#gloria: because i care?

[peculiaritybending]

Reblog for larger sample size

[murcielagatito]

how did yall watch gloria help sophia fix her hair after finally being released from shu and not find that the most sweetest romantic thing. the intimacy of helping someone with their hair.... sobbing because of them

[lemongrablothbrok]

Spider-James, Spider-James, does whatever a Spider-James does...

[macroglossus]

jesus christ you'd think turning 30 was a death sentence

[ladamedemartel]

@lordofthestrix sent ☕️ for a mini playlist of our muses

Rain - Sleep Token

Heavy in Your Arms (Live) - Florence + the Machine

War of Hearts - Ruelle

Onward and Upward (feat. Fleurie) - Tommee Profitt

Church - Fall Out Boy

[harleybarbarahandler]

barbie would completely accept her new bestie harley’s polyamory without question because she doesn’t realise it’s out of the norm, but later she tries to explain harley’s romantic life to gloria, who is definitely accepting of it but also quite confused about all the different relationships

[batfamfucker]

What About The Kens?

I'm already seeing guys complain about the Barbie movie end, how they wanted Kens to be equal in Barbieland but were only given a small part on the Cabinet.

That's the point.

You're meant to feel bad for the Kens. Believe me, women aren't partying over the 'Returns to Matriarch' ending. Some will be, but the ones who also clocked the meaning behind it won't. Most women will also feel bad for Kens. Because it's an exact parallel to how women are treated in reality.

Men, you're meant to be upset. You're meant to question it. Because you're meant to feel it, and feel what that is like, so you can finally understand women. You're upset at seeing it in a movie, now imagine living it in reality. That's being a woman.

Kens were shit on so you could feel what it was like for women this entire time. Kens were being used as a placement so you could see yourself in a woman's shoes. A world dominated by the opposite sex. When Ken leaves, and sees male presidents (All men) for the first time, men being doctors and lawyers, etc, realising he is more than just a prop for Barbie, that was on purpose. Because that is the feeling that Barbie gave to women. It's why you cheer for him at first before he goes a little overboard.

It's exactly why the real world was an exaggerated Partriarchy and Barbieland an exaggerated Matriarchy. Neither wins. Neither is equal. None of them change for the better. It's why you should want women in the real world to be respected, and Kens in Barbieland to be respected.

The thing is, women also didn't win. Not in the real world. In Barbieland, yes, but not anywhere else. The real world didn't change. But you didn't notice, did you? That Gloria (The mother that helped Barbie) also didn't get a position on the Mattel board? It was still all men? Her idea was ignored until it made a profit, and the men will likely get the credit? She'll still just be the receptionist? The women representing the real world didn't get anymore opportunities, neither did the men in Barbieland.

I was hoping that Gloria would be offered a position on the board, and that the Barbie Cabinet would introduce another entire Cabinet to represent the Kens, but neither happened. They're complete mirrors.

But which one did you actually notice? Which did you actually care about? Now tell me again the ending was unfair. Because it was. For both parties. That's the point.

The difference is, Barbieland is fictional. You will walk out of the theatre with the reassurance that at least it's not real. Women won't. Women can't. Companies not giving women equal opportunities or voices isn't fictional, and that was just one example. There are no women presidents (USA at least) for us to go look at in the real world. We don't have somewhere to go to realise it could be different for us like Ken did. Barbie and make believe is all we had when we were kids, or even now.

You're supposed to be mad, just not at the movie.

[kissitbttr]

frat!miggy headcannons !!

frat!miguel masterlist

—

sfw !!

frat!miguel is the type to giggle and kick his feet up in the air when you tell him simple things like ‘i am so proud of you, baby’ or ‘look at how handsome you are, my big boy!’

frat!miguel gets jealous of small things. your fictional crushes. your girlfriends. your pet. your back spotter in the cheerleading team. gloria.

frat!miguel is also protective. very. to an extent where even you’re only standing five feet away from him at a party, his eyes will be locked in on you. arms crossed, nodding along to whatever his friend is saying in front of him. smiling like a lovesick puppy when he sees you laugh.

frat!miguel who would in seconds, kneel to tie your shoes when they see them undone. you don’t even have to ask.

frat!miguel plugs into his laptop, spending hours on his free time to look up cheerleading sports when both of you started dating. learning about the rules, routines, physical training, winning teams, tumblings, pyramids, etc. why, you ask? no idea.

frat!miguel is your own personal scary dog privilege. there is nothing about this man a golden retriever. especially at the gym. since you love wearing tight shorts and sports bra on leg days, he would stand a few feet apart behind. glaring to those who stares at his girlfriend’s juicy butt.

frat!miguel brings you flowers every weekend and send ones for your mother too. every once a week he goes out to play ball with your dad too. the man is surprised at how well your dad could throw.

frat!miguel who keeps stashes of condoms in his ‘special’ drawer since you stay over almost every day at the frat house. he figures that it’s better to be prepared than nothing. when really, he’s just one horny motherfucker.

frat!miguel who is so damn clingy that you have no clue on how to deal with it anymore. you could send this man a text of ‘bye, talk to you later, baby’ because you’re leaving for practice and he would spam you with

my miggy<3 : what? no!

my miggy<3 : wdym bye?!

my miggy<3 : princesa please don’t leave me!!!

my miggy<3 : i’d die💔💔💔

my miggy<3 : omg pleasepleaseplease come back

my miggy<3 : so you’re just going to let me die:(

frat!miguel who spends almost his entire junior and senior being fawned and gushed by other girls that he didn’t even think for a second to actually try. but for you? ask him to get you the moon, and he gives you saturn

frat!miguel asks you one day if he could be your boyfriend. not the other way around. not ‘can you be my girlfriend?’ because he’s threading lightly and he needs your permission

—

nsfw !!

frat!miguel is a large, large, man. he’s jacked bro. 6’9 and built like a damn linebacker. he’s big down there too, so it did take some time for you to get used to his size

frat!miguel loves fucking you. to no end. his stamina could go on for hours and he’s lucky enough to have you as his perfect match. ‘always fuck like damn rabbits’ is a review from glen

frat!miguel doesn’t care about whereabouts. if he’s horny and needed you, then you better get to it! (but of course, only if you’re comfortable)

frat!miguel prefers taking you from behind, he loooves seeing your ass bounce against him. it makes him lose his mind. guaranteed that it would be hard enough for him to last

frat!miguel is a sucker for eating your pussy. day and night, this man could have it for his five course meal. he loves it when you’re sitting on a chair, legs spread and tucked upwards while he’s just on his knees lapping at your cunt

frat!miguel loves having control but even more when you’re in charge. bouncing on his dick, not allowing him to touch you while rather just let him watch your tight pussy swallowing his cock.

frat!miguel gets off to your moans. they’re like music to his ears. how could one be so angelic and pornographic at the same time, shits crazy.

frat!miguel who has a breeding kink. he would go on about how he’s willing to knock you up during fucking, whispering in your ear that he’s going to put a baby in you.

frat!miguel is obsessed with your mouth. the head you give is top notch. you could do so much shit with your tongue around his cock than half of the girls he had before with their hands.

frat!miguel who’s lock-screen wallpaper is a selfie of you in the shower. hair wet, one arm covering your tits, puckered lips and doe eyes at the camera. head tilting to the side. it’s one you sent when he had texted you ‘what’s my girl doing today?’ during football practice. you look so damn cute and sexy, he just had to do it.

[wittlesissyb4by]

“But i don’t wanna be a baby girl any more!!”

“Shhh, there there sweetheart! I know it’s frustrating.  But you just have to remember that you asked for this.  You wanted all of this.  So i’m sorry that you don’t like your weird little fantasy any more, but your wife seems to really enjoy keeping you like this.  She even hired me as a maid just to take care of you.”

“But I thought it was just going to be temporary! I didn’t think it was going to be permanent! I only like to wet my diapers, not poop them! And i thought i was going to be able to cum! But instead I just make other guys cum! I never get to eat real food anymore! It’s all just mushy peas, carrots, and even more cum! It’s just, it’s just, WAAAHHHH!!”

“I know sweety, i know.  Remember that saying ’ be careful what you wish for’? Well i guess you understand that now huh? Now…it smells like you need a diaper change, so watta you say we go over to the changing table and change your diaper huh? Now i don’t have the key to your chastity device, but maybe if i hold my vibrator to it long enough it’ll make you squirt, how’s that sound?”

*Sniffs* “Okay…”

“But you know the rules…because i’m letting you cum you have to eat it all up you understand?”

*Sniffles* “Yes…yes ma'am…”

“Good…and instead of giving you your 20 daily swats with the paddle i’ll just give you 50 with my bare hand, how’s that sound?”

“That would be better, thank you Ms. Gloria!”

“You’re welcome sweetheart.  But understand that you are only getting this special treatment for today.  You were the one that wanted to be a little sissy baby.  There are probably thousands of people around the world that wish they were in your exact position.  So you need to suck it up, and try to enjoy yourself.  I will not tolerate this type of behaviour from now on is that understood?”

“Yes ma'am…”

This is an old caption I wrote a long time ago, but for the life of me I can't find the original source of where I got this picture from. Anyone know what studio?

Edit: seems to be the model Sunny from AdultBabySource. Thanks to those who reached out to let me know!

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Sophia Loren (Marriage Italian Style, Houseboat)—Major Italian star, first actress to win an Oscar for a performance not in English (for Two Women (1960)) and later when Roberto Benigni won an Oscar in 1999 he jumped over the chairs towards the stage going "Sophia Sophia!!" because he was running towards Sophia Loren and said he cared more about her than the Oscar, that's the effect she had on people. She was big in the 60s already even though she gained a lot more notoriety after that. And I mean. Can we take a moment and just.

Pola Negri (The Wildcat, Men, A Woman Commands)—Legally obliged to submit her as she's from Poland, but also it is one of the greatest stars of silent film, both in Hollywood and Europe, so she has to be here. The og femme fatale and a fenomenal dramatic actress. And just so hot in this 1920s vamp style. Obviously her career slowed down in America with the introduction of sound movies, because of her accent and low voice. I'd say her voice is so much hotter thanks to that, but I'm just a simple simp. But then she made movies in Germany, and after the war she was even offered Gloria Swanson's role in "Sunset Boulevard'' but she declined. She was probably bisexual as after romances with Charlie Chaplin and Rudolf Valentino in the 20s, since the 1940s she lived with her 'female friend'.

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Sophia Loren:

She has maxed out all her stats: beauty, elegance, sensuality, she's got it all. her mesmerizing eyes, her sensual mouth, her sharp face shape, her everything is so striking and unlike any other beauty in films. she was also voted the world most beautiful woman when she was freaking 65

im submitting her in honor of my dad bc she was the first celebrity crush of his he ever admitted to me and my sister :) and he was right. shes so pretty

OSCAR WINNER. Worked with some of the hottest leading men in Hollywood but remained faithful to her husband whom she had a loving marriage with till he died (even though Cary Grant almost tempted her once, it's complicated)

One of the most well-known sex symbols of the Golden Age of Hollywood, and unlike some unfortunate others, she seems to have been pretty well at peace with occupying that status. She made assertiveness and a tempestuous temper seem glamorous, and although she's famous for side-eying Jayne Manisfield's cleavage, honestly? She's one to talk.

Absolutely, drop-dead sexy, also a hard working, extraordinarily talented actress who didn't shy away from the less glamorous roles to gift us some gritty, memorable performances

Submitting this on behalf of my dad, who knows nothing of tumblr or this blog, but I remember being a kid watching Houseboat while my mom thirsted after Cary Grant, dad thirsted after Sophia Loren, and I was excited that they lived on a boat. Anyway, she's extremely beautiful and was an international star, doing a ton of movies in Italy before being recognized in the US.

JUST LOOK AT HER Y'ALL

Very smart and beautiful, the characters that she played (I mean those in the movies that I put in the previous question) are as strong and determined as her which I think adds to her hotness.

Global superstar and my late grandfather's long time movie star crush and for a man as quiet as he was, and as hopelessly devoted to his wife as he was, the fact that I know that means she was EXCEPTIONAL.

Big in the chest, snatched in the waist, pretty in the face 😳

Sexy, beautiful, deep. A real star.

Her performance in "Man of La Mancha" is just so very captivating. Dubbed as "the Italian Marilyn Monroe", she looks beautiful in any movie and at any age.

Forget the exotic sexpot of her Hollywood films and go back to her Italian career: sparking with Marcello Mastroianni as the woman who drives him mad and outwits all his fumbling attempts at macho posturing in their early films, and showing a tender side in their 1970s films. Sophia isn’t self-conscious about who she is or her beautiful body: she enjoys being herself and she wants us all to enjoy ourselves too.

She starred in films as a sexually emancipated persona and was one of the best known sex symbols of the time. She is a great cook and her filmography is immense.

On the misattributed quote that Sophia owed everything to spaghetti: 'Did you actually say the quote frequently attributed to you, "Everything you see I owe to spaghetti"?' "Non è vero! It's not true! It's such a silly thing. I owe it to spaghetti, no, no. Completely made up."

Pola Negri:

A tempestuous green-eyed vamp of the silent screen, she tantalized with both her onscreen and offscreen romances. Rocked a Polish accent - well, once there was sound! A true proficient at promoting herself and using all possible tools to do so - from a dead Rudolf Valentino to a cheetah named Teddy, the latter of which she brought to a press conference.

First European actress to be contracted by Hollywood! She survived poverty and illness to become The Queen of Tragedy, she divorced a count to date stars like Charlie Chaplin and Rudolph Valentino, then spent the rest of her life living with Margaret West in what could have been a romantic relationship.

I don't have much to say about her actual career, personal life, etc. but I just need everyone to see how hauntingly beautiful her face is. I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since the first time I saw her LOL like its pretty clear why she was such a star

[bigdan2005]

Stayed away for a while here are the Francis Mosses headcanons

𒊹︎When it comes to delivering milk he face the weirdest costumers in town, like once he encountered a person who wanted milk to see if it can explode on its own and poor Francis thought this guy might be a doubleganger

𒊹︎HE. NEVER. GETS. SLEEP

𒊹︎He always try to get a day off but his boss doesn’t let him have any, so only the very late night is his time to try and sleep in it, even though sometimes he can’t

𒊹︎He’s best friends with Steven and Angus, they’re abit close to eachother ages and mostly both Steven and Angus try and help Francis as much as they can because they know how tired Francis can be from his job

𒊹︎He might seem he’s just a guy who wants a break from work and doesn’t care about anything, but he’s so into gossip, he’d sometimes ear drop on some of the other neighbors and then would talk about it with Steven and Angus, not in a bad way really, probably either for fun or to try and help the other neighbors, and for that he’s known to be such a sweet guy

𒊹︎As mentioned in the last point, he’s known as a sweet guy for the other neighbors, once Arnold fell sick and he’s wife Gloria had to take care of him and took a couple of days off, Francis ended up getting them groceries on his way back from work to make sure they have everything in need since Gloria couldn’t leave home

𒊹︎surprisingly for a tired overworking person like Francis, his apartment is always clean, he’s a very clean guy that prefers to stay in a dessert then in a messy party or something

𒊹︎He hates, and I mean HATES when Steven and Angus tease him about not dating, he’s more of a loner, yes, but he didn’t really asked for it, it just he didn’t find someone who can keep up with his uncontrollable coldness, or him arriving late from work, or falling asleep accidentally anywhere

𒊹︎And as I said, he falls asleep anywhere, literally anywhere, he once fell asleep while driving with Angus they almost crashed, so Angus let him sit in the passenger seat and sleep while he drove back to their apartments

[starrycassi]

Ballister's been through this many times. Ambrosius comes into his room, hysterical, to announce him of some ridiculous upper crust rule or ball or challenge that he's got to participate in. He knows the drill by now; listen to him, reassure him and help him get ready, be it brushing his hair or co-writing a speech for him to give.

The Goldenloin family puts up an act for people to show off Ambrosius and his many qualities every so often. He doesn't really care, not anymore. He used to panic alongside Ambrosius, when they were thirteen. He's seventeen, now, and the novelty of it has worn off — it's just kind of funny, really, to see his boyfriend suffer through hours and hours of whatever bullshit he's supposed to do now.

This upcoming event, however, is doing a number on Ambrosius's nerves. He's pacing back and forth the room, and he hasn't even looked at Ballister yet. His tic — the one in his left eye, is back, and his lips are red and swollen in the places where he's been bitting them. It's barely five am, and Ballister knows that this is going to be a long day.

"You're going to get nauseous if you keep spinning around, Amber" he tries to start the conversation, voice soft and words slow. Between them, Ambrosius has always been the worst when it comes to keeping his emotions under control. Ballister's learnt, by now, that sometimes it's just better to give him space.

"I'm nauseous already. Some spinning won't hurt, I'm sure" he snaps back, almost screaming. Ballister decides that talking to him won't be possible right now, and goes back to the project on his table, making sure to hold the screwdriver at the right angle.

After fifteen minutes or so, Ambrosius finally stops. He whines, letting his body weight drag him down on Ballister's mattress.

"What is it, this time?"

Ambrosius's silent, only whining a bit more after the question, like a wounded dog. That's new. He usually loves to go on rants about how everything is going to go wrong and how the whole world hates him in secret. Ballister puts down the tools, quickly scribbles down what he's supposed to do next to avoid future mistakes, and sits down next to his boyfriend, threading a hand through the other teen's hair.

They stay like that some minutes, Ballister working his way through the blond strands and Ambrosius simply lying there. Ballister's starting to think that he's fallen asleep, when Ambrosius finally speaks up, face still buried in pillows.

"They're marrying me off, Bal"

The world stops spinning.

Ballister goes static. His whole body freezes, and his heart stops beating. He can feel the blood on his veins going cold, so cold his bones feel stuck, too.

This was a expected situation, kind of. Captain Gloria, Ambrosius's mom, had been married off, too. She didn't like her husband in the slightest and they never talked to each other. Ambrosius told him all that.

She had also promised to keep her son away from that predicament. But Ballister knew better than to trust mothers. His own had abandoned him some years ago, after all.

"What... How? What?"

Ambrosius sits up, criss cross, hugging a pillow. He's such a kid. His eyes are already watery, and he's got a red nose, probably from slamming his face into the pillows.

"Not- well, not actually marrying me off. Mum doesn't want that, y'know" He shrugs, looking at his own hands. "But she can't really... just go against tradition, I guess. So, uh, there's going to be a tournament, figths, you know? And I know I'll probably win, she chose combat because she knows I'm good at it, but what if I don't win?"

He takes a deep breath, grunting. Ballister's brain is struggling to catch up, so he can't do much more than nod, encouraging his boyfriend to keep talking.

"It's not going to be like here, only us, cadets and students, where I know I will undoubtedly win. Actual grown ups could get in there, Ballister. My mom's been screaming to anyone and everyone about how ridiculous everything is, but- I guess rules are rules. I haven't slept. We stayed up all night on the phone, she tore down the whole family's library, called all of our lawyers, we tried every single article and law ever written. Nothing. The best we can do is... hope"

"The Captain's right. This is ridiculous, Ambrosius. What do you mean grown ups? Why? That's fucking creepy. Can't you guys just... say no? You're a Goldenloin, surely you-"

Ambrosius grunts, again, tugging at one of his hair strands.

"It's not that easy!" He screams, shutting Ballister up. "I've been getting proposals for... for forever! It's not really a matter of love as it is a matter of money, Bal. I've been getting proposals even from before I was actually born. Political alliances and all that. Mom's been doing her best, I know she has, but when a heir has said "no" enough times, then a duel or something can be called up, and an actual tournament would be way easier than just fighting every single idiot that wants to get my last name!"

Ballister's never been happier to be an orphan commoner than right now. His only worry when it comes to marriage is whether or not he can afford a pretty ring.

It's not like commoners don't marry for money. Arranged marriages were a pretty common thing around him, young kids marrying older people to try and get their families ahead, forced by their parents, their "spouses" or their economical situations. He just... never really had to worry about it, ever since he became a knight.

"That's incredibly fucked up, Ambrosius"

"I know ! I am well aware of how weird this must be for you, Bal. And I have absolutely no backup plan. My mom's confident that I'm winning, because Goldenloins never lose, but I'm not her! She can still beat me when we spar together, what am I going to do if someone else wins? Just... get married?"

Trying to come up with a solution, Ballister stutters and stammers his way through a sentence.

"You could, uh, get married and have a divorce, right?"

"No! Totally no! You don't get it! Whoever wins gets to ask whatever they want from my family, money, land, my hand- whatever, and then that's irrevocable!"

Stressed out, Ballister screechs. Of course he doesn't get it. No one ever bothered to explain this to him. He knew that parents could force their kids to marry (Captain Gloria once told him the story, very drunk and very mad at her departed dad) but not that a whole fucking event could be staged even if the family said no.

"It's not my fault I don't get it, you twat! Do you think the knigth training automatically gave me political marriage bullshit training, too? Well, no, it didn't! I'm so sorry for not knowing you weird ass nobility traditions, Ambrosius, I didn't realize I was supposed to!"

Getting up from the bed, mad at the world for being unfair and at himself for snapping, he runs his hands through his hair, with the impulse to simply rip it all off. It quickly gets replaced by guilt. Ambrosius has done nothing wrong, and here he is, being an asshole instead of helping.

"Amber... Shit, I'm sorry. This is just-"

Chuckling humorlessly, Ambrosius waves his hand in the air. He looks up at Ballister, and shakes his head.

"You're right. Sorry. I just forgot. I always do"

They already went through this, too. Ambrosius is good at keeping Ballister up to date, always happy to explain the situation, but sometimes things just... slip his mind. It isn't anyone's fault, but it's still annoying when it happens.

"Sorry, too. For calling you a twat"

Ballister leans down, tentatively. Ambrosius doesn't hesitate to lift himself up, and they share a quick kiss. All is forgiven.

"So... what now?"

Silently, they both try their best to think. Ballister's mind is blank, just screaming at him to get a sword and go decapitate however wrote the fuckin rules. He ignores that voice, per usual. The fucker's probably dead, by now, anyway.

Ambrosius is the one who gasps, and smiles all of the sudden, so bright that the sun should be jealous. He bounces on the bed a couple of times, clapping to get his boyfriend's attention.

"We're both idiots!"

Ballister frowns, confused. An awkward smile is all he can offer Ambrosius, wondering if his man finally went crazy.

"I see no correlation between our supposed idiocy and the problem at hand, Amber."

"Come on, Bal! This is easy. I have the best plan" he giggles, like a kid that just got a new toy. Ballister can tell that this plan probably will suck and get them in more danger than necessary. And he's so on board. Always on board, when it comes to Ambrosius.

"Which is?"

"You!" Exclaims Ambrosius, rolling his eyes. "You're my plan"

"Excuse me?"

"You're going to compete and win, Bal"

Perhaps he never should've become a knight, that way he never would've fallen in love with this absolute trainwreck of a man. Is it too late to go back to being a random kid and forget about all this? Probably.

[wettestwraith]

I'm gonna be honest here there is already criticism about the barbie movie being like "oh you can do everything as long as you look good doing it" like im sorry wasn't there an entire scene with Gloria comforting Barbie about how abitrary the standards she holds herself up against and how it's utter bullshit that women have to keep their emotions under control at most times or you're called a hysterical bitch or how women have to be thin but they have to say they want to be 'healthy' and how you can't be "too attractive" because then you would be tempting men and other stuff like that did we watch the same movie? Barbie literally has an entire arc about how her life isn't perfect anymore, she isn't perfect anymore, and she tries to fix it but she realizes that she doesn't need to. In that one scene where Billie Eilish's "What Was I Made For?" plays in the background, we see that Barbie sees all the joy and hardships that humans go through and when she turns to an old lady and says "You're beautiful" it's because she sees how much this human has experienced in all her life, when Barbie goes into the real world she is overwhelmed by how Barbies didn't create the perfect world where women can freely be and do anything, she realizes that women aren't truly seen as actual people, but when she sees this old lady, who very likely experienced a lot of the things she's going through, sitting peacefully in a bus stop, she realizes that life is worth it. Being a human is worth it. Because being human is learning to love and care for yourself, being human means getting to experience what a home feels like, being human means having unlimited potential and to be the one that makes ideas and to have an ending, which is what makes it so special. What was she made for? Simply put, to live. The movie is telling little girls and women that your purpose in life doesn't have to be something great like writing an award-winning book or becoming a doctor for your life to have great value, being a woman simply means being human, it means that you should love and care for yourself and to simply live a life well-lived.

[yourmomxx]

Father of Mine

father of mine masterlist

summary: All Dean Winchester ever wanted was to protect the people he loved. Sometimes, in order to do that, he had to make hard decisions, Lisa and Ben were the prime example. Years after making another one of those hard decisions, he has to come back to the place where he had left a piece of his heart - only to be constantly reminded of what he had to sacrifice in order to keep his family safe.

warnings: canon violence, child abandonment, swear words, angst, daddy issues, character death, throwing up, this is written like an episode of Supernatural

word count: 8,2k

a/n: I’ve been writing this story for … a year now? I think? And I’ve gotta admit, I am so happy that it is finally out. Everything that I write means incredibly much to me, but this story just holds such a special place in my heart and I am very happy to share it now with you guys. I do hope you like it, and, as always, reblogs are very much appreciated because that way the story gets spread to more people! Now, enjoy!

flashbacks are written in italics

pt1 pt2 pt3

Cleveland, Ohio 2002

The bar was crowded with people.

Gruffed men wearing leather jackets and intoxicated women in crop-tops were all sprawled out around an alcohol booth in the middle.

In another corner, currently bathed in purple and orange spotlight, a guy with an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and a bucket-hat was giving a lousy cover of ‘God save the Queen’ by Sex Pistols.

♫ ♪ “Don't be told what you want. Don't be told what you need. There's no future, no future, no future for you!” ♫ ♪

On one of the way too small bar chairs, sipping a burning mix of whiskey and ginger ale, was sitting Dean Winchester, and he was pissed.

Pissed at his stupid father, who was acting like Dean was a 15-year-old with no common sense whatsoever, pissed at the goddamn ghost that had found an incredible pleasure in almost ripping his fingers off his hands, and pissed at stupid Sam for just getting up one day and leaving him - didn’t matter if that had been months ago.

And with every drink that Dean downed, he started feeling more like “Dad can kiss my ass” instead of “Dad has been doing this much longer than you and just knows better”. Meaning, he should probably slow down.

But whatever.

His Dad could kiss his ass.

♫ ♪ “Oh when there's no future, how can there be sin? We're the flowers in the dustbin!” ♫ ♪

“Why, hello,” he suddenly heard a sweet voice next to him say.

Dean turned his head and was met face to face with friendly, glimmering eyes.

Those, just as the voice that had spoken to him, belonged to a young woman who seemed to have just appeared next to him.

He moved his gaze up and down her body.

Apart from her eyes, she had smooth skin, that was covered with glowing sweatpearls, most likely because of the stuffy air around them.

Or maybe, just like Dean, she had had a couple drinks too many.

A few, fine strands of her shoulder-length hair were tousled, likely from combing her hands through it.

He licked his lips. “Well, hello you. With whom do I have the pleasure?”

He was laying on thick and he knew that, but it’s not like he could care about it.

“Gloria. Richards.” She was speaking in a soft, honey voice, and Dean urged himself to focus on her face, and not the way her neck and chest were lightly gleaming from the thin layer of sweat covering them.

“What’s yours?”

Dean Winchester.

But no, that wasn’t his name. Not today at least. If he could just remember what was. And the drinks didn’t exactly make thinking easier.

“Dean Hansley.”

Gloria smiled again.

What a nice smile she had.

"Dean Hansley." She tasted the words, let them burn on her tongue. "That's a nice name."

And then she sat down at the stool next to him, without waiting for him to invite her, and she started talking.

And he talked back with her.

And time went by, and she kept finishing and ordering drinks, that Dean all offered to pay, and she never refused.

By now, the guy in the Hawaiian shirt had been thrown off the karaoke stage, after heavily throwing up into one of the other guest's handbags, halfway through a tedious ballad about life, and love, and its misery.

The only source of music was coming from the colorful jukebox next to the pool board.

A couple drunk-off-their-asses idiots, trying to play billiards, were loudly roaring along to AC/DC’s ‘You shook me all night long’.

♫ ♪ “She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, she was the best damn woman that I ever seen!” ♫ ♪

Gloria was still sitting next to him, although a bit closer, and she was sipping at her third drink he had bought her tonight.

And damn, that girl had high tolerance.

Dean thought she was amazing.

“That thing with your family sucks, really.” She scrunched up her nose in slight discomfort.

Dean let out a humorless laugh and took a sip of the whiskey he was still stuck with. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Yes, he had told her about his - family issues. But so what?

It felt nice having someone listening to him for a change. Someone who wasn’t his family, didn’t even know them, and wouldn’t try to disregard his frustration by telling him to ‘put himself in his father’s shoes for once’.

Gloria finished her drink and used the palm of her hand to wipe the sweat off her forehead.

Dean tried his best to not think too much about her knee touching his, her being so close him.

“The air in here is terrible,” she said, heavily emphasizing the last word.

Dean’s attention was turned to her again. He knew she had said something before that, but he hadn’t been able to catch it, too lost in his own mind.

He kind of felt bad for not listening to her.

Dean threw a look around.

“Yeah, it’s getting pretty hot in here,” he agreed, feeling pearls of sweat rolling off the little hairs on his neck.

Gloria looked directly into his eyes, then up his body, down his body, before settling on his eyes again.

She bit the inside of her cheek. Then her lip.

“I mean,” she slowly spoke, “we could continue this conversation somewhere else if you want. Where there’s not so many people and the air doesn’t taste like salt.”

♫ ♪ “You really took me and you shook me all night long! Ooh, you shook me all night long!” ♫ ♪

Hell yeah.

A boyish grin started forming on his face.

“An offer like that - how could I say no?”

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Now

“Read it again for me.”

Dean was staring straight ahead onto the road, his gaze hard and jaw clenched.

Sam sighed and opened the newspaper again, for what had to be the seventh time now since they had first found it.

They were both sitting in the Impala, Castiel in the backseat. The angel could have just flipped his wings and flown to the destination they were headed, but he had insisted to take the drive with them, claiming he had “nothing better to do anyway”.

“St. George, Louisiana,” Sam started to read.

“In the night of Wednesday to Thursday, a young man was found dead in his room in Saint George’s Children’s Home. The 17-year-old Roy Kendall hadn’t come out of his room the first half of the day, and when a woman of the working personnel - whose name has been withheld - came to check on him, she discovered his mutilated body draped out on the bed. According to the police, the young man’s rib cage had been compressed with such force that his ribs were broken and had managed to pierce through the young man’s internal organs, which resulted in him slowly bleeding out internally. Authorities are still in the dark about the exact details of the tragedy and the questions of “Why” and, particularly, “How” something like this could even be possible. The head of the Children’s Care Institution …, blah blah blah.”

Sam purposefully drifted off and ended his reading session therefore. He folded the newspaper back together and stuffed it into the Impala’s globe compartment.

“And that’s it, I am not reading this again. Next thing you know, I’m going to dream about squished organs and ribcages.”

He shuddered.

“I just don’t get it, man,” Dean said, ignoring his brother’s complaints, but he didn’t seem to address anyone in particular.

“I mean, I checked everything, Sammy. No demonic omens, no strategic killings, no recent disappearances. That place was all white picket fences and summer barbecues when we- ”

He was quick to cut himself off.

Sam threw his brother a side glance, but decided to not address his slip-up.

“Well, Dean, sometimes monsters just … turn up, you know.” This time Sam turned his head to get a proper look at his older brother.

“Maybe it’s just passing through, or simply moved there from somewhere else. They aren’t exactly tied to a specific place.”

Dean ran his hand over his face and through his hair in distress. “Out of all places, why there?” He muttered in a low tone.

And again, he was more talking to himself than anyone else.

“I don’t understand.” Cas was suddenly talking from the back seat. “What is in this Children’s Home that is of so much importance to you both?”

Dean was quick to answer a “Nothing,” but Castiel didn’t quite believe him.

Sam turned in his seat to face the angel.

“We were working a case near there a while back,” he simply explained.

Cas frowned, still not quite convinced, but he decided to let the topic rest. For now, at least.

“I understand,” he said. “Then it would probably be of benefit for you to stick with your past aliases. Just in case anyone there should recognize you.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” Dean vaguely answered, but he seemed trapped deep in his own thoughts.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Black Hawk, Colorado 2002

“To listen to this voicemail, call-”

A dial tone sounded. The message was a few months old.

“Hey, Dean, it’s uh … it’s Gloria. You know, Gloria Richards, from a few nights ago?” A humorless chuckle was heard on the other end of the line.

“Though, guys like you don’t usually remember their casual one-night hookups. So I’ll cut straight to the chase.” One heavy inhale.

“I’m pregnant. And I know the chances of you wanting anything to do with me are zero to negative six, but I just wanted to-”

“To delete this voicemail, press 2.”

A tone.

“Voicemail deleted.”

“To listen to this voicema-”

The woman on the other end sounded more outraged this time, even though occasional cracks or hiccups in her voice gave away that she had been heavily crying moments before. Maybe still was.

“Hello Dean, it’s me again. You know, I didn’t expect you to jump up high at the news, but ignoring me?” She scoffed. “That’s a different type of low.”

She sniffled. “I’m just calling to tell you I’ve decided to keep the baby. So you can still change your mind, if you-”

“To delete this voicemail, press-” “Voicemail deleted.”

“To listen to th-”

“Hello, Dean. It’s Gloria. Again.”

This time, she seemed calmer, which could be reasoned with the tiredness her voice was radiating.

“I suppose I’m still kind of hoping that you will call me back. Or even pick up.” She sighed.

“I wanted to tell you that she’s perfectly healthy and growing. That’s right. She. Our baby is going to be a-”

“To delete this-” ”Voicemail deleted.”

John Winchester stared at the small phone in his hand and pressed a button.

“You have no more voicemails.”

That moment, Dean came bursting into the motel room, looking around the empty shelves and patting up and down his jacket- and jeans-pockets.

“Hey Dad, do you know where my phone is? I heard it ringing,” Dean asked.

“Yes, just some spam-callers,” John neatly lied. “I took care of it, but I’m gonna put it out of service, just in case.”

Dean looked at him and for a moment, John thought his son would grow suspicious, but he just nodded. “Alright. Thanks, Dad.”

John nodded and Dean left the room with his bag in hand. When he was certain Dean wouldn’t come back, John took the phone apart and crashed the SIM Card on the nightstand with the lamp.

Then he put the pieces in the bin, took his duffel bag and followed his son to the car.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Now

The St. George’s Children’s Home was somewhat of a small castle, kept in a renaissance style.

Around a large courtyard, archways connected four round-towers, which were slightly higher than the rest of the castle. The walls were painted a pale yellow.

Trees grew in the gardens around the castle, flowers in planted beds, and as far as Dean could remember, there was a hedge maze behind the walls, not visible from the gateway.

They had parked the Impala in one of the parking spaces next to the tall, elegant terrain fence.

Sam and Dean were wearing black suits and their fake badges, Castiel - as always - stuck with the trench coat.

Dean was eyeing the building suspiciously.

In fact, he had been doing so for the last three minutes, in which they had all sat in the Impala in complete silence.

Sam threw a quick, concerned glance at his brother before clearing his throat.

“You really wanna do this?”, he asked quietly.

“No,” Dean answered and opened the car door, “But it’s not like we have a choice, right?”

Sam sighed and did the same, not before exchanging a quick, apprehensive look with Castiel, who still didn’t quite know what was going on.

The castle’s inside was considerably more modern than its outside.

With brightly-colored walls and furniture, and minimalistic decorations all over.

It seemed cozy.

They were headed for the office of the youth center’s director, Maria Whitlock. Dean remembered exactly where that was. Down the hall, left. Past a few closed bedroom doors. Last door at the end of the corridor.

Dean cleared his throat and knocked on the door, Sam right behind him. Castiel had left before they had entered the castle, claiming to look for a suitable Motel nearby, and telling them to contact him if they needed his help.

There was a beat of silence before they heard a woman’s voice reply “Yes?” and entered the office.

Maria Whitlock was an elderly woman, with dark red hair that she kept in a low bun. She was around a head smaller than Dean, and wearing a grey blouse combined with a wine red jacket and a black pencil skirt.

When she heard them enter the room, she looked up from a few papers she was filing, and her face immediately fell.

“Hello, Maria.” Sam greeted her.

“Dean and Sam Winchester,” she breathed out, startled.

“I never thought I would see you two again.”

Dean felt a sting in his chest.

“Yeah, well,” Sam said and tried a clumsy smile. A heavy silence followed, and Dean shifted uncomfortably.

Maria frowned. “Not to seem impolite, but what are the two of you doing here?” She asked.

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly.

“We, uhm, we heard about Roy and we thought that, maybe, we should just check if everything was alright and, of course, speak our condolences. You know, for old time’s sake.”

She nodded and closed the pen. “Yes, right. Roy. I completely forgot that they put that in the paper.”

A look of dark grief fell over her face and her gaze drifted into nothingness. She suddenly looked much older than she was.

Dean cleared his throat. “I gave you my number, Maria,” he spoke. “If you would’ve called, we could’ve been here sooner.”

She blinked rapidly, pulling herself out of her thoughts and looked at him for a second before she replied.

“I know, I know, but to be honest - it slipped my mind, in between all of this … chaos and tragedy.”

While she was talking, she got up from her chair and walked around the table, getting a clearer view at Sam and Dean.

“Of course,” Sam hastily said. “No worries. We are very sorry for your loss.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Dean was glad that it had been Sam who had spoken up. He wasn’t very good at that sort of things. Nor did he aspire to be.

“You said you were here because of Roy’s …. passing,” Maria continued, and the brothers nodded.

“But that would mean that this was some sort of - unnatural incident.”

Sam swallowed hard.

“Well,” he started, trying to find the right words that would not trigger a breakdown for the woman, “we saw the article in the newspaper and thought that we would just have a look at it. The circumstances of Roy’s passing aren’t exactly common for a person his age, after all.”

Or for any person, really.

She nodded lazily. “Yes. I suppose you are right.”

Dean could swear that another minute of awkward silence between them would probably kill him, so he took it upon himself to prevent it before it started.

“I get that this is hard, Maria,” he said, “But if we could maybe ask you some questions? Maybe speak to the person that found him?”

She sniffled.

Oh dear God.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Her voice was a bit higher than before, and her hands grabbed for a handkerchief lying on the table.

“Uhm, the woman who found him was one of my responsible supervisors, Betty Langston. She should be present in the building today, but the last time I spoke to her, she was still pretty shaken up. I mean, who can blame her? I can’t even imagine what it must have been like, seeing that poor boy lying on his bed, just- ”

She broke off and a sob escaped her lips, before she buried her face in the kerchief.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, “I’m sorry, it’s just - he was such a kind boy. He had his whole life ahead of him. And the way that he had to go…”

She raised her head and shook it, eyes reddened and filled with tears.

“I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.”

“We understand, Maria,” Sam spoke in a comforting, low voice.

And Dean added, “And I promise we will find whatever did this and make sure this happens to no one ever again.”

She forced herself to a smile.

“Thank you, boys. May the angels be with you.”

Dean forbid himself a snort.

“Thank you for your time, Maria. We will let you know when we know more,” Sam said and left the office.

He wouldn’t risk making her cry again by bothering her with questions about her dead fosterling.

Dean smiled at Maria and turned to follow his brother, but she stopped him.

“Dean.”

He turned to face her.

“You do know that it won’t be possible for you to investigate here, without … encountering a certain someone.”

Dean straightened his shoulders.

“Yes, I know.”

“Have you thought about it? What you will say to her?”

“Gotta admit, I haven’t.”

She hummed and nodded. Dean noticed that she had resumed her usual upright position, and if he hadn’t just witnessed it, he probably would not know that she had been crying.

“I should warn you,” she said gently, “It probably won’t be easy.”

“I honestly didn’t expect it to be.”

She smiled a gentle smile at him and he returned it, before finally leaving the room and joining his brother in the hallway.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Lewiston, Michigan 2004

The first time he had read it, John Winchester had been drunk. He had spared a quick glance at it after coming home from a bar, before throwing himself onto the motel bed and passing out.

The second time he had read it, he had been sober, but suffering from a skull-splitting headache.

The third time he read it, it was simply to make sure his hungover mind wasn’t making any of this up. But no, the words on the newspaper stayed the same, grinning up at him with a sickening smirk that made his stomach turn.

In the small corner of the left page, where the lesser important news were usually placed, throned the bold-printed, black words:

24-year-old woman dies in tragic car accident, leaves 1-year-old daughter behind

No. God, no.

He read it again. Read the headline, read the article, the name that had been shortened but to him unmistakable: Gloria R.

R. Just like Richards. Gloria Richards.

There was a picture placed right next to the text, held in color, of a young woman that was clearly putting on a smile for the camera.

John slammed the newspaper on the round table.

“Damn it!” He yelled.

And in that moment, John was grateful that Dean had offered to go on a coffee run.

—

He was ‘going on a quick hunt’. That’s what he told Dean.

He was ‘going on a quick hunt and if anyone needed anything, they should contact Dean’. That’s what he told Bobby. And everyone that reached his voicemail.

Cleveland, Ohio. That’s where he was going. He had some business to attend to.

—

Central Nebraska

To say that Ellen Harvelle wasn’t delighted about John Winchester showing up inside the Roadhouse would be quite an understatement.

She was furious.

John paid attention to enter the wooden cabin carefully. He didn’t expect Ellen to be pleased by his sudden presence, especially considering their last encounter with each other.

It was a random Wednesday afternoon, and there wasn’t anyone seated in the Roadhouse, except for Ellen herself, who was busy cleaning the bar with a half-wet kitchen towel.

The brunette woman looked up for a quick second, as a form of formality, before she dedicated her attention back onto the dirty surface.

“I’ll be with you in a secon-” Then she realized. Stopped. Did a double take.

“Winchester.” The word was dripping from her lips with loathing.

“Hello, Ellen,” he started, but she cut him off.

“What do you want?” Her question was blunt and her tone cold and unwelcoming.

John cleared his throat and stepped from one foot to the other. He had to sell his story good, if Ellen wouldn’t get on board with his proposition, he had nobody else to go to.

“Look, Ellen. I get that you’re mad- ”

“Mad?” She let out a short, sour laugh.

“Mad doesn’t even begin to describe what I am feeling towards you, Winchester. Try hatred. Pure disgust.” She scoffed again.

“You must have a death wish, because I couldn’t think of any other possible reason why you would drag your dumbass out here again. ”

John swallowed hard. She was right. Who was he to just show up here again? After what happened?

But there was no turning back now, he had to go through with this.

“You’re right.” He spoke in a low tone to try and seem less intimidating and also attempt to soothe her temper towards him.

“I am sorry about what happened, Ellen. If I could go back and do it any different, then I would.”

A lie. She knew that. He knew that she knew that. Still - she didn’t interrupt, just kept glaring at him, so he decided to continue.

“But unfortunately, I can’t. And I know you have every right and reason to hate me now.”

Agreeing and empathizing with her.

“But there is something extremely important that I need to ask of you.”

Again, he didn’t have much time to talk, before Ellen raised her voice.

“You damned son of a bitch!”, she yelled, tossing the kitchen towel onto the counter with such force, the leftover water splashed around.

“You ain’t got no right walking in here, after what you pulled, and ask a goddamned favor of me!”

Her voice was loud in the silence of the Roadhouse and John lifted his hands up in defense.

“Ellen, please! Listen to me!”, he pleaded. Ellen wasn’t yelling at him anymore, but her jaw was still clenched and her entire body tense.

“I wouldn’t be here if I had any other options. Like you said, I must have a Deathwish to show up here. And I understand that. But you are the only person that I can trust with this. You can toss me out all you want after. You can yell, and scream, and punch me, and shoot at me. Just please, hear me out first. ”

There was silence, where John just stood there, his hands still raised in the air in front of him, and Ellen grinding her teeth as she thought about what to do now.

Because by God, did she hate him. And a part of her wanted to take a rifle and first shoot a bullet into his feet and then his di-

But on the other hand, she could not recall a time that John Winchester had ever gotten himself into a position to beg.

No, he was too proud for that. So whatever he wanted must be goddamn important for him, really.

“Tell me what you need, Winchester,” Ellen said eventually, “And let me decide afterwards.”

Her body language didn’t show one sign of hospitality still, but John interpreted her words as somewhat of a good sign.

Hopefully.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Now

After their talk with Maria, Sam and Dean settled on questioning Betty Langston.

In the middle of the wall in the entrance hall, a big frame with the pictures, names and duties of the working staff was hung up.

Above the name ‘Betty Langston’ was a picture of a friendly looking woman in her mid-twenties, with a pointed nose and blonde strands of hair framing her face.

Underneath, the duties “Social Worker” and “Deputy Manager” were listed.

When they knocked on the door which was labeled “staff”, a young man opened and told them that Betty Langston was currently positioned on the second floor.

Dean wanted to take the elevator, but Sam dragged him up the stairs.

“It will be faster,” he guaranteed, and Dean just rolled his eyes with a groan.

The hallways on the second floor were surprisingly wide, with doors placed across each other in a zig zag pattern.

Here and there were a few paintings on the walls, old and new, and green neon signs pointing toward the emergency exit.

They met Betty after they turned around the first corner. She stood in front of a pinboard and was currently hanging up new posters.

Her hair was different from the picture, slightly longer now ending halfway down her back, and copper colored with only a few blonde highlights.

The brothers made their way over to her and flashed their fake FBI-badges when she let off her work and shifted her attention to them.

“Hello, my name is David Shields, my partner’s name is Jarvis Stark,” introduced Dean. “Are you Betty Langston?”

The young woman gaped at them, slightly caught off guard. “Uhm yes, that’s me,” she eventually got out and lowered her arms. “What can I do for you?”

Dean caught a glimpse of the writing on the poster. It was a few phone numbers, and in dark blue, a text above read: ‘DON’T HESITATE TO ASK FOR HELP!’

“We’re here to ask you about Roy Kendall,” Sam carefully approached, “We understand that you are the one who found him.”

Dean couldn’t help but notice how Betty Langston’s eyes shifted to the floor and she nervously trailed her fingers up and down the paper in her hand.

“Um yes, I … I found him.” Her voice got small and she swallowed hard.

“But what does the FBI want with that? I thought it was a wild animal.”

“Given the unusual occurrence of Roy’s death, we thought it necessary to at least have a look at this case and find out what we can,” Sam said.

“That doesn’t have to mean anything, though,” Dean quickly tried to soothe her when he noticed the tears springing in the woman’s eyes. “Exactly,” Sam hastily agreed. “Only a few questions, just in case.”

Betty nodded and blinked away her tears. “Okay,” she quietly said. Sam reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out his notebook and a pen.

“Did Roy mention something … I don’t know, unusual before he died?” Sam asked, clicking the pen and bringing his notepad in position. The young woman hesitated.

“Well, not that I know of,” she eventually said, “But, you see, kids at that age … they don’t talk to us adults much anymore. If you want to know something about Roy, you better ask his friends.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “His friends?” He repeated. She nodded. “Mhm.”

“And, uh - who are his friends, if I may ask?” Sam tuned in again. Betty thought for a second and then clicked her tongue. “Well, there’s Cassandra, Cassandra Claire,” she said and started counting the listed names on her fingers. “And, uhm, Finnegan Beckett.” Sam repeated the children’s names under his breath as he quickly wrote them down.

“And Y/N Winchester,” Betty finished.

Sam abruptly stopped writing at the ‘n’ and looked up. He felt Dean visibly tense and shift next to him.

The younger brother just put on a smile and folded the small notepad back into the inner pocket of his jacket. But not before completely writing out the last name on the list.

“Thank you so much, Miss Langston, you helped us a lot. We will let you know if there are any more questions. And, our condolences,” he added.

She shyly smiled back at him and slowly continued gathering thumbtacks to hang up her posters, and the brothers left.

Sam waited until they were out of hearing range, then turned to Dean. “So…that was something,” he carefully started.

“What do you mean?”

Sam threw him a look. “You know what I mean. The witness list. Roy’s friends. That last name…”

Dean sighed heavily. Sam waited for him to say something. And when he didn’t, Sam just shook his head but decided to not stress it any further.

“So, where to now?” He asked instead.

Dean took a look at his watch. “The morgue, I’d say. As far as I know they’re closing soon, and a dead body is not exactly the first thing I need to see in the morning, so-”

Sam nodded in agreement. “Yeah, alright. Sounds good.”

They made their way out of the castle.

“You want to take Castiel?” Sam questioned when he rounded the car.

“No,” Dean decided firmly and opened the driver’s door. “Remember what happened last time? Exactly. I don’t need Cas smelling some dead guy again.”

Sam grinned at the memory. With a creak, the Impala gave in to their weight as they sat down, and the gravel gnashed under her tires when they drove off.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Central Nebraska 2006

Roughly, the dark minivan tuckered over the bumpy earth of the pathetic excuse of a road, and Dean’s insides flinched with every squeak the old car made.

When they finally came to a stop, he tossed the keys somewhere and maybe slammed the door with a bit more force than necessary. A lot more.

“This is humiliating,” he grumbled, as he took in the atrocious excuse of a vehicle they just stepped out of. He missed his Baby.

Sam ignored him, and stepped forward, towards the old wooden – house? Shack? – the mysterious phone number on their dad’s cell had led them to.

The huge letters ROADHOUSE flaunted above them, and Dean thought that these were probably made to light up when the sun disappeared.

The rest of the house looked abandoned, frankly, from the outside, and that, in combination with the four-month-old voicemail, made Dean not like his odds very much. The chances that this Ellen chick was still alive, knowing what his father had needed her for, were slim in his mind.

Or hell, maybe she just called from here, got the phone from some rando, and got on her merry way when she realized John wasn’t calling back. It’s probably what he would’ve done.

Safe to say, Dean didn’t like their odds. Even less so when they entered the eerie quiet of the bar, and spotted a man lying unconscious, probably dead, on the pool table.

Dean felt his shoulders stiffen. He didn’t like this one bit, and every second he spent here made the alarm in his head shrill even louder than before.

Dean only just turned to take a closer look at one of the shelves, when he felt something hard dig into his lower back, and heard an all too familiar clicking sound.

Dean closed his eyes. “Please tell me that is a gun.”

“No, I’m just very happy to see you,” came the fast answer from a very snarking - and female? - voice.

In one swift motion, Dean whirled around, grabbed the barrel, ripped it out of his attacker’s hand, and uncocked it. The bullet fell to the ground with an echoing clatter.

Dean almost smirked triumphantly at the blonde girl in front of him, when he felt a sudden, blinding pain in his face.

And if Dean had thought pulling up in a 30-year-old, barely functional van, of all things was humiliating, he didn’t calculate how it would feel to be absolutely sucker punched by a girl, not even as old as him.

Aside from the obvious nosebleed, his ego took a severe bruise.

“Sam! Little help here!” He called, hand still holding his hurting face.

The door swung open, and Sam walked out, hands raised to his head, a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry Dean,” he said, “I’m a little tied up right now.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, as he watched another woman with dark brown hair follow his brother close behind, a revolver held to his head in fair warning.

He would be impressed, if his vision wasn’t swimming right now.

The older woman behind Sam furrowed her brows. “Wait, Sam? Dean?” She asked, exchanging looks with kick-ass Blondie in front of him. “Winchester?”

There was a beat, before the brothers pressed out a unison “Yeah?”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Mom, you know these guys?” Dean’s head hurt with how much he was swinging it around to keep up.

“Yeah, I think these are John Winchester’s boys.” And that made Dean perk up.

The woman let out a laugh as she lowered her weapon.

—

A few minutes later, Dean was served with an iced cloth for his nose, and he and Sam seated themselves on a few of the bystanding bar chairs.

The brunette woman, who had threatened Sam, turned out to be the mysterious Ellen, whose voicemail on their dad’s phone they followed here. Jo, her daughter, and also the kick-ass blonde that had held the rifle to Dean’s back, looked about as unknowing about the whole situation as the brothers did.

Turns out Ellen had contacted John about the demon he was hunting. Said she could help him with it. Why John had never mentioned her, or her daughter, she didn’t say. Told them to ask him themselves. Dean didn’t say anything to that.

“So why exactly do we need your help?”, Dean asked, repositioning the cloth on his face.

Ellen scoffed. “Hey, don’t do me any favors. If you don’t want my help, fine.” There was a snarking edge to her voice, and Dean started to realize why his father would associate with her.

“Don’t let the door smack your ass on the way out,” she continued. “But John wouldn’t have sent you, if–“

There it was.

Ellen stood straighter. A haunted look crossed her eyes. “He didn’t send you.” It wasn’t a question.

Dean looked away.

“He’s alright, isn’t he?” Dean hadn’t known Ellen Harvelle for very long, but even he could sense the way her voice wavered. And know that she was a smart enough woman to not truly believe what she was asking.

“No.” Sam cleared his throat, and the simple word echoed through the deafening silence. “No, he’s not. We think the demon did it. Got to him before he got to it.” The thankful feeling of not being the one to have to tell her what happened felt like a sin in Dean’s gut. Then again, what’s one more on his plate.

“I’m sorry,” Ellen said. It’s what everyone said.

“It’s alright. We’re good.”

Ellen didn’t believe him, he saw it in her eyes. But she didn’t bother him more about it, either.

“So, look, if you can help us,” Sam said, and Dean threw him a look that showed just how much he wanted to smack his little brother across the face, “we’d be real happy about all the help we can get.”

Ellen’s lips twisted. “We can’t help you.”

Is this lady for real-

“But he can.”

And then the dead man stood up from the pool table.

—

Ash was a tech freak, with a haircut like Billy Ray Cyrus and the mouth of a southern cowboy. Jo called him a genius. Dean didn’t know what to think of that.

Still, he had passed him their dad’s journal, told him to go nuts, and Ash had drooled over John Winchester’s handiwork like a child over a lollipop.

Ash had left with the journal and the promise of new information in the time of fifty-one hours.

Dean thought that was long enough time to take a drink.

Jo Harvelle was a pretty woman. When she wasn’t threatening him with a rifle or punching him in the face, that was. Her soft, blonde curls fell long over her shoulders, and those jeans did wonders to her curves.

Dean started conversing with her. While he had moved to one of the tables, Sam had stayed with Ellen at the bar. He found out that her father died, a long time ago. In the back of his mind, a mean voice cackled at the irony. He paid his sympathies.

Then, suddenly, one of the doors to the backrooms flew open, and a small whirlwind of colorful fabric and y/h/c hair came dashing into the room.

“Aunty Ellen, Aunty Ellen! Look what I made!”

Dean’s head whipped around at the sound of the high-pitched voice and he spotted a small girl, not older than five years probably, squeezing herself behind the bar table. When he noticed Ellen bowing her head, he figured that the little girl had probably reached her destined spot next to her.

Dean, though he would never admit it, was an easily curious person, so he followed Jo on her way to the bar and leaned slightly over the tablewood to catch a glimpse at the small intruder.

Little Lady was tugging at Ellen’s pantleg, and expectantly holding up a colored paper for her to look at.

“Look at what I drew, Auntie Ellen!” she repeated, in that same excited tone as before, when she had stormed into the room.

Dean watched as Ellen abandoned her washcloth somewhere behind her and crouched down to meet with the little girl eye-to-eye, as she inspected her drawing.

“That’s so amazing, baby, is that us?” The girl nodded, her pigtails wiggling up and down as she bopped her head enthusiastically.

“Yes, that is you, and that is Jo, and that is me. And look, I made my own fingerprint!” She dashed her finger into a spot on the paper, and then proudly held up the red-colored tip to shove it in Ellen’s face.

The woman had a wide, genuine smile on her face. “I can see that, baby, well done, it looks so nice!” She praised. “How about we hang it up there next to the menu?”

The girl nodded her head again, and let Ellen scoop her up gently. Only then, when Little Lady was at height with them, she seemed to notice the strangers standing in the room.

In the matter of a second, Dean saw her whole demeanor shift from bubbly and open, to a more closed off version, sinking further into Ellen’s embrace and clutching the fabrics of her shirt. Something about it made Dean’s heart sting.

“Auntie Ellen?” The girl tried to whisper, but Dean had learned soon that children were terrible whisperers, “Who is that?”

Ellen looked first to Sam, then Dean, and back at the little girl in her arms. “Those are friends of Jo and me, sweetheart. Their names are Sam-“ Dean’s little brother gave a wave and a smile when Ellen introduced him. “-and Dean.”

Dean grinned and carefully stretched his hand out. “Very nice to meet you, Little Lady. Who am I speaking to, may I ask?” He laid a formal accent on his voice, one that he knew had always made Sam laugh when he was a child. It was an olive branch, but something in him hoped she would grab it.

The small giggle that Little Lady let out made Dean’s heart bloom with a warmth he didn’t know he was able to feel.

“My name’s Y/N,” she said. With a pointed look at Dean’s still outstretched hand, Ellen murmured in her ear, “And what do we do when someone gives us their hand to shake?”

Y/N nuzzled her face into the crook of Ellen’s neck, and Dean almost drew his hand back again, when a small warmth settled into his palm and closed around it.

He smiled at the girl and shook her hand. As they both pulled back, Dean twisted his hand around and huffed. “Ouff, someone has got a firm grip! Your Auntie Ellen teach you that?” Y/N grinned proudly at him and nodded her head. Then she held up her hand and showed him four fingers. “I’m already this old!”

Dean gasped. “Really? Well, that is a great age, no wonder you are so strong!”

Y/N was beaming now.

She didn’t hide in Ellen’s neck again.

“So, what about that picture now?” Ellen bounced the girl on her hip once, and it seemed like she was snapped out of a trance. Determinedly, she pointed at a space next to a hung-up blackboard. Dean figured Ellen usually wrote her daily specials on that.

The woman made a few steps over where Y/N had led her and gestured toward an already hung drawing of blue water and grey – fish? – above it, that was already taped to the wall.

“But we already put a picture there. We would have to remove that one if you want your new drawing to hang here.” The girl shrugged, and already reached for a roll of clean tape on the shelf.

“That’s okay, I don’t like dolphins all that much anymore anyway,” she explained nonchalantly. “I will just put it in my drawing box.”

Dean watched as Ellen carefully picked the old drawing from the wall to make space for the new one. He was so caught up in the scenery, he almost didn’t notice how Sam was scooting closer to him.

“You know who she is?” Sam asked. Dean turned his attention to his brother.

“Well, her name’s Y/N,” Dean answered simply. Sam didn’t roll his eyes at him, but it was a close call.

Dean just shrugged. “Guess she isn’t Ellen’s. Otherwise, she wouldn’t call her Auntie.” He pitched the last word high, to mimic the child’s voice.

Sam furrowed his brows as they watched Ellen and the small girl.

“Makes you wonder,” he said, “What she’s doing here.”

Dean just hummed. He made brief eye contact with Y/N, as she stole a look in his direction, but she averted her eyes quickly, as if she had been caught.

Dean found himself slightly smiling.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sam looking at him. His brother was grinning.

“You love that kid.” It was a statement.

Dean scoffed. “Oh, shut up, I don’t even know her. Also, I love kids, plural.” He added.

Sam nodded, that smile still on his lips. Dean ignored him.

“Come on, ask him. Don’t be shy.” Ellen and Y/N had finished putting up her drawing and were now standing closer to them again. Ellen was still carrying the girl on her hip and had bent down to whisper to her.

Y/N had buried her face in Ellen’s shirt again, clearly shy to say something.

“He ain’t gonna bite you,” Ellen said, nudging her. “Go on.”

Y/N lifted her head, and shyly looked at Dean. Her eyes were flickering all over him, but never exactly to his face.

“Doyouwantodrawwithme?” She spluttered. Dean’s eyebrows shot up.

“Don’t think he understood that. Try a bit slower. You can do this, come on,” Ellen encouraged her.

Y/N clutched her shirt.

“Do you want to draw with me?” She asked, head lowered and looking at her fingers. Her voice was quiet, but to Dean it felt as if she had shouted that sentence.

He felt warm inside. “Of course I want to.”

Y/N’s head shot up, and Dean Winchester had seen many beautiful things in his lifetime, but the gleaming eyes of that small child before him had to be at the top of the list. He never wanted to look at anything else.

Ellen set her down and pointed at a table in the corner of the room.

“Her colors and paper are already set up. Every day, before we officially open,” she explained with a look at Dean, and he nodded. While Sam got comfortable on one of the bar chairs, he made his way over to where Y/N had already set up her coloring tools and begun drawing on a piece of yellow paper.

Her tongue was sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. Dean pulled out a chair and sat down next to her.

“What are you drawing?” He asked, stretching his neck to take a closer look. Y/N leaned back and showed him her creation. Lines of red and yellow. Maybe a tomato? An apple? He turned his head. From that perspective maybe?

“It’s Lighting McQueen!” Y/N told him triumphantly. “I saw cars with Jo.”

Dean nodded. So no apple. He also wasn’t going to point out the girl’s grammar. She was only four after all. And who was he to talk.

“How did you get that?” Y/N suddenly asked, and pointed her small finger at Dean’s forehead, right where a big scar stretched over his skin, consequences of the fatal car accident.

Dean tried his best not to wince. He didn’t need to expose his lingering trauma to this pure soul.

“I was … in an accident,” he said instead. “But I’m okay and it’s almost healed now.”

The girl nodded. Dean was almost astounded at how easy it was with her.

“Whenever I hurt myself, my Auntie Ellen takes me to the Doctor. Or Jo. Or Ash.” Her face scrunches up as she thinks hard. Dean thinks it’s adorable. He finds himself smiling again.

“They always give me colorful plasters! I always get the dinos.” She leans in closer to him when she says the last bit, almost like it’s a secret she only wants him to hear. Dean’s heart warms at the thought, and he doesn’t even know why.

“Really? I’m jealous. I think dinosaurs are amazing.” He used the same hushed tone she had before. Y/N’s eyes widened. “You don’t get dino plasters?” She asked. If Dean hadn’t known better, he would’ve said she was outraged at his confession.

He shook his head. “Nope,” he said, “only boring beige ones.”

Y/N’s eyes widened even more, and her mouth fell open. Then, her lips curved into a beaming smile. “I can give you some of mine! Jo bought me so many the last time she went shopping!”

Before he could even give it a thought, Dean felt her small hand take his, and he was yanked from his seat. Geez, how did a four-year-old kid have so much strength?

His enthusiasm was short-lived, as Sam shouted from the other side of the room.

“Dean, Ellen got us a case!” His little brother was waving around a beige folder, a few newspaper pages hanging out at the sides.

He looked at his brother, then at the girl still clinging her small hand around his fingers.

“Does that mean you have to leave?” Dean’s heart clenched at the quiet, disappointed voice. He crouched down and looked Y/N in the eye.

“Yes,” he said, honestly. “ I have to go to work.”

She tilted her head. “To save people?” She asked. Dean nodded. He didn’t know how she knew, but maybe Ellen told her.

“Yes, exactly. But I will be back soon, and then you can show me your plasters, alright?”

Y/N seemed to think about it, and then nodded her head. Her pigtails were still wiggling up and down. “You promise?” She asked.

Dean nodded. “In fact,” he said, shifted his weight, and held out his pinky finger in front of her. “I pinky promise.”

Y/N grinned up at him. Dean grinned back. She linked her small finger with his.

“Can’t break a pinky promise,” Dean said as he stood up.

She shook her head violently. “Never!”

Dean laughed and waved her Goodbye.

“Let’s go,” he said to Sam as he passed him, and grabbed his jacket.

“Bye, Ellen, Jo.” Sam lowered his voice seriously. “Y/N.”

“Bye, Sam! Bye, Dean!” Y/N waved her hand after them.

“Good luck,” Ellen said. Then they closed the door behind them. The light of the sun was a heavy contrast to the dusky air inside the Roadhouse, and Dean’s eyes needed a while to adjust to the change.

He made his way over to the abomination car, Sam close next to him. His brother bumped his shoulder.

“Plural, huh?” Sam asked, smirking.

And if Dean sped the van up a bit faster, just to give his little brother a good scare now and then, well, that was between him and the Lord above.

[celaenaeiln]

I know you don't really talk about Tim and Jason but I wondered why you said that Bruce likes Jason more then Tim when I always viewed it the other way around

og post in reference

Anon it's a such a coincidence for me to get this because this was something I actively debated over while creating the ranking.

In fact, originally I had written "4. Jason/Tim (tie?) 5. Tim/Jason (tie)" before I got rid of the slashes and ties.

This is the one part of the ranking that I'm most confused on/don't have an exact answer for. The rest are solid and those I'll be explaining in a different post soon but these two gave me a lot of confusion.

I think what it comes down to is in which shitty way that Bruce treats either of them expresses more love. And to me they're roughly the same in equally but different bad ways.

Bruce obviously loves Jason but he's also not remotely proud of him. His relationship with Jason is always "I love you BUT-" kinda relationship.

"You're good-

Batman (1940) Issue #415

BUT-"

Batman (1940) Issue #415

"You're loveable-

Batman (1940) Issue #410

BUT-"

Batman (1940) Issue #411

There's always an opposing side to every good thing Bruce says about him. He views Jason as a failure but he still loves him and yet can't help putting him down. After Bruce dies, he leaves a message for Jason -

Batman: Battle for the Cowl Issue #3

Like Bruce full on treats him like absolute shit. How could you as a parent tell your son straight to his face that he's a failure and then say that it's your fault?? Somehow this is adding more insult than injury than to just blame him directly.

Bruce and Jason had good and bad times when he was Robin. There many times when Bruce was like "Good job, lab!" and other times when he struggled to deal with Jason. There was one case in particular that soured their relationship irrevocably. Things became really bad between them after that such that Bruce actively fights with himself not to lose his temper at Jason more than he used to.

For example:

Batman (1940) Issue #426

Things get worse and worse, Batman benches him, Jason runs off to Ethiopia, and then you-know-what happens. In summary of their Robin-Batman relationship, Bruce thought he found a good partner in Jason, was happy for a while, but then started believing he made a mistake when Jason used the skills he taught him to go past the limits of what Bruce was acceptable with. The secret Bruce talks about is that one irreversible case I mentioned - Gloria/Felipe - where Jason killed a man. Or atleast Bruce suspects he killed a man.

Batman (1940) Issue #422

Batman (1940) Issue #424

When Jason came back as Red Hood, Batman felt so guilty for the fact that he made Jason robin because then Jason wouldn't have died but also believed that Jason was beyond saving. When Jason was at the hands of the society because of Black Mask who wanted revenge on him for what he did, Bruce almost let Jason die a second time - this time intentionally - before he changed his mind last minute and joined the fight to help him out.

Batman: Under the Red Hood Issue #10

It's this type of relationship I struggle with because Bruce very much loves him and even says so -

Batman: Hush Issue #11

But also guess what tips him off that he's not fighting Jason?

Batman: Hush Issue #11

I call this confusing but Dick calls this something else entirely.

Batman: Battle for the Cowl Issue #3

Tough love.

Maybe, but I guess how I would make out their relationship to be is: if Jason acts within Bruce's expectations, then Bruce loves him. If he doesn't then Bruce doesn't hold back hitting and punching. I don't think their relationship is tough love as much as it is conditional love. There are conditions to the way Jason must act in order for Bruce to love him and if he doesn't act that way then he stops caring about his son. He's happy if Jason comes to gatherings but doesn't particularly care if he doesn't. He leaves Jason alone if he follows his rules but actively goes after him if he doesn't. Both in his Robin days and now, Bruce doesn't tolerate Jason if he acts outside expectation but still loves him and although it's not the kind of love you would appreciate, it's also not the kind you can set aside and call it nothing. It's complicated. That's Jason and Bruce's relationship.

Tim on the other hand, he's very proud of. He thinks Tim is excellent, smart, dependable, and loves him very much.

Batman (2016) Issue #128

But I feel like Bruce takes him for granted.

Bruce was both neglectful and very involved in Tim's life.

Bruce means a lot to Tim in the sense that he was a true father to him.

Batman (1940) Issue #480

Tim's dad Jack gets really worried that Tim might consider Bruce more of a father than him. "Maybe - But I'm your father, Tim. Not him!"

The developing relationship between Bruce and Tim was based originally on need. Bruce needed someone who he could work with and Tim needed someone who could be there for him. As time evolved that need turned into liking which turned into love.

After Jason, Bruce needed someone who listened to him completely. Someone who never questioned him or doubted his orders and Tim was everything Bruce needed and he loved that.

Batman (1940) Issue #467

Bruce invested a LOT of time into Tim's training and he also depends on him heavily but at the same time I feel like he constantly brushes off Tim's words and worries.

Robin (1993) Issue #9

Batman: Urban Legends Issue #10

The classic "I trust you but I know better than you" x 10. And it's this thing that gives me doubts because I get this inexplicable sense of distance in their relationship. Bruce loves, trusts, and cares for him but I feel like there's something missing.

This being said, I realize that there's no clear explanation as to why I feel this way so I'll change the ranking back to "tie" for the two of them like I originally had. Because while Bruce loves Jason, he doesn't tolerate him and while Bruce loves Tim, he kinda disregards him in a way. And between these situations, I can't decide what represents more love or favoritism. I guess a part of me just felt really, REALLY bad for the way Bruce treated Jason. That post kinda shredded my heart so I gave him brownie points on the favoritism ranking list but in hindsight, after all this and writing it all out, I think Bruce loves Tim and Jason equally. It's entirely possible Bruce may actually love Tim more because unlike with Jason, I can't provide evidence of Bruce distancing himself from Tim in loving - only left with more of a sense. So in this case I agree with you, anon. It's very possible.

[factual-fantasy]

Greetings Factual! I just realized I completely forgot to congratulate you in my last Ask- so although it's a tad late, allow me to say, great job getting to yet another milestone in the form of 27,000 followers! As I've said before, you deserve every single one and more- your works, both big and small, make bad days brighter and good days even better! I've especially enjoyed the pixel art gags these past few days- "human sans" and "Bingus" in particular- and it seems like many others have too- at this rate, 30,000 is just a few steps away! Almost their!

Also, thanks a million for responding so kindly to my idea regarding the gangs reunion with patty and meeting with Baragara! I'm glad you like it, and regardless of what details you decide on, I just hope we get to see the moment illustrated some day, as emotional as it is epic!

As for my actual Ask today- I was wondering about Grimaces Gigantamax status. As you probably know, some Pokemon species, including Gengar, can take mega evolution to the next level and temporarily grow to Kaiju sizes when exposed to certain types of legendary energy. However, of the 26 compatible species, not all members have the genes necessary to do so. So, even though he is unlikely to be exposed to the energy required to Gigantamax, if he was, would Grimace be among the lucky few of his kind to react? Or does he lack the Gigantamax genes- which, if he does, certainly wouldn't make him any less awesome!

Oh, and also, small goofy side ask I just thought of- since the group usually seems to sleep together, do any of its six ( later eight ) members snore? And if so, have the others grown accustomed to the noise? Or do they "throw a pillow at the problem" so to speak?

(27,000 followers) (Human sans) (Bingus)

THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DD I'm glad to hear that you've been liking my pixel stuff!! :DDD

As for the Baragara ask, awe! No problem!! :D I've been thinking about his story and how I would draw it.. it just seems like a hefty project to take on in my current state.. <XD

Now hmm.. Gigantimaxing.. Funnily enough the discord server an I actually talked about Grimace potentially Gigantimaxing or mega evolving. You know, for angst reasons XD But the general take away I got is it would requite too specific of an environment and situation for him to mega evolve on accident. If mega evolving on accident is even possible- (I say accident because the group are not intended to know what megastones are or how they work. So its not like Grimace could mega evolve intentionally-)

Gigantimaxing had a similar problem. Requiring too specific of an environment/situation for him to Gigantimax unintentionally. They're not in/from the Galar region, so they don't have access the things needed to Gigantimax.. and since Grimace isn't from Galar, I thought it would stand to reason that he wouldn't have the gigantimax genes..(do only galar region pokemon have the genes..?)

And even if they were in Galar and Grimace had the genes, Gloria would be a roadblock.

If they found like.. a gigantimax den.? She would surly sense the powerful aura and be sketched out. Thus steering the group away. And since Gloria has never steered them wrong before.. no body would disobey her.

It kind'a sucks that I cant find a way for these two scenarios to work out! 😭 I had a lot of fun imagining Grimace mega evolving in a panic to protect the group and then needing Sylvester to talk him down. But needing a megastone, and a keystone..? And somehow having Gloria not get sussed out by the stones powerful aura and not taking it away from Grimace just seems pretty far fetched. Darn you Gloria for being so observant and caring for your friends. 😔

I'm open to ideas of how I can make either idea less specific and more possible though.. 👀👀

As for your last ask, I'd like to say that thankfully none of them snore <XD it would be pretty hard to stay hidden in the forest if you snore!