#funny enough you are the second one complimenting on the kitty mouths today

[mitamicah]

i think i'm obsessed with the way you draw mouths. they're like ":3"

it is adorable what can i say

Oh no you didn't 😭 you didn't just draw adorable tiny Bojan and Jere to visualise your point about you loving my kitty mouths 🥺

Look at them, they're adorable :'3 💚💚

[svnflowervol666]

harry doing baby bubs hair in the bathroom while she’s facetiming mitch 🥺

Word Count: 2.4k

Author’s Note: This made my heart melt. It’s in a puddle on the floor right now. That’s all.

“Baby, ye’ gotta sit still,” Harry huffed as he resituated his daughter on the bathroom counter for probably the fifth time that morning.

She was normally a patient and well-behaved child despite her ripe age of three, but today she was really showing her age.

“Want mummy do it!” she whined, smacking her pudgy toes against the inside of the sink.

“I know ye’ want mummy t’ do it. I want mummy to do it too, but she had t’ go t’ work early. ‘S just me and you today.”

Harry reached for the spray bottle filled with water with his right hand while keeping a firm grasp on his daughter’s unruly head of curly hair with his left, determined to tame the frizzy strands that seemed to have run wild while she slept the night before. A ponytail shouldn’t be this fucking hard. Should it?

He spritzed the bottle a few inches away from her head, trying to smooth down the baby hairs that littered her hair line. And he almost had it. That was, until his daughter tucked her head downward in agitation and caused Harry to lose his grip and the poofy tufts of chocolate brown hair to fall once more around her forehead and ears.

A exaggerated (but not really, it was well-deserved) groan erupted from Harry’s chest, and a feeling of defeat washed over him. He rubbed his tired eyes with the knuckles on his fingers. It wasn’t a big deal and he knew that, but the fact that he couldn’t do his daughter’s hair was making him feel like a failure of a father. 

“What’s it gonna take for ye’ to stop squirmin’, huh? Will ye’ just be good so daddy can do your hair and we can get ya t’ nana’s?”

She was getting restless now, the hard stone making her tiny bum ache and her attention span dwindle down to the point of non-existance.

“Daddy, I want dowwwwwn,” she fussed as she balled her hands into fists and hit them on her knees in protest.

“I’ve got t’ fix your hair, lovie. Can’t have it hangin’ in your eyes. Just be still for a few seconds. Ye’ know what? Here. Play with this.”

Harry fished his cell phone out of his back pocket and placed the sleek device in his child’s lap. He was normally against letting her mess with his phone in fear that she’d accidentally delete an important file or call one of the dozens of influential figures he had saved in his contacts, but at this point he’d do just about anything to make her stop moving so that he could put her damn hair up.

Her eyes seemed to light up when she realized what she now held in her possession, fingers moving quickly to unlock the screen and cause whatever damage her heart desired. It didn’t take her long to realize that unlike her mother’s, Harry’s phone was locked with a passcode and she was unable to get into it.

“Fix it, daddy!” she exclaimed, raising the phone over her shoulder while Harry had finally managed to regather her hair into a somewhat presentable bundle.

He cursed under his breath and let her curly mane go once more, then took the phone back from his daughter. It was unlocked and back in her arms in a few seconds flat, to which Harry’s millionth attempt at corraling the curls he undoubtedly passed down to her began. 

In an instant, she’d forgotten all about how antsy she was, now busying herself by opening random apps that caught her eye and pressing random keys that meant absolutely nothing to her because she was a three year old that couldn’t read, but it didn’t deter her from thinking she was a proper adult doing adult things on her very own cell phone.

Harry let out a sigh of relief when she seemed completely content, reaching once more for the spray bottle to rewet the comb he had been using to smooth over his daughter’s scalp. She put up no fight when he pulled her hair taut against her head, almost as if she had forgotten he was even there as her pudgy fingers tapped away on the glass screen.

The silver lining was now in reach, the finish line only a handful of long strides away. He was satisfied with his work. Sure, there were a few lumps and bumps, but nothing his wife or mother would fuss over, so he raised his arm up to his mouth to pull the neon pink hair band from his wrist with his teeth. As fate would have it, just as he began securing her ponytail with the hair tie, the flimsy elastic snapped and shot to the floor, leaving the toddler’s hair in a bird’s nest on top of her head and Harry’s patience at it’s end. 

“You’ve got t’ be bloody kiddin’ me,” Harry groaned, having to turn his body away from his daughter as if the fuse attached to his last nerve was going to implode at any second. 

He was now certain that whatever higher power in the sky was planning his demise on this bright and sunny Tuesday morning.

With the last bit of his dignity, he knelt down to open the cabinets and rummage through the bin with all of his daughter’s clips and bows until he found another hair tie that would match the outfit he’d picked out for her to wear. He kept a firm hand on her back as he jumbled around the contents of the container, just in case she lost her balance and fell backwards off of the counter (she didn’t really need the extra reinforcement, but he’d not quite been able to shake the over-protective dad persona that he’d adopted whenever she was much smaller and prone to flinging herself backward without warning). There was no additional pink hair tie in sight, so he was forced to go with a bright green one that didn’t compliment what she was wearing in the slightest, but it was just nana’s house, so who gives a shit, he thought to himself. 

As he was regaining his stance from where he was balanced on his haunches, he heard a deep voice that wasn’t his daughter’s echo off the walls of the master bathroom.

“Hey, man! What’s goin’ o-,” the voice, which Harry now recognized as his best friend’s came to an abrupt hault when the camera focused and the man was able to see who was actually facetiming him at seven o’clock in the morning.

“Oh. You’re not Harry,” he toyed, trying to amuse the tiny girl he’d known and loved since the minute she was born.

“Mitchy!” Harry’s daughter yelled directly into the speaker of the phone, causing Mitch to hold his own phone several inches away from where he had it resting on the arm of his sofa.

“Hello, princess. Where’s your dad?”

“Right here,” Harry interjected with a grunt as he willed the pain in his knees (and back) away.

“Sorry, she’s messin’ with m’ phone. Must’ve called you on accident.”

“No worries. ‘S a lovely surprise. What’re you two doin’? You on baby duty this mornin’?” 

Mitch could see Harry messing with the toddler’s hair, a purple comb balanced in between his teeth and locks of wavy, brown hair slipping in and out of the frame as he gathered it on top of her head.

“Yep,” Harry spoke through the comb, “And it’s not goin’ s’ great.”

“Judgin’ by the look on your face, I’d say so.”

“Haha. Very funny.”

“Mitchy!” Harry’s daughter called for him again as if to refocus the attention of this conversation back on herself.

“Yessss?”

“I see kitty?” her voice raising an octave as she asked to see the kitten he’d adopted a few months ago that she adored oh so much.

“Kitty’s sleepin’ with Sarah right now, bug. Can’t wake them or they’ll both be grumpy for the rest of the day. Why don’t you come over and visit and you can see all of us? We miss you,” Mitch pouted dramatically at the camera, making the small girl giggle in a way that made him smile right back at her.

He’d always been rather reserved, but had quite the soft spot for his close friend’s bub and couldn’t help but show her all of the affection that he could.

“Daddy, I go to Sarah’s house?” she jerked her head back to look at her father, whose life flashed before his eyes when the sudden movement almost caused his to drop her hair again.

Harry quickly turned her jaw back towards the mirror with his thumb to keep another disaster from occurring.

“Maybe later, petal. You’re going to nana’s today. Daddy and Mitch have to go t’ work.”

“You play songs?”

“Yeah. Gonna play some songs,” he laughed at his daughter’s earnest attempt at understanding what he did for a living.

“Are you bein’ good for ye’ dad?” Mitch asked, seeing Harry’s struggle and doing what he could to distract her while Harry smoothed the final lumps over her delicate head with the fine-toothed comb.

“Yeah, I bein’ good,” she gloated, flashing her tiny baby teeth.

“If that’s what ye’ want to call it,” Harry mumbled under his breath.

He wasn’t quiet enough for Mitch to not hear his snide comment, to which he let out a chuckle towards Harry.

“I take it you’ve got a bit of a fibber on your hands?” Mitch directed at Harry.

“No kiddin’,” Harry huffed, face concentrated on one stubborn tendril of hair that wouldn’t lay flat no matter how many times he brushed over it, “’Ve been trying to put her hair in a bloody ponytail for twenty minutes. I swear I’ve never seen a three year old with this much hair before in m’ life. Don’t know how her mum does this every mornin’.”

“’M afraid that hair’s all you, lover boy. Those curls are unmistakeable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Is your dad good at fixin’ your hair?” Mitch asked the toddler, knowing good and well he was giving leeway for Harry to be teased mercilessly by his ruthless toddler.

“No, I like mummy do my hair more. Daddy pulls it too much.”

“Listen here, you little monster. If ye’ would have sat still for two seconds, this would have been done ages ago and we could’ve been halfway t’ nana’s by now,” Harry stated very matter-of-factly.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mitch intervened, “Take it easy, mate. She’s three. It can’t be that bad.”

“I would absolutely love to see you babysit her for twenty-four hours. You’d be choking on your words.”

“I’d love that, actually,” Mitch snided, “What d’ya say, princess? Sleepover at uncle Mitch’s house with Sarah and the kitty?”

The three year old cheered excitedly, her chubby cheeks widening on the sides of her face at the thought of spending time with her favorite people in the world (aside from her mum and dad, of course).

“No, no, no!” Harry yelled frantically, “Hold still. ‘M almost done.”

He quickly looped the brightly-colored elastic around her bunch of hair that he held tightly in his hand as if an imaginary stopwatch was about to go off and signal that he was out of time and he’d lose control of her curls once more, for which he’d certainly burst into tears.

“Aha!” he held his hands above his head in victory when he was satisfied with the number of times he’d wrapped the hair tie around her hair.

“Finally.”

Harry was breathing heavily as if he had just run a marathon, making Mitch cheer him on sarcastically.

“Super dad does it again.”

“You’re not funny, Mitch.”

“‘M very funny, actually. Isn’t that right, bubs?”

“Uh-huh!” Harry’s daughter agreed, earning an eye roll from her father.

“Alright, we’re very late. Need t’ get goin’ before Jeff yells at daddy n’ I’m not sure I can handle much more today.”

Harry scooped up the pint-sized child from the sink by the belly and helped her stand, her hands still clasped around the phone surrounded in a baby pink case. 

“See ye’ in a bit yeah?” Harry asked Mitch as he straightened his daughter’s shirt that had crinkled at the hem from sitting on the counter for so long.

“Yeah. Reckon it’s probably time to go wake Sarah. You be good for your dad and nana today. Alright, stinker butt?”

“I not stinky!” the girl cried, almost offended.

“You’re right. ‘M sorry. Your dad’s the stinky one.”

“Goodbyeeeeeeee, Mitch,” Harry sang monotonously into the speaker.

“Bye, Mitchy!” his daughter called after him.

“Bye, sweetheart. See ye’ at the sleepover.”

She began rattling off another excited spout of words, but was cut off as Harry reached down and pressed the red button on the screen, ending the call. He took the phone from her hands and slid it back into his pocket. His daughter was too busy buzzing from the high of being invited over to Mitch’s house to play with his kitten to throw a fit over being deprived of it, to which Harry was thankful.

“Did ye’ put your bunny in your backpack?”

She nodded her head, yes.

“And your blanket?”

She paused, lips pursing as she tried to recall whether or not she stuffed the worn, yet still comforting wad of fabric that she’s had since she was born into her bag.

“Better go check then,” Harry added, watching her as she booked it down the hall towards her room as if she was in a race against herself to make it there.

“Got it!” her tiny voice came trailing back into Harry’s bedroom, the corners of the blanket sticking out from the giant backpack that was nearly the size of her body strapped to her back. 

The sight of her wobbling back into his line of sight with the oversized bag made him want to cry. She was still so tiny, but where had his sweet baby gone?

“Good gir-” he began to praise her before he realized what he was currently looking at.

In the midst of her running, she must have exerted herself a bit too harshly, for her curls that were styled perfectly just minutes ago were floofed around her head in a (not-so angelic) halo and the hair tie had slipped down dangerously low, mere inches from falling completely out.

Her inherited curls were one of the cutest things about her and anyone with even the worst vision would agree. But, god. At what cost?

“-YOUR HAIR!”

[e-milieeee]

the stars know (you and i are meant to be)—ladynoir

Summary: Between akumas and school, Ladybug and Chat Noir find some time in between to sit back, have a picnic, and stargaze. And perhaps learn a little more about each other. 

Notes: happy birthday @edendaphne! your art was some of the first i saw when i joined the fandom and i love it sm (this oneshot is based off of this). i hope you have a great day <3 

written for day 2: stargazing and day 17: future for @ladynoirjuly2020.

Her mother tells her that preparing a meal for someone is an intimate gesture.

Marinette begs to differ. It’s just a meal, after all. There are three meals a day, and she finds it pointless to assign some sort of underlying worth to all of them.

But now, painstakingly arranging the bento boxes she’d made for Chat Noir, she begrudgingly understands what her mother means. She wraps them in picnic cloth, shouldering her bag full of supplies, and then drops out from her balcony to meet Chat.

They find each other halfway; Ladybug spots a familiar streak of black darting between rooftops. She knows he sees her: he always does.

Sure enough, Chat Noir turns up behind her in the span of five seconds and shoots her his usual blinding grin. “Good evening, m’lady!”

His smile is contagious, and Ladybug doesn’t even try to contain her own. “Hungry?” she asks him as they start to move again, racing over buildings at a breakneck speed. “You better not have eaten dinner before this, because I cooked a lot.”

Chat feigns offence. “I can’t believe you would even suggest I’d do such a thing. I’d eat the food you cooked me even if it’s burnt and cold, you know that.” He pauses, a contemplative look crossing his face. “Though I am expecting some world class cooking.”

Ladybug thinks back to the five hours she spent cooking their dinner, and the careful arranging she’d done of the bento boxes and the wide array of food she’d made sure to cook. It’s a fusion of both Japanese and Chinese cuisine—Chat’s favourites. Preparing a meal for someone is an intimate gesture.

Perhaps her mother is right, but it’s still just an intimate gesture between friends. Yeah, that’s what it is.

“World class cooking pales in comparison to mine,” Ladybug jokes, although she also feels obligated to add on, “don’t raise your expectations too high.”

“With you, my expectations are always high.”

She shoves him just for that comment, inciting nothing but a slight falter in his movements and a large grin. With a shake of her head, Ladybug moves on, if only to hide her own smile. 

***

They set up their picnic on top of a hill.

It’s secluded, and that’s the best part of the location. Ladybug unpacks her bag to start tugging out the blankets she packed: some to sit on, others to huddle under when the night starts getting chilly. Then, even more carefully, she begins to lay their dinner bit by bit in front of them, until she finally spreads the feast out in front of Chat.

His mouth drops open, and he does not even attempt to close it. Saucer-plate eyes blink at her.

“For me?” Chat finally manages after at least thirty seconds of gaping. “I mean… you made all of this for me?”

Ladybug has to admit she’s pleased by his reaction, and even more so pleased by the fact that their slightly rough journey hadn’t ruined the aesthetic appeal of most of her dishes.

“Well, for me as well,” she teases, reaching over to tap on his bell.

He’s undeterred. “This is unbelievable,” he whispers, more to himself than her. “M’lady, I can’t believe you made this to eat with me.”

Something about his tone tugs at her heart. In an attempt to snap him out of it, Ladybug points out, “It’s kitty themed.”

“I know.” His voice wobbles slightly. “Are those cat cookies supposed to be me?”

“Yeah. They turned out kind of ugly, though.”

“No, they’re beautiful. I wish I could look like that.”

“Chat, you don’t have a nose in those cookies. You really don’t.”

He sniffles once more, and Ladybug realizes belated that he has teared up. “Chat,” she tries, this time in a gentler tone. “Are you… crying?”

He rubs his eyes rather violently. “No.”

“Kitty…”

“Fine, yes. I’m just very happy. These are happy tears. It’s okay.” With one last painful looking scrub over his face, Chat Noir lowers his hands. “You can introduce the dishes and we’ll eat.”

Knowing better to push, she obliges the request, even if Ladybug has her doubts on happy tears. There’s a certain melancholy in his words, the sort that carries an old sort of pain. So instead, sitting side by side, their knees touching and sitting just close enough that she feels the warmth radiating off him, Ladybug starts to name the dishes.

“These are the appetizers,” she tells Chat, who listens attentively. “Those are pork potstickers—they might not be as hot as they were before, though. That one’s called… um, lang… liang ni?” The words don’t sound like how her mother says them, but her Chinese is lacking in more ways than one and Ladybug can’t remember the name of the dish for the life of her. “Honestly, I have no clue what it’s called. I think it roughly translates into cold noodles.”

Chat leans over to scrutinize the dish. “It looks familiar.”

“The noodles are store-bought, but I made the sauce. There’s carrots, beansprouts, and cucumbers. And those tofu things. It’s also spicy, but I put the sauce in a container so if you can’t handle spice, you don’t need to add it.”

Never one to admit defeat, he folds his arms. “I can handle spicy food easily.”

“Okay, tough guy, I’ll take you up on that later. Anyway, I made us both bento boxes for the main meal, and…” She opens the box, and Chat’s eyes practically bulge out of his head.

“Cats?” he demands. “Rice cats? Oh my god, Ladybug, you’re unbelievable.”

Cats, indeed. She’d spent an hour shaping them: sticky rice balls shaped into little kitten heads, with ears sticking out at the side. There’s one made from white rice and another from purple rice, and the faces are styled from carefully cut pieces of dried seaweed, then sprinkled with sesame seeds. Ladybug’s certain that beneath the suit, her hands still smell like the seasoning she’d rolled the rice with because of the sheer amount of time she had spent on them.

“I made both Taiwanese fried chicken and teriyaki salmon for meat, then fried some vegetables. For health reasons. And kimchi, because we had some in our fridge and I thought, why not?” With that, she sets his bento box into his lap and gestures at the cookies. “Dessert. And something else afterwards, if you’re still hungry.”

“Something afterwards…?”

“You’ll see later,” she mumbles. “Anyway, dig in before it gets cold.”

Ladybug’s never been that great at accepting compliments, and Chat doesn’t lay off on them today either. He picks up the chopsticks with care and carefully picks up a piece of Taiwanese fried chicken. He pops it into his mouth, chews thoughtfully, then swallows.

Ladybug is never not in awe of how Chat’s eyes can literally light up.

“You weren’t lying,” he gushes. “This is world class cooking.”

“You’re laying it on a little too thick there,” she laughs.

“I speak only the truth, m’lady. This is amazing. Just like you.”

“Chat…”

“Okay, okay!” He’s still smiling as he moves to the rice ball. “I almost don’t want to eat them. They’re too perfect.”

Ladybug reaches over with her own chopsticks, stabbing one of his rice balls to split it in half, also tearing off one of the seaweed-eyes in the process. “There you go,” she declares sagely. “Ready to eat.”

Chat’s mouth drops open. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“I-I didn’t even get a picture!”

Ladybug pats his back. “Life is full of disappointments, isn’t it, chaton?”

He stabs her rice ball just for the hell of it before returning to his meal.

***

By the time she and Chat have practically cleaned out all the food (how he’d eaten nine cookies after the meal is beyond Ladybug), she’s so full that any slight movement hurts.

“Oh my god,” Chat is saying, tilting his head back. “I don’t think I’ve eaten so much for years.”

“I feel like I’m going to die,” Ladybug agrees. She’s lying back on the picnic blanket, staring at the sky. The sun had set twenty minutes ago, but traces of its light still peek out at the edge of the horizon, dyeing the sky a lovely indigo colour. Only the brightest stars are visible right now, but the others start to blink into existence one by one as day rests and night awakens.

“I feel like I’m going to die too.” He props his chin on his hand. “But it’s the good sort of dying. How privileged I am to be able to die next to you.”

Laughing hurts, but she can’t help but do so anyway. “Drama queen.”

He bats his eyelashes at her. “Only for you, Bugaboo.”

Ladybug wrinkles her nose at him in mock disgust, but a laugh is threatening to spill yet again and she’s not in the mood for another stomachache. Instead, she turns her attention back to the stars. The breeze that breathes over them is soothing.

They don’t do much for the next couple of minutes, simply gazing at the stars, wrapped up in a thick blanket of companionable silence. It’s easy like this, next to Chat Noir: Ladybug doesn’t have to read into these gaps of quiet, instead settling into them—because with him, they’re simply natural.

When the dark settles in completely and the sky alights into a patchwork of stars, Chat speaks up.

“Ladybug,” he says quietly.

She doesn’t turn away from the sky. “Mm.”

“Isn’t it funny that we’re here because of Hawkmoth?”

She pauses her stargazing to look at her partner instead. “What do you mean?”

Chat gives a little shrug, slightly sheepish. “If this… if none of this happened, or if Master Fu ended up choosing somebody else, or a million other possibilities, would we have met? Maybe we’ve passed each other on the street a thousand times and never knew who the other was. That thought has always bothered me, but I’m just… I’m just so thankful right now I can sit with you like this, even with the masks between us. I’m thankful that every time I transform, I know that I’ll see you again. I hate Hawkmoth as much as any other Parisian, but perhaps I have him to thank, for letting me meet you like this. And I hope that no matter what my future will bring, you’ll still be there in it.”

Ladybug can handle the flirtatious remarks, the casual confessions he peppers her with. But this—this is much more intimate, something she can’t help but cradle close to her heart. “Chat—”

“I know you don’t feel the same,” he replies. “And that’s okay. But for so long, no one’s really cared about me like you have, m’lady, and you mean everything to me and I hope you know that.”

Words evade her for a couple of moments. Then Ladybug extends her hand to him, and Chat’s fingers slip around hers, interlocking. It feels right—it always feels right with him.

“Me too, chaton,” she whispers into the sky. “I’m so glad I met you, and I hope that you’ll be there too, in my future.”

She can see his smile in her periphery.

***

Her mother tells her that preparing a meal for someone is an intimate gesture.

Ladybug is inclined to agree, but she thinks that sharing that meal together (and what happens afterwards) is what really makes it so.

Notes: Fics masterlist here! 

[huntertales]

Part Three: At First If You Don’t Succeed. (Clip Show S08E22)

Episode Summary: Sam, Dean and the reader share a bitter reunion with Castiel after finding the angel beaten and bloody in the middle of the road. While digging through the Men of Letters’ files, they stumble upon an undiscovered film which could be the key to completing the third trial. Meanwhile, Crowley digs into the reader and boys’ past, putting people they saved in mortal danger. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 3,744.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

You had your doubts on Dean's plan of digging up a demon you had buried away in the outskirts of town for the past few months. There was no reason why she wouldn't come back to life after all this time. While you were still skeptical, it seemed you were discovering new things about demons today. You learned that you might possibly be able to cure one with some Latin and purified blood. And if you chopped the head off of one with a devil's trap bullet in her skull she'd come back to life like a typical functioning monster. While you wanted nothing more in this world than to leave Abbadon buried six feet under with her still conscious of her surroundings after all she did to you. The desire to figuring out how to close the gates of hell was stronger.

You stared at the demon with your arms crossed over your chest, the sight of the red head alone made your desire to bury her alive came back even stronger. All the things she did to your father fueled the idea of leaving her in solitary. But you knew if this plan worked—if you somehow could turn her into a human again—the guilt of the blood she had on her hands from countless murders and terrible acts she committed for hell would be the best kind of punishment of all. It might be just enough for her to end her own pathetic life. 

“It worked.” Dean declared the obvious. He slapped his brother on the chest for his doubts. “You owe me a beer.” 

“And I owe you both so, so much.” Abbadon thought all of you were stupid enough to attach her head back on to her body with free mobility to her body. It seemed she wasn’t all back to her normal self when she made passive threats to the older Winchester. “I can’t wait to tear those pretty green eyes out.” 

“Good luck with that.” Sam told the demon.

You nodded your head to the lack of human parts she woke up a little less with, your lips stretching into a smirk at her new discovery. "We figured kitty didn't need her claws.”

Abbadon stared down to see you were staring at her arms, to be specific, the bloody stumps of where her hands should have been. You couldn't help yourself but snicker as you saw her struggle to get out of her seat and come after you from the reaction alone. Abbadon enjoyed a challenge on taking down her victims. "Then I'll stump you to death. It'll be swell." 

"Yeah, that's not gonna happen, either." Sam said. "The bullet, remember?"

The bullet that was currently lodged in the roof of her mouth if you took a wild guess from the angle Henry shot her, before she ripped his insides out and left him to bleed out. Long as the bullet was in her body, there was no way she was going to smoke out or escape from your clutches from what you were about to do to her. It was sweet, sweet karma coming her way that was fifty-five years in the making from what she did not only to your own flesh and blood, but to all the others she tried wiping out. 

“So you sit there like a good little bitch. We’re gonna consecrate the ground, and you’re gonna get to fessing up.” Dean explained the plan for today to the demon, thinking she had no clue what was about to go down. He thought it would be a nice little surprise to ambush her with after waking up the demon from her little dirt nap. He might not be able to kill her with the demon knife, but she'd do his job for her after that soul of hers turned a little less dark.

“Oh, I know this tune.” Abbadon said. Sam scoffed quietly at the secret the Men of Letters kept hidden for decades. It'd be impossible for the demon to know, however he didn't connect the dots together. Only it was the exact reason why she was here in the first place. "Father Max Thompson, born on October 12, 1910. Died, August 5th, 1958. Who do you think ripped that priest apart? Word got back to home office that Maxie was messing with things, so we made an example. It wasn’t my most artful kill, but it was effective. But Andrew...oh, he was my pride and joy. What I did to him was a true work of art. A masterpiece, if I may say.” 

“What you did is that you turned him into a monster. Like yourself.” Your insult to the demon was like a compliment from the smile that spread across Abbadon’s smeared red lips. “This entire time I thought it was because you needed someone on the inside to help you. But I’m guessing the chick you’re wearing was one of them. You did it for revenge. You knew about the rituals this entire time.”

“Father Max spilled his guts before I ripped them out of his body. He told me all about Josie Sands. I rode her into the Men of Letters and what I did to them—that was fun. But you really don’t care about that. You care about why Daddy didn’t die like everyone else.” Abbadon took a wild guess at the questions you still had. “Andrew was a special case. His family has a long history of messing with demons. It only seems fair he got a taste of his own medicine. Took days and countless demons, but it was all worth it when his soul turned black as his eyes.”

“So you knew what Max was doing.” Sam said. 

“I had an idea. Fella screamed the basics. I tried getting more information out of Andrew, and, well, you can’t say much when you’re choking down demon blood.” Abbadon nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders at the inconvenience for her. “I can only imagine what kind of half breed you turned out to be, Y/N. Your little plan isn’t gonna work.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” Dean said. 

You found the conversation taking a momentary pause when you heard your phone start ringing from an incoming call. You shoved a hand inside your back pocket and pulled it out to see a three number digit on the screen. “666.” You furrowed your brow slightly from who it could be from the usual number. You answered the call and pressed the phone to your ear, deciding to let the caller say hello first. The person on the other line was a voice you were expecting to hear in person after he popped out of thin air. It was Crowley, with that obnoxious accent of his. 

“Hello, Kitten.”

You rolled your eyes from hearing that stupid nickname of his you were given. “Crowley.” 

"Crowley?" Abbadon repeated the name of a demon she remembered before being thrown into the twenty first century. He dubbed himself king of the crossroads back in the day. She smiled slightly, wondering why he was calling you. "The salesman?"

“Try the king of hell.” Dean corrected the demon. 

The smile on Abbadon's face fell quickly as it came after hearing the words come out of the man's mouth. Hell must've froze over for that pompous prick to have gotten such a prestige title. When Abbadon was around there were key players still alive—Lilith, Azazel, just to name a few on the top of the food chain. There was no way Crowley got ranks over hell above all of them. Things really went to crap while she was gone. "This a joke, right?"

You nodded your head for the boys to follow you outside so you could take this call in private. Whatever reason why Crowley was trying to contact you like this it was important. Dean ordered for the demon to stay right where she was while all of you stepped inside to figure out what the king of hell wanted. You thought Abbadon would have done what she was told. After all, there was no way she could escape if she had no hands to sneak out the bullet. 

When you got outside, you pressed a button on the screen to put the call on speaker so you weren't the only one graced to hear the demon's voice. You continued on the conversation by asking a very important question. "How'd you get your slimy hands on my number, Crowley?"

"Ah, first thing's first," Crowley answered your question with a sleazy one of his own. "what are you wearing, Kitten?"

"Oh, okay, hanging up now." Dean jumped into the conversation when he heard the demon try to get cheeky with you. He nodded his head for you to end this call once and for all, thinking the demon was trying to be funny with you by wasting your time. "Hang up." 

"Don't get your boxers in a twist, Squirrel. This isn't a social call. I was wondering. You lads been reading the papers, say, Dever Times from yesterday? No? Well, you should. It's side-splitting." Crowley said. Dean pulled out his phone and pulled up the newspaper the demon was talking about, and why he was going through all the effort to tell you about it. "What the hell—I'm sexting you an address. Check it out. Then we'll talk. Cheerio."

"Wait, what?" Sam tried to figure out what the demon was talking about, but he was a little slow on the draw when he heard the dial tone coming from the other end of the line. "Crowley?"

You hung up the phone and shoved it back into your pocket for safekeeping after Dean pulled up the front page of the newspaper Crowley was talking about. You spotted a news article that caught your attention, something about a freak accident always raised a few questions. "Here it is. Vic's name was Tommy Collins." Dean read off a bit of information after skimming through the article. The name sounded familiar to him, but he couldn't place where he heard it before until today. "Tommy. Why do I know that name?"

"Tommy Collins. We saved him from a wendigo like forever ago." Sam said. "It was the second case we ever took with Y/N when she was still learning how to hunt." 

"Wow. Talk about a blast from the past." You mumbled the slightly insensitive remark under your breath. You vaguely remembered the case that you took back when John was missing and you were figuring the ropes of how to be a hunter without getting yourself killed. You wondered why Crowley went after Tommy after all these years "You think Crowley blew his head off? I mean, what are we dealing with here? Some sort of demon-wendigo team up?

“No clue.” Sam admitted. 

“All right, well, we’ll pour one out for Tommy later.” Dean said. He shoved his phone back into his pocket and headed back inside the building, knowing you had more important things to do than worry about what Crowley was up to. It was sad at what came of Tommy, but you didn’t have time to play games. “As far as Crowley goes, screw him. We got everything we need to put him in a permanent time-out.” 

You thought you were one step ahead of the game from Abbadon sitting in the building with no where to go and Crowley thinking you were going to play his little game. It seemed for a second you had everything exactly where you wanted. Life has a funny way of not always working in your favor. When you stepped back inside the place and into where you left the demon, you felt your heart stop in panic when you saw there was an empty chair—and no demon. You swore on your life she was there when you left her only a few minutes ago. Somehow the bitch managed to sneak away while you weren’t looking.

“No. No! No! No! No!” Dean growled to himself at the unfortunate sight. He raced forward to the empty chair and looked around to see if he might be able to spot the red head around here somewhere. “She’s gone. She’s—son of a bitch!”

Dean took it upon himself to try and track the demon down while you and Sam figured out how Abbadon managed to get herself free. She might be immune to the demon knife, but you’ve never met something like her that was resistant to a devil’s trap. You should’ve take it one step further and made one around her before you brought Raggedy Ann back to life. You walked over to the desk you had laid all the materials out on when you noticed something was off. You reached for the metal box that you had put her detached hands for safe keeping. When you noticed they were empty, you let out a frustrated sigh and threw it back down to the desk, causing you to make a banging noise that echoed through the place. Who would’ve thought her hands were like Thing Addams. 

Sam started to figure out how she managed to get herself free when he spotted something red on the ground he didn’t seem before, not too far from where the chair was. He bent down to examine it further to try and figure out what it was. Sam didn’t take very long to realize it was the bloody bullet that was lodged in Abbadon’s head. She must’ve somehow gotten it loose from using her unattached hands and snuck out while the demon had the chance. Sam called for yours and his brother’s attention to show you what he found. The sight of the bloody bullet made you grow even more pissed off. Before you could let out a swear word like you wanted, you felt your phone vibrate. You snatched it out from your pocket to see it was a notification. 

“It’s a text message from Crowley,” You told them. “an address in Prosperity, Indiana.” 

“Prosperity? Didn’t we work a case there? Yeah, yeah, the one with the witches and the baked goods.” Dean said, figuring out why the place sounded so familiar to him. You guessed it was during your absence away, that’s why you were out of the loop. “So what? He’s going after somebody there now?”

“I don’t know.” Sam said. “We got to check it out.” 

You raised your brow slightly from the obvious reason not to play along to Crowley’s game. He would stop at nothing to see you dead. No matter how many bodies it took to get you where he wanted you. “Well, you know it’s a trap.”  

“Of course it’s a trap. But a trap means demons,” Sam stated the reason why it was important for you to go to Indiana. He raised up the bullet that held the one that you had at your disposal, before she ran away. “And we could use one right now.” 

+ + +

You didn't have much of a choice but to follow along with Crowley's instructions and take the long drive to Indiana with the hopes that you were on time to save this Jenny person from the fate Tommy had suffered. Along with a few demons that he might be stupid enough to have waiting for you. All you needed was just the one to get this entire situation wrapped up for good once and for all. No more kings of hell calling up to harass you. No more demons trying to toy with your life for the hell of it. You could finally have the life you've been yearning for decades now. Most importantly your child could have a life without worrying things were going to end up the same way as it had for you. 

When you pulled up to the apartment that Jenny was living in after her near death experience with some pissed off witch, you and the boys wasted no time in getting out and heading up there. You were anxious about what was waiting for you inside the apartment. Every part of you was hoping Crowley was going to slip up and have one of his goons waiting for you. Dean picked the lock in record time and swung open the door, stepping into the dark apartment after testing the light switch only to conclude the power was out. He made his way inside first with Sam following behind. You lingered in the hallway as the both of them made sweep around the place to see if there was anyone hiding in the shadows.  

You made your way inside when you noticed there was most likely no one here, all though you still kept the demon knife close to your side, wanting to err on the side of caution just in case someone wanted to get the jump on you. You noticed right as you stepped into the apartment Dean found something. You made your way over to the kitchen area to see Jenny had been busy earlier from the sight of delicious looking cupcakes and a mess of ingredients around the place. You peered over the counter to meet Jenny for yourself. However the both of you couldn’t be properly introduced from the sight of her. 

You grimaced at the burnt smell of human flesh that made your stomach feel queasy, the sight of Jenny with her head in the oven after someone most likely forced her in there. You had to cover your mouth with your hand to keep yourself from throwing up. “Is that…Jenny?” 

Dean slowly nodded his head to answer your question. He stared at the body for a moment, a sense of guilt coming over him from how the poor girl fell into the clutches of Crowley's plan "You were a great gal, Jenny Klein.”

You heard your phone start ringing again just a minute after you arrived to Jenny's apartment and discovered the present Crowley had left for you. You quickly pulled it out to see the familiar three digit number on the screen. You let out a frustrated sigh at who was calling you again and got the boys’ attention before answering the call. "What the hell are you doing, Crowley?"

“Oh, Kitty, isn’t it obvious?” Crowley asked you, wondering why you haven’t caught up to the little game he wanted to play. “I’m killing everyone you and those neanderthals ever saved—the damsels in distress, the innocent whippersnappers, the would-be vampire chow—all of them.”

“How do you even know—” Dean tried to ask the demon a question, but he was quickly cut off.

“I have my sources and a cracking research team. When you kids hit a town, you tend to leave a mess. Now, you’re probably wondering why my droogs aren’t in there giving you the bum’s rush, so let’s bress these tracks, shall we?” You felt your grip around the knife go slightly tighter as you looked around the room, wondering if Crowley was just bluffing. But the place was empty except for the three of you. And Jenny’s charred body. “I’m gonna gut one person every twelve hours until you bring me the demon tablet and stop this whole trials nonsense.” 

“We don’t have the tablet.” Sam lied to the demon, hoping it would be enough to buy you some time and figure out another plan to stop Crowley before he could hurt anyone else. “Kevin took it and—” 

“I took Kevin. Then someone took him back. Word from the cloud that it wasn’t heaven. So either the cutest little prophet in the world is with you two lads and Y/N, or you better find him tout-bloody-suite because time, she is a-wasting. About now, you’re thinking of ways to stop me. You won't be able to, but you'll try because that's what you do. You try. So, time for an object lesson.” Crowley decided to be nice and throw you another chance at saving a life you already did many years ago. “Indianapolis, the Ivy motel, room one-one-six. You have fifty-seven minutes." 

You peeked at the clock on the oven to see that it was a little after eleven. You and the boys had until midnight to find this person and save them from whatever twisted plan Crowley had. When you heard the dial tone come from the other end, you wasted no time getting out of there and back down to the Impala. There was no way in hell you were going to let that bastard win again. 

+ + +

On the way to the motel you tried racking your brain for old cases that you worked here to help figure who Crowley might be going after. Maybe he was just pulling at your strings and leading you to another dead body. A warning for the people he was going to pick off if you didn’t do what he said. You felt a nervous knot in your stomach began to form as you cautiously watched the time on the clock as it ticked down to a half an hour until midnight. You were determined to make it there with time to spare and prepare yourself for whatever sort of twist Crowley wanted to throw your way. 

Dean stayed behind to collect some things for you while you and Sam rushed to find the motel of Crowley's next victim if you weren't quick enough. Sam rapidly knocked on the door until someone finally answered it after a long grueling minute of waiting. Who you saw answer the door took you by surprise if you had to be honest. Sarah Blake—she was a young woman at the time you first met all the way back in '05. The daughter of an art dealer who got caught in the cross hairs of a spirit of a child who murdered her family and anyone who had taken possession of it. You saved her from the spirit after it trapped her and Sam in the home of the last person who took ownership of the painting. 

“Sam.” She spoke the name of a man she hadn't seen in almost eight years. All though she only met him once, the encounter they shared together was something she'd never forget. It took a second he didn't come here alone. You greeted the woman with a forced smile as a sense of fear slowly crossed her face. "What are you doing here?”

[Next Part]

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[beatconductor-blog]

01/07/2017

catboii

>You head over to B.C's place via the coords he gave you. You imagine he should be easy to find or he'll be waiting for you, because if you have to go looking for him you're gonna whine at him.

beatconductor > You still got the transportalizer located in a room at your little 'office' which is set up as a makeshift lounging area.  Not the most fancy,  but it should be comfy enough. And since you have a hard time gathering enough energy for work today, you're just resting on the couch and waiting for your guest.

catboii >Yep good he was easy to find (you can recognise his cute face from his selfies). You're not gonna have to complain at him after all. Mixed up in all your turbulent self loathing and hype for actually getting to see him finally is a thought. How much weird stuff has he seen from the depths of the multiverse so far (you're nothing much but at least you're cute). You make a show of being extra when you see him. Hop up off one paw, your glittery fairy-like wings keeping you hovering rather than pointlessly draining your psionics, and make sure to swish your tail when you float yourself to sit next to him. Normally even you would be a little- held back? Cautious? With someone who is technically a stranger, but you're bro-linked now. He has your vent and your porn blog and you have his... combined mess of a blog that's actually a little precious. And he offered to pet you when you were obviously not doing good and he's not doing good and you mostly wanna see if you can make him feel better somehow. Give him a distraction from whatever it is that's bothering him. Petting you is definitely a good distraction you are precious. "Hey." Yes, very eloquent.

((I didn't mean for this to be longish feel free to reply as short or whatever as you want im p informal it's all fun lmao))

beatconductor ((omg)) Well,  as much as you've read about timelines and alternates already,  it's still a little weird to see him in person. Especially since you're sort of close with the local Sollux and they -do- look similar. But C is also so... EXTRA. You can't help but snort at that entrance. "Sup." Yeah,  equally as eloquent. You too would usually be a little more cautious, but after all the virtual fistbumps and s ((whoops too early wait there's more))

beatconductor You too would usually be a little more cautious, but after the virtual fistbumps, exchange of porn, troubles, selfies (and most of all bonding over corpse pics), it feels like you already know each other well enough. But how do you start a conversation now. Or a petting session? Should you just ask him about his mood or what? Actually you're kind of fascinated by that tail (and ears,  but the tail is easier to reach) and can't help but give it a little poke.  That thing is really the real deal huh? "Dude..." Eloquent.

catboii >Aw he's like a crow that found something shiny. Your tail twitches when he touches it, and you mock frown. "Dude... You can't just go around touching guy's tails what are you an earth veterinarian." Your pout is so obviously fake and there that's your icebreaker. You lean your forehead against his shoulder and flip your tail onto/into his hand. It's long enough that when you're standing it can drag on the floor. "How are you doing?"

beatconductor "Nah more like a derse taxidermist" Well, that was highly unfitting response. Oops. Either way, you're busy ruffling the whole tail. "Well right now I'm petting a fluffy fairy so pretty damn fine I'd say." You did notice he doesn't like being called a furry, so look at you avoiding saying that. Also, you're kind of avoiding to really answer the question, since you just want off the whole emotional rollercoaster. "How's you."

catboii >You smile to yourself and nuzzle his shoulder, making sure you don't jab him in the face with your horns. You dont know about trolls around here,5 but you're very affectionate and vocal as standard. Iro54nically just like a cat. "I'll make surur Moonie hits you up if we fuck up our insurance scam and I die for real. Can you make me look good?" You don't really expect any different from him and you wouldn't have it any other way. He's funny and he's Real™ in a way you can't quite put your finger on. You do notice that he avoided, but kind of hope it's also to do with the fact that you're here. "Mmh I'm better now. Thanks"

01/08/2017

beatconductor > Considering your girlfriend is actually a cat troll,  you're used to such a show of affection (but it's adorable nonetheless).

beatconductor From his position against your shoulder he luckily can't see your face well,  right? Because your light skin blushes way too easily. "Man I know two morticians and my local death ram promised to stuff me after my death.  If I can't make you look good I know peeps that can. Though if they look at you they'll think you're some kinda cryptozoology thing." And here goes a hand up to Sol's head to test the ears. Soft.. Real,  yeah that's a word that you'd use for him too. With all the issues and quirks you've seen him display, you feel like he can easily understand and accept you for all you do or don't show. 01/08/2017

catboii >As much as B.C is all mysterious and aloof, you think you're getting him better now. He doesn't wanna bring other people down with his bullshit, and you get that. You wouldn't say it out loud because apparently it's a flaw, but you're detached enough from people that you don't really get effected by that stuff. You're happy to listen, and you like making people feel better. Honestly you like watching emotions go from one extreme to another, but you like B.C. You probably won't make him one of your official experiments. You do feel he has alot potential though, and if he didn't have to deal with stuff alone then he could probably get on that. It's not your call though, and you're not about to go pseudo pale on his ass, so he's safe. Right now it isn't really a thought, all you're here for is to get pets and give him attention in return in your own way to just help take his mind off things for a while. When he touches your ears they twitch and you lean your head into his hand, so if he wasn't actually gonna pet them he is now. You're a needy little kitty. You purr at him, low and quiet, and shuffle closer to him, so you can lean against him fully. "You smell nice. I think. Humans smell weird." 01/08/2017

beatconductor > Mysterious, do people actually think that? Socially inept, more like. But you very much appreciate his lack of prying. Though if anyone could figure out how to do it the right way, it's probably him. "Uh thanks I guess. Must be the smell of stress and death." You're only half joking. You can't really imagine what kind of scent he means and likes, but hey, a compliment is a compliment. Also you're definitely petting the ears now.

catboii >Well you like him and that's all that matters thanks. You rest your chin on his shoulder so you can kinda look at him, although you're badly longsighted so he's just an attractive blur this close up honestly. "Yeah I'm getting the aromatic undertones of death for sure. I wasn't gonna say that outright 'cause I though it'd sound like 'hey waddup you smell dead' you feel and that's not quite it." You're joking. You smooch him on the cheek, then settle your own cheek against his shoulder. "You know I read this thing apparently petting cats alot makes humans less likely to develop heart disease since it's relaxing." You smile up at him all cute like and stick your tongue out a bit, a little blep for good measure. Precious.

beatconductor You've read and seen how overly affectioate he is so you were prepared. And it's kinda really nice. "Oh neat so petting you might give me back like a year of all those decades I already lost. Man don't think I'll really get old enough in this city to ever have heart problems besides caffeine overdoses maybe." Oh god he does the blep. And you just can't resist to grab the tongue. How very childish.

catboii >It takes you a second to remember which one a decade is. First you got it confused with a century. Man how old is he, 'all those decades'. Dramatic. He's only like two and a half decades old isn't he? What a nerd. And now you're gonna bite his finger, or thumb, or hand, or whatever you can get to. Only a little bit. No broken skin. But you're not letting go. Huff and give him a muffled 'rude' which sounds more like 'boob'.

01/09/2017

beatconductor More like how much older will you get? You're not really expecting to do another ten years, but whatever. When he catches your fingers, you answer with a hoarse quiet yelp, but an amused one. That was really nothing to worry about, you've been bitten far worse before. "You're the boob, jerkface." You try to pry open that mouth with your other hand, taking the chance to get a look at his choppers. Troll teeth are always so cool. ((We can just let this stop here to hop onto a new thing uvu also just in case you're wondering carmineclock is my blog too just wanna keep up with my faves on a less busy dashboard))

catboii ((I saw in the about I was like yep that makes sense lmao. Still follows. But yeah that works lmao, they would've just awkwardly half cuddled from there c': ))