#if you want me to make stuff faster donate to me lol

[obamerzslop]

Love Bug Part 7! Fun fact, bubble has a cousin! totaly!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

#the amazing digital circus #tdac #tadc #tadc fanart #tadc comic #tadc art #tadc caine #tadc bubble #tadc zooble #kingleader #kinger x caine #royalteeth #caine x kinger #tadc kinger #slop comic #Its finally here! #not because people kept yelling at be abt it #but because i wanted to make it #if you want me to make stuff faster donate to me lol #there will be more dw

[single-malt-scotch]

Single Malt Scotch masterpost

well, i made a nebtho one so i guess i should make one of my namesake, right? sorry to say but in terms of video content.... aint much lol. But I will link a playlist and talk about its history!

Right so, what is there??? Why should you watch these guys?

Team Single Malt Scotch is the pair of Zisteau and Kurtjmac. Z does youtube sporadically but doesnt play minecraft much at all anymore, Kurt is well known for Far Lands or Bust and still does that and other games! So we're talking about the old days really- SMS first teamed up in UHC 7. Their dynamic caught on pretty strong in the tumblr oriented mindcrack fandom, and honestly I'd say they were one of the most popular ships back then alongside the expected Team Canada and Nebtho. I enjoyed their whole deal especially because I liked Kurt a lot, and related to his shyness and interests back then. Zisteau and him get along pretty well and shared similar interests so it was always nice to see then hang out- and their slight opposites with Z being more extroverted made them pretty balanced. Overall good chemistry.

The videos. What videos? Heres my playlist, but I will lay it out below as well. (additionally I only included one episode of UHC 7, i suggest going and watching Kurt here as he has the more eps). Be sure to read the playlist description for further info on how to watch.

Ep 45/12 - Episodes with them together start after UHC 7- its hard tracking down more videos due to lack of keywords, etc... They're working together on Kurt's base! good ol 40 min long episode.

Ep 46/13 - back to back, more work on kurt's base. really just nice slow eps with lots of chatter. - i suggest kurt's because its longer.

Fun fact about those two above!! Kurt mimics Zisteau intro :) in his episodes.

a little minecon video in there... from 9 years ago. god i feel old.

another little extra mindcrack server stuff, a pov from kurt that he hadn't shared before.

while this is in the playlist, its a specific timestamp- FLoBathon 2014, Zisteau jumps call in for a good long period. this is definitely more podcasty of a watch.

final stretch... UHC 2017 Charity event. Yeah, way later than everything else lol. This one was a shock to me when it happened too! This UHC is chaotic due to item donations but it was incredibly fun to watch them again- especially up to the very end!! Really suggest it if you want something faster paced. Spoilers: extra good because we got an "i love you kurt" out of it so.

Extra, not on the playlist- feel like itd be fun to mention this FLoB episode where Kurt recognizes the popularity of SMS on tumblr. which sends anxiety through me at times knowing i also had this url way back then as well.

Well thats it boys. There is a good chance theres some other episodes floating out there and i appreciate any added links! (especially later stuff like post-2016 since i was around less).

As I said above SMS was a pretty popular ship. its hard to know how that felt if you weren't around back then but, there is a huge backlog of fan fiction for sure. Ao3 isnt the biggest archive of fics (i suggest dreamwidth) but even there its the top ship with 100 fics!

so you know. old ship, not anything new, not something i expect new people to get into- but i think its worth sharing especially as a fandom history thing because it was quite a popular subject back in the day.

#mindcrack #team sms #team single malt scotch #kurtjmac #zisteau #masterpost #mcyt #minecraft youtube

[salt-volk]

am i like... the only one who doesn't think any of this is all that bad?

dv has always been slow making improvements, but it seems especially since hiring artist team we've gotten lots more updates, and some reasonable progress has been made. they're also making slightly better effort to communicate. trying to listen and implement things here & there (midmonth updates as a thing).

is it perfect? absolutely not. could they be doing better and making more progress faster? definitely. are there some major fumbling points that raise community tensions to a boil (like customs)? yeah, of course. but idk..

no shade on anyone, your feelings are valid. but sometimes it all seems so "dramatic" (not rlly the right word, but you get the intention). like instead of monitoring improvements checking in occasionally just kinda waiting it out, it has to be a catastrophized thing like "ahh dv is ending!!! i'm leaving dv!!! fuck everything and fuck the staff!!!"

and ik that dv isn't beta anymore so most ppl have the attitude of "all of this should have been fixed forever ago! i can't believe we still having this problem! things need to change NOW!!". but... idk nothing in dv to me is so pressing that i feel absolutely enraged over it or like i need to delete my account or boycott or something.

i feel kinda like a passenger just along for the ride, curious to see what happens next. i'm absolutely critical, and give input in improvement threads when it feels necessary. def a lot needs to change. i understand the urging staff to look at certain issues. but i also just feel mostly neutral passivity.

maybe its just social media. ppl being in their feelings or using certain language to make a point. but i don't think i've ever felt as strongly abt anything on dv as half of the ppl here do. if i found out anji was actively currently donating $ to an organization that funded conversion therapy or something like that, THEN i'd be like "okay i'm leaving dv i'm never spending money here again" and all of that. but just simple stuff like "updates are too slow" "the custom system is fucked up" "staff communication is bad"... to me, these are all things that can probly improve with time and better site resources. that i can easily stand to just curiously wait around for.

 i don't feel like i lose anything by staying, or that i'd gain anything by leaving. i'm very invested in the concept of dv and want it to do well, but maybe i'm invested in a v detached way or something. i just can't bring myself to be outrage level mad abt this stuff bc it's all just pixels and shit at the end of the day. most of the "major dv scandals" just remind me of similar issues with other games ive been on early in their start, or working on weirdly managed creative group projects in college, or other things. nothing so far has been unbearably bad to me, or even close to it. i've seen it all before. or if i haven't i get where it comes from.  

and idk even after all the bullshit with them, i guess i still kinda trust staff to improve? maybe i give the benefit of the doubt too often. i just feel like none of it is intentional. i think they don't have proper funding or management skills, and they're not used to running a website like this. it's all just growing pains that they have to sort out and learn from. and there's evidence that certain aspects are still steadily improving over time. will they improve fast enough before every other person except me leaves dv out of frustration or whatever? idk, i hope so. but i don't lose anything by just hanging around to see. at the least its an interesting experience and a study in online communities. at the best, the site genuinely does fix it's issues and i'll be glad i hung around.

just sometimes reading stuff on here... i start to feel like i'm the only one who's kinda chilling in the back while everyone else is predicting dv's downfall, getting into rlly heated arguments, writing manifestos abt why they're going to leave or whatever lol.. it's good to see ppl so passionate abt something but that also makes it a strange and tense environment. it can feel surreal to be surrounded by it all. ykwim? 

#Mod yoshi #anonymous

[xgardensinspace]

Harringrove for Ukraine

Hello! I’m participating in Harringrove for Ukraine! That means I’ll be writing fanfiction and drawing fanart in exchange for donations to an organisation that supports the Ukrainian people in this crisis.

I’m asking that you donate money to one of the following organisations in exchange for me posting my work:

The Ukrainian Army

The Ukrainian Red Cross, which does loads of humanitarian stuff, from aiding refugees to training doctors.

Revived Soldiers Ukraine, which funds medication and medical supplies for army hospitals on the front line.

The UN Refugee Agency, which provides life-saving protection to families forced to flee their homes.

NGO Insight, and KYIV PRIDE which provide funds for LGBTQ+ folks in crisis.

The Fund of Ukraine Armed Forces.

Follow these steps if you’re interested!

- Reblog this post and/or the master post both here and on Twitter if you have it so that we can get as much traction as possible as quickly as we can.

- Send me an ask to let me know what you'd like me to write for you and how much you'd like to donate.

- Wait until I reply to your ask, then you need to make your donation to one of the organisations listed above.

- Donate!! Remember PLEASE to screencap your receipt – you need to send me this to show you’ve donated so we can all track how much we’ve raised as a group

- Don’t forget to block out any private contact details you don’t want me to see!

- Once I’ve seen your receipt, I’ll start work on your project.

What I have to offer: Fanfiction and fanart for donations! Art and fic tagged :) Tho a couple tagged stories are not written by me so just beware xD I couldn’t get the “My writing” tag to work.

What I Like to Write and draw: I am super tender, so fluffy fics and lovely art is always my jam :b However, don’t hesitate to share kinky ideas with me and we can create stuff together that pleases the masses :) I also have lists of writing and art prompts in case you need some helps :)

Accepting prompts? Yes yes! Always :)

Additional Info: Share your fave tropes and dislikes with me.

My fave tropes are SoulmateAUs, Friends to Lovers, Hanahaki, Hurt/Comfort and Patching up wounds xD Naturally, lol. Also any like...coffee, flower, tattoo shop...college combo stuff is fun c:

Dislikes are preggy and baby stuff :b I’m really not a motherly being xD

Suggested Donation Amount:  $1 per 100 words of a fic. Obviously the more the better - this is such an important cause.

And for art...All bust or waist pieces. $5 can get you one character in black and white. $10 for two in black and white. $15 one character in colour, and thus $20 gets two characters in colour :) An extra $5 for full body? xD We could also go for a $25 donation getting you a REALISM portrait :) But one character only :’D Soz for that.

Please reblog and donate as soon as you can - I know it's not in everyone's budget right now but this is a really precarious situation and the faster we can get donations the better! Let's do this!

#harringrove for ukraine #harringrove #harringroveforukraine #signal boost #boost! #please donate if you can #fic writing #Fanart #guidelines #steve harrington #billy hargrove

[meltwonu]

| 🍒 CH-CH-CHERRY BOMB! 🍒 |     [CHAPTER 10]

pairing; dom!seungcheol x camgirl!reader

this chapter’s notes; camshow, guided masturbation, dirty talk, jun being a wild one, sad?????angst(sorry), mentions of break-ins/theft, yet again this chapter was meant to be shorter but here we are 😭🍒 more plot than anything else but enjoy! and as always, thank you so much for your support and interest in Cherry Bomb!! 😭💕💕💕 have a good weekend and don’t forget my halloween intro post goes up tomorrow as well!! stay hydrated bbys!!💕

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - ?

“Damn.”

Seungcheol sits beside you Friday morning, lips pressed into a firm line when he sees the five-digit number staring back at him from your revenue page. 

“Yeah, it’s---I--I’m…”

The two of you fall into a tense silence as you both stare at the exorbitant amount of money that the videos have made, unsure of what to say or even think.

“Um, I mean, o-obviously you get a cut of the money too, ‘Cheol! You’re half the video so…”

“Yeah, but even so, that’s---that’s an insane amount of money we made off of, what, three videos?”

You nod back slowly, sighing as you rest against the back of the sofa. “I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t think… they’d do that well. Like, not saying we suck! We obviously don’t, but just… I didn’t think they’d do that well.”

Seungcheol laughs, leaning back against the cushions as he meets your blushing face. “I could quit my job and just cam with you for this amount of money. I mean, this much off of three videos? Imagine if we were regulars together.”

The thought alone sends your mind into a flurry of various ideas; biting your lip as you lean into Seungcheol’s shoulder.

“Hey, I have an idea for tomorrow’s show but remind me to ask you later!”

hoshi_tiger_xx: still out of town baby?

sleepy_wonu: i feel like you moved and you’re just not ready to tell us lol

Seungcheol smirks reading the comments; eyes flitting over to you from his place on the sofa.

“Moved? I wish! This place is probably waaaay more than my own rent though~” You pause, letting the sound of donations sound off and comments fly past on your laptop screen. “And I’m probably heading home tomorrow so get ready to say bye to this backdrop!” You pout.

therealchan99: can we quickly discuss those videos tho

angelhan: actually yes

Biting your lip, you note that Seungcheol’s eyes are already on you and that you’ve already hit the donation minimum to start your show. “Well…” You start pushing the straps of your bra down, unhooking the back until you can toss the flimsy material off. “What do you guys want to know? You know I kiss and tell~”

dom.cheol: how does he gets you so fuckin wet, baby?

alphagyu97: ur not rly friends are u? Is he ur bf?

alphagyu97: im not pressed either im just curious!!!

universe_WZ: thats what they all say

chwenon: yooo that last vid was fuckin fire tho

tangerine_kwan has donated $50

tangerine_kwan: is he ever gonna join u on cam? think u guys would be good

“Hmm~ Well, let’s start with dom.cheol’s question…” You shoot the camera a sultry smirk as you spread your legs; fingertips already dancing along the lace of your panties. “It’s really not hard~ He’s really good at what he does, y’know? Knows how to talk to me and get my panties wet~”

xcaliburDK: is he good looking

kitty_junjun: probably not as well as me 🤪

gentleman_josh95: stop while u r ahead

Letting out a soft giggle, you watch as Seungcheol rounds the sofa, leaning up against the back of it as he faces you. He keeps his phone in hand, thumb still dancing across the keyboard.

dom.cheol: he has to punish you so often though, baby.

artist8hao: i know, whats gotten into u babygirl? Why r u acting out so much?

“‘Cause I like it when he punishes me~” You lick your lips as you hook your thumbs into your panties, slowly guiding them down your legs. “But I like it when he’s sweet to me too~” Your eyes dance up to Seungcheol, tossing the material his way before speaking.

“Won’t you be sweet to me now?”

alphagyu97: oh shit hes there

universe_WZ: let him fuck your pretty pussy on cam baby

“Aww, I’d love that but he’s still a ‘lil too shy for a live show!” You run your fingertips through your folds, collecting the wetness on them before you bring them to your lips. “But not shy enough to lend your voice, maybe?”

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart.”

Seungcheol makes sure to raise his voice enough so that he’s within earshot of the mic; adrenaline rushing through his veins when he, too, notices the sudden influx of comments and donations at his sudden appearance. “My baby’s been good today though, hasn’t she?” Nodding, you get lost in Seungcheol’s firm stare as the sound of donations and comments fire off in the background.

“Mmhmm~ So why don’t you guide me and show me how a good girl gets rewarded?”

He sets his phone down onto the back of the sofa precariously, both hands in the pockets of his sweats as he watches you. “Normally, good girls get to sit on my cock but we’ll save that for another time, baby. For now, why don’t you get those fingers nice and wet for me? Let them see how good that mouth of yours is.”

therealchan99: those pretty lips that look so good around a cock, just like i thought

sleepy_wonu has donated $100

sleepy_wonu: fuck yeah

You make sure your fingers are properly wet before you drag them down your body, soft sighs on your lips. “Don’t tease me too much though, okay?” Seungcheol grins in return, picking up his phone and sending a quick donation to keep up appearances before he glances your way again.

“Of course. So why don’t you play with that cute ‘lil clit of yours. Bet it’s still nice and sensitive after last night, huh?”

A stuttered moan falls from your lips the second you start rubbing slow circles on your clit; eyes fluttering shut at the memory alone.

xcaliburDK: fuck, all that cum spilling out of her cunt was hot

artist8hao: bet she was nice and full huh? Such a shame she wasted it

Seungcheol chuckles under his breath, “Right? Guess I’ll just have to fuck it deeper into her pussy next time.” You can’t help but clench around emptiness as you pinch your clit between your fingers at his words.

“Ngh, he made me come home with cum trickling down my thighs…” You whimper, “Not that I minded.”

“She begged me to fuck her in the shower too. Wanted me to mark you up real pretty, didn’t you? So that all your viewers could see.”

“Mmhmm…” He watches as you slowly slide your fingers down your folds to your entrance before they slide back up to your clit. “Why don’t you put two fingers in, hmm? Pretend they’re mine while you fuck yourself on them.”

kitty_junjun: aww her fingers are so small compared to yours

gentleman_josh95: bet its not even enough for her anymore huh?

dom.cheol: probably not

You slowly ease in two fingers at once; moaning when you sink them knuckle deep. “O-oh, fuck… Wha--what should I do n-next?”

“Fuck yourself on them, baby. Go however fast or slow you want to. Make yourself cum on your fingers.” He pauses; running a hand through his hair before he shoots you a devilish smirk. “But tell me how badly you wish it were me, ‘cause we both know you do.”

alphagyu97: wheeew lets hear it babygirl

tangerine_kwan: yea baby tell us

“It’s---It’s not the s-same… ‘Cause your fingers are b-bigger than mine…” You whimper, “And--a-ah, and they’re longer too…” Scissoring your fingers, you let out a breathy moan when you start thrusting your fingers faster into yourself.

“I wish it were your fingers, knuckle deep inside my pussy and making me cum. F-fuck, and stretching me open…”

You place your thumb on your clit; rubbing harsh circles on the nub as you chase your high. 

Seungcheol watches with keen eyes, the way your heels dig into the sheets and the way your brows furrow in concentration; licking his lips when he can tell you’re already close to your orgasm.

“Now let’s see that pretty pussy cum, sweetheart.”

You towel your hair off after your shower; shuffling towards the living area as Seungcheol settles into his makeshift bed on the sofa.

“Don’t you want to sleep in the bed with me for once, ‘Cheol?”

His lips press into a lopsided smile, “Are you asking because it’s your last night here?”

“Maybe~”

He lets out a breathy laugh as he reaches for his pillow, gesturing you back towards his bed. “By the way, what was your idea for your show?” You sit cross-legged on the bed just as Seungcheol sets his pillow back against the headboard.

“...How do you feel about maybe filming with me at my place?” He quirks a brow at you just as he settles onto what he deems his side of the bed for the night. “Do tell.” He has a vague idea of where this is heading, but he lets you continue; curiosity eating away at him the longer you hesitate.

“Well, I was thinking… Maybe, and only if you’re okay with it, but… I was thinking maybe you could drive me back to my place? And I know it’s about an hour out from here but I’ll pay gas money! And we can just start heading towards my apartment a little before my show starts. That way you can use toys on me ‘n stuff. And I don’t mind if you spend the night either ‘cause it’ll probably be kinda late when we finish...”

Seungcheol nods; already thinking about the possibilities with the amount of toys you had at your place compared to his. “I mean, yeah, why not? And don’t worry about the gas money, I think we’ve both made enough money this week to last us a while.”

You can only pout in return, laying on your stomach next to Seungcheol who stares up at the ceiling. “Speaking of which… What’re we gonna do now?”

“What do you mean?”

Sighing, you run your fingers through your damp hair. “I mean… What are we going to do about the videos? Are--Are we still going to film together?”

His lips press into a firm line as a million thoughts run through his mind; he’d thought about it a lot himself the past few days since. “I have an idea but I’m not sure how you’re gonna feel about it.”

“Shoot, we’ve got nothin’ to lose I don’t think!”

Seungcheol eases onto his side as he meets your stare, “First of all, I don’t mind filming more videos with you. And to be honest, it’ll probably take me a bit of time before I’m okay with showing my face but I don’t mind being on your live cam shows either, if we can figure out some camera angles. But the thing is… I think if we’re going to be filming together, you need to change your filming schedule.”

Panic runs through you for a second at the idea but you quickly push it aside to hear his suggestion. “How so?”

“Well, right now you’re doing shows on Fridays and Saturdays, every other Monday and every other Wednesday, right? Your next show is Wednesday which is fine but I think if we end up filming videos together regularly, we need to adjust how often you actually cam and how often we post pre-recorded videos. ‘Cause let’s be real, you’d be way too tired if you kept it that frequent. Three live shows a week and filming with me? It’s way too much for you.”

This time, it’s your lips that press into a firm line. But Seungcheol was right. There was no way you could keep your normal schedule on top of filming with him in between. “That… That makes sense. What are we gonna do about, uh, I mean---’cause we don’t really live near each other…” Mumbling, you trail off, hoping that Seungcheol knew the answer.

“Hmm, well, you can keep your Friday shows and then I can swing by on the weekends. We can film a few videos over the weekend, even if they’re just short ones, or even film long ones and then you can just cut them into shorter pieces. So, in theory, you’d only do two live shows a week and one upload of both of us? We can figure out everything else as we go in terms of splitting profits and stuff.”

You nod at his suggestion, feeling better about the idea. “That sounds reasonable! I’ll have to make a notice for my page but hopefully it shouldn’t be too big of a change…”

Seungcheol yawns as he stretches, eyes filled with sleep when he looks at you.

“We don’t have to do anything too soon either. Those videos are still makin’ money so let’s get some sleep!”

You and Seungcheol spend the Saturday afternoon driving around town; even going so far as to drop by the roller rink one last time to say your thanks and goodbye to Jeongguk.

“The two of you are somethin’ else, man. Really. With my whole heart, I just--I love it.” He pretends to wipe a tear off of his face as you and Seungcheol share a look.

“Promise me you’ll think of my offer?”

You nod in return, a soft giggle escaping your lips. “I promise! Seungcheol tells me you stream often yourself so I feel like I can trust you but only if you get my good side too!” This time Jeongguk’s eyes light up with excitement as he reaches for your hands over the concession stand counter.

“Oh my god, if---if I promise to give you half a cut of profits, would you show up on my gaming stream? You don’t even have to be good, just if we collabed, I really think---”

“Okay, ‘Guk, I think that’s enough for now. You can ask her a thousand questions next time.” You pat Jeongguk’s hands as he pouts. “I’ll think about it, okay?” You whisper under your breath; a small smile on his lips as he nods back.

“Don’t be a stranger!”

Seungcheol links his hand with yours as he leads you out of the roller rink and back to his car; eyes flitting to his watch to check the time. “We’ve got time to have dinner and then we probably need to hit the road after.” You nod, “Sounds good! Where are we headin’ for dinner?”

“‘Guk and I went to this diner called ‘Dynamite’ a while back… The food’s alright and I haven’t taken you there yet so we can go there if you’re okay with it?”

“Sounds good!”

Seungcheol pulls into the parking lot of the diner 30 minutes later as the same neon signs greet him back. He parks near the entrance again, noting that it seemed fairly empty this time as well.

“I wonder if the guy is still here…” He mutters as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “What guy?”

The two of you exit his car; jogging up to him as he waits for you. “Just the guy who was our server when I was here with ‘Guk. He seemed familiar and it was weird.”

Seungcheol opens the door for you, letting you in first as the cold AC blasts you.

“Welcome to Dynamite, I’m Jun and I----Oh fuck!” Jun drops the menus in his hand, lips settling into a wide smile as he walks up to you and Seungcheol, tripping on his own feet as he meets you at the door. “I’m a big fan!” He harshly whispers. You blink up at him just before your eyes flit down to his pastel coloured name tag.

Jun.

Jun.

Oh. kitty_junjun.

“O-oh, you’re---you’re kitty_junjun aren’t you?” You whisper back; already noting that he was quite handsome himself.

Fuck, are all my regulars hot?

“That’s me, baby! And oh--you! It’s you! I remember you from last time! You were with that other guy! Are you… y’know. The guy.” Jun wiggles his eyebrows as he steps back and picks up two menus from the counter. Seungcheol mentally grimaces but he nods.

“That’d be me.”

Jun’s eyes light up with enthusiasm as he gestures for the two of you to follow him towards the seating area. “I’m such a huge fan, really! Of Cherry and, well, really both of you now.” He leads you to a booth before he sets the menus down onto the table. “I hope you don’t mind but I volunteer to be your server and the milkshakes are on me tonight!” Finishing with a wink, he leaves the two of you alone as he walks back towards the counter.

“Wow, ‘Cheol when you said small town, you really meant it, huh?” Giggling, you take in Seungcheol’s mildly embarrassed appearance. “Hey, you’re famous!”

Am I famous? He thinks, Or is it just my dick?

“So that’s three people that could clock me in person… I mean, I guess it could be worse.” He mumbles; cheeks flushed pink when he sees Jun walking back towards your table. Jun leans against the booth, nodding as he props a hand on his hip.

“Sorry, I hope I’m not bothering you guys. It’s just, I feel like I’m meeting a celebrity!” He laughs, “I’d ask for your autograph but then I think that’d be a little too weird.”

You can’t help but giggle at his comment, turning slightly to face him better. “Guess you were right when you said you thought you saw me, huh?” He snaps his fingers as the memory comes back to him in an instant.

“You’re right! Fuck, I almost forgot about that. Man, I thought I was having a fever dream.”

Jun stares off to the side before he fixes his gaze onto Seungcheol; eyes wide. “Hey, I never caught your name, I don’t think?” Seungcheol gulps, hoping that Jun doesn’t connect the dots as easily as Jeongguk did.

“It’s Seungcheol.”

“Oh… okay! Well, cool, are you guys ready to order?”

He lets out a breath he doesn’t realize he was holding as you relay your order to Jun; lips falling into a shaky smile as he gives his order to Jun once you were done.

“Okay! I’ll be back in a little bit!” Jun shoots the two of you a smile before he leaves the two of you alone again.

“Well, this is an interesting Saturday if I do say so myself!” Seungcheol can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of him; shaking his head at the way you seem to take it so easily. “I can’t believe you’re so chill about running into people that know you!”

“Like you said, ‘Cheol! It could be worse~” You pause, “This one time I was at the grocery store and this older man came up to me and said he recognized me. I was like, cool, y’know? I know my viewers are all different ages so I don’t judge. But then, two kids came up to him calling him ‘daddy’ and I literally bolted out of that place before his wife could find me!”

The two of you share a laugh before changing the topic; only stopping when Jun comes by with your orders, twenty minutes later.

“Hey, this is kinda random but it’s not so busy right now, so… Did you wanna sit with us and chat?” You offer as your eyes dance between Seungcheol and Jun. The latter’s eyes twinkle with excitement as he sets the last plate down.

“Wait, seriously? I can take my 15 if you’re being serious!” This time, you look to Seungcheol for his opinion, already noticing the way he seems more relaxed.

“Yeah, that’s cool with me.”

Jun all but runs off to tell his manager as you scoot over to give him space when he gets back. “I’m surprised you asked if he wanted to sit with us while we had dinner.”

“Why not? He seems nice! And we’re making friends!” Seungcheol nods in agreement just as he starts eating and just as Jun makes it back to the booth with a milkshake of his own.

You pat the empty spot next to you as he gasps slightly. “I feel like the second luckiest man on earth.”

He slides into the booth next to you, making sure to keep a reasonable distance. “Hey! You’ve got a show tonight so… are you two, y’know…” Seungcheol makes a conscious effort to not choke on his food as he chews slower than he usually would; eyes flitting over to you just as you set your utensils down.

“Um, yeah! We don’t really know what we’re gonna do yet but no spoilers okay~ Nobody knows what he looks like, Junnie!” You pout. Jun can only vibrate in his seat; a pink blush on his cheeks at the sudden nickname.

“Of course! My lips are sealed shut! And well, if you’re ever back in town, I’ll give you guys my employee discount if you swing by!” He grins.

The three of you talk about various topics within Jun’s fifteen minute break, thankfully none that involve camming. Jun pouts when his time is up, a sigh on his lips when he stands. “Damn, well, I guess I’ll see you later then, huh?” He wiggles his eyebrows, chuckling.

“Just wave me over if you guys need anything, okay?”

The rest of dinner goes on without issue and Seungcheol finds himself in a lighter mood than when the two of you first arrived at the diner.

You make sure to leave Jun a big tip, winking at him on your way out.

“Ready to head home after a week?” Seungcheol shoots you  a sad smile as he walks you to the passenger’s side of his car. He opens the door for you and lets you in before shutting it and jogging to the driver’s side.

“I mean, it’s not like we’re not gonna see each other anymore. If anything we’re gonna be seeing each other fairly regularly since you’re gonna come over to film!”

Seungcheol nods as he sets your apartment into his GPS; pulling out of the driveway as he begins the hour drive to your place.

“Yeah, and I mean, we can figure out what schedule works better as we go. Maybe we only need to film every other week or something too, right?”

“Mmhmm! I’ll start drafting a notice for the schedule change tomorrow and then I’ll run it by you before it goes up.”

The hour drive seems to go by quicker than you expect as the two of you spend the time singing along to songs on the radio; judging Seungcheol’s impeccable vocal skill when a rock song comes on.

“Wow, I--I didn’t know you had the vocal cords to do that, ‘Cheol!” He takes his eyes off of the road for a split second to shoot you a cocky grin.

“I’m pretty good at karaoke. We should go next time! Maybe invite all of our new friends.”

You snort in response, slapping his arm as he pulls into a residential part of town. “And if the person working the front desk of the karaoke place knows us?”

“Then we invite them in too!”

A slight blush paints your cheeks when you realize how much Seungcheol seemed to have relaxed in the last few days, if not hours. You knew it was never easy to get used to being recognized in person and there were still a lot of times where even you were flustered in person. 

“Hey, what’s going on over there?” Seungcheol’s concerned voice has you immediately peering through the window; eyebrows furrowed when you see the police cars parked outside of your apartment complex.

“W--wait that’s my--my apartment complex, ‘Cheol pull over!”

He parks the car a little closer to the scene; getting out of the car with you as the dread becomes more and more evident on your face. “Hey, I’m here with you, okay? Maybe it’s just nothing.” He offers; simultaneously knowing that his words were currently going in one ear and out the other.

The two of you walk hand in hand up to the front where you spot your landlord standing with a police officer. You call her name as she turns to you, gesturing for you to come closer.

“Didn’t you get my text message? Or any of my calls from the last 45 minutes?” You shake your head no in response, eyes dancing to Seungcheol who’s expression matches your own. “No--No I--I was out at dinner, I didn’t even hear my phone go off. What’s going on here?”

She sighs, arms crossed in front of her chest as the police officer clears his throat. “Well, Miss, there were a few break-ins tonight here. There’s a lot of broken glass and a lot of missing items. Thankfully nobody was injured but unfortunately we’re going to be running an investigation so it could take some time.”

“I--w--what about m-my apartment?” Your landlord sighs, “I’m sorry, honey, but your apartment was one of them, I---hey!”

You all but drag Seungcheol with you as you start making your way towards the entrance of the complex, panic and adrenaline guiding you as you all but throw the front door open. The sounds of the officer and your landlord shouting your name become fuzzy as you make your way through the halls; side stepping the stray items that were left on the floor. You make it to your hall when you notice a police officer standing at your front door that seems to have almost been ripped from the hinges.

“Miss, you can’t be in here, we’re---”

“This is my apartment, please just let me in!”

The officer standing at your apartment door notes the distress in your voice and sighs, “Show me some ID and I can let you in.” You quickly fish out your ID as he cross-references it with his documents. “Alright, go ahead. Please just don’t touch any of the hard surfaces.”

Your palm feels clammy against Seungcheol’s as you step into your apartment; shaky gasps on your lips when you notice the items strewn about. “O-oh my god…”

Seungcheol squeezes your hand tight, unsure of what to say. This was definitely the last thing he would’ve expected to happen at the end of your one week stay with him.

You can’t help the tears that threaten to spill as you look around your apartment and Seungcheol quickly notes the glassy look in your eyes when you turn to face him. Seungcheol quickly turns to the officer, voice stern. “I’m sorry to ask but can you give us a second alone, please? This is a lot for her to take in.” The officer nods as he steps back into the hallway.

“Baby? Tell me how you’re feeling, sweetheart.”

It only takes a split second before you’re sobbing into Seungcheol’s chest; his arms wrapping tightly around you.

He rubs your back gently, cooing to you softly as you let out your emotions. “Seungcheol, I, hic, wh--what am I--I, hic, g-gonna d-do? I…” You trail off as your mind goes a mile a minute. He’s unsure of how to comfort you, eyes taking in the ransacked room.

“We--we should probably talk to the officer outside? Figure out what’s going on. I--I mean, you’re definitely coming home with me. I’m not leaving you here like this and with nowhere to go.”

You pull away from his chest, tears still streaming down your face when you look up at him. Seungcheol feels his heart shatter into a thousand pieces. God please, I’d do anything to make sure she never cries like this again, he thinks.

“But my--my s-stuff, I--this--”

“I know, baby, I know. Let’s just both be thankful you weren’t here when they broke in, okay? We can replace the material stuff.” He smooths your hair down and wipes your cheeks, leaning down until he’s at eye level with you.

“I promise you, we’ll figure it out, okay? I’m not leaving you until we do.”

Nodding, you let Seungcheol take your hand as he brings you back to the front door where the officer is. “Hello? Excuse me?”

“Yes?”

Seungcheol looks your way before clearing his throat. “We just want to know what happened to my girlfriend’s apartment.” You squeeze his hand, hiding behind him.

“Well, we can’t really know for sure. A few other apartments were broken into. For some, the locks were picked and for others, it seemed like they just used blunt force against the doors until they gave way. Unfortunately, seeing as this is a gated apartment complex, the hallways don’t have any security cameras and we have no idea how the suspects got in past the gate.” The officer pauses for a moment as he lets his words sink in. “Usually with cases like this, a lot of the material goods eventually show up in local pawn shops or even just discarded in near-by trash containers. And judging from the building history, this isn’t the first time these burglars came by. This seems to be the second time. But that’s all we know for now. I suggest you pack some of your things and hang tight in a hotel until we get more info because, unfortunately, your door is ready to fall off of the hinges and we need to get a detective in here to see if there’s any fingerprints on the surfaces.”

“Will there be someone patrolling this place all night? How are we sure they won’t come back?”

“We’ll have an officer posted at all times, young man. I promise you nobody will get back in here.”

The tears stream down your cheeks as you quietly stand behind Seungcheol; lip quivering as Seungcheol thanks the officer for the information before turning to face you again.

“‘Ch--Cheol, what’re w-we, hic, gonna d-do now?” Your voice sounds so small to him as you keep your eyes focused on the floor.

“Has your apartment been broken into before? Be honest with me.” 

“O--once, but--but it w-wasn’t this bad...” He clenches his jaw at your words. How the fuck did this happen before without anyone finding out? “Wait, so this has happened in the past? And you never said anything?” You peer up at him, eyelashes wet with tears. 

“It, hic, they--they didn’t take as much s-stuff that t-time. But--but now I’m, hic, won--wondering if they were just s-scouting...” Seungcheol’s vision goes red; knowing exactly what he wanted to do and say but unsure of the possible outcome.

Fuck, screw it.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, sweetheart.” He pauses, exhaling deeply before he continues. “We’re gonna pack a bag, take all your important things that you can find. I don’t care if we have to fill up my entire car with your things. And you’re coming home with me. I don’t care if you have to break the lease on this place, but I can’t in good conscience know you’re living here if people are breaking into it like this.” You open your mouth to speak, brows furrowed. “But--”

“No! No buts this time. I--I can have Jeongguk help with moving. I’m sure Seokjin-hyung can take his shift at the roller rink for one day to help us move your things. And we’ll figure things out as we go.”

“The r-rent, I--”

Seungcheol shoots you a small smile as he tilts your head up to meet his soft and warm eyes. “Please, don’t worry about something like that right now. I’m just happy you’re okay. And that you weren’t here alone where I couldn’t help you.”

You nod shakily, hands covering Seungcheol’s as he holds your face in his hands. “Seungcheol, I’m so--so sorry, I--I don’t even k-know where to start, I--this is---it’s all just so much. Really I can just---just get a h-hotel and you can g-go home...” The tears threaten to spill again but Seungcheol quickly tugs you into his inviting arms. 

This was by-far not at all how he expected to end his weekend. And he could only assume you felt the same way.

“I know it’s a lot. But we’re good at figuring things out on the fly, right? You have to trust me on this one. You’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. But for right now, I think you need to hurry and post a notice that there’s no show tonight while I look for your luggage so we can grab some things and get out of here, okay?” 

He releases you from his hold, leaning down to kiss you on the forehead. 

“I’ll fix it, I promise.”

#cherrybomb!cheol #seungcheol smut #scoups smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #scoups scenarios #scoups imagines #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol scenarios #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #scoups #seungcheol

[cafedanslanuit]

[ k i n k t o b e r ]  d a y   12    -   masterlist

↪ character: jumin han [mystic messenger]

↪ tags/warnings: +18, female!reader, cam girl, videocall sex, mutual masturbation, porn with plot.

↪ a/n: the way i intended this to be short and turn out to be a full story lol. still, i really liked this and i can picture going back to this scenario again <3

Pop-up ads were Jumin Han’s worst nightmare.

No matter how many fancy antivirus the tech department installed on his laptop, he always managed to click somewhere he wasn’t supposed to and next thing he knew, there was a picture of an erect penis on his screen.

It usually didn’t irritate him as much, but that day he had to stay up working on a project and now he was stuck in a website he couldn’t close, no matter how many times he clicked the small “x”. He had called someone from the tech department and solicited a new laptop. It was going to take around thirty minutes for it to arrive. He poured himself a glass of wine and looked disgusted at his screen, where a blonde woman was playing with her breasts in front of the camera, that said “Live”.

Once again, he tried to close the window, but instead opened a new one instead, making him roll his eyes backwards in exasperation. When he looked at the screen again, he saw a young woman with long brown hair and big eyes looking at the screen with a small smile. It felt like she was looking right into her eyes, and he covered the camera on his laptop for a second just to make sure she wasn’t. She was wearing a white baby doll while kneeling on her bed, her bare thighs looking incredibly soft and alluring. She wasn’t touching herself but rather playing with her hair and giggling once in a while after looking at her screen. Jumin’s eyes darted to the right, where he saw comments from anonymous people appearing by the second.

As she read them, she propped up her thigh, making Jumin blush instantly. He couldn’t see her underwear, but the innocent way she had moved as if she hadn’t figured out she was showing more skin made his head spin.

His security guard knocking on his door made him come back to reality. His new laptop was probably back. Jumin quickly noted down the name of the user and the name of the website that had appeared in front of him before opening the door and taking his new laptop to finish up his work.

Watching her became a regular thing he did right before he went to bed. After a quick research he had understood what was the purpose with what the internet called cam girls, but the girl he had become so obsessed with didn’t meet all the criteria. For example, he hadn’t seen her naked once, every time she wore lingerie that covered from her breasts to her bottom. She usually just chatted with the people that left comments and sometimes would show off the clothes she was wearing. Jumin felt embarrassed at the tent that formed in his pants after she turned around to show off a cat lingerie that had a tail attached to it.

Two weeks after his discovery, he found himself again watching her. She was wearing a black lingerie set and was kneeling on her bed, a slightly distraught expression on her face.

“No, thankfully I’m okay,” she said, and her voice made Jumin’s heart flutter. “It just isn’t working anymore. A lot of smoke came out and I had to call a tow truck.”

He paid attention to the comments as they appeared and figured out it was about her car breaking down. She proceeded to explain how much she needed it to get to work and that she still didn’t have the money for it.

“So, if anyone can donate at least $5 I’d be really thankful,” she shrugged with a sheepish smile that didn’t match with the website he was watching her in.

For the first time ever, he moved his fingers to the keyboard and typed a message.

user18368: ‘How much does it take to fix your car?’

He watched her eyes go to her screen and read his comment.

“Oh, it’s about $2000. So yeah, I’m hoping I can get some here and then maybe sell some of my stuff, I don’t know,” she answered, fixing the strap on her bra.

The big golden ‘Donate’ button seemed to get bigger as he weighed his options. Jumin wasn’t an impulsive person, but seeing her sad face and the fact $2000 wasn’t a lot of money for him to begin with, he impulsively took out his credit card and filled out the form to send the money she needed.

The look of surprise on her face was enough for him to smile when she saw his donation appear on the screen. The cute way she covered her mouth with her hands as she bounced on the bed with glee was all Jumin needed to stop asking what the other people in the chat meant by calling him a ‘simp’. She thanked him, or well, she thanked user18368 for the donation and said she would call him later for his reward.

Reward?

Jumin’s eyes flickered to the stop of the screen where he saw the title of that day’s stream: ‘Emergency giveaway: 1 on 1 session! <3’.

Oh.

Not even five minutes after she finished the stream, he saw a small pop-up on the website that said ‘Sweetheart’ wanted to chat. Jumin swallowed thick and clicked on the ‘Accept’ button, not sure what he was doing. The girl appeared on his screen and waved at him, the most beautiful smile he had ever seen on her face.

“Hey! Thanks again for the car money. I owe you my life,” she joked, bouncing a little on her bed. Jumin stayed silent. His camera and microphone were off, but she was still smiling at him, and unlike the previous times, she was smiling just at him. “Hey, you don’t have to turn on your camera if you’re uncomfortable, but maybe you could turn your mic on? I’m always nervous some kid got here and I’m corrupting a minor,” she explained with a giggle. Jumin pressed on the microphone button.

“Definitely not a child.”

The girl’s eyes widened a little at the sound of his voice, her cheeks blushing at the same time. She bit her lip and then put on a smile again.

“Okay, what would you like to do? Would you like me to do something you like?”

“No,” Jumin answered quickly. “No, I-- I honestly didn’t know there was a prize behind this. I just wanted to send you the money you needed because I’ve been watching you for a while and I wanted to help out.”

“Oh, for how long?” she asked, curiously.

“A couple of weeks,” he said, embarrassed. “If that’s okay.”

“It’s totally okay,” she assured him, smiling again just the way he was starting to fall for. “I don’t really do a lot of shows in public, but sometimes I agree to do other… stuff in private sessions like this,” she said, playing with her hands.

“Like what?” he asked, intrigued.

“Like… well, sometimes I tell them what I would like someone to do to me. Sometimes I play with myself a bit,” she said, her fingers stroking the hem of her cleavage. Jumin felt himself getting hard at every move she made. “Or I watch them touch themselves. But if you don’t want to turn on your camera it’s really okay. I can tell you what to do.”

“What to do?”

“Uh-huh,” she hummed. “For example, I’d like you to lower your pants right now and touch yourself over your underwear. That is, if you’re wearing any,” she added with a cheeky smile.

Jumin looked at his locked bedroom door, not sure what to do. He had never been one to enjoy these kinds of situations, but there was something about her that drew him to oblige to her every word. She was waiting for him patiently, her innocent face a sharp contrast to what she was asking him to do. Still, he started touching himself over his pajama bottoms, his cock twitching at the attention.

“Mmmm, are you by any chance a little hard?” her voice rang, making him look at the screen again.

“Yeah,” he muttered. Jimin felt dirty, he felt like someone was going to catch him doing something indecorous, but he also couldn’t stop himself from complying to her orders.

“I always take that as a compliment,” she smiled, sticking her tongue out playfully. “Can you touch yourself directly now?”

Jumin did as told, freeing his cock and starting to pump it. He let out a groan as he made contact with his erection and right when he was about to apologize, he saw her biting her lips.

“I like your voice,” she commented, playing with her black babydoll. Jumin kept pumping himself, feeling somewhat proud she was reacting to his voice as well. “Now, I don’t want any fast movements. Just slow, like this,” she said, moving her hand on the screen.

He imitated her hand movements with his own, imagining for a second she was there with him instead of behind a screen.

“Fuck,” he hissed. He wanted to go faster, but her hand was still moving slowly and he wouldn’t be the one to do anything but what she asked him to. He saw her biting his lip when he talked again.

“Okay. Now slowly circle your tip with your thumb. But softly, as if it was a small lick,” she winked. She waited for him to do as she said, his breathing becoming more ragged with every second that went by.

Jumin’s deep grunts were making her squirm on her seat. How could someone’s voice be that attractive? She wished he turned on his camera, but knew better than to pressure him to do so. Closing her eyes, her right hand travelled to her front, underneath her lingerie and started rubbing her clit. She let out a soft mewl, her middle finger drawing circles around her clit, making her see stars.

“Keep pumping yourself, a little faster now” she said, trying to ignore how much she was panting at her own ministrations. “But please, let me hear you more.”

With one hand, he brought his laptop closer to him, so she could listen to his voice better. Jumin was never one to do these things. He had been thought better, he knew the proper way to act with a lady, but… the way she was slightly bouncing on the bed as she touched herself had caused a short circuit inside his head.

“Keep going, keep going,” she whispered, a moan escaping her lips. She parted her legs and even if he couldn’t see anything, the sole sight of her hand rubbing against her while her face was contorted in pure pleasure was enough to send Jumin over the edge. He grunted as he did so, staining his stomach with his release, as his eyes were still glued on the screen.

She kept touching herself, the sound of Jumin’s orgasm obviously affecting her, as her back arched as she kept her hand moving rapidly.

A dark idea crossed Jumin’s mind as he saw her getting closer, an idea he might not have acted on unless he was sure she couldn’t see him, like in that moment.

“Keep going,” Jumin instructed her, his voice a bit hoarse as he was just coming back to his senses. She opened the eyes and looked at the screen, her cheeks bright red, and nodded. In a matter of seconds, she was orgasming in front of him, and Jumin thought he had never seen a woman more beautiful than her. Even as she broke down, her face looked pristine, innocent, and the way she hadn’t even undressed herself or seen him for her to come undone was making his head spin.

She inhaled deeply as she tried to regulate her breathing, a shy smile as she looked at the front camera.

“Sorry, I-- Your voice is just… really hot,” she muttered, looking down at her hands.

“It's okay. You’re very enticing yourself,” he replied, wishing he was able to pull her on his lap and hold her close after sharing such a moment. 

She thanked him again for the money and he shrugged it off. The little wave she did to him as she said goodbye stayed on his mind for the rest of the week.

---

It was like everyone he met knew what he had done one week ago. Jumin knew they didn’t, but that didn’t help from feeling stressed whenever someone looked at him for a second longer than needed. The girl with the long brown hair and big eyes was living on his mind, twisting and twirling the red strings he had there, only managing him to confuse him even more. He had avoided her stream the last few days, wanting to desintoxicate himself, but quickly learnt it wasn’t possible.

“We’re here,” Jaehee said, as Driver Kim stopped the car. It was supposed to be a short balance meeting after the last RFA party, and taking into consideration everyone’s schedules, they had agreed to meet at a cafe downtown. Jaehee had assured everyone the meeting shouldn’t be longer than half an hour, but that their presence was necessary as she needed everyone to sign some documentation for the donations.

When he entered the coffee shop with Jaehee, he saw Saeyoung, Zen and Yoosung were already there. After muttering ‘good afternoon’, she sat on his seat and watched idly as Saeyoung was teasing Yoosung over something he didn’t quite hear.

“Now that the CEO-in-line is here, we can finally order,” Zen said, rolling his eyes at him. Jumin ignored him, not having the energy to respond to that. The actor called over one of the waitressed, who quickly approached their table.

“Hi! Are you ready to order now?” she asked in a cheerful tone.

Jumin didn’t even have to look up to know whose voice he had just heard.

#mystic messenger #jumin han #kinktober #kinktober 2020 #jumin han x mc #jumin x mc #mysme jumin #mm jumin #mystic messenger headcanons #mystic messenger imagines #mysme headcanons #mysme imagines #allie after hours

[zmediaoutlet]

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

[schnitzelbutterfingers]

At The Crack Of Dawn- Ethan Ramsey x F!MC

A/N: hiya there! i’m so sorry for not posting ‘the forgotten one’ au series!! :( don’t you just love pROCrasTiNATiON and sCHOol? since open heart book 2 is over and open heart book 3 is coming who knows when, i now have some time to write some chapters of ‘the forgotten one’!! except school is a such a time taker. for now, let’s read our favorite couple having a nice morning after the events of ch. 20. as always, please forgive me for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes. and as always, enjoy!! <3

A/N 2: i’m still kinda sad abt how mc didn’t have a premium dress, but i didn’t change anything though, lol :)

summary: Set after Ch. 20 of Open Heart Book 2. What could’ve happened after Ethan’s premium scene.

pairing(s): dr. ethan ramsey x f!mc (dr. abigail ‘abby’ chacko)

warning(s): some emotional stuff, but other than that, it’s just pure fluff :) <3

word count: 1210

________________________________________________________________

He woke up to warm yellow rays wafting through the window wall in his enormous and extensive bedroom. Dust particles were flying, suspended in the air. 

Beautiful.

Prepossessing.

Yet normal.

It’s too brilliant to look at, yet too brilliant to look abroad. 

Ethan has never felt this way in all his private life. Formerly, he used to disregard the sunrise and the sunset, complaining of how the intense light would inevitably get in his vision, making it unpleasant and intolerable. But now...

Looking thoughtfully at the lovely woman in his arms, he didn’t mind anymore. The summery amber beams danced harmlessly along her smooth skin. Her natural, cinnamon scent deep nut-brown hair was sprawled across her shoulders and his chest. Her chest was moving up and down with every steadying breath she takes. Her glowing cheeks were rosy, and his shapely hands naturally started to stroke along them. Her plump, salmon lips were pouted, instantly making him want nothing more than to rouse her up and kiss it. 

Beautiful.

Prepossessing.

Not normal, though. Never normal.

How can Abby be normal when his heart beats faster every damn time she is in his line of vision? How can Abby be normal when his ocean-blue eyes go jet-black when he sees her wearing anything? How can Abby be normal when he feels an enormous wave of pride rush through her every time she correctly diagnoses someone? 

It’s abnormal. It’s nothing like he ever felt. 

A relaxing sensation of peace assailed Ethan. He felt like he’s falling deeper and deeper into the brightness. It’s an eerie feeling, a combination of being jubilant and breezy. 

Like sleeping without dreaming.

Like he was abundantly satisfied. 

He was frozen in the moment, unable to move. All his overwhelming senses flew into one harmonious feeling.

Love. 

The word was foreign in his mouth, and he started reminiscing the last time he uttered that word, the last time he said this to someone. Someone he dearly appreciated. His mother. 

Ever since his mother left, he stopped believing in the word ‘love’. He thought of love as foolish, soulmates as ridiculous. Until now.

He started recollecting what happened last night. 

Her sleek black dress.

Her creamy legs.

Their pleasant sounds.

Against the window.

The ice cube.

The city lights.

After this, Abby really wanted to sleep in his clothes, and that was the first time he ever shared clothes with a woman. He has donated clothes many times, but last night? It was rare. It was unique. 

Ethan put his nightclothes on and for the first time in the many cruel months, they both slept peacefully under the white satin sheets, curled up in each other’s arms and legs tangled together. It was a peaceful night he will never forget in the countless years to come.

When Edenbrook reopened, or should he say Bloom Edenbrook, it was hope for the young resident and the mature diagnostician. A fond hope for them. 

He detected a movement underneath his arms, separating him from his thoughts. Abby. 

She started stirring, her eyes twitching. At once, espresso eyes met ocean. Abby gave him a lopsided smile, the one that made his stomach swoop. Abby curled tighter in his arms, trying to feel more of him in one move. He responded by doing the same thing. 

He next heeded her delicate voice. “Morning.” 

He looked down to see the young resident again smiling tenderly at him, her brown eyes filled with amusement. His skin hair started naturally standing up on its own. She has this damn power over him, and he has no idea how.

He responded back. “Good morning.”

They laid their in silence for a while until Ethan practically heard Abby’s head turning gears. He decided to ask.

“Abby? What is it?”

She looked back up at him, receiving a concerned gaze from him, and then she snuggled back a little more. The 22 year-old felt his gentle hand softly stroking her glossy hair.

“Hm? Oh, I was just thinking about last night.”

As much as he loved what happened last night, he knows that’s not what she was contemplating about.

“I call bull. So tell me, Abby, what is wrong?”

She sighed profoundly and responded back. “ I was wondering... if the hospital did close for good, what would we be?”

Suddenly, he stopped stroking. What would they be? Would she move back to Chicago to be with her brother and her mother? Would he move back to Providence? The terrible thought of never seeing her again? No. Never.

He replied back after some critical moments of tense silence. “I would’ve still stayed in Boston. What about you?”

Her answer comforted him, even if he genuinely wants her to become the best doctor she can be. Her voice was husky in emotions. “I would’ve stayed in Boston, too. I would’ve moved on to Mass General. It’s one of the top hospitals in the country. But I would never move to anywhere else, though. Leaving Boston? I can barely imagine that. This city’s my home now.”

And he couldn’t even imagine that, either. Her leaving his life is something he’ll never move on from. 

“...Ethan?” she halted him from his thoughts.

“I love you.”

Those three sacred words came from his mouth quickly as he promptly shut his mouth tight, cursing at himself for not announcing those words on a special day. He felt Abby tense beneath his arms, and he wondered if he screwed up. 

She.. doesn’t love me? Gosh, Ethan, you were so stupid! Now you made this moment more awkward. Good job.

Suddenly he felt her adjusting herself, and the next thing he knew, Abby was looking affectionately at him, her eyes covered in pink sheen. He took a closer look at them to realize they are not of sorrow. They are of unspeakable joy. 

“Ethan... I love you, too.” And she choked out a passionate sob, complex emotions getting the best of her. 

The former attending pulled her down to him, clamping his lips to hers with every strength he has, like if he looses his grip on her, she will leave. The second-year doctor responded, kissing him back strongly. He felt her arms enveloping her tightly over her as she roamed her hands on every piece of radiant skin she could find.

Last day, he was thinking about what will happen to the hospital, since Leland is taking over it. But today, his Rookie placed his burden in ease. She said she loved him, too. And he has never been more delighted. Not when his father bought him his first dog. Not when he was accepted to John Hopkins for med school. Not when he graduated as the top student in his class. Not when he won the Adeyemi Prize.

It’s this. This moment. And he can’t wait to spend more moments with her, like these.

They reluctantly broke the kiss when oxygen became a necessity. Abby was presently lying lazily on top of him. He began stroking her arms in a soothing manner, and she shut her eyes in bliss, sighing happily. 

Eagerly, she opened her fierce eyes, a mischievous smirk crossing her lips. 

“So... do you want me to teach you how to make pancakes?”

_____________________________________________________________

Tags:  @missmiimiie​ @aylamwrites @starrystarrytrouble​ @udishaman​ @caseyvalentineramsey​ @queencarb​ @choicesstan1​ @newcolonies​ @arcticrivers​ @angela8756 @takemyopenheart​ @rookie-ramsey​ @ohchoices​​ @ohvamsey​ @ohramsey​ @natureblooms24​ @drariellevalentine​​ @maurine07​​ @lucy-268

​​ @openheartfanfics​

@choicesficwriterscreations

#pixelberry choices #choices stories you play #open heart #open heart choices #pixelberry #pixelberry open heart #ethan ramsey #playchoices #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan ramsey fanfiction

[onlyjellyillputinmybelly]

A collection of me kvetching about my mother and her unrealistic expectations

its long sorry 

Me: *has two AP classes and an advanced chem class that I have excessive amounts of homework for plus tests I need to study for* -- *has school 4 days a week for at least 6.5 hours a day* -- *does gymnastics for 10 hours a week (and has been for about 8 years)* -- *has been doing a donation bin with my neighbor where we have to drive every couple weeks to a homeless shelter to drop stuff off* -- *is going to try to do drama and maybe reading bowl if I can*

Mom: “You should start a free tutoring service with some of your friends!*

Me: “Ok” *gets friends together, emails schools, makes a website and a google forms, and waits for schools to respond*

Mom: “You should send something through this app so that way more people will see it.”

Me: “Ok, but maybe not today since I have a 4 hour gymnastics practice and a large amount of homework for my AP Government and Politics class, a class that is important for my GPA, and it will look good on college applications. Also, if I get imy homework done now, I’ll have more time to work on the rest of my homework during the week that is assigned the day its due, and maybe have time to work on this tutoring program.”

Mom: “Ok”

Mom, at the end of the day: “Did you post about your program like I asked you?”

Me: “No, I told you earlier that I had a lot of homework.”

Mom: “Fine. Then I guess you just won’t have anything on your college applications that makes you stand out. I’m not going to help you with your idea anymore.”

Me: 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Part 2)

Me: *exists*

Mother: “Ok so you’re taking 2 APs this semester, so get good grades and do your homework. Don’t procrastinate. Also it’s time to go to gymnastics. Also go join reading bowl. Also create a non-profit tutoring organization (jesus chris). Also you just got diagnosed with a bunch of medical crap so we’re going to the doctor’s for multiple hours on end and you’re not allowed to bring anything inside because of corona. Also the elections happening so keep up with politics with us (like I’m not already doing that) Also you probably have adhd lol heres some pills that don’t help anything they just make you tic less and get dizzy just for the fun of it lol (also i think they’re making me feel like bugs are crawling on me when I sit still which is the literal opposite of what I want) Also you might have to get like 3 surgeries and not be able to walk for a good few months and probably quit gymnastics, literally one of the only things other than chocolate that gives you dopamine. Also you have to get blood drawn lmao. Also you’re driving.

Me: *does a little bit worse in classes. Starts staying up late and getting rly tired. Talks to friends less. Participates less in class + clubs. Charity stuff gets slower. Talks less and takes longer showers (finally some time alone w music). Watches some of my comfort youtubers and tries to do some low-key projects that I actually want to do. Stresses out about the state of the planet a little*

Mother: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING GET OFF OF YOUR DANG PHONE TAKE FASTER SHOWERS YOU COULD BE USING THIS TIME TO TUTOR LOW INCOME CHILDREN AND DOING YOUR HOMEWORK YOU SHOULDNT BE SPENDING YOUR ENTIRE DAY ON YOUR PHONE AND SCREENS STOP BEING SO STRESSED”

Me: *dead eyes mcgee*

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Me: *tries to do some projects that I enjoy that could help some people and give me skills that I could use in the future like graphic design, video editing skills, more musical ability, powerpoint and excel skills, etc*

Mom: 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mom: “Ok, for this next week I will probably be very stressed about the election and your newfound medical problems, so if you find me staring at the wall or crying just leave me alone”

Mom: *is perfectly fine*

Me: *comes downstairs after 4 hours of homework to get water while checking election results* “Ok so things are looking o-”

Mom: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING STOP LOOKING AT YOUR PHONE GO DO YOUR HOMEWORK AND DRINK SOME WATER WHILE YOU’RE DOWN HERE

Me:

#politics #caps #blood tw #driving tw #SHE WANTS ME TO. MAKE. A. NONPROFIT. ORGANIZATION. #MOTHER I AM ONLY HUMAN #im fine tho just overwhelmed #I just wanna have some time to myself #so watch my youtube and finish editing my song and learn ukulele and #make my dreamsmp recap slides thing #like is that so much to ask #also SHES stressed about my medical crap?? #MOTHER I AM THE ONE IN PAIN WHO WILL BE FOREVER AFFECTED BY THIS SO HUSH YOUR MOUTH #ok yeah sorry #long post

[kumoriyami-xiuzhen]

March Update Post

figures i should do another one of these.... tho this is mostly an update on the current status of my translations since i don’t intend to post much in terms of translations (3) this month since i’ve gotten around to my video backlog and will be stocking up on translations...

As i’ve stated before, i do multiple things at once cuz my head works that way, though this list will not include any SSL game content since that’s something I’ve already committed into doing plus my progress is a lot faster on those since my focus is kinda divided at 65% for ssl cross and daily stories, with 35% towards everything else. 

My current (mostly estimated) progress for the following is at: 

Hakuoki Kaze no Fumi Shogunate Dogs and Puppies [ 薄桜鬼 真改 風ノ章 ebten特典ドラマCD 「幕府の犬と子犬」 ]- 45% done (going to update this cd as a goal for my non-existent patreon unless someone sends me the audio for it on the off-chance i get donations or anything since the cd is usually costs between 2500 and 3000 yen on suruga-ya/yahoo auctions and im not willing to spend more money on cds (i think im going to start saving for ginsei no shou stuff).... plus that doesnt account for overseas shipping and other payment fees lol though id cover the bill for that. *sigh*)

Hakuoki Tsukikage no Shou - Kazama Chikage Final Chapter - 33% done

SSL Hakuo Gakuen Student General Assembly Track 3 - 25% someone uploaded this with Chinese subtitles so I’ll be able to finally translate that part where Shiranui talks with Kazama and Amagiri in the background.... huzzah lol

Hakuoki Girls fest live drama with saito, souji and kazama 10% (what I was referring to as “unknown drama”

Hakuoki otomate party 2013 drama 12%

Hana no Shou Stallaworth after story (renaming these to “after stories”. these are the ones that came from the book with Chizuru, Souji and Hijikata on it that i’ve already translated the stories for saito, yamazaki, hijikata and kazama for.) for Harada 10% 

Hakuoki ???? 28.57% (actually calculated this... tho im going to refrain from listing the name cuz im feeling mean lol. its an ssl “hakuoki other translation” tho)

Nightshade Stellaworth Kuroyuki Cd 20%

New shortlist of shortlisted stuff I still really want done:

Hana no Shou Stellaworth after stories for Souji, and Heisuke

Web drama 8 with souji and saito

Shinsengumi Oni-tan (still havent started transferring words from images from track 2 onward into text format)

character monologues

kyoka-roku rain scenario stories

kyoka-roku character cg perspectives

zuisouroku character cg perspectives

hijikata biyori track 13 and 14

otomate party 2015 psychedlica of the black butterfly drama

Anything no longer on my shortlist is still something that I intend to get to eventually tho if it’s no longer here, that means it will be done waaaay later... 

Currently, I have more than 100 different ‘tabs’ in nimble writer for Chinese Hakuoki content (it’s actually waaaaaay more than that in NW but i don’t feel like counting what isn’t right now since that’s a hassle to do), with the majority of them containing at least one hakuoki article/drama/short story though i have several tabs that contain multiple tracks [for dramas only] or multiple segments for print media or game content [really only ssl and yuugiroku 3 for that tho].... and i still haven’t counted the video content ive saved with chinese subtitles, the stuff i have saved as images or the stuff i haven’t bothered saving to my comp T_T......). also i didn’t know that the nightshade b’s logs stories were already translated and on their steam’s news page (which i’ve never checked in my life) so i’ll refrain from doing more of them.... *sigh* i apparently am not good at finding things on tumblr though in my defence i couldn’t find it under hyakka hyakurou though i did give up searching the nightshade tag after seeing too many plants.

oh and I’m probably going to start including images of the cds im missing audio for into some my posts more regularly cuz i really don’t think anyone looks at my lookout list... should probably say that i have no ETA on anything listed above since my current focus is on the ssl game content which i wanna finish asap.... i think i got 48 short stories to finish translating for that. or something? not sure if that’s an accurate number since im not sure if i counted everything properly. w/e lol. 

as a super long term goal i want 36 hakuoki things done so i have content to post for a year (min of 3 things per month as a goal lol.... ) to do whatever the hell i want on the side at a super slow pace or to finish all the relatively short stuff so i have a legitimate excuse to cut back and take my damn time since theres no way in hell i can translate a 30-60 min drama quickly lol. xD. 

Also, if anyone happens to want to translate Hakuoki stuff, or pay someone else to get translations commissioned, you can ask me for copies of the audio cds listed on my “stuff i have” page.... though I’m willing to trade for cds i don’t own if you don’t intend to do any of that.

ground rules for cds: 1) you cannot ask me anonymously, 2) do not share audio if you’re only publishing translation as text (meaning if you chose not to make a video), 3) if translations are made but are not posted publicly, send me a copy since I want them for my own entertainment (I will respect anyone’s wishes if they don’t want something shared or published online), 4) acknowledge that I may not share something if I am in the process of already translating it... that I might just be procrastinating since i haven’t ripped 99% of everything on that list, or might decide to send tracks one at a time due to other external reasons... also i don’t actually know which cds have dramas on them.

#personal post #update post

[wickednerdery]

Title: The Donor Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: Only Lovers Left Alive Pairing/character: Adam/Reader Rating: FRM Summary: “If you smell it, will you lose control?” Notes: Inspired by this imagine written by @chibiyanai​ and this one by @holykryptonitekitten​; it’s something I’ve been planning to write forever and finally have, haha! It’s kinda long, has vampire-based violence, and is smutty so it gets a “Read More”.

“It is because I’m a virgin?” The blood loss is getting to you, you go for another cookie.

Adam’s eyes hint at amusement; his lips balance between that and hunger. “Beg pardon?”

Lids flicker with heaviness, but you press on. “You said I have...‘the really good stuff’. Is that why?”

“What do you think?”

You think he knows, you think he wants you to think for yourself. “Maybe. If good is...pure or whatever.” Careful not to move your arm, you shift back up in the chair. “Not of soul or anything, but of...actual blood, you know?”

“Mmm...”

“No STDs, no drugs, no liquor.” You lean in. “Whaddya think?”

In a flash his hand goes to straighten your arm; your senses are too slow to react. “I think you’ve hit your limit.” His voice rolls like rocks at the bottom of a stream.

“Sorry.” Your body falls back.

He slips the IV catheter free and holds tight over the wound. “Can you handle it?” Because he can feel your heart thrumming under his thumb, how close the rest of you is; just a pull of the arm, a dip of the head, and he’ll have all of you.

“Yeah.” You sip cola before taking over. “If you smell it, will you lose control?”

He goes to work cleaning up, securing the donation and tucking it away for later. “Have I yet?”

“...No.” You check the pinprick, cover it again to be sure.

“Then I imagine you’re safe.” This time he does smile; at a job well-done, at the assurance he’ll not run out any time soon, at the way you nibble on cookies and cola without a care in the world. “And I’m not certain on the virgin theory, but the logic behind it is sound.”

You smile at the compliment, because it is one - an Adam one. Then a thought occurs, forcefully enough to wet your eyes. “You’ll bore with me when I’m not one anymore. You’ll get rid of me, turn me away or finish me off, won’t you.”

“No,” he asserts with a slump back into his chair.

“If my blood’s no good, neither am I.”

“If I only wanted your blood, I’d have just held you here and forced it from you.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.”

He smiles. “No.” Confesses. “I wouldn’t have.” Such barbarous things were never quite in his nature. “Come here.”

“Promise you’ll not bore of me, Adam.”

“You’ll be the first to leave, I assure you.”

“Because I’ll die.”

“Perhaps.” He won’t sugarcoat things, not even for you. “Now...come here.”

There’s an insistence in his tone that compels you. Slowly, without full stability, you work your way around the table. You feel like a doll as he pulls you onto his lap. Forehead knocks his slightly, you smile. “Sorry.”

Adam brushes hair from your face, places hand over yours on the needle’s wound. He can smell the sugar from your mouth, the bits of chocolate melted onto your lips. He vaguely recalls sweets, but nothing compares to that really good stuff flowing in your veins. Head dips; he breathes in the essence of life as lips press to pulse-point. It’s a fight not to bury teeth, to settle for a flick of the tongue to get a hint of what’s underneath.

The rush of it, of him so close, breathing so heavy, hits hard. Dizziness takes hold and you fight the instinct to fall into him completely. You fail, breasts pressing into his chest, head draping over his shoulder, as you cling to the wild mane at the back of his neck for stability.

“Relax.” He hums against the jugular. “You’ve given enough for tonight.”

You float into a sacrifice spread out across the hardwood alter of his table.

“Shall I repay you?”

The words rumble your core, dampness tickles thighs, and you whimper. “Please.”

Something in the light glows up his eyes, flashes a hint of fang. His mouth dips into the hollow of your throat and he growls against your moan. You relax your hold as hands slip under sundress.

Your hands fall to the side, languish off the table along with legs bent at the knee. You focus on breathing, watch ceiling spin above you, before a gasp escapes at the feel of cool fingers walking up self-spreading legs.

Lips journey down the peaks and valleys of chest and stomach, hands peel panties from the wet-stick of your sex. He feels the twitch of you; body reacting to the slightest touch, skin rising and falling double-time. It’s almost shameful how much Adam enjoys your eagerness.

Only vaguely does the danger of it flit in your mind. Exposing yourself so openly, completely, to a creature like him - he could take it all, your very life. It causes a tremble that breaks in a shock of arousal through your veins.

A single passing of his finger across your clit causes such a release that the room fills with the scent of your arousal. He reminds himself he needs you, that beautiful crimson liquor inside you, in order to hold back from diving in with teeth bared.

If he wants you dead, so be it. You can’t fight him even if you want to...better to go out happy than in a terror there’s no need to have. You close eyes, melt between him and the table.

The first kiss is tender at the side of your knee, but soon lips open across your thigh, teasing and marking soft flesh. He repeats on the other side. Takes his time, indulges in the taste and smell of fast-overheating skin.

“Adam...”

Ears pick up the soft croon of his name between shaky breaths. He slips tongue out as lips hit the crease between thigh and sex. His moan is low, ravenous, as your really good stuff throbs in the hot pulse of your femoral. Just a small adjustment, a tiny tensing of jaw, and he’d have the heart of you draining into his mouth.

“More?”

“More.” You confirm as strong hands swing legs over his shoulders...the safety of space is gone, you’re utterly his to do with as he desires. As you desire.

Delicate fingers pad along your folds, slip between to collect juices, and you hear the man’s moan in his first taste. Fingers return to spread, expose, and you feel breath float a chill to your core. Tongue flattens across entry, draws up to clit, then stops at a point to flick. You curse, he growls.

Again...Again before finger encircles, teases, entrance without pressing in. He will not breach, not yet. His mouth envelops your sex, only to release into delicate kisses. Again...tongue taking long, slow, laps...Again...kisses turning harsh, coming with hard suck, so that he marks unblemished skin as his own.

Breaths go to gasps, muscles tense and relax with every touch, every taste, he makes. Skin swells, colors to aching red, under his greedy attention.

Adam hums at your clit, tongue slides down to collect all that flows from your depths. There are times, he swears, he can taste your purity; that sweetness of untainted honey.

The world spins even in the darkness of closed lids. You try to grip the table, but only manage to scratch the wood and then yourself as nails bury into skin.

The scent hits him as hard as that of your arousal. The really good stuff. Pure and raw and leaking out from the palms of your hands as he feasts on your cunt.

“More?” You beg, arching into his mouth, his tongue, as it teasingly collects your desire.

“More.” He confirms; tongue finally dipping inside just a fraction.

A fraction that has you crying, biting lip, and digging nails in farther. “Ah-Adam...” The table shakes with you as tongue laps up to throbbing clit, as it teases, flicks, and presses in.

His finger is slow, deliberate, in entry. The fight your body gives at the intrusion has him humming, then moaning as it yields to instinctive desire. Long glide in, long glide out, long glide in...

“Ah-ah...” Back and hips work of their own accord as initial discomfort melts into purest pleasures. Finger explores, finds those spots that can make you scream, as his tongue grows unrelenting. “Mo-Mo...” More. You want more.

Second finger and your tightness is truly revealed. In the whimpers from your lips, the flutters of your walls, and how your cunt clenches his digits. Your floods coast down to his wrist. Barely touched and already so...ready.

Tongue moves faster than thought, than instinct, and whatever you meant to scream is lost in a garble of arousal. You arch as if possessed, shudder without control, and tears pour out...

Adam’s mouth slips back to that hot spot between sex and thigh once more. He can hear your hammering heart beneath the pants and moans and skin so flushed you look alight to him.

Floods pour from you, hips snap into his fingers disregarding pain and danger and any sense of reason.

Teeth seize upon your innermost thigh until he senses the barrier break. He pushes in farther, until buried, and you release the really good stuff.

It all pours from you in orgasm. Arousal, desire, tears, blood. Life. All of it. Always a willing donor, but now a dangerously eager one. You fill him over and over, let him taste all of you, even as existence itself spins beyond your control.

Beyond his control as he gluts and groans at your self-made virgin sacrifice to him.

You sigh when lights dim from within and smile, satisfied, as they go out.

I liked playing with the myth of virginal blood - how it’s preferred by vampires, etc - and adding some science-y logic to it mostly just because I’m a nerd, lol! Like my prior Adam story, The Nurse, I’m leaving the ultimate fate of the reader up to you guys. And dear heavens do I hope this might actually be worth the no-doubt exhaustive wait...if anyone even remembers when I first stated I wanted to write this, haha!!

(Gif found on Google.)

Tagged: @welcome-to-fangirl-hell @chibiyanai @lukeevansandjdmobession @wadeyouwitch @lady-crowned-with-stars @thegirlbeyondtheuniverse @taniismean @keepcalmandtravelonkate @brightstarmara @holykryptonitekitten​ @magikat409 @vesperazylra @lokis-little-kitten @moonfaery @creedslove @ladyfluff​ …That’s everyone I could remember/think of who might be interested...aka everyone I tagged in my first Adam fic, LMAO!!

#Adam #adam olla #only lovers left alive #adam x reader #vampires #smutty smut #fanfiction #my writing #not my gif #chibiyanai #holykrypsonitekitten #imagine #prompt

[donnies-fake-eyebrows]

Announcement about commissions and personal life

Nothing too serious! I am safe and not being abuse but my living situation has gotten to a point where I need to start making/saving even more money in order to move out and have a big enough buffer if I dont have a job for like 6-9 months (thats how usually long it is to get hired around my area for some reason XD).

I will be keeping my commissions open from here on out with short closings when 4 slots are filled (my limit).

I am currently looking for a second job or at least a full time/better paying job than the one I currently have at my retail store. They cut our hours and might cut them even more (seriously they dont even call for a replacement when someone calls out like??? they arent offering any additional hours for me to work so im over here struggling lmao)

*under read more bc it gets more personal and long lol

So I live with my mother and disabled sister. I don’t pay rent/phone/food (although sometimes i pay for groceries but my mom is weird about that and fights me on that a lot) or wifi because honestly I help my mom with errands or help watch my sister (all that i’m happy to do honestly!) to make up for that but I pay for my car insurance/repair and gas plus some bills. I was lucky (and frugal enough + help from my mom) to not have any school debt (while paying for my masters out of pocket minus the little government help I got. the debt was a loan during my BA). So I am at a good place to save money (if i didnt loath living at my mom’s place so much lol)

My mom is unbearable to live with. I don’t want to go into detail but I want to just let you all know that I’m not in danger or being abuse but yea, it’s time I start thinking of moving out. My sanity and mental help are suffering (not to put me in danger but still). I have been saving for moving out already but now I need to make/save even faster bc im looking to move out RIGHT AWAY after my thesis stuff is over with. Like ideally a month later after I get the okay and get my master diploma lol! 

I’m currently finishing up my thesis (hopefully by February) and don’t want to move during working on my thesis bc thats just stupid (if i was in danger that would be different) I dont know how much but I would like to have saved up at least 8000 in savings to have a buffer. (I have 4300 currently saved). 

SO ANYWAYS (lol)

Like stated above I will be trying to keep my commissions open from here on out. I might branch out to other fandoms to increase traffic (ill fix the rates and commission pics to show that after this round lol). The pricing wont really change bc I feel like they are fair for my level. Hopefully I get a second job or at least one offering full time (hell even just 25-30 weekly which is part time but at least it aint 17-18 hours weekly >:( thanks store i work at) but yea until then this is the next best thing lol

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE do not donate to me if you do not have enough money for yourself!!! I am safe and can live with my mother so I do not need money asap!

If you just donate to me with no commission in mind I will greatly appreciate it (and would like to doodle you something for your generous donation!) but if you dont have money for yourself or anything like that i wouldnt want you to donate to me! Your support in rebloging my art/commission info is enough :)

Thank you all for your support and bless this fandom! you are all so kind and I appreciate all the comments on my art and reblogs/likes! It means a lot to me!

#commissions #annocement #important #my mom is unbearable to live with so it's time i get serious about saving even more money than before lol #ive live back at home for 4 yrs now while i went and paid for college hence why i dont have a lot saved up

[spacetravels]

hi! i’m new to kofi and can i ask u how it is used? like... why do u usually use them for “quick commish”? is it faster than patpal? how do u get the money they donated/payed in your kofi? does kofi reveal your name/location etc. when people donate to you?

hi hi !!

i like to use ko-fi for quick comms and stuff because it’s easy to price and also i think it’s a nice way for me to offer commissions for ppl who want to buy my art who can’t afford my normal rates is all ! plus ko-fi is a really great way to give creators tips to support them if you can only spare like 3 bucks haha

as for how ko-fi works, payment goes through paypal, so all donations that go through go right to ur paypal account; as for faster, i guess that depends lol BUT!! paypal takes a portion of the donations versus using invoices through paypal, so if u wanna be assured ur getting all ur money, paypal invoices are definitely guaranteed (paypal takes like, 40 cents off a 3 dollar ko-fi, so ur just making 2.60 in the end ;; idk that exact percentage cuz idk math LOL but ya) but as for donating to ppl’s ko-fis, you can use paypal or a debit/credit card which is a lot more accessible i think

as for revealing ur name and stuff, it doesn’t rly do that :O i think it just goes w ur username on ko-fi huhu?? that’s kind of all my general know how abt ko-fi, but i rly like the service and i’ve been also wanting to try use ko-fi gold to do my full price comms as well since it sets up the slots for you and organizes your commissions by type and price :D so it’s super useful for artists haha

#Anonymous #amanda answers

[pluckyredhead]

Daredevil 101: The King of Hell’s Kitchen

And we’re back! Last time, Matt beat the crap out of Fisk, unmasked in Josie’s, and declared himself the new Kingpin. We pick up a year later, with Ben explaining to an unseen companion at a diner just what’s been going on for the past twelve months. This is gonna be a long one, guys, sorry. (Bendis/Maleev, DD v2 #56-60.)

[Content Warning: There is a passing reference to Squirrel Hill, as in the Pittsburgh neighborhood - no connection to the recent tragedy there, as this comic is about 15 years old. I just didn’t want anyone blindsided.]

Basically, despite Matt unmasking in front of a room full of criminals, everyone is too terrified of him to actually admit that they saw his face, which means that he’s been able to keep up the double life game, even though fewer people than ever believe he’s not Daredevil anymore. This is all stuff Ben has gathered through hearsay, since Matt told him to stay away for his own protection and they haven’t spoken directly since before Josie’s.

Matt even had time to grow a horrible goatee!

It’s SO BAD, MATTHEW, WHY.

He also won his lawsuit against that one tabloid, meaning that currently, in the eyes of the court, Matt Murdock is not Daredevil. He donated the enormous amount of money he won to neighborhood charities. Please note this line: “See, Matt’s new girlfriend, Milla Donovan, actually works at the Hell’s Kitchen housing commission.” Just hold onto that for a minute.

Matt’s so popular, in fact, he’s approached to run for mayor!

“I am dizzy from you.” Wow, Franklin. WOW.

Not everyone is happy with Matt’s recent choices, though, as evidenced by an intervention from some of the local superheroes:

Do you think Luke got all the way to that fourth panel before realizing he was the only one here without an alliterative name and felt suddenly self-conscious? Do you think he had a split second of “Should I try to go by Carl Cage just for right now? Could I pull it off?”

Anyway one of the things I really love about Maleev’s art is the specificity of his...well, either photo referencing or just drawing from life. I could take you to the exact spot they’re standing in Bryant Park. (It’s a logical meeting place for this group, too, since it’s centrally located and walking distance from - but not inside - Hell’s Kitchen.)

Anyway, the others are pissed because Matt saying “Get out of Hell’s Kitchen!” to criminals just...made them do crime above 59th Street and below 34th, which was a pretty foregone conclusion. Matt’s unsympathetic:

Who wants to tell Matt that Hell’s Kitchen, Harlem, and the Village are all in Manhattan and his little plan here doesn’t make sense? Like, Matt and Luke covering neighborhoods while the other three, who can travel further and faster, cover the city as a whole, does make sense, but also “go do crime over there” doesn’t stop crime. As Peter points out, while wearing a very strange facial expression.

But Matt ignores the warnings, and ignores the growing tension in Hell’s Kitchen, and then, just a few days before Ben’s telling this story, he and Milla are attacked by like a hundred Yakuza assassins. He sends Milla running for safety...and hasn’t been seen since. And that’s all Ben knows.

And that’s when we see who he’s been talking to:

I want to clarify that Ben’s explanation of the past year of events has taken two full issues. That’s like five bucks worth of comics that is Ben mansplaining Milla’s own recent history to her, including explaining to her what her job is. They should have killed 616 Ben instead, Jesus.

Also, Milla and Matt are married! Hey, how about that?! She goes on to explain to a stunned Ben (who, I guess, didn’t ask her any questions before he started talking for two entire months holy shit Ben what is wrong with you) that they got married about four months ago, and we later learn that Milla’s the one who proposed. So she proposed to a man she’d known for eight months, who is...sort of a crime boss? An anti-crime boss? Anyway, keep that in your pocket for a bit.

(I’m sorry, I’m still so angry about these two issues. Anyone who wants to hear me rant about decompression, the ask box is open.)

Uh, Milla, that’s not a compliment. You want Matt to be in love with you as a human being, not the abstract concept of you as a conglomeration of eight million people and island real estate.

Anyway, Matt told Milla that if anything went wrong, she should contact Ben. She and Ben are both baffled by this, so Ben goes to see the actual person most likely to know where Matt is:

Take the money and just make shit up, Fogy! Anyway my poor beautiful tired boy has no idea where Matt is, and is also rather wounded that Matt had a contingency plan in place for Milla but a) not for Foggy and b) didn’t tell Foggy about it. Especially since the Yakuza are out in full force and Foggy has been sleeping in his office because he can’t safely leave it.

My heart. Foggy has never really gotten to grieve on page for Karen, given that he was in jail for her funeral, but he knew her as long as Matt did (technically slightly longer) and he loved her too.

Ben tracks Matt to the Night Nurse (who, remember, is not Claire Temple in the comics) and floats a new theory by him:

I’m very sorry Matt but i can’t take you seriously with that facial hair.

Matt stops crying long enough to deny it, but by now Ben knows he’s right:

I’m...pretty sure this is the first time someone has seriously said: “Matt, your behaviors are unhealthy and I’m concerned about your mental health.” And, like, itemized them (including explicitly saying that flaking on Foggy and leaving him in these crisis situations is cruel!). People have said “you’re crazy” or “you’re being a jerk” but it’s always been said in anger. This is uncompromising but compassionate. This is “a terrible thing happened to you and I know that you’re still in pain.” No wonder Matt cries.

And Matt’s not the only one who’s listening:

Wow, Foggy has a good memory. And the face of a man who is contextualizing the past few years of his life and doesn’t like what he sees.

(A+ for the frazzle of of hat hair, Maleev.)

Matt goes to a safehouse. Foggy goes...somewhere undetermined. A spa? Everyone gets naked:

No, seriously, I have no idea why everyone needed to be SO NAKED in this scene (although I’m not complaining). Anyway please enjoy FOGGY’S TATTOO (WHAT???) and also Matt calling him both “Franklin” and “good boy” in a single page.

If you want to, like, read the actual words and pay attention to plot, I GUESS, Matt promises to deal with the Yakuza situation. Foggy’s still not happy:

YES I HAD TO INCLUDE THIS DOUBLE PAGE SPREAD, IT’S IMPORTANT. Text if you can’t embiggen:

Matt: Are you breaking up with me?

Foggy: I don’t think you’ll let me.

Matt: I need you, Foggy. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right.

Foggy: Yeah, okay. So just do what you have to do.

Matt: I need you to bring me something to wear.

Foggy: Something red?

Matt: It’s red?

Foggy: What?

Matt: I thought it was yellow.

Foggy: ...Are you serious?

Matt: No.

Foggy: That was pretty funny.

IT IS A VERY GOOD AND IMPORTANT EXCHANGE and it is only slightly marred by Milla draped in silent nakedness over Matt the whole time because...of reasons? Ugh.

Matt goes to get backup and finds himself being dragged for like the third time in 24 hours:

Haha! Pregnant women! So hysterical about being lied to by their friends and employers who they are risking their lives for! Hormones, fellas, amirite???! LOL.

(Seriously, fuck this shit.)

Anyway. Main Yakuza Dude Whose Name I Forget is still pretty confident about moving on Hell’s Kitchen now that Matt’s out of the picture:

Oh man, sorry about your life, Main Yakuza Dude!

“Are you guys sure you want me to do this pose? It feels more ‘boy band’ than ‘badass.’“

“Yeah, Luke, definitely!"

“Yeah? I don’t know, I kind of feel like...”

“No, dude, it works, it looks totally cool, I promise!”

They beat up the Yakuza. Meanwhile, Foggy joins Milla at the safehouse:

Why is Milla still in her underwear???????????????? #cancelmen

When Matt returns to the safehouse after defeating the Yakuza, Foggy is gone, and Milla is finally dressed...and very unhappy. She tells him what Foggy told her:

Here are the things that jump out at me about this page:

1. Milla says “this Karen Page person,” which implies that she has rarely or never heard Karen mentioned before. Considering that Matt (and Foggy!) knew Karen for, as Ben pointed out, almost all of his adult life, and that she was intrinsically tied not just to Matt (and Foggy!) but Daredevil and Nelson and Murdock, this is stunning. How do you spend a year with your wife and almost never mention someone you were intimately close to for at least a decade? I know Matt is secretive by nature, but this makes me think that Matt and Milla essentially never had any real or deep communication. Which, honestly, checks out.

2. We don’t see the conversation between Milla and Foggy. Theoretically, he could have said “LOLOLOL MATT NEVER LOVED YOU HE STILL LOVES MY DEAD FRIEND SUCK IT” but that seems...out of character, to say the least. I suspect, given how confused and distressed Milla is, that he said something more like “I think the reason Matt is acting like this is because he is still processing his trauma over the death of someone he loved very much.” Which shouldn’t be a surprise to Milla, considering that one of the very first things Matt told her was “Two women I loved have been murdered.” But apparently this is a great betrayal somehow??? Because:

And this is why I just can’t with Milla. So much of what doesn’t work with her character, like the thin personality and the helplessness and the fact that she’s IN HER UNDERWEAR ALL THE TIME FOR NO REASON, is because of sexist writing and drawing, and I’m not laying that at her feet. And I’ll be the first person to declare that Matt Murdock is a shitty boyfriend/partner and has been to literally every single woman he’s dated.

But the compassionate response to “the person I love is having a nervous breakdown because he lost someone he cared about” is not to scream “SHUT UP!!!” and accuse him of lying. I’m not married but I’m preeeeeetty sure the vows don’t include “I swear that I definitely never loved anyone else and if I did, I don’t love them anymore.” Matt broke no promises here (for once!) and, as I’ve said before, Milla went on two highly dangerous dates with Matt Murdock and then he declared himself Kingpin and then she proposed. She had all the evidence she needed that life with Matt is dangerous, bizarre, and full of ethical pitfalls and the ghosts of murdered girlfriends, and as an educated, intelligent adult woman in charge of her own business, she decided to sign up. This one is absolutely not on Matt and it pisses me off that it’s treated like it is.

Anyway. *breathes*

Next up: Black Widow returns!

#daredevil #daredevil 101

[neverwatchedonepiece]

526-528: "Undersea Volcanic Eruption! Drifting to the Fish-Man Island!", "Landing at the Fish-Man Island! Beautiful Mermaids!" and "Excitement Blow-out! Sanji's Life Under Threat!"

HOORAY! :D:D:D

Will this be one of those arcs that’s filled with sympathetic villains? The kind of characters who... well, you get where they’re coming from because they have a cast-iron reason for their villainy and you feel conflicted about cheering for the heroes? Or will it be more complicated than that? 

I hope I like this arc. Ever since Arlong Park, since I learned about the Sun Pirates from Hachi and the racism Fishmen experience I’ve been hoping Oda might dig deeper into the theme. It’s early days yet, but from what I’ve seen in this episode, I’m quietly confident he’ll deliver.

Cthulhu Is... Friendly?

Must admit the Flying Dutchman action was a bit of a let-down. I thought Captain Vander Decken would be the next villain (or at least the henchman of the next villain). It was built up so well. The creepy “Dead men tell no tales” speech, Brook confirming he was the Real Deal, that the legend told of how the captain lost his mind, killed his crew and cursed the gods (who got their revenge by cursing him to drift forever).

I thought that might make a good plot line (that was before Hammond appeared and the Real Plot kicked in).

The Kraken coming back and sucker punching the Sea Bonze was so worth it. I laughed like a drain and could not believe I was cheering a Kraken like it was Hell in a Cell. Top it all off, Luffy, Zoro and Sanji came paddling back in a single bubble. And Luffy had made the Kraken his pet and named it Surume! Only Luffy can get separated from his crew and return with a pet Kraken. And laugh about the fact that he almost died.

The volcanic eruption action scene was fun. The Flying Dutchman crew and the Kraken would not mess with nature. The water glowed an ominous red and before Luffy gave any orders, Surume the Kraken was already checking out. Nami made the call for them to leap into the deep trench ahead to avoid the pyroclastic flow (is that even possible underwater? I have no idea.)

Usopp got to show off some of his skills by shooting a net-like plant weapon that stopped the debris from the eruption from smashing Sunny to pieces. (Could be good in combat for subduing bad guys.) I liked how Luffy was a good captain and praised Usopp and his cute Kraken pet for doing a good job. There’s that leadership shining through.

This was just before a stray rock bonked Surume on the head and the Strawhats woke up... ten thousand meters under the sea?

But... how? I thought. 

It was bright. There was natural light and vivid colours. How? 

Because it was Fishman Island! :D

Cannot lie. I was excited to finally see it. I wonder how it was for manga readers then to see that place brought to life after so long. I mean, how many chapters was it since it was first mentioned in Arlong Park until now when it was animated. I mean, it was huge! And there were entire massive trees inside the bubble. I still have no idea where the natural light was coming from, but pffft, did I care? It was FISHMAN ISLAND! :D

Then the Border Patrol Arrived?

At least, that’s who I thought they were at first.

And they brought Plot, which, let’s face it, is always good.

Three shady-looking Fishmen rode up on massive Sea Kings. They were so tough, they spoke to Surume the Kraken like it was a disobedient pet. Or... more accurately, as if it was a race traitor. “Why are you obeying such fools as humans, Kraken?” Surume fled the scene (obviously scared of these guys).

They recognised the Straw Hats too. I love how Luffy said, “Who are you? How do you know about us?” Um, Luffy... everyone knows about you now. xD

But these guys went way back. Much further than Alabasta, Enies Lobby, Impel Down or Marineford.

“You are the ones who foiled the Arlong Pirates’ plan. You stood up for Hachi and knocked out a hateful Celestial Dragon, just like Fisher Tiger, the hero of Fishman Island.”

They claimed they were the New Fishman Pirates and demanded the Strawhats enlist under their banner or be sunk.

Hammod did most of the talking but two others tagged along (Hyouzo and Kasagon). 

Nami and Franky knew Luffy would say no (and possibly put them in danger because they couldn’t fight back). They took a huge gamble and spent the last of Sunny’s air crashing through Fishman Island’s protective bubbles.

The dramatic tension when the coating shrank, pinning all the Strawhats to the deck was great. But it really ramped up when the first bubble ripped off the coating and the second one turned out to be full of water. I didn’t expect that twist.

Was that the closest the Strawhats have been yet to almost dying? 

Camie to the Rescue!

Luckily, they have a friend who was sort of expecting them. Luffy, Usopp, Chopper and Sanji woke up at none other than Camie’s place! (The others were separated. Franky, Nami and Robin are together. I have no idea where Brook is and Zoro is on his own.)

Turns out she works at a Mermaid Cafe on the sea floor of Mermaid Cove. The dorms are more affordable on the sea floor, as opposed to the ones higher up with more natural light. I liked that Oda has imagined an entire class system here. Mermaid Cove seems an okay place. Pappagu the starfish is in the fanciest district: Fishverly Hills (lol!) and is a famous designer. Hachi lives in Fishman District, which Camie said was a ‘rough place’. Luffy still thinks Pappagu is Camie’s pet. I don’t think Luffy completely gets how Fishman Island works yet, but Camie was nice and didn’t say anything. Hammond also hinted at another Fishman Island faction: Neptune’s Army, who were introduced later but I don’t know which side they’re on yet, so they seem like a neutral third party so far. 10/10 world building from Oda there.

Camie showed them around. They took a cute turtle elevator up to the “surface”, where there were clouds, blue sky, trees and rainbows. Luffy mentioned reuniting with Jimbei because “when Ace died two years ago, I didn’t lose heart thanks to him” (yes, Luffy. I’m glad you realise just how much Jimbei did for you!)

But Jimbei was not on the island. Camie seemed to hint the War in Marineford caused a bit of trouble in Fishman Island. She didn’t go into it, damn it.

Then, the royal family’s Fish Boat swam into view, heading straight for them, carrying the Neptune Princes (Fukaboshi, Ryuboshi and Sanboshi). The mermaids hid the Straw Hats, in case they were arrested for illegally entering Fishman Island. One mermaid made the mistake of holding Sanji... let’s just say a little close to her chest.

And Lots of Beautiful Mermaids

You know what, I didn’t want to say but over the past couple of episodes, Sanji’s weakness had been annoying me. Not really badly. Just that the joke was getting a bit thin because it’d been played so many times for laughs.

Now I know why.

Does Oda do nothing without a purpose?

He had to set up all the blood loss stuff because blood transfusions are a central tenet in the hatred a lot of Fishmen have over humans.

When Sanji had his Vesuvius Moment, Dr Chopper bravely came to the rescue. Just as the Princes seemed about to take the Strawhats (though they didn’t want to arrest them. Still not sure what their deal is), Chopper placed himself in harm’s way and shouted, “Stop! I’m a Doctor! Can anyone donate S RH negative blood? If Fishman blood is the same, would anyone be willing to donate?”

Chopper unwittingly referenced an Old, Highly Politicised Grudge.

Fisher Tiger: The Hero of Fishman Island

Hammond, who had been lurking, waiting for an opportune moment to catch the Strawhats, couldn’t stay quiet at that point.

“No one on this island would give blood to lowly humans,” he scoffed. “If anyone did, they’d risk punishment from the Dark Night, from human haters. The Old Law in the kingdom states that donating blood to humans is prohibited.”

When the Strawhats protested, Hammond fired back with some Context.

“You humans set that rule first! You people have a long history of fearing us. Didn’t want your blood mixed up with ours. That’s how the hero, Fisher Tiger, died. He risked his own life to free slaves of all races. But after a bloody war, he died. He could have lived if he had a transfusion. The heartless humans refused to give their blood to him.”

I was gobsmacked by that. Honestly. What a great twist, in terms of both plot and morality! How are the Strawhats going to fight against years of racism, abuse, toxic politics and the veneration of a martyr-like figure who means so much to the people of Fishman Island? 

This is going to be a wild ride.

Usopp dismissed the old law. He begged someone, anyone, to help Sanji. Hammod tried to take Luffy by force but severely underestimated how much stronger he’d become (that Haki, honestly... it is so badass).

Camie hijacked the Royal Fish Boat (the royals here seem pretty laid back because if that was real life, you’d be in your local Impel Down faster than you can say, “But I need a blood transfusion!”)

And it seems something is rotten in the state of Fishman Island. Not only are the Strawhats the first human visitors in a while, the Princes were unable to deliver a message to Jimbei.

I wonder if it’s anything to do with this shady character?

This is the guy who wants to see Luffy. The one Hammond calls “Boss.” Hordy Jones, I think his name was? And here we have a shady face, not entirely revealed, sharp teeth and a good voice actor? This has happened before with Moria and Crocodile. Could this be the villain? Is this Hordy Jones, or is he higher up the chain?

I hope so. Was blue-balled with the Flying Dutchman stuff. Don’t want it happening again, haha.

Also, who or what is Noah? Was confused as to whether it was a location or a person.

*insert Rocky Theme tune*

#one piece #neverwatchedonepiece #nwop #never watched one piece #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #sanji #usopp #nami #tony tony chopper #nico robin #franky #brook #fishman island #camie #jimbei #hordy jones #hammond #hachi #fisher tiger #hyouzou #kasagon #surume #fukaboshi #ryuboshi #senboshi #pappagu #Pappug

[spideycents]

Far From Home: Chapter 3

Blurb: When Ashlyn wins the Brother’s Trust event to visit the set of Spider-Man: Far From Home, it’s a dream come true that she doesn’t want to wake up from. Here’s hoping she doesn’t turn it into a nightmare.

a/n: I’m the worst at descriptions. Don’t ever say I didn’t warn you that this is god awful. It’s seriously so bad. I have many regrets.

Warnings: This is shit. Read at your own risk. Also language and some extremely cringey uses of memes. Sorry not sorry.

—-

We’re the last people to board the plane. Literally the last. Which is my fault though because I had to run to the bathroom and Matt didn’t want to get on without me. Brownie points for him.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he gripes when I come back to find everyone else gone. Jesus, I wasn’t in the bathroom that long.

I make a face at Matt and scramble to collect my bags. We shuffle onto the plane and find our seats. We argue over who gets the window seat and ultimately I win the 2-out-of-3 game of rock-paper-scissors so I put my carry-on in the overhead bin then climb over to my seat and shove my backpack below my feet.

“Oof,” Matt exclaims as he drops into his chair. “I am so glad we went for the side with two seats instead of three.” His eyes scan over the completely packed flight.

“Same,” I nod. Our mutual loathing for all things social interactions really comes in handy in situations like this.

We plug in our phones and headphones, then Matt disappears into his Twitter and I try to go back to Two Dots, but my hands are kind of shaking and my heart’s beating faster and my throat’s really dry and I wanna get up and run laps around the plane while I scream bloody murder and then I wanna run back home and lock myself in my room and turn off all the lights and curl up in the corner under my desk and rock back and forth while I cry because holy fucking shit I can’t believe this is actually happening.

“We’re going to London.”

“I know,” Matt says emphatically while still looking at his phone.

“We’re actually going to London. Like this is happening. We’re on a plane.”

He looks up, his eyes wide. “I know. I’m literally going to scream when we land.”

“I’m expecting you to,” I laugh lightly.

He looks at me, but before he makes more jokes, his eyebrows knit together. “Do you need water or some food? You look pale. Like paler than normal. Like are you sure you’re alive?”

“I’m not,” I say flatly. “It’s okay though. My ghost will follow you through London and stay with Tom when you leave.”

“Fine by me,” Matt smirks. “Your ugly mug won’t ruin my selfies.”

“You’re welcome,” I smile.

He goes back to scrolling through Twitter and rambles to me about some drama that’s happening right now while I dig around in our shopping bag of goodies from the concourse and find my Dr Pepper and a bag of Goldfish.

I take a swig from my drink, but I’m gonna hold off on the goldfish until we’re up in the air. I send a quick text to my parents to let them know we’re on the plane then I put phone on airplane mode.

Matt grips the armrests while we zoom down the runway.

“It’s like a roller coaster,” I say, kind of loudly so he can hear me over the engines and the wheels. “Just with a really long climb and we stay at the top of the hill for a very, very long time before the drop.”

“Don’t say drop,” he says curtly.

I grimace. “Sorry.”

“I’ve flown before,” he adds. “You don’t have to comfort me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you said you like flying? That it’s just the security and getting through the airport that stresses you out.”

“I do,” he nods slowly, “but shakey planes are never fun.”

I turn away and look out the window as we lift off the tarmac. “Here’s hoping there’s no turbelence,” I mutter.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

My cheeks burn. “Sorry.”

I leave Matt alone until we reach 30,000 feet and the plane levels out. The fllight attendants come by and give us the typical plane goodies, then another cart follows with drinks.

I manage to talk Matt into watching a movie with me by hitting play at the same time on both of our screens. It takes us a few minutes to decide on something and I’m not even slightly surprised when we settle for Civil War.

“Can we just skip to-“

“No,” I interrupt Matt. “But rewinding and watching it 20 times is definitely an option.”

Which we do. Not 20 times, but we definitely rewatch the Peter Parker scene a few times and the airport twice and squeal our way through the end credits scene.

It ends up taking almost four hours for us to get through the movie cause we keep pausing it to talk then having to get back in sync only for us to pause it again a few minutes later.

It’s midnight Atlanta time when we finish so we both agree to try to get some sleep. It feels like minutes before Matt’s mumbling in his sleep. I don’t know how he does it. It’s like he’s got a superpower for falling asleep in the blink of an eye.

I think I blink a few times and that’s all the sleep I get.

Sleeping on planes is practically impossible already, adding my excitement and energy and racing thoughts on top of that, it's just painful, honestly.

I put my headphones on and listen to music with my eyes closed until the lights come back on in the plane and someone cracks their window a few rows up and daylight floods in.

After I wake Matt up, we spend the rest of the flight rambling about all things Spider-Man and Tom and Marvel and Avengers 4 theories and questions we might ask Tom and things we might try to weasel out of him and our plan to try to convince him to let us be extras in a scene.

We try to see the UK and London outside the window, but the clouds are too thick and rain starts to pelt the glass.

I look at Matt. “I’m so sorry.”

“You can’t apologize for the weather. You’re not God,” he laughs. “I’m not upset anyway. Now I get that real London experience.”

He still watches out the window while we go in for landing and I tell him about walking through Heathrow and taking the train to Paddington, which we won’t be doing because apparently Mrs. Holland and possibly one of Tom’s brothers will be waiting for us at Arrivals and they’re going to drive us to our hotel.

My hands are shaking when we finally unbuckle and get up to collect our stuff and get off the plane.

“Oh my god, it’s happening,” I say excitedly under my breath.

“It’s happening!” Matt mimics. “We’re here!”

“If you had to pick which twin might be with their mom outside, which one?” I ask while we walking down the aisle.

“Neither,” he says, without hesitating. “It’ll be Paddy. Not a doubt. And he won’t be happy about it.”

“You’re so right,” I laugh.

Which, of course, he is.

He always is.

It takes us a second to find them when we walk out, but Mrs. Holland is holding a sheet of paper with our names on it in big bold letters, so it’s not that hard. I am glad though that I emailed them a picture of Matt and I, so they’re not surprised when we walk up to them.

Paddy’s on his phone when we first notice them, but it’s put away by the time we reach them.

“Hi,” I smile and hope my voice isn’t croaky. Matt and I stopped by the bathrooms after we got off the plane so we could change clothes and brush our teeth, so at least I don’t have to worry about morning breath. “I’m Ashlyn and this is Matt. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello, it's so nice to meet you as well." Mrs. Holland smiles and shakes our hands. “I’m Nikki and this is Paddy.”

He waves and half-smiles. “Hi.”

"Thank you for donating to The Brother's Trust," Mrs. Holland adds.

"Oh, of course," I smile. "You're so welcome. I love all the work you guys do."

"Thank you very much," Mrs. Holland smiles. “Shall we take your things to the car?” She reaches for my suitcase.

“Oh it’s okay, I got it,” I say politely.

“Me too,” Matt adds.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “It’s no trouble, really.”

“We’re good,” Matt smiles. “I feel bad that I didn’t pack that lightly anyway. I don’t want to make you drag my bag around.” He laughs lightly and I nod.

“We’re the worst at packing,” I say. “I might ask Tom for some pointers. He looks like he’s good at it.”

“He really isn't,” Mrs. Holland laughs lightly. “He certainly didn’t use to be, at least. You should’ve seen everything he brought when they filmed The Impossible. I thought he was trying to bring his entire bedroom.”

We roll our suitcases out of Heathrow and across the parking garage while Mrs. Holland tells us some stories about Tom and airports. Who doesn’t love embarrassing anecdotes from parents? I have to remember to mention one of these to Tom when we meet, just to see how red his face gets.

Huh.

Oh wow.

This really is happening.

We’re meeting Tom soon.

Cool.

My brain is melting to soup right now.

It’s no big deal.

It’s fine.

This is fine.

I’m fine.

—-

So, this is back. We'll see how regularly I update. lol - K :P

#ffh #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #spider man fanfic #spiderman fanfic #spiderman fanfiction #spider man fanfiction #tom fanfic #tom fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #brothers trust #the brothers trust