite Iruma still struggling to reach him while crying out 'papa'. 

"You would trust me with your child? Even with my strength?" A snort left you before you could stop it. Of course you would, though you understood that despite you're reassurances he would probably always hold reservations and insecurities due to how strong he was. 

"I've trusted you with Iruma since we first met," you said while carefully holding Iruma out for him to hold, "Just because he's shrunk doesn't mean I trust you any less." Shichirou carefully took Iruma into his arms, a soft happy squeal of 'Papa!' accompanying as he did so. 

Whereas Iruma was easily the same size as your torso he was quickly dwarfed in Shichirou's large frame. The gargoyle demon cautiously cradled him in one of his arms, the small boy fitting almost perfectly in the crook of his elbow. His free hand moved slowly to run his fingers through Iruma's hair before running down the side of his face before starting the process again.

 Quickly putting your hellphone into camera mode you snapped a picture of them. This was most definitely becoming your new background photo. 

Suddenly Schichirou's hand stopped moving as his eyes widened once more as he fully processed what you said. Eyes darting across the toddler's face as he took in his facial details and the very telltale sign of the scythe-shaped ahoge. 

"Iruma!?" Shichirou said startled, staring down at the boy who was snuggling into his chest while in his arms with a new look of surprise and curiosity on his face. 

"Yep, Iruma. He was hit with a de-ageing potion that Shenell here created," you pointed towards the third year still sitting on his knees. His face was pale now that the demon who was still rumoured to run experiments on students was here and his attention put on him. He had forgotten about the rumours that you two were courting and obviously, you would call the highly-ranked demon to come deal with the problem if so. Schenell wanted to cry as his brain ran through all the different torture scenarios the rank chet could perform on him, of course, nothing was worse than never seeing his waifus again. 

Schichirou's eyes narrowed at Schenell and he tilted his head, free hand leaving Iruma's head to clasp his mask in thought as he observed the third year before speaking. 

"And how, exactly, did Iruma get hit with this potion?" He asked, eyes still zeroed in on Schenell like a bird of prey. Getting even paler at being addressed, Schenell launched into his explanation again, stuttering here and there throughout. Diving further into details than he had originally given when prompted by the gargoyle, though the overall story was still the same. He had wanted to capitalize on Ameri's maternal side, so he made a potion that was unfortunately splattered on Iruma when he had startled Schenell. 

Once the boy had finished, Shichirou nodded. Stroking his mask some more, before he suddenly pointed his finger at the Schenell, causing the boy to flinch, and launched into a rant about the dangers of creating new potions when there wasn't someone else to watch his back. Especially in areas that weren't built with that kind of use in mind and where anyone could stumble in on them and become a casualty, like now. Shichirou's hand went back and forth from pointing at Schenell and petting Iruma's head in a fast motion, even blurring at times as you watched it go back and forth like a ping pong ball. 

When the rant had reached over five minutes though with no sign of stopping, you felt a slight bit of pity for Schenell, as you were quite certain his soul was in the process of leaving his body at the long tirade. Though, you had no intentions of stopping Shichirou until you focused back in on Iruma and noticed he kept grabbing at Shichirou's shirt and knawing at it, until he saw the large hand come back to pet him and tried to capture it to bite instead. Occasionally he would screw up his face like he felt uncomfortable before he started biting. 

Oh, you suddenly realised. Iruma was getting hungry. As a 14-year-old while he was never truly hungry, he was constantly snacking on food, and toddlers, while not eating as much did eat more often. Their tiny bodies ran through the fuel far quicker than older humans, and a quick glance at your hellphone confirmed that it was actually an hour past lunch. He would be sneaking a snack in class right about now. You were slightly surprised he wasn't crying out from starving. 

You placed a hand on Shichirou's arm, before raising the other to tilt his head towards you. His voice tapered off as he stared at you in confusion, eyebrows knitting together before you motioned to Iruma. 

"As much as I would love to leave you to your scolding, we do need to fix Iruma soon. And if we can't do that, we need to at least feed him before we have a very angry toddler on our hands." His eyes widened again at your words before he nodded. 

"Is there anything left of the original potion?" He asked turning back to Schenell. The younger demon's spirit appeared to return to his body and he quickly held up the vial he had still been grasping this entire time. Shichirou leaned over and grabbed it, holding it up to the light and twisting the vial around to examine it.

"We can fix Iruma, right?" you asked. 

Shichirou nodded before replying, "Don't worry, because we still have a bit of the sample from the original potion it'll be easy to make a counter one to reverse its effects." He turned towards Schenell, "I'm assuming you wrote out the ingredients and the quantities of each one?" Schenell nodded his head furiously. "Then it'll be even easier to make one. Most likely we'll just make copies of the ingredients list and the directions before handing this off to Dali-sensei. He'll have a cure by the end of the day no doubt."

Shichirou lightly placed one of his hands on Iruma's head, ruffling the hair a little, causing the small boy to laugh in delight at the ministrations, before he grabbed the large hand and brought it to his mouth to lightly bite one of the gloved fingers, suckling and gnawing on it like a newborn. Shichirou's eyes crinkled as he smiled behind his mask at the reaction, no doubt just as happy as Iruma clearly was. 

You raised an eyebrow at him, "And he won't jabber at all? The last thing we need is Sullivan finding out and going overboard with Iruma." You could already see the massive piles of toddler clothes and toys Sullivan would buy and the millions of pictures that would be shot.  Along with the school website being redesigned all over again, and the school newspaper would probably be forced to redo their afternoon editions just to include this. Not that they would probably mind, Iruma was one of their favourite subjects to cover after all.

Though you wouldn't be too mad about having some pictures. Maybe a lot of pictures...

"If you don't want Sullivan-sama taking Iruma, why don't you just kidnap him first?"

You blinked in surprise. "Pardon?"

*******

As you walked through the backways to the cafeteria, a hand grasping one of Iruma's tiny ones so that he couldn't wander off, his other clasping one of Shichirou's fingers, you could see a few wandering students staring at you. They do quite a few double-takes at seeing you and shichirou with a very obvious toddler in between you. You undoubtedly knew that this was going to be all over the school in minutes, but you couldn't bring yourself to hurry up Iruma when he was having so much fun swinging your hands. 

Shichiro stops in front of the entrance of the cafeteria and takes a peek in to make sure it's mostly empty before continuing in, heading straight to the kitchen area. You follow along pliantly, mostly focusing on Iruma's babbling as he seemed to be singing a song of some sort, while he swang your hands to an unknown beat. Your hand slowly sneaked to grab your hellphone to take a photo of him, making sure the flash was off as you snapped a picture before stashing your phone again before Iruma could notice. 

You were starting to understand why Sullivan just carried a camera bat around with him. 

Reaching the kitchen, you both chatted with the chef a bit as he handed a large bundle of bento boxes stacked on top of one another and wrapped in a cloth to act as a handle and help keep them together. When he noticed the tiny Iruma drooling over all the food scents, he laughed before motioning you to stay and left for the back. You managed to exchange a confused look with Schichirou before the chef came back with a tiny box. 

"A treat," he said, "for the little one," as he gave you both a big smile along with the box and waved you out. You had barely managed to say thank you before you were ushered out by Iruma as he tried to follow the scent of food in Shichirou's hand. You laughed as you were briefly pulled into a circle by the excited toddler, before reaching down and grabbing him up into your arms, spinning him in a circle above you, before settling him on your hip again. His squealing laughter rang out through the courtyard as you exited the building. 

It was one thing to trust holding his hand in the halls of the school, it was another to trust it out on the open grounds. Schichirou's story of he got his scar in the first place, flashed through your mind briefly before you shoved it down. Iruma was safe with both you and Schichirou here, and nothing could change that. 

The weather outside was a pleasant temperature of neither too hot nor cold, with a small breeze blowing through occasionally. You could vaguely hear the demon birds screeching in the distance and the rustling of leaves as different critters moved along the branches of the trees. The sky for once is mostly clear with only a few clouds buzzing by, allowing the suns' rays to shine down on you with a gentle warmth. 

"It's beautiful isn't it?" Shichirou says as he starts walking through the courtyard towards the greenhouse set next to the diabotany tower. He held a door open for you and you ducked inside with a thank you before looking around in awe at all of the different plants growing about. There were no raised flowerbeds or even pots, instead, everything grew directly from the ground leaving you feeling like you were walking on a cloud with the soft grass underneath your feet. 

Iruma looks around in awe enjoying everything that surrounds him, before spotting a small blonde demon watering some of the plants, with an excited squeal he pointed her out to the both of you while simultaneously drawing her attention to your arrival.  She turned towards you and waved, putting down the watering can as you drew closer. Letting Iruma down, he immediately made his way towards Suzy-sensei and she started cooing over his small form.  

"Thank you, Suzy-sensei, for letting us do this."

"It's no problem, yis." Suzy waved off the thanks and continued to coo over Iruma's tiny form. Forming small flowers from her hand to wave in front of him, watching as his small hands consistently try to grab at them, only for the flowers to pull back at the last moment.

A shrieking laugh tore from Iruma when one of the flowers dashed forward and booped him on the nose before retreating quickly again to keep from being grabbed. 

"And don't worry, I won't tell anyone you're here, yis."She said before retreating the flowers back and waving goodbye cheerily at you, cooing once more at Iruma before leaving towards the door. 

You waved back, before quickly grabbing Iruma so he couldn't follow her. Instead directing him towards a grassy patch area, filled with blooms that mostly closely reminded you of clovers and honeysuckle, to sit on as Shichirou started unpacking the bento boxes. He distributed the boxes among you, revealing sandwiches, salads, and other delicious-looking treats. Well, as delicious as Netherworld food could look to your human eyes. Regardless it all smelled so appetizing and as Iruma dug with gusto you took small bites of your own meal. 

When you took a glance at Shichirou though you noticed he was hesitating, one hand over his mask as if debating whether or not to take it off. With a quick look over at the meal, you realized that not a single thing here could actually be eaten with his mask on, and he would have to take it off if he wanted to partake. While you were slightly sad he still wasn't comfortable just taking it off in front of you yet, you also understood. Insecurities were hard to let go of. 

Putting your sandwich down, you instead grabbed his fork and took a bit of his salad leaned up and slowly unlatched his mask for him, making sure to move slowly enough that he could stop you if he wanted. With the mask off, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth where the scar was before drawing back slightly, putting the fork in front of his mouth to eat with a smile on your face. His face was flushed but he obediently opened up and took a bite, taking the fork for himself as he chewed. 

With a grin on your face at your accomplishment you went back to your own meal, keeping an eye on Iruma to ensure he wasn't eating too quickly or making a mess. Occasionally leaning over to wipe his nose when some of the sauce somehow gets on it, or help him break up larger pieces into smaller ones. 

When you all had finished you watched carefully as Iruma sprang up and ran about the area, investigating everything he saw from the different flowers to a random pebble he found, as you helped Shichirou clean up. Though you were a little anxious at letting him run about, you assumed you had nothing to fear when Shichirou had simply smiled at the small boy and did nothing to stop him.

As if sensing your anxiety, a gloved hand ran through your hair and you looked up to see Shichirou smiling fondly at you. "Don't worry, this is the safest greenhouse Suzy runs. Nothing here is carnivorous, though you may see a few chomping on each other. And my vines are blocking the only entrance so he can't escape," He said pulling you closer so that you were lounging in his lap. His long legs sprawled to either side of yours as your back met his chest. 

With a soft sigh, you nodded and instead focused on the white strands of hair tumbling over his shoulder and down yours. With a mischievous smile, you went about collecting the long stalks of the clover-like flowers that you could reach before braiding the snow-like hair. Fingers moved quickly to twine the strands with the clover until you were left with one thick braid peppered with green flowers and sharp purple leaves, tied off with one of the grass strands in replacement of a hair band. 

You had been so focused on the task that you hadn't even noticed Shichirou's eyes widening before doing the same thing to you with a blush covering his face (later you would find out that messing around with another's hair in such a way was only done between family members and mates. You had essentially claimed him without even realizing it), only instead of doing one thick braid, his fingers moved deftly to create multiple little ones with the top half of your hair before weaving the bottom half of your into a larger one, throwing the smaller braids and flowers in as he worked to create an elaborate braid from your hair. 

 Light humming filled the air, as Shichirou fiddled with braiding the flowers into your hair. With a start, you suddenly realized it was Shichirou producing the sound in his contentment.  "Sto'ry! Sto'ry mama, sto'ry!" Iruma demanded your attention with a bright smile on his face as bounding back towards you covered in pollen and dirt and clambered into your lap fully, staring up at you expectingly as Nigipnir moved from your shoulder to wrap around the boy's shoulders. You couldn't help the smile that formed on your face and you settled in, leaning forward slightly to wrap your arms around him so Shichirou still had room to play with the strands as he finished the braid. 

"Yes mama," Shichirou rumbled from behind you, still messing with your hair, "Tell us a story." 

You threw a fond glare over your shoulder and he grinned unrepentantly at you, "Alright, a story it is. Let's see, this story will start as all good ones do. Once upon a time, in a place not so far away. There lived in a forest, a proud wolf who guarded his territory with a ferocity unlike any other, and a wise rabbit who helped all who came across her and shone with a beauty never seen before." 

Iruma stared up at you captivated as your voice weaved the story, hands moving dust off the dirt and pollen that had gotten everywhere in the few minutes you had looked away, before running your fingers through the blue strands on his head. With the length it was at you wouldn't really be able to weave the larger flowers into it like yours and Shichirou's but you could still play with it regardless

Between the warm air, the scent of flowers wafting around, and your voice flowing through the air weaving a tale about the wolf and the rabbit finding love, it wasn't long before Iruma was starting to doze off. He was so close to sleeping, just needed that extra push and yet the story was done. For a second, you debated on telling another story until you realized Shichirou was still humming. More quietly now, so that both he and Iruma could hear you, but still there was a light vibration rumbling from in his chest. 

Well. You could work with that. 

"You are my world, my darling. What a wonderful world I see," The lyrical notes left you easily as you booped Iruma on the nose, causing him to let out a sleepy giggle. He snuggled further into your lap, face burrowing itself into your lower abdomen and tiny hands wrapped around Nigipnir like they were a stuffed animal. Though judging by the purring noise they were making, they didn't seem to mind too much. Your hand moved to go back to petting his hair as you fully leaned back into Shichirou's embrace, back flush to his front. "You are the song I'm singing. You're my beautiful melody."

As you sat there with Iruma in your lap and Shichirou wrapped around you, you rather felt like you could fall asleep too in this peaceful environment. A large part of you wishes that this moment would simply be frozen forever so you didn't have to go back to the real world. 

[dotthings]

Post 2 of Ben Edlund commentary from SPN Then and Now podcast, 4/15/2024

Edited for clarity.

On the nature of SPN multiverses, alternate realities, and created realities:

"It really depends on the Supernatural physicists, or metaphysicists, sort of getting into the nature of what those universes are and the degree which, for example French Mistake has a universe in it that legitimately characterizes that’s another universe, that’s real, or a multiverse, that’s real, we don’t really know necessarily but there are intimations that It’s A [Terrible] Life might have been more a created experience, more of a B.F. Skinner* behavioral kind of rat maze. I think it balances pretty well in the middle and that partly is because of Zachariah’s desperation. They’re really up against it and the way that Lucifer operates, Lucifer and Cas operate, in the presence of past Dean, in a way that kind of encompasses the idea of where the hell are you from, this changes things, or Lucifer saying, hey, I don’t care where you’re from, this doesn’t change things. There’s some kind of, as always sort of implied, especially in the first 5 years, that there’s an under-pinning of angelic rules, there’s a by-laws system where maybe you can raise the Titanic and get a certain number of 50,000 extra souls because of the quirk in the by-laws but you’d better dot your i’s or you’ll get caught. And something similar going on here where that could very well be one of the universes where the game runs itself and we don’t really know and I don’t mind not knowing that one." ---

*footnote: B.F. Skinner was an American psychologist and behaviorist who studied human behavior “in terms of responses to environmental stimuli and favors the controlled, scientific study of responses as the most direct means of elucidating human nature” and who studied Pavlovian theory on reflexes. (source: Britannica)

[tiktaalic]

having picked up a few shifts at the sam girl factory, I belive that sam (bi in theory) sees himself as the only hunter in the world that isn't violently heterosexual. also the whole you can never really know your brothermother thing contributed to gay dean not even being a possibility in his brain. as for gay cas? maybe in a ~doesn't get human relationships~ way

Lots of scholars in the chat…. for the record. My stance is that he knows cas is Not Straight. In a very. My buddy cas is probably gay but we’re stopping an apocalypse so idrc about that rn. I think like dean he spent a long time on the well angels are beings of light? Why would a beam of light experience romance. Beat. Unlike dean he didn’t take cas to get laid about it. I’m trying. To decide if the season 9 bout with heterosexuality seriously moved the needle for him into cas is attracted to women. I don’t even know if he remembers that due to the possession you know the possession. Which leads into: I think it’s possible. That he thinks cas is a fellow Enlightened Man unshackled by the pervasive masculinity dean has to roll up a hill every day. dean thinks cas is getting a bad grade in Being A Man for being agent beyonce. Sam iirc is bemused by this but I can see him elbowing Dean hard and going dude be nice you listen to Taylor swift but suddenly it’s gay for cas to listen to Lizzo? I think if they ever sat down and talked it would come about naturally in conversation but. I don’t think they’ve ever sat down and talked. I’m the oldest w two younger gay siblings so this isn’t 1:1 but before they came out I was like. Oh jesus this kid is gay. 100%. And then I would waver and go. Wait. Am I crazy? Am I wrong? Are they just weird in ways gay people tend to be weird? No I’m right they’re gay they just need another year or two. I can see Sam doing this in either direction. Either Oh jesus my brother is gay. Hold on. Am I crazy for thinking that? No I’m not. He’s gay. OR. Oh jesus my brother is gay. Hold on. Am I crazy for thinking that? Yeah. Repeat throughout his life half a dozen times.

[makethosenarratorsfight]

UNRELIABLE NARRATORS; SIDE C

Dean Winchester Propaganda:

Rewrote his own memory about his friend dying. I know this seems weak and unexpected but there actually a ton of stuff i just can't quote it.

This isn't even about The Winchesters its about him rewriting his memories of Cas staying in purgatory and of his own trauma (courtesy of his shitty dad). He's not obviously an unreliable narrator but he very much is one.

The Narrator Propaganda:

Just... Just listen to the "unfunny" clip, what's more to say, vote for the gay old guy

Depending on the ending, he can be

Spoilers I guess??? He's always trying to guide Stanley to the outcome HE wants, which is a very, very small chunk of the game where the player just obeys everything and doesn't experience anything else. Obeying Narrator to a T will win you the "Freedom" ending, where Stanley can finally leave the office building, and Narrator will wax on about how Stanley's "happy" and "finally free to live at last". ...exceeeept, on completion, Stanley will spawn right back in the building as though nothing happened, restarting the adventure all over again. The truth is that Stanley will never be free, regardless of what the Narrator says. Stanley is trapped in the building and will stay trapped no matter what. This truth can only be acknowledged if you're defiant, and even then, I may be mistaken but I'm pretty sure the Narrator never fully admits this??? The museum ending has a WHOLE DIFFERENT narrator explain their mutually fucked circumstances. The dishonest factors can increase in other ways from the player's input (for example, the Narrator might say "Stanley walked through the left door", but the player can use their input to defy this statement and go through the right one instead, therefore making the Narrator's statement inherently dishonest and the Narrator will get pissy about it, changing the outcome for that path). Sometimes he'll misdirect when he's petulant, especially if the player is directly defying his instructions, which makes the game feel like a game of tug-rope for control at points. I want to say there are times where he directly attempts to trick the player but admittedly I can't think of an exact instance. Plus you know, the Narrator has a large ego and always talks big about things like his importance and integrity and whatnot so who knows how much of that is even sincere and how much is a sad veneer, but that's getting into overanalysis territory and my fingers hurt so let's leave this here. I hope this was coherent.

he quite literally rewrites the story whenever he has issues with the direction stanley starts to go in, i do not know how to explain it better than that

He is literally the narrator, and he constantly tries to mislead and lie to Stanley through the narration to get him back on the story’s proper path

He constantly narrates what Stanley is feeling as if it is the truth, when it is not. He speaks as a authority, and while he is one, he is definitely not reliable.

[shallowseeker]

There are a lot of nervous breakdowns in SPN that are very tied up with delayed grief reactions.

S4 Sam - Drinking demon blood is a reaction to losing Dean; to being horrified that Dean could die and having a disgust-reaction to his weakness as a way to protect himself from the emotions he has about Dean's mortality; Sam was desperate to be stronger. He couldn't unpack why.

S6 Cas - Being murdered by Heaven (Raphael), and though he returned to Heaven to be "the new sheriff," he was paranoid of even the angels close to him because of *waves at all of S4-5* That paranoia and withdrawal into himself reached into every relationship he has. He watched his loved ones suffer, so he decided to be the one to "Put a Stop to It--to All of It"

S7 Cas - Nihilism; (The endless repetition of life and deriving no meaning from it; route of flowers being a predestined plan is also a "nothing matters" nod); Feelings of guilt and the need for penance, terminating in s8 "suicide" / wanting to stay in purgatory *is* suicide btw

S8 Cas - Brainwashing redux; Guilt, Becoming human, lots of changes here, as a result of the brainwashing he needs space to figure out what he's feeling and who he trusts; ALSO Feeling afraid of heaven (re: The great escapist and Matatron "Heaven's powers always spill over (to the humans)" and "Who's it gonna be, Castiel, her or YOUR family (human family)?"

S8 Sam - Great big Sam nervous breakdown; totally paralyzed and running away. Even Amelia-Sam was part OF the freakout, something Amelia's father, someone that knew her well and cared about her, recognized (Amelia doesn't wanna go back to her husband, because he can *die* and maybe she's like Sam too in that she's completely allergic to grief, hey?); Sam oscillates between CHECKOUT OF REALITY and WE GOTTA STICK TO THE HUNTING CODE(TM) the same way Dean clung to the simpler hunting code at the beginning of s7; "Don't choke!" Both boys veer between all-or-nothing with regards to the hunting life

S9 Dean - Gadreel and Kevin and feeling like he was doing the wrong thing; Sam's willingness to commit suicide; Cas's symbolic suicide, then Cas falling — we see in his speech to Metatron that he was desperate to also "Put a Stop to It--to All of It" and his reasons were spelled out clearly, protecting Sam and the distress over Cas's grace/falling/being wronged BY Metatron

S10 Sam - Reacting to Dean's death AGAIN; Reacting to the terrible knowledge that everyone was always sacrificing for him and not the other way around; also a delayed grief reaction to how his family locked him up for detox; and of being an addict himself and fearing that it would end in black eyes and blood (he's not exactly wrong, either; he just went too far)

S10 Cas - Delayed reaction to Jimmy Novak's passing; meeting Claire and wanting to be "like a human"; his guilt was so overpowering; also dealing with his hypocrisy (re: Metatron) about wanting to stay on the earth

S10 Dean - Loss of free will redux, but in the disinhibited direction; dealing with feelings of shame over the loss of free will and past experiences where he also felt powerless or manipulated; he (like Claire Novak) overall tends to choose forgiveness, trying to understand and give grace to those who wronged him; also dealing with being Cole's "Azazel," the parallel to Claire dealing with her "Azazels"

S11 Cas - Delayed reaction to Dean dying in s9, reaction to his grace power reduction (he got his grace BACK and it was damaged), also feeling powerless to protect anyone; the attack dog spell etc etc; Sacrifices himself to the cause

S12 Mary - Huge breakdown because she was ripped from her life and is grieving her entire family as she knew it; feeling like she can't escape from hunting and she corrupted John and in reading his journal she empathizes with his plight while struggling with the cruelty of it; she decides if she can't escape then maybe she can "Put a Stop to It--to All of It."

S12 Cas - Still struggling with the deal/mortality of the human fam (First Blood) and his lack of strength, See Lily Sunder and Stuck in the Middle with You as crisis points. Was enticed by Jack keeping his power because that means he'd have a fam member who could outlive him. The script taps into Cas's wants: Kelly to be at peace, Sam to be free, Dean to be *ahem* thankful, and himself to be strong. Nephilim gives him a cause to not feel guilty about being on earth because it's a Mission (TM)

Nervous breakdowns, man. I can keep going. There are so many nervous breakdowns. SO MANY. And when you look at them AS nervous breakdowns, they make more sense.