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lutawolf · 1 year

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TharnType Episode 2

I received a lot of feedback asking me to not stop these reviews. I'm not shying away from the ugly or the toxic guys. I'm facing them head on and recognizing them, but that doesn't mean I can't still love the characters and their story. To quote @idlebeks "Toxic characters have an important place in fiction. They can act as vehicles of catharsis and self-examination" And there is nothing wrong with enjoying the show as you make these revelations. It's actually what makes these self revelations easier to take in.

So we left off with Tharn having crossed the line, but we cheered, cause revenge. And who hasn't wanted revenge? In the cold light of morning, we laugh because Type squeezes the shoulder as if it's a boob, but we have to admit this feels awkward. Not gonna lie, the first time I saw this, I laughed. But the look of horror and remembering he is an SA had me throw up. How conflicting is that! As an SA, I'm programmed to want revenge, but seeing the revenge on an SA has me pausing and stepping back.

Type pulls the blanket over his head and there is this need to laugh. Because a grown boy is hiding. But that grown boy has reverted back to the past when he was a boy with no way to fight and could only hide. Tharn calls him a coward. This is why Type is hypermasculine because anytime weakness is show it's used against him. Remember how Techno said that he was made fun of and asked if he'd been molested. Any time Type shows weakness, it's used. It's just like earlier this week, I was told anon that I wasn't really a survivor, they were trying to exploit what they perceived as a weakness. But I'm a survivor, not a victim, so I'm hella harder to hurt. Type is still a victim and his weaknesses are being exploited.

Tharn asks Type if he is crying, and Type says no and gets aggressive. He's putting that armor on. You can see that Tharn is feeling bad about what he did. We get some humor to combat all these emotions, and it really does help us to kind of take a break and breath. It's the humor of his butt hurting from falling off the bed to finding the hickeys.

I love the conversation between Techno and Type. Type is pissed because Techno left him, and honestly, I think that's valid. But Techno says, and I quote, "Stop right there! This whole thing is your fault. You got yourself drunk when you knew exactly who you were with." but I've never heard this part brought up and talked about. Most likely because Type is a male and not female. In Techno's book, he gets drunk, and he has sex with Kla, Kla being completely sober and taking advantage of Techno's drunken state. Afterward, Techno feels responsible and later Type will say, "How did this happen. I made sure you were safe and in your house." Type is with Tharn when Techno's book is written, but that moment had a significance to Type. He made sure to try and keep Techno from having the same experience as him.

But when he finds out that in Techno's drunken state, he crawled into the wrong bed. He repeats Techno's words back to him. Are you seeing the multifaucet of the author? This lets us know a few things, that this is likely a common thought process in Thailand. But she switched the script, making the person male, and few people caught and noticed. Then she went on to take revenge on the person who said this, and everyone was mad because they love Techno and things like this shouldn't happen. But they didn't originally feel that way when it was Type. I fucking love how deep MAME takes her books.

Type suddenly doesn't want to switch rooms. He has unfinished business with his roommate. Is it true, or is he feeling a draw? There is a thin line between love and hate sometimes. And we have another victim, and we see how differently two SA survivors can be. One putting on an armor of hate and the other hiding from the world, afraid.

Tharn starting to feel guilty. We see it in his long puppy dog face. Then Type eats his snacks. "I ate it. So what." We see Tharn bitch about this but then smile at the sticky note and keep it. This indicates that he intended for Type to eat the snacks. Was it to help with his guilt, or because he too is feeling a pull that he'd much rather deny?

The whole porn group chat was hilarious. I also like how all the girls were like ew, like girls don't like porn. To be fair, I hate porn, for very personal reasons, but I do like the porn from these shows. It's the romance, romance changes the whole dialect. Anyway, he's got his tissue box and is ready to go to town. And then the getting caught. Legendary. It's like that horrifying moment when you lose your bikini bottoms in the water and come up mooning everybody.

The next part literally had me leaning over and being sick, but let's talk about it. Type pushed too far and pushed Tharn into an anger that he couldn't come back from. Remember how I said hate can push people to do ugly acts. Type is strong, but right now his brain has him in two places at once and is telling him that he has the strength of that kid. You know why elephants can be held tied by just one rope on the foot? Because as a baby they tried and tried to break that rope and couldn't. Their spirit was broken, and now the grown adult elephant believes himself weak. Type can be brutal when faced with verbal attacks, but physical attacks take him back to being a boy and weak. It freezes him, and it's very hard to break free from. Are you guys starting to see why I say that MAME knows too much about victims and survivors. How many of you who aren't survivors understood any of this prior to my review?

Now that, I've been sick about three times. So Type is about to spiral into self-hate. "Why am I so weak, how could I let this happen again, why didn't I fight harder, why am I weak. Did this happen because I deserved it." Yeah, pretty nasty verbiage that goes on in our heads. This is why therapy is a fucking must. I also want to talk about if you were unbothered by that scene, and you are a survivor. It doesn't matter how you reacted to that scene, we all handle our survival differently. You don't go around hurting people. Let yourself off the hook for how your brain chooses to cope.

Tharn is finally starting to think. Flashing back and putting some things together. Notice he doesn't talk to his bestie the way Type talks to his. That suggest that on some level, Tharn knew not to trust him. After the flashback, Tharn decides not to stay to eat. We then see Type tossing and turning in bed. He's having PTSD nightmares. Actually, nightmares are one of the primary symptoms that help to achieve the diagnosis of PTSD, because they aren't just regular nightmares. They lock you into place. When it comes to PTSD nightmares, what you dream can be just as terrifying as the original event.

Tharn walks in on the nightmare. He is very lucky he was not hurt. In a dream state, we will fight back. I have punched my husband. I'm not kidding, I've really hurt my husband when I've been in the throes of a PTSD nightmare. Comfort is a necessity and something that Tharn freely gives. I'm gonna be honest. The slap was expected for me. Imagine waking up from a living nightmare and seeing the person responsible for you going back to that. "What the hell was that for? I helped wake you up!" Why do people incite a riot and then get mad when you riot? Neither one of them are guiltless. Which is why they are actually very perfect for each other.

See how hard Tharn verbally hits, "I was kind enough to help a grown man who is afraid of nightmares." He let his anger take over and allows him to say ugly things. That's the point, neither person is fully good or fully bad, but they are controlled by their extreme emotions. It's leading them to be people that neither one wants to be. "I'm not afraid of nightmares. Back off if you don't know anything." Tharn softly asks, "then what are you afraid of?" but Type is hurt, and he'll put on his armor of anger. "Nothing! I'm not afraid of anything." That hypermasculinity to hide that he has any weaknesses. Tharn once again soft but then his voice raises in the end with his frustration, "do you expect me to believe that when you are trembling and crying. Stop being cocky." Completely unaware that he couldn't have said anything worse. They've both vicious cycle hurt each other with words, not yet willing to look at the other person's pain.

Fuck me guys! Do you really not see the beauty in this show? Type begins crying and holding himself. Doing self soothing gestures as he says, "I didn't ask for help." I'm not weak, I didn't ask for help. Therapy, people, therapy is the only way through this. We all wish there was a magical dick or pussy that can cure us. That's in part why we love this show, but it really can't.

We see Tharn looking into the mirror and the mix of emotions. A lot of times mirrors in art are used to reflect truths because mirrors can't tell a lie. The idea is that mirrors reflect a hidden truth, perhaps a window, a more realistic version of ourselves. The image that appears in a mirror can be thought of as being more revealing than surface appearance.

The stress has caused Type to become sick. Which happens, you have an anxiety attack with PTSD, it's like having a heart attack and can cause your body to overload. So yes, it is a real thing to stress yourself into being sick.

Techno calls a moody and sad puppy, Tharn, over to ask if Type is badly sick. Tharn offers to check on Type and steals the porridge from Techno. At this point, I think we can all safely assume that Tharn is gone on Type. Type is an asshole sure but before the whole gay reveal, they got along, they matched well. Then add in the fact that there are all these strong emotions flying around. Attractions were bound to happen, but Tharn is also a caretaker and Type is in need of caring. There are people who are naturally drawn to co-dependency.

Tharn takes care of Type as he has a fever and seeing the puppy dog Type does him in. You can see it happening. He started to feel the attraction at the soft and vulnerable Type, even if he doesn't want to admit it, and seeing it while he is sick is making the attraction stronger. Here is the thing. Type needs this. Type left the Island and his parents to get away. Whose really taken care of him? He clearly hasn't had therapy. He is starved for real love and affection, but he is too afraid of being called weak. They honestly are brilliantly imperfectly perfect for each other. And that's all us survivors want, we want someone to get past our walls and love us despite the ever present thorns.

Techno says it best when he agrees to not tell Type about Tharn nursing. "You two are equally weird." Type keeps questioning who cared for him because he is extremely smart. In the book this is brought up a lot, he is book and street smart. He knows it wasn't Techno that took care of him. Type pretends to be asleep when Tharn checks him for a fever, and Tharn calls him on it. Again, we get that comic relief. When things are too tense, we get something to help us take a moment.

Did you happen to notice them talk about Kla in the part where Techno and Type are playing video games. Techno's brother comes in with snacks from Kla who got them in Japan, and he hands the whole bag to Techno. Now if your best friend gave you snack from Japan, you just gonna give them away to your brother? Well yes, if your said best friend tells you to because he has a massive crush on your said brother. You guys think Type is bad, Kla is bad. Kla don't give a shit about nobody but Techno. He will use and abuse for Techno's attention. The only thing that keeps him in check is Type and his fear of him.

Techno is not as innocent as you guys think. He purposely lets slip that Tharn took care of him to Type. Remember me saying that Techno is the neutralizer here. That you get the truth from him. Three sides to everything, well Techno is the third as the truth. He tells Type, "Why didn't you realize it was the person you hate, your enemy, that cared for you because you know that's not me." Basically telling Type how great Tharn his and that he was well aware that it was Tharn that took care of him, but he didn't want to admit it. "If it had been me, you would have ended up in the hospital. Tharn is the right guy for this kind of stuff." He is telling us that Tharn is a caretaker.

One act of kindness did what anger could not do. It got through. Is Type a completely changed or better person. Not yet, but that true act of kindness created a crack. Where anger and hatred just created more divide. There are reasons why you can't match hatred with hatred. Story time. I grew up with someone who would later be an infamous killer, I won't say who, otherwise it will lead you right to where I live. Suffice it to say when I found out he had been executed, I cried like a fucking baby. And guys, I don't cry. But this person who had hurt, so many, was one of the few people to treat me with incredible kindness when I was harassed in school. Maybe if more people had shown him kindness, like he had shown me. Then maybe we both could have been saved. When the urge to hate happens. I think of that. I don't know what someone else is going through or what burden they are carrying, and could my one act of kindness to their hate be the ripple effect.

I sometimes debate on if I get to person. I do it because for me this is part live journal and writing. When I write a review, I'm honestly not trying to write for the audience as much as I'm trying to just convey my feelings. Which is why this got so freaking long. I'm kind of horrified at how long this got. Think I might go hide myself in music. So sorry about that, but hopefully you guys enjoy some of it. Thank You 💜💜💜

#tharntype #luta talks tharntype #bl series #thai bl series #luta opinion

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inu-jiru · 10 months

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How I Would’ve Written “Unhappy Campers”

Big shocker, I didn’t like the new episode, lol. However, I’m at the point where it’s no longer funny to rip these episodes apart. It’s more depressing because I can see the ideas for interesting stuff within the episodes, but the execution is so atrocious because the writing team need everything to be wacky and silly and horny 24/7. So rather than my usual rambling, I’m gonna explain how I would’ve written the episode if I were the one in charge of it.

- First, I’d change the initial scene as Blitzo going to the rehab center because they’re required to contact a family member when someone is being released. Him trying to track Barbie down and force an interaction is going against the whole point of Truth Seekers, and, again, makes him look like a selfish creep that I really can’t feel sorry for. Blitzo waiting for an invitation could show that he’s actually trying to respect boundaries more. He could be contacted at work and that could be the reason he sends Millie and Moxxie to handle IMP. (I know Loona was MIA in this episode because ofc she was but if I had to put her in, I’d have her go with Blitzo. I feel he’d want her to meet her “aunt” now that she’s sober.) Of course, they find out that Barbie isn’t there because she booked it, rather than following protocol and waiting to be picked up. This could make Loona curious as to why Barbie would not want Blitzo to get her and we could maybe get a few lines from Blitzo hinting at what happened between him and his sister. Blitzo fears that Barbie might get herself hurt or go back to the drugs, so this is his motivation for tracking her down.

- Moxxie and Millie’s plot starts the same with the mysterious drowning of the camper, but I would modify so that she’s killed by some strange, demon (Before this episode, my theory was that imps can’t give themselves disguises, and for the sake of consistency, I’m applying that theory to Barbie for this rewrite). This interests M&M because this implies that there could be another IMP taking jobs on Earth, or something else entirely. I’m scrapping all the nonsense crossdressing sing-songy shit because it’s pointless. Instead, Moxxie and Millie come to Earth in the dead of night and sneak around in the shadows while they investigate for suspicious activity. Conflict between M&M could appear when Millie grows impatient with the sneaking and waiting. She wants to rush in and start hacking away at anyone who vaguely fits the description they were given. Moxxie could start growing frustrated trying to wrangle Millie in, and maybe, in a moment of frustration, say that she’s acting like a child, or something else that might remind Millie of how much her family belittles her for being a glass cannon. Millie could storm off, and although Moxxie loves her, he welcomes having some time to himself so that he can focus. Millie, as she’s alone, stumbles across a scene where an imp is drowning another victim, and Millie feels that she can prove Moxxie wrong by rushing in and taking the imp down by herself. However, Barbie still has her agility from the circus, and is far too nimble for Millie to get a good hit in.

- We could cut back to Hell after Barbie’s attack with Blitzo deciding to cut his losses and asking for help. He begrudgingly visits Stolas in the hospital so that he can ask him to show Barbie’s location. Stolas tries to flirt and make things about their relationship, but Blitzo would brush him off once he gets the info he needs, further proving to Stolas that Blitzo does not want him (because I’m petty like that). They see Barbie and Millie in a heated battle. Blitzo, in a panic, asks for a portal so that he can help Millie, and he and Loona hurry to Earth.

- Moxxie, meanwhile, is having no progress, and the lack of Millie to keep him company is getting to him. He tries to be stubborn, as he’s certain that he wasn’t in the wrong during their fight, but perhaps seeing the synergy between campers (maybe he sees a couple by the fire having s’mores or talking to each other after their own off-screen scuffle) makes him realize that he needs to properly communicate with Millie if they’re going to work through their differences. He decides to go and find her, but ends up hearing the scuffle.

- Back with Barbie, she lashes out at Blitzo for looking for her, and it’s slowly revealed in their argument why she chose to run to Earth rather than let him help her (I don’t know what the canon reasoning is, probably something to do with the Circus, but that’s just speculation). Maybe the idea of staying in Hell was just so awful to Barbie that she decided she would rather live in self-exile on Earth rather than risk facing the past again. As for how she got to Earth, she could’ve asked a Succubus to let her through one of their portals (or simply snuck through after them). While the idea seemed good, at first, Barbie actually has no idea what she’s doing and how she’s going to start a life on Earth. She kills humans out of fear that she’ll be hunted down if word spreads about her existence. Blitzo tries to reach out to her again, but Barbie is still afraid of the past. The climax could go one of two ways: either Barbie is talked down into coming home and facing the past with her brother at her side, or, tragically, she forces IMP to kill her so that she doesn’t have to make a choice. I feel the former would be better because Blitzo and Barbie growing together in future episodes could be interesting. Actually, this could work as a final push that helps Millie to reconcile with Moxxie.

Anyway, I think that’s everything. It might not be perfect, but I feel like it does the job a lot better than whatever the fuck Adam wrote, lol. I could possibly steal some of these ideas for my own AU, but we’ll see.

#helluva spoilers #helluva boss critical #helluva boss rewrite #unhappy campers hb #long post #I'm telling you there's some kind of make you more creative drug inside each episode that does something to me

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bitchinfawkseh · 1 month

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Heaven Knows Your Name, I've Been Praying: Chapter 17

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Summary: Bela gets in the way yet again while they are working on a case.

W.C: 7324

Warnings: Child abuse, molestation (only a victim sharing their story).

[A/N] extensive trigger warning for the beginning of the chapter! If you're sensitive to sexual assault inflicted on children please skip past it! I'd like to make clear that it is just someone sharing their story and it is not the actual act of it happening. I am splitting this specific episode (3.06) into two chapters for time purposes and for a better reading experience!

Masterlist | AO3

It's been a week, one week since they decided to take things to the next level. To make things official. Since then, they'd been sneaking around like teenagers. They wanted to keep their relationship low-key for the first little while. Sam and Carlos would be quite annoying and tease them, and they weren't ready to deal with that yet.

Dean's lips worked over Cheryl's in a passionate haste, she was absolutely intoxicating most of the time. He couldn't get enough of her, she smelt good, she tasted good, she felt good. He had her pinned in the backseat of Baby as it was one of the only places they could sneak off to. Dean traced his hands down her waist, stopping just shy of her hips when she grabbed his wrist. He pulled away from her and raised his brows, “Everything okay?” He asked. Cheryl's lips thinned and she swallowed hard, she wasn't ready to go there yet. To be honest, she was scared to. “I – I just, uh, I don't want to do that yet… I'm sorry.” She whispered shyly.

This wasn't the first time Cheryl had rejected his advances. In fact, it was the third. But it was the first time she said anything about it, and he was a little worried. Dean climbed off of her and sat with his back to the window. He offered her a hand to help her up, which she accepted, and that's when he decided to ask. “Is everything like… okay? Do you have the syph or something?” Her eyes widened immediately and she shook her head frantically. “What?! No! Why would you think that?” She questioned.

“Well, uh, not that it's a problem or anything – but I'm kinda worried I guess. You don't wanna go there yet and I get it but I'm just wondering why…?” Dean asked hesitantly.

Cheryl sucked in a sharp breath and looked down at her feet. She was scared to tell him, scared that he'd see her differently or think that she was disgusting. Everything was going so well so far, she didn't want to mess it up with her problems. She bit her inner cheek, hard and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “If I tell you something will you promise that you won't judge me?” She whispered.

“I won't,” Dean promised quickly. Cheryl was silent for a bit, trying to build up the courage to tell him. In an attempt to comfort her, Dean took one of her hands and gave it a gentle squeeze. Whatever it was, he knew it was hard for her to talk about.

“It's, um… it's difficult… for me to be intimate with someone new – especially if I am sober.” Cheryl started in a hoarse whisper. She kept staring at her feet but held onto Dean's hand tight. He was like her anchor, keeping her grounded. “It's hard… because I– I was, uh…” Cheryl closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. Her heart was racing and she suddenly felt very hot, like she was about to puke. “It's hard because… my Father – he… touched me as a child. For years.” She whimpered. Cheryl glanced up at the fabric roof of the Impala and blinked back her tears. “Six to fourteen, that was my life. And I didn't get lucky, I remember everything.” Her bottom lip wobbled and she sniffled. Cheryl didn't have the strength to look at Dean, she didn't want to see the disgust on his face, the hatred. “I finally told my Mom shortly after I got my period because I was scared that he was gonna… you know… so that night, we packed up a few things into garbage bags and my Abuelo drove us to the border. And then we never saw him again.”

Dean had stopped breathing, his heart was pounding in his ears and his hands had become clammy. He had never wanted to hunt something down and kill it more in his entire life. That man – her Father – was no human. He was a monster who hurt a child. A child. He didn't know what to say, he didn't know how to comfort her. Was he supposed to tell her that everything was okay? That he's here and he still wants her? Dean withdrew his hand from her grasp and rubbed it on his jeans in an attempt to get rid of the sweat, but that was the wrong thing to do. Cheryl finally let out a sob and turned to face him, her eyes full of tears. “Please don't hate me.” She cried. “Please don't – please.” She begged. Dean's face fell and he immediately swept her into a hug and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Sweetheart, no, no, no… I don't hate you – no, I could never hate you for something like that.” He soothed. He stroked her hair and swallowed hard, listening to her muffled sobs. “It wasn't your fault, yeah? You know that, right? You were a kid, Cher. Just a kid.”

Cheryl hiccuped and buried her face into his chest, curling into him as if she wanted to become one. “I mean, I could have told someone sooner – I had eight years to tell someone.” She sniffled.

“Hey, it's not your fault. He's the fucked up one, not you Cheryl. Not you.” Dean rubbed her back in gentle circles and kissed her forehead. “You can take as much time as you need, all right? We don't gotta do anything until you're ready. We'll go as slow as you want.” He told her. He wanted to make sure that she knew that he was here, he was going to wait as long as she needed. She was brave enough to tell him what happened to her, so it was his job to make sure she felt safe and happy.

“You can always say no, and you don't have to apologize for it either. You want me to stop? Fuckin’ punch me.” Dean said, dead serious. Cheryl smiled a little bit and squinted up at him, her eyelashes were sopping wet. “I don't want to punch you…” She whispered. Dean pursed his lips together and stared down at her sweetly. Then, he got an idea. “Hm, why don't we have a safe word? Like – outside of sex. So if things were getting too heavy for you or you're uncomfortable, you can say it and we will stop.” He suggested.

Cheryl perked up, “A safe word? Like what?”

“Anything you want. You pick.”

“Okay… what about… binky?”

“Binky?”

“Yeah – when would we ever say binky?”

“Good point. Binky it is then.”

Dean continued to stroke her hair and his lips thinned into a straight line. “Is… there, uh, anything you wanna talk about?” He asked. Cheryl shook her head and continued to rest on his chest comfortably. “No… can we just… stay like this for a while?”

He smiled, “Of course.”

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Cheryl was eternally grateful that Dean had not made anything weird, he treated her the exact same as before, and she appreciated it.

She was in the middle of doing her eyeliner in front of the bathroom mirror when a knock sounded at the door. Cheryl opened the door and poked her head out, grinning when the person at the door was Dean. “Come in.” She said before returning her attention to her makeup. Dean stepped inside and closed the door behind him, he was in a simple suit – the pants didn't match the jacket and the tie was blue and striped with white. “Hey, how are you doing?” He asked softly. Cheryl smiled and raised her brows as she inspected his outfit in the mirror. “Good… you look cute.”

“Cute? Seriously?” He scoffed. Cheryl let out a little giggle and turned to face him, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “Cute.” She repeated. Dean smirked and stared down at her, if she wanted to call him cute, he'd be cute, for her. “Your makeup looks good.” He whispered. He gestured towards her smokey eye and pouted his lips together. “The, uh, eyeshadow? Looks cool.”

“Oh, gracias.” Cheryl smiled.

“Yeah, no problem.” Dean nodded. He adjusted his tie and raised his chin, briefly admiring himself in the mirror. “Sam and I are gonna head out and question the victim's family. Do you want me to grab you anything on the way back?” He asked.

Cheryl hummed, “Um, maybe a coffee?” She glanced up at him and smiled again when he leaned down to kiss her. It was quick and sweet, which she liked. They haven't had any heavy makeout sessions since the conversation in the Impala, Dean didn't want to make her uncomfortable. “Sure thing, sweetheart.” He muttered against her lips. He fixed his tie one last time before shimmying past Cheryl and leaving the bathroom. “See you soon.” He said before closing the door, leaving her to finish her makeup in privacy. Cheryl couldn't help but beam, things weren't weird anymore, they were together, and he made her happy. “See you…” She murmured.

Sam and Dean inspected a photograph of the young woman who fell victimized by what they thought was some water-bound ghost. The old woman who they were interviewing – her Aunt – was a little confused about why she had to answer all of these questions again.

“I don't understand. I already went over all of this with the other detectives.” She sighed. Dean let out a discreet nervous chuckle and nodded in understanding. “Right, yes. But, see, we're with the Sheriff's Department, not the police department – different departments.” He grinned hopefully, he didn't want her to question their reliability anymore. Sam’s lips thinned, “So… Mrs. Case.”

“Please,” She smiled, batting her eyelashes at Sam. “Ms. Case.”

“Okay… um, Ms. Case, um, you were the one who found your niece, correct?”

“Yes, I came home. She was in the shower.”

“Drowned?” Sam asked.

“So the coroner says. Now, you tell me, how can someone drown in the shower?”

“How would you describe Sheila's behaviour in the days before her death? I mean, did she seem frightened? Maybe she said something out of the ordinary, or…?”

Gert, the old woman, squinted at the two of them before her eyes widened as she dawned on the realization. She gasped, “Wait a minute. You're working with Alex, aren't you?” Dean's brows shot up before he nodded fervently, “Yep. Absolutely. That's – Alex and us, we're like this.” He laughed awkwardly. Gert smiled wide, her eyes crinkled as she did which made her crow's feet more prominent. “Why didn't you say so? Alex has been such a comfort. But I’m sorry. I thought the case was solved.” She replied.

“Uh, well – no. Not yet.” Sam said.

Gert pursed her thin ruby-stained lips together, “I see…”

“So, anyways, we were talking about your niece.” Sam continued.

“Well, yes. Sheila mentioned something quite strange before she died. She said she saw a boat.”

“A boat?” Dean asked.

“Yes. One minute it was there, then it was gone. It just disappeared right before her eyes. Do you think it could be a ... ghost ship? Alex thinks it could be a ghost ship.” Gert didn't even bother to look at Dean, she only stared intently at Sam. All Dean could think was: what a cougar.

Sam swallowed hard and his brows knitted together, he was a little thrown off by her infatuation with him – and vaguely uncomfortable. “Well… um… could be.” He replied. Gert nodded and held her chin high, “You let me know if there's anything I can do for you,” Slowly, Gert traced her finger up Sam's hand and under the cuff of his suit. When he flinched, she smirked. “Anything at all.” She said.

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Dean and Sam strolled along the docks, paying no attention to the large array of boats that crowded the water. Dean clicked his tongue and shook his head, “What a crazy old broad…” He muttered under his breath.

“Why? Because she believes in ghosts?” Sam questioned with a raised brow. Dean smirked and shot him a look, “Look at you, stickin’ up for your girlfriend. You cougar hound.” Sam snorted and tucked his hands into his pockets, hearing that from his brother was amusing. “Yeah? Says you. You can't even ask out the girl you like.”

Dean grit his teeth, “Bite me.” Jokes on him, he did ask out the girl he likes, and she said yes. All of Sam's teasing was just plain wrong now, and he got a kick out of it.

“Yeah, you wish. So, who's this Alex you think?” Sam asked. Dean shrugged and pouted his lips together, he didn't really care. As long as they didn't get in the way of each other. “Doesn't change our job.” He replied. He glanced up at Sam, “And what looked like a ghost ship too, right?”

“Yeah, it's not the first one spotted either.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Every 37 years, like clockwork, reports of a vanishing three-mast clipper ship out in the bay. And every 37 years, a rash of weirdo, dry-land drownings.”

“So whatever's happening, it's just getting started.” Dean sighed.

Sam's nostrils flared, “Yeah… and the lore –there are apparitions of old wrecks sighted all over the world. The S.S. Violet, the Griffin, the Flying Dutchman – almost all of them are death omens.”

“So, what happens? You see the ship and then a few hours later, you pucker up and kiss your ass goodbye?”

“Basically.” Sam sighed. “I gotta I.D. the boat.”

“That shouldn't be too hard. I mean, how many three-mast clipper ships have wrecked off the coast?” Dean snorted.

“I checked that too, actually. Over one hundred and fifty.” Sam replied. Dean's face fell and he swallowed hard, well – that made their job unnecessarily hard. “Shit.” He muttered under his breath as they approached where he parked the Impala. When all they saw was an empty parking spot, Dean glanced around frantically. “This is where we parked the car, right?” He asked.

“I thought so.”

“Where's my car?”

“Did you feed the metre?” Sam questioned, a little smug. Dean clenched his jaw and his nostrils flared, this was the worst thing that could possibly happen – losing the Impala. “Yes! I fed the metre! Sam, where's my car? Somebody stole my car!” He yelled, his voice starting to rise in pitch.

“Hey – hey – hey! Calm down, Dea–”

“I am calmed down!” Dean yelled. He hunched over and began to hyperventilate, overwhelmed by the possibility that someone stole his car. “Someone stole my–” He let out a strained breath and clutched his knees. Sam glanced around before noticing that Dean was gasping for air and he rushed to his side. “Woah! Dean, take it easy.” He soothed. Sam knew that they'd find the Impala, it was an easy car to spot – sleek and hard to miss. Plus, it wasn't like they didn't have any other forms of transportation. Carlos had his truck, and Cheryl was working on getting her bike up and running. It being out of commission for so long killed the battery and she had to do some minor repairs that she had been putting off.

“The sixty-seven Impala? Was that yours?” Bela asked as she sauntered towards the pair, a smug grin on her face. Bela – that bitch. “I'm sorry, I had that car towed.” She said coolly. Dean's face contorted and he clenched his fists, “You what?!” He shouted.

“Well, it was in a tow-away zone.”

“No, it wasn't!”

“It was when I finished with it.” She flipped her silky pale brown hair off of her shoulder and smirked. The last time she saw them, she stole lotto tickets from them – and they had won a pretty penny. Dean's brows knitted together and his nose wrinkled, “What the hell are you even doing here?” He demanded.

Bela shrugged, “A little yachting.”

“You're Alex. You're working with that old lady.” Sam breathed.

She smirked, “Gert's a dear old friend.”

Dean scoffed, “Yeah, right. What's your angle?”

“There's no angle. There's a lot of lovely old women like Gert up and down the eastern seaboard. I sell them charms, perform séances so they can commune with their dead cats.”

“And let me guess, it's all a con. None of it is real.”

“The comfort I provide them is authentic.”

Sam looked her up and down with nothing but judgment in his eyes. “How do you sleep at night?” He questioned, meaning it to be more rhetoric than anything. Bela smirked and held her chin high, “On silk sheets, rolling naked in money.” She answered. Dean's brows knitted together and his lip curled, he didn't mean to picture it – and the thought disgusted him. He'd much rather picture his girlfriend.

His girlfriend. Dean grinned, he was still getting used to calling Cheryl his girlfriend.

Bela tilted her head and pouted her lips together, “Really, Sam. I'd expect the attitude from him, but you?”

“You shot me!” He hissed through his teeth.

“I barely grazed you.”

“You do know what's going on around here. This ghost-ship thing, it is real.” Dean said, chanting the topic. Sam was being a bit of a drama queen about being shot by Bela, all he needed was a band-aid after the fact. Bela sighed and rolled her eyes, glad that he brought that up. “I'm aware. Thanks for telling Gert the case wasn't solved, by the way.”

“It isn't,” Dean said firmly.

“She didn't know that. Now the old bag's stopped payment and she's demanding some real answers. Look... just stay out of my way before you cause any more trouble. I'd get to that car if I were you... before they find the arsenal in the trunk.” Bela took a few steps away from them before spinning on her heel. “Ciao.” She grinned before walking off.

Dean glared venomously at her and grit his teeth, he was still ticked off by the fact that she had his car towed. “Can I shoot her?” He asked Sam bitterly. Sam, who was also glaring at Bela, shook his head and glanced around. “Not in public.” He answered in a murmur.

––––––––––––––––––––––––

Thankfully, Dean had gotten the Impala back before going back to the motel – and he had gotten Cheryl a coffee as she requested. A sugary vanilla frappuccino with loads of whipped cream. To him, it was nauseating, but she liked it and that was all that mattered.

Dean set her drink down in front of her and then passed Carlos a berry smoothie. Cheryl smiled up at him, “Gracias, Dean.” She said gratefully. Carlos nodded as he gulped back maybe about a quarter of the drink. “Yeah,” he burped, “thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Dean replied. He glanced over at Sam as he passed him to go to one of the private bedrooms in the room to change. Carlos wanted to splurge on the one with private bedrooms, which wasn't much of a big deal because Dean would just sneak into Cheryl's room after everyone had gone to bed. It was actually kind of perfect.

“Remember that chick Bela I told you about? Yeah, she's here and the bitch had my car towed.” Dean grumbled as he plopped down on the sofa. Cheryl's eyes widened and her lips parted, “Seriously? Did you get it back?”

“Oh yeah, she's in the parking lot – but I had to pay a shit ton for the tow.”

“Oh my God, that sucks.” Cherly sighed, shaking her head. Carlos didn't say anything, he only pulled out his wallet and fished out about two hundred bucks. He didn't know how much the tow cost, nor did he care. “This enough?” He asked as he tossed the cash at Dean. Dean stared at the cash in his lap with wide eyes before glancing up at Carlos. “Uh, yeah – why?”

“I like to help the less fortunate.” Carlos grinned. He sipped on his smoothie and set it down, “Plus, you got me this so I oughta repay you. I hate having debts.”

“It was like… three bucks man…”

“Then you owe me a shit ton of smoothies.”

Cheryl sent Carlos a warning look, “Enough, Carlos. He doesn't owe you anything because you decided to give him money.”

He sighed, “I know, just teasing.” When Cheryl had looked away, Carlos deadpanned at Dean and slowly shook his head. Silently telling him that he wasn't just teasing. Cheryl flipped through the pages of notes she took, it was mostly on drowning-related incidents in the area. “What did you guys get from the family?” She asked in a hum. Sam, who had finally come out of his room in fresh, comfortable clothes, answered for Dean. “Well, she believes in ghosts and said that her niece saw a ghost ship before she died.”

Cheryl cocked a brow, “A ghost ship?”

“Uh-huh.” Dean sighed before forcing himself to change himself. He'd rather not lounge in a suit for the rest of the day.

Cheryl pursed her lips together and looked back at Carlos, “Let's look into some old ship documentation – wrecks, maybe we can find something.” She suggested. Sam pulled out a chair parallel to Cheryl and sat down at the table. “Yeah, we can get started. Why don't you and Dean go get some dinner?” Sam suggested. She had to act nonchalant now, she couldn't show that she was excited to spend alone time with Dean – to spend alone time with her boyfriend. “Alright,” She sighed. “Text me what you guys want, we're gonna stop at the drugstore too. I need nicotine patches.” She said. Carlos raised a brow, “You're gonna try to quit smoking again?”

“Might as well.”

“Good for you.” He smiled.

Cheryl passed Sam her pages of notes littered with grammar and spelling mistakes. “Might help.” She said. When Dean came out of his room, sporting his blue jeans, grey shirt and blue overshirt, Cheryl greeted him with a smile. “Get your shoes on, we're grabbing food and going to the store.”

“Oh sweet, I'm fucking starving.” He grinned as he rubbed his stomach. Cheryl shrugged on a grey sweatshirt and smiled faintly, “Yes, I know. You haven't eaten since lunch I suspect.” She said, and she was right. The only thing he's had to eat today was eggs and bacon, and a cheeseburger at lunch. Dean didn't get a soda like he wanted either – Cheryl made him drink water. Cheryl slipped on some sneakers and glanced back at Sam and Carlos. “Remember to text me your orders, guys. Or you aren't getting anything.”

“Yeah, yeah. On it.” Carlos mumbled.

––––––––––––––––––––––––

Dean had one hand on the steering wheel, and the other was set on Cheryl's thigh comfortably. “Whatcha need from the store?” Dean asked. Cheryl stared out the window and placed her hand over top of his. “Nicotine patches, I'm gonna try to quit again.”

“Oh sweet, any reason?”

“I just want to, it's a bad habit.”

“Well, I'm proud of you, babe.” He smiled, sending her a quick look. Cheryl flushed and wrapped her fingers around his, loosely holding his hand. “Gracias, cariño.”

“What does that one mean?”

“Dear.” Cheryl hummed. She squeezed his hand before releasing it as he pulled into a parking spot in front of a diner. “You can get soda only if you get water from the store, you don't drink enough water and it worries me.”

“Baby, I'm fine – beer has water.”

“Not enough! Your piss is probably mustard yellow, and it's not normal.”

“It isn't?”

Cheryl's jaw dropped and her brows furrowed, she only stared at him – in a state of complete shock. Dean only grinned and climbed out of the Impala, “Close your mouth, I'm kiddin’, babe.” He chuckled.

“You better be, mister. I'm gonna be on your ass now – you have to drink water.”

“But it tastes so gross!”

“It tastes like nothing!”

“Exactly! Nothing is gross!” He groaned. Cheryl rolled her eyes and walked alongside him, their hands brushed against one another every so often, but she didn't move to hold it. She didn't like PDA, she didn't like to see it and she didn't like to participate in it. Maybe her opinion would change once they grew more serious, but as of now, it was a definite no. “You're such a baby, water tastes good.” She teased. Dean let out a heavy playful sigh and held the door open for her as he was the one who reached it first.

“To you, maybe. You're really gonna force me to drink water?” Dean asked with a cocked brow. Cheryl nodded and smiled up at him proudly, “Mhm, it's good for you, cariño. I care about you, and I want you to be healthy.”

“Fuck, I guess I'll start drinking water then.”

“Good boy.” Cheryl grinned. Dean let out a tiny nervous chuckle and followed her to the front counter where you could make to-go orders. He could easily predict what Cheryl was going to order, a BLT with avocado and a large fry. It was her favourite meal, and he was growing to like it too.

Dean stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and leaned down to whisper into her ear: “You think they have pie?”

“I don't know, ask.” She whispered back. A particularly attractive waitress with platinum blonde hair with pink streaks greeted them from the other side of the counter. The waitress was ogling Dean, which Cheryl did not like at all. “What can I get for ya?” The waitress hummed, chewing on her fruity gum obnoxiously. Cheryl's eyes narrowed and she discreetly looked the woman up and down. “Uh, just a BLT combo, and two hamburger combos.” She glanced up at Dean and nudged him gently with her elbow. He didn't tell her what he wanted, and he was a big boy, he could order himself. Dean sent the waitress his typical boyish grin, the same grin that made Cheryl swoon for him at first. “Oh, uh, a BLT combo too, please.” He said.

“Sure thing, sugar.” The waitress winked. Cheryl's brows knitted together and she wrinkled her nose, now that was gross. While she didn't like that the waitress was flirting with her boyfriend, she trusted Dean.

Once the waitress left after they paid, Cheryl leaned against the counter and stared up at Dean. “That was weird. Could you tell she was flirting?” She asked. Dean pursed his lips together and nodded as he shrugged. He did notice, but he didn't care. “Yeah, shoulda told her I have a hot girlfriend.” He grinned. Cheryl couldn't help but smile and ducked her eyes down to her shoes. “Maybe next time.”

“Hey, maybe I could grab your ass as we're leaving? That sends a pretty clear message.”

“No, no. It's okay, it's just weird is all. For some reason, I thought that once we were official, you wouldn't be flirted with anymore.”

“Oh, well, I don't pay attention to it anymore. I've got my eyes solely on you, babe. Nobody else.” Dean said, a light smirk on his face. Cheryl tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and bit her bottom lip. He never failed to make her feel secure – to feel wanted. And once she told him about what her Father did to her, he went above and beyond to make her feel safe and secure.

––––––––––––––––––––––––

Cheryl had just drifted off when Dean crept into her room at around twelve in the morning, she was all wrapped up in the blankets as she didn't expect that he was coming anymore since he took so long. Dean quietly clicked the door shut behind him and scanned the dark room, smiling faintly when he noticed the lump of blankets and Cheryl's thick hair poking out. He then snuck over to his side of the bed that he had wordlessly claimed, set his half-full bottle of water on the nightstand, and climbed under the covers with her.

Dean looped his arms around her waist and nestled his chin into the crook of her neck. She got cold quite easily, she always liked to cuddle with Dean because he was practically a space heater. Cheryl stirred and mumbled something indiscreetly before she turned to face him. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest. So much for spooning – but Dean found that he much preferred this. Something about her wanting to hug him – be close to him – made him feel wanted. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and stroked her hair, reluctantly closing his eyes and succumbing to some much-needed sleep.

Dean's dreams of Cheryl died down once they started to date. Actually: he found that he dreamt nothing now. Which was a bit of a relief, because now that he was sleeping next to her – cuddling with her, it'd be much more noticeable if he had any explicit dreams.

––––––––––––––––––––––––

Outside of a wealthy-looking penthouse, there were police officers littered about, and Bela was impersonating a reporter as she questioned the victim's brother.

Mr. Warren sucked in a breath and ran his hands through his hair which was sticky with sweat. “No. The police said that he drowned, but ... I don't u-understand how…” He stammered, trying to ignore the tape recorder Bela had outstretched towards him. She nodded in understanding and her brows furrowed as she tried to seem sympathetic. “I am so sorry for your loss, Mr. Warren. Now, if you could just tell me one more time about the ship your brother saw.” She soothed. Before Mr. Warren could even answer her, Sam, Dean and Cheryl all in professional wear sauntered up with fake badges raised.

Dean clenched his jaw and glared down at Bela, “Ma'am, I think this man has been through enough. You should go.” He said, a little smug. Bela wrinkled her nose and straightened her posture, she still had the tape recorder outstretched towards the man. “But I just have a couple of more questions.” She argued.

“I think the police hold priority over a reporter,” Cheryl replied coldly. Bela scowled at her and tucked her tongue into her cheek, she had never met Cheryl before, but if she was with the Winchester's, she was clearly just as annoying. But finally, she relented. “Thank you for your time,” Bela said bitterly before turning on her heel and leaving.

Cheryl put a hand over her chest and frowned deeply, “I am so sorry that you had to deal with someone trying to monetize your trauma. I can't imagine how you must feel.”

“Oh… thank you.” Mr. Warren trailed off. Cheryl nodded and crossed her arms against her chest, she was great at working people. Way better than Sam, surprisingly. “Yes… my sincerest condolences, so I heard you say your brother saw a ship?” She asked.

“Yeah, that's right.” He nodded. Dean raised his brows, “Did he tell you what it looked like at all?” Maybe if they got a detailed profile of the ship, they'd be able to identify it more easily and figure out its lore. “It was, uh... like the old Yankee Clippers. A smuggling vessel. The rakish topsail, a barkentine rigging. Angel figurehead on the bow.” Mr. Warren explained.

“That's a lot of detail for a ship your brother saw.” Sam pointed out.

“We were out for a night drive. I saw it too.”

Cheryl's lips parted and her eyes briefly met Sam's before they went to Dean's. If he saw the ship – that meant he was the next to go. She swallowed hard and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear gracefully. She opened her mouth to say something, but then Dean nudged her and discreetly gestured across the road where Bela was talking to some real officers and pointing at them. Shit. She ratted them out. Dean shoved his hands into his pants pockets and sent Mr. Warren a curt nod. “Thank you, we'll be in touch.” He said. Dean was the first to turn to leave, and Sam and Cheryl followed suit.

Cheryl kept up with Dean's quick pace, and her heels scraped against the ground. “That was Bela?” She asked. He nodded once and spared her a glance, “Yeah.”

“Oh… well, she's pretty.”

He scoffed, “Looks can be deceiving.” He shook his head and climbed into the Impala. “You know, she almost got Sammy killed with that rabbit's foot stunt.”

“I was gonna be fine…” Sam mumbled.

“Yeah, if it weren't for me, you woulda died.”

––––––––––––––––––––––––

Birds chirped and flew over the trees, the sun was barely poking out from the clouds and the bare branches. The Impala was still hidden by the foliage somehow though, the woods provided great cover. Before coming here, they stopped at the motel, changed, and dropped Cheryl off at the library with Carlos so that they could ID the boat given the fact that they had a description of it now. Sam and Dean were going to stake out Mr. Warren's house since he was the next predicted victim, maybe they could save him.

Sam was loading a shotgun with rock salt, and Dean was doing the same. They were silent for the most part, but Sam decided to break that silence. “When are you going to tell Cheryl about the deal?” He asked. Dean's lips thinned into a straight line and he let out a deep sigh. He didn't want to tell her – but a part of him knew that she deserved to know. “I'm workin’ on it, it ain't exactly easy to say hey, by the way, I made a deal with a demon to save Sammy's life and now I have less than a year left to live,” Dean replied in a grumble.

“I mean, you could just say that.”

“I'm not gonna tell her like that!”

“Look, Cheryl and Carlos may be able to help too – I mean, Carlos is a Delgado and all so maybe his family knows something.”

“Sammy! I told you there's no way outta this thing! You will die. I can't have that, I can't.”

“Dean… there's gotta be a way around it.”

“Well, there isn't. Stop tryna find a way, and I'll tell Cheryl soon.” Dean barked out.

Sam sighed and set the loaded shotgun back into the trunk, he already told Cheryl about the deal – quite a bit ago. He half expected Dean to tell her sooner honestly, but now that he hasn't, it was becoming an issue. “I already told Cheryl about it. A while ago, actually. She knows, but she doesn't know any of the details.” Sam confessed. Dean stopped what he was doing immediately and his blood went cold. Sam… told Cheryl… about the deal? He clenched his jaw and his nostrils flared, and he tossed the shotgun into the trunk. “You told her, huh?” He breathed as he turned to face him. When Sam nodded, he didn't hesitate to clock him right in the jaw.

Sam let out a pained grunt and stroked the spot where Dean's knuckles met his jaw. Dean swallowed hard and staggered back, “You had no fuckin’ right.” He growled. He jutted his thumb into his chest, “I was gonna tell her! You didn't even give me a chance!” He yelled.

“She deserved to know!” Sam bellowed back.

“She deserved to hear it from me!”

They both went silent, and the air was so tense that a knife could cut through it. Dean's anger continued to fester, but instead of punching Sam again, he clenched his fists so tight that his fingernails left half-moon marks in his palms. “You know, I think you and Carlos should do the stake out instead,” Dean said through grit teeth. “Since, you know, I now have to explain everything to Cher.”

“Sounds good to me.” Sam spat back.

“Good.” He hissed.

––––––––––––––––––––––––

“So, why are you and I staking out this place instead of you and Dean?” Carlos asked as he shot Sam a quick look. Sam's lips thinned into a straight line and he continued to stare out the windshield of the truck. His priority right now was to save this guy – hence why they were parked outside of his house. “We got into a fight, he was pretty upset,” Sam answered quietly.

“Damn, what about?”

“I, uh, shouldn't tell you. He got mad at me for telling someone about his predicament.”

“Oh,” Carlos snorted, “so it's a brother thing? I get it, I have an older brother – he's fuckin’ ten years older than me.”

Sam's brows shot up, “Really?”

“Yeah, he's an esteemed plastic surgeon. Dad is crazy proud and stuff.”

“Oh… so he's not a hunter?”

“Does both, sometimes. He likes to buy haunted houses, get rid of the ghosts, renovate them and sell ‘em again.”

“That's, uh, nice. Does he make a lot?” Sam asked. Carlos nodded and leaned back to sit more comfortably in the driver's seat. “Usually, you know, if you're smart, hunting can be a paid gig. Not all of the time, but some of the time.” He replied.

“I guess so…” Sam trailed off. He didn't know that Carlos had an older brother – that he was a little brother himself too. He wondered if Carlos got into fights with his brother like he did with Dean, if his brother was as reckless as Dean. He turned his attention to the penthouse before them, his eyes widening as none other than Mr. Warren came marching toward the truck.

Dean sat on the edge of the bathtub as he watched Cheryl perform her nightly skincare routine. She patted her face dry with a dusty grey hand towel and glanced down at Dean. His slightly sullen expression and the furrow of his brows told her that he wasn't in a good mood. Cheryl frowned and set the cloth down. “What's on your mind, cariño?” She asked. His eyes flickered up to meet hers and his lips parted before they pursed together. She knew about the deal, and she didn't ask him about it or anything. Did she not care?

“We have to talk,” Dean finally said. He swallowed hard when her face dropped and she nodded. Cheryl slowly went to sit next to him, their thighs were pressed against one another. “Okay,” she exhaled, “what about?” Dean leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, he stroked the light stubble on his chin and sighed deeply. “I know Sam told you about the deal I made with the Crossroads demon. What did he tell you?” He questioned. Cheryl bit her bottom lip, hard. She was scared that he was mad at her – but she was more scared about the details of his deal. “That's all he told me,” Cheryl whispered, “he said you made a deal and had a year left.”

“That's right.” He nodded once. Dean reluctantly craned his neck to meet her prying, desperate eyes. He knew what they were asking – he knew what she wanted to know: why did he make the deal?

“Sam died,” Dean said hoarsely. “Made the deal to bring him back – I couldn't lose him, Cher. I couldn't.” He stared down at the floor and focused on the little cracks in the white tiles and the little bits of dirt stuck in the grout. Cheryl exhaled sharply and covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers. The deafening silence dragged on as Cheryl processed what Dean had said. Sam died. She inhaled deeply and picked the skin off of her lips before letting her hand fall to rest in her lap. “Is there any way to get out of it?” She finally asked. Dean shook his head firmly and sat up straight. “No, there isn't. If we try – Sam dies. There's no way around it, so don't try to get me out of this.”

“I don't want to lose you again.” Cheryl blurted out tearfully. She clasped her hands together and squeezed them tight. “A year is so short… that can't be all we have, there has to be a way–”

“Cheryl, sweetheart, there isn't.”

Cheryl sighed and rubbed her temples, it was different hearing it from Dean. “I understand why you did it, it's just… hard.” She whispered hoarsely. She cared for Dean, she cared about his fate – and going to Hell was not a good fate. Dean nodded again and swiped his tongue across his bottom lip. “It's my job to protect Sammy, he… I can't – I can't live in a world without him.” He muttered.

“I know,” Cheryl whispered. She leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. “I know, I know you can't.” She closed her eyes and smiled faintly when he wrapped an arm around her. “Guess we have to live life to its fullest then, huh? You should make a bucket list of things that we can do together.”

“That sounds nice…” Dean murmured.

Cheryl pressed her lips to his cheek and smiled up at him, “Let's go lay in bed… we can listen to some music on my Walkman.”

“What about the rest of your routine?”

“That doesn't matter, you matter.”

Now here they were, under the covers and they each had an earbud in their ear. This tape was a mix of Bon Jovi and Metallica with a bit of KISS. Dean had his head on Cheryl's chest, and she was gently scratching at his scalp and stroking his hair. He will admit, it was nice being cared for like this without expecting anything in return. The song that was quietly playing slowly faded as it ended and Dean's eyes fluttered shut just as I Was Made For Lovin’ You by KISS started to play.

“Your music taste isn't all that bad.” He murmured against her chest. Cheryl smiled and continued to scratch at his scalp pleasantly. She knew that he was complimenting her music taste, not insulting it. “Gracias, cariño.” She whispered. Dean nodded once and inhaled deeply, her chest may be the best pillow he's ever had. Comfortable, plush, and she smelt good. “These are comfy.” Dean sighed.

“My boobs?”

“Mhmmm…” He hummed happily. “They are like pillows.” Dean added. Cheryl rolled her eyes playfully and rubbed the skin behind his ears, intending to give him a nice head massage. “Go to sleep, weirdo.”

“Yes ma'am…”

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Sam and Carlos weren't able to save Mr. Warren, the ghost – he killed him right before their eyes, sitting in the passenger seat of Mr. Warren's car. They couldn't save everyone, of course not, but that didn't change the fact that they felt quite guilty over his death. Guilty that they couldn't save him.

Cheryl grinned down at her phone as she read Dean's text. She felt her cheeks heating up – and she crossed one leg over the other. I'd give anything to kiss you right now, he said. It was quite tame, but it still made her blush like crazy. Cheryl nibbled on her bottom lip as she texted him back, saying, come and do it then. Dean's eyes darkened before they flickered up to meet Cheryl's mischievous expression. They were in the “living room” with Carlos and Sam – they were supposed to be helping IDing the boat but chose to text each other instead.

Minx, Dean replied.

You love it. She typed back. Dean swiped his tongue across his bottom lip and swivelled his thumbs over the keypad as he debated his next response. But before he could type anything, a knock at the front door sounded.

Everyone, Cheryl, Carlos, Dean, and Sam, all shared a confused look because of the knock. They weren't expecting anyone, and they didn't ask for a maid or anything either. Dean let out a sigh mixed with a groan and flipped his phone shut as he went to answer the door. As soon as he opened it, he wished that he hadn't, because none other than Bela grinning smugly, was on the other side of the door.

#Spotify #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #spn #spnfandom #dean winchester x oc

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blackroseguzzi · 1 year

Text

Woosah Baby : Part 4

Summery: awkward dinners & ultrasounds

Warnings: pregnancy, divorce, mention of drugs and alcohol, language

Warrens POV

I watched as my mom placed a cube steak onto y/n’s plate. I could tell by her face that she was holding back the need to gag. After she left for work this morning I decided it was due diligence to read up on pregnancy symptoms. Apparently, yakking was completely normal.

It’s wild how little I knew about how a human comes into existence. It was gross and fascinating all at the same time.

“Y/n, how’s your mom doing?’ I watched my dad shove a piece of potato into his mouth and he chewed loudly.

“Well, I think she’s gone from drinking two bottles of whiskey a day down to one, so I’d say she’s doing well,” she laughed to herself as she pushed the food around on her plate. I knew she tried to pretend her mother’s alcoholic issues were a mere nuisance, but in reality it really bothered her. I know Y/n would never turn out like her mother, but I could tell it was something that ate at her.

My mom was still not at the table. Y/n’s eyes burnt into mine as if she was telling me to just come out and ask to talk with them. I cleared my throat.

Dad.. I,”

“Coach says you’ve missed a few practices Warren, what’s up with that?” My fathers disapproving look made me slouch in my chair. He really knew how to remind me of my dumb-fuckery.

“I know, I’ll do better,” lying to my father had been something I’ve been good at my whole life.

Yes sir, I love soccer. Yes father, I’m sober. No way am I selling drugs to my high school classmates, Dad.

“You know how important that scholarship is for your future,” my father looked between y/n and I before smiling.

“I can’t believe how long my son has been able to keep you around, Y/N.” He nudged my arm as if to say he was joking but I knew he was fucking bewildered that a girl like y/n would be into me… and stay with me for as long as she had. I had a flashback of the blonde chick I kissed at the party last night and got a pain of guilt. I wasn’t perfect, but I wanted to be for Y/n and our baby.

“Warren and I actually wanted to talk to you and Laura about something,” She looked around to see if my mom was anywhere in sight but she was off in the kitchen banging around some pots and pans. Suddenly a loud crash rang out.

“Jesus, mom you alright?” She stomped out in front of us, demanding to talk to Dad. What the hell was she so fidgety about? Did she know that Y/n was pregnant? I swallowed the thick spit forming in my mouth.

“Really, now Laura? I’m trying to have dinner with the kids and they want to talk to us,” Warren shot his wife a worrisome look.

“No now,” she stormed off again. I was getting anxious and I could tell that y/n was starting to feel uncomfortable. My parents fight, but they never did around y/n. I guess she really was just integrated into our family now.

My dad held up his finger, saying he would be back on a moment. He disappeared into the hallway towards the living room.

“What the fuck is going on?” Y/n leaned over her plate and gave me a confused look.

“They probably found weed in my pillowcase again or they’re fighting about who forgot to record the last episode of survivor,” I was trying my best to ease both our minds. We both just wanted to break the news fast.

“When we get out of here we’ll get you some Nausea meds and a milkshake. I read that morning sickness can last all day during the first trimester, “ I flashed a smile at her and she stared at me like I was some kind of mutated freak.

“Who are you, and what have you done to my Warren?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. She clearly wasn’t used to me reading, let alone about pregnancy symptoms. I just wanted her to know I was peeling back some vulnerable pieces I needed to show her in order for her to trust that I was going to take care of her and this baby.

“I’m just trying to help,” I replied. I stuffed my face with more food until my dad sat back down looking somber. I pushed the basket of rolls over towards him- bread usually helps.

He smiled sheepishly as he took one.

“So Dad, we have something…”

My mom walked towards us and placed her small hand in my shoulder. I took a deep breath about to continue, but her voice rang out before mine.

“I’m divorcing your father.”

Clang. I shot a look to y/n. She had dropped her fork against the porcelain plate. She embarrassingly picked it back up and looked at me. I could see how saddened she was for me. Did my face show any emotions? I couldn’t tell. I watched both my parents angrily storm out of the room.

“What the fuck?” I whispered. I could hear my mom making more noise upstairs. Was she fucking packing?

I got up from the table, where y/n still sat in silence. I have had some awkward encounters at her house, like the time I had to lift her mom off the toilet and into her bedroom after a night of binge drinking- but she had never had that kind of experience at my family’s home. She looked up to my parents relationship as have I. I mean if they could last 34 plus years than we could last that long as well. Except here we are both shattered by news that nothing in this world fucking lasts.

I walked over to the glass slider where my dad had escaped to, I could hear faint sobs and he was bent over.

“Are you crying?” I stared at him through the door.

“Warren lets just go,” y/n’s soft voice rang out from the table. I ignored her.

I banged at the door “ARE YOU FUCKING CRYING?”

Y/N POV

The weekend went by slower than I would have liked. After the news about Warren’s parent’s divorce, Warren was acting different. He had come to visit me at work on Sunday afternoon but was being really secretive with Spencer. I tried not to think much of it, but it bothered me. What was he hiding from me? He never hides anything from me. As soon as I had walked over towards the two of them Warren hit Spencer’s shoulder and they both completely shut up. Was Warren that stupid that I wouldn’t have caught on?

I called at 7am on Monday before my class about the ultrasound. They had a cancellation and asked if I wanted to come in that afternoon. Warren had been sleeping at my apartment all weekend and by the vibe I was getting after the news drop at dinner, I don’t think he planned on going back there.

I didn’t know if he had practice this afternoon, but he was more than likely to skip it anyway so I decided to take the appointment and email my Woman’s studies professor that I was sick. I think I had enough knowledge under my belt about the study of women anyway.

Warren and I drove in silence to the appointment. I don’t think it was out of anything but fear. I wanted to bring up the fact he was being weird with Spencer at the market, but I didn’t want to start something I most likely couldn’t finish before we got to the doctors office.

“I’m the only dude in this place,” Warren leaned over and whispered to me. I slapped his arm. This was a gynecologists office, what did he expect. I’m sure a lot of expecting dads came to appointments but today just wasn’t one of those days. “Also, I wonder why that old lady is here?” I smacked him again.

“This isn’t just a place for pregnant woman Warren,” I whispered back, my eyes wide as to let him know to shut up and that the entire waiting room could hear him. God, he had the loudest whisper voice on the planet.

A female nurse came out and called my name. I grabbed Warren’s hand and he laced his fingers into mine and we walked into the back of the office. The nurse led me to the ultrasound room that was much larger than the room I had been in on Friday. There was a chair that looked like a hospital bed laying in the middle. Lots of pictures painted the walls, lots of photos of babies inside the womb and one of a very detailed painting of a birth canal. I hoped Warren wouldn’t see that one because I know he would stare and make some kind of joke. “If you want to lay down here the tech will be in momentarily,” The nurse smiled between us leaving the room quickly.

Warren let out a deep breath. I knew he was nervous, which was a characteristic I wasn’t used to seeing in him but had showed up all damn weekend.

“Can they tell us today if it’s going to be a boy or a girl?” Warren laughed a little as he took a seat next to mine. I raised my eyebrows, embarrassed for him that he even asked me that question.

“Warren, the baby is like the size of a watermelons seed or some shit,” I shook my head and laid back on the chair. I stared at the ceiling, trying to imagine I was on a beach somewhere with a spliff and a really strong Mai Tai.

“Y/N?” A woman was at the door, she looked really friendly and had on bright blue scrub pants and a scrub top with a bunch cats riding on clouds on it. I liked her instantly.

“That’s me,” I called out. Warren stood up, extending out his hand like he was meeting the fucking president.

“I’m Warren.. I’m the dad,” He smiled politely. She shook his hand and looked at him like he was the cutest puppy dog she had ever seen. I’m sure she sees dads like Warren all the time. That was such a weird thought - Dad’s like Warren….

“I’m Bri, I’ll be your ultrasound tech today! I’m just going to do some measurements to see how far along you are and calculate a due date!” Her voice was calming and I felt a lot less terrified as I had been the last time I was here. I think Warren being here was helpful with that.

“Great, thank you so much,” I responded quietly as I watched her sit down on the chair in front of the ultrasound machine. She turned it on, and I had a flash back from the first time I watched Knocked-up with Warren. He thought it was the funniest movie ever, but you found it to be a terrifying reality for what some woman have to go through after an accidental pregnancy. Now I was that girl living her own terrifying reality.

“If you don’t mind lifting up your shirt and pulling down your yoga pants a little we can get started. The gel is a little cold, but will warm up pretty quick,” She instructed at me and I followed her directions. I placed both hands down and looked at the ceiling again. I felt Warren grab my hand and squeeze it when the gel hit my abdomen. I felt her little probe like object that was attached to the monitor on my stomach. I looked over at Warren, his eyes were fixed on the ultrasound screen. His mouth was slightly ajar and an intense scowl on his face. I swallowed hard.

“Okay, so you’re measuring at 7 weeks, and looking at your chart and last menstrual, it looks like you’ll have your little peanut around June 9th!” How did she sound so excited. That was the start of summer. How was I going to finish off finals fearing I would give birth at any moment.

“Here’s the baby, take a look,” She moved the monitor so It was closer to me. I slowly looked over and saw a black circle amongst all the static looking gray. Inside that black circle was a squiggly line and a blob. It even looked like it had a leg and an arm and I suddenly felt this overwhelming sense of….joy.

“It’s already got my big head,” Warren laughed.

The ultrasound tech, Bri, giggled as well and placed a hand on my arm. “The baby’s heart rate is at 110 beats per minute, which is fantastic.”

“So it’s healthy and I haven’t fucked anything up yet?” I don’t know what came over me, but I blurted that out without thinking.

“I just see a pretty healthy happy little peanut that is going to grow fast and be here before you know it!” Bri was used to saying this I’m sure, but it did make me feel a sense of relief and also a bit of fear.

“I can’t believe that’s OUR baby,” Warren’s voice rang out. I smiled at him and he was looking at me like I had just given him the ultimate gift. I guess I kind of was.

We finished our appointment and made another at the front desk. Warren was so invested and even pulled out his phone’s calendar to make sure he was available for the next time we’d be here. He was on cloud nine, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t too. We were going to be parents, and for one moment I wanted to be allowed to feel joyous about it, not sitting there thinking about the logistics of it all.

We got back into the car and Warren leaned in instantly to kiss me. His lips on mine made the world around us disappear.

“I’m so happy you’re the mother of my big headed baby,” Warren spoke between kisses. I laughed and hit his chest but deepening our kiss. I always thought of myself as a bit addicted to weed, but honestly I was way more addicted to Warren. No matter the dumb shit he did, he made me feel alive with his excitement of life and I wanted our child to get that characteristic from him.

“This is so crazy,” I smiled against his lips and he pulled away to stare at me. He had the most intense eyes, something else I hope our child gets from him.

“I have it all figured out. We’re going to be fine - great even.” Warren grabbed my face and kissed my forehead fast before getting back before the wheel and turning his key in the ignition. Maybe he got a job? Maybe he was selling weed?

“Oh yeah, and what makes you think we’re going to be just fine?” I was curious now, his nervousness seemed to subside and it was replaced with utter jubilance.

He laughed and drummed on the steering wheel as he pulled out of the parking lot. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Because Spencer and I are going to pull off an Art Heist.”

#evan peters imagine #evan peters fanfic #evan peters #evan peters x reader #warren lipka x reader #warren lipka imagine #warren lipka #Warren lipka American animals #evan peters smut

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larcenywrites · 5 months

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It's December 16th, the day Tony's parents died, and you sometimes mention wanting to talk about it some more, so... share your thoughts? 🤔

😔

I know he would be excited! Whether because it gives him time to have the house to himself a while, like his own vacation, or maybe because he and Rhodey and/or his partner could have their own little Christmas party before his parents came home! Plus, he and his dad did get into it before they left, and maybe he low key wants to apologize when they come home or like, at least try to make Christmas fun and happy and relaxed when they get back! And maybe he even got his mom something 🥰

It’s probably in the wee hours of the morning that Tony, who probably doesn’t have anyone over yet anyway and may be a little tipsy still and just went to bed, is probably petrified when he opens the door to a few cops. A very sobering experience for him already when they woke him up with aggressive knocks on the door. He’s scared and untrusting, but reluctantly allows them in. He’s never been in this situation, and when anyone random shows up he can just go get his mom or dad! And they probably offer a seat the table or something. Something that may be a little more relaxing than standing around, but nothing is relaxing about what they say. He probably gets mostly unresponsive, so they leave and offer to come back later or something but he doesn’t really give them a time. Jarvis probably finds him still in that chair when he comes by later in the morning. I mean, what else was he supposed to do? What else was he going to do? Jarvis, of course, already knows and simply sits down next to him at the table. What is he suppsed to say? Either of them? Instead of focusing on it, Jarvis probably just tells Tony he should be in bed, knowing he’s probably barely slept and decrying not well at this table and in that chair.

I imagine Jarvis probably played a pretty big role here. Someone had to check up on Tony and take care of him for a while. Sure, Tony’s had some level of depressive-relative symptoms and episodes, but this wasn’t like that. I’m sure for the first several days, he hardly left his room, hardly left his bed, aside from showing up to the funeral. Which… happened surprisingly fast, he thinks. Even then, he and Jarvis probably still hadn’t had an outright conversation about it. Instead, he dropped by to check on him, and probably even cooked for him, and probably was pretty good at making him at least a little bit, and forcing him to take care of himself a little bit. Probably in the same ways he did when Tony was a child! And honestly… he’s probably just as lost as Tony. Asking… now what? Tony is also almost all he has left at the moment. And I’m sure he’s very protective! Stane is probably very quick to want to start with the whole transfers of power. With lawyers and documents and stuff. I’m sure Jarvis often ran him off until he felt that To y was in a better state of mind to under those kinds of decisions.

The house is probably still decorated for Christmas, and all those gifts are still under the tree. And a bit after the new year, once Tony is a little more out and about, Jarvis probably has him go through them… and the pile of gifts from people he hardly or doesn’t even know. Condolences and all, and it was Christmas so… plenty of people probably felt the need to send more than a “sorry for your loss” card. But the task is so overwhelming. He really doesn’t want to but… Jarvis helps him. And it’s probably the only other time besides the funeral that Tony cries, and then Jarvis lets him stop. But he probably finishes up for him, sorting through what’s useless and what’s okay and what’s useful. And after the 50th “sorry” card, it really starts feeling like anything but.

And the first time the two ever have an actual conversation about it, is probably when he’s managed to convince Tony to go through a few things. Things he might want to keep for himself and such, considering he’s inherited all of this. Everything. In fact, it’s probably about to be rhetorical first day on the new job. Jarvis suggests he look through some of Howard’s watches and ties and tiepins— something to help him keep living on in memory, perhaps? He talks about how his dad loved his ornaments here, even the ones Tony has never seen. And somehow, that turns into a conversation about how Howard did love his son, but… it probably doesn’t go over very well, as he honestly expected. But he is glad to see that Tony does wear that watch he took a certain liking too, that his dad did like but never wore.

And Jarvis probably hates seeing what Tony is becoming. He probably tells him that. So he’s probably a tiny bit relieved when Jarvis eventually passes too. Not because he hates being judged, which is true, but because he probably felt like a huge burden on the last person left to care about him, and who has had to take care of him for his entire life, and whom he was letting down. But it’s definitely when he realizes he can’t take it anymore. He can’t stay here anymore.

He definitely never decorates his home or his office. First of all, what’s the point? The last time he stepped foot out of his parent’s house, it was probably still decorated for Christmas. Maybe it’s silly at this point, but he’s a little scared of what seeing his new home decorated might make him feel. And he hates coming home to find another pile of complimentary and ass-kissing gifts from people he hardly knows or doesn’t even know. And preferably Rhodey is the one this time helping him get through them when he can, or Happy or Pepper. Only one each time, though. Honestly, most of that shit probably goes to them anyway.

Eventually, he can find enjoyment and happiness somewhere in there again, mostly with the help of a partner or it probably takes time all the way up until he has kids. But the pain never fully goes away, he just eventually starts talking more about the good memories than focusing on what happened.

#anon #anonymous #answered #larstalks

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anglercrit · 9 months

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Queen Bee Rewrite

Okay, this is kinda fragmented because as much fun as I have with retooling the ideas of Helluva Boss, I admit that I haven’t really sat down and made a PROPER universe for my rewrite. So this is a pretty off the cuff look at how I’d write Queen Bee if I was given the chance and not a full script or breakdown.

First off, it’s no longer a midquel to Ozzie’s. We don’t really get anything from this episode happening at the same time as Ozzie’s, and you can watch it on its own fine for the most part- so this is an entirely separate event. Instead, it now happens a little bit later.

As for the actual episode:

Blitzo is trying to take his mind off of everything that happened at Ozzie’s, so he offers to take Loona down to the gluttony ring to visit her old stomping grounds. Not only has she not been there in a while, but with the overly potent Beelzejuice in the ring it’s a good opportunity to get blackout drunk.

While in the Gluttony ring, Loona ends up at Beelzebub’s club and hits it off surprisingly well with the Queen of Gluttony herself- and is surprised to discover that Vortex is there (though they aren’t dating) and considers himself a close friend of Bee. In fact…all of the hellhounds seem to be chatting it up with her like she’s one of them and not a Deadly Sin.

After her performance, Beelzebub gives a huge speech- She makes the Gluttony ring a paradise for Hellhounds- they’re treated so horribly everywhere else by all other demons, they deserve a place to be free and live their lives to the fullest! This gets Loona thinking- when she and Vortex chatted, he said he WORKED with Verosika, not that he was her hellhound. She starts to think that maybe…she and Blitzo aren’t actually in as good as a relationship as she hoped.

Right as the speech hits its peak, Blitzo barges in the door, booze in hand and screaming. They need to go home NOW- and when Loona tells him no, he starts yelling about how he adopted her so she’s gonna listen to him. Having this kind of aggression towards hellhounds in her own ring is her #1 Berserk Button- if one thing can get her demon mode going, it’s that.

She and Blitzo get in a fight, and she seems mad enough that she’d actually kill him- only for someone to scream for them to stop. It’s Loona. The two look at her distraught- seeing the fear on her face is enough to get them to sober up, and they both start apologizing- Blitzo saying he’s sorry he did this to her, they can come home and work things out, while Beelzebub is telling her to come with her, that in Gluttony she doesn’t have to listen to ANYONE.

It’s all too much for her, so she runs away- and as for here, I have a few ideas as for where this could go. You could end it on a cliffhanger, you could have a scene where Blitzo goes and comforts Loona (I have a scene idea for this- it’s revealed he keeps her adoption certificate in his jacket and he burns it to symbolize letting Loona choose what she wants in life.), but that’s my basic idea for a Queen Bee rewrite!

#helluva boss rewrite #🐟

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daisyandbilly · 1 year

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Let’s talk about episodes 4, 5, and 6 of Daisy Jones & the Six! This is kind of late because I have written and re-written this review 8 times.

(Spoilers galore — do not continue reading if you don’t want to be spoiled)

Let’s start with the good! Immersion. Episode 4’s house party was what I’ve been waiting for in terms of set and scenery. The smoky rooms, the people, the noise, the outfits, the wood paneling of the house. I think the house party will forever be a favorite part of this series for me. It was a happy addition. Although it didn’t exist in the book, Camila bringing Daisy into the fold and getting Billy to put aside his ego for the sake of his art and the band was great. She saw the potential of them and orchestrated a thing of beauty. Lots of mess but also beauty! Seeing the band interact outside of a strict music setting was a joy. Can we get more of that?! Daisy holding Julia: chills. Another full circle moment, they’ve always been somewhat connected.

I still don’t like that Daisy didn’t actually have a career until she met the Six but their first performance was great. Billy’s annoyance, Daisy’s false bravado, her crashing the stage after the first song, The Six’s excitement. All so good. Camila clocking Billy for his rudeness during the interview. So good!

I have zero notes for Simone thus far, she has been a delight to watch and I can’t wait to experience her New York disco days.

I loved everything about Karen and Graham’s little surfing side quest, down to the car his… girlfriend(?) was driving — i want it! When she pulled him inside of the house my eyes popped out of my head lmao. Karen jokingly using her jealousy to shame the poor girl for her love of Barry Manilow threw me off a liiiitle. It wasn’t a huge issue at all, it’s just that in my head she would’ve been too cool to say that, girls girl and #girlboss and all.

These episodes were some of my favorite so far. The tension and initial anger and the music were great. I love understanding the context of songs and this was so special. More Fun to Miss and Regret Me truly hit even deeper if that was possible. Watching Billy and Daisy go back and forth when writing the album felt very frustratingly satisfying. It’s such an important chunk of the book and I wouldn’t have minded it playing out a bit longer but I’m unsure if that’s because I still feel thrown off by the pacing of the show. We only have four episodes left.

Now let’s get to the elephant in the post. Unfortunately I have been spoiled left and right while running this blog. I knew about the kiss (and a few other changes that I won’t spoil, don’t worry.) And as much of a fangirl moment that I had during it (I still gasped and leapt from my chair), when it was over… I was left scratching my head. The excruciating what-if aspect that looms over the book has been replaced with a handful of cliches. There is no guessing or later revelation, it’s all been laid out.

I hate that I agree with the critics again, I swear I never thought that would happen, but once Billy initiates the kiss a lot of the plot has been stripped of its nuance. This is now a show about a very real love triangle. I know things must change for adaptations and they really wanted to lean into the Fleetwood Mac aspect of the band’s relationships but something about the dynamic between these characters is off especially this version of Camila and Billy as we continue with the season. We’re supposed to feel love and instead it’s translating as obligation.

Book Billy’s faithfulness to Camila after he got sober is what he held onto with a vice grip. And although he loved her and emphasized that he chose her above all else, the weight of temptation everyday constantly crushed and guided most of his decisions when he was with Daisy. They were magic onstage because it was where they could be together and burn all that pent up energy. Daisy replaced his addiction and because of that she was the temptation he never fully lost himself in because of what happened the first time. Watching them together on stage was meant to be akin to the dynamic of The Civil Wars. Profound longing mixed with unbridled inhibition and the sadness of the reality of their situation.

Here he’s already given into the temptation that he was supposed to ultimately struggle with when he made a decision at that bar in Chicago. And once Daisy vocalizes her anger/hurt at him bringing Camila to the Aurora cover shoot, the triangle has been solidified. This feels like an affair, just one that didn’t have enough gas to take off. I understand the idea of and see the tweets about conflicting point of views and unreliable accounts (due to who is interviewing them) and while I agree (I do!), that just doesn’t hold up here. Daisy’s shame that Billy rejects her after she kisses him is meant to get her on the path to running away to Thailand, marrying Niccolò and falling deeper into addiction. The idea of her leaving because of the same Rolling Stone article that she exposed Billy for is ??????? And seeing Camila here being relegated to a wife standing by her man cheating a second time as long as he doesn’t love Daisy is so… weird. Not even a little fling with Eddie could even the score but honestly good for her! (this is meant to replace that “lunch” with Greg/Gary Egan that happens in the book). I hope they don’t turn Camila into a placeholder; just another obstacle for Daisy and Billy to endure especially now that they’ve chosen to shorten the age gap between the interviews because that would be depressing.

Do I still love these characters? Absolutely. The show is doing a wonderful job of capturing a lot of emotions and I can not emphasize enough how much I love this cast. I know these are deeply flawed characters and they eventually experience the consequences of their actions and selfishness but we’re still supposed to be rooting for them. I do think they’ve forgotten to slip a few redeeming qualities for Billy in tho 👀.

Rating ⭐️ — 4 out of 5

24 hours later and Im still going back and forth with this rating lol

Also why Greece? Nothing wrong with that change, just curious

#love you sam riley camila everyone! but the writers deserve a little jail time #daisy jones and the six #djats #taylor jenkins reid #djats spoilers

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silvfyre-writings · 11 months

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You are the 'Ran' to my 'Poe' Final Part (BSD Fanfic)

And here we are, the final chapter. I'm actually pretty proud of this chapter, considering I had no idea what to put Poe through for it to exist. Originally, I wanted a depressive episode, but then I was like "everyone does that" and I wanted to try something a little different.

I dunno how well it worked, or if its any good, but I hope that you all enjoy nonetheless!

CW: references to alcohol abuse

Poe doesn’t like alcohol. When he was younger and more depressed, he did; in fact, he used to drink every other day, desperate to drown out the world around him when he was already feeling low. It never helped, but it was something to do besides wallow in pity in his home, so he kept doing it—until he’d joined the Guild, where he’d been forced to sober up, and well… that hadn’t been a fun time for all involved. He’s actually impressed that Fitzgerald kept him around, only having a faint memory of mocking the man when he’d relapsed—actually, he does remember Louisa being there too, so maybe she’d played damage control… but that wasn’t the point.

So now, Poe doesn’t like alcohol. He doesn’t mind if other people drink around him, has gone to several events where those he considers friends—or more—have partaken in the drink, and won’t stop them from doing so—unless they get too drunk of course—but he doesn’t partake in the act itself. It’s not worth the risk of falling back onto old habits, not when he’s worked so hard to get to where he is now.

That just means he usually becomes the one that has to make sure everyone gets home safely, and well, he’s often invited by Ranpo out to the nights out that Ranpo and the older members of the Agency do every second Friday, so it only makes sense that since he’s not drinking, he makes sure to walk them home. It’s not the funnest of jobs sometimes, especially when they have drunk so much they can’t walk straight and almost walk into traffic, or so much that they just straight up pass out. It is funny though, when they are drunk, but the kind of drunk where they do something so stupid, you can’t help but laugh.

A memory comes to mind of Ranpo and Dazai competing to see who could roll the fastest back to the Agency dorms that had Yosano laughing so hard she almost had to crawl, whereas Kunikida and Poe tried to coax their respective others into not doing that.

Ranpo and his coworkers don’t always get drunk either—it’s usually on the odd occasion or when they are celebrating something, which is why Poe doesn’t mind being invited in the first place. It’s nice to get to know the people that Ranpo works with. He doesn’t always go either, since social gatherings aren’t really his strong point, but regardless of whether he goes or not, Poe always winds up either going out to collect him, or on a phone call as Ranpo rambles to him about missing him.

“Poe-kun! Pay attention to me!” Ranpo’s voice cuts through the thoughts that Poe had found himself lost in, and he’s reminded that he actually needs to be social, because he’s currently out with Ranpo and his co-workers.

“Ranpo, don’t be so demanding. It’s okay if Poe just sits quietly.” Yosano sighs as she sips at her drink, giving Poe an apologetic look as she usually does when Ranpo gets like this after a few drinks.

Poe smiles and sips at his water as he scans over the table. Ranpo’s already moved on from trying to get Poe’s attention, and has since moved on to harass Dazai about… cats? He’s not even going to pretend he understands what Ranpo’s even muttering about, but he does reach over and move the others glass out of the way before he knocks it over. “It’s fine, I was just thinking.”

Yosano chuckles. “Not about that novel of yours I hope.”

“No, just reminiscing over how you are kind enough to invite me out.” Poe says with a smile, because it’s the truth. Before meeting Ranpo and being dragged out to nights like these, Poe didn’t really have anyone to socialize with. Sure, there were those in the Guild, but it wasn’t the same like it was with the Agency, and that was what made Poe appreciate these invitations all the more.

“Well of course.” Kunikida interjects, returning to the table with new drinks in hand; alcoholic for the three that are actually drinking, and water for himself and Poe. Kunikida pushes up his glasses. “You are an important person to Ranpo, so that means you are important to us. Naturally, that means we’d invite you.”

Poe blushes, because what else is he supposed to do? It’s the first time he’s heard Kunikida—well anyone other than Ranpo, really—actually tell him he’s important, so he doesn’t know how to handle such high praise. “O-Oh, um… thank you?”

“Just take the praise, Poe.” Yosano rolls her eyes, and downs the rest of her drink before taking the new one that Kunikida had just brought over. “You’re allowed—”

“What are we talking about?” Ranpo interrupts, flopping onto the table with reddened cheeks and slurred words as he slowly leans until he’s sliding into Poe. “Is Poe-kun being Poe-kun?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Kunikida asks, raising an eyebrow. Poe’s glad he’s not the only one who doesn’t understand what Ranpo’s trying to say. “I should’ve gotten you water instead of another drink if you’re already like this.”

“What can we say? Ranpo’s a lightweight.” Dazai teases as he slings his arm around Ranpo, and Poe as a result of being in the immediate vicinity. He grunts from the extra weight, and tries to shove the two drunken geniuses’ off of him to no avail. In fact, he makes it worse by shifting away, which sends both Ranpo and Dazai falling to the floor with grunts of pain as they collapse into a tangle of limbs.

“Oh my god, please get up before you get us kicked out.” Kunikida reaches under the table and drags Dazai out first, sitting the former mafia member into the seat beside him and holding onto him when Dazai immediately tries to stand up. “No, Dazai, stay. For five minutes just sit there and behave.”

Immediately, Dazai brightens. “Does that mean I can misbehave after five minutes? Kunikida, you shouldn’t have!”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

Poe tunes out the hushed argument that begins from across the table and reaches underneath to drag Ranpo back into his seat when it becomes obvious that Ranpo would much rather lay on the floor of the bar they are at than actually get up and return to his seat. Poe lets a little frown adorn his face as he lets Ranpo slump against him and speaks quietly so only Ranpo can hear him. “Are you alright, Ranpo-kun?”

“’m fine.” Ranpo says, pushing himself upright and reaching for his next drink, only to misjudge and nearly fall into the table if it weren’t for Poe pulling him back in time. If it wasn’t already obvious that he was drunk, then that action would just confirm it.

“Maybe you should have some water.” Poe suggests, offering his own glass towards Ranpo. He’s a little uneasy now, as he usually is when Ranpo gets like this; Poe had told Ranpo about his own experiences with alcohol not long after they’d reunited, which is why no one’s ever offered to buy him a drink during these nights out—he doesn’t think Ranpo’s told the others everything, but he thinks they have some idea—which he appreciates.

Ranpo, predictably, refuses the water, and tries again to grab his own drink, succeeding this time round. “I’m fine, Poe-kun. Stop worrying so much. I know my limits.” As he says that, Ranpo goes to take a mouthful of his drink and misses his mouth completely, and Poe hears Dazai burst into laughter from across the table.

He sighs and grabs a few napkins to mop up as much of the mess as he can, even as Ranpo tries to fight him off; the detective’s trying to wave down a waiter so that he can get a drink to replace the one he spilt. “Ranpo-kun, stop. You’ve had enough to drink.”

“God, Poe-kun, don’t nag so much. It’s supposed to be a fun night now.” Ranpo whines, shoving Poe away again, and this time, Poe stays away.

Poe sighs. This isn’t a conversation that should be had when one is drunk, but he needs Ranpo to listen to him and just slow down a little. It’s not like Ranpo is one to drink as often or as frequently as Poe once had—Poe literally didn’t even know Ranpo drank at all until the latter had brought it up once—so he’s not worried about Ranpo following the same route he once did, but he is worried. “You can have fun and drink responsibly. Just slow down a little, Ranpo-kun.”

“Poe’s right, Ranpo.” Yosano chooses then to speak up, which is both a good and a bad thing. Good, because it means that someone else has noticed that Ranpo’s going a little too fast, but it’s also bad because it’s only going to make Ranpo feel as if he’s being ganged up on.

And sure enough, Poe feels the tension form as Ranpo stiffens next to him. He sees Ranpo open his mouth and quickly interrupts. “We’re not telling you to stop, Ranpo-kun. Just asking you to slow down a little so you can enjoy yourself.”

“I am enjoying myself!” Ranpo snaps, wobbling on his feet as he stands. “You’re just being killjoys!”

“That’s not it—” Poe tries to reason, only to be interrupted.

“Besides, I don’t want to hear anything about drinking responsibly, when that’s something you couldn’t manage to do, Poe-kun.”

And just like that, the good atmosphere vanishes, replaced with an agitated tension. Poe stiffens in his seat, and his face changes from its initial worry to a polite, but pained smile. There’s silence from everyone, including Ranpo, who’s seems to have realized just what it was he just said, and slowly begins to look horrified. The other three at the table are watching in careful silence, waiting to see how the scene plays out, and Poe can’t fault them for that; it’s uncharted territory that they’ve stepped into and it’s territory that Poe doesn’t want to be in.

He stands, and grabs his coat. “I was an alcoholic once, yes, and it’s because of that that I know what I’m talking about when I say to slow down or stop. But I can’t force you to listen, Ranpo, so do what you want—”

“Poe-kun—”

“—don’t.” Poe stares down at the shorter man. He knows Ranpo didn’t mean what he said, knows that it was just said in the heat of the moment, but that’s not what upset him. He’s had his alcoholism dragged out into the open by several people that had known him from when he was with the Guild, but never from Ranpo. And that’s what hurts the most. Ranpo’s words have hurt him, and he needs Ranpo to understand that. Which won’t happen if he stays—it’ll only get worse if he does, because Ranpo will try to apologize, which will only make Poe mad, and then they’ll argue even more, and Poe doesn’t want that.

He just needs some space right now.

“Please get home safe.” He says as he leaves the bar behind him, letting out a sigh once he steps out into the night as he begins to walk home. It would be much easier to call for a taxi or take the train in order to get home, but it’s a nice night and besides, Poe needs a chance to gather his thoughts and figure out what to do next.

Poe’s home is dark and silent when he returns, unlike what it would’ve been if Ranpo had come home with him like he usually did, and Poe almost regrets leaving the other behind at the bar. He’s a little worried still, but he trusts that Kunikida and Yosano will be able to help Ranpo home in his current state. He sighs. He should’ve kept his cool now that he thinks back on it; after all, how many times had it been him lashing out at others when he’d had a bit too much to drink? But still… Ranpo’s words echo throughout Poe’s mind, bringing back with it the hurt that had followed those words. He sighs again.

It might be best if he got some sleep first.

The next day, Poe wakes up to the sound of someone knocking on his door; he crawls out of bed and heads to the nearest window to see it’s Ranpo. He can’t see the others face from this angle, but from the way Ranpo’s fidgeting restlessly, he’s able to deduce that Ranpo’s hear to apologize. And yet… Poe doesn’t move, even as Ranpo knocks again. It’s rude and in poor taste, and very much not what he likes to do, but Poe just doesn’t feel ready to face the events of last night. If he’s being honest with himself, he hadn’t expected Ranpo to even come around today, which is how he knows that the detective is truly regretful about his actions.

But Poe just isn’t ready. Not yet.

Ranpo hangs around Poe’s front door for another half hour, knocking very five minutes, and it makes his heart clench to just watch as this unfolds. He shouldn’t be watching; it’s cruel of him to do so, but he can’t bring himself to walk away, so he watches as Ranpo grows more dejected as the time passes before he finally gives up and leaves, shuffling back down the path he’d followed to get here. Poe continues to watch until Ranpo is nothing more than a pinprick in the distance, no longer recognisable.

Poe returns to bed and screams into his pillow at how pathetic he is.

The next day, Poe doesn’t wake up to knocking, but he does wake up to several texts from Ranpo that he’s hesitant to answer. After yet another day of going through the events of the bar, puzzling through his own feelings, and trying to figure out how he felt now, Poe still didn’t have any idea. And it doesn’t help when, as he reads the messages Ranpo’s sent him, he feels nothing but guilt. The first message is nothing more than an I’m sorry, and the one after it is Ranpo asking to meet up so they can talk. There’s a few more apologies scattered amongst the other messages sent before they stop, almost as if Ranpo’s realized that Poe’s not going to respond to him.

Poe doesn’t leave the bed at all that day.

But it’s after that day, that Poe no longer hears from Ranpo at all. No texts, no unexpected knocks, nothing. And despite it being what Poe wanted… it just hurts. A week passes without him hearing from Ranpo, and Poe knows that he could be the one to message, to ask how Ranpo is doing, but so much time has passed by now that it feels awkward to just start messaging again—as irrational as that sounds—and, well… he’s too scared to message. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t consider it; he stares at his phone for hours, and stares, and stares, and stares.

The next day his phone rings.

Actually rings.

It’s not Ranpo calling, but Yosano, and Poe feels nothing but fear as he picks up the call; he knows that if he lets it ring out or declines it, that Yosano will hunt him down without mercy. “Y-Yosano-sensei?”

“Oh great, so you haven’t died, that’s good to know.” Yosano says, immediately skipping past the pleasantries, which Poe had expected honestly since he does have some idea of why she’s even calling him in the first place. “How long are you going to ignore Ranpo for?”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t say you aren’t, because you are. So tell me, how long?” The Agency doctor’s voice is sharp and straight to the point. She’s mad… Ranpo must be upset…

Poe takes a deep breath, and tried to get himself together so that he can try to explain himself at least without falling apart. “I don’t want to ignore him… I just—” Poe lets out a sigh. “—I just don’t know what to do.”

Yosano’s voice takes on a gentler tone than before. “Well… you need to ask yourself just how angry you are at Ranpo.”

“I’m not angry though…?”

“Angry, hurt, scared, it doesn’t matter.” Yosano pauses. “I understand you were hurt by Ranpo’s actions last week, and I understand you might need some space, but from the sounds of it, it doesn’t like the space is helping at all. Am I right?”

It’s Poe’s turn to sigh. “You would be correct…”

“I know damn well I am, but that’s not the point. My point is, talk to Ranpo. He regrets, he wants to apologize, and he’s hurting. You don’t have to forgive him or anything but just… hear him out.”

Silence follows Yosano’s words while Poe ponders over them, truly wondering if it’s as easy as that—if talking really will be the thing that solves all their problems. He hears something in the background—an echo of something being dropped close by—that causes him to realize that Yosano’s wasn’t alone when she called him. He closes his eyes and steels all the courage he has. “My door will be unlocked.”

“Thank you, Poe.”

Poe’s pressed into the arm of his couch, with two cups of freshly brewed tea on the low table in front of it, when he hears the sound of the front door opening. His head swivels towards the entryway that his visitor will have to walk through, body filled with tension and his heart pounding out of his chest. He’s still not ready for what’s coming, but at this point, he doesn’t think he ever will be. All he can do is take it one step at a time and hope for the best. He takes a shaky breath and closes his eyes as he hears footsteps shuffle in his direction.

When he opens them, Ranpo is standing in the doorway, looking just as bad as Poe feels.

The two stare at each other for a moment before Ranpo breaks looks away, and steps into the room. Poe watches as Ranpo moves over towards the couch and sits down on the other end, the gap between them now physically there. They still don’t speak, both of them unwilling to be the one that breaks the silence. Poe knows why he’s not willing to say anything, but he doesn’t know why Ranpo looks so uncertain as well, not when it’s him that usually knows what to say.

But it doesn’t surprise him when Ranpo is the one to inevitably break the silence. Ranpo turns to face him. “I want to apologize.”

Poe ducks his head, but turns to face Ranpo as well. He nods.

“I’m sorry.” Ranpo’s voice is pained, and Poe looks up to see genuine anguish on the others face. “I hurt you.”

“You did.” Poe croaks. “I’m not ashamed of who I once was, but it hurt to have it thrown in my face by you of all people, someone I love and respect.”

Ranpo nods. “I don’t usually regret the things I say… but I regret that a lot. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Alcohol tends to do that to people.” Poe finds himself saying. “It’s why I express caution whenever you decide to go out drinking. I have nothing against people who wish to drink with friends, just so long as they are careful and responsible.” He takes a moment to breathe, and rests his forehead against his knees. “I know you wouldn’t end up like me, Ranpo-kun, but there’s a part of me that fears you will, and I get scared.”

There’s a moment of silence before a hand threads its way through Poe’s hair, and he looks up to find Ranpo looking at him softly, concern on his face. This is the side of Ranpo that the detective only shows when it’s the two of them, and Poe is always grateful that he’s allowed to witness it. It makes him feel warm inside despite everything, and he leans into the touch, closing his eyes. They continue to sit like that for a moment, until Poe begins to relax; only then, does Ranpo say anything. “It’s okay to be scared. I remember how scared you were when you told me about your past.”

Poe huffs a laugh. “When I told you, you said you already knew and I ran away from you.”

“Like you did last week.”

“Yeah…” Poe sighs and leans away from Ranpo. “I didn’t want to run, but I knew if I stayed, things would only get worse. I just needed space and time to think.”

“Is that why you were ignoring me?” Ranpo asks as he leans back against the arm of the couch and stretches his legs out.

Poe curls up into a ball again and gives a singular nod. “I wasn’t ready to see you, not when I was still trying to sort through my own head, so I did what I do best and just isolate myself.”

“Did it help?”

“No.” Poe lifts his head, trying his best to blink away the stinging sensation in his eyes. “It didn’t. It just made me feel worse because you tried to reach out to me and I just ignored you, and it hurt. But then a week had passed, and I just didn’t know what to do. It was too much. And—And I still don’t know…”

Ranpo is silent as he listens. Two minutes pass before he stretches out his arms. “Poe-kun, come here.”

The stinging in his eyes grows stronger at the gesture, and Poe crawls over, wrapping his arms around Ranpo’s waist, and hiding his face into the others chest. One of Ranpo’s hands drops to rest between his shoulders, and the other begins to smooth through his hair. Poe relaxes into Ranpo’s hold, relishing in the way it feels warm and secure. Before that night at the bar, they’d often done this when one of them wasn’t feeling the greatest, and he’s missed it.

“It’s okay if you don’t understand right now.” Ranpo whispers as he continues to hold him. “And it’s okay if you never do. But if you’ll allow me, I’ll hold you like this, and we can figure it out. Together.”

Poe knows what the underlying question is beneath Ranpo’s words. Do you forgive me, Poe-kun? He tightens his grip on Ranpo and sniffs, his emotions starting to overwhelm him. “I forgave you the moment you knocked on my door the next day.”

“You just weren’t ready to face me yet.” Ranpo states, and Poe nods because it’s the truth. He wasn’t ready, but now he is, now that he knows that Ranpo is by his side helping him every step of the way. And it’s that knowledge that brings the first sob into the open. And then another, and one more before the tears start to fall.

The hand in his hair stops moving, and he’s held just that little bit tighter. Poe feels lips against the top of his head. “You can cry, Poe-kun. You’ve been feeling a lot, so it’s okay to let it out. I’m not going anywhere.”

So he does.

He cries, and cries despite not knowing exactly what it is that he’s crying over.

But that’s okay, because Ranpo’s by his side just as he always has been and they’ll figure it out together.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #ranpoe #edogawa ranpo #edgar allan poe #hurt/comfort #comfort #writing #fanfic

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