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the-crustation-sensation · 8 months

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Even more Hobie x reader hc’s!!

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A/N Just SFW for now bc I have NO ideas for smut currently 😭

I might post some later tho <3

As always I write these for anyone to insert, so non-gendered terms are used (:

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* I am SICK AND TIRED of you guys hcing him as a dirty troll. just bc he’s a punk does not mean he doesn’t have fucking hygiene skills. Yes ofc he’s Spider-Man so he doesn’t have a lot of free time but it’s not like he goes a month without showering

* I feel like most of the time he smells like old cologne (probably something with musk, oak, or vanilla) and weed

* I’m also tired of you guys hcing him as a toxic asshole (bro LITERALLY helped miles without even knowing him, and how already homies within like the first 10 minutes of meeting)

* With that said you already know he’d be the most caring and attentive partner

* He definitely has a note on his phone of things you like, are passionate about, and mentioned wanting. It just keeps growing bc he wants to keep track of everything you love 😭

* Anytime he gives you a gift he hand makes it (or alternatively gets it from a small business) he says it feels more meaningful and personal

* I think his love languages are acts of service and physical touch

* This man is obsessed with showing you off to EVERYONEEE. He would definitely pull you onstage during one of his concerts just to be like “hey everyone this is my S/O”

* He would love walking around with his hand in your back pocket, or yours In his

* He’s a crow, 100% picks up random stuff off of the sidewalk that caught his eye and gives it to you

* kind of a huge klepto He does not hesitate shoplifting from big corporations when he sees something he knows you’d like

* Although he would never EVER steal from a small business

* Just imagine he comes home and gives you a shirt for a band you like and you see the security tag is still on 😭 and he’s like “what 🤨”

* Definitely a “hmm?” “Oh yeah?” “Is that so?” “Make me” type of guy (SCREAMING)

* He’s such a tease, and just a brat in general. Just imagine your fed up and ask him to do something and he pulls the “yes ma’am/sir” move

* He’s the type of help bust you out of a holding cell/help you run from the police (he’s your partner in crime I’ll die on this hill)

* He love starting harmless beef with people online for no reason, specifically getting into fights with kids on ROBLOX just to see them get mad

* Man has like 1029292 emails to make new accounts bc he’s gotten banned from doing this so many times 😭

* He loves playing video games with you. especially if your playing something like cod or a racing game he would aggressively wiggle your controls to mess you up and act like nothing happened

* Ok ok hear me out, he doesn’t believe in games or things having an age limit, so he would play those 2 player ROBLOX obbys with you. He also LOVES playing horror games with you, you guys always yell at eachother over who has to go in front tho

* Y’all can communicate without even speaking ISTG

* He discreetly nudges your shoulder during a meeting and side eyes someone in the room, translates to “you see this shit??” Glancing towards the door then at you “let’s ditch this” peeking over someone’s shoulder and making eye contact with you while he’s talking to someone “HELP ME.” Or alternatively “is this bitch FR??”

* He has the mouth of a sailor, has taught mayday multiple cus words and acts like nothing happened

* He LOVES kids, absolutely loves them, he would be such an amazing parent

THIS IS HIM PROVE ME WRONG

* This might be an unpopular opinion but I don’t think he would give a shit what race/gender you are, he loves you for YOU and doesn’t care what color you are or what’s in-between your legs (in short he’s bisexual and doesn’t give a shit about whatever you are, he’s here for your personality)

* I think his favorite flavor of juice would be cranberry, but like the rlly tart cranberry juice

* Height thing’s but not because your short, just bc he’s freakishly tall

* As a fandom we’ve already established he does the thing where your cooking, or minding your own business, and he hugs you from behind and puts his chin on your head/shoulder

* I don’t think he has a “type” per say, but I feel like he’d prefer people who are also in any sort of alternative culture (punk, goth, emo, alt, and I dare say earthy/fairy TO AN EXTENT counts for that)

* I am biased because you can’t tell me this man wouldn’t fuck with a goth bitch, or just another punk (his WEAKNESS is punk girls)

* He loves doing makeup for you, especially eyeliner because that gives him and excuse to get you to sit in his lap

* If you don’t already play guitar, he would defiantly teach you by sitting behind you with his head on your shoulder to show you the right cords

* And he’s definitely gonna be praising tf outta you “good job” “yeah, you got it love” “mhm just like that”

* He also loves doing your hair/helping you do/cut your hair, no matter what texture it is

* I feel like before he settled in punk he went through an emo phase in middle school, and HATES his pictures from that era, like he would tackle someone to get it away if they found any trace of it

* He probably had some fuck ass fake piercings because his parents wouldn’t let him get real ones, and crusty eyeliner in his 7Th grade school photo

* I think his first face piercing was a nose piercing he got done in the school bathrooms in 10th grade by some girl with a safety pin

* It 100% got hella infected and he got so grounded for that

* He puts you first in almost every situation, like it he’s in the middle of a mission with another spider, and you text him, it will be like that scene with miles fighting the spot because he will text you back no matter WHAT

* I’m not sure about this one but I think his world is set in the early 70s (when punk fashion started getting more popular) so when he first came to HQ and saw all of this new text he was amazed and confused as hell

* It took him like a week to figure out most of that shit at HQ

* Most people don’t know he lives on a house houseboat, but I absolutely love that.

* Shit constantly falls off of his shelves from the waves but he couldn’t give 2 fucks about it

* he hates being called “Hobart” if you call him that he’ll either not respond, or know that your PISSED and shits about to go down

* he’s definitely pansexual or bisexual, like I said he loves pussy and dick equally, I feel like also hes either a transman, or AMAB and gender-fluid. Either way there’s no way he’s a cis man, he ATLEAST is he/they

* if he is a transman he would get top surgery but I don’t think he would get bottom surgery, he loves his man-pussy and he thinks if your too brainwashed by society’s gender norms then fuck you

* I think he would also get vines or mushrooms, or like barbed wire tattooed near his top scars

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Alright that’s everything I have for today! If you have any ideas please don’t hesitate to comment or to hit up my asks! I have a few asks I’m currently working on but I also have a bigger original story I’m writing so I’ve kinda been in writers block

If you want to be apart of my tag list don’t hesitate to ask (:

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#into the spiderverse #across the spiderverse #hobie brown x reader #astv hobie #hobie brown #accross the spiderverse #astv #hobie headcanons #hobie brown x you #spiderpunk x reader #spider punk x y/n #spiderpunk

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half-algorithm-half-deity · 3 months

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Tips for making actually cheap punk clothes from someone that has spent a maximum of $11 on any specific project over 3 years:

Bottle caps make AMAZING pins. There's countless ways to make bottlecap pins, but I mainly do it by 1) filling the cap with hot glue and 2) gluing a safety pin to the back. It's up to the individual. But the point is: Save bottlecaps.

DRINK CANS ARE AMAZING FOR MAKING SPIKES! Any aluminum can works - Monster cans, beer cans, etc. - all you have to do is cut off the tops and bottoms; make it a flat sheet; cut the metal into small semicircles; and roll it into cones. They stay in place easily with hot glue, and when you put them onto anything, they look just as good as store-bought.

Save Can Tabs. They can be put onto jackets, made into chains, earrings, necklaces, or anything else you want.

Literally anything can be made punk. Jeans, cargo pants, denim jackets, t-shirts, shoes, hoodies - the sky's the limit. Don't let these tiktok punks tell you that only their $80 Social Distortion pants and $120 denim jackets can be punk. Any clothes you pull out of a dumpster can be punkified.

Old T-shirts that no longer fit and have a design on them can be cut out and made into backpieces. Band shirts are particularly great for this, so if you thrift a Motorhead shirt that's too small, you can cut out the design and sew it onto a jacket and bam - you've got an exclusive piece of merch.

This one's more of an opinion, but: If you're patching up a jacket, sew the patches onto the outside of the jacket. If you're patching up pants, create holes where you want the design, and sew the patches from the inside of the pants.

Do research. If a "thrift store" calls itself a cheap alternative store, but has $50 jeans, it's not a thrift store. It's a vintage reseller, and the clothes are almost always WAY overpriced.

Shoplift carefully. Go somewhere you don't usually go - a large chain like Walmart or Target or Staples, not a local business - and take small things. Don't go somewhere that you're a regular at, or shoplift multiple times in a short period of times, or do too much at once. You will develop a track record and have more of a chance of being caught. However, the workers don't get paid less for you stealing, and the big suits in corporate won't notice or care about a missing pack of dental floss.

Experiment! Have fun with it! I've been Frankenstein-ing my jacket for years and counting - I've taken off the sleeves, added new sleeves, painted on it, put patches on it, added pins, anything you can think of. Be loud, be ugly, be weird, be happy.

If you have a painted patch or spot on pants/a jacket/whatever and it's old, but you want to take it off now, or if you just made a mistake, acetone can get pretty much any amount and age of paint out of any fabric. By acetone, I mean most nail polish removers or rubbing alcohols.

Now, I hate buying things for making punk clothes, but there are a few things that, in my opinion, are investments that last FOREVER. This includes: Hot glue guns; nail polish remover (for the last tip, mainly); paint pens and containers of paint (fabric or not); sharpies; dental floss or just normal thread; fabric scissors; and SAFETY PINS. None of them are very expensive, but they'll come in handy for years.

ESPECIALLY SHARPIES. That's the one thing I won't debate is a perfect investment. You can get a set of 12 colors or 12 black ones for like $9, and you can use them for EVERYTHING. The color also won't bleed when washed, as opposed to most pens and markers.

SAFETY PINS ARE A FASHION STATEMENT IN AND OF ITSELF. They're super useful in making clothes and jewelry, they're cheap and easy to find, and just nice to line the hems of your pants with.

When you make a square patch, fold in the edges slightly so that the edges don't fray. This makes it slightly harder to sew on, but it keeps the patch in good condition for longer - unless the idea is to look tattered. Then don't.

Don't be afraid to add something random and weird to your clothing because "oh people are gonna see it and know I like this weird niche thing" - that's the whole point! It's an expression of who YOU are, not what people want you to be. If people - especially other punks - judge you for it, fuck them. Unless...

No swastikas, no iron crosses, no symbols of oppression, no TERF shit. I'd say that's the only rule of punk - to say "oppression is punk" is going against everything punk stands for. Of course, if you do it anyways, you should at least know you deserve the beating you get at a basement show attended by underpaid and rage-filled faggots.

Of course, these are just mine, and there's plenty more that I do not know. If you've got your own way of doing things that goes against mine, that's awesome. But if you need to start somewhere as a kid punk, I hope this helped.

#punk #punk fashion #punk rock #skate punk #punk music #art punk #eco punk #alt rock #diy fashion #alternative fashion #crust punk #diy punk #diy patches #diy or die #battle jacket

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t1ts-4-scattorcio · 10 months

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shoplifting with Lottie 😚

Shoplifting with Lottie

Lottie Matthews x Reader

It was a bad habit Lottie picked up over the years. You didn’t condone her behavior, you found it slightly ridiculous considering she could get whatever she wanted at the drop of a hat but you understood that she liked the rush of doing something illegal. She got cute clothes for free and an adrenaline kick.

—

You had been ‘shopping’ for the past hour and Lottie’s purse had started getting heavy “Aren’t you ever scared?” you whispered, silently strolling around the store. “No, I do this all the time. My dad can bail me out when I use my 5-finger discount,” she smirked reassuring you.

Sifting through shirts on hangers she pulled a pink crop top out lifting it up to your figure. “This would look so good on you, we would match!” she beamed, You stared at her unamused turning to leave the store.

She quickly follows you out, catching up to you. “What’s wrong?” she asked, pulling you by your hand and turning you towards her.

“I feel so guilty..” Your gaze locked on the floor, Lottie sighs. She slots her finger under your chin forcing you to meet her eyes, “I can take them if you really feel that bad about it.” Looking towards the store.

you shake your head. “It’s fine but we should stop.” you plead, Lottie nods a smile slowly gracing her face, “we will stop.” She rubs the sides of your arms pulling you into a hug. “Lunch is on me ok.” She whispers, kissing your forehead.

Some Headcanons:

Some of the best gifts she’s ever given you were from her bad habit.

She brought you a few times, she’d never force you to steal but would teach you if you’d like to learn.

She would be surprised if she found out you picked up her routine, she was secretly a little proud of making you a klepto

She did think you looked hot, watching you stuff your bag with stuff especially if it was gifts from you <3

She noticed how regretful you felt over time and decided you both dropped it because you were so scared she in trouble with the law one day.

the last thing she wants to do is get upset or worry you.

#yellowjackets imagine #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets #yellowjackets headcanons #yellowjackets blurbs #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews imagine #lottie matthews headcanons #lottie matthews blurbs

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alexlwrites · 4 months

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Friday, Diner Day - 2052

There was this old couple in the corner of the room, sitting on those high red vinyl stools, both short enough to swing their feet above the ground, the man’s a little lower. They’re both giggling like highschoolers and people couldn’t help but look fondly at them.

Sitting beside them was a young woman, her chin resting on her folded hands, cheeks flushed from laughter. She hung from every word the couple said, eyes full of stars and wishful daydreams.

“So, how did you two meet?” she asked and the older gentleman smiled crookedly, slanted eyes full of mirth.

“Funny story, really” the old lady laughed “Richard here was in a motorcycle gang and I needed a quick escape from the police.”

“Betty was fistfighting transphobes that got in the way of a march for trans rights. She jumped onto the back of my bike and yelled ‘run, I’ve got priors!’”

“I shoplifted a lot” Betty nodded, quickly adding “only from big corporations, of course!”

“She stole our first anniversary gift” Richard placed his hand on top of hers, matching wedding bands reflecting light on their ring fingers “She’s very sentimental.”

There was a horrified yet endeared look on the young woman’s face, misplaced admiration for the lasting love of those elderly ex-delinquents.

Love can really be found in the strangest of places, she mused, maybe I should join a gang.

***

“A motorcycle gang, Y/N, really?”

Friday was laundry day of the week, meaning you and Yoongi wore your weirdest, most mismatched clothes while folding shirts, the smell of his favorite fabric softener covering the room, sticking to the clean sheets.

“You would look good in one of those leather jackets. Also, being in a boy band is not that different from being in a gang”.

Yoongi threw an unknown piece of clothing at you “How would you know?”

“Well, I’ll have you know, Richard, that I used to be a prolific criminal in my day. The TV in the living room? Stole it.”

“From Walmart?”

“From Hybe.”

Yoongi’s giggles and gummy smiles still managed to fill your heart with a funny and unsettling sort of warmth even after decades of being exposed to it. You would never get used to it, never be impermeable or numb to his happiness as it was directly correlated to your own. Every loud laughter you managed to get out of him was a victory and you had been keeping score for thirty years.

Friday, Diner Day - 2022

Diner day was the best day of the week, Yoongi thought. Every possible Friday was spent with his best friends in the back of a poorly lit restaurant they found when they had very little money and way too many dreams. The whole place smelled of grease and sugar, but to him the sweetest thing was always behind the counter.

As usual, Yoongi excused himself from the table only minutes after arriving, leaving behind his hollering friends and walked over to you. You had flour on your head and icing covering your hands, hair pulled into a half-fallen bun with a single pencil running through it. That day, you wore about 3 thousand beaded bracelets and high tops, each foot clad in a different colored one.

“Yoongi” you greeted him cheerfully, pretty rosy lips stretched in a grin “You are back!”

Missed me?, he wanted to ask, but even after knowing you for so long he was still too shy, too unsure. His quiet way of pinning was annoying, sometimes impossibly painful to watch, but there was still some sort of comfort in keeping his cards close to his chest, safety in all the words he didn’t say.

“Uh, yes” he mumbled, voice soft and shy “Got back a few days ago. Thought I’d stop by.”

“That’s nice of you, we all really missed you here.”

Yoongi glanced at the rest of the staff in disbelief: a teenage girl chewing gum that looked like she would rather be anywhere else, half waitering and half bullying the clients; a middle-aged cook that spoke very broken korean and only ever answered anyone with a grimace and a college boy that Yoongi had never ever seen sober. “You all did?”

You shrugged, the picture of nonchalance except for your now bright red ears “Well, I did. It’s not the same without you here on fridays.”

Yoongi’s heart always came alive when you talked to him, but some days, the days when your kindness dripped out of every words and your casual compliments got to him, on those days his heart became an Olympic athlete and tried to jump out of his chest, following his barely working brain down the street, running away from his flustered, sweaty and non-responsive body.

“Ah,,,” he said smartly, right hand flying to rub the back of his neck. C’mon, Yoongi, he thought, you can say something nice to the girl you like “I missed you too” he forced the words out, smile bordering on a grimace.

“You’re just saying that cause I serve you food” there was a light blush hanging high on your cheeks now, bringing even more warmth to your completion and the sight made hope bloom in Yoongi’s chest.

Cause if he could cause that sort of reaction on you (you, who he once saw dump hot coffee on a guy’s lap for harassing the other waitress and yell at client for making fun of the cook’s accent) then maybe he had a shot. Maybe he could find a way to work around the impending doom cloud that loomed over him due to his celebrity status and just ask you out. Just a normal-ish guy with a crush on an extraordinary-ish girl.

#bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts scenarios #bts fluff #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi #min yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader

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lilyginnyblackv2 · 1 year

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A Deeper Look At Kazuki’s Delinquent Teen Version of Miri

In Episode 5, we see Miri packing for her brief visit and stay with Kyutaro at the Mistletoe Cafe:

She has a drawing pad, crayons, an eraser, water bottle, a white stuffed rabbit, and some food: the stuff like the orange gummies and popcorn (ポップ) seem rather generic, while the Poki Poki is obviously meant to be Pocky, the pink container is meant to be Calbee’s じゃがりこ (jagariko), which are basically like a potato stick snack. The chocolate seems a bit generic too, though the shape of the box and the circular shape of the chocolate reminds me of Lotte’s Ghana chocolate:

In Kazuki’s wild imagination of a shoplifting teen Miri, we see that he has her stealing Poki Poki and the Choconut chocolate, two things that she is packing in her bag in Episode 5. There’s also a stack of Morio Kart 6 games (like 3 or 4, maybe for her and her friends, lol).

The stationary stuff was replaced with makeup and other kinds of cosmetics, which fits in with what we see of her appearance.

Looking at her face in the image below, Kazuki has her looking like Misaki, Miri’s mother. This makes sense, of course, she is her mom. He imagines her with the same color eye shadow though, which is interesting. Anyone who has watched anime, especially school based ones, for a while, likely know that wearing makeup goes against the usual school dress codes.

The same goes for her earrings, especially if they are pierced. Most school dress codes in Japan don’t allow for earrings, so if someone does get ear piercings, it’s in adulthood, after they graduate. Even then though, clip on earrings are more common. A teen girl with pierced earrings though gives the image of delinquency.

Miri is also show with the top buttons of her dress shirt unbuttoned and her tie loosened. All of which is against dress code as well. Her skirt was also altered to be a bit shorter than it is supposed to be (you can see that more in the last image below). Before we talk about that last image though, let’s talk about the aspects of Miri’s appearance that could go against some Japanese school dress codes, but which she has no actual control over.

Specifically the color of her hair and it being wavy. I’ll link to some articles that go into more details on these issues, but her is an excerpt from on Vice article. It mentions:

Text: The unnamed female student said her institution repeatedly demanded she dye her naturally brown hair black. She followed the school’s rules at first but eventually stopped, leading school officials to remove her desk from the classroom, erase her name from rosters, and check her hair roots. A court ordered the local government to pay her $3,100 in damages last February, but ruled the school has a right to impose hair regulations.

In another article entitled, #HairWeGo: Japanese take aim at school rule requiring black hair, from AsiaOne (which I will link to below), we have this segment:

Text: In most of Japan's public schools, pupils are only permitted to have straight black hair. They cannot bleach, dye or perm it. Conversely, any student whose hair is naturally light or curly can be made to straighten or dye it until it is the required shade of black.

The reason for these rules on hair color and needing all students to have straight black hair is because it is often associated with the ideal Japanese image.

There have been lots of debate and discussion about these sorts of rules over on Japan Twitter, Japanese news, and etc. in recent years, with many calling these rules out. So, recently, many of these rules have been removed or, at least, are currently being reevaluated.

But these changes are still new, ideas of differently colored hair like brown (or blond, like Kazuki) and hair that isn’t straight (curly, wavy, etc.) are viewed as outside of the norm. And therefore are often associated with acts of rebellion (dyeing hair, perming hair, etc.) rather than the possibility of them just being the natural state and color.

I’ve worked at a number of Japanese elementary and junior high schools though, and I know that this sort of mentality is changing, especially as more and more biracial children are being born in Japan. But, there is still preconceived ideas there. I remember one teacher I worked with, had to dye their brown hair black for a formal event (outside of work) once. It was sad to see.

But, that’s also why I like the fact that a lot of the Buddy Daddies characters have brown hair (Miri, Kyutaro, Miss Anna) and many of the children Miri plays with have different hair color shades as well (different shades of brown, Taiga with blond-ish colored hair like Kazuki, etc.). I know it’s an anime, but the general character designs in Buddy Daddies leans more towards grounded than something you might find in a Shonen Jump series, etc. So, I think these choices also say something.

Finally, lets talk about this last image. In the background you have posters for the basically “Just Say No to Drugs!!” campaign in Japan (they don’t always use the Globe Mascot for all posters, it makes sense they would use one with a cop at a police station or police box location). There is also a poster warning about phone call scams.

But, I want to focus on Miri sitting with her legs crossed. The other day on Twitter, I saw a video of a woman crossing her legs on a train. An old man that was sitting next to her, and who was manspreading, got upset when she did this and whacked her legs with a newspaper. (I’ll link to think video below).

It’s seen as rude and, especially in the case of women, disrespectful. Of course, that doesn’t mean that people don’t cross their legs (that woman did) and that doesn’t mean that older man’s actions were okay. But, this is also why teen Miri is shown sitting with her legs crossed in Kazuki’s wild imagination, because it is associated with disrespect and the like (the speech patterns that she uses in Japanese are rude too, of course).

I won’t include the image here, but teen Miri and teen Taiga being all over each other (like hugging each other and making a heart shape together, etc.) is viewed as too much PDA, which is also looked down upon in Japan. So, of course, Kazuki would end up including that in his “delinquent” version of Miri, lol.

#Buddy Daddies #Miri Unasaka #Kazuki Kurusu #Japanese culture and society #school dress codes #social issues #Japanese candy #Japanese snacks #long post #image heavy post #meta post

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deerlottie · 2 months

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do you have any more big sister lottie thoughts? Even if its just short ones? :3

will legit buy you anything you want. you have a phase where you wanna be a drummer? she'll buy you that $600 drum set. but i think if you only use it a couple times, she'd get a little peeved. she'd make you actually practice and in the end you're grateful because now you're better than her at least One thing :p

summer is so much fun with her!!!!!!!! taking you on little road trips across the city, sometimes different countries if you two had the time. sitting by the campfire and she's tearing up talking about how hard it was taking care of you alone because of ur parents and ur just on ur DS playing nintendogs 😭

once you get old enough, i think she'd lowkey rather you ask her for drugs than get it from randos. BUT ur only allowed to do it in the house. she'll smoke with you sometimes but if she catches you being reckless she wont hesitate to kick ur ass

ohhhhhh helping her move out while ur stuck with ur parents until you can afford ur own place :( she tells u that you can visit whenever you want but you're crying because you dont want ur big sister to leave you >___< sleeping in her bed sometimes because you miss her so much :( lottie facetiming you constantly to see how ur doing

SHES SOOOO happy when you finally come to her for advice on a crush!!!!~ (doesnt know what to say)

gives you the worst advice imaginable and you come back home rejected and plotting lottie's murder

Okay i think she'd teach you how to shoplift. like shes passing down a family secret 😭 starting off slow and steady with a couple candy bars then the next thing you know you have 3 shirts stuffed down ur pants while lottie's cheering you on when you walk out the door undetected LMAO

Last thing i can think of is angsty....the crash still happens and it ruins you. every day for those 19 months lottie's constantly on ur mind. you're failing school and your parents dont even care or wonder where you are during the nights when ur getting fucked up with friends. you Only ever sleep in her room, hugging her pillows and crying to whatever higher being is out there to please bring your sister home safe. Being the first to greet her when she gets back ;(( when they're all coming back home on that plane??? THAT SCENE. she hears you call out her name and just loses it >____<

#lottie matthews thoughts 💭#yellowjackets x reader

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mpregjohnwinchester · 10 months

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You KNEW my prompt was gonna include pregnancy lmao but I’m gonna say samdean accidental pregnancy — your choice if Dean or Deanna, your choice which season but I wanna see Dean(na) confessing to Sam that s/he’s knocked up!

here you go mate <3 (sorry for sneaking my deanna and david bowie headcanon in here but i had reason to believe you wouldn't mind xD - and exploring this pushed me nicely out of my comfort zone so thank you for the prompt!)

The skies over the salvage yard are pink with shepherd's delight clouds. The evening breeze has a little bite, and the air smells like rotting oil and dead leaves. The latter scent is one Sam associates with shoplifting school supplies, with the good coffee shops opening up on campus again. It's an awkward nostalgia, but it comes to him anyway as he buttons up his shirt for warmth and makes a start on staking out the boulevard of broken cars, armed with two bottles of El Sol and a mental note of all the phrases he's learned not to say. Deanna's gotta be out here somewhere.

The thing is, Sam thinks as he passes the nearly restored Impala, it had seemed like his sister was doing a little better. She's still sharp tongued and irritable, but she's not been spending 12 hours a day doing god knows what under that hood. She's been hanging out with Sam and Bobby more in the evenings, not really saying much, but sometimes she smiles with her whole face at something someone says, and Sam's always a little surprised at the force of his relief. She's even been talking a bit about getting out on the road again, even if she never directly mentions Dad; but Sam's caught her quietly leafing through his journal now and then lately. Not that he's said anything about it, because that's just asking for trouble; and anyway, regardless of any improvement, Sam still has no idea what's going on in Deanna's head, really. She feels very far away.

She went out this afternoon. For hours. Didn't say where she was going; but it's got to be the first time she's left Bobby's place in weeks. She left her phone behind on the nightstand, in this way that Sam couldn't help but suspect was intentional, because there had to be something about that; had to be something in the way Deanna caught Sam's eye through the window as she was coming back, coming all slow down the path with Dad's jacket over her shoulders and this tight expression on her face. Something in the way Deanna had sharply changed direction at the sight of him, veering off until she faded into the salvage yard and Sam couldn't see her anymore. And it's not that Sam meant to be hovering near the front of the house at the exact moment of her return like a worried parent, but shit happens.

Let her be, son, Bobby had said, without looking up from his scotch and that leatherbound demonology book he'd been annotating all day. Harder you push, the more she's gonna clam up.

It bothers Sam when Bobby talks like that, like he knows Deanna better than Sam does or something. As for letting her be - well, if Bobby knows Sam at all, he's got a strange way of showing it.

As Sam goes deeper into the yard, he can hear music. Tinny, faint; but Sam recognizes David Bowie. He spent enough time being subjected to every single tape the guy ever made, even the really out there ones, over and over again as a kid to know that voice anywhere. That had been one of Deanna's more intense phases. Sam thinks she finds him comforting now, maybe; familiar, well worn, like an old blanket. She'd deny that, of course, the way she always denies shit that she thinks sounds girly, or maybe just vulnerable - but it hadn't been lost on Sam over the past year, how Deanna would play those tapes during nearly every overnight drive they took. Her hands always a little too tight on the steering wheel, Dad's unknown whereabouts breathing down the backs of their neck like a spirit.

Sam follows that bustling piano, ch-ch-changes, until he finds his sister. She's sitting on the floor, leaning against the dented door of an eighties truck with a mangled hood. The windows are down. The music is coming from inside.

Dad's jacket is so big over Deanna's shoulders. It practically drowns her, looks kind of ridiculous, if Sam were to be mean about it; still smells like Dad's cigarettes. Deanna doesn't look up, when Sam approaches, but she doesn't hide her face or snipe at him to fuck off either. Which means this is already going well.

"Hey." Sam says it cautiously. "What are you doing out here?"

Her eyes roll up at him. "Making bacon and eggs, jackass. What's it look like I'm doing?"

Sam doesn't know, actually. Still, he takes the sarcasm on the chin. He holds one of the beer bottles out to Deanna; she glances at it, then shakes her head.

It surprises Sam, but he doesn't push. "You look like crap," he offers.

Deanna snorts. "Well. Don't you know how to make a girl feel special."

There's no bite in it. That tells Sam they're okay. She does, though; look like crap, that is. Tired; washed out. She's been sleeping in the day a lot. Bobby says it's the grief, that she needs it. Sam could believe that. He wonders, though, if Bobby's heard Deanna throwing up in the night lately. Not just one of her tactical upchucks to stave off a hangover, because she's not been drinking all that much lately; but these real hacking puke sessions that jolt Sam out of sleep in the early hours of the morning. She never comes back to her bed afterwards. And Sam has his suspicions about that too, like with the left behind phone; it's Deanna's way of not giving him a chance to pry. She knows how thin the wall between the bathroom and the spare bedroom is.

"Can I sit?" Sam asks.

Deanna shrugs. It's as good as permission.

Sam lowers himself down beside her, gets comfy on the rough gravel. He puts down the beers; doesn't feel much like drinking by himself.

They sit in silence for a while. Puts Sam on edge; but it's hard to know what to say to Deanna most of the time these days, which isn't a position he's ever been in before. Then again, they've never been in the position of losing their father before, so there's that. It still doesn't feel real. It probably never will.

"Keys were still in the ignition," Deanna says, nodding up towards the truck. "Tapedeck works. Engine's salvageable. Bobby's way too quick to junk these babies. Upsets me."

Sam smiles. "Dare you to say that to his face."

"Hey, maybe I will. If he gave me half a day with this death trap I'd get her purring again. Turn her into a whole new woman."

She folds her arms, tilts her head back against that dented door. Her eyes are kinda pink and bleary.

"You should see the tapes in the glove compartment," she adds. "'S a fucking goldmine.

"Is this Hunky Dory?" Sam asks.

Deanna raises an eyebrow. "Wow. And there I was thinking you weren't paying attention all this time."

"You didn't exactly give me a choice. You only played this album every day for like ten years."

Deanna grins. "I'm proud of you, Sammy. I knew you'd learn to love it eventually."

"Love is a strong word," Sam replies.

Deanna snorts again. Something like affection passes over her face. Sam hasn't seen that in a while.

"I lost this album years ago," Deanna says. "Think it ended up with Dad, maybe. You know how our stuff used to always get mixed up."

Sam's a little stunned. And maybe it shows, because Deanna narrows her eyes at him. "What?"

"Nothing." He swallows - "Just that you, uh, mentioned Dad."

"Yeah. So?"

It's quick, defensive enough for Sam to know to shut up. He's getting good at that kind of thing.

Deanna's scowl fades; she grins, lightly punches his thigh. "You creep. Quit staring at me."

Sam didn't realize he was. But if they were a different kind of people, maybe Sam would tell Deanna how pretty she looks under the dying sunlight, under those pink, glowy clouds; but he wouldn't really know how to put something like that, and Deanna would never let him live it down if he said it aloud anyway. So he keeps it to himself. Instead, he watches Deanna pull at a spooling thread from her shirt sleeve peeking out from beneath Dad's jacket.

"You know," Deanna says, "being out here always reminds me of us being kids. Bobby letting us play in the yard until the sun went down. Bringing us lemonade. Do you remember?"

Sam smiles. "Yeah, Dee. Of course I remember."

Deanna carries on like she wasn't expecting an actual response. "We'd never had homemade lemonade. Remember how I used to try to make it for you when we got back on the road? Mine always kinda sucked, though."

Sam feels a little on edge, hyper aware of everything his body is doing, like he's trying not to spook a wild gazelle. This is the most Deanna has spoken in weeks. "You tried," he offers, because she did, Deanna always tried so hard with stuff like that. He hasn't thought about Deanna's crappy lemonade in years. With Bowie warbling about life on mars on the stereo, and the memory of Deanna's sticky too-bitter attempt alive on his tongue, it feels like it's 1992 again.

Deanna keeps pulling at that thread. "You know, back when I used to watch you - I was, I dunno, maybe ten or eleven. And you were so - you were so damn innocent, you know? Just really cute, I guess."

"Cute?" Sam echoes.

"Yeah." There's this tight, half-smile on her mouth that Sam can't quite read. "You were so curious about shit all the time. Always wanting me to tell you stories. Always getting yourself scraped and bruised because you couldn't stop fucking climbing stuff."

Sam isn't sure what to say. There's something about remembering himself as a child that makes him uncomfortable. Maybe it's the idea of being so small and so helpless; or maybe it's the memory of that hard-to-place unease that lived inside of him like blood from the moment he was fully sentient, that gut-deep sense that something about his life - his family, his barely present Daddy - just wasn't right.

"You were a pain in the ass," Deanna continues, with this fond chuckle. "Asking me questions all the time. Wanting to know how every little thing in the world worked. If I didn't know the answers, I'd just make 'em up. You believed everything I said." She clicks her tongue. "Man, do I miss that."

Why are we talking about this? Sam nearly asks. But that runs the risk that Deanna will snap shut like an oyster, and Sam will never get the answer at all. So he keeps his mouth closed. He lets Deanna carry on.

"Sammy, I used to -" She trails off, looking weirdly sheepish. "This is so so fucking weird, but like - when I was watching you, I used to wish you were actually my kid. And you - you kinda were, you know? Felt like you were mine... mine just as much as you were Dad's."

Dad, again. Sounds so unfamiliar in Deanna's voice now that it takes Sam a moment to process the revelation that came before it. "You did? Seriously?" is all he manages.

"Yeah." She's looking at her lap. Still that tight half-smile. "Seriously."

And Sam struggles to know what to do with that, what it means. Because it's hard, lately, for Sam to be angry with his father about much; makes him feel almost empty, actually, after a lifetime of nursing this near-addictive resentment over things he never fully understood. And of those things, Deanna - getting her stuff mixed up with Dad's, being so intertwined with him, resembling her martyred mother so much Dad could never stop commenting on it - Deanna seeing Sam as her own, apparently - well, he doesn't know. Sometimes Deanna just says shit. He probably isn't meant to read into it.

And besides, Sam doesn't know anything for sure. Always felt like he never really wanted to. And as he's already made his choice to love his father, he needs to keep it that way.

Deanna shuts her eyes, then. They're puffy under her lashlines, kissed with gray. "I mean," she says, "Don't get me wrong. You annoyed the crap outta me sometimes." She shrugs, hard, like a defence to an attack Sam hasn't made. "I - I do know that, Sammy. I know there was times I coulda been nicer to you." She looks a little pained.

"We were just kids Dee," Sam offers. "Not like either of us were exactly saints."

"I keep remembering," Deanna continues, in that way, like Sam hadn't spoken again, "There was this time Dad kind of - got caught up in something. Still don't know what. But he wasn't home when he said he'd be. We were running out of everything. Food, money. No one was answering the phone. And you - you were driving me insane, Sammy."

Deanna says the last part a little too quietly; her head bows, hair covering her face. And Sam thinks he knows where this is going. He's getting a little uneasy.

"You just - you kept on and on with your damn questions. 'Where's Dad? What does he do while he's away? When's he coming back?' Then you - you asked about Mom."

"Deanna-"

She shakes her head, cutting him off. Something bitter on her lips, not quite a smile. "Who punches a five year old in the face, Sammy? I can't believe I -"

"You were only nine, Dee." Sam reminds her, when she doesn't finish the sentence. "You didn't know any better."

And it's true; Dad made sure of that, with his shoot first, ask questions later manifesto. But Deanna would never see it that way. She just laughs, colorless, bitter. "Yeah. I did. I shoulda, at least. I just -" She huffs. "Sometimes it feels like I just - I couldn't stop screwing up."

"You were doing it all by yourself." As the words leave his mouth, Sam registers how they sound. Like something you'd say about a single mom, some divorced thirty something with three kids, working two jobs to keep everyone fed and clothed. Not a nine year old.

"I guess -" Deanna sucks in a breath. "I just think about that a lot. That's all."

There's this dread growing inside of Sam as he watches Deanna's mouth twist up; she blinks, angrily. "Are you - crying?"

"Shut up," she mumbles.

She turns her face away a little. Draws her knees up to her chest. And it's strange and unsettling for Sam to see, like a horse walking on its hind legs or something; because Deanna doesn't cry, crying is for girls, and anatomy aside, she doesn't much like being seen as one of those. Even before Dad's pyre she stood, solemn and silent, breathing slow, composed. A hell of a lot more composed than Sam was, anyway.

"What's going on, Dee?"

She shrugs. That's very different to I'm fine.

And if things had been in any way close to normal over the last couple of months, Sam might touch Deanna's hand right about now. Lace their fingers; cup her face. Kiss her, maybe, the way she hasn't let him kiss her in a long time. Not since - well - not since the night they let Dad go. Sam can still remember the heat from the fire on his face, the way Deanna's hair felt grainy with ash; how her lips had tasted earthy and swollen, how she felt so small and fragile in his arms, more than she ever had. Still his big sister. Still the person he wants when he's scared and spiralling and doesn't know what to do but grab onto her, and hold on and on and on.

Deanna sniffs, loudly. "I just - I had so much on my shoulders, you know? Dealin' with you... dealin' with Dad..."

Her voice cracks a little. Sam says, "It was - it was a lot. I know."

A lot. So much summed up in those two words, but it's not like Sam's had a lot of practise in talking about this.

Deanna laughs down at her folded knees, all thick. "You don't know, Sammy. You don't know at all. And I'm - I'm really glad you don't."

Sam isn't sure what to say to that. Partly because he can't gauge Deanna's tone, and partly because that feels like one of the most honest things Deanna's ever said to him. And now he's really worried.

"I just - I always wished I had another chance, you know? A chance to do over all those screw ups I made."

Tentatively, Sam reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder. It tenses a little beneath his fingers; but she doesn't pull away. That's good.

"I don't know where all this is coming from, Dee," Sam admits.

There's a pause, and Deanna seems to blink for a little too long. "It's - Sammy, I just keep on thinking. Dad's - Dad's gone."

It's the first time she's actually said it. Sam swallows; throat feels a little thick. "Yeah. I know."

"And I was just getting - you get used to things being one way, you know?" She runs a hand through her hair, shiny with grease like oil slicks. "It's always like that. You start getting used to things, and then - then some other shit happens. And suddenly things are a whole new way. Before you can even fucking -"

"What do you mean?"

"Sammy, I knew something was wrong. I - I think I knew all along. But - today..."

Sam does everything in his power to keep his growing anxiety out of his voice. "Where did you go today, Deanna?"

Her lips press together. She's still looking at her lap.

That dread expands, curdles, in Sam's gut. "Tell me."

Her hands are shaking against her thighs. "I - I went to the doctor."

That's absolutely the last thing Sam expected. "Since when do you go to the doctor?"

"I kinda had to."

Sam watches the little quiver of her fingers; and with that, he thinks back to the puking, the tiredness, how not right his sister looks. He thinks about Jess, how they were talking about what color to paint the living room 24 hours before she went up in flames on the ceiling. He thinks about Dad calmly sending him off for coffee before he…

Things are one way. Then suddenly they're another. Before you can blink, before you even remember your own name.

"Are you - are you sick?" Sam tries to keep his voice even.

Deanna isn't looking at him. "Kinda."

Sam thinks about Deanna hooked up to wires and machines. The miracle; how miracles don't happen. He's been harboring a little fear that there has to still be something wrong. A lacerated organ. A foreign object. Something they must have missed. But he thought - hoped - it was just that - a fear.

Sam sucks in a breath. "Okay. So - so what..."

Deanna smiles grimly. "Turns out I've got a parasite."

He watches Deanna shift. Her hand move towards one of the pockets of Dad's jacket. She keeps her eyes on her lap as she passes a small slip of paper to Sam. Small, rectangular. He takes it.

It's a moment or so before he realizes what he's seeing. Kind of like a photograph; a fuzzy sepia. Odd shapes that slowly begin to make sense.

"Ten weeks," Deanna says, her voice a little hoarse with disbelief. "I'm - I'm ten fucking weeks pregnant, Sammy."

Sam stares numbly at that ultrasound still. At the shapes, like two beans stacked on top of each other. Faint, fuzzy lines. Tiny arms. Tiny legs. He stares at them until they blur.

Ten weeks. Ten weeks since -

"So it's - " Sam can't finish the sentence.

"Yeah, Sammy. It's yours."

Her voice sounds very far away. And Sam can smell ash and fumes, traces of hospital grade body wash on Deanna's skin, skin that was bruised all over from cannulae and wires; and Sam couldn't catch his breath because Dad was gone, the last of him was just yards away on that burnt out pyre, gone; and Deanna's hands were on his face, tangled up in his hair, forehead pressed against his, and she was straddling his lap in the Impala's backseat, her eyes shut, muttering ssh, ssh over and over, maybe to Sam, or maybe to herself, but she kept saying it, even through the long kisses she kept pressing to his mouth; and Sam remembers he could barely see, he felt like he was choking on that ashy air, but he had Deanna, and he needed Deanna, he'd never needed her so much in his entire life. And Deanna understood, the way she's always understood things like that; and Deanna had kept on with her kissing and ssh-ing as she moved on top of him, fast, desperate, and Sam had clung onto her waist and met each roll of her hips, fast, anguished, because he couldn't get close enough, deep enough; and Deanna had been making these pitchy, breathless sounds like she was in pain, but she didn't stop Sam, and the whole time her eyes were wide and fixed on his face; and Sam remembers tangling her hair around his fingers like rope, he remembers arching up against her as he came, his body going through the motions, his senses numb to it. That numbness hasn't really left him since.

"Sammy, say something."

Deanna's voice, strained, cuts through the memory. Hauls Sam back to the present; Bowie, rotten oil, dead leaves. That autumnal breeze. His sister's face, tight and worried. Sam recognizes that pallor a little more now: shock.

It's passing through Sam as well. Of all the things he expected - this was nowhere on the list. Nowhere close.

"Alright," he manages eventually. Amazed at how calm he sounds. "What do you wanna do?" Because that's the thing to ask, right?

Deanna's lips twist again. "I mean - like, right away, I thought about just - you know - going off and taking care of it. Not even telling you. Just - "

"You wouldn't have told me?"

"I said I thought about it, Sam." She clicks her tongue; another rough wipe of her eyes. "I'm telling you now, aren't I?"

Sam keeps staring. Staring, at that image. That tiny, tiny baby.

"Is that what you want?" he manages, eventually. Hoarse as Deanna. "To - take care of it?"

Deanna's pause seems to roll around the length of the yard. Then, her eyes stray to her lap again. "You know, Dad used to lecture me about this shit. Made it very clear how disappointed he'd be if I ever accidentally got myself knocked up."

Sam says, "Really?"

"Yeah. All the time." There's something acidic in Deanna's voice. "And you know why he harped on about it so much?"

"Why?"

"Because he said it wouldn't be fair to bring a kid into all this. Into the life." Deanna laughs, this flat, one-note thing. Something sharp flashes through her eyes; something gone too quick for Sam to fully identify. "Can you believe he said that to me? After everything he..."

She stops. And Sam watches Deanna's face reset, as if she hadn't expressed something like anger towards Dad for the first time ever. Something like what Sam has been saying, feeling, thinking, ever since he was old enough to understand. Everything Deanna always denied.

"It wouldn't have to be the same." It comes out of Sam's mouth before he can catch up with it. "You know. The same as we had it."

Deanna keeps on looking at her lap.

"You -" Sam takes a breath. "You know that, right?"

Deanna sighs. More like the breath whipping out of her body. "I'm not gonna stop looking for the demon, Sammy."

She says it like she expected Sam to insist on it. He clarifies: "I'm not saying we do. I'm saying we make it work."

He has no idea how. No fucking idea. His brain hasn't quite absorbed what's in front of him yet, the news undigested; but he's certain, somehow, of that.

Deanna gives that odd laugh again. Sam isn't sure what it means, this time. "It's also..." She picks at that thread on her shirt again. "I mean, the doctor said it looked healthy. But what if it comes out and it's like, a cyclops or something?"

"Why would it be -"

Deanna's shoulders rise. "You've seen Deliverance, right?"

Oh.

Sam swallows. His eyes stray back to the picture. Not that he can see much; not that there's much to see. But there's enough there for Sam to think it looks absolutely perfect.

"There are risks," is all he can think to say. "But it's - you know. It's not completely inevitable."

Deanna narrows her eyes. "You've already looked this stuff up, haven't you?"

She says it in this accusatory way. Sam runs his thumb delicately across the grainy image. "There was always a chance this could happen, Dee."

Always a chance. They've never done much to mitigate it, really. There's not enough space in Sam's brain right now, to wonder why that is.

Deanna skips over it too. Runs a hand through that greasy hair. Her lips twist.

"I just think," she says, after a while, "even if it comes out with three heads, playing a fucking banjo... would I care? You know?"

She's still not quite meeting Sam's eyes. Sam prompts, "Would you?"

"I mean. It's not like it'd be the only freak in this family, right?" A smile spreads across her mouth. "Sammy, you know I wouldn't care. I'd -I'd love it no matter what."

"Me too." It comes out thick; Sam's never been more sure of anything in his life.

He hands Deanna back the picture; takes her hand, deceptively delicate and cold in his, as he watches her eyes fog up with tears again. She doesn't hide this time; leans in to press her forehead against Sam's, just like that night ten weeks ago, just like they've come full circle. And fuck, it feels like forever since Sam's been touched like this, touched by anyone; he's just wondering if leaning in for a kiss would be pushing it, when he feels Deanna's plump, dried out lips brushing his. They feel a little sticky, and there's this malodor to her breath, but Sam barely registers it. It's like coming home.

I missed you, he doesn't say; can't, when Deanna's mouth would smother it anyway. When Deanna would only screw her face up and call him a big girl, and he'd rattle with guilt about feeling a little humiliated by that, but he'd feel it anyway.

Deanna pulls away first. She's a little flushed, and Sam can faintly see the capillaries in her face, like pink lines on a map under her skin; she squeezes his hand, laces their fingers. Moves them together until Sam's palm is flat against her stomach, the warmth of her body underneath that worn flannel.

"I keep thinking I can feel it," she whispers. "Now I know it's there."

Sam watches their interlaced hands dumbly. Overwhelmed. He can too.

"I kinda hope it's a girl." Deanna's voice has that hoarse quality again. "So I can - so she can have a Mom. So she can have what I didn't have."

She says it at the exact moment Sam finds himself hoping it's a boy. His reasons are similar. But for someone who doesn't like to talk, Deanna's always been way better at articulating stuff like that.

"You'll be a great Mom, Dee," he says, firmly. You were to me.

"Alright. You don't need to kiss my ass." Deanna ruffles his hair, like she did when she kissed him goodnight as a kid.

It takes Sam a moment to find his voice again. "I mean it, Dee. We'll make it work." He says it with this conviction that rises up from somewhere deep. "And I'm gonna be here for you, alright? Every step of the way."

Deanna groans. "Jesus Christ. I knew you'd be like this."

But she's smiling. And Sam allows himself to as well.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

“You know Dad would kill us, right? But man, do I wish he was here right now.”

She says it with a laugh in her voice, her face all twisted up; and Sam can't help but remember how he and Jess had talked about kids, vaguely, sometimes, kind of like a concept, a distant dream. How Sam had thought to himself about Dad a lot then, too, the way he never really stopped thinking about Dad and Deanna. He remembers wondering to himself whether Dad would be proud. Whether he'd even want a grandkid; if he'd want to know at all. Back then, Sam genuinely toyed with the idea that Dad wouldn't even care. Never come back, Sam.

It's not the same, now. Holy fuck, this is not the same, and it can probably only be a good thing that Dad's not here to know about this; so Sam pushes away the thought. He puts his arms around Deanna's waist and pulls her as close as he dares.

"It'll be okay," he says again, because he can't think of anything else. Because it has to be.

Deanna's looking at him kinda intently. "Sam, do you think this is Dad's way of like - you know - coming back?"

"Uh - what?"

Deanna shrugs. "Dunno. Just - hormones talking, I guess." She squeezes Sam's hand against her stomach. "Forget I said anything."

Sam's not sure he can. They don't say anything after that.

#asks #prompts #samdeanna #johndeanna if u squint #my writing #yes I know I literally always play in this part of the Canon sandbox #but whatever i invite you to sue me #cw discussions of abortion #cw childhood trauma #cw intergenerational trauma #cw incest #this came out very soft by my standards lol #well apart from all the incest and trauma #it's so heavy on the incest lol

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thesquirrelqueer · 8 months

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@woah-uhuh-uhuh-uhuh already made a post about this that you can go check out here but here’s mine with other stuff from the show I noticed from today’s bac bmc performance!

(these aren’t in any specific order it’s just by when I remembered to write it down)

they really said SCARY stockboy cause he had a knife and he yelled a lot

scary stockboy was playing the knife game before jeremy and michael came in

my mothers would be thrilled was added in

crystal pepsi was changed to ecto cooler (broadway version)

mixed up line during bmc pt 2: the “everything about you makes me wanna die” bit was accidentally switched with the “everything about you is so terrible” bit

whenever squip was controlling someone’s dialogue he mouthed along with them

chloe and brooke held hands a lot

there was a literal tango between madeline and zac during the squip tango

rich yelled “hey short ass where’s my money?” at aubrey during the mts reprise

dustin was shoplifting at the mall

the squip looked through files whenever jeremy did something wrong (think like tony stark with jarvis)

during gtikbi reprise christine had headphones on (she is so neurodivergent <3)

mixed up line during ilprl: “is this where you sign up for the play” “no this is where you sign up for the swim team”

the photo used during the mall scene is actually a photo of the real life menlo park mall

chloe pushes up/adjusts brooke’s boobs for the second dywr verse

one of the ensemble threw up in the hood of jared’s onesie during gtikbi reprise

the squip did stewart clarke’s opt up during tpc

michael started screaming when everyone else was screaming during the play

michael’s mailbox during the pants song said “mell box”

jeremy had an x-men shirt during vimh

michael has more than one red hoodie but they're all slightly different

after rich writes boyf on jeremy’s backpack he like does a kiss towards jeremy’s cheek (not like leaning in to kiss his cheek but more like a “mwah” noise)

#bac bmc #jeremy heere #michael mell #christine canigula #the squip #jenna rolan #jake dillinger #brooke lohst #chloe valentine #rich goranski #broadway #musicals #be more chill #bmc #shut up dani

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ap41cu5 · 3 days

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The Rookie Detective: Joseph Oda x Fem! Reader (Chapter 3)

short synposis: a bit of a long, fluffy chapter where the reader was so caught up in her thoughts of joseph that she couldn't get a single ounce of sleep that night. when she comes into work, shes so exhausted that joseph offers to drive her back home to make sure she gets there safe and sound. meanwhile, joseph is also worried about sebastian who has been quickly descending into alcoholism. a/n: sorry if this chapter feels a bit rushed! i didn't want to make it too long but it ended up being super long anyway </3 word count: 4124

Your first day at work was amazing for the most part. While you felt horribly for your coworker, Sebastian Castellanos, you just couldn’t pry your mind away from Joseph. There was just something about him that drew you to him. He was just so gentle and sweet, not to mention incredibly easy on the eyes. The only downside to your little, well, huge crush on him, was that you were unable to get any sleep that night with your head filled with him and only him. Overflowing with so many silly fantasies about going on dates with him or somehow getting the chance to cuddle with him, what his lips would feel like when you kissed, or how his arms would feel wrapped around you in a warm embrace.

You quite literally couldn’t get a wink of sleep that night.

You were so giddy once you got home and you had no outlet for all that pent up energy that you ended up staying up all night, twisting and turning, praying to God that you would finally be able to fall asleep. But to no avail.

No matter how long you closed your eyes for, you were still wide awake. This went on until eventually you saw sunlight shining in through your blinds. Great. Just great.

You checked your alarm clock and there was 15 minutes until you were supposed to wake up.

Well, screw it! You thought to yourself, and just threw the covers off of yourself and got up to start getting ready.

The KCPD had a surprisingly lenient dress code, as you could see by what Kidman had been wearing. Since you had extra time, you decided to wear something more your style. You pretty much wore the same top as yesterday, which consisted of a white button up shirt with a black vest (like Joseph or Sebastian’s) that you paired with a black tie with beige pleated pants. You decided to accessorize a bit and put on a pair of floral earrings and a matching necklace. You threw on some light makeup and put your hair up in a claw clip, letting two strands in the front hang down (and if you have bangs, you fixed your bangs as well).

Looking in the mirror, you realized that no amount of makeup could cover up the insane eyebags you developed the night before. Wow. I look like shit, you thought to yourself.

You checked your kitchen cabinets to see if you had any coffee left, but thanks to your amazing luck, you just remembered that you ran out the night before.

You sighed and finally left your apartment.

Once you made it to the office, you practically threw your stuff down and sat down at your desk. You just wanted to get today over with and hastily finish up the police report you had to write for yesterday’s shoplifting incident.

Your head was resting in your fist as you clicked away at your computer, looking for the necessary document template to begin filing the report.

“You look like shit,” you hear from beside you.

“Gee, thanks. I hadn’t noticed,” you sarcastically remarked, looking to see where the voice came from.

It was Kidman, of course. You weren’t sure if this was just how she acted, or if she had some sort of weird issue with you.

“There’s coffee in the lounge area. Just figured I’d let you know in case you wanted to grab a cup. You look like you need it,” she added, her voice sounding a bit softer than before.

“Ah, thank you. I appreciate it. I’ll probably go grab one once I’ve finished filing the first page of this report,” you shot her a small smile, feeling a bit fuzzy that she was actually being nice to you for once. Perhaps you were wrong about her, you thought.

As you briskly typed away at your computer, trying to get the first page done as quick as possible, you heard the door open as Joseph sat down at his desk in front of you. Your eyes practically lit up at the sight of him.

“Good morning, Joseph!” You said, almost a bit too excited.

“Good morning, (First Name). Are.. you alright? You look like you didn’t sleep at all last night,” Joseph replied as he looked up at you above your computer screen, that same concerned tone in his voice again.

“I didn’t!” You replied, part of you trying to play it off as a joke so he wouldn’t worry himself too much.

Joseph gave a concerned look and got up to leave the room. You were a bit upset he left, but tried to focus your attention on the document. While you still had intense feelings for him, you couldn’t let it hinder your work this badly. Struggling to keep your eyes open as you typed away at your keyboard, you heard Joseph approach you again.

“You look like you need this,” you hear Joseph say.

You turned to look at him, to which he held two cups of coffee. You were immediately touched by the gesture, your cheeks heating up as he carefully handed you one of the mugs.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he warned as you took the mug from him, mindful not to burn yourself.

“Thanks..” you replied, suddenly becoming shy.

Jesus, has it been that long since someone’s actually done something nice for me? You thought to yourself, wondering why you elicited such a reaction.

“Anytime, (First Name). Why don’t I help you file that report?” He suggested, placing his mug down at his desk before standing over your shoulder again.

“How much of it have you completed so far?” He asked, taking your mouse and scrolling on your computer.

This was like yesterday all over again, except this time the close proximity made you shiver. You were having a much more visceral reaction than before, the scent of his cologne sending you into a haze. Was it the lack of sleep? Why were you reacting so much more intensely this time than the last?

You felt him place one of his hands on your shoulder to steady himself, the contact making you jump a little.

“Sorry, just need to skim over everything you’ve written,” he mumbled, “alright, crime committed, shoplifting, number of suspects, three, right..” he continued to whisper under his breath.

The combination of the close proximity, his hand on your shoulder, his scent, and the sound of his voice all turned you into a blushing mess as you tried your best to sit still. Your heart rate was through the roof, your hands were becoming clammy, and you subconsciously pressed your thighs together as your eyes drifted to his hands.

You weren’t sure what it was, but something about his forearms being exposed and those leather gloves just did something to you. You were down absolutely horrendously and it was so incredibly embarrassing.

After what felt like ages, he stood back up again and began to make his way back to his desk in front of you.

“Alright, thank you. I should be able to do the rest from here. Just go ahead and email the document to me and I can do the rest. You already got a good portion of it done from what I can see,” Joseph sat down, taking a sip of his coffee.

He hadn’t seemed to notice your beet red expression as you only nodded in response, your voice still caught in your throat as you copied the link to the document.

“W-what’s your uh, what’s your email address?” You asked, mentally cursing yourself for stuttering.

“Here, I’ll type it in for you.” You couldn’t even look at him as he made his way back to your seat. As he typed in his email, you noticed his profile picture for his email was a Japanese Kanji character.

“You’re Japanese?” You inquired, immediately growing curious.

“I am. But I only speak a little bit of Japanese. How’d you figure?” He asked, steadying himself by placing his hand on your shoulder again.

“W-well, ahem, I noticed that your profile picture for your email was some sort of Kanji character. I took a bit of Japanese back in high school,” you replied, the blood rushing back up to your face.

“Really? The Kanji in my profile picture is the Oda seal for my last name. How much Japanese do you still remember?” He asked, taking a seat in the desk beside you.

“Oof, barely any. I never learned many kanji characters so all I really remember is how to read Hiragana and Katakana.”

“Well if it makes you feel any better, I don’t know much more than that and I’m Japanese,” he chuckled.

You both laughed a bit, and shared just a fraction of a moment where you two just sat and looked at each other.

“I should really finish filing that police report!” He remembered, quickly making his way back to his desk.

You could just barely make out the blush that dusted his cheeks as he quickly turned his back and made his way back to his desk.

You rested your head on your arms as you put your head down for what felt to be just a few minutes. A quick power nap couldn’t hurt, right? Sleep quickly enveloped you as you hoped to God you wouldn’t snore.

As soon as you awoke, you ultimately felt even worse than you did before you took the nap. You felt even groggier than you did this morning, making it even harder to focus on your work. As you looked back up at your computer screen, you were pleasantly welcomed by the sight of Joseph’s focused expression just beside his monitor.

You couldn’t help but take a few glances at him now and then while he worked. He just had such a handsome face. You couldn’t help but notice how his brows would furrow when he was deeply focused, how he would rest his chin between his thumb and forefinger whenever he was skimming back over something he wrote…

“(First Name)?”

He was just so..

“(First Name)?”

attractive. In ways you yourself could hardly even describe.But you couldn’t let your feelings get the best of you. Especially if he didn’t feel the same way. Can you imagine how awkward that would be working alongside him the day after being rejected? “(First Name)!!”

At the third calling of your name, you were finally snapped back into reality. Your eyes widened as you looked back up at Joseph.

“..yes? Sorry, I must’ve spaced out. Was there something you needed?” You asked, your head feeling like it was about to float off your body with how sleepy you were.

“You’ve been staring at me for the past 5 minutes. Is there something on my face?”

You swear your heart stopped for a moment.

“I.. I was?” Your voice quivered with sheer embarrassment.

You could feel your heart rate begin to speed up again and your face become beet red.

“Uh.. yeah,” Joseph replied, his face turning a light shade of pink as well.

“You even fell asleep for.. well.. a few hours. But I didn’t want to wake you, you looked like you needed the sleep.”

“Oh, oh crap! Sorry, I– uh, sorry if I was distracting you. And I’m sorry for falling asleep as well! Shit, I slept for that long? I didn’t get much work done today at all. Is there anything else you need me to do? Any case files, anything?” You rubbed your eyes, still feeling groggy after just waking up.

“It’s alright, really! I was just a bit worried. You may want to take an early out if you’re not feeling too well. I was able to get almost everything we needed done. It’s alright, trust me,” Joseph reassured you.

“No, no I couldn’t do that. It’s only my second day here. I’ll stay the full time. But I do really appreciate your concern, Joseph,” you replied, bashfully tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Stretching, your eyes quickly scanned the room. Everything looked normal, except for one thing. Sebastian never showed up. At least, you hadn’t seen him.

“Where’s Castellanos?” You asked, glancing at his empty desk.

“He never came into work today. I just hope he’s doing alright. He’s turned to some.. unhealthy habits as means to cope with the accident. To the point where he’s been calling in sick more often than not,” Joseph sighed, rubbing his temple.

“He hasn’t been doing drugs, has he!?” You hurriedly asked, your mind jumping to all sorts of conclusions.

“Shh! Try to keep your voice down!” Joseph whispered to you, “no, he hasn’t. Well, not exactly. He’s been drinking lately. Far more than he should.”

“I trust that you won’t tell anyone about this, (First Name). I’ve been contemplating whether or not to report him to Internal Affairs, but I really think I should. The last thing we want is for him to drink himself to death.”

You nodded, your lips pursing and your brows furrowing in discontent.

“You know him much better than I do. I trust that you’re making the right decision,” you replied.

“I hope so. I don’t want to impede on his work. Something tells me that this is all that he has left and the last thing I would want to do is to take that away from him. So reporting him may be the only choice I have,” Joseph explained, his voice laced with worry.

“You’re very considerate, Joseph. He’s lucky to have a friend like you by his side,” you said to him, his eyes softening ever so slightly.

“Thank you, I try. I only want what’s best for him,” Joseph muttered, “I’m going to check up on him after work. Would you like to accompany me?”

Your eyes lit up for a moment at the thought of spending more time with him, but quickly remembered that you weren’t sure if that would be the right decision to make, seeing as you’ve only just met Castellanos.

“Ah, well.. as much as I would like to, I’m not sure that it would be appropriate. I’ve only just met him, and.. well, as it stands I’m not sure he’s exactly fond of me,” you hated to reject the offer, but you didn’t want to be a bother to Sebastian.

Joseph seemed to contemplate the decision for a few seconds.

“I.. I suppose you’re right, how about I call you after?” Joseph offered, hardly even realizing what he had just asked of you at first.

Was he.. asking you for your number? Your face flushed at the realization as your eyes darted around the room.

“I– yeah! That sounds good. Why don’t I write my number down for you?” You weren’t sure where he found the courage, even for him that was profoundly bold.

Joseph hurriedly felt each of his pockets for where he kept his small notebook. His hands rapidly tapped each of his pockets trying to find it, until he quickly felt the familiar shape of the notepad in his back pocket. As he yanked the notebook out, he was in such a frenzy that it slipped out of his fingers and fell onto the floor.

“Ah– j-just a second!” His face was beet red at this point.

As he bent down to pick up the notebook, the moment he had it within his grasp he hurriedly flipped to a blank page. He practically shoved the notebook in your face, the black page overflowing with invitation as he quickly pulled out one of his pens for you to use.

You found his eagerness and clumsiness to be both cute and incredibly charming. You couldn’t help the smile that graced your features as you carefully took the pen and wrote down your number and even drew a heart next to it.

“There you go.”

“Th-thanks, I’ll.. I’ll be sure to call you after!” Joseph stuttered, his cheeks bright red.

You nodded in response, “I’ll be waiting!”

As you stood up, you couldn’t help but stumble, still extremely groggy from the nap that you took. The room appeared to be spinning as you struggled to keep your balance.

Joseph immediately rushed to your aid and attempted to steady you by placing a hand on your shoulder and the other on your waist.

“Easy now, careful,” he muttered under his breath, the purr in his voice sending a chill down your spine.

“You’re in no condition to drive, (First Name). I’ll take you home since it’s already time to clock out anyway,” Joseph offered.

Well, he was more telling you what he was going to do rather than offering. But you were still charmed either way.

“Y-you really don’t have to, really. I’m sure I’ll be fine–” “I insist, (First Name).” You looked up at him, your chest swelling with butterflies at his generosity. He was such a gentleman and that alone did wonders to you.

“Thank you, Joseph. You’re so sweet,” you attempted to walk but ended up tripping on your own feet, stumbling into Joseph’s chest with a gentle ‘thud!’

“S-sorry!” You quickly apologized, attempting to steady yourself.

The scent of Joseph’s clothes mixed with his cologne was strangely relaxing. The feeling of his nimble yet strong arms cradling you and allowing you a chance to regain your balance so you could stand on your own ironically made your knees feel weaker.

“Come with me. My car isn’t parked too far from here,” Joseph kept one hand on your shoulder just in case you lost your balance again as you both left the office.

Joseph carefully helped you enter the front seat of his car, taking your bag from you and placing it down before he took your hand and helped you up. He paid careful attention to make sure you wouldn’t fall.

“Thank you,” you quickly thanked him before he gently shut the door behind you.

The moment you entered the car, his scent mixed with the air conditioner he used flooded your senses. It smelled just like him inside the car, the mix of his cologne as well as a mango scent being a surprisingly good combo.

He quickly entered the driver’s seat, pulling out his phone.

“Here, type in your address so I can take you home. I’ll drive you into the station in the morning so you can get your car as well,” he stated, placing his hand back on your shoulder.

“Thank you for this, again. This is more than I could’ve ever asked of you,” you remarked as you carefully typed your address into Google Maps.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering,” he replied, a slight smile on his face as you handed his phone back to him.

As he pulled out of the parking lot, the low hum of the engine and the sunset in the distance just made you feel so safe and comfortable. You both sat in comfortable silence as your eyelids slowly grew heavier and you felt your muscles loosen and feel lighter. Before you knew it, you slipped into the land of unconsciousness.

Just moments later, you felt a hand lightly shaking your shoulder, gently trying to awake you from your slumber.

“(First Name),” you heard a whisper from beside you.

“It’s time to wake up, you’re home now,” the voice continued as you stirred.

Your eyelids fluttered open as you turned towards the voice, and you were met by the rather pleasant sight of Joseph’s gentle features.

“Oh, crap. I fell asleep again. I’m sorry,” you apologized, rubbing your eyes to try and get yourself to wake up more.

“Don’t worry about it. Here, let me help you out of the car,” Joseph said as he got out of the driver’s seat.

Opening up the car door, he took your bag and placed it on his shoulder as he took your hand and helped you up.

“Careful of the ledge,” he reminded you as he pulled you up.

“Which apartment is yours?” He asked, one arm around your waist to steady you.

The feeling of his arm around you and his hand lightly gripping your waist made you go weak.

“It’s.. uh… floor 6 apartment number 1,” you muttered, your head foggy and knees feeling like they were about to give out any moment now.

“Right, let's go,” he made sure to keep a strong yet gentle grip on you in case you lost your balance.

As the two of you walked, you couldn’t help but admire Joseph’s features under the golden sunlight. The way it shone into his eyes created a light brown, almost golden hue. The dewy residue on the grass left from yesterday’s rain seemed to make the grass behind him sparkle. If you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve thought you were still asleep, caught in a frivolous dream that you would’ve dreaded to ever awaken from. Has your mind been playing tricks on you? Or was the man that flooded your mind the night prior truly indulging you in an act of grace, carefully cradling your waist as if you were made of glass, just to make sure you got home safe?

You watched as Joseph clicked the button for the elevator, gently guiding you inside as your eyes still struggled to stay open. Come to think of it, for the past 48 hours you had only gotten about 2 hours of sleep. The night before your first day, you were so anxious that you couldn’t fall asleep until 4:00am, two hours before you had to wake up. And just the night prior, you couldn’t sleep at all. That little amount of sleep really did a number on you.

Once the elevator got to the sixth floor, Joseph walked with you until you got to your front door.

“We’re here,” Joseph gently nudged you.

“Oh, already?” You looked up at your door, then to Joseph, “thank you, Joseph. You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble. I could have just called a taxi or something. But really, thank you. This was.. a very extravagant favor of you to do for me. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you did all of this,” you rambled, looking at the floor as your face burned red and your chest almost exploded with warmth and fuzziness.

“Really, it’s no problem (First Name). I wanted to make sure you got home safe. I’m surprised you even came into work today with how exhausted you must be. Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Joseph added, motioning for you to unlock your door.

After fumbling around with your keys and finally finding the right one, you pushed your door open and quickly kicked off your shoes. Being the gentleman that he is, Joseph also made sure to remove his shoes before walking further into your apartment.

You scurried over to your couch, not even bothering to make it to your bed. You sloppily flopped down onto your couch, the soft pillows making you lightly bounce up and down. The soft cushions felt like heaven to your muscles as you grabbed a pillow to rest your head on.

The corners of his mouth softly curved upwards into a small smile, admiring how peaceful you looked. After taking in the sight for a few seconds longer, he quickly looked around for a blanket to put over your sleeping form.

After finding a soft plaid blanket that had been neatly folded atop one of your shelves, he gently placed the blanket on top of you, careful not to disturb your slumber. He carefully knelt down next to you, before carefully whispering, “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, (First Name) but–” he stopped in his tracks when he realized you had already fallen asleep, a small chuckle escaping from his chest.

He sighed a bit before tucking a strand of your hair out of your face and behind your ear. As if on impulse, he planted a small kiss on your cheek before finally standing back up. As much as he wished he could stay with you for longer, he needed to check up on Sebastian. Who for all he knew, was drinking himself to death.

Hastily ripping out a page in his notebook, he wrote down a small message for you when you awoke. Leaving it on your coffee table, he paid you one last glance before finally making his way back to your front door. Gently shutting the door behind him, he let out a breath that he hadn’t even known he was holding in.

“(First & Last Name), you’re going to be the death of me.”

and this marks the end of chapter 3!!! i hope this wasnt too boring </3 i promise the next chapter is going to be much much more entertaining than this one LOL quick silly little thing i did: i made the reader's apartment number floor 6 apartment number 1 because joseph's bday is 6/1!

#joseph oda x reader #joseph oda #the evil within #the evil within 2 #sebastian castellanos #juli kidman #tew x reader #reader insert #fanfic #fanfiction

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