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zmediaoutlet · 4 years

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in support of wildfire relief, @jesusonthetortillas donated $10, and requested pre-series pining!Sam, with diary discovery. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

After his little lesson from Sabrina, the hot librarian's assistant, it's not hard at all for Dean to find what he's looking for. He drops Sam off at the library the way he usually does, and flirts with Sabrina on his way out like he usually does, but instead of going to his shift at the construction site like Sam thinks he's going to, he circles back around, through the library stacks on the main floor, and waits like a dingus by YOUNG ADULT – ADVENTURE, watching the back of Sam's nerdy, nerdy head where he's hunched at the computer banks, getting up to no kind of good.

It wouldn't have come to this, Dean thinks, if Sam weren't so—he doesn't even know how to think about it. He doesn't know when to pin it down. They were doing okay. Sam ran away, a few years back, but since then he's—well, he's always bitching at Dad and bitching at Dean half the time too, but he's done good in school, he's done his part with the hunting. It was sometime at that last school. September in Maryland. Dad was gone a lot of the time, because Dad always was, and Dean went with him on about half the hunts but Sam got to stay behind, got to just call in research tips and last-minute lore checks, and Dean thought he was pretty happy, as much as Sam ever seemed happy. Chill, just doing his homework at the rickety desk, not complaining any more than usual about Dean's usual dinners of fast food or Kraft or Top Ramen. Seventeen and getting tall and mellowing out, and finally hanging out with his little brother was just fine. Dean thought.

That was two towns ago, three months ago. Dean picks his nails with his pocket knife, leaning on one elbow by the Hardy Boys. Sam's still working away on the computer. Anymore he always is. After school he's always angling for Dean to bring him to the library and if Dean won't drive him then Sam walks, even when it's raining, like it is half the time in frickin Washington, anyway. Always finding a free computer and settling in and disappearing onto the internet. Not coming home until the library closes, and moody if Dean's there when he walks in, and Dean just—he thought they were past all this crap. He thought that maybe Sam had—settled. Figured out how things were, how things had to be.

Well. Either way. Sabrina, with the glasses and the sexy dreads and the legs that very much went all the way to the floor under those wide-legged pants she was always wearing—she gave Dean a computer lesson, free of charge, and he's got a way in, now. Sam won't talk to him, won't hardly look at him. Dean chews the inside of his cheek, watching Sam type on the battered public machine. Sam's not the only one who knows how to research a case, in this family. Dean's going to figure this out. He's gonna fix it.

A bell rings, at five o'clock, like the end of a school day. Sam jerks like he's been shocked and looks up at the ceiling, clearly annoyed. He's been engrossed for two hours, typing away, reading. Real frickin' boring, on Dean's end, but he stayed put. Like staking out a house for a job—nothing to do but wait. He takes a few steps backwards, makes sure the shelves hide his face, and there's a general rustling as people leave—a mom and her kid, and tears because the kid's favorite book wasn't here—and when Dean looks again the computer banks are empty, and Sabrina's checking out the last few patrons, and Sam's—gone. Walking home in the rain, little goth that he is. Fine with Dean, if it gives him a few minutes.

When he settles into the chair Sam was in it's still warm. He opens up Netscape Navigator, the library's homepage welcoming him in a friendly kinda way—big yellow smiley face, that's fun. He goes to where Sabrina taught him, in the menu at the top: view, and then History, where it turns out the computer saves all the webpages you went to just in case you need to find them again, and there—oh, jackpot. Gotcha, Sam.

All kinds of crap. A weather website, a bunch of Ask Jeeves searches, something called DiffEQandU. Some mythology stuff, too, and Dean goes to one that turns out to be a history of kitsune. That's something, at least—Sam doing his important homework, in there with whatever other crap he's been working on.

The last bunch of results are all pages from some website called Livejournal, which Dean's never heard of. He clicks one at random and is brought to—huh. A splashy red page, with a big picture on top of kids graduating from high school in those dorky blue robes. He scrolls down, skimming, looking for the important details among the mess, but it's hard to tell what it is. A forum, it looks like. Kind of like the ones Dean's been on where people trade car parts, or swap ghost stories. A square box, dated yesterday, that says WHEN IS HARVARD'S APP REVIEW???, and a panicky paragraph where some chick might die if she doesn't get in. Another, the day before, with questions about the SAT, and a link that says 43 comments that, when Dean clicks it, brings him to a bunch of apparently teenagers all giving each other tips from some test they're worried about taking.

College. Dean's stomach curls into a knot. It's all—college stuff, applications and tests and deadlines. The usernames are all weird shit: tmntpizzadelivery, quistis4ever, willyshakes. Dean can't tell—is one of these kids Sam?

Sabrina's nearly done with her line of book nerds. Dean rubs a hand over his mouth and clicks away, tries another of the Livejournal results in the history. Another forum, this one apparently about—soccer? Jesus, Sam. Another forum, this one about Conan the Barbarian, and that one's at least easy to snort at, with people's shitty drawings of Red Sonja and excitement about a possible remake. There are personal pages, though, too—one titled Delaware Sucks, in which some girl complains about her life—one titled trent reznor rules my soul, featuring a goth kid who won't shut up about Nine Inch Nails and his bitch of a mother. Another, with a plain blue-and-grey color scheme, with the title on the road, and a new post from today—from an hour ago—with the text just reading, I don't know what to do anymore, and six comments underneath, waiting.

"Hey—ready to go?" Sabrina says.

Dean jerks in his seat. Sabrina's raising her eyebrows at him, behind her glasses, a little smile curving her mouth that promises something a little better than book dust and computer lessons. "I'm always ready," Dean says, grinning, and gets her to roll her eyes—yeah, he's in there—but his eyes drag back to the webpage, the posts. He scrolls down, quick—post after post, waiting to be read. "Real quick—borrow a pen?"

She has one—she's a sexy librarian, of course she has one—and he uncrumples a receipt from his jacket pocket and writes down the URL, careful to get it right. rearviewmirror.livejournal.com. He wants to click on the comments, but.

"Come on, the movie's starting soon," Sabrina says, and Dean closes Netscape, folds the receipt very carefully into his pocket, stands up. He's got a date to make out with a hot chick in the back of a movie theater, and maybe a little more, and Sam's whole Eeyore routine has to take a number. Dean will figure it out. He's got an easy way to run a stakeout, now.

December 4

Still can't decide. Anyone else going through this?

current mood: agonized current music: motorhead (AGAIN)

Comments:

teenagehamburger: Yes!! I still don't know where I want to go. Mom wants me to stay close to home, but Delaware sucksssss. Where are you looking?

rearviewmirror: Anywhere. TBH I'm still not even sure I should apply.

teenagehamburger: WTF?? Of course you should!! College is the big escape, remember?

December 1

He's driving me INSANE

current mood: annoyed current music: motorhead (again)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: lol you got it bad

rearviewmirror: right now I just want to hit him with a brick, actually

teenagehamburger: LOL!! Sorry :( :(

rearviewmirror: Sigh. I guess it could be worse, right?

teenagehamburger: Definitely!! He could be the cute cheerleader from 4th period who doesn't know I exist….

coppertonebuttgirl: oh, sorry hammie, that sucks <3

November 29

The thing is, I don't even want anything crazy? I just want to be—me. Just me, without anyone breathing down my neck. Trig teacher says I could get in to one of the top ten, but I just want to go *anywhere that's not here*

current mood: restless current music: Pearl Jam (home alone!)

Comments:

bloodofreptile: i hear you lol. why don't they get that the rules and hovering and all that shit just makes us want to run faster?

rearviewmirror: Exactly! My teacher keeps talking about college like it's a place to expand your mind and stuff, and that's fine, but lately I just want to expand my horizons. Kind of ironic?

bloodofreptile: yeah lol haven't you lived like everywhere?

rearviewmirror: Feels like it.

teenagehamburger: Is You Know Who going to college too?

November 18

I feel like it shouldn't be this hard. Normal people have it easy.

current mood: indescribable current music: silence

Comments:

coppertonebuttgirl: feel free to talk to me anytime <3

November 3

Dad's gone again. Didn't say goodbye. We went to the movies and he gave me a beer, and we watched the stars for an hour in the parking lot even though it was freaking freezing. Happier than I've been in a while. Don’t want it to change but it has to change.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

teenagehamburger: OMG, that sounds so romantic?? I can't believe you were drinking!! Aren't you underage?

bloodofreptile: lol relax it's not a big deal

teenagehamburger: I'm just saying!!

coppertonebuttgirl: wish it wasn't hard for you <3

bloodofreptile: dude you've got to say something

rearviewmirror: I literally can't.

bloodofreptile: ok but it's gonna drive you crazy. do you even know if he's gay? start with that maybe

The posts go on, and on. Reading backwards through time, it's a strange piecing-together. rearviewmirror is active in about ten communities and Dean reads through all of them, that week, bringing an illicit cup of coffee in to the library when he doesn't have a construction shift. He reads with his hand over his mouth and by the time he has to get off the computer he's got a headache, every time, his throat dry and aching.

The journal's been active for six months. Dean clicks through the pages to the very start and reads it in the right order, his heart pounding oddly in his ears. I don't know what this place is. A journal, I guess, considering the name. I just need somewhere to talk where no one will listen.

It's not a pouring-out, like some teenage girl doodling hearts around her crush's initials. He holds back. Never says exactly where they're living, never mentions names. To figure out who it was, you'd have to be one of two other people, and Dean knows that Dad can barely turn on a computer, much less go onto the internet and pore over some teenage angst-fest. Dean spends half his time wishing he were the same. Maybe if he hadn't asked Sabrina for help.

At home, Sam's the same as he always is. Comes home after his own stint at the library, eats the dinner Dean gives him. He reads, most of the time. Does his schoolwork. Dean says, careful one night, "Hey, True Lies is on. Wanna watch?" but Sam only gives him a strange, uncertain look and says, "No, I have a paper due," and he shuts himself into their bedroom with the door very firmly closed, and Dean sits there on the couch alone with a beer and Jamie Lee Curtis being sexy as hell on the fuzzy TV, and he—he doesn't know what to do.

He remembers that day, the looking at the stars day. It was November 2. A nasty anniversary, in their family, and yeah, Dad left. Dean got it. He'd thought Sam did, too, by now. It was better to have Dad gone, on a hunt, than trying to drink himself to death at home in the apartment. At least he was working, that way, and not hurting himself. To distract both of them, Dean picked Sam up from the library and they went straight to the movie theater—the Blair Witch sequel, with Dean providing running commentary about how dumb they were about dealing with ghosts, which at least made Sam grin and elbow him to shut up, even if he was laughing too, the liar—and, yeah, afterward they'd picked up Taco Bell, and then after that Dean swung through the liquor store drive-thru and they parked out, and he let Sam have a beer, and they both sat on the trunk and leaned back against the cold glass or the rear window and didn't really talk, much. The stars, big above them. The night, quiet. Sam was pressed against his side, chilled out and not bitching about anything, and Dean tucked his hand behind his head and he was pretty content with the world, right then. His brother, here, and a six-pack waiting, and nothing happening right then that'd hurt them. Sam smiled at him, that night, before he went to bed. It was sweet—like he used to be, when he was little—and Dean had ended up falling asleep on the couch, watching the public access, but his dreams that night were—good, like they never were on the night of November 2, and it had felt… okay.

do you even know if he's gay?

The college prep—that wasn't a surprise. It hurt but it didn't shock. All his worrying, all his whining, wanting to be 'free'—whatever free meant—it was all part and parcel of the last decade. Dean should've known better. Sam wasn't mellowing out. Sam was a stubborn little shit and he'd always wanted to have a life that wasn't—this.

The gay thing. That hit different. One of the communities Sam followed was for lesbian and gay youth, talking about their coming out experiences. Sam didn't post there much but he commented, asked questions. How do you know? What does it feel like? The hamburger girl was from there, a lesbian chick trapped in some Delaware high school. Encouraging, commiserating. They talked about how college would be their big escape, their chance to go to a big city and find their way. Meet people. Only apparently hamburger girl was crushing on the cheerleader from fourth period, and Sam—

Dean makes an excuse the next day. Saturday: no work for Dean, no school for Sam. Alone in the apartment together, all day, after Dean's week of reading—he can't face it. "Where are you going?" Sam asks, eight a.m. with his hair fucked up and coffee clenched between his hands, and Dean looks at him in his pajama pants and his ratty hand-me-down shirt, skinny and tall and hiding things Dean can't handle, and he says, snappish in a way he doesn't mean to be—"Out, Sam, for christ's sake—" and sees Sam's expression shutter before the apartment door slams behind him.

He goes for a drive, out of town. Cold, threatening rain like it always is, but it won't snow. Out—past the airport, past the suburbs, out to Black Lake. They killed the nymph that was drowning people out here, him and Dad, when they first arrived. Sam stayed home. Sullen on the other end of the line when Dean called to say they'd finished the job, and they were getting burgers for dinner, and did Sam want one. Whatever, Sam had said, like even answering was an imposition. That was November, too.

He sits on the hood, heels braced on the bumper, arms locked around his knees. The lake looks cold. He wants to sink into it, wants to feel that freezing shock, like the polar bear dive he did on a dare back in Illinois. The way the brain just goes blank, tv-static filling up everything and washing all the shit away. All the weird crap you don't want to think about, frozen, and the only thing to focus on just—getting out.

He's not going to dive into the lake. It's nine in the morning and he's wearing his only pair of boots. He hasn't gone out with Sabrina all week. He's been piss-poor at the construction site and McMillan nearly brained him with a hammer yesterday, because Dean wasn't paying attention, and the foreman screamed at him in front of the whole crew. None of that feels close, right now. He breathes the wet-clogged air, cold and mossy, turning his ring restlessly on his finger.

Back at that high school they went to in Raton, Mrs. Encinas in 6th period English told Dean he'd be smart, if he didn't just give up all the time. All he needed to do was take the time to read between the lines, to actually interpret what he was reading and not take things on face value. He made some joke. He doesn't remember what it was, now. Like he didn't know what the fuckin Great Gatsby was saying, when he hoped and hoped and never got what he wanted. When happiness always felt like it was about a thousand miles away, on the other side of a lake he couldn't cross, and hope went out like a snuffed light. Dean can read what's not there. He's done it his whole life.

The problem: Sam's little online journal went back six months. They've lived in four towns, in that time. He never uses names, never puts up anything that'd really identify him. They were in Maryland, August-September-first of October, and it was a comment right at the end of August, on the community for gay kids, talking to the hamburger girl: I like someone, too. He doesn't know. He. The same he that carried forward, through all his journal entries, from Maryland to Washington across whole breadth of the country. He likes classic rock. He drives me nuts. He gave me a beer, and I wanted—

Dean curls forward over his knees, sliding his hands into his hair, breathing hard between his knees. He can read between the lines and he wishes that he couldn't. He wishes—god. What? That Sam would just meet a nice girl and fuck her and get it out of his system? Except how he was writing, it wasn't like it was new. It was something he'd been thinking about. When did you know? had read one of the forum posts, and in the responses, among all the dumb teenage crap about formal dances and jerking off to the wrong person in the music video, there was a comment by username rearviewmirror that said, I broke my leg and he carried me to the car and I wanted to kiss him.

Sam broke his leg in July, the summer he turned fifteen. He'd been trying to stay quiet but he'd had this trapped whimper in his throat that he couldn't stop, and Dad had stayed behind to cover their backs and it had been left to Dean, to scoop Sam up, his whole body quivering with the shock—to hug him close between the trees, humid Georgia night making every place their skin touched slick with sweat—to let Sam cling to his neck, shuddering, and to put a hand on his back and whisper, hey, Sammy, it's not even that bad, huh? no bone sticking out, you did good. we're gonna get you a cast and I'm gonna draw you a great picture, okay, Cindy Crawford with her tits out, right there on your shin and Sam had been so shaky that his laugh sounded like he was crying, but he'd nodded against Dean's neck and chattered out sounds cool, Dean, and when Dean got him to the car Sam hadn't wanted to let him go—so they crawled into the backseat together, Sam still half in his lap and with his arms still tight around Dean's neck. Dad got into the front and frowned at Dean in the rearview, and Dean nodded, and when the car leapt forward Sam gasped and gripped at Dean's shirt when his leg got jostled, and Dean put his hand in Sam's hair and said, it's okay, you're okay, and Sam—wanted to kiss him.

He can't square it. It's like there's some twinned version of his brother, in this place Dean never knew existed. All these secrets he's been hoarding, this other person he's been. These wants that make him a stranger.

He goes back home with stuff for lunch around noon. Sam's reading, in the bedroom. "Got pb&j or grilled cheese," Dean calls, down the shotgun kitchen through the thin-carpeted hall, and Sam calls back, "I'm not hungry," which is a goddamn shit of a lie. He grows like an inch a day, he's never not hungry. Dean braces his hands on the counter and counts to five, in his head. He puts the bread away, and puts the cheese in the fridge. He goes into the living room and turns on the TV and it's college football, which is boring as hell, but it fills the apartment with noise. He wishes Dad were home. He wishes he were hunting.

The Huskies lose. Sam hasn't come out of the room, as far as Dean can tell. He's had—four beers? He looks at the table. Five. It's getting toward dark and it's raining, a-fucking-gain, and Dean's still wearing his jacket and his boots and his ears are cold, because the heater in here sucks, and he's shredded the label of the beer everywhere, everywhere. He brushes it off his knees and that just means it's gonna get ground into the shit-brown carpet, but—who cares. He's got other things on his mind.

He gets the last beer out of the fridge. Should've bought more. "Got some spare cash," he says, to the dark hall. There's a halo of light around the half-closed bedroom door. "Thinking pizza for dinner."

Silence.

Dean pushes the beer bottle against his forehead. "C'mon, Sam. It's not going to kill you to prefer pepperoni or sausage. Just say something."

"Doesn't matter," is the response.

Dean squeezes his eyes closed, slams the bottle down to the counter. It's four steps to the bedroom and the door flies open under his palm. "Just fucking say," Dean says, and Sam's looking at him with big eyes, curled up on the twin bed with his back up against the wall, books spread open all around him. Homework, of course. "Just say it, okay? What do you want?"

Sam stares at him. "I don't care! Get—whatever, pepperoni. Jeez, what's up with you?"

"Sure you don't want sausage?" Dean says, kind of nasty, and Sam frowns, shakes his head. Goddamn it. Dean drags a hand over his face, sags against the door frame. He's—a little dizzy. Oh—okay, so maybe he should've eaten, sometime since this morning. "Damn it, Sam," he says, his stomach twinging.

"What?" Give him this—maybe he's sneaking around, maybe he's lying about half his life, but Sam doesn't shrink back from an argument. He's still in his pajamas. He shoves his notebook away, lifts his chin. "What?"

"Been doing some reading," Dean says, and watches Sam's face scrunch disbelievingly. "Rearviewmirror? You don't even like cars."

It's weirdly satisfying to watch Sam blanch. He's been so unaffected the last little while it's almost a relief to get a real reaction. His mouth parts, his eyes go big. He stares at Dean in total silence except the rain drumming on the roof, and then he says, "That's—private."

"Not that private," Dean says. "You're putting shit on the internet for any asshole to read, Sam. It's not a pretty princess diary with a sparkly lock."

Sam's face is white. He licks his lips, his back rigid against the wall. "How did you—you never—"

"I know how to use a friggin computer," Dean says, and watches Sam close his eyes. "So? Got a lot to say to a bunch of strangers. Might as well say it to me. I mean, I'm your brother, right? Family."

It comes out hard but his voice cracks, on the last word. He swallows and some of the anger dissipates. Sam's jaw flexes and he tucks his hands behind his neck and his knees drag in, like defense. Like he needs defense. Against Dean. Like it's Dean who's wrecking things.

Dean's legs go out from under him. He sits down. Right there, in the doorway to the bedroom, the frame hard against his spine. The rain's loud and he doesn't—what is there to say? "You should've told me."

That's really it. Sam looks at him. Disbelief. "How?" he says, and Dean tips his head back against the wall, looks at the popcorn ceiling, says, "I don't know, it's not my damn secret. But you should've."

"Yeah, that would've gone great," Sam says, sarcastic.

Silence. The rain. Dean drags his hand over his face again, clears his throat. "So. You're—queer." For some reason it seems like the simplest thing to start with.

Sam snorts. "I'm not, like, jerking off to JC Chasez," he says, bitter.

"Who?" Dean says, but shakes his head. "God, whatever. Jesus, Sam, I can't—don't talk about you jerking off. You're not—you don't date chicks, either. Ever. So you're—"

"I don't know," Sam says. Kind of firm. Dean closes his eyes to not look at him. "I don't know, okay? But that's not what—" Pause, while he drags in a breath that's audible across the room. Dean curls over, his forehead between his knees. It's too big to hear. Sam blows out air. "You read the whole thing?"

Frail. Cobweb soft, like if Dean breathed too hard it'd break. Dean folds his hands over his head. "I read the whole thing," he says.

"Don't—" Sam says, quick, and cuts himself off. Dean can't stand it—he looks, peeking up, and Sam's made himself small, there at the head of the bed. His mouth is small, his lips between his teeth—his eyes, big and scared. "Dean. I wouldn't—I swear. I wouldn't—"

"Kiss me?" Sam flinches like from a raised fist, when Dean's all the way over here. Dean licks his lips, dropping his hands so they dangle useless between his knees. "Or, what. Leave? Either way it's pretty fucked up, for me, Sam."

"Oh my god," Sam says, very quietly, and—christ. Looks like he's gonna cry.

"Sam," Dean says, and no matter how pissed he is, that's not—Sam fights back. Sam always fights back, he's frickin' annoying that way. He's not supposed to crack like this. Dean rolls up to his knees and Sam's looking away, neck craned unnaturally so that his face is pointed at the broken-blind-covered window so that Dean can't see, but Dean can—Dean can see his teeth so hard in his lip that the skin there's white, and his chest shaky, and his fist clenched in the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms, and, and—"Sammy," Dean says, again, and Sam's eyes close and there is—shit, shit, a tear, running fast out of the corner of his eye, streaking down his cheek so quick that if Dean could blink he might've missed it.

Dean's gut hurts, like he took a punch from a werewolf and he's gonna be bruised for the next three weeks. He doesn't have anything to say to make it better, not when it's this screwed up. This isn't Sam bitching about Dad or whining about crossbow practice or pouting about a move. Sam's been thinking about this for two years and he's managed to talk about it with people, online at least. Dean's coming at it with a week's slow raw realization and he doesn't know how to make it—not how it is.

He gets over to the bed, on his knees. Sam won't look at him, like the view of nothing through the blinds is the most fascinating thing in the world. There's a wet shining trail, down his cheek to his jaw. A damp circle on his t-shirt. Dean says, because he can't think of what else to say, "You really—you want—" and even then, can't articulate it. A kiss. Sex. A kind of close they've never been. He says, slower, "Is that why you want to go?"

Sam drags in air. Sounds like it hurts.

Dean drags his teeth over his lip. There are books all over the bed. He pushes them away, and Sam's notebook. He pushes up—knee on the mattress, and sinking down to his hip, and Sam's close enough to touch, now, and he jerks and looks at Dean like he's an alien. A ghost. Something that can't be real, only they both know that it is. Dean touches Sam's hand, fisted there in his pants, and Sam jerks again, his stiff shoulders back against the wall, and he shoves Dean's hand but no matter the crazy growth spurt Sam's been having Dean's still stronger, still has the reach—he grips Sam's wrist and yanks, gets him off balance, and then he's right inside Sam's grapple and has his hand flat on Sam's chest, pressing him harder against the paint, and Sam stares at him wild-eyed with his breath both fast and deep and Dean leans forward and presses their mouths together. It's a bad kiss—he barely hits on center, and Sam freezes—but there's the touch of warmth, Sam's lips—soft—and the shocked air hitting Dean's face—and Dean drags in breath through his nose and resettles, fits his mouth to Sam's soft open lower lip and makes it better, his head tipping, easy pressure there, just the faintest amount of suction so that when he pulls back a millimeter there's a little smooch sound, and that makes it—real.

He kissed his little brother. No getting around that. No pretending. His nose brushes Sam's cheek and Sam's not really breathing, and Dean—fuck, Dean does it again, pressing in and letting Sam's wrist go so that he can get a hand on Sam's jaw, tipping him so it's good. Sam makes a tiny noise and breathes out hard against his mouth, and when Dean kisses him for a third time Sam meets it, his lips moving finally out of that still shock, his fingertips brushing Dean's arm all careful, his heart pounding under Dean's hand.

Dean pulls back. An inch between them—not enough but all Dean can seem to manage. He swallows. His lips are tingling, and his eyes are closed and he doesn't want to open them, and his fingers—jesus, he's got them tangled in Sam's hair like Sam's some easy hot chick he's picked up at a dive bar, pressing her up against the wall in the bathroom hallway, knowing how the night's going to end.

"We can't," Sam says. Sam. His voice, steady and familiar. "We—Dean. This isn't—"

"No," Dean says, god knows why. He pulls back, though—pulls his hand out of Sam's hair, stands up. His legs wobble for a second. He has to open his eyes and so he drags in a breath and does, and Sam's sitting there with his shoulders high and tight and his hands fisted on his knees and his hair a little fluffed on one side, a little screwy. His mouth parted and his eyes—fixed on Dean's face, looking all over it. Like he's memorizing a trail map, for an unknown stretch of land.

"I'm drunk," Dean says. It's not true. Five beers—he's buzzed but he knows what he's doing. Sam doesn't contradict the lie. "Acting nuts. Sorry, Sam. I—"

"I want pepperoni," Sam says. His face isn't white anymore. He's flushed, dark pink in the hollows of his cheeks. His eyes are dark, wide and fixed on Dean, and there's still that shining trail on his cheek but it's drying. "Order from that place on Melrose. Garlic knots, too."

Dean backs up a step, pins on a smile. "What, you think I'm dumb? Like I wouldn't get knots," he says, and Sam doesn't smile but he nods, brief and fast like Dean's picking up a play in some con they're running, and Dean snaps a finger-gun at Sam—fuck, what is he doing—and turns out of the room, says—"Okay, dinner in thirty minutes or less or your money back!" and walks through the kitchen and out into the living room and out the front door, and closes it behind himself, and leans against it and stares blindly out into the rain, the setting sun still sparking some tiny golden bit of light out to the west, past the horizon.

He licks his lips and tastes salt, not his own. Sam's hand, on his arm—skimming, brushing light through the thickness of his jacket. Like he wasn't sure he'd be allowed to really touch. He drags in the rain-soaked air. He'll drive, to get the pizza. He'll drive, and he'll give Sam time. When he gets back he'll offer Sam half the pie and a beer, and there'll be some movie on TV that Sam probably won't want to watch, but maybe he will. They'll be—brothers. Dean knows how to do that. It feels like it's all he's got left.

It's—not easy but it's not all that hard, either. There's a brutal week where Dean's torn between walking on eggshells and wanting to wrestle Sam to the ground, and Sam goes perfectly silent—not pouty withdrawal or furious silent-treatment, but as still and quiet as though he's not even there. Dean can't bear it. It takes Dad coming home to break it—Dad, and christ, when he calls to say he's coming back Dean completely freezes and his mind fills up with—with—but then Sam looks at him and takes the phone out of his hand and says, his mouth's full—what's up? and after that it's like things… settle. It's not okay but it's livable.

rearviewmirror.livejournal.com goes quiet. Dean checks, occasionally, over the months that pass. When he's looking up some random piece of lore for Dad, when they're hunting alone and Sam's stuck back at whatever shitty hotel they stored him at, and Dean's on research duty because Sam's in high school and can't answer his phone. Dean types in the address and checks, and it's still that last post. Anyone else going through this? He hopes, sincerely, not. It's too fucked up for anyone else to bear. At least the Winchesters have practice.

They run PT. Sam does his homework. Dean watches TV. Hunting focuses things. There's stuff to kill and people to save and things aren't falling apart any more than they ever are, so—Dean deals.

Sam leaves.

It's January. Dean's in a library, alone. Dad's working a job north of Boise and he sent Dean down to Wendover to take care of a haunting, and Dean's done and Dad called and said two more days and there's this raw wounded spot where Dean should be able to turn, to look over his left shoulder and say—but it's empty there, and so he's in a library.

Sam started posting again, when he got to school. Small stuff. That he was sorry for the long break. That he'd ended up at a university after all. The hamburger girl doesn't respond anymore but the Nine Inch Nails boy does: thought you were dead, he says, no-caps like he's so goddamn cool, and Sam says, Just working some stuff out.

Sam likes his professors. He plays pick-up soccer with some of the guys from his dorm. His roommate snores. He doesn't listen to music at all. There's nothing—real. There's none of the sadboy shit, nothing about what he's feeling, no pondering of what it all means. He picks up a few different Livejournal friends, clearly people from his classes, who crack jokes about Ancient Civ and Linear Algebra. He joins a community focused around civil rights litigation. He might as well not be there.

Dean reads it all. If Sam's not calling then Dean's gonna check in whatever way he can. When Sam left Dean made sure he had at least one good knife in his bag and he said don't forget the salt when Sam hiked his backpack onto his shoulder, and Sam snorted and looked at him like a gunshot but he nodded, and Sam's not dumb, he knows how to take care of himself, but. Dean's the big brother, here. He's within his rights, to check and make sure baby bro's not being a dumbass.

January and it's fuckin cold, in Wendover, but the library's too warm. Dean keeps his coat on anyway, scrolling through the comms. He's kinda turning into an expert, navigating the pages, recognizing the shorthand. He hasn't made an account. Doesn't know why he would. He finishes his scan of the comms Sam's part of and doesn't really see any relevant posts, and no comments from rearviewmirror that he can find. He chews his cheek and goes back to the main page, thinking—okay, he can get out of here. Beer and dinner, and finding a motel that doesn't look toxic, and waiting for Dad to call. Not the worst night he could have. He refreshes, one last time, just in case, and there's a new post. He reads:

January 23

Done with class for the week. Feeling restless.

current mood: current music:

Comments:

lawblog69: we should go out!!

bloodofreptile: go get laid

Dean snorts. At least the NIN kid is consistent. He refreshes again and there's a new comment.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

He takes a breath, sitting there at the computer bank. It's quiet in here—the good people of Wendover aren't much for the library, apparently—but he feels like someone's right there. Like he could reach out and touch, when it's just words on a glowing screen. Still—the speed of the comment—Sam's… sitting there. Right now, on a computer in Palo Alto, looking at the same thing Dean is.

He refreshes.

bloodofreptile: go get laid

rearviewmirror: Not really in the cards.

bloodofreptile: still holding onto that? very hufflepuff. how long has it been?

rearviewmirror: my whole life

Dean presses his knuckles to his lips, hard enough that he can feel his teeth pressing back. Jesus, Sam. He refreshes—another comment, from coppertonebuttgirl, agreeing about the restlessness but apparently she's off to a date with her boyfriend, and Sam responds and says sounds nice :), and jesus, Sam, Dean thinks. Off to have the big college experience like he wanted so bad, off to have that new shiny life, and after five months away he's still all sadsack, still not actually living.

He clicks the comment box. He types, unaccountably mad. He hits submit, and gets a warning that it'll show as anonymous. He waits, and refreshes, and reads:

Anonymous: Just go hit a bar. Live a little. Thought you were supposed to be smart, college boy.

rearviewmirror: Since when does smart have anything to do with it?

Dean rolls his eyes. He can hear Sam's voice saying it, nettled and trying to sound like he isn't.

Anonymous: You're on here mooning after Cindy Crawford when Claudia Schiffer and Tyra Banks are out there in the real world. Have a beer, get over it.

A pause. Dean has to refresh twice. The librarian walks by with her cart of books and gives him a distracted smile, and Dean's so addled he doesn't actually process and then return it until she's already gone.

rearviewmirror: I don't think it's something you get over. It mattered. It still does, to me.

Dean chews his thumbnail. Sam's face, turned unnaturally, looking out that window at the rain. The wet track, on his cheek.

Anonymous: Matters enough that you're never going to move on?

rearviewmirror: I didn't think you could move on from family. Maybe I was wrong.

The air goes out of Dean's chest. He turns away from the computer, entirely, swiveling the chair so he's looking out at the lonely bookshelves. He flexes his jaw and swivels back around. Hits refresh.

The thread of comments is gone. He blinks, confused. He doesn't think he was hallucinating—been a while, since he was that tired and drunk. But—oh—in its place, a single comment, under the brief conversation with the NIN kid:

rearviewmirror: Tell me if it's you.

Dean licks his lips. He closes out of the browser, picks up his notepad and keys. On the steps outside it's cold, cold, fucking cold, and this town is bleak. He walks down to the Impala, waiting there in the iced-over grey snow, and braces his hands on the hood, and blows out a long purling winter-dragon breath, and then fishes his phone out of his pocket. Another new phone, but he's got Sam's number memorized, and he almost calls before he chickens out. If it's not actually wanted—he imagines that conversation and he's just not constitutionally capable, right now, of facing how goddamn awkward it'd be.

He texts: It's me.

The response, after seconds: Where are you?

The shitty part of Utah. That's saying something. Easier, like this. Like it's not him kicking down a doorway right into Sam's head.

I don't have class tomorrow.

Could be random, if he didn't know who he was talking to. Dean leans his elbows on the hood of the car, looking at the little box of black-and-white text. He chews his lips and thinks. Before he can respond, another message:

I don't want to move on.

Dean tips his head enough that he's pressing the edge of the phone into his forehead. His fingers are cold. He sniffs, his nose dripping in the icy weather, and types, careful to make sure he gets it right: I'm nine hours away.

Less, if he goes over 100 in the boring parts of Nevada, and if he doesn't stop at all for a catnap.

Stop in Reno for a nap. You get weird when you drive all night. Text me when you're close.

Dean works his jaw, standing there in the cold. He's got nothing to do, for two days. He's got most of a tank of gas. He's got—nothing. Nothing. He gets in the car, and he drives.

It's only 9:30 when he gets to Reno. There were parts of Nevada where he drove very, very fast. He pulls into a truck stop, gets more gas and parks out near where the semis are lined up, the drivers early-birding the night away. Still cold here but less so. He twists around so his back's to the passenger door and looks out the driver window at the neon signs of the truck stop, the cars going in and out of the gas islands. He ate a little but his stomach was all twisted up and he couldn't get much down. A beer would go easier but he doesn't want to be drunk. Well. He does. This is insane. This is—completely stupid.

He pulls out his phone, looks at it. Dials and holds it to his ear, and it rings three times—long enough for him to change his mind four times—before there's an answer, and Sam's voice says, "Dean?"

His voice. Dean closes his eyes, tips his head back against the cold glass of the window. "Long time, no speak," Dean says. It feels rusty.

Sam's quiet for a second, on the other end. "Not really, though. Right?"

"I guess so. It's not the same." Dean listens to the little acknowledging sound Sam makes. There's silence again, for seconds that he counts—one and then two and then three. He listens to the cooling tick of the engine, through it, and then says, before he loses his nerve, "I shouldn't come. Right? This is nuts."

There's some noise, staticky. Like something passed over the mic on Sam's phone. After a beat, Sam says, "You should do what you want to do."

"Oh, should I," Dean says, and it comes out sarcastic, but he doesn't really mean it to be mean. Sam doesn't take the bait, staying quiet on the other end, and Dean opens his eyes again, watching a huge truck muscle past the gas island, watching the normal world go by. He rubs his eye. "I've been—it's been weird, Sam."

Understatement, but he doesn't know why he says it. That kind of stuff isn't for Sam to worry about.

"Go to sleep," Sam says, instead of responding. "An hour or something, just enough so you won't drive off the road. Text me when you're close."

Same thing he said before. "It'll be like three in the morning when I'm close," Dean says, and Sam says, "I'll be awake," and then the line disconnects, and Dean's left there alone again on the bench seat, but it—feels different.

He sort of sleeps, sort of doesn't. He's got a talent for going to bed wherever and whenever he has to—on spare tires and on forest floors and in a closet, once, with a propane tank as his pillow—but his brain won't shut up. He drifts in and out, for the hour Sam asked him for, and then he gets out of the car and goes into the 24-hour c-store and buys a big cup of coffee and a Hershey bar, and points the hood west, and follows the yellow dashed line home.

He texts from a gas station outside Sacramento. Sam texts back in less than a minute with an address. Dean glances at his map of California and responds: 45 minutes, and it's more like thirty when he pulls up to the—yeah, the motel, and he makes a sound that's sort of like a laugh except it doesn't feel like one. He turns into the parking lot and the headlights flash the building, and there, sitting on the sidewalk with his back to a pillar.

Dean parks. Sam has his arms folded over his knees, but he unfurls, stands. Dean gets out of the car and Sam's—jesus, ten feet away, his face totally visible under the streetlight. His hair's a little longer. "Did you get taller?" Dean says, and Sam huffs, his head ducking, and—fuck everything else, it's Dean's little brother, and he drags Sam into a hug, folding his arms over Sam's shoulders even if he has to lift on his toes a little to do it. Sam goes stiff for half a second, but he hugs back, and Dean turns his face in, Sam's hair in his nose like it always is, and feels him—warm, and safe. All Dean ever wanted for him, pretty much.

"You have to get the room," Sam says, when they pull apart. At Dean's eyebrows he shrugs, the corner of his mouth curled. "What? My scholarship doesn't include seedy rent by the hour stuff."

"Oversight much?" Dean says, but he goes in, and he gets a room. Two queens, because that's what the tired miserable little desk clerk says they have available. Means Dean doesn't have to think about other possibilities, and it means that when he dangles the keys off his finger and Sam half-smiles at him, when they've walked down the cold sidewalk side by side, when Dean opens the door and finds the different motel room, same as the first—Sam sits on one bed, and Dean sits on the other, and they look at each other, and it's like it's two years ago and they're just two kids, waiting for Dad to come home.

Sam is taller. Taller than Dean, now. His hair long enough to fall in his eyes, which it does constantly. Newish sneakers, and old jeans, and a hooded sweatshirt, and a denim jacket over the top of that. Not warm enough for the Bay in winter, but Dean bites his tongue before he says anything about it.

"How are your classes?" he says, instead.

Sam's cheek sucks in, like he's chewing it. After a second he says, "You don't want to talk about my classes, man." His head tips. "Anyway. You read about it, right."

It was a mistake not to stop for beer. Dean needs something to do with his hands. "Your algebra professor sounds like an asshole," he says.

Makes Sam smile before he ducks his head, looking down at his lap. "I thought—" He swallows, audibly. He shakes his head, his hair falling down and hiding his face. "Only reason I started posting again was that I wondered if you might still—if you'd check."

It's quiet, honest. Dean hasn't talked to Sam in person for half a year and he's off-balance. Expecting Sam to snark, to be dismissive, to roll his eyes. Small hours of the morning, maybe he's too tired not to be honest. Maybe he's growing up. Dean's not prepared for that.

Sam looks up at him when Dean's silent for too long. His teeth dig into the corner of his mouth and he drags his hand through his hair, gets it off his forehead. "I said I didn't want to move on. You know what I meant, right?"

Dean huffs. "Yeah, I'm not an idiot, Sam," he says, and Sam's eyes tighten. Dean leans back on his hands, tips his head back on his shoulders to look at the ceiling. "Thought this was the whole point of getting out. Getting away, making a whole new life. Being someone else."

"I'm still me," Sam says, unseen. "And it wasn't the whole point. I want a life. That part—whatever, that doesn't matter right now. But I never thought the other thing was going to go away."

He stands up, so Dean can see him. Dean looks at him down his nose, and Sam's—god. Tall. That keeps being his first thought. Tall, and maybe not a stranger, even if he's real damn strange. Sam steps closer, in the little space between the two beds, chewing his lip again. He's gonna make a sore there. "Dean," he says, and Dean raises his eyebrows in response. "You came."

"Yeah," Dean says, rueful. "Well. I'm Cindy Crawford."

Sam's face ripples—a frown, surprise—and then a huffed little laugh—and then he steps between Dean's knees and touches his chest, his jaw. Leans down, slow, telegraphing like they're practicing a fight, and Dean stays exactly where he is, leaned back on his hands, and Sam's mouth touches his—softly. Not hesitant. Dean lets his eyes close and feels it. Puff of air against his face as Sam lets out a tense breath and then another kiss, the damp inside Sam's lip catching against Dean's, and Dean kisses back then, reaching up and getting Sam's jaw, his jacket, fisting the denim and pulling Sam closer. There's a stagger—Sam's knee landing on the bed by Dean's hip, and Dean gets an arm around his lower back and kisses him again, tasting him. Salt, and when Dean kisses him again and presses his mouth open, licks inside, there's coffee-taste, Sam's tongue—slick, tentative—he stayed up, to wait for Dean—his kiss clumsier now, like he doesn't have much practice.

Dean pulls back a few inches. Sam's half-draped on him, his weight nearly in Dean's lap. His eyes are dark but big with surprise, like he didn't expect Dean to go with it. "Sammy," Dean says, and Sam—shudders, his hands closing hard around Dean's shoulders. Okay, Dean thinks, filing that away. He drags a thumb over Sam's jaw, where he's got a barely-there prickle of stubble. "What are we doing?"

Sam shakes his head, licks his lips. "This," he says, holding the side of Dean's neck. "This."

They peel Sam's jacket off, and then Dean's. Sam's still in that hoodie, soft black, and Dean gets his fingers just under the hem of it, barely grazing Sam's stomach, kissing him again—tangled up close on the edge of the bed, Sam's thigh slung over his. Sam keeps touching his face, his chest. His amulet, swinging forward between them when he urges Sam down to his back on the mattress, a knee between Sam's and his hand still there on Sam's belly. Sam grips the amulet and breathes out hot against Dean's face and lifts up for another kiss, which Dean gives him easy, and it's—god, it's good. The lights on, the room warm, Sam wanting underneath his hand. His mouth, slick and open, learning how to press back, how to give as good as he's getting. Dean kisses his cheekbone, his jaw, settles his hand flat on Sam's stomach to ground him, says, "Sammy, you've done this before, right?" Sam hitches breath, nods. Dean sorta laughs, lifts up so he can actually see Sam's expression. "More than once?"

"Twice," Sam says, and when Dean raises his eyebrows he frowns, vaguely indignant. "Jenny Morrison, just before graduation." He licks his lips. "And—a guy. After student orientation, here."

"Playing the field, huh?" Dean says. There's no reason it should make his stomach go molten hot. He rubs Sam's stomach, feels the rise of his breath. "You like it?" Sam nods, again. "What'd you do?"

Sam's cheeks are dark, brick-red. He licks his lips again and Dean ducks back in to kiss him, knocking his mouth open, tasting inside. Earns himself a small deep noise and Sam's hand sliding through his hair where it's too short to grab. He nudges Sam's nose and sits up, peeling off his overshirt. "C'mon. What'd you do? Didn't put that up on your journal, how am I supposed to know?"

"It was a rush party," Sam says, looking at him. He pulls his t-shirt off over his head, making sure his amulet stays put, and Sam blinks heavily, his lips parted. Jeez—it's weird. Hot. Sam wants him, Dean thinks, and it sends a rush of blood south. "He's—uh. Pre-med, smart."

"Not looking for his biography, Sammy," Dean says, and spreads his hands on Sam's hips, pushing up. The hoodie moves, the t-shirt underneath rucks up—Sam's pale here but still that faint all-over tan, darker than Dean's skin. He licks his lips. "What'd you do? Jerk each other off?"

Sam nods, again, his mouth open. God, Dean can imagine it. On some dorm-room bed, their heads leaned together, Sam's mouth open just like this—panting, his hand fumbling down—fuck, fuck it's hot, Sam nervous and into it and trying, making sure. "You liked it, huh?" Dean says, stroking his thumbs over Sam's bare belly.

"Yeah," Sam says, thin on not enough air, his knee drawing up. "But I—I thought about—when you kissed me—" and Dean kisses him again, groaning. Jesus, Sam's gonna kill him. Thinking about some shitty nervous freaked-out kiss when another guy's got his tongue in Sam's mouth. Sam grabs his shoulders, sits up, and Dean accommodates him easy, letting Sam touch him back—Sam's hands sliding down his chest, around to his ribs, grasping. "Dean," he says, panting.

"Let's get this off, huh?" Dean says, pulling, and Sam yanks the hoodie off in a second flat, his hair all ruffling up behind it. The shirt comes with it and there's just Sammy's bare smooth skin, that same pale tan all over. Small brownish nipples, slim muscles. His body. Dean dips and kisses his bare shoulder, licking there, biting, and Sam's nails dig into his ribs so he does it again, swinging a leg over so he's straddling Sam's lap, taking his time. He scrapes his teeth over the swell where Sam's collarbone dips into the arch of his trap, and Sam grips his neck, his back arching. He's hard. Shit, he's nineteen, he has to be hard. Dean slides his fingers down Sam's belly to his belt, tucking under the waist of his jeans, but Sam grips his wrist, then, groaning, saying—"Wait—wait—"

Dean drops his head to Sam's shoulder, groaning back. "We waited," he says, but Sam's hand is on his shoulder, pushing him back, making him look. "What?"

Sam's pink. "Have you—with a guy?" Dean rocks back but Sam's holding him close, looking all over his face. "Dean. Have you—"

"Yeah," Dean says, and watches Sam's ears go red. Sam doesn't need to know when, but it was all in the last year. Three dudes, hookups that were way too easy. They were good—turns out that Dean just likes sex, any way someone will give it to him—and he learned what it felt like to have a dick not his own in his hand, how it felt to slip a cock into his mouth and make a man groan. He hadn't thought about Sam while he was doing it, not really, but he's thinking about it now, and Sam's eyes have dropped, his lips between his teeth. Jealous? Dean smiles while Sam can't see and breaks Sam's hold on his wrist, and slides his hand down, and cups the crotch of Sam's jeans where he's swelling them out. Sam jerks, eyes flying open. "Means I know what I'm doing. Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam breathes, and then it's—undoing his belt, and unzipping, and then—god, he's still got his sneakers on. Dean backs off and kicks off his boots, deliberately, and Sam blinks at him hot-eyed with his chest heaving and his jeans half-open looking like a friggin porno, but then he gets with the program, and the shoes thud to the shitty carpet and then they're practically racing, undressing, and when Dean kicks his boxers off to the side Sam's—naked, half on the bed, staring at him. Dean stares back, circling a hand around Sam's ankle. God, to look at him, in the lamplight. Long legs, hairier on the shins and lightly furred on the thighs, and a decent dark bush around a dick that's—jesus, that dick. Big, bigger than Dean's, bigger than—Dean licks his lips and looks up with an effort and Sam's staring right back at him, focused between his legs, his mouth parted. "Like what you see?" Dean says, and Sam doesn't answer, just reaches for him, and Dean crawls up the bed and settles on his elbow above Sam with their legs brushing bare, Sam's dick hot against his hip, and Sam kisses him with both hands on his face, his thigh dragging up against Dean's, his lips almost trembly.

Dean soothes a hand down Sam's ribs but Sam's—fuck. Shaking. They haven't even done anything. "Sammy," Dean whispers, between Sam's needing brief kisses, and Sam shakes his head and kisses him again and then ducks his head down, his nose brushing under Dean's jaw. Dean pulls Sam closer—tips, so they're on their sides—and pulls Sam's leg over his hip, pushes in, and—ah, shit, shit that feels good, Sam's big dick brushing in against his, dragging heavy and hot. "Oh," says Sam, small, and Dean slips his hand further and grips Sam's ass, the muscle tight and small—pulls in, and pulls again, encouraging, and Sam grips Dean's shoulder underhand tight enough to hurt but follows, pushing in with the rhythm Dean's urging. He's breathing fast, hot against Dean's throat, but he's got it—humping in, meeting Dean, making their dicks slide, his cockhead smearing wet against Dean's belly. Dean hums, kissing Sam's temple where he can just reach it, just enjoying the—insane way it feels. He lets Sam's ass go and Sam keeps going—good, good—and he licks his fingers sloppy, and reaches down between them, and for the first time he gets a grip on Sam's dick, feels the heft of it. Sam makes a sound like he's been shot and Dean says shh, easy, slicking his hand down to the base, squeezing hard as he pulls back up, and Sam makes another gulping strange sound, his thigh clutching hard around Dean's hip, his hand crushing Dean's lower back in closer. "That feel good?" Dean says, and Sam—comes. Fast, humping in, spurting up Dean's belly and his own, the slick getting all over Dean's dick, hot and wet, the sensation enormous. Dean squeezes him through it, knowing, and Sam humps in again and grabs his ass, nails digging in. Dean tips his head back, feeling it. God, it's good. Sam. His brother.

He swallows. His dick's throbbing, wanting more, feeling left behind. Sammy shudders and Dean licks his lips, pushes Sam back so his shoulders hit the bed. He flops—boneless, shocked—and Dean drags his hands over Sam's ribs, frames his hips. His dick is still big, flushed and wet, his balls clutched up high, and Dean licks his lips and says, "Okay," to no one, and leans down, and gets Sam's dick in his mouth.

A shock, Sam's body practically lifting off the bed. "What," he says, somewhere Dean can't see him—"What are you, oh—" and Dean thinks, oh, what if no one has done this? What if Jenny just opened her legs and she and Sam humped awkward and teenage in some backseat—what if pre-med only wiped his handful of Sam's jizz on the mattress and passed out—what if Dean's the first one, here, opening his jaw wide, careful of his teeth, slicking down, getting the whole fat length of it in his mouth. Only—he can't, fuck, Sam's too big. He fists the base, pulls off, spits and slicks the wet down. When he glances up Sam's up on his elbows, staring, and Dean grins at him, jerks it again, swallows. He can taste Sam's jizz, leftover from coming before. "Hang on," Dean says, and goes back down, letting the head bust his lips open, slicking tight down to his fist, dragging his tongue hard against the underside, suckling easy. Sam takes his statement as an order and grips his head, his shoulder, his hips cringing up into Dean's mouth, and Dean heaves in air, feels Sam firming up again, thick and needing and good.

He's only done this a few times but he—shit, he liked it. Likes it better the other way around, of course, but like this—his dick pressing into the bed, throbbing—Sam splitting open his mouth—yeah, it doesn't exactly suck. He bobs up and down, making sure to pay special attention to the soft ridge at the head, and Sam's making insane noises, now, up above him, petting his head and his shoulders and gripping, trying to shove up. Dean leans into his hip so he can't, fists his dick, pulls off gasping and licking his lips. Sam's still staring, down the length of his torso, and Dean jerks him through the goopy mess they're making—his spit, Sam's precome, what Sam's already come. "You like it?" Dean says, and Sam—rolls his eyes, the little shit.

"You're smug," Sam says, and Dean raises his eyebrows and says, "You're damn right I am," and lets Sam's dick go and goes down, down, no fist in the way until Sam's dick hits the back of his throat and he gags—breathes through it—slurps up with tight lips and then goes right back down, getting his throat used to it, learning the feel of this massive, awesome dick. Sam moans, pushes his hips up, and Dean lets him, rides it—lets Sam fuck up, lets him get a rhythm, like fucking—Sam, fucking his face—and Dean reaches down between his own legs and fists his own dick, finally, groaning in relief and making Sam shudder as the vibration rumbles through Dean's open throat. Sam grips his head with both hands, holding him down, and Dean drags in air through his nose and holds there, filled up with Sam and choking, spit flooding out of his open mouth—the world dark and just Sam's taste, his smell—and Sam makes a little sound—and Dean grunts and lifts off, breaks Sam's hold and crawls up his body, straddling his hips and dragging his dick against where Sam's is all sloppy-hot, dripping wet. Sam gasps up at him and grabs his hips, his ass, fucking up into him, and Dean grips both their dicks in two hands, fucking into the tight wet channel he's making for them both, and Sam pulls at his ass, spreading it, rocking his hips to help, moaning and looking helpless up into Dean's face, and Dean leans down and breathes against him and Sam still comes first, creaming them both, his dick flexing and twitching in Dean's grip, and Dean braces one slick hand on the bed and fists himself seriously, jerking fast, and Sam moans and kisses his jaw and pulls at his ass with those big hands, his fingers slipping low, dipping—and Dean jerks and spills, his belly seizing, his thighs clamping around Sam's hips, Sam's lips open and dragging wet against his throat, his fist gripping the bedspread so hard that his fingers cramp.

Sam's stroking his hips, repetitive and soft, when he's done panting. Dean swallows, shifts his weight. He's slumped on top of Sam, his face buried in Sam's shoulder. Wet between them, sliding, and he releases his dick and slips his sticky hand out, bracing on the bed enough to get some air between them. When he lifts up Sam's eyes are half-closed, but he focuses on Dean's face right away, and his hands stop their stroking and just squeeze, warm and tight. "You okay?" Sam says.

"My line," Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes again, squeezes again. Dean sits up more but Sam doesn't let go. "C'mon, we should clean up."

Sam's eyes tighten, just barely. He sits up, keeping his grip on Dean, and Dean rocks back but doesn't tip over. He gets a hand on Sam's shoulder to keep his balance and Sam says, steady, "Don't freak. Okay?"

"Who's freaking?" Their dicks are still pressed wetly together, though Dean's basically soft, now. Sam's still plump, thick. He swallows. "C'mon, we're gonna get cemented together," he says, and Sam's mouth purses but his grip goes light, and it gives enough room that Dean can lift off, get his feet under him. Jesus, there's enough jizz on him that it's rolling down his belly—he claps a hand to it before it can drop, smearing it over his abs. "You come like a geyser, dude," he says, not really complaining, but Sam's cheeks are red when he looks back up, and he feels—shit. He doesn't know.

He goes to the bathroom. Fluorescent light, pink-painted sink. He wets one of the five-cent washrags and wipes himself up, and he's not turned on anymore so his thought is mainly that it's just gross, and that bed's going to be wrecked, and also, what is he doing. What is he doing.

Sam's hand appears, reaching around him. He jumps. In the mirror behind him, Sam's tall, looking over his shoulder. Looking at Dean, even as he wets the other rag, cleans himself up. Dean chews the inside of his lip and can't really turn away. Sam's got red marks on his shoulder, where Dean was biting him.

"Stay," Sam says. He tosses his wet rag back into the sink and settles his hands on Dean's biceps, squeezing. When he steps forward his dick presses into the small of Dean's back and his chest is warm, damp. "Tomorrow at least. We've got the room. Stay."

"You want your dick sucked again?" Dean says, and that time it is mean and he did kind of mean it to be, and Sam's eyelids dip and his jaw clenches, but he only slips his hands away from Dean's arms to his ribs, holding him. It feels… Dean shakes his head. "Sam," he says, but there's not really anything that can go after it.

A big hand slides up and over, flattening on his breastbone. "It's not just this," Sam says, meeting Dean's eyes in the mirror, and it makes Dean's cheeks go hot.

He covers Sam's hand with his. He shivers, for some reason. He says, "I should take a shower, I've been in the car all day," and Sam says, "Okay," and Dean takes a shower and Sam sits on the closed toilet, watches him through the clear curtain. Gives him a towel when he comes out. Takes his hips, when he's dry, and presses him to the tiled wall, and tips his head up, and kisses him clean.

Five in the morning, or later. There's a clean bed and Dean hasn't slept in a day. He lays down and Sam lays down with him, a few inches away until Dean relents and turns over, and Sam curls up behind him, holding on, his mouth against Dean's shoulder. There's going to be a call from Dad, at some point. Dean's going to have to meet him somewhere, because there's going to be something bad that needs killing. He can't stay. He's wired and tired, all at once.

"Sleep," Sam says, and Dean turns his head against the pillow, knows he will.

"Hey," he says, and Sam makes a quiet noise. "If you put this on your journal, maybe bloodofreptile will finally shut up about you getting laid all the time."

"His name is Dennis," Sam says, and Dean laughs, weirdly glad. Dennis. Yeah, that fits. "And this isn't going on the internet."

"Probably a good idea," Dean says, and Sam says, again, "Dude, go to sleep," and Dean tips back into Sam's warmth, and does, and it's the best sleep he's gotten in a year.

#fffr #wincest #weecest #first time #long fic #my writing #--seriously this one also went too long #but idk it felt right this way

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kileyrose-2003 · 3 years

Text

Tina’s Tuesday Night Mini Fic Pt. 1

Word count: Who cares? Lol

A/N: Hi lovelies! I am back!! First thing, I know. You're probably saying Kiley, wtf? It's not Tuesday. I know. Life happened. I've had a busy past few days and a final today. Anyways, this was something I did with @merci-bitch when the U.S originally went on lockdown. It was a fun way to keep me busy and get my mind off of stuff. We both decided to restart this about a week ago. So, I dedicate this to my dear friend Tina. Love you hun and hope you enjoy this! And please, if you haven't been to her blog to read any of her work, go do so. She works so hard on what she writes and is amazing.

Pt. 2 will be coming next week

To everyone waiting on fics: I'll get there. Eventually. And I'm not going into reasoning. But anyways, love you all and I hope you have a great day!

"...This is the greatest show!" You slammed your hands down on the piano keys and breathed in sharply. "God damn it, Jenny!"

"What?" You let a groan and handed her the sheet music. "Look there at that line there. Do you see that note?”

“I can see, can’t I?” Her bright green eyes lost their cool shade of arrogance when she seen how pissed you look. "Not F!” You pointed to the paper in her hand. “D! You hear that note there?" You pressed down on the key repeatedly. "D!"

"Sorry." The red head smiled at you impishly. "No, you're not. This is the fifth time we've done this and yet you still insist on doing this your own way." She sat next to you on the piano bench and gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Well, I think the change makes it sound better.”

“Phineas liked it better this way,” you seethed through gritted teeth. “But what does he know of art?” You could feel your face slowing turning a distinct shade of cherry red and you bit down on your tongue.

"He must of known something with how much you tried to get in his pants," you mused to yourself.

You rolled your eyes. You loved Jenny to death but how you couldn't stand her at times. You tried and tried so desperately to get along with her and compromise when she was like this but no matter what you did, she was stubborn and so..cold at times.

Sure, Jenny was a bit of a snob but she was a genius when it came to music and you respected that. She was what inspired you to take up music in the first place.

Your childhood was far from easy. Before you even joined the circus, you were bounced all over the place. You never belonged anywhere. From the deteriorating cottage in a small, seaside village in Sweden to the cramped one bedroom apartment in London that no one would dare walk past at night. Your father was no where to be seen and your mother was an actress, always struggling to meet ends meet. She was never home, but that wasn't always a bad thing. That meant you got to explore.

That was how you got to hearJenny sing for the first time. Hiding out in the musty attic of an old Swedish theatre. Even before she hit extreme levels of fame, her voice was like a siren's call. Drawing you in further and further in. It still was in a way. She was so beautiful and even as much as she pissed you off, you loved watching her sing. Like the time at the palace. She was eye candy in that dress, the way it hugged her hips and how the bust showed the slightest bit of clevage when you looked at her at just the right angle-

"Stop it, Y/n!" You told yourself. "She's not interested in you."

Or was she? The way she looked at you when you spoke to Phineas was always with such contempt or such jealousy. You could never understand why though. It was her who tried to steal Phineas away. Not you. He was a close friend who gave you a chance when you had nothing and you never so much as even thought of eyeing him in such a manner. Phineas clearly wasn't interested in her or any other woman but his wife. He pushed her away numerous times. Jenny had no reason to be jealous of you. Yet, she was.

‘But it is of me or others though?"

One could never be sure with Jenny. Sure, there was a bit of a rivalry between the two of you when it came to music. But she was your friend. 'Very clingy for just a friend,' you noted.

'That's normal though, isn't it?'

Maybe you were just over thinking things. Besides, the relationship between the two of you seemed to be getting better lately. Ever since the scandal went public, it seemed the two of you were spending more and more time together.

You were the only one who listened to her side of the story, held her when she cried, made sure she wasn't drinking her emotions away, and tried to help her through it. Even as much as she pissed you off. You warned her in the first place not to seek out Phineas but despite the nasty arguments, the constant bickering she became your friend. Maybe even your best friend. Which you got alot of shit for.

Nobody liked Jenny and you were starting to get the feeling you weren't so popular anymore either. Everyone thought after the affair went public, the two of you would of left. Her name as well as yours, was slandered all over the paper simply because you associated with her. You had been called it all. The ring leader, the mastermind, the mistress to the two.

But neither of you resigned. Yet. Part of you wondered how long it would be until either would receive letters of negotiations to end your contract. But either way, you knew Jenny wasn't leaving without you. She promised you that.

'So maybe she does like me.'

Then that small voice came in the back of your head. 'Or maybe you just want her to like you back.'

Either way, you couldn't let that haunt your conscience for now. Even as much as you'd like to visualize a future with her, it wouldn't work. You could feel the heat pooling into your cheeks as you came back to reality and bit down on your lip. Jenny's hand was lingering up and down your back, rhythmically making shapes with the tips of her fingers. Damn her and her touch! You shouldn't be feeling this way.

"Are you okay?" You shook your head and covered your face with your hands, trying not focus on all the pain you felt inside. "No. No, I’m not."

You felt tears burning in the sides of your eyes. "This isn’t working!” Jenny furrowed her brow and tried to move your hands away from your face. “What do you mean?” She was trying to be gentle even though you could tell from the look in her eyes she had no clue what to do.

“This..all of this!” You ripped the sheet music out of her hand and flung it on top of the piano. “Something's got to give,"

She rolled her eyes as if she seen it all before and stood up, walking hastily over to the ice bucket. "Do you not have what you want?" She opened up a bottle of red wine. "Fame? Recogniton?"

"It's not enough and I don't know if I even have any of that anymore." Jenny eyed you as she poured the liquor heavily into both glasses. "I'm not liked here, Jenny."

She handed you your glass and sat down next to you. You eagerly took a sip of the wine, just wanting to forget everything for a little while. "That's not true. I like you." She leaned in closer to you.

You cracked a small grin filled with cynicism. Maybe even a little bit of hostility. Never had you felt so much love and hate towards someone at the same time. "We could both leave." Jenny's voice pulled you out of your head.

"And go where?"

"Back to Sweden with me for the time being." You noticed the intensity in Jenny's eyes growing and she reached out and grabbed your hand. You could feel her nimble gently squeezing into the palm of your hand. "You know I care for you, Y/n."

"Do you?" You tried your hardest not to sound sarcastic, you were still a little mad at her. But god! How close she was to you. You could smell her expensive perfume, see the slight hint of a shimmer radiating off of her lips. "You're fiery and you don't take my shit."

This couldn't be real. You had to be dreaming. "Jenny, this...there's a possibility this couldn't work." You tried to scoot away from her, a little intimidated by the proximity between the two of you.

"We can try to make it work."

"How?" You eyed her skeptically. "Let me take you out. Let me show you I can make this work." You furrowed your eyebrows. "Why? Need a new fling after Phineas?" You teased.

Jenny wasn't amused by that all. If anything she was pissed but she smiled anyways. Seeming to stoop down to your level with a smile that was sickly sweet. "More like a date."

"And why should I do this with you?" She let go of your hand and placed it on your thigh. "Because I probably understand you alot more than you think." As you looked into Jenny's eyes, you found some level of sincerity mixed into those deep lustful orbs. You wanted to trust her so badly.

"What do I have to lose?" You thought.

Everything. Everything to lose.

"Fine." You gave in, despise everything in your mind screaming not too. "But you have one shot and one shot only."

Jenny nodded and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on your cheek. "And it won't take me more than once to impress. After all, I already made your career." You felt the hair on your arms stand straight up as her hands lingered on you, gently squeezing your hips.

"I'll see you tomorrow at 6. Sharp."

"Yeah," you watched as Jenny walked away, her hair flowing behind her like a beautiful sheath.

You felt a pit growing in the depths of your stomach. What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

#jenny lind x reader #Jenny Lind #the greatest showman #imagine #rebecca ferguson

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justsomefluff · 4 years

Note

OMG I LOVED that reaction you did, and the scenario like thing was really good!! I loved it, thank you!! Can I request another reaction (mini-scenario)? Like ATEEZ confessing to their crush while they (ATEEZ) are drunk? (San said Yeo does aegyo/is cute when drunk I'd like to see this ^^)

This is so cute, I would pay good money to see them tipsy no lie lmao. also this is fluff and crack at the same time so...I hope you like it lmao

Hongjoong:

(^ he’d do this during a drunk confession you cant change my mind ^)

Okay so when he’s drunk I feel like he sees himself as being really composed and cool

but in reality... not so much

and, even if he hadn’t been planning on confessing to you

oh boy, his body starts shaking a lil and you’re low-key like... 911?

like his body is telling him to ABORT MISSION but once his drunk brain has made the decision there's no going back

So, in his mind, this is what he’s saying out loud okay

“Y/n, I just wanted to let you know that I have some serious feelings for you. I know you may not feel the same way, but I just needed to tell you.”

Super awesome, everyone wishes to be that composed right?

Well here’s what he really said:

“Listen here, you cute mother-, no I shouldn’t swear at you, my bad. I’m totally in love with you right? Watchu think bout dat?”

and then he’s quiet, and smiling bc he’s proud of himself and you’re just like um????

like that’s not how you imagined this would go

But you also know that he’s gonna be super embarrassed about this in the morning so you just say

“Let’s talk tomorrow, Joongie?”

and he smiles at the nickname and nods and kinda puts his head down

You honestly cant wait to tell him you feel the same when he’s sober

and make fun of him for getting wasted

Seonghwa:

so Seonghwa, unlike Joong, is actually pretty composed

like at first, he’s wildin’ and everything

but then he just calms down super fast

like so fast you get whiplash

and he just smiles at you and you’re like “...freak”

then he frowns and he’s like “I like to look at pretty things that make me smile”

“You make me smile too, Hwa” :)

then he just grabs you into a hug and starts swaying you guys side to side

like some awkward and forced middle school slow-dance

“What are you doing?”

and he shushes you to preserve the moment but you're like “I want answers”

then he finally leans his head down and his lips are brushing the shell of your ear so softly you barely notice

“I think I love you”

he strikes me as the kind of person who wants to confess but also isn’t ever 100% sure he wants to confirm that he loves you so he throws that “I think” in there to cushion the blow if you reject him

but, luckily for him, you do feel the same

you just turn your head ever so slightly to the side and peck his temple

he smiles and rests his head on your shoulder and squeezes your hips before wrapping his arms around you completely

“I kinda need to hear you say it”

“I think I love you too, Hwa”

Yunho:

okay this big ole baby right

I feel like he’s the kind of drunk who is crazy for a little bit but gets tired really fast

so after like an hour of insanity, his eyes are drooping and you’ve settled on a couch (or seat, wherever your location might be)

and he smooshes his cheek into your thigh and you’re totally aware that he’s gonna fall asleep on you

but you’re cool with that, I mean who wouldn’t be

and after a couple minutes of silence, you think he’s knocked out completely

he suddenly turns his head to look up at you

and you look down at him to ask if he’s okay, or if he needs anything

he just starts laughing and then this IDIOT

pokes your double chin (bc I mean why does he have to look at you from that angle) and goes “How is it that I like you so much, even your double chin is cute?”

part of you is like “omg he likes me” and the other part of you is like “...im gonna slap him. don't talk about my double chin”

so, given your inner turmoil, you're silent for a minute and he starts to pout

“you don’t like my double chin?” and he makes a double chin and grabs your hand to make you poke it

“say you like my double chin too, please”

“Yunho, I like you too... double chin and all” (you had decided that you are not going to slap him after all)

and thats kind of the end of the night bc after that crackhead confession he actually falls asleep

but you are lucky enough that he remembers it all the next morning and it becomes kind of a thing in your relationship to make double chins at each other then say “I love you”

Yeosang:

drunk Yeosang and aegyo here we go

whiny baby voice and big eyes and pouting all the way

like he’s not so much into doing the cutesy actions like finger hearts and stuff

but refers to himself as “Sangie” and talks about himself in third person too

CLINGY

not necessarily cuddly, but always has to be holding your hand or else he’ll cry

calls you pet names like Jagi and my love and stuff

and at first you’re like aw he’s a cute drunk and tease him a little bit

but then he pouts even harder and murmurs “I'm serious”

you’re like O.O

“you mean it? you really like me, Sangie?”

nods his head furiously like you seriously think he’s gonna get a concussion for about .5 seconds

like okay I get it, you mean it, please stop doing that your head is not a maraca

“I like you too”

cue the biggest, goofiest, toothiest grin you’ve ever seen

makes big ole fishy lips at you, and points at them to ask for a kiss

so you just give him a quick peck, bc you don't really want either of you to be drunk for your first real kiss

but that satisfies him for the time being :)

San:

Sannie best boy, I cannot stress that enough

the sweetest lil drunk okay

tries to take care of you even though he’s the drunk one

thirsty? he’s gonna get up and get you a glass of whatever you want even if he spills half of it trying to give it to you

hungry? he’ll get you some if you agree to share

so halfway through a tub of ice cream he decides to lay some truth on you okay

“I like my ice cream like I like you”

and you, of course, having seen that meme, respond with “ugly?” and you cackle at your own joke

but he’s so offended

“apologize to yourself and this ice cream”

“wtf? why?”

“because ice cream is the second most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen after you. apologize”

literally holds the tub of ice cream up to your face, and will literally carve a sad face into the ice cream to make you apologize quicker

and when you apologize he eats the sad face and draws a smile

sentimental cheeseball is all he is in that moment okay

“you really think I’m pretty?”

he looks at you like “...duh”

“I think you’re pretty too, Sannie” and he smiles so big :’)

and both of you know that this would be the start of a really happy relationship aww

Mingi:

I bet Mingi is the cutest drunk okay like if you thought he was a giant puppy before get ready you aint seen nothin yet

and you don't even get a warning before he confesses bc he says it so out of the blue

like his whole plan was to drink some liquid courage iykyk and then he was gonna confess

but he ended up getting a lil more tipsy than originally intended

and he just blurts it out and he’s stuttering and lisping and just struggling to get all the right words out

but you just think it’s super endearing

“Minnie, are you drunk?”

he starts blowing raspberries in the air and starts shaking his head “you think I’m drunk?”

literally hiccuping after every word lmao

like yes, Mingi, I think you're drunk

still blowing incredulous raspberries all over the place

and you blow one on his cheek and he starts giggling like the baby he is

“why you do that”

“bc I like you too, Minnie! also you were starting to spit and I needed you to stop that”

he giggles and nods at you, just happy that you feel the same way

nuzzles his head into your shoulder and plays with your fingers for the rest of the time youre together

Wooyoung:

okay he’s a crackhead already so I don't even think alcohol would be something he’s even offered most of the time lmao

but when he is all hell breaks loose

no subtlety about his confession at all

like he literally screams it at you

he had been paying extra attention to you all night, which you didn't even notice bc you liked him too and never imagined he felt the same

so you’re like he so friendly and clingy when he’s drunk

but five minutes later he’s like “DID YOU KNOW IM IN LOVE WITH YOU”

and you’re so taken aback because

1.) he just screamed in your face

2.) he just screamed that in your face

and then he’s quiet and just staring at you, waiting for a response

you’re so dumbfounded that all you say is “you too”

but thats enough for him

“GOOD THATS AWESOME”

and thats basically the end of the conversation bc he gets easily distracted

you have to remind him the next day that that conversation had even happened actually

and he’s like “oh yeahhhhh”

then you’re able to actually talk about what you both feel and be almost normal for about ten minutes lmao

Jongho:

since he’s on the quieter side compared to the rest of the group, I think this shows even more when he’s been drinking

but it’s almost concerning how quiet he is

like if you had never seen him drunk before you’d probably be really worried

and that’s exactly what happened

you went to check on him to see why he wasn't joining in the fun and he looks at you, a little teary from the alcohol

or maybe he’s just deep in his feels who knows

we’ve all been there amiright

and he’s like “just like you a lot you know that?’

you’re like “I was most certainly unaware of that, sir”

and he apologizes??? like why???

“I like you too, doofus, why are you sorry”

then he smiles and means it for the first time that whole night

he feels like he could crack all of the apples in the world he’s so happy

side-note: he probably could break all them apples fr

so basically you just made him the happiest apple murderer in the world

he’ll break all the apples for you baby

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mcrmadness · 3 years

Text

Madness draws: Behind the Scenes of the Bela/Farin: “Widumihei” comic.

A few months ago I posted here this comic:

CLICK HERE for the original post about that comic where you can see it in better and bigger size, and also reblog it ;)

And this post is just a deep dive into how I plan, do and draw my comics.

Let’s start with sketchbook things...

So every comic needs a story, right? My comics usually are born from either some dialogue I imagine in my head or by an impulsive inspiration that happens when I see something or talk with people and a random idea is triggered. I’m very good at coming up with new ideas solely based on just one word or so which is why I often ask people if they have anything they would want to see/read because I suck at coming up ideas on my own. Or I do get ideas, but not as often as I’d want to.

This particular idea was very old and I have tried but I cannot find the piece that was my inspiration but it was in some of my old German books because I remember laughing at it with either my brother or even with the German teacher in 2011 or 2012. I was only able to find my first “sketch” of the story:

This is in the notebook I used for writing down some comic ideas and even had one comic in it, plus it’s also my fanfiction writing notebook. It has no date but I know for sure it was either 2011 or 2012 because that’s when I did my last Bela/Farin comic and pretty much started my (unintentional) 6 year pause from drawing altogether.

I have always been trilingual when I do these plans for my comics, often writing the “narration” in Finnish and the dialog either in English or German because I just cannot imagine them to speaking Finnish. The translation of that text goes as:

COMIC (sarjis = sarjakuva = comic book in Finnish)

1. The phone is ringing. 2. F: “Widumihei?!” B: ? 3. B: “Farin wtf?” 4. Farin walks from another room. 5. B: “Widumihei?” 6. F: “It means, “will you marry me?”“ 7. B: *wtf* REPLAY:

1. Bela is sitting/laying somewhere. 2. The phone is ringing. Reached with his hand? 3. Looks at the phone, “wtf?”, a thought: “von Jan: Widumihei?!” 4. Bela: “Farin?” / “Jan?” 5. F comes from another room, looks in from behind the door frame or something. B: “Widumihei?” 6. F: “Widumihei: “WIllst DU MIch HEiraten”“ 7. B: “WTF”

So when I then started to draw these comics again in 2018, I kept thinking about this one too and still wanted to draw it one day. If you have read the finished comic, you may notice something different in the old plot versus new: I switched Bela’s and Farin’s roles. Back then I didn’t know too much yet but over the years I have learnt much much more about them and I just figured that asking to marry him even as a joke would be too much for Farin and that it would fit Bela’s persona much much better.

***

I had a bit of problems with getting started with this one, mainly because the last times I drew a dä comic was in June 2020, in April 2020 and before those in October 2019. Because of so long time between the comics, I just always forgot about my methods and in which order I do things and what works for me the best. So every time I started to work on a comic, I had to start completely over because all I had was blank paper and I somehow needed to get my thoughts in order and out of my head, into a physical form aka as text and images on the paper, and it’s easier said than done.

So pardon me but from this on the text is going to get a little bit confusing for a little while from now on - but it’s also a very good look over how the life with my suspected ADHD be like sometimes...

I started working on the plot once again to my sketchbook... I think it was somewhere in the beginning of 2020. Because the next idea there is from the summer. This is what the plot looked like at that point - here I had already switched their roles:

Shortly, the texts go: 1. Farin is reading a book. 2. A phone makes a noise. 3. (Farin) looks at it/read the message. / 6. B appears into the doorway. / 11. F spits out the tea.

And underneath it you can see one of the stick figure storyboards I often do in order to kinda see the text in pictures better, and I will write down or draw important aspects like expressions (Farin’s eyebrows) or things like *facepalm’* or *eyeroll* so that I remember to add them.

Next I was struggling with the era. It needed to be an era with the old mobile phones with SMS options but still not too early because I feel that Farin would have not been the first in line to buy a brand new technology object, especially not when it’s a phone. I was even googling when did Germany get their first mobile phone - I remember I got my first phone aka Nokia 5510 in 2000 or 2001 after my mom got a new one and gave her old one to me, so the story shouldn’t happen too many years before the Millenium.

Originally I planned 1997 for that - I needed to think about that based on their styles because shorter hair is harder to draw. Here’s me trying out some hairs and how they’re to draw and which era would suit my needs the best. I actually find the text hilarious altho it’s mine but this is what it’s in English:

Time period -> 1996-1997? 1998 I’ve never drawn 1999 is not that much fun to draw 2000 is already a bit too late? Bela not that much fun to draw. -2001 moustaches are not fun to draw?

I think I was struggling with my thoughts because the next thing in that sketchbook is yet another storyboard:

Or actually I think this was just to see how many sheets I’d need and how many panels I could fit on one sheet.

Anyhow, I then did other things for some time before I got back to this project this year. Including finishing with the sketchbook I had been using since 2010 (and the half of it since 2018!) and I had to get myself a new one. So when I started to think about this comic again, one night I was just thinking about some Bela/Farin scenarios as usual and suddenly I just felt that I NEED to do the comic in the 1998 style!!! So suddenly we jump from the original 1997 idea to the new era, only because of the colors.

So asap I grabbed my sketchbook and started to look for the proper colors for the hairs:

This one I posted here before too as I was struggling a lot and just felt that I didn’t know how to draw, again. Sometimes when I feel like that, I start drawing with my non-dominant aka left hand because it doesn’t have all that in muscle memory so drawing and writing with it feels more free and it feels almost like pressing a refresh button in my brain. Suddenly the right one know again how to draw because left isn’t too well in control. The below part of the image is done completely with the left hand, including the coloring.

And because I had now a new sketchbook, I somehow couldn’t... deal with the plot and plans being in a different sketchbook than everything else so I had write the plot/dialog AGAIN, into this new sketchbook, along with the storyboards and everything:

Translations: kirja = book, puhelin = phone, oviaukossa = in the doorway, teet suusta = tea(s) out of a/the mouth. “Puhelin zoom” just means “close up to the phone screen” in Madness.

You can also see that I found out that I don’t need to do the stick figure storyboards to imitate a sheet when I can just draw this rectangle and smaller rectangles inside of it and write there numbers to match the things in the dialog to make it much easier for me to plan the pages. And here’s also a small easter egg: there’s 13 panels overall in this comic :D I almost did 12 but then felt that no, I really need to do 13 because, you know, the hairs, the era, the album title. And also because I like the number so much lmao.

So from there we get to the second storyboard which is not just stick figures anymore but just me planning how I want the panels to look like. To get the imagery of the rooms and facial expressions etc. out onto the paper so that I can see them in real life instead of my shady imagination that sometimes isn’t as vivid as what I could be.

Also have you ever tried to draw a beach chair? It’s more difficult than you’d think:

I tried to draw the same thing from the same reference photos so many times and still I always felt like I was trying to draw that impossible triangle or some other illusion image. And it just went on and on here:

Originally I also had planned the second panel to be a close up of the phone so that Farin’s face would be left at the background from the frog perspective. That’s what I was trying to with that weird-ass face on the left but turned out that I have never drawn these characters from such angle and I just... couldn’t see it in my head clearly enough to be able to draw it. So I dismissed that idea and that’s why the angle changed from a phone close-up to a side view to the room and at Farin.

As I was in the middle of planning the second page, I suddenly wasn’t happy with my original plot anymore. I wasn’t sure if it would work and needed to think about it one more time. So I wrote two other dialogs here, along with a storyboards for them both. I ended up choosing B from those two options eventually.

I don’t remember anymore if I had already done the first sketch of the comics or not but at some point I just felt that I no longer knew how to draw in my style. Sometimes you just draw and learn wrong things and wrong methods that you get used to and then you have to take a break and actually do a little bit of studying over your own style to find again the way how you want to draw, and get rid of the bad habits and find the good ones again. In my case it was to draw the eyes way way too big when they originally never were THAT big, so I had to learn how to draw them small and normal again. That’s why I did these, as I really needed to pay attention to the faces and remember how to draw them again:

The front-side views were another big readong for this “study” because I have drawn that perspective only once or twice before and I needed to figure out how I want to draw that. Also, I don’t know if it’s just me but for some reason the front-side Farin reminds me of one of the parent characters from this cartoon called The Rugrats which I watched as a kid. It was totally unintentional, but you can google The Rugrats if you don’t know how the charatcers looked like in the cartoon.

The things below are just me testing something. The red Farins were just to test how the colored pencils work on each other and how the fineliners work with the colored pencils, and which way is the better way to do the shading. And the red colored pencil was the only one available at the time so that had to do.

A little bit about the heads btw: You might notice some difference between the left and right faces. It’s because I have always, always struggled with drawing anything that is looking at right. Most of the animal portraits and all I have drawn so that they look at left because I just find it so much easier to draw. I think with comics it’s because I always start with the eye (and the eyebrows if I don’t forget it) and then do the forehead, nose, mouth and chin, and after that I either continue from the hair (from the front) or do the ear first. But when I am drawing them to look at right, I have to basically draw the mirror image and starting from the hair is not the key because it can easily mess up with the perspectives. I still usually draw everything in the same order but it really is difficult because I’m doing a mirror image and my own hand is on the way, too. Basically I’m drawing from right to left instead of left to right! (I think I should try drawing those with my left hand, then...)

And from here we get to the first sketch of the comic. From here on the images are from my phone’s camera so they are sometimes illegally bad but no can do, I again didn’t think I’d post these to anywhere:

Here you can see I was mainly just focusing on the shapes and the space inside those panels. Just trying to see the perspective and how everything is. The only thing that I drew more precisely was the third panel, with the hand and phone. I had quite a nice memory of old phones in my head but I still googled for some reference photos of Nokia 5110 phones as that was my first phone (as I mentioned earlier), and I also happened to have some of my other old phones on the table nearby so I took my own hand reference photos too:

They always say there’s a little bit of the artist in their art and this one literally has that - “Farin’s” hand is actually my hand! :D And I think the size is kinda on point too because this phone was like 2-3 times smaller than Nokia 5110 and I have small hands, and I believe Farin must have much bigger hands, so the 5110 probably would have looked about the same size in his hand.

After the first sketch, the next step was then - the second sketch:

I also wanted to add more action to the panels so that it’s interesting to look at and not just basically the same panel over and over again with just different speech bubbles, so I came up with the idea of Farin spitting out his tea not being as cartoony as it could be and that he would have to actually clean it up instead of just leaving it there just because in cartoons/comics everything is possible. That way I got more depth into the panels and it was also interesting for me to draw because I drew lots of new postures I have never drawn before, and I’m surprised how well it went despite me not even looking for any kind of reference photos! The only things I used reference photos for were the beach chair, and the phone in a hand. (I have actually always been quite good at drawing 3D objects and spaces, especially if they are rectangular.)

So yeah, this is the phase where everything is then finished with pencil and what follows next is drawing the lines with fineliners - I use Sakura Pigma Micron fineliners for everything else, and black Promarker for doing the lines for the panels (and also if I need bigger pitch black areas done).

Here are the panel lines done but I only had a photo of this first sheet.

And here are both sheets with the finelining done and all pencil marks etc. erased. I really like this part because it looks so clean when all those sketch marks are gone. It’s also crazy to think I literally spend hours drawing something in pencil only to erase it all away later :D

And here’s one photo of the coloring process, the first one has only the base colors done but none of the shadows yet (apart from the shirts), and the second one has some of the shadows done but not everything yet.

Usually after coloring, I will then go through everything with the fineliners one more time to make sure all the lines are dark enough as it just gives everything the finished yet a bit “sketchy” look that what I really like with my comics. The actual last detail is always adding my signature along with the date or year.

And here’s the finished comic one more time for comparison:

Don’t forget to check and reblog the actual post about this comic if you read this post all the way here. I’d appreaciate that a lot since art and artist on Tumblr are not really that much appreciated.

#mcrmadness draws #mcrmadness draws: behind the scenes #my comics #dä fanart #die ärzte

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ayankun · 3 years

Text

WandaVision episode 6

FIRST OFF

Whenever I go back to pause things for clues, and find exactly what I’m looking for, I don’t feel justified, I feel that much more insane:

It’s really hard to make out, but I had an alright look at it on my folks’ QLED, and it’s definitely a flying saucer doing an alien abduction on what looks to be a person inside an old CRT TV (with some kind of robot head/boombox on top???) There are secret aliens in this show, you guys, the facts don’t lie.

HmmmMMMM I wonder if Agnes is as innocent as she looks:

Also, I didn’t see that she was wearing the brooch in this ep, and I was majorly disappointed in that.

Two things here:

No, that’s not a twins joke.

Another Moonmen Confirmed

I know green is his color or whatever, but that hat is literally 10 years ahead of its time

Also, I took the playing-DDR-at-home scenario at face value, and only on the first rewatch did I realize it was a very pointed turn-of-the-century reference. I am an Old.

There’s a good, subtle Rule of Threes in this ep. The Setup:

The Sokovian Halloween flashback works on so many levels. It’s so funny:

The fact that they went trick-or-treating at all

The “speaking Sokovian”

The treat being a fish

They have to share the fish

The concept that this event gave them an infectious disease

“You probably suppressed a lot of the trauma” -- it’s a good sitcom joke but. the trauma is the joke. The joke IS THE TRAUMA!!!

Elizabeth Olson is a dream with all her wonderful faces she has this ep.

Vision’s unsettling passive-aggression-sitcom-cooperation whiplash is WOW, consider me unsettled!!!!!! “Be. Good.” UGH.

(Just noticed one here, but there are a number of continuity errors in this episode, enough to be distracting later on, and is this a deliberate choice? Please let it be deliberate. I didn’t watch a whole lot of Malcolm in the Middle, is it known for its continuity errors?

)

“It’s their first Halloween.” LOLOLOL they are TEN YEARS OLD and this is their FIRST halloween I LOVE IT

DOUBLE RED HERRING CONFIRRRRRRRRMED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Agent Jimmy Woo accidentally identifying himself as the sassy best friend added 20 years to my life.

Found. FOUND. Not “created,” “manifested,” “willed into being using my insane witch powers.” Third Party Confirmed.

I like that it’s the 90s and we can swear on TV now. “Hell” “kick-ass” “damn it” “fu---dge”

I think the most biting part of Vision finding the whacked out folks is that the soundtrack just kind of ... ignores that anything’s wrong. Yeah, it’s kinda-spooky Halloween music, but it’s still 100% in-world kinda-spooky-sitcom-Halloween-episode music.

OKAY LET’S TALK ABOUT THE AD:

As a 90s child, let me tell you, this is a blisteringly accurate representation of children’s marketing from the period. The shark is wearing sunglasses AND he has a surfboard!!! And he’s selling you yogurt of all things!!!!! This is the supreme distillation of what being a child in the 90s was like.

How disappointed I am that they went with crab instead of lobster.

Heard it through the grapevine that this is a representative of Wanda’s imprisonment on the Raft. That happened in Civil War, right? So the next ad is The Snap? We’re running out of iconic decades, too. so, hold on, new thought.

90s: Civil War

00s: Infinity War

10s?????: Endgame???? or?????????

??: Whatever happened between Endgame and WandaVision, given that the ads are stepping forward through Wanda’s IRL life events!!

I don’t want to know how many episodes are planned/announced, but I don’t know what to expect from the format after they run out of decades from which to draw. Maybe there are only one or possibly two “sitcom” episodes left. Maybe after that it just breaks down and they can pick and choose from the worlds/styles we’ve already established. That’d be p neat. A very unique kind of chaos.

god she’s so cute

Okay, somebody explain to me Pietro. I honestly walked away from last week thinking he was just some townsperson chump, but then I was reminded that this is the Quicksilver actor from all those X-Mans movies I never watched, soooo people are saying Multiverse Confirmed? But, if this is X-Mans’ Pietro, then why did he die the same as MCU Pietro? Or is he literally MCU!Pietro’s corpse, given that he looked all dead same as when she saw Vision’s corpse? If MCU!Pietro, then why different face???

????????????????

Also I found him highly suspicious, what with all the questions he was asking. But the only sort of person who would truly want to know the answers to those questions would be someone who already had them ... so I think he was just asking on behalf of the audience, and the delivery was all wonked out.

Rule of Threes - The Reference:

Ok, real talk, whenever computers/networks/data/encryption/servers/mainframes et al come up in mainstream media, I just look away. I don’t need the kind of psychic damage that comes with such egregious mishandling of the topic.

That being said, does Hayward having eyes through the barrier mean that he could possibly be involved in getting it set up? Because look. If Hayward-after-Hayward’s-Villianous-Ends is one antagonizing force, then is there really room for the Third Party (Confirmed) antagonizing force that’s lurking in the negative space silhouette of the Inciting Incident? With Wanda as the Red Herring antagonizing force, that’s just. There’s just too many villains, alright? We gotta start merging these plotlines.

(then again, when I just said “eyes” I realize probably understanding the true nature of his new secret “CATARACT” project will clear a lot of things up. I’ll wait for enlightenment)

Agnes’ license plate in this episode is 0A1-B2C, which I think is a reference to the way reality is getting pared down to bare bones at the edge of town. Note that this is not the same license plate number as seen last ep.

ALSO, I drove home behind a NJ plate just an hour ago, and was staring at it for a long time, trying to fit it into the puzzle before A) realizing that this was Real Life and not part of the show and B) WTF is a NJ plate doing in front of me in California. In any case, I can confirm that NJ plates do not appear to have this number-letter repeating format.

So let’s talk Agnes.

Demonstrated knowledge of the situation in ways others haven’t (”There’s the star of the show” “kids, you can’t control ‘em”)

Shows up when needed most (explained as being Wanda’s doing, but is it)

When Wanda was having her babies, though, who was trustworthy enough to be summoned? Was it Agnes?

Wanted to babysit REAL BAD

Was in the opening credits framed possessively with the twins

Doesn’t appear to have an IRL identity according to Jimmy’s crime board

Keeps talking about her husband but we’ve never seen him. Highly unlikely that he’s real

Was the one to find Sparky “dead” - internet thinks she was lying to Wanda about how or possibly if he was dead (I’m trying not to read the theories, so idk exactly what the angle is there)

In an episode where everyone is wearing their original comic outfits, Agnes is dressed as (and laughs like!) a witch

She name-drops Wanda as the one controlling everyone; Norm (or the guy playing Norm) only said “she” and “her” -- meaning Agnes?

Naughty

So we’re 99% sure Agnes is Agatha Harkness, right? I never read no comics, so I’m taking the internet’s word for it, but from what I can tell, I think we must be right. If that’s the case, then I’m thinking it’s not impossible for her to be pulling some strings around here (giving Wanda a justification for her “that wasn’t me” doorbell ring, for example, and pulling a double red herring on the fact that she shows up whenever the narrative Wanda her nefarious scheme calls for it).

To devil’s advocate myself, though, we also have Monica’s word that it was Wanda in her mind, lessening the impact of Agnes falsely confirming what Norm only implied. Also she’d have to be acting for Vision’s sake (and ours) and, if so, then what did Vision’s brain-touch really do, and how did she know he’d find her there, and what did she intend as the result of that interaction etc etc.

If Wanda’s (or Wanda + Third Party Confirmed (Agnes??)’s) powers aren’t enough to sustain the simulation of life on the edges of town, how much worse is it going to be now that there is even more area to try to control???

I don’t know if this is strictly an intended read, but the idea of Halloween as a fun, scares-for-entertainment’s sake type holiday, the rounding off the edges of concepts like “skeletons and ghosts are what people are after they die, let’s decorate the town with them and have a good time” kind of is a haunting parallel to the nature of Wanda (et al) covering up the horrible truth of the situation with this happy-go-lucky sitcom glamour.

How much does one hate seeing Vision giving his life for the greater good (the greater good) for the second time? In other news, I think I’m seeing some specifically Mind Stone type energy-colors coming off of him, and very little Wanda type energy-colors. Third Party Confirmed.

Also, I was thinking from last week that perhaps Hayward’s Villainous Ends included capturing the reanimated Vision to be one of those Sentient Weapons his organization is all about, but I Do Not Think his reaction to seeing that sought-after prize disintegrate in front of his eyes really matches up with that theory. Again, will be patiently waiting for Jimmy to check his email to see what CATARACT is all about!

Rule of Threes - The Payoff:

Also, anyone ID the movie playing in the background?

Ok, final thought. I watched this about four times today, and on the big-ass TV at my parents’ house finally paused and got up close to see what that white shape is in the reflection. Thought it might be a skull, but, it’s worse.

These caps do not contain enough data to verify my claim, but I PROMISE YOU it’s a TV

A square old thing with a round screen and antenna on top.

I SWEAR to you, when I looked into the TV, into Wanda’s eyes, only to see the reflection of a TV, of her looking at me looking at her I had a visceral fear reaction. Like. LEGIT nauseous skin crawl.

(All the other episodes have ended with our POV as the fourth wall, from the general (or exact!!!) position their household TV is known to be.)

This is my favorite show Of All Time.

#WandaVision #1x06 #All-New Halloween Spooktacular!

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riskeith · 3 years

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good morning love! (or afternoon for you hehe)

deku vs kacchan part 2 is my favorite ep of the entire series actually. i’ve watch that ep so many times as well it’s just perfect. i got into them when i watched that episode actually! the voice acting god..... literally shivers. now that i think about it it might even be my favorite anime ep of all time help. i just love how bakugou lets it all out and we get to see that side of him.. the insecure scared child he tries to hide. god i could ramble about it forever idk just love it. OH YOU WATCHED THE MOVE RIGHT AFTER? a scene with bakugou and todoroki is guaranteed a good time.. and they work so well together. haha that’s such a nice coincidence tho their dynamic is great in that movie even if it’s mostly kiribaku sjsksjk. what do you think about kiribaku btw?

RIGHT!!! at least we have a couple days to decide hihi.... paimon no longer emergency snack.. only seelie. 🥴 oooh? what kind of thing have you envisioned? (if you wanna share ofc!)

i’ve seen so many people mention that!! like one of the worst parts of the game is that in the higher level you get the less there are to do.. ssjksjdk at some point all you can do is grind domains and try to level up shdkdfhdj

LEVEL 40 INTO A LEVEL 70+ FIGHT ok that’s honestly hilariously brave doesn’t she like die right away 😔 oh yeah you’ll be leveling up Again soon *praying for you*... can’t believe they don’t keep the easy bosses anymore sjdkfh that’s so rude. this game is just grind grind grind. WE NEED A BENNY STORY SO BADLY. like imagine a story with him wanting to seek out diluc because he wants to learn how to fight from a master or something like that. i saw it in a comic and i can’t stop thinking about it 😭 all of them deserve stories!!! there’s so many ways they could make it happen pls mihoyo... chongyun x xingqiu story... <333

shfkjdskdjhf nope right now i’m playing with noelle as my main damage dealer, traveller, lisa and barbara actually. so i think i have a pretty good balance atm.. 2 long range 2 short range-ish. i usually trade out barbara for another character if i have to tho, hehe. that’s only combat though ^ benny is with me when we explore. mood is me having a 5 star and not even using her... i still need to think of ways qiqi could fit into the group yk. is your group still looking the same as before? ooooh if you could rank the elements what would your ranking look like?

172!!!!! that’s a bit short though when you said tall i thought like... 190 or something sjksjdxk. wait how tall are You?

oh i just meant like... people bashing others for spending too much money on the game vs those that bash people for not spending money and complaining that they don’t get 5 star etc? idk yt comments can be so ugly though so it’s a good thing that you don’t read them sjdjdjdkd

that’s super smart!!! you just follow along the plan and delete when you come to the part. must feel so satisfying too i imagine. haha, what little notes i have i put in the notes app and just check up on when i need to. sometimes i even forget they’re there shdkdhsks. my notes are filled with half-assed dialogue or random one words notes that don’t make any sense to me anymore.. nskdhddjdj

you’re right!! so you write at night? sometimes i just open docs on my phone and write a bit before i sleep and when i wake up it’s either a grammatical mess or just... super bad hskshd the brain is simply too tired to create anything shakespeareian

nooo i’ll def check these out and let you know what i think. i’ve seen halsey being in pretty much every klance playlist on spotify so i imagine she portrays their vibes pretty nicely. doesn’t she have a song she sings about being blue and red or something... shdjfhdj such a bad description but i see it being used in edits a lot. also now that i think of it melanie has a song called pacify her that i really like!! do you like it?

THATS SO CUTE YOU ARE A CRYBABY. 🥺 same here tbh i actually like crying sometimes... sjskdjdjd like you said it just feels nice to get it all out. i cry to almost movie or series or book i read i’m a super emotional person but i also think it adds to the experience? you feel more immersed in it that way.

RIGHT??? ITS SO BEAUTIFUL!!! and it’s our boys 😭 and they’re cuddling 😭 under the sun 😭 ssjdjdhdjdj 😭

can’t wait to hear from you again <3 yours, ma <3

good night! more like ahhah

:o!! that’s so legendary of them wow.. <33 and yeah honestly the voice acting is phenomenal.. and all the implications behind the fight too? bakugou finally opening up? midoriya understanding that what he needs is to fight him? ugh. kiribaku is fine! fhdsjfks my brain is so full of todobaku that any other ship is really just... in the background hfskjfs but i can appreciate the relationship they have! with kiri being the only one bakugou has really acknowledged and seeing as being on the same level, that iconic hand clasp when bakugou was being rescued... i have a kiribaku fic in my drafts but idk if i can ever get to it ahha. you like them a lot right?

ikkk also i didn’t know we had to wait until the very end to buy? i have more than enough to buy it rn but when i clicked it said ‘must explore area 14 first’ and i was just... bruh. AHAHAH. okay so in my mind it’s like.. chongyun at a funky angle we’re kinda looking up at him and his body is like bent down towards us fhsdkjs idk how to describe it but i can picture it very well but i also cannot put it to paper/screen. and then his clothes are just black instead of white! HAHAH. tho i kinda wanna see if i can draw a xiao first to offer up to the gacha gods hfsdjkfs (and if i can i’ll do a version w a dark outfit too for u hehe)

legitttt im literally just logging in and grinding the talent domains every day fhsdkjfhskfhjd there are some artifacts i want as well but the domain is literally SO difficult for me fuck.

i just go in and use her skill then heal a bit and switch right away fhsdkjfsd it going alright! and then i go ham with my other 3 charas and switch back to her to heal again fhskfjd. OMGGG that’s so cute please... i miss diluc too... come back!! i wish we had a way to replay the old quests even if we get nothing out of them like i just wanna experience it again ya know.

oooo! that’s pretty nice. hfskjd you could switch barbara out for qiqi! since she’s a healer as well. omg wait you have lumine right? so your combat team has no males? legendary 😩 we love fighting queens! ya! traveller, chongyun, xiangling, fischl. and then i switch depending on the domain/boss i’m gonna fight. hmm elements I think would go: anemo, cryo, electro, pyro, hydro, geo, dendro? LMAO i reckon if i had diluc tho pyro would be higher... i also almost forgot to add geo to that list lmaooooooo oops, hbu??

I JUST SAW THE LINK.... AAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! the bestest boys look how cute they’re sjdkfjdjjdd i’m obsessed. the picture where benny has his back turned sjdudjdjddnd stop. 🥺 they’re so neat. 🥺 also NO ARE YOU SERIOUS? that’s so upsetting are you gonna try it out nonetheless or do you think it’s too risky?

they’re SO neat!!! and bennett facing the other way was so fhskjfd yeah cute <3333333 I KNOWWW IM SO SAD :((( and no...... im not gonna try 😭😭😭 i told my brother about it too and he asked how many rolls i was at and i said 70 and he was straight up ‘you can’t try then’ and i was like ‘i know 😔😔’. @ xiao... i am giving up xingqiu rate up for you 😤😤😤😤 ugh i hope i can still get xingqiu in xiao’s banner tho even tho the chances will be shit. are you gonna roll ganyu’s banner?

FHSKJFSD NOOOOOO don’t tell me 172 is average for you wtf... (apparently the average male height in japan is 160cm! for reference ahah) and i myself am. one hundred and. fifty something cm hfsdjfhskjdfhskdjfhw9uehdsifhwsdkjfhsdkfhsd 😔 big sighs lmaoooooooo. how tall are you? (im assuming much taller 😔😔😔😔😔)

ooh notes app? nice ahaha. fhdkjfhskfsk hdthat’s the mood tho! if i don’t have my laptop with me i’ll write out everything on notes first then transfer to my laptop~

AHAHAH yeahhh i think mostly i do? bc during school times i’ll only write after i’m done with my work which = night time. for a while Peak writing time for me was like 1am lmfao but i do that in a like half-asleep half-conscious state so when i come back the next day at a “normal” time i run into the same issue as you fshdfkjshfs

she does!!! it’s called colours 😩 but i think the one i related to voltron most is control! there was this really good shiro edit with that song i still remember it to this day <3 yeah i do!!! i like most of melanie’s songs actually ahahah. i think my favourite for a while was show and tell~

it totally does!! like it’s satisfying as well you know... like the characters have gone through so much and you experienced that with them so it’s natural to get emotional about it. that reminds me, what kind of books do/did you read? did you read all Those YA novels ahah talking about crying has reminded me how i cried reading those..

<333 i wanna be there with them 😩 actually no i want to BE them 😩😩😩

eager for your response <33 love, c.r.

#marriage anon #wowclunaanswers #long post

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

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I just read that after Tarantulla raped Dick they were going to marry?! WTF DC THIS IS NOT A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIPP is this true?

Yeah, in the issues following Blockbuster’s death and the rape, Dick was a total and complete mess, and Tarantula pretty much spent the next several issues taking advantage of his emotional state. She encouraged him to get drunk to feel better, and tried to use his more vulnerable drunken state to do a number of things which included targeting villains like Copperhead for the sake of her own personal agenda and almost getting married at a chapel. I believe she’d gotten a marriage certificate and everything, and the only thing that kept that from happening is right before it did, Dick got a call from Bruce summoning him back to Gotham to help with the War Games storyline, and the city-wide gang war that had erupted.

(I honestly can’t remember if it was outright stated or textualized in the issues, but it was heavily implied that there was sexual interaction between Dick and Tarantula during this period…..I don’t want to call it them having sex, because Dick wasn’t in a coherent state of mind to be making the choice to have sex based on his normal priorities. My personal interpretation has always been that Dick let Tarantula drag him along from place to place during this time and ‘consented’ to having sex with her because he was kinda trying to….retroactively reframe what she’d done to him on the roof in issue #93, if that makes sense? Like, my take is that Dick was heavily in denial at this stage, and was kinda trying to convince himself that if he made the ‘choice’ here and NOW to have sex with Tarantula, then he could from there kinda convince himself that what had happened on the roof wasn’t any different. Like ‘well maybe I didn’t technically consent at the time, but see, I’m having sex with her now, and that means I probably would have anyway if my head had just been a little clearer.’ Make no mistake - I’m DEFINITELY not suggesting that this in any way makes what happened in #93 any less of actual rape, and there’s no interpretation IMO of the later scenes between them where Dick was making full use of his own agency rather than just unhealthily trying to cope with something he was still trying to process as him having been victimized by rather than a willing party too. It was all just messy as fuck, is what I’m saying. And Tarantula, whatever she thought she was doing, was very much manipulating the fuck out of Dick at his most vulnerable moments through all of this).

Tarantula went to Gotham with him, and even ‘helped’ the Batfam due to the fact that Bruce kinda just….took the fact that she was accompanying Dick and he wasn’t protesting it as a sign of him vouching for her, instead of like….the fact that Dick wasn’t remotely in the right state of mind of to be making healthy decisions, and was pretty obviously on a path to self-destruction. He was extremely reckless throughout the War Games storyline, getting shot in the leg by cops without it even phasing him, heedlessly risking his own life in order to go after Firefly (who just a couple weeks earlier had been hired by Blockbuster to burn down Haly’s Circus), and he basically gave the impression that he didn’t really care if he got both of them shot by the cops while he was going after Firefly - to the extent that it freaked Firefly out and he was yelling wtf are you doing, you Bats aren’t supposed to act like this.

In the immediate aftermath of the War Games storyline, while still recovering from a gunshot wound in his leg, Dick left Gotham again without a word to anyone, just leaving his Nightwing costume abandoned in the Cave. He went back to Bludhaven, with Tarantula following him, and there he turned both himself and Catalina in for the murder of Blockbuster. (He turned himself in as Officer Dick Grayson, who’d been fired from the force before Blockbuster’s death, and basically presented himself as a cop who’d gone rogue rather than implicating himself as Nightwing, so as not to draw any heat back towards the rest of the Batfam by association). He was in jail for like a day or two, but then his former partner and now the captain of the precinct, Amy Rohrbach, had him released and said she refused to let him throw his life away out of guilt for something he didn’t even do.

(She’d known his identity for some time, and its the reason he quit being a cop, she told him he had to choose and it was a conflict of interest….BUT the very night Blockbuster died, she came to him, knowing what Blockbuster had been doing and how he’d been targeting everyone Dick loved in his civilian life, and she offered to give him his gun and badge back so he’d be ‘covered’ if he had to shoot to kill Blockbuster in their inevitable confrontation. Dick refused to take them though.)

But anyway, when Amy made it clear that she wasn’t going to sit back and let Dick throw himself on his sword out of misplaced guilt for a murder he hadn’t actually committed, and was willing to drag herself down with him if he pushed it, Dick was released and he continued to spiral….and this is when he came up with his plan to infiltrate the mob and then from there the Society of Supervillains as Renegade. He first worked as an enforcer for the mob, nicknamed “Crutches” for the fact that he was still on crutches due to his leg injury, but this didn’t stop him from being effective….and then once he got what he’d wanted out of that he progressed to developing the Renegade persona and working for the Society and with Deathstroke. Basically, all of this was part of a plan he’d come up with to ensure Bludhaven’s safety in the longterm, without his presence….he was explicitly counting on not being around to protect Bludhaven himself, mostly because he didn’t deserve to be in his eyes, and it was heavily implied that he was at least passively suicidal at this time and was enacting this plan as kinda a form of ‘getting his affairs in order.’

Basically, the idea was he used his infiltrations to get leverage over the various mobs and make deals with supervillains notorious enough to ensure other villains obeyed a decree to stay out of Bludhaven….and ultimately his plan was to have Bludhaven become a kinda ‘no-fly zone’ for supervillains, the mob and superheroes alike, a city that was left alone for its citizens to live without outside interference. He’d gotten the leverage he needed to keep the mobs from operating in Bludhaven and had a supposed agreement with Deathstroke to keep the villains out….when Slade went back on his word and cooperated with the rest of the Society to drop the nuclear supervillain Chemo on Bludhaven and destroy the city just before Dick managed to bring his months long plans to fruition.

So, this is why if you’ve seen me post about the Blockbuster stuff before, I tend to say I hate how its been boiled down and reduced to just the rape on the rooftop by Tarantula. Yes that was bad enough on its own, but there was SO MUCH SHIT being thrown at Dick from EVERY POSSIBLE ANGLE, simultaneously, with no reprieve. Everything he was working towards was systematically thwarted and dismantled in both his civilian and superhero lives and nothing was going his way, and nobody anywhere was showing up to help him, and he truly was at rock bottom, and I hate hate hate people thinking he only has one or two major traumas in his life because that was like….a good year long exercise in misery for him. He canonically spent months undercover working within the mobs and the Society to try and make his plans happen, months surrounding himself by the worst of the worst and convincing himself all the while that he BELONGED among them. That was part of why he was doing what he was doing, make no mistake…..he fully believed at the time that he’d become no better than them.

And its why I loathe Bruce’s ultimate ‘pep talk’ to him, when Dick was finally recovering in the Batcave after Superman flew him out of radioactive, destroyed Bludhaven, where Dick had RUN BACK INTO in an attempt to save as many people as he could. “I can forgive you for Blockbuster’s death, if you really need me to, but I can’t and won’t forgive you for losing sight of the value of your own life.” REALLY, Bruce? Like, what the fuck is that? First off, why the fuck would you make that conditional like “if you really need me to”….if you think your son needs to feel you’ve forgiven him for something that wasn’t even his fault, just SAY THAT, without qualifiers. But…how the hell do you expect him to keep sight of the value of his own life if YOU’RE NOWHERE TO BE FOUND WHEN HE MOST NEEDS SOMEONE ELSE TO REMIND HIM HIS LIFE HAS VALUE???

Ugh.

So eternally annoyed with the non-resolution to all of that.

Oh, and also keep in mind that in comic book time, relatively speaking, all of this is not that long after Dick killed the Joker and Bruce like….walked off and said Dick needed to figure out how to live with that on his own. With them pretty much never actually resolving this, or addressing how freaking much of the fallout from Blockbuster’s death and his bystander role in it was probably Dick overcompensating for still feeling like he’d disappointed Bruce and betrayed his ideals by killing the Joker, and that Bruce hadn’t and wouldn’t forgive him for that.

He thought he was responsible for Blockbuster’s murder because he was already convinced he was a murderer, because nobody after Last Laugh just went to him and said “Look, who the fuck cares what Bruce thinks, it was the fucking Joker, he murdered your brother and was trying to murder your other brother, anyone who says you were wrong to kill the fucker can fuck off.”

But I mean, hey maybe that’s just me. LOLOL.

#rape cw

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darkpoisonouslove · 4 years

Text

Winx Club Season 2 Thoughts (4kids) Part 1

I already posted some thoughts on season 2 last year when I legit just clicked through he episodes rather than actually rewatching them so I am back to give a more in-depth look on this season! (And, hopefully, it won’t end with disappointment for me.)

2x01:

- Eww, why voiceover? It just seems so unnatural since we’ve never had it before. Not to mention that Bloom told us what each of the other girls has done during the summer but she didn’t tell us anything about herself. Like, she set out to find out more about her origins back in the first half of season 1, and I know that she did learn about being the princess of Domino but she still has no fucking idea who her parents are as individuals apart from them being the rulers of Domino. Considering how big of a plot that is later on, it just doesn’t sit right with me that she doesn’t seem remotely interested in it currently and didn’t mention anything about it. It’s like that plotline is closed for her which we all know is not true. So I am having some issues here, not gonna lie (not with Bloom but with her inconsistent writing).

- Aww, am I the only one who thinks that Stella buried herself in fashion rules all summer because she didn’t want to think about her parents’ divorce? Poor baby has been going so hard with no rest to keep herself from grieving over it. But at least she did something! (Proving she’s not lazy and spoiled; she practically had a job. Her dream job. You go get it, girl! (but also take care of your mental state, please.))

- Why is Bloom so eager to learn her fortune? Has she not read Greek Mythology? Bad idea, hon. Bad idea. (The thing with the magical reality mirrors was cool, though!)

- (Is that a new secret library or is it the regular library? I’m confused. Does anybody have a handy layout of Alfea for me?)

- She just fucking told her everything! I’m not a fan of knowing your future tbh. It really messes with your head and you start thinking “Will my actions have a negative impact on it? Will I somehow change my own destiny for the worse?” and then you go and do exactly that. Not to mention that it would be so weird to stare at Layla and just feel the pressure of being told that you’ll be best friends. Like, what if it doesn’t work? And what if it is just the fact that you were told so that pushes you to seek the friendship of that person? I don’t know. It’s just not my thing.

- Layla is awesome, though! Climbing those rocks with no equipment, not to mention with so little power left. She probably couldn’t even transform and fly if she fell. That was dangerous but did she care? Nope. She was there to save the pixies! Brave little soldier. Too good, too pure for this world.

- Ugh, Darkar managed to annoy me with his very first sentence ever. Nice job. You are a loser, loser. So deal with it! God, how will I take all that narcissism for 25 more episodes? Oh god, oh no, please, no! Whyyyyyyyy?

- Ugh, Bloom, that diadem is doing the opposite of wonders for your hair, please! At least Stella had the common sense to remove it.

- Speaking of Stella, that moment with the multiplying beauty was so cute! I love how she complimented the others while complimenting herself! But guys (Stella & Bloom), you’re not discreet with the groping. Seriously.

- Oh, hey! Riven won! And Sky only came in third! Nice! But lbr here, Timmy is the real victor! The others came in on hoverbikes while he had an entire ship that he modified himself. I mean, idk about anyone else, but I would definitely go for the ship.

- Of course there’s Diaspro drama. God, can they not for literally five seconds? And also, “we’re just friends”? Wtf? Did you fall on your head this summer, Bloom? You were calling him your boyfriend last time I checked. And you were fawning over the romance in your future. Can you just drop the pretense already?

- Ooh, Layla is so smart! She managed to outsmart all the monsters and win even when she barely had any magic left! You go, you absolute badass!

- Did they even make any changes on that new wing at Alfea? I mean, besides the name.

2x02:

- How did Tecna know that Layla was the princess of Andros? Did she hack the interdimensional FBI system? Wtf.

- They could’ve showed some other things we hadn’t seen that Layla had to go through but, of course, why would they do that when they could just use the same footage and draw less animation, bruh?

- And we’re getting to the opposites. Right on schedule when the Shadow Phoenix has shown up. You gotta love how convenient those school lessons are (not to mention that Bloom suddenly started feeling her opposite out of nowhere. Nice!) At least we got a cool magical lesson. Though, idk how to feel about the ying-yang symbol. I mean, it is a perfect representation of what they’re talking about but kind of weird to see something so earthly in Alfea. Though, Earth did have magic so... Hmm. Okay, anyway. Moving on.

- Um, question, why do Stella and Layla not know each other? And in the first season Stella and Musa and Sky didn’t know each other even though they were all royalty (I am still unclear on whether Musa is a princess or not btw but anyway). Don’t they, like, have royal meetings with other kingdoms? (which they even did in season 5 when Domino was back. What, is Domino the center of the universe and they can’t function without it? I mean, come on!)

- The talk about love is getting on my nerves and I literally have “love” in my url and it is my fave word. So what is wrong with that? I do love that guard there. Heck, yeah, it’s a prison (it’s worse than that tbh). And the fact that they’re trying to make it out not to be is extremely fucked up and sickening if you ask me. Not to mention “You can force people to be happy. It just takes time.” I really hope whoever had the idea of that place (in-verse) is going to hell.

- They legit just kept recapping season 1 for a solid minute? Aaaaaaaand... SKIP.

- Can I say that a 30-page report is an actual living nightmare. Thanks.

- The girls are all friendly with Layla (well, outside of a slip-up or two). That’s cute. But where the hell is Tecna? Can the animators only animate five Winx girls at a time? What the hell, you guys?

- So the Pixie village is on Andros (if Layla found it accidentally. I don’t imagine she realm-hopped at will)? Why don’t I remember any of that? But hey, finally some flashbacks that we haven’t seen before!

- Oh, look! My guy Kerborg is here! (the only good part of this whole Darkar thing tbh)

- The Trix finally thought of trying to pretend to be happy in order to get out of there. Well, better late than never. Though, watching how it’s going I can understand why they didn’t try before that. It is, in fact, hopeless. (But at least Darcy is handling it! She always was a bit more controlled.)

- I am so majorly creeped out by Darkar. He just met them and he’s like “You belong to me! Mwahahahaha.” Ummmm? Can you calm down? But I loved Icy’s response. Though, it didn’t stick. And he’s at it again. Seriously, this is really giving me some major off vibes. He said they were going to be the queens of Shadowhaunt which, considering he’s the king, would imply they were his wives. Now there’s a mental image that I am not even going to let inside my head, thanks. Although, having in mind that he just kept buttering them up, I would say it was just him stroking their egos to get them to join him. Not to mention that his later treatment of them supports that theory. And of course, he had to test them first and see how they’d do.

2x03:

- Please, tell me that they’ll tell someone about the Pixies and won’t just go to Shadowhaunt on their own initiative.

- O!M!G! They actually told Faragonda! I can’t believe this! Finally doing something smart, I can’t! And of course she wasn’t going to just let them go. Though, did she really think they weren’t going to want to take the test?

- Shouldn’t Stella be weakened by the darkness of Shadowhaunt? I kinda wish she’d stayed at Alfea if that would’ve spared us from the arc that is coming. (Why?)

- Okay, but it was kind of rude of Layla to just overtake Riven’s hoverbike like that. I wouldn’t appreciate it if I had to give someone a ride and they shoved me out of the driver’s seat and occupied my car, thank you. I’m surprised Riven agreed to let her drive.

- I don’t really have much to say about this episode tbh.

- It was cute that Stella jumped off the cliff for Brandon but it was not the smartest course of action. It probably would’ve been easier for him to save himself if he was alone and they may not have ended up being brought to Amentia. God, I hate this. I don’t want to be bitching about this every other sentence so just know that I absolutely despise this arc from the very bottom of my heart and that will never change.

2x04:

- They have no powers and Darkar knows they’re there. Sounds like a great situation, doesn’t it?

- That amazing moment when you either have to marry a person you’ve just met or watch the one you love die and then be forced to get married anyway. You gotta love that! I hate this so much! (And this is different from my previous point. Or at least has a different angle.)

- Wow, Riven is absolutely handling being a boyfriend. Somebody get him a manual, the man is failing spectacularly.

- I am not quite a fan of Flora’s “Must be nice to have a shoulder to cry on”. Like, you have your friends???? No, I get that she wants a boyfriend, nothing wrong with that, but it came out like she has nobody. Which is absolutely not true.

- What a lucky save that Stella just arrived when they were about to become toast. Can anyone tell me why she didn’t just teleport them where the Pixies are? Or anywhere closer to them if she could do that all along?

- Am I distracted or is there nothing to talk about in these episodes? (Both. It is both.)

2x05:

- Seriously, why didn’t they at least mention the option to teleport using that gadget from the beginning?

- Aww, Brandon was trying to be noble and get out of the marriage but it backfired. Poor him.

- Why are the Pixies bickering like that? Is it Shadowhaunt’s influence or just the fact that they’d been imprisoned together for so long?

- Wait, did they just... kill a pixie? (Off screen of course, but still. Damn!)

- So Bloom and Stella did... interestingly with the boarding.

- Why is Stella afraid of heights? Also, that’s never been mentioned before. Especially not when she jumped off a fucking cliff! Wtf. They just keep throwing in new stuff without setting it up properly and I am getting annoyed.

- What happened to Tecna’s computer?

- Oh, look! Chatta lied to Darkar to protect Pixie Village.

- It’s the Trix! Finally some action! And they are harder to defeat now that they’re stronger! Nice!

- Damn! Layla was really determined to get the Pixies out of there. (Which wouldn’t have helped if Darkar hadn’t let her but she still gets points for trying.)

- Oh come on! Do I really have to deal with fake Avalon so early in the season?!?!?! Dammit! Also, wtf is up with Bloom and Stella? Like, you both have boyfriends. At least Layla’s not affected.

- “Stella returned a compliment. What is that about?” XDDD One of the funniest lines ever! And look at Amore! She is so cute!

2x06:

- But yeah, seriously, just go get Brandon, please! (Also, good that they noticed something’s fishy.)

- Aww, Stella is absolutely furious and determined to get her boyfriend back. She should’ve gone for a plan tbh since it could’ve helped them get to the palace faster.

- I love how Stella’s known Layla for a week (half of which Layla was unconscious) tops and is already making her her bridesmaid. Am I the only one who finds this weird? Like, this friendship train is moving way too fast for my trust issues.

- Poor Brandon. She’s going to stretch him, wtf? These episodes are a horror show.

- How bad can a guard worm be? Hm, gee, I don’t know, Layla. Enough to stop you perhaps since it is a “guard”, y’know.

- And Brandon is talking to a parrot now. I am losing it just like he is. How much longer will this torture go on? Please, tell me this arc is coming to an end.

- Okay, so the plotline with Amore’s magic is less problematic than I remember it. I thought she was going to make Amentia fall in love with the flower pollen but it only leads you to your soulmate. That isn’t problematic, actually. Nice!

- Wtf do you mean they’re going to eat Brandon if he’s not a good husband?!?!?! I am getting nightmares over here. Just feeling them forming in my head. Thanks.

- It must be horrible for Stella to be standing there and watching her boyfriend being forced to marry another woman. How are these people not psychologically scarred anyway?

- Aww, they’re back together! I love how Amore is just sitting in Stella’s lap! It’s cute.

2x07:

- I was not ready for the Kiko angst even though I knew it was coming.

- Faragonda really thought she could just dodge that question without them noticing, huh? Yeah, well, no.

- Oh, look! The Shadow Fire is sentient. This reminds me of LotR tbh but anyway, moving on. So Darkar is a man who is possessed by the Shadow Fire? I so did not remember that.

- Oh, no! Is it really time for Avalon already? Dammit! I was just getting thrilled there was no Darkar in these last two episodes and now I get Avalon. Uggggh.

- I get Bloom’s annoyance with this but why does she keep blasting it when that obviously doesn’t give results?!?!?! This reminds me of that quote by Einstein that madness is doing the same thing and expecting different results. “I feel tired.” You think? You’ve been out there blasting that thing for hours. Get inside and get warmed up, oh my god! Seriously, how are they even alive? They don’t take care of themselves at all.

- This might be my more advanced knowledge of what the future holds for them speaking but I absolutely do not get what is Avalon’s appeal.

- Oh, how convenient. He’s teaching magic connected to their origins. Amazing.

- “I don’t want to seem obsessive” *proceeds to spy on girlfriend* At least the show is framing it well.

2x08:

- Ugh, I really hate these Bloom and Avalon scenes. They just leave a bad taste in my mouth.

- Ugh, I’m gagging at Bloom’s obsession with Avalon. I get he promised to help her learn about her origins but she’s downright lovesick. I am so with Sky on this and I understand his frustration.

- Aww, Brandon immediately revealed his own nickname to help Stella calm down. That was so cute! I love them!

- I love how the fairies are always invited, of course, but the witches are only invited because they helped. I mean, yeah, they do cause trouble, but like, they’re witches? I think the show should have done a better job at specifying what exactly being a witch is because currently it’s like “hey, they’re evil but they can legally learn how to be evil in the legitimate school for witches!” How does that make any sense?

- Ewww, seriously? On the one front I have Bloom and Avalon and on the other Icy and Darkar. What is wrong with this season?

- Oh, hey! It’s Helia! Now only if we didn’t have to wait half a season for Flora to confess her feelings, that would be great! I love how she got mad at Stella for introducing herself to Helia. Don’t just glare there, Flora. Do something about it! (About Helia, I mean.)

- So Saladin is also a dramatic bitch. Good to know. XD But hey, the new Red Fountain looks so much better. Before I started the rewatch, I didn’t even remember the initial vision. I only remembered the one from season 2 onwards.

- Poor Timmy! But what was Tecna’s problem? Like, you dreamed of him. That’s cool. I mean, you like him. What’s the problem? I guess she’s just not used to emotions like that, though.

- “I think it was Darcy” Jeez, really? Why is the fact that she ran away not enough proof that it was Darcy? Why would she run away if she was just a random girl? But I guess it’s a good thing Musa recognized her voice because people can actually do that unlike what movies would have you believe.

- It’s Kerborg time. Nice!

- Oh, yeah, “let’s leave Bloom and Sky in charge here”. Now you trust her. Last time she was there he blamed everything on her but hey, whatever.

- I loved Sky being supportive of Brandon and then the team up with all the rest. And Riven showing a better side of himself. That was really awesome.

- Oh, I think Helia’s got his eye on a certain fairy too! ;)

- But seriously. Literally an entire army of Specialists can’t hold the monster down while Helia did it on his own. With his glove. Wtf?!?!?!?! Though really, why am I expecting anything to make sense at this point.

2x09:

- Okay, but as annoying as Darkar is, he at least knows how to steer the witches to do exactly what he wants.

- Really, Tecna, I think your facts are wrong. You aren’t completely grown up at 16, wtf.

- Who else is completely creeped out by Avalon? He really just gave all of his very female and very young students flowers. And he’s teaching them all individual things (which is just a cover so that his interest in Bloom doesn’t stand out, of course, but still). He knows they are all crushing on him and he’s exploiting that and doing his best to lead them on and reinforce those emotions. That is absolutely disgusting, thank you.

- Seriously, even Faragonda is falling victim to his “charm” (not)? I can’t with this episode anymore and it has just started. And here I thought Darkar would be the problem of this season. How was I so wrong????????

- Oh, he wants them to trust him as much as they trust themselves? How about they throw you off a cliff instead? Oh, wait, that won’t work because he has wings. Crush him with a boulder then? (This is getting very anti Avalon and I am so sorry for all the negativity but I don’t think I can stress enough how much this is upsetting and angering me.)

- Why do I feel like Avalon is the one who planted the book there so that Tecna could do all of that and embarrass herself so that she wouldn’t try it again and he could proceed with his real plans?

- Well, we finally got Bloom’s parents’ names and a very unclear peek at them. Though, props for having their designs figured out from the beginning, though I guess that is just thanks to the comics.

- Oh, hey! Palladium is back. (Why is no one crushing on him? He is so much better and more handsome than Avalon tbh.) Glow up time, bitches. XD

- Amaryl is being Amaryl, of course. But Palladium is having none of it anymore. And he saved Stella. Nice!

- The others trust Tecna, that’s great!

- (Honestly, Griffin is the only thing saving me from losing my mind in this episode tbh, Also the fact that she believes Tecna and that Tecna was suspicious enough to dig in the first place. At least someone hasn’t lost their common sense.)

- Oh, hey, how did Bloom get that medallion? Did she pull it out of the past? Pls, tell me that’s not what happened. It can legit mess the entire timeline.

- Wait, didn’t they start chasing him before midnight? Why is it suddenly morning? Wtf? You can’t tell me they chased him all night. Why is everything so wrong?

- Poor Wizgiz! Another invention is destroyed. I feel his pain.

- At least all parts of the episode came together nicely. The writing was actually good but I absolutely hate this episode, thanks! I still appreciate the effort with the script, though.

2x10:

- Seriously, why did Bloom instantly decide that Diaspro was involved in this? Ugh. Both she and Sky need to calm down with the jealousy.

- Omg, Griselda is so savage, I can’t! Her magic is so awesome. (Since when is Stella up for cooking? Or was it just because she wanted to see the cute guy that would teach them cooking? Ah, and she’s tired of take out.) I really loved how she used different methods to deal with the different powers of the fairies. Finally we’re getting all the magical lessons and it is absolutely glorious.

- (Btw, seeing Stella openly critique classes schedule makes it clear to me why she’s always been my favorite. That is such a me thing to do. I still can’t understand how teachers liked me since I was always arguing with them.)

- Of course. Sky wants to talk and Bloom immediately decided he wanted to break up with her. Why don’t you hear him out first maybe? (Sidenote: Stella and Brandon went on a date with unicorns? That is really cute!)

- Brandon is in his role of the wingman again. Considering he’s the only one having a steady girlfriend (and they’ve said “I love you” already), the rest should just listen to him.

- Mayhem globe? That’s really cool actually.

- Helia is here. Nice!

- Poor Stormy. She looked really hurt. I thought Darcy was the one with the illusions and riddles. Why did she get it wrong and why was Icy the one to solve it (through a detail that not only has never been shown but has been pretty much disproven by what we’ve seen)?

- Yeah. Tecna and Timmy were also knocked out, Bloom. Just in case you care about that.

- Kindness spell? And non-agression spell? That’s kinda cool actually. But problematic... again.

- I am not quite sure what Bloom did but I am actually glad to see they went with a hug there (and it was cute). But how many times are they going to become a boyfriend and a girlfriend? I thought we were over this.

2x11:

- Brandon is at it again. A true specialist... in dating tips. XD

- Wow, Flora. Nice Helia spell you got there. (Btw I am so loving that we get to see them in different classes and learning things! Yes, this is what I’m here for!) But Layla was so ready to help! And I also love that Flora went to Layla instead of anyone else. It’s really cute that they got so close so fast. (”He’s crazy if he doesn’t like you.” Perhaps Layla is the one who likes Flora. XD)

- Shoulda listened to Brandon, Timmy. (But Tecna so boldly went for the “us”. You go, girl!)

- Idk but to me “The Archaic Spells of Spheria” doesn’t sound any good tbh.

- Of course Stella is all about the romantic movies. But poor pixies. They had to imprison them to save them.

- Why did all of the boys know about the Codex in the previous ep but the girls have no clue about it? Why is Faragonda keeping it from them if everyone at Red Fountain knows about it?

- What was Faragonda doing? And why did she make Bloom look for the spell? Couldn’t she do that herself? (Also, she just threw the book like that on the floor. I get why it prompted her derision but damn, really?)

2x12:

- Flora and Helia are such romantic dorks. And they’re bringing their A game there. Poems and flowers... A beautiful romance blooms. (I’ll stop now.)

- This convergence talk is giving me all the friendship feels. Not just for Winx but also for Faragonda and Griffin since they have been spotted doing convergence too. Ugh, my heart!

- Wow, Riven sure has a lot of pictures of Musa, considering the way he’s acting.

- “Kind of involved”? Mhm, sure.

- So I understand Musa’s frustration with Stella’s meddling but on the other hand I can see Stella’s point. I love Musa x Riven but Riven doesn’t seem exactly present and Musa herself stated that she’s not really sure what the status of their relationship is so...

- Okay, but there is no way in hell that it is Darcy’s birthday. It is fall currently and Darcy’s birthday is May 5 according to Wiki. So yeah, no.

- I am getting a bit sidetracked again but can we talk about the fact that Bloom and Stella couldn’t do convergence after a simple disagreement even though they’re together like 24/7 while Griffin and Faragonda managed to do it seamlessly at the end of season 1 after not speaking to each other for years and kind of getting into a fight the last time they spoke at the Day of the Royals. Friendship goals (well, besides the silent treatment.)

- Okay but I think it wasn’t right to blame Stella. She didn’t say anything that was inherently offensive. She suggested that they try to get closer. That isn’t bad even if it upsets someone indirectly. There was no need to blame her. They should’ve just focused on making Layla feel better.

- Why do I feel like none of them really had friends before they found each other? But hey, they are this big found family now and that is awesome! (I am getting all the feels again.)

- And Darcy is messing up the magical reality chamber again. Didn’t we do that already? Also, why didn’t they try to... idk, take precautions and put better security on it considering how dangerous it can be? Like, those are simple things. Please, be responsible.

- Better not play Truth or Dare with Stella. Unless you wanna be kissing ogres. XD

- That was a good save Layla pulled off there. Also, I love how the girls are mad at the “technical” issues. Tbh they are right to. How many times are they gonna get stuck in the wrong world when sent into the magical reality chamber? Like, get your shit together teachers. Also, why don’t they simply do a test run before they get anyone inside it? You’d think they’d learn their lesson.

- Damn, they can be deleted if the program is turned off? Why didn’t Darcy just have Jarred unplug it then? Winx are erased forever. Boom, problem solved. For the Trix, I mean.

- Aww, the pixies were ready to go in. That was cute.

- I LOVED that convergence! It was such a cool idea to have them make a figure. Also, they just created life. Damn! I am impressed.

2x13:

- Poor Layla. She has all those nightmares. But at least Piff helps! That’s really cute.

- I see Flora still hasn’t solved the Helia problem yet.

- They just ditched school to go to a club. What chaotic dumbass energy, I can’t.

- Aww, Layla is sharing about her harsh childhood. At least she has friends she can talk to now. But damn the difference between Andros and Solaria is very striking in scenes like that.

- Layla totally nailed that improv. Nice, you go, girl!

- I love the difference between Griselda and Faragonda! XD

- I loved that convo between Bloom and Vanessa! Yes, thank you for that. I am a little confused as to when Bloom learned Daphne was her sister. Did I miss something or did the writers miss something? But aww, Vanessa can’t see Locket. That’s making me sad. :(

- They did go to the club, though, huh? Nice one, you guys.

- How will Faragonda learn if they use magic on humans but not otherwise? That doesn’t sound very logical to me. (Speaking of logic, where is Tecna? They didn’t show her in this ep.)

- Oh, no! Poor Layla. But damn, she’s powerful. And the others are there to help her. (The pixies can cause so much trouble considering how small they are.)

- I love how Faragonda and Griselda just showed up to get them. It was cute. Though, now they’re being punished. Well, technically, Bloom didn’t break any rules because she had permission to leave but I guess she’s also in this because she shouldn’t have taken the others with her. (Cheeky to welcome Faragonda and Griselda to Earth.) At least Faragonda managed to get them the permission for music back from Griselda. XD

- Aww, babies! They are so tired from cleaning the whole school, they fell asleep. And the pixies helped, too.

- I’m not sure how Flora got that Helia is “the one” from talking to him for half a minute, but damn, wanna share those powers with the rest of us so that we can know immediately when we’ve met the one as well? (It was so cute to see Flora lean on Layla to sleep with her. And Piff, too. If she weren’t just talking about Helia, they would’ve been like a picture perfect family.)

This got very long so I decided to split the post for this season in parts. Part 2.

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lampmeeting · 4 years

Note

since i can now do this ldsfk 1-Metalocalypse (obvi) and 2 Chickles back at you :3

oh HELL yeah *rubs hands together* okay this’ll be long so i’ll do a cut

Favorite character: PICKLESSSSS

Least Favorite character: everyone says rockso and like I GET IT he’s revolting, but my ultimate least-fave is toki’s dad. fuck that old man.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): CHICKLES, HAMMERTOOTH, uhhhh (what else is there?? i’m kidding) nathan/abigail, charles/magnus, nathan/toki

Character I find most attractive: oh fuck don’t do this to me. i have too many types!! i can’t pick! fuck. i’m just gonna say charles. even though it’s magnus. wait. no. it’s pickles. charles. toki. fuck. magnus. i can’t do it dfkgjhf

Character I would marry: realistically?? like, i would say charles but unless i’m a member of dethklok i’m gonna be getting like .02% of that man’s time. honestly i would pick toki or nathan. toki would be so sweet and attentive, all the huggings and kissings, awww. nathan i feel would be the same, but only in private. you gotta kinda work on him a lil bit haha.

Character I would be best friends with: my heart says pickles but my soul says murderface. i would FOR SURE laugh at one of his off-hand under-his-breath comments because that’s just what i do, i fucking laugh at everything, and he’d be like OH? someone thinks i’m funny?? and then my life would never know peace (in a good way)

A random thought: i wanna hear all the dethklok albums from before the show started. like that album where their abs were airbrushed, wtf did that sound like?

An unpopular opinion: season 4 was good. :O i feel like i hear the sentiment from quite a few people that season 4 on the whole was bad. i love all the seasons equally actually.

My Canon OTP: CHICKLES. may i present to the court, exhibit A *points to my icon* (shhh no, let me dream)

My Non-canon OTP: toki/magnus :’) i think this is just about as non-canon as you can get, really. but the heart wants what it wants.

Most Badass Character: DEFINITELY charles.

Most Epic Villain: sorry, mags... salacia.

Pairing I am not a fan of: i think i’m willing to at least entertain most any ship. i’ve read some interesting things for sure. i draw the line at seth/pickles though (i’m glad that doesn’t really seem to exist anymore? it was around more back in the day).

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): aside from magnus and abigail, who both needed WAY more screen time?? i would say dr rockso in a sense. he was sort of that kooky rascal you wave your finger at when he gets in trouble, and then they had to go and do the whole dory mclean thing. and i get the point of the episode, but after that i wasn’t rooting for rockso anymore and he kinda became more of this sinister kinda figure? i dunno. i think that whole angle could’ve been done away with and it would’ve been a lot better. also him trying to fucking drown toki in the christmas episode. 8( ouch, man.

Favourite Friendship: probably nathan and pickles, since they’re the lynchpin of the whole outfit.

Character I most identify with: pickles with some toki on the side. :’) ahhh.

Character I wish I could be: i wanna be that girl that nathan was dating for a while, the one the boys end up befriending and playing scrabble with. i want to be their friiiiiiiiiend

OKAY CHICKLES TIIIIIIIME

When I started shipping them: WELL....okay so i actually just went back and looked at my old deviantart account and the first drawing i did of them (yes i’m linking to 14-year-old art pls don’t judge me) was on Oct. 18, 2006, so like...the dethfam episode hadn’t even aired yet. god damn. there was someone in the sausage festival livejournal community who had drawn the two of them, and then i fucking went ravenous for it real quick and it became like the only thing i drew for months hahaha. i had been nickles up until then. :O

My thoughts: MY THOUGHTS??? this is so vague. i have many thoughts. uh, for one? they’re perfect together? the straight-laced workaholic and the lazy degenerate? yes please, gimme. they’re like yin and yang, opposites attracting. and yet i feel like, once they get past that, they realize they’re both so similar at their cores. and pickles helps charles loosen up, and charles gives pickles some structure. they both give each other someone to lean on when shit gets bad. pickles can be a surprisingly good caretaker when he wants to be. :’)

What makes me happy about them: everything?? i really don’t know how to adequately describe just how much i love them and just how much that means hahah... you ever ship something for 14 years?? i know some of y’all have. it gets in your blood. that’s like over a third of my life right there. not to be dramatic or anything hahaha but they’re important to me. that ship helped get me through some rough months back when i lived alone in a crappy apartment, and it’s hilarious to me that i’m getting back into it hardcore like i was back then considering everything that’s going on right now, just current events-wise and personal stuff-wise.

What makes me sad about them: god damn, anything about those 9 months charles spent “dead”. anything post-doomstar. anything snakes ‘n barrels where they’re together for a short time and then never see each other until charles becomes dethklok’s manager. pickles pining after him for like a decade after the band forms. or charles pining, having to watch pickles party and do drunks and sleep around. or BOTH of them pining and not realizing it, or REALIZING IT and not acting on it because what if it hurt the band somehow? maybe charles wouldn’t want to jeopardize it but pickles would be okay with it, and charles would have to be the one to say no. ahhhhhhhHHHHHH

Things done in fanfic that annoys me: oof, i agree with you here, Ash. i’ve read a couple fics where, like, the bdsm aspect wasn’t even fun. i probably know the exact fic that left a bad taste in your mouth because there’s one specific one i’m thinking of that left a bad taste in mine (actually two...). like i had to actually get up from the computer and go do dishes hahah... uck. but yeah. don’t like charles being abusive to pickles. i think pickles does like some punishment from time to time, and he definitely has some daddy issues. but i don’t want it to get fucking sinister haha y’know? pickles, at his heart, is a good-times guy. he likes good feelings. he wants to feel nice. and charles, at HIS heart, is all about service.

Things I look for in fanfic: are they in love or just hooking up?? i mean i’ll take either at the end of the day, but i’m a romantic and i need the love, i crave it.

My wishlist: give to me all the fics about snakes n’ barrels chickles. how i haven’t written one baffles me (though i did have that huge plot write-up from months back haha...i should turn that into a real fic sometime). would also love a huge fic about their marriage, complete with canon-typical buffoonery. fics about them retiring together. ;0; fics about them just having nice peaceful moments. literally just.....any fic haha...

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: my soul literally begins to shatter apart if i consider them ultimately ending up with anyone else hahaha... other relationships can come and go, but at the end of the line i need those boys to be together. <3

My happily ever after for them: after galaktikon II, dethklok has kinda run its course. the band uses their near-infinite resources to help rebuild the earth. shortly after, it’s pickles who proposes in a surprising turn of events. shaken after the battle, he doesn’t wanna waste any more time. they get married barefoot on the beach probably in like fiji or something (pickles’ idea) with friends and family present (the okay ones haha, also magnus is there with toki because this is my dream, damnit). pickles has white flowers in his dreads in lieu of a bouquet. T~T everything goes well, no one crashes the wedding. they have a lovely honeymoon there when everyone else leaves. pickles says he’s decided to retire from music, but it’s not long before he’s working feverishly on new music in the home studio at their new place. some real expansive stuff. he’s kinda doing it as a weird therapy, coming to terms with some stuff. he never gets clean but he’s not using drugs and alcohol as a band-aid for his problems quite so much anymore. charles retires from managing bands (he doesn’t have the heart for it if it’s not dethklok) and ends up doing the adjunct professor thing whenever he gets bored. but he practices guitar a lot, pickles teaching him some advanced stuff, they jam together sometimes. he takes up sailing because it’s something he’s always wanted to do but never had time for. after pickles releases his first solo album, charles takes him on a long, romantic sailing trip. everything is perfect, everything’s gonna be good forever. 8′) forever. the end.

#SORRY THAT HAPPILY EVER AFTER QUESTION REALLY ACTIVATED ME #i went into a trance i think hahah #anyway thank you T~T i love ranting about them #insomniac-pens

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sexysideoftheforce · 5 years

Text

Mutual Diversion

Chargestep smut. 1k. I think I took out all my dumb notes? Ricardo/Octavia

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“Hey, what are you doing here?” Ortega leans in for a kiss. You give him a quick peck and sidestep his attempt at more. You’re here to keep him distracted but that doesn’t mean you have to give in to everything. “I just wanted to stop by.”

“Aw, you wanted to see me. You missed me.” He leans in to kiss you again and you smack him lightly on the lips.

“I resent how you didn’t say that like a question.”

Ignoring his smirk, you walk further into the building, catching his hand as he reaches for you, and let him intertwine your fingers.

By now you don’t need him to lead you around. Not that memorizing floor plans has ever been hard for you. You can drag him along behind you instead of being dragged. You can sway your hips a little bit more than needed and know he’s behind you looking.

(You saunter saunteringly into Ortega’s office. “Wanna fuck?” You ask.)

You’ve learned you’re a temptation Ortega can’t resist. It’s to manipulate him, you keep telling yourself. Keep your enemies closer. Right? Even if it doesn’t fit with how your thoughts linger on him. How you can’t stop remembering how soft his hair had been all those years before when you used to run your fingers through it. It looks just as soft now.

It’s to manipulate him. So you visit him at work, bringing coffee and food and idle conversation.

And kisses.

Like now, you lean back against his desk and look at him through half lidded eyes. Smiling and pretending that this is pretending. When he kisses you, holds you a little too tight a little too right you sink into his arms. You suck his lower lip into your mouth and give it a gentle bite.

More making out

The words you mumble against his lips as he rubs his hand over the front of your jeans aren’t as planned out and calculated against your plans as they should be, more pure feeling bubbling up out of your lips and spilling out like acid.

Acid that will eat you up just like -

Best to throw that thought away. Away with thoughts of blood and lies. Focus.

The first time was a slip up. You were so starved and couldn’t think of a reason not to stay on that couch. Now it’s okay though because it’s all an act. A part of your plan. Keep him distracted. Keep him looking at you with lust instead of suspicion.

His teeth nip at your collar, a string of Spanish you can’t really make out when you slide your own hand down to touch him. You can’t help but smile when you feel he’s hard already, it’s a heady mix of pride and lust at knowing you’re the cause. He’s not shy about telling you what to do, what helikes, bringing his own hand in to show you.

It’s stupid how many times you’ve done this. Like you can’t resist any chance to learn more about his body. At least he can’t talk if he’s busy kissing.

You hate how he takes his time, touching every part of your body but never how you really want. The smug look on his face tells you he knows exactly what he’s going. Winding you up and falling to his knees to put his mouth on you. Drawing out a surprised moan.

Bury your hands in his hair as he works his tongue against your clit in slow circles. His hands caressing your thighs. You want more, you need more. You nearly sob when he teases you with a finger. Pressing against you and then pulling away to languidly rub against your folds. You grind your hips against him and try to thrust down on his finger. If you have to fuck yourself on him you will.

He pulls away and kisses up your stomach, laugh tickling your skin when you loudly sigh. You twist your fingers in his hair and pull. He stutters and moans, following your momentum up to kiss you. Lips slick and you can taste yourself.

“Fuck, Ortega, fuck me. Just fuck me already.” You gasp against his lips. Grinding your hips together. The longer this takes the more opportunity for you to say something stupid.

He just laughs into the kiss, moving his hand so you have something better to thrust against, needy and erratic. You should care that he can reduce you to this, but right now any higher thought is slipping away in a haze of pleasure.

Shit. Get yourself together.

You’re Leviathan, you’re in control.

It’s a simple thing to grab him and twist so he’s the one caught against the desk. He grunts at the impact of his lower back against the metal. Not exactly according to plan but oh well.

“Sorry.” You lean in and kiss his chest. Stopping to trace his scars with your tongue. It’d be so easy just to go lower and take him into your mouth. Licking up his chest, you take him in your hand and pump slowly, pausing to bite his nipple and smirk at the sound it earns you.

“Octavia,” he sighs. And you lean in to reclaim his mouth, gently sliding your tongue against his and tickling the roof of his mouth.

He’s putty in your hands. Lost in the feel of your hands and lips. It’s a fight not to lose yourself too.

Bite your lip, focus on the pain.

You know how to tilt your hips to make taking him an exquisite slide. Even at this angle. You know how to rake your nails down his chest and watch red lines rise as you start to rock your hips gently. It’s a little awkward and you’re essentially standing on your toes to make it work.

His hands squeeze and caress your ass. If he doesn’t stop looking in your eyes you’re going to headbutt him.

“It’d be easier to ride you if we could lie down.” You eye his couch. It’s covered in files and boxes, not really enough space for what you want to do.

His fingers trace up your back. “I could get on the floor?”

You laugh. “Your bones are too old for that.”

“Maybe it’s your knees that can’t take,” he pinches your ass, “But that’s not what I’m worried about you taking.” His voice lowers to a husky rasp.

Before you can respond, he grabs the back of your thighs and hoists you up. You’ve barely gotten your arms around his shoulders before he sets you down again, spinning you around by the waist and grinding his hips against your ass.

Your face is pressed into the wall and you don’t think he meant to be that rough because he presses a gentle kiss to the back of your neck. But his hands on your hips aren’t, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. You moan at the thought of him marking you, and you hate that it gets you so hot.

He holds you still as he enters you again, moving with shallow but forceful thrusts that betray his neediness. A string of whispered Spanish accompanied by soft moans. You think you hear your name in there somewhere. Whispered like a prayer.

He’s tugging you back into the movement, and it’s shaking loose a whimper every few thrusts. Shit, he’s not even actively fucking you and it’s doing stupid things to your brain.

One hand against the wall to keep you steady and the other gripping the bookshelf next to you. You grit your teeth and arch back into the next roll of his hips.

The next thrust is harder, the pace faster now, like he was waiting for permission to give you everything he wants to. Make you feel every moment he waited for you.

He tilts his head to drag his tongue against the underside of your jaw. Taking your skin between his teeth and biting, forcing a hoarse and stuttered moan out of you.

He’s rough. Not brutal, always thinking about your pleasure. One hand traveling around to your front to flatten against your clit and he’s slamming into you so hard it sends the bookcase crashing against the wall. You whine, wince, and grab his wrist, your clit fucking hurts it’s so good.

You wanted to be in control, were so sure you would be. The feel of his cock and the slide of his hand taking your breath away. Your surprised to realize the needy moans are coming from you.

Ortega’s hand feels so good right where it is but you grab his wrist and bring his fingers up to your mouth. Dragging your tongue from palm up and swirling your tongue over the tips of his fingers. He groans, pressing his fingers into your mouth, and you let him. Hollowing your cheeks and lavishing your tongue against him. (Wtf am I even talking abt?)

You roll your clit between your fingers. Motions not as smooth as you hoped. Everything ratchets higher, tighter, until your rocking between Ortega’s thrusts and your hand.

“I’m gonna kill you, I’m gonna fucking kill you,” you moan because there’s a tension coiling in your stomach and you’re trying not to beg.

“I love you,” he breathes out over your skin. Kissing it into the flesh of your shoulder. Thrusts going off tempo, shoving you forwards and dragging you back until there’s no choice but to but hold still as he fucks you. The bookshelf you lifeline as your knees turned to jelly long ago.

You’re going to come. Your so fucking close, you want to beg for it, so you bite your lip so hard it bleeds. It doesn’t take long after that, vision going blurry and somehow too sharp, and the buzz in your ears goes deafening.

His name comes out of your mouth, you make sure of it. Terrified of what else you might say in its place. A list of confessions he always seems to drag out of you.

Ortega comes while your still shaking. Grinding close and whispers sweet things into your ear about how beautiful you are, how perfect, how much he loves you.

You don’t respond. Not that you need to bother with replying since Ortega is too far gone, still leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses along your neck as he tries to catch his breath.

When your clothes are back in place you’ll accept his kiss before you leave. Not letting him hold you but not being too obvious you’re running away. You aren’t. It’s simply a retreat. Not even that. Mission accomplished. You distracted him.

You’ll pretend you aren’t distracted too.

#not safe for u know ;)#chargestep #fallen hero #fallen hero: retribution #fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero fanfic #ricardo ortega #octavia sparks #writing wink wink

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your-high-lady · 5 years

Text

Revenge(Throne Of Glass Fanfiction)

I would recommend reading the following AN because though it may be long, it will probably answer quite a few of your questions.

AN: Hello. This one-shot is very graphic and I would not recommend reading it if you're not in a very wretched mood and wanting to kill someone. I've written a very detailed and very explicit version of a part of Kingdom of Ash that Sarah J Mass chose to write about very briefly. That wasn't enough for me so I added to what she wrote.

I started writing this one-shot about 3-4 months ago when I was angry and probably losing my mind because right now there is not a single reason that I can think of that would've caused me to even think about writing this let alone writing it at all, other than that one of the screws in my brain had come loose and seriously damaged another part. But anyways.

No, I'm not a sociopath and don't take psychiatrist help, though after reading through my one-shot a few times while editing has made me wonder whether I should seek help from a shrink because what I've written honestly scares me too. Me, the writer. This stuff came from my mind. Like, WTF! What is wrong with me!? But still. I want you to read it, of course at your own risk. I'm not forcing you to read this in any sense, but I would really appreciate a review or two giving me some feedback on my writing, and maybe a couple more assuring me that my writing is not as insane as I think it is.

I don't know what else to say except that I am sane. I am not mentally or physically disturbed in any way that could've caused the following to come out. I just... I don't know. I just don't know. There's just something about the way my mind is wired that I decided to write this and then post it on FanFiction.

It just occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, the writing isn't as graphic as I think it is. If that if the case, please ignore all of the above.

Thank you, have a great day.

Disclaimer: I, in no world or sense, own the TOG world or its characters. Sarah J Mass very spectacularly imagined all of it and put it into seven wonderful books for us to read, and I'm very grateful for that. The first part, which is in italics is basically a copy paste of the part in Kingdom of Ash where Rowan asks Gavriel to heal Cairn. The part starting from the non-italics to the beginning of the actual torture is a loose summary of what Sarah J Mass wrote before Rowan actually began. After that is all mine. That's where my work starts: When he starts hurting Cairn. Everything before that is not my words. They're SJM's words put into a different form, or at least the non-italics are. Please know that, and don't come for me saying I copy-pasted her work and took credit for it. I gave her credit, just now, in the past few sentences.

If you have any other questions or worries, feel free to contact me however you like.

Ok, this is actually getting really long. I'm gonna stop.

Rowan didn’t know where to look first.

At the wolf and Fae male sprawled on the floor.

Or at the iron coffin across the tent.

The iron box they’d locked her in.

Had to reinforce it seemed, from the sloppy welding on the thick slabs atop it.

The box was so small. So narrow.

The smell of her blood, her fear, saturated the tent. Emanated from the box.

A metal table lay nearby.

And beneath it…

Rowan took in the three unlit braziers set beneath it, the chain anchors at the head and foot off the table.

Rowan turned his head to look Gavriel who was healing Fenrys, in his wolf form. And beside him, he lay. “Heal him,” Rowan said with lethal softness. The Lion looked up to find Rowan’s gaze not on Fenrys but instead on Cairn. Chunks of flesh had been torn from his body and a lump was forming on his temple. It was the blow that had knocked him out. A blow that had been inflicted by Fenrys. Right before he collapsed himself. But not from his wounds, instead of from… Rowan started. What had happened here, what has been so terrible that the wolf had done the impossible to spare Aelin from enduring it? Though Gavriel’s eyes were wary, Rowan pointed at Cairn again, “Heal him.” There wasn’t much time left. Not for what he wanted to do. What he needed to do.

Drawers had been pulled out. Polished tools glinted inside. A pouch of them had also been set on a piece of black velvet beside the metal table.

Her blood sang to him of pain and despair, of utter terror.

His Fireheart.

Gavriel’s magic shone golden as it settled over Cairn.

Rowan surveyed the tools Cairn had laid out, the ones in the draw. Carefully, thoughtfully, he selected one: a thin, razor-sharp knife. A healer’s tool, meant for small incisions. Rowan turned to look at Cairn as unconsciousness gave way. By the time, Cairn was fully awake, Rowan had him chained to the metal table. Cairn beheld Rowan, as he stood over him with the tool in his tattooed hand, others laid out beside him. He began thrashing, but the iron chains binding him held. Then he saw the frozen rage in Rowan’s eyes. He understood what he intended to do with that sharp knife. A dark stain spread across the front of Cairn’s pants. Once Gavriel was out, Rowan wrapped an ice-kissed wind around the tent, blocking out all sound, and began.

Rowan started at the bottom. He twisted and broke the bones in Cairn’s ankles, giving himself easy access to the bottom of his feet. Though Cairn tried to keep his mouth shut, the pain was too much. And so he screamed. He shrieked loud enough that Rowan’s ears ringed with it. But despite that, he savoured Cairn’s screams as he first peeled off the skin at his toe pads. Slowly, mercilessly. Then his heels. And then the arch of his foot. Through the ringing, Rowan thought about her. About Aelin. What had she gone through? How had Cairn tortured her these past months? Had she screamed like Cairn was now? More?

He looked up to see Cairn’s face. It was streaked with tears. His nose was running, face pale. It wasn’t enough. No amount of pain Rowan inflicted on him would be enough to challenge what Aelin must’ve gone through. Maybe, Rowan thought, I should lock him in the iron coffin. Take away his air. Make him feel what my wife felt. Later, Rowan. Later.

He moved on to Cairn's lower leg, letting his blood drip, drip, drip on to the floor. He picked up a slightly bigger knife. It was equally sharp if not more, as the last one. Rowan put it against Cairn’s shin and carefully made a horizontal cut, starting about an inch below his knee and ending at his ankle. Then the other leg. The screams grew louder, wilder. A haze had entered Rowan’s mind and only one thing, one word was able to get through it: Revenge.

The lone word burned within him, with each heartbeat, with each intake of breath.

Revengerevengerevenge

It was all he could think about. He wanted revenge. He wanted to hurt Cairn. He wanted to destroy his body, then his mind. He wanted to kill him. And he didn’t care about himself, about how he might feel regretful—or even disgusted with himself—when he finished, even though he doubted he would ever regret this. Cairn deserved everything he got. Every scream, every nightmare, every time he felt even a shred of pain or fear. He deserved it all. And so that is why he asked softly, “Cairn.” The shrieking halted. “Why am I hurting you? Do you know?”

"Because you're a sociopath, that's why." Cairn spat, panting.

Rowan turned his head to look at Cairn… and smelt more urine. “Wrong answer.” He moved so that he was closer to Cairn’s left thigh. Put the knife’s tip against it, right in the middle. He knew, one hard plunge down and he would crush right through the bone. Cairn wouldn’t be able to walk then. But then again, he wasn’t able to right now either what with the chains and his unfortunate injuries. Eh. Let’s do it anyway. And down went Rowan’s knife. He heard the crack of the bone. He felt the splinters graze the knife. He felt the rage in himself when he turned the knife making a full circle. He relished the shrieks that emanated from Cairn’s throat. Miraculously, Cairn was still alive and conscious. Rowan planned to change that. But first, he had to tell Cairn the right answer. “The right answer to my question, Cairn, is because you hurt my mate. You tortured her. You mistreated her. You laughed at her. You did all that and more. And now, I’m going to make you pay for it.” And with those words, he took the knife out of Cairn’s leg and jabbed it into the other. Harder. He heard the point of the knife clang against the metal table under Cairn. The screaming was getting hoarse. But that wasn’t what Rowan wanted.

Rowan took the knife out. Looked at the dark red blood staining the blade, tilting his head to the side, contemplating. His bright green eyes turned to look at Cairn’s blue ones. Turned back to Cairn’s bleeding leg. Rowan put his finger into the small hole his knife had made. He angled skin back and made a short horizontal slit, tucking his knife into the small flap. He moved his eyes to see Cairn looking at what his fingers were doing. Cairn began to tremble. He saw in Cairn’s eye fear and anticipation of what was to come. The agony he knew would come. Rowan didn’t give him enough time to mentally prepare before he yanked. As if he were no more than a butcher pulling off the skin of his dead prey. He watched as Cairn’s body arched in pain, as his mouth opened in agony and gurgling noises came out. They sort of sounded like stop! stop! Rowan processed them as to keep going! keep going!. So he did.

“Ahhhh!” Cairn’s voice was getting hoarse with each howl. It wasn’t enough for Rowan though. He wanted Cairn to lose his voice. Then he wanted Cairn to regain his voice, so that Cairn could scream even louder and then lose his voice again. But he was going pale now. Rowan took the knife out of Cairn’s skin and ripped back the skin above so that he had two flaps off skin opening up and down his leg. He, then, did the same torture to the other leg, just much faster. Cairn already knew what was going to happen. There was no pleasure in dragging it out twice. By the time Rowan finished, he had been pulled to oblivion. Rowan stared at Cairn’s face. It was toned with muscle. Sharp and angled. It would be a pretty one, if not for the permanent arrogant smirk on his face, even in oblivion. Rowan had had enough of staring at his rutting face.

Rowan moved his hands so that they hovered over Cairn’s bleeding legs, and healed him. And slowly, Cairn came back to conscious, groaning because though Rowan had healed him enough that he was no longer unconscious, he still had the injuries. And they still hurt very much.

Rowan moved his eyes to look at Cairn’s sharp face. There was a smirk on his face. “Feeling arrogant, are we?” Rowan asked Cairn.

His smirk grew, “No matter how much you torture me, you’ll never be able to forget that you”, he lifted his head, jerking his chin at Rowan, “failed her.” Rowan flinched. “That’s what hurts, doesn’t it. You think hurting me will make you feel better. And it might. But you’ll still always ponder over it, what I might’ve done to her. Did I rape her? Did I cut her? Did I burn her? Did I drown her? No one knows… but, wait. Aelin would know. I know. But you don’t. I’m not going to tell you. And I don’t think the bitch”—Rowan slapped Cairn for that, causing a spray of blood to come out of his mouth—“wants to relive those memories either. They’re pretty brutal if I remember correctly.” Cairn shrugged as if accepting the fact that no one was going to say anything. But Rowan hadn’t decided anything yet. Half his mind was demanding he torture the information out of Cairn, but the other was saying that he wouldn’t be able to bear it. Hearing about what Aelin went through would kill him. He believed that side. And anyway, it didn’t make a difference, whether he knew what happened to her or not, it would be equally painful. Either way, Cairn wasn’t going to see the sunset today.

Picking up the smallest and sharpest knife Rowan had in his arsenal, he slit Cairn’s shirt in half. Turning and playing with the knife, Rowan said, “I don’t know what you did to her, Cairn, but I can still label you. Murderer, sadist, torturer, abuser. There’re so many words. Which one should I use? Tell me. What word do you want me to use.” Cairn’s nostrils flared with anger but he didn’t say anything. Rowan sighed. “You speak when I don’t want you to but lose your tongue when I want you to talk? How inconvenient. I guess I’ll just have to choose the word for you.” He took a few seconds to himself before he told Cairn, “I can’t decide, Cairn,” he huffed, amused. “I suppose we could use more than one word. Let’s start with… coward? Is that okay with you?” Cairn just glared, nostrils flaring. Rowan gave him a small smile, before putting his knife point against Cairn’s skin. And so he began, once again. Coward, sadist, betrayer. He carved out all these names and more, some of the more ancient words in the Old Language, on to Cairn’s torso, all the while savouring his screams. They were worse than before, and soon Cairn’s voice was hoarse and he was struggling to get his voice out. But Rowan didn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop. He needed to keep going. He needed to give himself this. He couldn’t have avoided Maeve taking her away on that beach, all those months ago. He didn’t even know what was happening until she was taken away, and he saw that blood-soaked shirt staining the sand red. Aelin didn’t tell him anything and Rowan couldn’t help but hate her for that. For taking herself away from him. For taking away the greatest honour of protecting and keeping his queen safe. She took that away from him, and he hated her for that. But more than he hated her, he loved her. He loved her more than anything in this world and he could bring himself to forgive her but only because he had the opportunity to maim and kill the man who hurt his wife. His mate. His reason for breathing. Because there was no reason to live if she was not breathing alongside him. To whatever end. They had said that to each other many times before. To whatever end. That included death. If she died, Rowan would happily follow along, with her.

But Aelin was alive. She had escaped. His Fireheart had braved everything and escaped. She would be okay now. Rowan would be able to take care of her. But he needed to kill Cairn first. He needed closure. And so he only stopped with the carving when there was just one small spot left above his hip, where the skin was not split and bubbling with blood. The rest of his torso was just a slab of ruined flesh and blood. Just like Aelin’s must’ve been after the whipping she got in her first month off Endovier, and on the beach at Maeve’s orders. But that spot. He would come back to that spot. Later. He had to do some other things first.

As Rowan put the knife down, Cairn’s shrieking died down too as he once again was pulled into oblivion. He made sure Cairn’s wounds had started clotting and that he wouldn’t die of blood loss, before going to a small bucket full of water and washing the blood off his hands. His clothes were splattered with blood, too. He would have to throw them away because of the staining that was sure to happen.

Taking his hands out of the water, Rowan looked at them. His fingernails and fingers were also stained red with blood. They would be stained for at least a day or two before the blood came completely off. He was used to this. After all the wars he’d been to and come back from, he’d gotten used to it. He’d gotten used to the sticky feeling of it before he could wash the blood off. He’d gotten used to the metal stench of blood and the feeling of the phantom blood that never seemed to get off his hands. Instead, it just seemed to cake on even more with each war he returned from. He’d never really cared for any of these things before he met Aelin. Blood was blood—something to be washed off and forgotten about. He hadn’t cared about the blood or who it might’ve belonged to. He still didn’t, especially if it had the black colour and reek of Valg blood. He wanted his hands coated in Valg blood. But this wasn’t Valg blood staining his fingers. This was red blood, Fae blood. Cairn’s blood. And still, he didn’t want to wash it off completely. He wanted the reminder. He wanted the reminder of the pain he’d inflicted on Cairn. He wanted to remember the feeling of his flesh squishing under his fingers and hands, and the feeling of his hands being icky and sticky with blood. He enjoyed the feeling of it. He was distantly aware that his thoughts were not right, and that if anyone heard what he was thinking they would call him a psychotic killer who very badly needs some help, but he couldn’t care less about them. Cairn had hurt her. And Cairn would pay for it now. It was as simple as that.

Drying his hands, he walked back over to Cairn. His face was contorted in pain, leaving little space for the usual arrogant smirk. Not one to waste any time, Rowan moved his hands over Cairn’s body and gave him a little energy boost, still leaving the pain there and wounds open. Once Cairn was relatively awake and aware of his surroundings, Rowan picked up a medium-sized knife. Inspecting it, he said to Cairn, “Cairn, doing good? I hope you’re okay. I want to be alive for the rest of this. I want you to feel it. I want you to experience the pain you put my wife through. You deserve to feel it, for what you did to her and I’m sure countless other people, too. You enjoy it, don’t you? You enjoy their pain, their screams, their tears. Well, I enjoy yours, only yours…And I guess other people who hurt my Aelin and our court, too. You, who put my wife through misery. You, who made her cry. You, who took her away from me.” Rowan was getting tired of talking, so he put the knife at Cairn’s shoulder and just started peeling the skin of his upper arm, moving it around here and there to get to the more hidden-from-him spots. Cairn didn’t scream this time. Instead, he just moaned and groaned in pain, which was expected at this point after all the pain he’d already been through. His body and mind had probably entered a place where he was accepting the pain rather than trying to fight it, which was completely fine with Rowan as long as he could keep hurting Cairn. He kept speaking over Cairn’s groaning, “You did so much, Cairn. Do you remember when I was trying to train you? You were so difficult. You wouldn’t listen, always got into fights with the others. Why? Why did you always need to keep fighting?” He moved down to Cairn’s forearm. “Why do you enjoy it? Isn’t it sickening to you? Have you ever puked after torturing someone? Do you have any conscience at all?” Cairn didn’t reply, so Rowan just moved on to Cairn’s other arm, and before long, Cairn was once again pulled back into his mind, but not before Rowan cut off both of his arms. That procured a shriek from Cairn’s throat, which made Rowan smile in the sweetest delight. He drank a glass of water, swallowing the minor disgust at his own thoughts. He walked over to the small fireplace on the side of the tent and lit a small fire. Then picked up the first knife he’d used and put it beside Cairn’s head, freeing his hands so that he could bring Cairn’s back to consciousness one last time. While Cairn was blinking away the last dregs of unawareness, Rowan said, “I have nothing to say to you, except that your whole life, everything you did, led to this point. You and your actions are why I’m here standing here, holding this knife. You hurt her and now I will kill you.” Cairn trembled as Rowan picked up the small knife used for precise incisions. “Please, please. Make it quick.” Cairn begged in a small squeaking voice. Rowan slowly shook his head, bringing his mouth close to Cairn’s ear. “You don’t deserve it.” Coming back up, Rowan brought the knife down to Cairn’s crotch. “You didn’t actually think I’d let you keep your manhood after what you did to my wife, did you?” And with those words, Rowan castrated Cairn. His mouth widened in horrified terror. Rowan imagined that he was so much in pain that he couldn’t even get his voice out to express the pain he was going through. It was so painful he couldn’t even scream. His hands presumably come up to hold his crotch but he couldn’t because of the iron holding him down. After he’d carved out impotent on to the small spot he’d reserved before, he moved to Cairn’s forehead. Starting just above his bushy brown brows, Rowan dug his knife into the skin and peeled it back until half of Cairn’s scalp was just hanging off the table edge. Rowan didn’t blink an eye at the bits of brain spilling out, as he went to the other brow and did the exact same thing. During all this, he also very reluctantly healed Cairn just enough so that he wouldn’t die of blood loss or suffocation or any of the shit, as Rowan basically destroyed Cairn’s mind, physically and mentally. He moved on to the cheeks, peeling the skin of then the nose and ears, also slicing the skin away and then cutting the body part of altogether. Then he took his knife and jabbed them into each of Cairn’s eyes. He screamed at. Loud and clear, his voice rang through the tent. Soon Cairn’s once permanently-arrogant-and-smirking-but-handsome-at-the-same-time face was not a permanently-arrogant-and-smirking-but-handsome-at-the-same-time face. Instead, it was a slab of meat, blood, squishy shit, and just overall, waste. No one would be able to tell who he was, anymore. No one would see that arrogant smirk again. Aelin, though she would most likely see him in her nightmares for years to come, will never again be tormented by him and his face in reality.

Before Cairn could die out on him, Rowan peeled the skin off Cairn’s neck, before picking up his axe and slamming it down. Cairn’s head fell and vulgarly rolled around the tent floor before Rowan picked it up and threw the head into the fire that he’d kept going with his magic. He watched it burn for a couple of minutes before going to the rest of the body. He cut it up into smaller pieces before throwing those into the fire too. His nose prickled at the scent of burning flesh but he kept watching. He wanted to make sure that not a single piece of that male lived. He wanted to make sure that was Aelin safe, or at at least as safe as she could be at the moment. Ten minutes later, the fire was finally starting to die down, leaving the ashes of Cairn scattered on the floor.

Cairn. He was dead. Good riddance, was all Rowan thought before he exited out of the tent, his magic blowing the scent of the burnt flesh away from the tents.

In the chaos of Aelin’s escape, Rowan was easily able to walk out of the camp without attracting any attention. He had only taken a few steps away from the camp entrance gates before he ran. And ran and ran and ran. When he was sure no one could see him, he stopped and just let it all out. He had been feeling sick at himself and his actions the whole time he’d hurt Cairn. But he’d kept it buried deep in his soul. He knew it was important that he give himself that closure. He’d needed to hurt the person who hurt his mate. It gave him a little solace that her tormentor hadn’t died an easy death. He’s experienced pain first, then died. He’d needed to give himself that satisfaction. And so he gave it. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be sick. And so he vomited. Everything he’d eaten in the past couple days spilled out of his mouth. And when it was over, he gagged dryly. It was his way of physically getting it all out. All the anger and hopelessness he’d felt in the past few months—it all came out and he was glad of it. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to puke anymore he stood up, took his hawk form and flew around until he found her scent. Her normal scent of jasmine and lemon verbena was laced with fear and blood and misery but there was also a slight undertone of happiness and pride which Rowan guessed was because of her escape. Of course, she would be happy and proud of herself. She’d been through so much and come back alive and aware of her surroundings if not completely pleasant. But they could work on that. Together. Together they would heal.

AN: Well that was quite the journey. Yes, I’m still sane. I hope you are too, and I also hope that you liked my one-shot. Let me know if there are any other ideas you might have and would like for me to write about, and remember to leave a review. I always find those quite nice and interesting to read. Thank you. And have an amazing day.

#rowan #cairn #tog #ToG FanFic #aelin #prince rowan #rowan whitethorn #Cairn's an ass #tog fanfiction

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