I love the "came back wrong" trope but from the opposite side.
Imagine you are dead. And then you are RIPPED from the embrace of decay into the world of the living again. Your memories are hazy and you don't recognize any of these people, but they act like they're close to you? Like they love you? So you try to get your memories back, to act like you belong here, but everybody tries to forget you died. And you can't. It is omnipresent. And just trying to grapple with that fact pushes the people who "love" you away, and they're incapable of understanding, and they're so confused, what's wrong N̶̄̀O̶͛͗T̷̉́ ̷͋͝Y̴̎̌Ȍ̴̈U̸̓R NÄM̴̃͑E̵̾̇? And you just need them to understand, you aren't that person! You aren't! You don't know who that person is! You don't know why any of this is happening, but they're unwilling to bend, they keep insisting you are that person, your memories will come back, everything will be normal again, and you want to scream and cry and claw yourself open to show them you're different. Your existence as a being wholly separate from whoever you "used to be" is a sin unto itself. All you can do is scrabble for life and to them, you're killing whoever they loved to do it.
Me as a writer: I feel like I’m repeating myself, I’ve already used that theme, I’ve already written that kink, that other character uses that speech pattern so this one in another fandom can’t, I feel like I’m writing predictable things, is this different enough from that other thing I wrote, are people filling out bingo cards by my work? :sobbing:
Me as a reader: oh hell yeah this hit the spot exactly, I hope this writer has written 20 more just like it
Summary: The reader and Crowley had been together for a while, and had planned on keeping their relationship a secret from the reader's brothers. What happens when Sam and Dean accidentally stumble upon something they aren't supposed to see?
Request:
Hello, hope you're having a good day/night
I was wondering if I could request Sam and Dean finding out their older brother is going out with Crowley?
@xweirdo101x
A/N: This was only supposed to be 1,800 words, what happened??? I really hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I hope I did your request and Crowley justice! Feedback is greatly appreciated!
The chill fall air nipped at (Y/N)’s skin, causing a shiver to run down his spine as he exited the Impala. Pain shot through his ankle and up his leg when he stepped onto his right foot. He winced and let out a deep hiss as he reached over and held onto the top of the car for support. Sam got out of the car and was quick to move next to him. He wrapped an arm around his torso while placing (Y/N)’s arm around his shoulders. Sam shook his head.
“I told you not to step in front of me. I could have taken that vamp out,” he said.
(Y/N) let out a deep chuckle. His chest rumbled. “The vamp was going low and you were swinging high. You were lucky I did get in there, otherwise, he would have hit your leg like he did mine.”
“I could have handled it.”
“I know you could have, kid.”
Sam rolled his eyes at the nickname and assisted (Y/N) with walking to the motel door. Dean got out of the driver’s seat, got out the room key, and opened the door. He shook his head as well. He stepped to the side and let his brothers into the room.
“Sam’s right, (Y/N),” Dean began as Sam led (Y/N) into the room and helped him sit on the bed furthest from the door. “You have to let us take some hits once in a while. It can’t just be you getting hurt out there.”
(Y/N) let out a sigh. He lifted his injured foot onto the bed while the other rested against the tattered carpet. “You guys need to stop worrying about me. I’m fine, okay? It’s just a sprained ankle. I’ve had worse, nothing I can’t handle.”
“And I could have handled it, too, if you would have let me take him out.” Sam placed his hands on his hips.
“Trust me, Sammy, it’s a lot harder to lug your big ass through the door than it is mine. Besides, that’s what big brothers are for. They’re supposed to protect you. You took the vamp out right after he got me, so we’re good. No harm, no foul.”
Sam opened his mouth to speak, but let out a sigh instead, finding it useless to argue. He ran a hand down his face and turned away. Dean just silently stared at (Y/N), jaw clenched ever so slightly. (Y/N) licked his lips.
“Look, the hunt went fine. If the only thing we get out of it is a sprained ankle, then I’m okay with it! The vampires are dead, we’re all tired, and, I don’t know about you guys, but my stomach has been speaking in tongues ever since we got in the car. Why don’t you boys go and get us something to eat at that diner we saw down the road while I get cleaned up?”
Hesitantly, Sam and Dean nodded their heads. Sam began to walk towards the door while Dean kept looking at his older brother. (Y/N) raised his brows.
“Dean, I’m fine. Really. Like I said, it’s just a sprained ankle. I’m not even bleeding anywhere. The blood on my shirt isn’t even mine.” (Y/N) explained.
“I know…” Dean trailed. “But, believe me, we’re gonna talk about this when we get back.” Dean pulled the keys out of his pocket as he pointed at him.
(Y/N) rolled his eyes and waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, just go get the food.”
“Double cheeseburger?”
“Hell yeah, extra greasy,” (Y/N) mumbled and licked his lips, already able to feel his mouth begin to water.
Dean shook his head before he followed Sam out of the room, the heavy wooden door closing roughly behind them. (Y/N) let out a tired breath of air as soon as he was alone. He stood, making sure to keep the weight off of his right foot as he did so. He needed to get cleaned up.
He stripped from his clothes, tossing them onto the black duffel that rested half-hazardly over one of the side chairs. When his clothes were discarded, he made his way to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He flicked on the switch for the light, the whirring of the vent fan filling his ears. He turned on the shower, checked to make sure that the temperature of the water was to his liking, then stepped in. Immediately, he could feel all of the aching muscles in his body relax. (Y/N) always loved getting the first shower after a hunt, the water was fresh and warm and guaranteed a better clean.
He didn’t take long in the shower, he wanted to make sure that his brothers had some hot water for when they got clean as well. He stepped out, grabbed one of the heavily used off-white towels, and wrapped it around his waist. He tied it at the corner and walked out of the room. The chill from the drastic change in temperature allowed goosebumps to appear on his arms and legs, the hair on the back of his neck standing tall.
(Y/N) went over to his duffel bag. He sorted his dirty clothes into one side of the bag, then grabbed a clean pair of boxers. He put them on underneath the towel before he tossed it to the side. As he took out the rest of the clothes he was going to wear that night, he felt a slight shift in the atmosphere. He froze. It was silent, but the air felt heavier, almost warmer.
“Hello, love,” the deep, familiar, accented voice spoke.
(Y/N) allowed his tense shoulders to relax as he turned. A smirk appeared on his face as he saw Crowley standing there, clad in his usual attire. Crowley eyed him.
“Damn,” Crowley shook his head. “I knew I should have popped in a little sooner. Maybe I could have joined you for a shower.”
(Y/N) chuckled as he limped over to him. “Aren’t you a charmer?” He questioned as he leaned in and pressed his lips against Crowley’s.
They shared a brief, chaste kiss before pulling away. Crowley’s hand reached up and gently caressed (Y/N)’s cheek. His thumb brushed against his jawline as his gaze shifted down to (Y/N)’s feet.
“I see the hunt didn’t go so well,” he observed.
“The hunt went fine,” (Y/N) grumbled and went back over to his duffel bag. “I got the worst of it, and it’s just a sprain. Nothing too severe.”
“You did it to save one of your brothers again, didn’t you?”
(Y/N) hesitated, the silence answering Crowley’s question for him. Crowley shook his head in disappointment as he walked over to him, wrapping his arms around his waist.
“You know, those two idiots can handle themselves, right?”
“We’re not going to discuss this. I’ve already explained; I’m their brother, and I have a right to defend them as I see fit.”
“You always defend them.”
“I always see fit.”
(Y/N) picked up his t-shirt and went to place his arms inside before Crowley stopped him. He looked at Crowley for a moment. He could see the wicked glimmer hiding behind his eyes.
“Leave it off,” Crowley’s voice was deep and seductive.
Crowley leaned in and pressed his lips to (Y/N)’s. That kiss was slower, passionate, and heated. Crowley’s hands wandered down (Y/N)’s body to his hips. (Y/N) reached around and cupped the back of Crowley’s head, his fingers entangled in Crowley’s short mess of brown hair. His other hand rested against his chest, his fingertips caressing the smooth fabric of his tie.
When they parted, (Y/N) let out a heavy breath. Meanwhile, Crowley moved his lips to (Y/N) jaw and down to his neck. (Y/N) tilted his head to the side as he pulled Crowley closer.
“Sam and Dean are going to be back any minute.” He mumbled.
“That gives us more of a reason to spend as much time together as possible.”
“Do you think we have time?”
“Do you?” Crowley pulled himself away from (Y/N), looking into his eyes.
(Y/N) stared at him momentarily before his eyes shifted to the bed closest to them, then, finally, to the door. He wasn’t too sure how much time had elapsed since he had gotten in the shower, nor how long it would take for Sam and Dean to get back. His mind was clouded with lust and desire, and the only thing that he could focus on was Crowley.
“Bed,” (Y/N) breathed as his hands made quick work to dispose of Crowley's suit jacket.
The fabric fell onto the floor as they made their way over to the bed, their lips connecting once again. The back of (Y/N)’s knees hit the side of the bed and he fell back onto it, his body bouncing from the force. Crowley was quick to climb on top of him. They kissed harder that time, desperately. While Crowley’s hands roamed around (Y/N)’s bare chest, (Y/N) was focused on taking as many layers off of Crowley as possible.
Crowley’s tie was the first to go as it joined the jacket on the floor, followed by Crowley’s belt, pants, and shirt. When both men were only wearing their boxers, they moved up the length of the bed until (Y/N) felt the pillow hit the back of his head.
“Fuck, you have no idea how much I missed you,” (Y/N) growled between kisses.
Crowley chuckled. “I could tell, love. I missed you, too. Do you know how hard it is to find time alone with you when you are always on the road?” Crowley moved back and began to leave small, butterfly kisses down his chest. “How hard it is to keep my eyes off of you every time your brothers summon me?” Crowley’s lips trailed down his pecs towards his stomach. “How often I want to remind you who you belong to?”
Crowley’s fingers began to play with the waistband of (Y/N)’s boxers. (Y/N) let out a needy whine.
“Crowley, please,” he breathed.
Crowley smirked as he looked up at him. “You beg so deliciously, darling.”
Before either of them could move an inch, the door to the motel room opened. Dean was the first to walk in. When his gaze landed on the bed, he quickly went to cover his eyes with his hand.
“Woah, sorry, (Y/N), didn’t know you-” he froze, eyes wide as he saw the person on the bed with his brother.
Dean’s hand slowly lowered as he took in the scene. (Y/N) was resting on his back, a horrified look of shock present on his face. Crowley sat between (Y/N)’s legs, his fingers still hooked onto the waistband of his boxers. Sam entered after Dean and, before he could say anything, he stopped. His eyes, too, widened. A sly smirk slowly appeared on Crowley’s lips.
“‘Ello boys,” he said, his voice breaking the heavy silence.
Soon, Dean’s expression turned from shock to anger. His fists were clenched at his sides. “What the hell are you doing to my brother?” He growled out as he took a couple of steps closer to the bed.
Crowley simply sat up on the bed, moving towards the edge. (Y/N) was quick to move between Dean and Crowley. He held his hands up.
“Dean! Stop!” (Y/N) spoke in a booming voice.
“You son of a bitch! I’m going to kill you!” Dean tried to push past (Y/N), but he held his ground.
(Y/N) stood from the bed and placed a hand on Dean’s chest. “Dean!”
Dean turned his attention from Crowley to (Y/N). His jaw clenched as he pushed (Y/N)’s hand off of him and turned back towards the door. He ran his hand down his face. The tension in the room was thick enough to be cut with a knife. Everyone stood in an uncomfortable silence.
What broke the silence was the sharp sound of snapping fingers. Everyone turned to look at Crowley. (Y/N) had expected him to leave, but he was surprised to see that Crowley was still sitting there, fully dressed in the outfit that he had appeared in. (Y/N) turned back to look at his brothers. Sam and Dean stood side by side. Both of them were sending deadly glares towards him. If looks could kill, (Y/N) would be dead…again.
(Y/N) took that moment to limp over towards his duffel bag. He got out the T-shirt and put it over his head. When it was on, he smoothed it out over his torso and limped back over to the bed. He sat next to Crowley, who had been watching (Y/N)’s movement the entire time. Once he was settled, Sam and Dean moved away from the door until they were standing in front of Crowley and (Y/N).
“Care to explain what the Hell is going on here?” Dean asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.
(Y/N) placed his elbows onto his knees, back slouched as he leaned forward. His eyes were cast down towards the floor. He felt like a child being scolded by his parents. Crowley glanced over at him before he opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off by Dean.
“If you say one word, I will stab you, do you understand?” Dean said between clenched teeth.
Crowley closed his mouth and held his hands up in surrender. (Y/N) shook his head and clasped his hands together.
“Crowley and I…” he trailed. “Are together.”
“Together?” Dean raised his brows.
“As in together-together?” Sam added.
(Y/N) nodded.
Sam let out a sigh and shook his head. Dean shuffled in his spot.
“And…how long has this been going on?”
(Y/N) hesitated for a moment. His eyes were still cast down towards the ground. He couldn’t even look his brothers in the eyes. He felt ashamed. He had kept his relationship with Crowley from Sam and Dean for a while, and it was something that he never wanted to come to light. He knew this was how Dean and Sam were going to react. Crowley was a demon after all. The King of Hell to be exact. Their relationship was forbidden to begin with. Still, he couldn’t help his feelings for Crowley.
“How long, (Y/N),” Dean growled out.
“A year.” (Y/N) replied softly.
“A year,” Dean repeated. “A year. You’ve been screwing around with Crowley for a fucking year!? Was this before or after all the shit that he did to us? Are we even talking about the same Crowley here?”
“Dean, listen,” (Y/N) stood from the bed.
“No, you listen,” Dean stepped forward so that he was merely inches away from (Y/N), his finger pointed at his chest. “I don’t know what kind of fantasy relationship you think you have, but Crowley is using you.”
“I’m right here,” Crowley mumbled.
“You shut your-” Dean lunged for Crowley.
“Dean!” (Y/N) grabbed the collar of Dean’s shirt to hold him back. “Crowley’s different, okay? He’s changed. He cares about me and, dammit, I care about him.”
Dean looked at (Y/N) in disbelief. He scoffed and turned his back on him. As he ran his fingers through his hair, Sam took a step forward. He was visibly more calm than Dean was.
“(Y/N), you know how Crowley is, you’ve seen what he can do.” He shook his head.
“You guys don’t know anything!” (Y/N) shook his head rapidly. “You know all those demon hunts we’ve been on this year? You wanna know how we got all of the information so quickly? It wasn’t because of me like you thought.” He gestured dramatically to his chest. “It was because of Crowley! He was the one that gave me the information, he was the one that led us to every single one of those demon hideouts and let us get out of there as quickly as we did.”
“Yeah, and he’s just going to use that as an excuse for you to do favors for him,” Dean’s attitude was dripping from his voice at that point. “You’re supposed to be our big brother. You’re supposed to be protecting us from monsters like him, not sleeping with them!”
“That’s bullshit!” (Y/N) exclaimed.
“No, you wanna know what’s bullshit? The fact that we trusted you! The fact that you thought you would be able to pull the wool over our eyes. How the hell are we supposed to trust you now? How do you expect us to sleep in the same room, let alone the same building as someone who would betray us like this?”
(Y/N) tilted his head to the side. “What are you saying?” He crossed his arms over his chest.
Dean paused and licked his lips. “I want you out.”
“Dean,” Sam began.
“No, Sam.” Dean held a hand up. “(Y/N) made his bed…now he can sleep in it.”
(Y/N)’s shoulders slumped. “You’re kicking me out? I’m your brother, Dean.”
“You were my brother. Now I don’t know who you are anymore.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Oh, I do. I do mean it. You can get out. Now.”
(Y/N) stared at Dean as he looked down at the floor. (Y/N)’s eyes moved to Sam, who was also looking at the floor for a moment before he turned his back on him. (Y/N) slowly nodded.
“Alright,” he whispered. “I’ll leave.”
(Y/N) limped past Sam and Dean and towards his bag. He grabbed his last pair of clean pants and put them on. He put on some socks and his boots before closing up his duffel. He slung it over his shoulder. He made his way towards the door and stopped for a moment. He looked back at Sam and Dean. Their backs were turned to him. Crowley had stood from his spot on the bed and began to make his way over to him. With a faint nod, (Y/N) opened up the motel room door and left.
It had been six months since (Y/N) left the bunker. At first, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He had made it his goal in life to protect his little brothers at all costs, but when they wanted him to leave, he felt lost. He began to hunt on his own, not going far from Lebanon to pick up a couple of smaller ones here and there. Then, after the third hunt, he knew that it wasn’t for him. He was never good with hunting alone. It had been a big shift going from working with two other people to working alone.
In the end, he decided that, even though he had been banished from the bunker, he didn’t necessarily have to stop protecting Sam and Dean. He had set up shop in his car, a small two-door truck that he had snatched from a shopping center in Lincoln, Nebraska, and rested a mile down the road from the entrance of the bunker. To go the extra mile, he had picked up a tracking device from a sketchy shop in Kansas City and put it in the Impala when Sam and Dean were asleep. The device gave him alerts on his phone whenever the car was in motion.
He followed Sam and Dean from hunt to hunt using the tracker. He made sure to keep a safe distance to not alert them. He would get a motel room, just like them, which allowed him to sleep in a real bed and take a real shower instead of sleeping in the front seat of his car and praying that he didn’t smell too bad if he had to go out in public. That was his routine; track the boys to the hunt, keep an eye on them, go back to the bunker, wait. Wash, rinse, repeat.
The entire time, Crowley was by his side. He would pop into the front seat of the truck occasionally. They spent the time talking to one another, an attempt made by Crowley to distract (Y/N) from everything that was going on in his head. At times it worked, but there were instances when (Y/N) just wanted to be by himself. He could tell that he was pushing Crowley away, but Crowley seemed persistent. He would bring (Y/N) food when he was hungry, and there were even moments when Crowley tried to urge him to make up with his brothers. (Y/N) always rejected the idea. No matter how much he wanted to be back with his brothers, they seemed happier without him. He would let them have their peace, even if he didn’t have his.
Around April, (Y/N) tracked Sam and Dean to a small town in the lower part of South Dakota. Having read up on the reports, he realized that they were dealing with vampires. As a result of his recon, he concluded that it wasn’t just a couple of vampires that his brothers would be going against. It would be a whole nest. He estimated about ten vampires, and that was just the ones that he had seen pass outside and in the windows of the farmhouse that they were held up in. (Y/N) was nervous. It was too big of a job for them to do on their own.
But (Y/N) knew how hard-headed Dean was.
They were going into the nest guns blazing.
(Y/N) couldn’t have that.
For the first time in months, he had decided to make himself known. Later the next night, (Y/N) followed about a mile behind the Impala back to the farmhouse. He waited a couple of minutes before he exited his truck. He walked up to the house, machete in hand tight in his grasp. As he made his way, slowly, onto the porch, he caught a glimpse at some of the corpses that were around the perimeter. When he walked up the porch, he was able to see the front door kicked in and the sound of combat became louder. He took a deep breath before he rushed into the house.
It was absolute carnage. Dark red blood decorated the floors and walls throughout the cramped foyer and bodies lay askew in various positions across the aged wood. (Y/N) stepped over the bodies as he made his way through the house towards the sound of fighting. Past the living room, he could see the chaos that was present in the small kitchen. The dining table had been flipped over, cabinets were broken off of their hinges, and blood splattered the discolored tile.
Dean lay on the floor, his hands held behind his back, machete across the room. Two vampires stood over him. One of them had their mouth agape, their sharp fangs glimmering in the moonlight. Sam was on the opposite side of the kitchen, a larger, stalkier vampire holding him against the wall, his forearm pressed into Sam’s throat. His fangs were out and they were inches away from Sam’s neck.
All (Y/N) saw was red.
(Y/N)’s movements were swift. One would never imagine that he had been out of the hunting game for months. One wouldn’t even imagine he was human. The way he moved, decapitating each of the vampires that held his brothers hostage, was almost ghostly. Their heads rolled on the floor, clumped together in a small pile in the center of the kitchen. (Y/N) didn’t even give the vampires a chance to react.
By the time the threat was eliminated, (Y/N)’s clothes and face were splashed in blood. The only sound that filled the room was the pants that fell from each of their mouths. (Y/N) lowered his arm, the machete dripping with blood onto the stained floor. He reached down, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and wiped the blood from his face, pinching his lips shut as he did so. When he pulled the shirt away, he could see that Sam and Dean were staring at him, their eyes wide.
Sam glanced down at Dean. Dean let out a grunt as he struggled to get up. Sam rushed over to his side and helped him up. When Dean went to put pressure on his right foot, he winced. He reached over and held onto one of the countertops for support before he and Sam turned and looked at their older brother again. Sam’s face was covered in an expression of disbelief.
“(Y/N)?” Sam breathed.
(Y/N) slowly lifted his arms. “In the flesh,” he mumbled before lowering them once more. He looked between Sam and Dean. “Look, I know that I’m the last person you want to see, but,”
(Y/N) was interrupted when Sam pulled him into a tight embrace, his arms roughly wrapped around him. (Y/N) raised his brows in shock and hesitantly hugged him back. It had been so long since he had seen his brothers up close, let alone hugged them, that the emotions started to bubble up inside of him. With the adrenaline wearing off, he could feel the familiar prickle of tears appear in the corner of his eyes. He never realized just how much he missed his little brothers.
When Sam pulled away, he had a small smile on his face. “Uh, how have you been? It’s been-”
“Six months. I’ve kept track,” (Y/N) mumbled as he looked down at his machete. He reached over and placed it on one of the counters.
“How the hell did you find us?” Dean grunted.
(Y/N) lifted his head to look at him. Dean was fully leaning against the counter, his right foot lifted off of the ground. One of his hands was pressed against his side while the other one rested against the granite.
“I put a tracker on Baby,” He answered.
“You what?”
“Put a tracker on your car. I’ve been following you guys for months.”
“Why?”
(Y/N) hesitated. “Because I told myself the day that mom died that I was going to protect you guys no matter what. No matter how much you two pissed me off or I pissed you two off. You’re my little brothers, and it’s my job to look after you. To make sure you guys are alive and kicking, and if I wouldn’t have been here…” he shook his head. “I don’t think I would have been able to forgive myself if I just walked away.”
“(Y/N)...” Sam trailed.
“I know, I told you guys I would leave and I did. And, if you want, I’ll be out of here after this. We can get in our cars, go our separate ways, and we never have to see each other again. I don’t want that to happen, but I’ll respect your wishes if that’s what you want. Before I go, though, let me tell you this;
“I understand how upset you guys were when you found out about Crowley and me. I understand how much of a shock that must have been. Hell, it was a shock to me when I realized that I liked the annoying bastard, and that’s the whole reason why I kept it from you two. I knew that you would react this way and I just didn’t want there to be any bad blood between us. We’re brothers, we’re supposed to stick together. Crowley and I talked about it and he understands that you boys come first before he does. It pissed him off when he would see my injuries from protecting you on hunts, but he stopped fighting me on it a while ago. Crowley’s not the same person around you two as he is around me. Believe it or not, he’s sweet and caring, and that is something that I never thought I would be able to say about him when we first met him.
“For my entire life, I had made it my goal to protect you guys. I never thought that I would have even a small amount of normal in my life. Granted, having a relationship with the King of Hell isn’t exactly normal, but it’s the first taste of normalcy I have ever had and I love it. I love him and he loves me. He knows my limits, and what I will and will not do for him. He’s never asked me to do anything for him and I’ve never forced him to help me. I know that you guys hate the fact that I’m with him, and if that’s something that’s stopping you from having any type of relationship with me, then I will end it with Crowley because you guys are more important to me than him. He knows this. He’s prepared for me to end everything to go back to you guys. I just don’t want to lose you both. You mean so much to me. We’ve been through so much together and I would hate to see something as stupid as a man tear us apart.”
Sam and Dean sat in silence as they listened to (Y/N). Once he was finished, he stood up straight. Sam glanced towards the ground before he looked over at Dean. He gave a small, short nod. Sam then turned his attention back towards his oldest brother.
“We’ve been talking…a lot,” Sam admitted.
Dean pushed himself off of the counter and hobbled next to his little brother. “I, uh…I think I overreacted when we found out.”
“What?” (Y/N) furrowed his brows.
“I shouldn’t have kicked you out.” Dean shook his head. “I was just so pissed off. But Sam and I have been talking recently and, uh, he mentioned that you’ve been…happier.”
“But it never really occurred to us that Crowley could be the reason why you were so happy all of a sudden.” Sam continued.
“Yeah, how the Hell he makes you happy, I’m not too sure.” Dean shrugged his shoulders. “But he does and…as long as you’re happy, then we’re happy.”
“And, to be honest, we missed having our big brother with us. Hunting, just the two of us, has been fine, but…we hate taking the blunt end of all the injuries. That’s supposed to be your job,” Sam said with a small smirk in the corner of his lips.
(Y/N) felt a lump appear in his throat as he looked between Sam and Dean. Tears formed in his eyes, but he was quick to wipe them away. Without saying anything, he walked over to the two of them and wrapped his arms around them. They returned the hug, placing their hands on the top of his back.
“I love you idiots so much,” he whispered as he blinked the tears away.
“I love you, too.” they both replied in a voice that matched his.
When they pulled away from the embrace, (Y/N)’s hands stayed on their shoulders. He looked between the two of them.
“Does that mean I can come back?” He asked. “I missed my memory foam mattress.”
Sam rolled his eyes while Dean chuckled. “We wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied. “And, when we get back, you can clean yourself up. You look homeless.”
(Y/N) laughed and ran his fingers through his hair and beard, which were both longer than what he was normally comfortable with. “I don’t know. I kind of like my new look. Needs to be cleaned up, but I’m kind of digging it.”
Dean clenched his teeth in a disgusted expression. “Whatever works for you, man,” he patted (Y/N)’s back.
Sam chuckled. “How about we get the Hell out of here, guys? We can come back in the morning to burn the bodies.”
“Sounds good to me.” (Y/N) nodded. “And how about some burgers? On me.”
“You’re speaking my language, brother,” Dean smirked. “Now help me out to the damn car. That vampire did a number on me.”
(Y/N) wrapped an arm around Dean’s torso and wrapped Dean’s arm around the back of his neck. He began to lead him outside, allowing Dean to lean against him as they stumbled over the corpses on the way out.
It was hard being an older brother, especially when you had two younger brothers who looked up to you. (Y/N) loved Crowley more than most things, but he loved his brothers the most. It was his job to protect them. He would go to the ends of the Earth for his brothers, hunt down anyone who hurt them, and even die for them. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for them. When he found happiness in Crowley, he didn’t want Sam and Dean to look at him as a failure. To hear that Sam and Dean had finally accepted their relationship made (Y/N)’s heart jump for joy. He had his brothers back, and he had his lover waiting for him.
(Y/N) could confidently say that he was the happiest man on Earth.
I cannot stress this enough, write it poorly. Write the shittiest draft you possibly can, stick 'ah fuck something happens here and now they're fighting' to get over
Write the worst fucking version you possibly can and stick it in a folder and forget it for a month or two before you look at it again. You know what you have now?
A first draft. And with enough time to think some new thoughts about it, you'll soon end up with a better, second draft! And eventually, you'll end up with something you'd be perfectly okay with letting other people read!
You'll never believe this process works no matter how many times you do it, but it totally does. You just have to drag your brain kicking and screaming to that blank page and get the bones down first.
One quiet day on the farm, the Little Red Hen found some wheat seeds and decided to make bread.
"Who will help me plant these seeds?" the Little Red Hen asked.
"I would." said the Horse "But I'm a workhorse, and I'm too busy moving carts around."
And so the Little Red Hen planted the seeds by herself. And they grew into bountiful golden crops.
"Who will help me harvest the wheat?" the Little Red Hen asked.
"I would." said the Dog "But I'm a guarddog, and I'm too busy keeping away burglars and predators."
And so the Little Red Hen harvested the wheat herself and made it into flour.
"Who will help me bake the flour?" the Little Red Hen asked.
"I would." said the Pig "But I'm a mother of 5 newborn piglets, and I'm too busy taking care of my young."
And so the Little Red Hen baked the bread herself into twenty beautiful loaves.
"Who will help me eat the bread?" the Little Red Hen asked.
"We would." said the Farm Animals. "But we're ashamed, for we didn't do anything to make the bread."
"Nonsense!" said the Little Red Hen. "You, Horse, helped move around the stones that built my oven. You, Dog, kept me safe while I worked. And you, Pig, are raising a new generation of Farm Animals, who will too contribute to our Farm one day. You've all helped me so much by simply being you."
"Besides," the Little Red Hen added. "I couldn't possibly eat all the loaves on my own, most of them would go to waste. Come, eat with me."
And so the Little Red Hen and the Farm Animals ate the bread together. And all saw their own, and each other's, worth.
Being the reluctant Chosen One of some bullshit prophecy, except you're not actually sure if you even are the Chosen One. You weren't exactly chosen to wield this Cool Magic Sword or anything, you kind of stole it. You sort of killed a guy by accident once. You've been making shit up as you go along, screwing people over, but you don't regret most of it because those people were dicks anyway.
Then some Annoyingly Wholesome goody-two-shoes farmboy hero shows up and you kind of hate him on sight. Also he annoyingly looks just like you, except somehow prettier and better in every way. He's even got a birthmark on the same place you've got a big scar on, and you didn't even get that scar from doing anything cool, but getting punted down the stairs by some other asshole in a pub brawl that you weren't even involved in before you got tackled for standing in the wrong place.
And then this asshole Farmboy Hero Type sees you and goes "you are not the rightful heir of that sword, you are a false and a cheat and I will battle you for it", and then you realise you're the fucking Dark Foil Nemesis to this guy, the darker and edgier version who is only meant to contrast how fair and rightful this real hero is.
And you just go "You know what? Fuck you, fight me" because fuck this guy and the moral high horse he rode in on. Not everyone can get raised on a farm with loving adoptive parents who were tragically murdered. Your parents are tragically alive and you fucking wish they weren't.
Okay okay but this is fascinating because it's such a visceral example of how mythology works.
Most characters in mythologies are personifications of concepts, or embody some natural phenomenon - like the story of Hades and Persephone is there to explain why the seasons change, Persephone being spring, Demeter - summer, and the absence of them both resulting in death (Hade's domain) and winter, and so we can't have Persephone stay in underworld all year round or have Demeter steal her back to earth permanently, otherwise they myth would lose its core function.
Interpreting the myth without the lense of the natural phenomena that it explains would make it lose an integral part of itself, and therefore make the plot and characters seem strange or unnatural. Why does Demeter hate Hades so much, seeing how so many mothers are okay with Zeus doing atrocious things to their offspring just because he's Zeus? Does Persephone actually want to stay or not? What's with the bizarre arrangement?
Most modern interpretations strip myths of their natural contexts, making them character-driven instead of phenomena-driven, which just makes them land differently - they can still be fine stories, just not myths, not is the traditional sense.
And now we get to this beauty. This is absolutely a myth, the most classical kind. The relationship between characters, who are personifications of objects, phenomena or concepts (in this case, online platforms) used as an intuitively understood metaphor for an event (the demise of Twitter and the Tumblr userbase being unwilling to accept Twitter's userbase).
It's a story that can work as a so-called "explanation myths". We have seasons because Persephone spends half a yesterday underworld and half a year with her mother. We don't like Twitter because the Twitter God and Tumblr God broke up. Ladies and gents and other assorted respectables, we here are witnessing the creation of a perfect modern myth.
I thought about it way more than a non-feverish me would, and I've come to the conclusion:
The modern myth that is The Divorce of Tumblr and Twitter carries the themes of regression, corruption and downfall. Some of Twitter userbase used to be part of Tumblr userbase, but they left and changed (corruption). Now that Twitter is becoming uninhabitable (downfall), people are trying to return to Tumblr (regression, possible downfall of Tumblr), and to keep them off Tumblr is returning to its old cringe self (regression).
So, if we are to follow the themes, the logical conclusion would be to send the shoelaces back to the president.
There once lived a young man, handsome as daylight, bright and strong. He was known as Twitter, beloved by the people, a favorite of the gods. His chosen companion, Tumblr, was not dear to the people or the gods. He, a traveling storyteller, preferred solitude. His tales were strange and often unpleasant to the ears, but enchanting in their vulgarity.
One day, Tumblr's patron goddess, Yahoo, enraged by his vulgar words, put a curse on him. He was not to utter vulgarities, speak of the pleasures of the flesh. His stories of lycanthrope companions were lost to the sands of time, and with them, his last listeners turned away from him.
Twitter watched others laugh at his beloved, turn him away from their doors, and a dark thought settled over him. He was perfect in every way, his only fault was the affiliation with the cursed taleweaver. And so, little by little, they drifted apart.
In his travels, Tumblr stumbled into the temple of Apollo, who bestowed upon him the gift of prophecy. He made acquaintance with the trifecta of wise temple maidens who induced visions through hallucinogenic incense. His stories changed, still bizarre and often vulgar, but at times full of wonder and truth.
At that time, Twitter enjoyed all the luxuries of the mortal world. He was the companion of kings, wealthy merchants, legendary heroes, wise philosophers.
One day, a man richer than rich, richer than the God of wealth, went to the senate of directors and asked to buy the most precious thing in the entire polis.
The senate thought long and hard, and said: "do you wish for our finest singer, the most sweet-voiced of the land, Spotifia? I am afraid I cannot part with her. "
"No, " said the rich man, his voice cold and harsh, "I said I have come to buy your most precious thing."
"Have you come for our gambler, the chosen of the god of luck, MAXimil? They earn us more riches than you can offer. I shall not part with them. "
"No," the rich man repeated, "I have come to buy your most precious thing. I have come for Twitter."
The senators laughed, then, for they knew this must be a joke. Twitter was too beloved by the gods to be owned as a servant. But the rich man did not smile. He offered money, then more and more still. As the goddess of hubris clouded his mind, he offered more money than he could afford to spend, more than the senate could afford to refuse, for it was enough gold to form armies five times the size of their polis.
And so Twitter, the proud Twitter, the untouchable Twitter who laughed at kings and scholars alike, became a servant.
As he was put onto a gilded ship to be sailed off to the rich man's land, he prayed to the gods that granted him beauty and strength and a sharp tongue, but none answered. His cruelty and vanity made them turn away, and he was too full of his power to notice.
Finally, the young man remembered one more name. He called for Tumblr, his forgotten companion.
First time he called, the birds took off and flew in all directions. Second time he called, the animals fled in fear. Gathering all the strength he had, he called a third time.
His call shook the earth and the skies, and in an instant, Apollo's taleweaver stood on the shore.
Twitter cried in relief. "My love!" he called, "save me! Save me, and I shall be yours for the eternity to come. I shall bask you in glory and riches. I shall make the people love you."
Tumblr looked at the rich old man, at the gilded ship, gilded chains, at the other slaves that were meant to please the rich man during his trip, dressed in the finest clothes fit for kings and immortals.
"You'll like your new life, dear. " said Tumblr. "You are idle: he shan't make you do much. You are prideful: he shall treat you like a god. You are vain, and so you might fear you might be forgotten, one servant among many. Fear not," he smiled. "I shall sing a song of us."
Okay I’m saying it with my whole chest now, fuck it
I have always unironically loved personifying objects and concepts. Gijinkas are fucking awesome and I’m so tired of the internet treating them as cringe.
You know, amongst all the angst of Hob being ordered to marry, I had a thought that I haven't seen talked about much.
Considerations of love aside, Blemish and Boil found Hob an objectively good match. Good by the standards of the regency-era society they're mimicking, that is. Hob is a commoner, he's mentioned several times his lower station. He's only rubbing elbows with nobility because of his very visible military victories. The match made for him was with a Lady of the Seelie court. A person of noble rank within a very powerful and well regarded court, marrying a low-born goblin. If the marriage goes through, Hob would be marrying up, by a significant margin. A match of a higher station in a more well respected court.
To be clear, I'm not suggesting that Blemish and Boil are being altruistic here. They don't care about how Hob might feel about this, given that they made the match without consulting him, and it was clearly chosed because it benefits their own standing. But in fairness to them, (and the Seelies who made the deal,) this match is, as far as they're concerned, very good for Hob. Most of society would see this match as the goblin court doing right by their captain. Sorry, major.
And if anything, this makes it so much worse for Hob. He hates the idea of marrying a stranger when he's fallen so hard for Rue, but on top of everything, he would feel guilty at being ungrateful for what is clearly a "good" match. How dare he want more than this, when it's already so far above his station.
I just realized how long I've left this blog to basically rot, i left it when I was 19 and here i am four years later returning to it. I camt recall any of my tagging system but I do know that the fandoms im in have changed drastically. I want to get back into writing so heres to hoping this blog will make a resurgence!
thinking about how major k. p. hob is confirmed to be alone in the woods when apollo confronts him.
but apollo might not be.
and wuvvy emerges from the trees, the quiet footsteps of her hooves on fading leaves…
angry enough to duel him with a poisoned blade because her mistrex made her burn the first letter…
feral enough to murder him dishonourably and in cold blood as he goes to meet his betrothed, after her beloved rue wrote another letter, and this time sent it…
I believe Hob still owes wuvvy a favor, imagine she walks out and demands her favor.
What does she want?
Hob to still his hand, not to draw his weapon, and accept death.
And once again Hob due to not speaking with Rue would just accept that this is what Rue wants for him. Once again he'd be torn between duty and love but for diffrent reasons.
Should he kill Apollo or listen and fulfill the favor asked of him by the one who is closest to his beloved?
And Rue wouldnt know because they are all having tea, Rue wouldnt be able to tell him to fight and don't give up.
Hob I feel would fight to kill Apollo, but then when it comes to Wuvvy he'd lay down his weapon and let her kill him.
thinking about blemish and boil arranging hob’s betrothal to a member of the seelie court and for the first time he has to chose between love and duty and the master of ceremonies just smiles ruefully and arranges the wedding for the climax of the bloom, making it as beautiful as they can for someone who deserves the best care in all the world.
while hob doesn’t know, he isn’t sure if one dance could mean anything to them, this isn’t a battle he can strategise for and plan on a map, and they don’t say anything but offer their constant generosity and support, that endless well of kindness.
his honour and loyalty to the court and his fealty and obedience to his king are the foundations of his character but he’s pulled in opposite directions and never known how to chose his own happiness, especially not risking his reputation and that of his court on something as small as a moment in the woods, blown out of all proportion by his own self delusion.
he watches delloso de la rue arrange flowers (no peonies) for his upcoming nuptials, feathers shining in caught sunlight, and one word from them would be enough to risk it all, but in that moment he knows himself a coward.
“they have shown me kindness, and that is well enough. and it was a kindness paid to a humble goblin by a beautiful — by a beautiful member of the court of wonder, and it was a deep and profound kindness. and for me to have known even a single day of love is a gift that i never thought i would be lucky enough to have, and i will not squander it hoping for more! i will not spoil it hoping for more! it was beautiful for what it was.”
I see people took an unsubstantiated tumblr post as ~proof~ FFN was about to go down for good. Sheesh. Some thoughts:
Yes, you can copy text from FFN and from every other site that tries to block c&p. If your browser can display it, you can copy it.
OTW/AO3 only import archives with archivist permission. FFN will never grant this. Don’t count on OTW to save FFN if and when it eventually goes down.
No, you cannot post other people’s work to AO3 without permission. If you save copies of things, you’re looking at sitting on a private personal collection and maybe sending out individual fics to people who ask or donating the lot to a library in 30 years.
Add links to the Wayback machine.
Write up your fandom and its greatest hits on Fanlore so later people know what to even look for.
The time for preservation is now because that’s always true. Don’t wait for an emergency. That day will come even if not right now.
FFN hasn’t been good about communicating with users in twenty years. Radio silence is nothing new.
“FFN is dying” hysteria happens at least once a year.
OTW/AO3 only import archives with archivist permission. FFN will never grant this.
Not in the least: FF.N has been actively blocking connection requests from the AO3 to import even the creator’s own work since, like, 2014. Copy Paste your own works, and download the rest into Calibre.
No, you cannot post other people’s work to AO3 without permission.
Just adding on that posting someone else’s works on AO3 without their permission is plagiarism and against TOS. Yes, even if you credit the original author.
Downloading a personal copy is fine. Uploading is not.
Please explain how to copy paste text on FFN; I would love to be able to quote bits of a fic in reviews to say how certain lines specifically affected me. Also how do you add links to the Wayback Machine?
They also updated their Twitter today after a year-long radio silence.
Apparently, the most recent glitches were caused by network, software, and hardware issues. They even provided a roadmap for the site’s ongoing maintenance.
I think they saw people preparing for a mass exodus and realized they needed to say something before they lost a good chunk of ad revenue. If they do finally update and fix the site, I’ll be pleasantly surprised, but I’d also advise that people continue to back up their fics and cross-post to other platforms to mitigate losses.
