#the amount of visceral anger you just caused in me

[caparrucia]

Here's one of those uncomfortable tidbits that no one wants to think about and which people in cozy internet bubbles hate being reminded of:

The way you speak about people you dislike/hate is a red flag to people you do like/love.

The way you express anger and frustration and rage about people who wronged you, even people who wronged you badly, in a wider context, is very often a red flag for others around you. Do you let your anger be a justification to use dehumanizing language? Slurs? Are your personal feelings the measure you use to determine who is allowed personhood and who isn't?

This doesn't mean you're not allowed to be angry. This doesn't mean that you're not allowed to express said anger. It doesn't even mean your anger is not justified.

But if you find yourself sitting alone in your corner of rage, wondering why your personal connections tend to wither and fizz out, it probably is because you're constantly talking about people who make you angry and all the things you'd like to do to them. And like, people who first encounter that, might be sympathetic, might be wary, but the more visceral your anger is, the more readily you express it, the more people start wondering what's the threshold to trigger that behavior. Will you be talking about them in that tone too, if they piss you off? Will they be the subject of one of your tirades, if they make a mistake? Are you going to go on a rampage, calling them slurs, if it turns out they don't agree with you?

Anger is, for better or for worse, the kind of emotion you share with close friends, not with strangers trying to become friends, or new friends who don't know you yet. Anger is the kind of thing a good friend will know how to parse. But if it's a new person and all they know about you is how angry you are about something or someone, they will lack the context to understand that your anger is justified and that it's not the entirety of your personality... because you have made it so that's the only part of your personality they've seen.

Discord culture being what it is, it's fascinating how prevalent "vent" channels are, and how people just go in there and scream their rage in search of sympathy. But it tends to back fire, because to get sympathy from strangers, your venting needs to be edited to sound like you're in the right. Your anger needs to be righteous, to evoke support in those vent spaces. And it becomes a cycle.

Cause the thing is, anger isn't always justified or righteous. Sometimes you're BEC about someone! (Bitch Eating Crackers, a shorthand for "this person annoys me to an irrational amount, anything they do is parsed as a negative", "LOOK AT THE BITCH, EATING CRACKERS" etc.) And that's anger that needs to be expressed and processed! But that's the kind of anger that only close friends can handle. If you put that anger out, performing in the hopes of getting support, you're going to need to either lie egregiously about why you're angry, or you're going to alienate a ton of people because it turns out "is capable of irrational anger about things/people" is a pretty common red flag when that's all you know about someone.

Just.

I keep seeing post after post of people bemoaning being lonely and abandoned and failing to establish long-lasting connections and it's just.

It's the anger. You keep greeting people with anger and anger is a great emotion to fuel a lot of things, like change and protection and closing ranks, but it's kinda shit at building long lasting connections. Try curiosity or good will! It doesn't mean you have to stop being angry, either. If you're angry, you're angry! But when you're trying to build relationships, using anger as an all-purpose tool is like trying to hammer a nail with a saw.

#shut up rie

[blackberry-bloody]

Dayzel's rescue Pt. 1

Something that's been in the works for a long time-

CWs: "broken" whumpee/ no longer defiant whumpee, whumpee plotting suicide by proxy (implied but not described), whumpee thinking caretaker is new whumper (briefly at the end), whumpee blaming themself for treatment.

Dayzel supposed, he really should have seen it coming. He’d long since grown tired of fighting, and simply lay where Rupert put him. Did as Rupert told him. And for a time, things seemed better. He was allowed a bed and certain comforts. Physically he was left mostly unharmed.

But… Rupert was spending less and less time with him. Gone for longer and longer periods of time. Leaving him chained in bed half the time, and drugged out of his mind the other half. He didn’t even have it in him to flinch when the door would burst open, and angered shouting filled the room. He simply lay there in a haze of nothing. He’d let Rupert turn him into the perfect, obedient doll he’d wanted. He’d become… Boring. It’d taken only two years, which he knew should have made him angry. But he was just so numb now.

He heard the lock mechanism turning in the heavy door, making him sigh and slowly shift to watch as Rupert entered. He just barely mustered the energy to plaster on a smile and stiffly sit up. Careful not to yank on the chain around his ankle. “Welcome back!-” 

“Shut up.” Rupert snapped at him and ran a hand through his own hair, clearly agitated already.

Dayzel snapped his jaw shut so quickly he bit his tongue. He curled his hands around the blankets… So it was going to be one of those days again. 

“You know… I went through a lot of trouble to get you.” Rupert took a deep breath, taking a step closer, leaning over the bed. Dayzel nodded, even though he knew Rupert was just rambling at him. “And even more trouble to get you… Like this.” He reached his hand and gestured to Dayzel’s much more frail… Much more broken self. Dayzel nodded again.

Rupert stood back up to his full height before walking over to Dayzel fully. Placing a hand against his bare shoulder and trailing it up to cup Dayzel’s cheek, gently lifting it so he could look Rupert in the eyes. Dayzel gave no resistance, but he did notice that there was something in the fire demon’s face that screamed dangers. Long dead alarms ringing in Dayzel’s fuzzy mind.

Rupert’s grin looked wild. Like watching a forest fire from far too close for comfort. Dangerous, all consuming, unpredictable… Hungry.

“But after today, you won’t cause me any more trouble.”

Dayzel felt such a visceral chill run down his spine, he was sure branches of his frost were crawling along it. He felt as though his own grave had been walked over.

Rupert rolled his eyes and tsked, retracting his hand. “Don’t give me that look. You had to know eventually it would come to this.” He pulled back the covers and looked at Dayzel with revulsion. Marred and scarred by his own hand. Dayzel closed his eyes, his mind racing with things he would never be able to say. His thoughts spiraled into chaos until- “Lucky for you, I found a buyer.” 

The statement hit Dayzel like a freight train. And he snapped his eyes open. An odd mix of relief and fear taking over, but he simply nodded in acknowledgement. Careful not to express either in his forced smile. Although he couldn’t hide the tremor in his hands as he placed them in his lap, while he waited for Rupert to continue.

“They’ll be here tonight, and you’re making me a good amount of money. A last gift to myself for all the shit you put me through. So… While we’re waiting-” Rupert’s expression hardened again as he brushed a strand of hair out of Dayzel’s face. “Let’s get you all prettied up one last time, huh? I don’t want them seeing you for what you actually are. Otherwise they might back out of the deal…” He patted Dayzel’s cheek. “After all… Who in their right mind would want this?” he stood up and gestured vaguely at Dayzel.

Dayzel took a deep breath. “And… If they do-…?” His voice was barely above a whisper, “If they do back out? You’d kill me?” He needed to hear him actually say it. Needed absolute confirmation.

Rupert gave him a leveled look. “Yes. So don’t try anything stupid…” He reached out to the cuff chaining Dayzel’s ankle to the bed and unlocked it. Dayzel nodded in understanding. The last spark of his defiance suddenly lighting up… He would make sure whoever was coming to get him didn’t want him. And thus ending his nightmare once and for all. What else did he have left for him after all? Rupert backed up allowing Dayzel to weakly stand up and follow him out, already forming plans to be the absolute menace he used to be for this new buyer.

—

Dayzel limped behind Rupert, an old confidence steeling himself against whoever was waiting in the next room. Rupert had taken the time to cover his scars and tattoos, only leaving his claim mark visible. He’d done his damnedest to make Dayzel seem desirable and Dayzel was determined to make it all a waste. His expression was void of emotion as Rupert pushed open the door and pulled him in behind him. There was someone at the opposite end. Their back facing the two of them. A boiling rage was bubbling to his surface as Dayzel’s arm twitched. He had to do it now. 

He gave no warning before charging, running full sprint towards the figure. Even Rupert was caught off guard as he let go of Dayzel’s leash in surprise. Good…

He snarled, resembling a vicious animal rather than a person. But he wasn’t a person anymore was he? And he wouldn’t live to regret this either way… But then the person turned around and Dayzel froze in his tracks. He was so thrown that his legs gave out under him in his horror. Full body trembling overtook him as frost rapidly inched across his skin. It couldn’t be… But it was. 

He pulled himself into a kneeling position with his head bowed, his wings spread behind him. A demon’s sign of utter submission. “Mibium…” Dayzel breathed. Mibum… Mibium was the one buying him. How had he screwed up so royally that Mibium wanted to buy him back as a pet rather than as a boyfriend.

#nightingale sings #nightingale writes #dayzel oc #rupert oc #mibium oc

[screechingkingdomhottub]

what, why and who i am

hello there, internet peruser.  if you’ve seen my other posts, first: i’m sorry. second: you might have some type of interpretation of me that is in my mind purposefully vague and also way too specific. i’ve made starkid memes, i’ve ranted about literally anything, i’ve shitposted, honestly you could think im anybody and thats wild to me. so let me explain. 

i started this tumblr in 2016, 6 years ago i think. i was so angry at my home situation and also just mad at my inability to process my own emotions - imagine trying to process my anger and getting mad at the anger itself. later on i got diagnosed with autism and i was like “ohhhhhhhhhhhh that’s why i cant read what im feeling for shit” but there was still SOMETHING. here’s the thing, when i’m angry, it’s a completely all encompassing emotion. yknow in naruto when he gets the fox chakra around him? that’s what being angry feels like to me. i can feel each inch of my skin just angry and usually it’s about NOTHING. well nothing to other people. things other people deal with easily without a second thought. 

some of my anger worked for good, anger at social issues like police brutality, racism, homophobia, xenophobia, transphobia, all that fun stuff like that’s good that makes me fight. but there’s also a selfish anger. the tyler that’s angry at himself for not being able to make friends like everyone else, for not being as independent as everyone else, for not being able to keep up with his peers, for having to message the same person 8 times a day about useless shit cause he just wants someone to care. i wanted the illusion of a friend rather than actually wanting a friend and thus when people didnt fit the archetype i wanted them to i’d isolate myself further and be mad about it. that’s the other thing i’ve always felt either incredibly angry or cripplingly lonely. 

so what does this have to do with anything? well, whilst in 2016 i was just being an edgy teenager, as the years went on i started thinking if i could write to a group of people a completely outrageously dramatised version of my anger (all my stoner posts, i do have trauma from it and because of my family, there’s a high chance that if i was to do weed i’d become violent and hurtful, the rage is internalised and im sorry if i hurt any of you sincerely) then i could see how ridiculous i was being and feeling and it was lessen the effects. it didnt. 

i would stay up because i was that angry over nothing. nothing got rid of it. i tried any coping mechanism you can think of healthy to unhealthy. meditation, working out, reading, writing, counselling, hotlines, vent channels, sh, nsfw content, music, everything. nothing fixed it. until now. 

im on sertraline now. this is basically zoloft. its still early days but so far my anger is still there but a normal amount. i think about the stuff that made me so viscerally angry before and i get a little annoyed but i can move on. i can shrug my shoulders and get on with my day or go sleep and it’s wonderful. the downside is that i’ve had sleep paralysis my first night on it, i’ve felt my brain zap against the back of my skull so many times, i’ve woke up in the middle of the night with my body spasming randomly. i don’t want to tell the doctors about this stuff cause i dont want them to take it away. ive never felt peace like this before. i dont want my peace to go. 

tldr: im no longer viscerally angry at everything, im sorry if i hurt you and im way too reliant on my medication

#blog #please interact with this #autism #bpd #actually autistic #anger #life update #update

[raspberryspace]

+ It’s been one month. I miss you more than you will ever know. I’m sorry.

+ I journal extensively everyday to keep myself at ease. I wish I could post them up everyday just to feel seen. I read what you write, I wish I could spill my heart out and have it write out everything I’m thinking about all of the time. But I hold myself back from ever sending things. I already messed up once. But I can’t help think that expressing ourselves would help. I guess that’s why I’m replying to all this.

+ I understand that just because someone’s intentions were to never take advantage of someone, it doesn’t mean it still didn’t occur or even felt that way for the other person. I’m learning more about myself now through the little therapy sessions I’ve attended so far. I live in my head a lot, where things are logical, cut dry, yes no. I find it hard to live in my heart, where my emotions run free and chaos ensues. I once found sanctuary in my heart, when I was able to share it with someone else. That comfort was built over a long time of what I thought was understanding and emotional connection. A bond. It was something I subconsciously did not want to ever leave. It was comfortable. But comfortable for one heart does not equate to comfortable in another. My inability to leave that comfort ended up trapping me. trapping me inside my own little world that was my body. I never saw the heart on the other side, in turmoil. In pain. That I caused. I was trying so hard to make sure you did not feel the same pain I grew up knowing, that I ended up inflicting something so much worse.

+ There were times I really tried to make sure I didn’t stand in your way. I remember crying over nights after I made mention that I wanted you to do “normal” things I wanted you experience what I hadn’t. I knew that I couldn’t hold you back. and yet here I am still crying night after night when you’re able to experience the normalcy of everyday. It must have been so easy to walk away from the pain. You said it yourself it’s been a relief. I suppose it’s what I wanted in the end. I never wanted to be in your way, I just hopped I could have been beside you is all. I wanted to and got to, see you grow. Don’t hate yourself because you never stopped it. It’s not your burden to carry. you did not make the mistakes, you were not the selfish person who thought they were helping. You are a wonderful person who has so much good in them and will do good. I know that much to be true.

+That change - I felt that change too. The wave of emotions from the past started to crest and wash up on the shore of even my isolated island. It was more than the daily stress of work and school emanating from you, I could feel more showing, more pain was coming through. The pain I had caused - the pain I couldn’t take away no matter what I did. You let it out before, you crashed that wave right on my island and I stared right into it as it came down on me. I truly felt it that day in December, I felt the visceral hurt that comes from the soul. That changed me, it began the slow shifting of the sands to hopefully build a better bridge between us I thought. one that focuses on understanding what I did to you. How we could begin to calm the seas inside. but the seas come and go, at a pace I could not begin to keep. It’s clear now that you did not want to build that bridge, the seas were too rough, the past kept it that way. I can’t blame you either, it’s not your fault. I was the one that stirred up your internal sea, I was the cause of those violent waves of emotions that ate away at you. Day by day. I do wish you knew the amount of times I woke up and spoke to you. Tucked up your hair and pulled the blanket up a little more. Even the last month.

+ post it more. I know. I know it was awful. I’m sorry you can’t look back on any of it. I was told part of the healing process for this was to feel anger towards the other person, it means you’re moving on. I don’t know if I am though. Our angers are placed in different parts. I can’t be angry that you don’t want to mend a bridge across painful seas. I just can’t. But you have every right to be angry. I understand that. I almost applaud it. It’s okay to feel the way you are. You don’t have to forgive me. I want you to be validated. I only ask that your healing journey continues at your own pace, please be careful out there. I worry about you when I shouldn’t. I would hate myself more if you got taken advantage of again. At least take that lesson from me.

+ I have had so much to reflect on I’m sorry. I truly wish that I could tell you all that I’m feeling, I want to validate your feelings and hear what you want to express. but I can’t ever get myself to ask for another call. I’m sorry that it may not feel fair at times, I have had the time to reflect and think at my own pace. Not trying to juggle school work and volunteering. I could have done more. I should have done things differently. My life will forever be built upon knowing how much I have changed someone else’s, and not for the better. I wish, I really wish that is something I can change in the future. But I don’t think that’s something I see myself ever not living with.

+ it’s not that you can’t be stronger. We need this. We need to express ourselves to one another. I think we both know we need to. I wish I was strong enough to call you and tell you this. I can only hope you do get to read this one day. Sorry if this has been incoherent or bad, I was planning on watching the sunrise and journaling but instead wanted to write this out at 6am. Its now 8am.

Have a good morning

[calaofnoldor]

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290​‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass​​ (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural​‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant​‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo​ and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes​ Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.  

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.  

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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[anarchy-and-piglins]

Okay I finished the stream vods and had some time to process so here’s my (admittedly disjointed) thoughts:

Obviously I really loved like... 99% of today’s lore - I’ll get to that 1% at the end of the post lol - and this was everything I’d want from a Techno lore stream and more. We got angst, we got character development, we got jokes, we got scuffed shit, we got identity fraud in a chick-fill-a. What more can you need?

Techno doing cinematic lore (and with that I mean the countdown screen cause he couldn’t do his usual intro and having a short little flashback cutscene too), I’m really on board with that. Today’s lore showed that the dsmp is NOT dead and there’s still lots of places the story could go, certainly after this. And for the parts of it I’m invested in - the Syndicate ones that is - I’m genuinely excited to see where they go!

(Speaking of, we technically got 4/4 Syndicate content. Love to see it. RIP Apollo though...)

Where do I start with Ranboo man. I’m always weak for Peerpressureduo and this stream was drenched in it. Techno’s concern when seeing Ranboo be brought into the prison, his insistence on not leaving Ranboo behind both when things were going wrong inside AND when Sam took him as a hostage, him mentioning that in-character the axe Ranboo gave him is now more valuable to him than the axe of peace? I cry, I bawl, I weep. And then there’s the absolute gut-wrenching moment of Ranboo’s death. Techno’s “I care” is just hhhhh. Because we KNEW Techno cared but he doesn’t really express that verbally as much so hearing him literally say he cares for Ranboo, only for Ranboo to be killed a second later? Man, I’m gonna be thinking about that a long time. And he was so ready to throw down with them all then - the anger was real.

I’m also interested to see where Ranboo is taking his lore from here! He mentioned in his discord that this is a sort of ‘reset’ for his character since the many storytelling threads were getting too muddled for him, and that he now has a decent plan on where to go and people to do it with. Good for him, good for him... (I really hope Techno + Tubbo are some of those people 👀👀👀)

Because predictably enough that was my favorite part. Fireworkduo stays winning, and this only a day or two after I was complaining how much sense it’d make for them to reconcile. I literally can’t contain my joy at what future Tubbo and Techno interactions might bring. I love them together so much, and I love that they were even poking fun at the whole “enemies to friends” character arc thing. They’re on a mission to save Michael together!!! Also shout out to Tubbo for making the joke of them ‘rekindling their long-gone past friendship’ because it’s so important to me that we remember that for a brief time in Pogtopia, Techno and Tubbo were absolutely friends and they had a great dynamic. Fandom often seems to gloss over that because, well, a lot of things happened after that which complicated their relationship, but just... they already were friends... and maybe now they could be again...

Niki, my queen, beautiful. No notes on that. She can rock lore any time and it’s so underrated, the amount of development she gives her characters, how far she’s come, if you watch her vods there’s all those little things. The way she talks to herself/chat, staring at the Pogtopia poster, just... I love her. And she girlbossed with those Withers of course.

Phil was also great as usual though he took kind of a backseat to all the rest going on. Just always fun to have him there :’)

And now I need a moment to talk about Sam because.... oh, Sam. I know some people are gonna be pissy at him over the whole killing Ranboo thing but like, this stream made me so viscerally sad for Sam more than anything. He’s such a tragic character and he’s built this entire identity around being ‘the warden’. He’s lost friends, he’s lost Ponk, he’s lost his sense of self... ending up easily manipulated by Quackity. He carries guilt over what happened to Tommy and Ghostbur and just, the prison is the only thing Sam has left. Keeping Dream locked up is all he has left. If he can’t do that, what CAN he do? When they got out in the water you could hear the desperation in Sam’s voice when he said “you can go, I don’t care about all of you but Dream needs to stay.” Him and Ranboo weren’t close, but they were friendly. Yet his urgency of keeping Dream in prison made him end up with the kid’s blood on his hands. It hurts me.

Which leads me into Dream which... hm, yeah. I’ll be upfront and say this is where that 1% comes in. I really adored his bits with Techno, I think their dynamic is still so good. Almost nothing made me laugh as hard as Techno just straight up going like ‘favor repaid, cool, now I don’t care where you go that’s a you problem and also I’m gonna need that armor back.’ That sums their relationship up so well. Not friends, not enemies. Just, favor for favor buddies. I also am glad Dream is out of prison in the sense that I feel like it just needed to happen for plots to progress forward again. I mean, the guy’s been in there for a year and the revival book torture fun hours was a nice arc for a while, but I think Dream being out again is a good kickstarter for new arcs - and for other characters to move on from the prison plot too.

HOWEVER... well... the Tommy part. I can’t say I’m thrilled. Like, obviously one of the Big Things from the prison arc was that Dream would not even be able to start moving on from who he was or what he did so long as he was locked up, because the prison just wasn’t a healthy or good environment to do so. Nobody could be expecting Dream to come out of that a better person than he was going in, so I’m fully expecting him to at least in some regards default back to his old ways. But at the same time, the prison should have changed him. Fundamentally, as a person. He’s been in there A YEAR, getting tortured and being locked up from the outside world. So I really hope cc!Dream and the plot aren’t just going to ignore that and go right back to same-old-same-old cartoon menacing villain dream, ESPECIALLY not if it’s just to do exile arc 2: electric boogaloo. I know I’m highly biased against this because I’m sick of gratuitous Tommy angst - and I’m not saying Tommy shouldn’t get to address that a person whose abused him and is tied to a lot of horrible memories is now out and about again, that should absolutely be a part of upcoming Tommy lore. I’m just... really hoping it’s gonna play out different this time.

#thoughts #dsmp spoilers #Also yes I loved connor I'm so glad he's living in the arctic now #and yes I'm gonna be writing techno angst first thing tommorow #cause I have taste

[itsmoonpeaches]

The Ocean Meets the Sky

Chapter 4: Reversal

Please note: Every prompt for this Kataang Week connects into an over-arching story.

Prompt: Role Swap

Story summary: After his battle with Fire Lord Ozai, something lingers within Aang's spirit. Katara is the one that pulls the seams back together. No matter what, Aang and Katara find each other.

Chapter summary: No one had yet noticed what was happening, how the air seemed to thicken and crackle with something visceral all at once. Katara could feel the power underneath his stare, roaring against her body. Whatever it was, it was waking from a sleep that thundered and threatened. She should have been used to the kind of power Aang possessed as the Avatar, but this time it was different.

-

Or, Katara makes a choice.

Written for @kataang-week

Read on ao3 or ffn.

---

First, her gaze was locked on his eerie one. The vice grip around her hand was starting to cut off her circulation. The blood pumping in her veins stuttered there, pulsating on the oxygen that was left. Like a river’s mouth about to burst into the ocean.

No one had yet noticed what was happening, how the air seemed to thicken and crackle with something visceral all at once. Katara could feel the power underneath his stare, roaring against her body. Whatever it was, it was waking from a sleep that thundered and threatened. She should have been used to the kind of power Aang possessed as the Avatar, but this time it was different.

This time, she sensed the anger of someone else.

Katara could not react fast enough when the explosion of pure unadulterated energy burst forth. She along with the crowd shouted in shock when they were blasted away. She skidded to a stop only when she was forced to. Her back slammed into a pillar on the other side of the courtyard. She stumbled to her hands and knees. Her head ached, and she was sure that she was bruised, if not a little concussed.

When she looked up, she saw Aang at the center of a perfect circle with fallen people around it. All of them were groaning, and many had already sprinted off to call for help.

The ground was cracked, more lines spreading out from the middle like branches on a leafless tree. The sky above had turned dark with looming storm clouds above them, a contrast to the hopeful clear blue that it had been mere minutes ago. There was no sun in sight, and the gloom appeared to stretch on for miles.

It was cool, dank. Katara felt the joy seep away from her body almost as if someone had squeezed it from her until it dribbled into an abyss. Her mind was full of negative thoughts and emotions. She could only think of destruction, of unfairness, of the way that there were children who would come to a home devoid of life even after the war was ended.

She thought of her mother, of Yue, of Jet. Of Aang falling from a pillar of light, smoke trailing from his back after lighting had arched through him. All of them coming to crash together and against her like a boat sailing upon harsh waves only to break upon the jutting rocks.

Someone grabbed for the crook of her elbow and yanked her upward so that she was standing up. It was Sokka, still wobbling against his crutch which he had somehow managed to hold onto. He turned to her, worry and fear in his eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Why is Aang in the Avatar State?”

Before she could respond, it was Zuko who broke the silence. “Everyone get out of here!” he yelled the command. He was near the stairs, crown askew atop his head.

A switch seemed to click and there was sudden movement. Everyone who attended the coronation ran away from the center, some into the palace, and others toward the streets of the capital. Katara saw her father give her and Sokka a meaningful look from nearby. He had been forced aside by the explosion and ended up somewhere near Sokka. An understanding passed between the three of them before he departed with the others.

Aang remained standing there, unmoving in the middle of it all. His robes were flitting upward with an invisible force. Wisps of air filtered around him, as if in a warning that it would all detonate again.

It was just enough time for Katara to realize that she, Sokka, and Zuko were not the only ones that remained behind. Toph and Suki stayed too, and the friends began to converge to where Zuko stood at the front in a kind of unspoken agreement.

It was them, always. Even when it was most difficult.

The air rumbled, shaking the pebbles and bits of debris that was caused from the initial burst.

“Everyone brace for impact!” screamed Toph who had widened into a horse stance. “I don’t think I can do much for this one!”

Sure enough, all she could do was erect a large enough stone barrier that blocked most of the waves of debris from hitting them, but it did not stop them all from toppling backward onto the palace steps over each other. Toph did not lower the shield.

“What the heck is going on?! Did someone attack us?” she bellowed with effort. The courtyard shook with wind again. “Is Twinkle Toes going to get his butt over here and help us out or what?”

It was then that dread pooled into Katara’s stomach. She whipped around to face Toph, a wild and frantic emotion rising into her throat. “That is Aang!” she hissed. “He’s the one who attacked us!”

Toph’s eyebrows furrowed together. “That doesn’t make any sense! Aang isn’t anywhere near us!”

It was Suki who looked terrified next. Her fans were clutched at her sides, and she looked ready for battle in her Kyoshi Warrior uniform. “If that isn’t Aang,” she started, “then—”

“Then he’s in trouble,” Zuko finished. He had a determined expression on his face. “Whatever this is—”

But he did not have enough time to finish his sentence. The rock shield that Toph worked so hard to keep steady was ripped apart down the middle with a slice of air alone. She could do nothing to hold it together and grunted as she was pushed back. They were lucky that they were not torn to pieces.

Before them, Aang stood, glowing purple eyes and all. A stark crimson pattern with complicated lines and curls beamed through his skin from his shoulders to his midsection and showed even through his clothes. There was an orange diamond burning through where Aang’s heart was.

A tornado of twisting wind rested casually in one of his hands. It was storm-like and menacing, and not at all like Aang.

He laughed in a deep, unfamiliar way. As if he were mocking them. “It was almost too easy to take this body from Raava, especially when her newest incarnation was so weak,” he said. It was a voice Katara did not recognize. It sounded like the voice of nightfall itself. “That boy was a typical human…pathetic to a fault. It was his stupid choice really that led to this…trying to bend another one’s energy. No one has done that in eons, not since before the age of the spirits.”

Katara tamped down her fear. “Who are you and what have you done with Aang?” she demanded.

Aang’s form glared at her. The tornado in his hand dissipated, but there was still a power that radiated from him that kept them all stock-still. His mouth twisted into a smirk. He walked forward and stopped close to Katara. Too close. He leaned so that he was observing her.

Katara opened her sealskin pouch, and she commanded a tendril of water to hover in front of her. It separated them, if only in an infinitesimal amount.

“I’ve simply switched places with him, girl,” he said. “He has taken my place in the prison that his original incarnation trapped me in. He had a moment of weakness in battle you see…when he was facing that Fire Lord. It was a mere second when his energy was entwined with Ozai’s, but a mere second was enough.” He let out a spiteful laugh. “You have to be careful when your energy touches such a wicked man’s, you see, because even one mere second of thinking that you want a little more justice for what your enemies did to your people—when they wiped their blood across the face of the earth—and even the spirit of light can be stolen by the spirit of darkness and chaos.”

He tilted his head, and the world shifted. “Now,” the spirit said, “Where was I?” He leered. “Oh.”

A gale blasted them back again and they screamed. The walls of the foyer began to fracture. Katara barely held her own. She had to bend the water back to her side lest it spill across the tiles.

The spirit sauntered toward them again as they struggled to stand. His hands were clasped behind his back. “It’s a pity that I couldn’t take the power of the other elements from Raava, but no matter,” he spoke. He raised his hands. “I can still remake this world in my era.”

A ball of swirling air surrounded him. He laughed as he rose, shooting his arms outward, collecting rubble and wreckage. He spit it out everywhere he could.

Toph and Katara tried to defend them while Zuko shot out flames to disintegrate what he could. Suki held Sokka up, cutting her fan out to slash the air that ravaged them.

“What do we do now?!” screamed Sokka, blocking dirt from his eyes with his arm. “We can’t even attack him!”

It was impossible to find an opening. Katara tried everything she could from icicles to water whips, but there was nothing that could distract or deter the spirit.

All she could see was the form of the person she loved, so far out of reach.

She saw Aang as he was, vengeful and shuddering and different. Katara reached out to him, arm stretching across the expanse. “Please, Aang,” she shouted to him with conviction, “This isn’t you!”

The Avatar turned his attention toward her with a knowing, menacing voice, and said, “But it is.”

His hand cut across the space and a gust came rushing toward them. Toph broke it with another boulder.

Katara trembled, lost in herself, not knowing what to do. The others were whispering plans behind her, plans that she knew would go nowhere. She could not stop looking at what used to be Aang, how he was drifting further and further away from her, tearing up the palace and going toward the city.

She had to stop him.

She had to get him back.

Without thinking, she dashed out into the open. She heard Sokka call for her, but she ignored him and the call of her friends. She halted just under the swirling ball of air, just as it was about to escape into the rest of the world.

She knocked her head back until she was looking at soles of Aang’s shoes. “I’ll make you a trade,” she belted, "My soul for Aang's!"

Aang’s possessed body jolted, lowering just in front of her. His feet still hovered a meter above the ground. He looked down at her. His eyes were bright and frightening, and he grinned.

It looked wrong.

“All you need is a body, right?” she asked. She did not stop quivering. “Take mine. Give Aang back. I’ll take his place.”

“Katara, no!” she heard her friends protest, but she would not dare answer them.

“And what do I get out of this, little girl?” asked the spirit, unfazed.

“Your freedom, my bending, and the chaos you want,” she said. She spoke in half-truths, in promising lies. “If you live as me, no one will suspect you. You can hide in plain sight. If you’re Aang, there’ll be too much attention on you. It’s better to cause destruction when no one suspects anything.”

The spirit laughed the same guttural, horrible laugh as before. He did not hesitate when he floated closer to her. The air around him dispelled, and he alighted on the ground.

He grasped her forearm, and she grasped his. His nails dug into her skin, biting into the scratches already there, and blood beaded along the surface. She tried not to show how scared she was. She knew, above all else, who she was doing this for and why.

She would not lose him. Never again.

“We have a deal,” said the spirit. “I can assure you that I need no assistance nor strategies from you, but I have never seen such naïve foolishness at the cost of someone else in all the eons of my life.” His glowing eyes lowered to meet hers. “If there is something chaos does love, it is a good tragedy,” he finished.

When he let go, it was as if all her energy left her at once. Her vision blurred, and she was taken over by colors and night beating in tandem with each other. She gasped as she rushed through them.

Abruptly, she appeared in a field of tall, emerald grass. She was wearing an indigo dress that reached her ankles, just above a pair of soft boots.

There were white cumulous clouds that covered the sky in mountains and eddies. She stood at the crest of a hill of some sort, looking out over a piece of land with a forest of trees and the shore of the sea.

“Want to go inside?” someone asked her. It was a pleasant tenor.

She looked up to see an eclipsed figure of a tall man that strolled toward her, the sun a large disc at his back. A ray of sunlight obscured his features. He held out a pale hand to her, palm open and inviting, waiting for her.

“It’s been a long day,” he said.

Katara’s fingers curved around his, and she let herself be led away.

#kataang week 2021 #kataang week #itsmoonpeaches fanfic #kataang #kataangtag #katara #aang #atla #atla fanfic #avatar the last airbender

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Weird, “Hiccups.”

I had to go a bit back in time to write this one and have it make sense. I hope you like it! :)

It had been a very busy day for Dr. Krill. Apparently all of the humans had gotten together before hand and determined today would be the day when they were all going to do the stupid human things, like smashing their fingers in doors, or allowing their internal organs to become inflamed, or to have random attacks of head pain so bad they throw up if they try to stand.

Dr. krill did not approve of any of these particular medical conditions, one of them involved the human doing something dangerous, and the others were completely unreasonable and downright improper actions of the human body, at least he thought. What kind of organism just ahs random bouts of severe pain caused by inflamed organs or by who knows what! Headaches without a reason should not be something that is commonly accepted.

Of course the humans tended to disagree with him and continued to have unusual and useless medical problems.

At least when they had accidents, it didn’t often have to do with their organs just malfunctioning.

The humans he passed in the hallway nodded to him as he passed by showing their bright white teeth in that strange way humans had when they were greeting someone. It had taken Krill a long time to get used to that specific behavior, but it was something he quickly had to get over, and learn to distinguish from the similar, but completely opposite “snarl” which tended to show more gums.

He was just walking down the hallway passing by the Captain, who, in his usual manner was grinning rather aggressively and practically bouncing down the hall like a ball.

Following behind him came a group of marines looking both shocked and awed.

Ramirez shook his head, “Wow, Captain, I, I don't think I have ever seen someone do that.”

Maverick prodded him from the other side, “How does it all fit in there.”

He waved them all off, “There is no substitute for pure talent, and when it comes to consuming copious amounts of food, I am the champion.”

Jackie shook her head in awe, “if I did that to myself I would immediately hurl.”

The captain waved them all off with a widening grin, “Just face it, you will never be as awesome as I am.”

“I don’t really know if awesome is the word I would use.” Ramirez added stepping back to glance over at his captain with awe.

Krill stood to the side of the hall as they passed, eyeing the captain, sure he had gone and done something stupid at some point to warrant all of this nonsense, but based on the context of their conversation, he couldn’t be entirely sure what.

The human’s smiled and greeted him as they passed in the hallway, making it down only a few feet before, the air was rent with a violent and pain filled noise that echoed up and down the corridor with a sudden sharp blast.

It was like the noise the captain’s dog made when someone stepped on her foot mixed with the sound a human makes when they get punched in the gut.

Everyone turned to look, especially Krill, over at the captain, who now had his hand clamped roughly over his mouth.

Maverick’s eyes were wide, “What was tha-”

The sharp noise cut her off again as the captain’s body spasmed violently, all the muscles from his abdomen, to his shoulders and neck clenching aggressively as the horrific noise was pushed out through his lips.

He clamped the other hand over his mouth.

Krill stared at the human in shock and confusion. After a few seconds, he dropped his hand from his mouth with a sort of sheepish grin, “No idea what that was, but I think I’m good now.”

That was not the case.

*HIC* 

The sound was piercing, and this time krill got a good look as the entire upper body spasmed, forcing that horrendous sound from the man’s throat. He practically doubled over grimacing in pain and holding his chest.

“Ow.” He muttered piteously.

Krill did not notice the laughter and smiles from the other human as he ran forward, “What is this! What is happening!” he had never seen anything like this before. Horrible spasms, that horrible noise, and the pain on the man’s face. It was almost as if his stomach was jumping around on his insides, Krill did not think that was possible, but knowing humans, anything was possible.

*HIC*

Muscles in the abdominal wall seized violently The human had one hand over his mouth and one hand over his chest.

Krill grabbed the human by the arm and tugged him away towards the infirmary, “This is horrible. What is happening, what did you do.”

The human opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, but another violent spasm hit him causing that horrible barking noise and a grimace of pain.

Krill had no idea what this could be. He had never seen anything like it, he had seen coughing, sneezing and vomiting, but those were the only symptomes that were usually related to strange or horrible noises. But this, this was different. He couldn't imagine what it could be other than some sort of spasm in the internal organs.

What might that cause?

Was it contagious?

What other symptoms should he suspect? 

If it was internal, might he expect some sort of internal bleeding. Might he expect that the innards could flip and twist on themselves so that it caused necrotic death of the innards? Was that even possible with humans. He had heard it was possible in animals.

*HIC*

He turned back to look at the human following after him with a grimace still on his face. The marines and a few other humans were following behind, and to Krill’s annoyance they seemed rather amused when they should be concerned.

He waved an angry hand at them, “Get back! Get back, if it contagious is might spread to all of you.”

A chorus of giggling erupted from the humans.

“Just because it looks funny does not mean it’s not dangerous!” He howled, grabbing the human even tighter and hurrying up the hall and towards the infirmary.

He burst through the doors not a few seconds later, causing Dr. katie to jump where she was standing and turn around in shock and surprise, one hand held to her chest, “Oh, Dr. krill you scared me.”

“You should be scared!” He announced, dragging the captain over and forcing him to sit where Dr katie could see.

“We might have some sort of infectious disease that causes visceral spasms.”

“Visceral spasms.” She said in confusion.

*HIC*

Captain Vir lurched forward, one hand to his neck.

Dr katie paused, and, For a moment Krill thought she was smiling, but when she turned around to face him she had a very serious look on her face, her eyes widened, “I have seen this before.”

Dr Krill frose nervously, “And?”

She shook her head, “Very serious. I have only treated very few cases. The prognosis is…. Bleak.”

Krill froze in his place staring at the doctor in horror.

“Oh no, what do we do? How do we treat it? I have never seen anything like it before.”

Katie nodded seriously as captain Vir frowned at her in confusion, “Yes, yes this is very serious, and it is important that we work quickly. I warn you now, doctor, that the treatments for this condition are very unconventional.”

She walked over to where the captain was sitting.

*HIC*

She stared at him with a long and searching contemplative expression before pulling her hand back, and, to krill’s shock, backhanding the man rather viciously in the chest.

He grunted in indignation, leaping from the blow, “HEY!”

Dr. katie backed away as he swiped at her, and Krill thought, once more, that she was smiling again. She turned to look at him, “Trying to shock the organs back into a state of functioning. It has the highest chance of working, but if it doesn’t, we are going to have to get far more creative with our treatment.

He nodded, eyes wide.

*HIC*

“Oh No!” She exclaimed, “Dr. Krill, a glass of water, Stat.”

He hurried over with a paper cup full of water, not sure what she expected. Katie took the water from his hand and handed it over to the captain, “Drink this as fast as you can.”

He did as ordered, downing the water in under a few seconds.

“How is that?”

*HIC*

“Damn, another glass of water, Krill.””

He ran to fetch another watching as Dr. Katie made him gargle the water this time. He did so but it was to no avail.

*HIC-GRGL-ACK” he began coughing violently as he accidentally inhaled the water. Krill stood in great concern. Oh no if the human couldn’t properly consume water, he would die! 

“We still have options!” Katie announced as the captain continued to cough, “Did it work?”

*HIC* 

“Damn.”

“I require a paper bag.” 

Dr Krill ran to fetch the things as ordered. Dr katie then proceeded to lead them through a set of the strangest procedures Krill had ever witnessed. Breathing into a paper bag, pinching the nose and drinking a glass of water, breath holding, compressing the chest, tongue holding, and even messaging the carotid artery.

*HIC*

When that didn’t work she resorted to a spoonful of sugar, which he nearly spewed everywhere as another aggressive contraction took him.

Krill stared in wide eyed shock and concern, “What do we do!”

Dr katie shook her head gravely, “I am afraid there is nothing else we can do.”

At the doorway a hand raised, “I have an idea.”

They turned to look back where Ramirez was standing. Krill frowned, “You are no medical professional. What could you possibly know about this.”

Ramirez frowned, “I grew up in a neighborhood that was often afflicted by this horrible ailment. My abuela had a remedy that doctors don’t believe in, but I know for a fact works.” 

Krill was not about to let him try out his untested remedy, but Dr. Katie sighed and motioned hi forward, “I suppose it couldn't hurt.”

He walked over with a small smile on his face, “Oh I promise, it can.” At that moment he turned on the spot and rather violently punched the captain in the gut.”

He yelped in pain.

Krill let off an exclamation of disbelief and anger.

“What are you doing!”

Ramirez pulled back, and the group of humans stared at the captain with great intent.

He waited 

And waited 

And waited.

“Dude, your abuela is violent.”

He shrugged, “It worked didn’t it.”

*HIC*

A chorus of disapproval went up around from the humans assembled.

Krill was freaking out, “What do we do! IT has no cure! Is he going to die? What are the next symptomes.”

It was then that the collective human group burst into  laughter and Krill was left to stare at them in confusion.

“What, what is going on!”

Giggling the captain wiped his mouth *HIC*, “Krill, I’m not sick.”

“What do you mean your not sick!”

“I just have the hiccups because I ate too much too fast earlier.”

Krill stared at them, “Wait…. This happens to you, OFTEN!”

“Well not all the time, but sometimes.”

He stared at them incredulous, “What is it?”

*HIC*

The captain grimaced, “Its like when your diaphragm gets irritated and starts to spasm isn’t it?”

Katie shrugged, “Something like that. It will go away on its own usually, and it isnt generally harmful unless they are chronic.”

Dr Krill glowered over at the humans.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?”

The captain grinned, “I mean it was kind of funny watching you freak out.” 

Krill turned on his heels in anger and stormed out.

“I HATE THE HUMAN BODY.”

Captain Vir sighed, “Me too doc…. Me too.”

*HIC*

#humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia

[latenightcinephile]

#703: 'Marketa Lazarová', dir. František Vláčil, 1967.

Marketa Lazarová is a slightly unusual film for me, because its effects go slightly beyond my ability to articulate or explain them. I originally saw it at a Film Society screening in 2015 or 2016, back when I was able to go to movies at 6 p.m. on a Monday evening, and it enthralled me then, splayed wide across the screen at the Paramount in crisp black and white. I knew very little of Czech cinema at the time and, embarrassingly, still haven't seen very much. Coming back to it five years later, it still holds a lot of that arcane power that it had. Marketa Lazarová is simultaneously a meditative experience and a gut punch.

František Vláčil was one of the Czech filmmakers who was originally trained with the Army Film Division, which surprisingly became a breeding ground for avant-garde filmmaking styles. Vláčil became disillusioned with the types of historical films that were being produced at the time, which seemed to him to feature contemporary people pretending to be characters from the past. What was needed instead, he argued, was a more immediate form of historical cinema that made audiences feel like they were witnessing history rather than a lacklustre interpretation of it. In order to achieve this, he frequently joined his cast and crew on long-term shoots where they lived in the types of conditions that the characters would. Sets were built using traditional methods, and scripts were written using archaic dialects to avoid that common experience of characters speaking in a recognisably modern way. The shoot for Marketa Lazarová lasted almost two years in these conditions.

The film's plot concerns three groups. The Kozlík clan, a family under the helm of a robber baron, robs a noble entourage and takes Kristian, the son of the bishop, hostage. Before Kozlík's sons can return to claim their loot, a neighbouring clan led by Lazar steals the spoils. Lazar is saved from being killed when a vision of a nunnery on a hillside appears. One of the chief themes of this film, alluded to early on, is the conflict between paganism and early Christianity. The two worldviews are muddy and indistinct, but the difference between them is what drives a lot of the retribution in the film. Kristian falls in love with one of Kozlík's daughters, Alexandra, while Kozlík's son, Mikoláš, falls in love with Lazar's daughter, Marketa, whom he has taken as a hostage in retaliation for Lazar refusing to side with Kozlík against the king and the bishop. In addition to the religious dimension, then, there is also an ongoing theme of where one's loyalties lie - with existing morals (family, God) or with the person you love. Over the course of this epic, the fates of all three groups trend downhill: members of each of these bands are slaughtered and betrayed; Kozlík and Alexandra are imprisoned; Marketa is released by Mikoláš but rejected by Lazar. The film's conclusion seems to suggest that it is Marketa, and the future generations she helps to bring into the world, that will be able to overcome the divisions that affected the clans so catastrophically, but also acknowledges that these types of conflicts are part of the human experience.

As vast and interwoven the plot of the film is, it's not what makes the experience of watching quite so transcendent. What makes this film feel like an out-of-body experience is Vláčil's use of non-linear and non-realistic techniques. Parts of the film's story are told in flashback, but without any explicit indication that this is happening. At times we see disconnected, hallucinatory images that only make sense when they are contextualised later on. One example of this is an erotic scene between Alexandra (Pavla Polášková) and a young man, who we assume to be Kristian (Vlastimil Harapes). It's only later that we discover that this is a flashback to an abortive romance between Alexandra and her brother Adam (Ivan Palúch) - a man I had initially disqualified from appearing here because Adam only has one arm in the current scenes. Revealing that it is Adam propels the story forward in traditionally linear fashion, but also causes the viewer to reassess the film's earlier scene to determine why these images are included there. These images are made further alien by their unexpected visual qualities: the sex scene takes place in a field of summer grain, but most of the film's 'present day' takes place in winter and early spring. Rather than ascribe them to an unmotivated flashback, it seems easier to read them as a poetic hallucination, and then Vláčil returns to reorganise what we had previously believed of the narrative.

As well as the narrative structure, Vláčil frequently employs long periods of silence and a seeming mismatch of cinematography, where figures are either oddly close to the camera or absurdly far away. On a deep level, it feels like nobody, even the director, has total control over what is being portrayed - like we've entered a kind of fugue state in which cinema just happens regardless of how legible its results are. Although its filming process was so long, the resulting scenes feel accidental or improvisational, culled down from a vast amount of footage.

While many of these techniques give us the experience of watching a dream of an imagined past, these techniques are also quite violent and confrontational. Even when the shots are distant or filmed in long takes, they're cut together in a jarring way, and the lack of a straightforward narrative makes it difficult on the viewer too. The activity implied in this method of editing, a complicated soundscape and opaque narrative combine to make Marketa Lazarová a film that feels very immediate and present. As Tom Gunning put it, writing for Criterion about his early encounters with the film, "an energized mobile camera and abrasive editing peers into a primitive era of human history." Just as the characters of the film are quick to anger and quick to act, the film also lacks temperance. This is a film of life and death in its most vital forms, and so it makes a certain kind of sense that Vláčil would, in defiance of the typical historical film, try and remove any layer of modern logic or reason that would prevent us from experiencing the film's events in a visceral way. This is also why the myth of the werewolf hangs so heavily over the film - invoked a few times by Kozlík's wife, and present in the appearance of his children and their uncanny survival abilities - it both defies modern logic and refers to a particularly corporeal type of monster.

Vláčil structures Marketa Lazarová with sudden intertitles that refer to the events and themes that we are about to see, in a poetic way that recalls the chapter titles of a 19th-century novel. 'On the Lot of Widows' and 'Who in the Past Brewed with Hops' provide the vantage point of someone placed about the action, narrating it to us in a distant sort of way. The music is similar: both ancient and modern, it frequently uses atonal incantations. Taken together, it feels like this story is being shouted at us from a distant time when things were more tactile. "The presence of animals and plants, the textures of stone and tree bark, of snow and marsh water," Gunning writes, "cling to us as we watch, often overriding the narrative."

The grand experience of watching this film is partly contradictory, then: this is a film that feels very modern, tells a story from the past, alludes to contemporary struggles, and when situated in Czech film history is wildly experimental. Gunning sees this film as being, in some respects, a statement about what Vláčil thought cinema could be, in those days of the 1960s where most national cinemas were experiencing their own variations on the New Wave that had developed in France. The experimental aspects of the films of Godard and Varda would be subsumed into the traditional toolbox of cinema and lose some of their vibrancy as a result - either directors would use them for blockbuster films or extend them into a new type of experimental film that was sterile and aloof.Considering this, it's worth appreciating exactly how daring Vláčil was being here: under a Communist regime, making a film about paganism, bestiality, sadism, incest, and torture. With all this darkness, Marketa Lazarová is a bright film, even funny at times. Humanity is a fallen, self-destructive thing, but there is something about this way of life, before it was layered deep underneath civilisation, reason and enlightenment, that was exciting and vibrant.

Does civilisation mean we lose something of our potential? The final narration of Marketa Lazarová tells us that these cycles of mistrust and anger are likely to repeat through the generations, but is that a price Vláčil thinks is worth paying? The urgency and difficulty of life in the distant past was inseparable from the superstitions of the time, but the urges were easier to sate, at least temporarily. The taming of these clans, like the taming of the avant-garde techniques Vláčil employs here, might have been inevitable, but this film shows that there is something valuable there nonetheless.

#1001 movies #František Vláčil #Marketa Lazarová #Czech film #epic

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 1, chapter 7

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Content warnings: death mention

Morgan was surprised to return to consciousness. He hadn't expected that to happen again. He was lying in a rough bed, covered by thin sheets. His eyes wouldn't quite focus, but sunlight was shining through a window and giving everything a golden cast. It smelled familiar, like healing herbs - maybe Akara's cabin? Someone must have arrived just in time to save them from Andariel's clutches. His efforts certainly hadn't bought enough time for an enthralment to wear off. He made to sit up, but the pain that lanced through his arm cut that plan short. He cried out before he could stop himself, biting down on his lip to muffle the sound. Even that hurt more than it should have.

The priestess appeared beside the bed. "Finally back with the living, are you? Good. We've been worried. Drink this." She pressed a cup to his lips. He hadn't realized how thirsty he'd been, but he gulped back the water quickly. The cool liquid soothed his raw throat a little. It still hurt to swallow, probably to speak as well.

He risked a soft "Thank you," barely more than a whisper. It felt like his throat was lined with sand, and he grimaced.

"Just rest, hero." Hero? The confusion must have been plain on his face. The expression of concern had been out of character, but this was much stranger. Akara gave him a sympathetic, slightly worried look. "Don't you-"

Blaise burst into the small room at top volume. "You're finally awake! The great hero rises at last! I've been telling everyone how you defeated Andariel and saved us all. They'll be so glad to see you've pulled through!" She was making an unusual amount of eye contact. This was a cue, then. Despite the confusion of the situation, Morgan found himself relaxing a little. It was good to see her alive and well, although she continued to baffle him. Why would she lie about what had happened?

"It would be a treat to hear the tale from your point of view for a change," Akara murmured. Blaise's smile froze. She was, Morgan realized, banking on him playing along with the version of events she'd laid out. He'd already told her he didn't lie, so why would she involve him this way?

"I, ah..." He cleared his throat and regretted it instantly, wincing. "I'm afraid I... don't remember that," he said carefully. It wasn't a lie - he couldn't remember what had never happened.

Akara clicked her tongue. "I've seen this happen before. Poisons can wreak havoc on the memory. It's a shame." Blaise looked relieved. "Anyway, now that you've made it through the worst of it, I can get out and replenish my stock." She was already slipping a cloak over her shoulders. "Blaise, you'll keep an eye on him, hm?" It was not a question, and she did not wait for a response before leaving.

Blaise watched the door until the sound of footsteps faded away, then she turned on Morgan with a ferociously angry expression. "You're a complete fucking idiot and I don't care if you don't remember any of it. I'll sum it up for you: you decided to just jump up on Andariel like she wasn't going to destroy you in one second. Then - of course - she did. We're both fucking lucky that I managed to shake her stupid demon mind control and put a whole quiver of arrows through her ugly skull. Now tell me what in fuck's sake you were thinking when that seemed like a good idea to you."

Her sudden switch from cheerful to enraged was confusing and overwhelming. "You were enthralled, I had to try something," he blurted. He didn't know what she wanted to hear, but evidently it wasn't that.

"You should have tried going back for some fucking help! That's what any person with a brain in their idiot head would have done!"

That hadn't even occurred to Morgan. Given the prevailing attitude toward his brotherhood, asking for help from others was not usually an option. He would have rejected the idea anyway - it would have spelled her doom, which would have been an unacceptable outcome, especially when the likelihood of receiving help from the others was so low. They'd both managed to survive somehow, so why was she so upset? Maybe if he just explained. "As a follower of Rathma, my sworn-"

"Your sworn duty is to maintain the Balance. I know. I've heard your little speech. What does that have to do with anything?"

"The forces of darkness are gathering. I must do what I can to hinder evil and preserve good." Blaise just kept staring. Was that not enough explanation? Time to take it down to basic facts, then. "You're a good person, Blaise."

He was not expecting the series of emotions that crossed her face, most of which he couldn't identify. She settled on anger, which was recognizable but still confusing. He was also not expecting the slap that stung suddenly across his cheek. He winced. She was fast.

"What about now, huh? Do you still think I'm good?" Blaise's voice was low and dangerous. Morgan's eyes narrowed, searching her face for anything that would make sense of this. He found nothing. Why was she reacting so strongly to such a simple observation? Maybe - oh. Cain had mentioned Andariel's influence extending to emotional anguish as well, not just physical. That... well, that might explain this volatility but it wouldn't help him navigate it. He wasn't going to lie to her. It wouldn't matter anyway, since it felt like neither answer was going to be correct.

"Yes."

Another slap, harder than the last one. Morgan bit back a yelp. She had managed to hit the exact same spot, and he could already feel it beginning to swell.

"How about now?" Her voice trembled with anger. This was going nowhere.

"The answer -" here he flinched, closing his eyes in anticipation of the next strike. "- will continue to be yes, no matter how many times you hit me." Nothing. Maybe he'd gotten through. He opened his eyes hesitantly, only to be met with another slap. He made a soft grunt of pain, despite himself.

"You're a fool," Blaise spat. So she didn't believe his assessment. This could definitely be solved with more explanation. He just had to choose his words carefully. His cheek throbbed.

"I have spent enough time around you," he began slowly, looking at a spot on the wall. It felt safer than making eye contact. "To observe that you are loyal, brave, kind, and fair." He didn't dare risk looking over at her, so instead he continued. "I am an outsider with... few social graces. I keep company with the dead. You were ordered to escort me on an unpleasant and dangerous quest, which nearly got you killed." He paused to swallow, grimacing. His throat burned painfully, but he wasn't finished. "All things considered, it is reasonable for you to hate me. That does not change your nature."

Something else was beginning to occur to him. Blaise wasn't saying anything, so he forged ahead despite the discomfort. "And yet, despite all the trouble I've caused you, you still went to the effort of bringing me back here. To your healer. It would have been easier to leave me. Where I fell."

She snorted at that. So at least she had been listening. "And what do you suppose I would have told everyone then, huh?"

Morgan turned his head to look at her again, searching for some sign - was this a trick question? What was the answer supposed to be? He decided to go with the factual. "That I died. You don't mark the passing of outsiders here."

That earned him another scoff. At least it wasn't a blow. "Yeah, that would go over great. 'Hey, everyone! We defeated Andariel! Where's Morgan, you ask? Oh, he died in battle and I just left his corpse down there in the monastery.'"

A deep-seated emotion coiled around his ribs, squeezed like a snake. That wasn't what happened at all. Wasn't what would have happened. All the pieces of it were wrong. He could feel himself scowling, a visceral reaction to the feeling in his chest.

"See? That wouldn't be right," Blaise said.

"No. Not in battle," he spat. Ridiculous. It hadn't been a battle. He'd barely put up a fight at all. "He died a coward," he corrected, half snarling. "Screaming. Writhing. Helpless. Like a worm on a hook." He wished the poison had taken his memory as Akara had suggested. Instead, he remembered each terrible second with crystal clarity.

Tears had sprung to his eyes. Apparently he was also feeling the emotional effects of Andariel's influence. Recognizing that didn't help. He drew a shaky breath and raised his hands to wipe away the tears. A searing pain shot through his injured arm as he moved it and he choked back a cry, pressing the limb back against his side where it hadn't hurt so badly. He scrubbed at his eyes with his good hand, but when his fingers brushed the spot on his cheek where Blaise's hand had connected, he made another soft sound of pain. Gods above, why did everything have to hurt so much? The anger and frustration and embarrassment all boiled over suddenly, without warning. An animal sound bubbled up from inside him, a growl that opened up into almost a howl before being overtaken by violent coughing. That hurt too, of course.

Strong hands gripped Morgan's shoulders, sat him upright and rubbed his back as the coughing fit subsided. Shame burned hot across his face. He was supposed to be able to control his emotions, but evidently he hadn't completed his training as well as he'd thought. To lose his composure so completely, then get treated like this - like a child! By someone who barely even tolerated his presence, probably compelled by pity. He closed his eyes and lay back, wishing he could just disappear.

Blaise spoke softly now. "You're not a coward, you know. You were actually really good down there." A hollow feeling settled over Morgan. Now he was definitely being pitied. This was worse than the anger, harder to accept. People were often angry at him, and he was at peace with that. But this... this made him feel so small, and he hated it.

"Don't," he rasped.

"What?"

"You don't have to... soothe my pride." His lip curled. "I know what I am." Weak. Pathetic. A burden. "I will leave as soon as I am well enough. It should be easy to avoid me until then." That ought to please her, the promise of seeing him gone. He was certainly looking forward to being alone so he could work on regaining his emotional control.

"Listen, Morgan." Blaise's voice was quiet, serious. She sighed. "I don't hate you."

That... no, that didn't make any sense. Most people disliked members of his Order on principle, and she had more reason than most to hate him. Morgan opened his eyes to peer suspiciously at the woman seated beside him. He couldn't read her expression. Was this a joke? Sarcasm? Did she really mean it? A long moment passed in silence. He broke it with the barest whisper, "Why?"

"You saved my life, idiot. You almost died trying, I thought - Anyway, I didn't hate you before that either. I wouldn't say I like you, exactly... I mean, you're... not normal. But it's obvious you're trying to do what's right, and I respect that." She made a face like she'd tasted something sour. "I haven't been... I mean, I know I've treated you - fuck, and just now..." She trailed off, ran a hand through her hair, and tried again. "Look, I'm sorry I hit you. I shouldn't have done that. I just don't... why would you say... why would you think I'm a good person? I've never even been nice to you."

"You don't have to be nice to me to be a good person," he explained tiredly. Nice was surface-level, easy for people to fake. Besides that, impartiality was a central tenet of Rathma's teachings. It was essential to the Balance. Personal feelings and experiences could not be permitted to colour a priest's judgment. Removing oneself from the equation had to be second nature. Being treated nicely, or not, had nothing to do with it.

Blaise was making that sour face again, and Morgan didn't have the energy for any further explanation. He didn't feel like he had the energy for anything. Everything hurt and he was feeling a lot of emotions, most of which he was not at all comfortable with. He closed his eyes again. "I need to rest." He paused. "Thank you. For saving my life." No response came. That was fine. Silence was easy. So was slipping back into unconsciousness.

#my writing #story: unbidden #death mention tw

[collecting-stories]

Ultimatum - John B Routledge

Request: hey i just wanted to say i absolutely love your stories, especially your outer banks stuff! :) i was wondering if i could make a request with prompt 12 with JB from outerbanks ?? Kind of like the reader is a kook and she overhears him defending her to the other pogues but she doesn’t want to intervene so she leaves but then asks him about it later or something like that aha! :)

Request: hiii!! can u do a john b x reader where the reader is a kook and starts dating him but the group doesn’t approve of her and john b has to decide what to do

A/N: Angsty John B...sorry.

Outer Banks Masterlist

///

Kiara had been the first to audibly voice her opinion but you weren’t blind to the looks that Pope and JJ were giving you. And each other. If there was any sort of tribal law on the island it was that kooks and pogues did not intermingle. 

Occasionally, in the case of Kiara’s parents, a kook and a pogue might end up together but then their kids were stuck in a half-life and the kook parents was almost always ostracized. That was evident in the amount of years it had taken Kiara’s mom to get back into the good graces of the rest of Figure Eight. Even kooks with less money still had more money than pogues.  

Hatred ran deep and you were aware of that but you didn’t expect John B’s friends to have such a visceral reaction to the news that he was dating you.  

It’d happened kind of accidentally. While your dad was on the richer side of Figure Eight he didn’t act like a kook. Maybe that was because he hadn’t grown up in the OBX, he didn’t know he was supposed to act a certain way. Or maybe it was because he’d made his fortune brewing beer, not the surgeon, politician, or real estate mogul the rest of the kooks seemed to be. He liked hanging around the docks, chatting with people, and you had been down there looking for him the first time you came across John B.  

“You’ve got to be kidding me John B!” Kiara shouted, walking into the house and slamming the door. JJ and Pope both stayed behind but you could tell they were conflicted. John B and Kiara were both magnanimous personalities within their friend group. Usually one or the other called the shots but every once in a while, they fought and then Pope and JJ were caught in the middle.  

John B too, apparently, because he was staring at you, unsure what to do about the girl who had just stormed into his house.

“Just go.” You shrugged. All three boys got up, hurrying inside and shutting the door behind them as if you wouldn’t be able to hear them.  

“Kie, can we just-” John B’s voice carried out to the porch.

“Can we just what? Can we just all get along and have fun and chill?” Kiara bit back, “like hell! John B have you lost your mind, what are you thinking?”

“Pretty obvious what he’s thinking.” JJ piped up.

“JJ shut up,” John B waved him off, knowing that whatever comments JJ had would only fuel Kiara’s anger.  

“These guys are all the same! Like I don’t understand what you don’t get about that! A bunch of rich assholes that act like they like you and then stab you in the back. You think this means anything to her? You’re just some guy she’s screwing for the summer and then when she’s bored it’s back to kook life-”

“God Kiara shut up! You act so high and mighty but you are just like them. You don’t know anything about her-”

“I know what kooks are like!”

“She’s not just a kook.”

“Why cause you’re fucking her?”  

“No cause I love her!” John B shouted.  

You were still on the porch, back pressed against the wall beside the door, listening in on their conversation. Your eyes went wide when you heard John B say he loved you. Neither of you had talked love yet, it was a newer relationship and yeah, you spent more time with him than you did with your friends but you hadn’t thought too much about love. You didn’t want to be the only one over thinking things.  

“It’s been like a week man,” JJ pointed out.  

“It’s been two months.”  

“I don’t care how long it’s been, a kook is a kook. So it’s either us or her.” Kiara replied.  

“Are you kidding me? No. I’m not choosing.”  

“Us or her John B?” Kiara repeated, dead set on her decision that you were not good enough for her best friend.  

Her ultimatum seemed to be all the motivation you needed to finally leave the Chateau. You didn’t want to be around to hear John B decide that he was going to break up with you. And honestly, you weren’t sure you wanted him to make any other decision. You didn’t want him to give up his friends for you. You knew how important his friends were to him and you would never ask him to ditch them just because he wanted to date you. Still, you didn’t need to hear the decision.  

-

You thought about Kiara’s ultimatum all night. After you left John B’s house you expected to at least get some kind of a text but nothing came through. You thought maybe he’d decided that you weren’t worth losing his friends. And really, you thought you weren’t worth losing his friends, but you had heard him tell them that he loved you, that wasn’t some dream, so you weren’t sure what to expect. And the silence from him didn’t make it any better.  

By the time morning came you knew you needed to talk to John B. You weren’t sure if going back to the Chateau was the best decision but you didn’t know what else to do. You were afraid if you texted him, he would just end things over the phone. Thankfully none of the other pogues were hanging around when you pulled up. Just John B, alone on his hammock.  

“Contemplating the universe or...” you trailed off, walking over to him.  

John B lifted his head to look at you as you sat on the hammock he was laying in. “Hey, listen I’m sorry about Kiara and-”

“No, it’s okay. I uh...listen, those things you said yesterday, did you mean them?” You asked. You took his hand in yours, holding it in your lap.

“What?”

“I heard you tell them that you love me and I just...wondered if you meant it?”

“Of course, I mean it.” John B said, sitting up. The hammock swayed but your feet on the ground kept it steady. “I love you...it’s like, I don’t know, everything makes sense with you.”

“I love you too.” You admitted, leaning over and kissing him. You weren’t sure before he said it but after you’d heard him tell Kiara you knew you loved him too. “But I think we should break up.”

“What? No!”

“John B, I heard what Kiara said about choosing. They’re your friends and that’s way more important than-”

“They’ll come around!”  

“Maybe they will...I want them to. But I don’t want you to have to choose and I don’t want to hear you tell me that you’re choosing them.”

“I’m not choosing anyone.” John B insisted. “I’ll talk to them again.”

“I love you John B but I don’t want to be the reason you’re fighting with your friends.” You replied.

“Sorry but that’s it?”  

You shrugged, looking down at your lap. John B wrapped his arm around your shoulders pulling you against him and guiding you back to lay down. In this position he couldn’t see your face, which was a good thing because you didn’t want him to see you crying.  

“Can we just, lay here for a while?” He asked, pressing his forehead to the back of your neck.  

“I’d like that.”

-

taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife  @freckled-and-daydreaming  @chasefreakinstokes @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @howdyherron @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles @tragicmisfits @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27 @ssprayberrythings @dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox @belledutchess @poguelifeeee @jjsthumbring @faded-blue @parkerpetertingle @pogue-h

#John B Routledge x reader #John B Routledge imagine #John B Routledge fanfic #John B x reader #John B imagine #John B fanfic #John B fanfiction #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #obx fanfic #obx Netflix imagine #obx Netflix fanfiction #obx writing #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfic #outerbanks imagine #outerbanks fanfic #outerbanks fanfiction #collecting stories imagine

[lady-tortilla-chip]

Any zukaang headcanons?

Ask and you shall receive! :D Sorry it took me a couple days to write this, lol. I ended up having quite a lot to write so uh, buckle up. XP

1. Zuko and Aang get together because Sokka couldn’t watch the pining anymore. Though for Aang it wasn’t pining so much as waiting for Zuko to come to him. In contrast Zuko pined loudly for Aang. So Sokka, who was tired of it couldn’t help opening his mouth one day and expressing his frustrations over it. (I have alternative versions of how they get together, this is just mah fave thought atm. Let me know if you’d like to see those alternatives tho!)

2. Zuko deeply enjoys meditating with Aang, though typically their sessions are just Aang meditating while Zuko simply watches him. He enjoys the way Aang’s whole body loses every bit of tension and how peaceful his expression gets. Aang usually teases him about it but Zuko doesn’t mind as much as he claims.

3. When Aang gets a bit taller than Zuko he immediately starts cracking jokes about it. Zuko doesn’t really care all that much about their new height difference, though sometimes it surprises him to have to glance up rather than down, and he does occasionally return the sarcasm and sometimes even likes to demonstrate how inconsequential that height difference really is. ;)

4. Aang’s favorite thing to do when he’s not busy and doesn’t want to meditate is sit and braid Zuko’s hair. It was something he’d started doing soon following the end of the war. The first time he did it Zuko was confused and not quite happy about it. Though he dealt with it because then Aang wouldn’t interrupt him while he was trying to work. Eventually though, Zuko came to deeply enjoy having Aang’s hands in his hair and the braids he styled his hair into.

5. Aang insists on teaching Zuko old Fire Nation dances and Air Nomad dances! Zuko is not happy about it at first. The only dances he learned were the stiff formal ones expected of him to learn as a prince. He remembers hating every second of learning them and the music to which they were traditionally danced to was boring. But....Aang seems so excited at the prospect of getting to share such fun parts of both their cultural histories with him and he just can’t say no. So, he goes along with it. And...he does deeply enjoy watching Aang demonstrate for him. The movements, particularly for the Air Nomad dances, are fluid and beautiful much like the bending style. It’s incredible to watch and makes him feel somewhat connected to the Air Nomads through Aang.

However, watching is one thing. Mimicking said beautiful and fluid movements, is another. Zuko hates it. At first. It’s frustrating for him to screw up the steps and while he knows Aang’s not going to mistreat him like the person who had taught him the formal dances, he still doesn’t like failing. His frustrations lighten though with every bit of history Aang shares regarding the dances and their meanings and eventually he starts having fun. And the smile Aang flashes at him when he finally does a half decent job of mimicking him makes any other frustrations disappear as easily as they came.

6. Zuko and Aang both work with Azula through her rehabilitation. I have a very specific idea about how this works but I’m not going into all of that right now because it would be....long-winded. Lol. But during that time Azula becomes especially fond of Aang and even gives Zuko a serious shovel talk when Zukaang become a couple. With Aang she just tells him to take care of “Zuzu”. What she doesn’t say is that she’s, in her own way, happy for them.

7. Zuko and Aang travel back to the Air Temples together at some point before Sokka got them to work out their relationship. Aang is excited to show Zuko his home but it’s bittersweet for both of them. Zuko because of the intensely visceral realization and understanding of Aang’s loss that he has upon arriving. Something that had never quite connected for him was Aang’s status as the last Air Nomad with the fact that he’s also the Avatar. In his head those two parts of Aang became nearly separate entities. But being in Aang’s home, listening to him talk about his childhood, brings these two facts about who Aang is crashing together. And Zuko has to really deal with the reality of all that. Before, the Air Nomad genocide was merely a fact of history that virtually everyone knew. The horror of what Fire Nation had done to the Air Nomads had worn away with time even to the rest of the world. In the Fire Nation particularly, they were all taught it was a victory. A conquest. The first of many.

Zuko was taught no different. So seeing Aang standing among the remnants of his culture and the utterly empty spaces of his home, wearing the saddest smile Zuko’s ever seen on his face while retelling stories from his upbringing...it fills him with so much guilt and anger and grief for Aang he nearly suffocates with it. He nearly cried. He nearly shouts. But that is not his right. He doesn’t get to cry and scream over the injustice. Because the loss of Aang’s people was directly caused by Zuko’s family. So all he can do is lend an ear to everything Aang tells him. Soak in every word and remember every tale. Because Aang won’t accept the amount of apologies he wants to express.

That’s not hard though, because he’s glad to hear all about the true history there. And while Zuko listens he recalls every time he’d belittled Aang’s people and their beliefs, can’t help wanting to apologize to them all. So he does, quietly.

Then there’s Aang who’s most recent memory of being there was when he’d found Gyatso’s skeleton. A memory he imparts to Zuko later during their visit. Once again the reality of what he lost, and everything that was taken from him, hits him. He’s not sure he’ll ever stop being surprised at the utter quiet in the temple, or the emptiness in its halls, or sheer lack of life that used to abound. But he’s glad to have Zuko there, who listens intently as Aang tells him all about the temple and the wonderful people that had once resided there.

8. Aang inspires Zuko to become a vegetarian. When Zuko found out people ate turtleducks he was shocked and horrified. Then Aang brought up the fact that all meat was originally some kind of cute animal. Zuko was never able to eat meat again. Sokka hates Aang a little bit for it because he likes meat and the traditional Fire Nation dishes that featured it were some of his favorites. Now, it’s rare for meat to be served when he comes by and that is a tragedy he hasn’t forgiven Aang for causing.

9. Aang is not a fan of the servants. They’re fine as people it’s just...he doesn’t want to be served. At first, it was funny. Their insistence to “help” entertaining because they were just so SERIOUS about it. But eventually he grew tired of it and prolonged visits to literally anywhere else were appreciated for the break away. Zuko thinks it’s hilarious and even subtly reminds the servants to be extra caring towards the Avatar because he simply works too hard.

10. Even when Aang grows taller than Zuko, he prefers sleeping with his back pressed to Zuko’s chest. He likes aligning their scars, likes imagining himself as a shield against any further harm to Zuko’s front, and sleeps better when he’s held firm in Zuko’s arms. Zuko, while he didn’t say as much and teased Aang for his reason, likes the position because he likes being in place to protect Aang’s back. He didn’t before and though Aang doesn’t hold any of that against him, he still feels the need to make up for that in every way he can.

#The keep reading is there because this post ran a lil long #Oooooh wow I hope you enjoy these anon! #zukaang #ATLA #aang #zuko #YES they’re aged up here #ask #answered

[marnie1964]

Karate Kid/Cobra Kai survey

i'm gonna consider myself tagged

It’s the year 2021 and you’re obsessed with The Karate Kid. How are you feeling?: an unexpected turn of events but it's passing the quarantine, i guess!

Did you grow up with TKK or are you new to the series?:  to be completely honest, i don't really like the movies? i didn't vibe with them as a kid and when i went back and tried to watch them this year i couldn't make it all the way through.* i think they're well crafted movies, but i've never liked relatable young boy wish fulfillment (i couldn't even get thru harry potter as a kid), and i think the first one is guilty of burying the lede twice over with regards to mr. miyagi and later the relationship between kreese and johnny. and lucky me--these are exactly the areas that cobra kai delivers on.

*except for the third one, which imo is a camp masterpiece and also genuinely heartbreaking. it's the only one that allows daniel to be an genuine pain in the ass. i think i've finally figured out what the target audience for cobra kai is: people who's favorite karate kid movie was tkk3 (me).

We gotta do the basics. Favorite character: johnny! what is a man but a miserable pile of bruce springsteen lyrics? or aimee mann lyrics? or mountain goats lyrics? or otis redding lyrics? or--fuck, have americans ever written songs about anyone else? i have an unreal amount of good will towards this man and his late-life struggle for recuperation. he's the heart of the show both in terms of his relationships with other characters and in terms of zabka's chemistry with the other actors.

my deep dark double secret fave is kreese. he makes me feel real anger in a way that's usually reserved for characters in vince gilligan shows. i'm a bit obsessed with him and his preoccupation with johnny and later johnny's teenaged son (I Have Thoughts). the show does a great job of making what he did to johnny--and all the years and years and years of fallout from that--feel really real, which makes him one of the most viscerally despicable villains i've ever come across . it's unironically among the best portrayals of domestic abuse i've seen, may god have mercy on our souls. the decision to pop out from behind a fucking cardboard cutout of himself to scare daniel in tkk3 was also a hilarious galaxy brain move. aspirational stuff.

also--shout out to daniel-san. the writers really had to work their asses off to make him into a character that appeals to me, and i think they did a great job of it. he's a cringey tool who's capable of displaying a surprising amount of integrity under the right circumstances! he's tom wambsgans! he's pete campbell! he's wonderful i love him!

Favorite ship:  johnny & daniel (what if mysterious skin was a sports comedy??)

Underrated character: the True and Correct answer to this question can only be aisha, although i don't think she was actually underrated by anyone besides the writers. chozen is also lowkey my favorite katate child because c'mon, he had everything (spear fights! ziplines! teen death matches! formfitting disco-era polyester button down shirts worn with gold chains!)

Underrated ship (don’t say therapy, lol):  uhhhh... the only teen couple that could have been interesting is tory/aisha. they were cute together and their friendship rang true to me. it's that thing where you're the new girl and you're conventionally attractive, but on the inside you know you're a freak so you immediately gravitate towards the most obvious female outsider. i lived it, bay-bey!

i also think there are interesting things to explore with carmen and johnny's relationship. i don't know if the writers are even aware of it (i lean towards no b/c men amirite) but the entire premise of carmen's character is that she chose to live in poverty to protect herself and her son from a bad man with power. she's thereby the exact opposite of johnny's mother, who (at least by his understanding) married hollywood film producer shmarvey shmeinstein to provide her son with a better life. so, there's a lot to unpack in his attraction to her. also they're super hot hur hur i like sexy nurse thing hur hur.

Wax On, Wax Off or Sweep the Leg?: i can't look directly at it, but sweep the leg. zabka what the fuck man.

Which of Daniel’s dumb little outfits is your favorite?:  i don't think i've seen anyone mention this one yet, but the football jersey with the sweatpants. it makes him look so small and huggable, i wanna pick him up and set him on my shelf or something.

Character from the films you most want to return, who’s not Terry Silver: bring back ali's lesbian girl gang!!! or else--dutch. he was funny and iconic, i loved his exaggerated offended reaction to everything daniel said or did in tkk. also, i'm tacky so i'm a sucker for aggressively bleach blonde hair. the SCANDALIZED wasp couple standing behind ali and johnny in the spaghetti scene will also do. or terry's secretary (an mvp--i believe the original actress has passed away so in my heart of hearts she's portrayed by j. smith-cameron).

Scene that lives in your head rent-free: the whole character development speed run that johnny does from sweep the leg to crying while handing daniel the trophy to getting strangled in the parking lot by his beloved teacher. i'm especially transfixed by that last bit--what's the thought process of a man who decides to publicly execute his teenage student via strangulation? why did none of the many bystanders call the police? johnny is the real kitty genovese, prison for everyone.

from the cobra kai series proper: daniel's decision to greet johnny with a big hug after not seeing him for 35 years and never actually being friends with him (I Have Thoughts), the heinously creepy scene where johnny is repeating the cobra kai mantra for miguel and his entire disposition completely changes (demonic possession shit), and johnny's tiny go-ahead-and-kill-my-abuser nod (his face is so stoney after being so animated at dinner) coupled with daniel's shaky little sign of relief (macchio is really the cutest when he looks scared).

it goes without saying that every johnny & miguel scene lives rent free in my HEART.

Will Anthony LaRusso ever be relevant?: anthony becomes relevant for one (1) episode next season when amanda and daniel finally get around to putting him up for adoption.

You live in The Valley and are forced into the karate gang war.  Which dojo do you join?:  i enter the cobra kai dojo decked out in all of my snake-themed clothing and jewelry (it's a lot). i approach kreese and explain to him that the open mouth of a snake, viewed head-on, is a yonic symbol. i am permanently banned from the cobra kai dojo.

(seriously though, assuming i'm a teen in this scenario i think i would have vibed with tory/miguel/aisha. dimitri and sam would have driven high school me up the fucking wall though. the cobra kai style looks like more fun/better exercise. do i also genuinely believe most young girls could actually benefit from someone yelling no mercy down their neck? maybe so 💖)

What’s your training montage song?:  50ft queenie - pj harvey (it takes place in the alison bechdel feminist karate dojo ofc)

It’s the crossover event of the century! Which TV show are you combining with Cobra Kai for an hour-long Saturday night special?: it's a full episode flashback to the time johnny got arrested in albuquerque, new mexico. johnny's court-appointed attorney is a weirdly hot babe who seems like a super straight laced killjoy at first, but soon reveals herself to be an unhinged woman. one thing leads to another, and johnny winds up in bed with her and her loser husband. there are lots of great themes about punitive justice, people's ability to change for the better (and worse), and what makes someone "good" or "bad" to begin with, but mostly it's just really hot sex. the husband tries to sell johnny a prepaid cellphone and johnny tell's him that cellphones are never gonna catch on, cause who want's to be bothered by people all the time like that?

better call saul. it's a better call saul crossover ep.

(fwiw think that greg 'hbo succession' hirsch should also be terry's cousin greg on the non-roy side. think about it--the roys are small people, but cousin greg is really tall?? and who else is really tall, and a blue eyed brunette to boot? terry silver. it all adds up! this never becomes relevant to the plot, in any case, i'm just considering it canon until the writers come to my house and explicitly tell me i'm wrong.)

Tagging: anyone who's interested 😘

#cobra kai #tag game #johnny lawrence #carmen diaz #john kreese #daniel larusso #those tags are just so i can find my word vomit again god bless #about specific characters

[kirstinmaldonado]

CHAPTER TEN 2.0

I had a horrible migraine Monday night. It was one of those that you feel after holding back tears all day, or letting it out all day, it was centered right in-between the eyes on the upper bridge of my nose. My eyes sweltered under discomfort. The icepacks or a cool touch to the head, something my mom would always do (she always has cold hands), couldn’t even console me. I didn’t feel feverish at all, but the pain was sharp and pulsating like a nervous heartbeat, over and over, until I couldn’t concentrate on TV or anything anymore I just had to go to bed and hope I could fall asleep. 

I rarely get those kinds of headaches, that placement and severity. I’m usually fortunate to pass with dull, achey, temple headaches; and even my hangovers are never so pointed and jab-like.

My mom on the other hand, has dealt with migraines for years. I remember her pain as a kid, waking up in the morning wondering where she was, only to find her in the dark in her room, barely able to speak sometimes. I was always so sad to see her in such anguish, all alone in the dark. Silent. Still. While her head throbbed as if a brass band was playing “The Music Man” at too loud a decibel.

We watched a lot of horror films, my mom and I. In contrast to all the Disney films, I grew up on Jeepers Creepers, Scream, Final Destination and all the Freddy, Jason, true horror classics (yes, and all seven billion of their sequels). When she would be in bed, in the dark, we’d joke that she was a vampire needing her rest and that she needed to stay in the dark unbothered, and that lightheartedness to the situation made us smile and contented us.

Monday, Ben asked if migraines ran in my family, and though I told him about my mother’s constant battle with them the last couple years I was hoping mine felt more situational as opposed to genetic. Fingers crossed on that, and kudos to mom and those who get migraines for sticking it out cause they can be a big B-I-T-C-H.

I say situational, because it’s been A WEEK to say the least, with big things and confrontations happening in the public eye and in my own private life. The last two weeks have been incredibly eye-opening, painful, uncomfortable, moving, you name it. An entire rainbow of emotions (Happy Pride, by the way, cuties, I haven’t forgotten about you all).

I feel as if I’ve transformed into a new person with big, wide, new eyes, shedding some old skin that felt a little naive and a little out of touch with how the world, not should work, but how it’s REALLY been working. I’ve been talking to my black friends and fans, talking to my Hispanic family and hearing their stories, and talking amongst my friends and respected mentors. I’ve been doing some soul-searching and digging through memories of my own cop experiences (one, for example, at 17 with two white males [we were pulled over and eventually surrounded by 4 armed cop cars that got us out of the car, surrounded us, and wouldn’t tell us why] and wondering but knowing how that situation could have been if they were black), my jokes of being white-washed or assimilating in to white culture and not focusing on my own, and me coloring my hair blonde and wearing colored contacts not MY brown eyes for so much of my life and wondering what the intention of it all was for. Was it genuine or was I doing it to fit in, did I think it made me prettier, or more likable? Did I think or know that it would get me roles, because many ingenues or leading ladies at the time didn’t look like me?

At a point, at multiple points, all the things I’d uncover or watch in recent news had my stomach hard and in knots. Every new clip made me feel like I wanted to throw up, but I couldn’t stop now that I had SEEN.

I was confused. Hurt. Believing what I’d seen, but needing other facts as if I was missing something completely because it all did not make sense to me. How COULD it?

I apologize for all the reposts and rants, but I hope it’s stayed in line with being something you should SEE, regardless of if its uncomfortable or not, so that you KNOW what is happening, while also trying to call action to addressing the issue but moving FORWARD towards a solution. I don’t want violence on my page. But now it’s hard to turn a blind eye.

The organized BLM LA protest on May 30th changed my life. After the speeches, we wanted to continue marching, moving, using our freedom of speech and combining our white, brown, black, and all colors in-between of voices so that we could be ONE VOICE UNITED to be HEARD. 

I don’t think I went to the front lines because I was white-passing and felt safer, or because I was a woman so could be “less a threat.” I went because my black allies, who I didn’t even know, asked us to because the front was starting to get unnecessarily violent. I went because I had done nothing wrong and planned on doing nothing wrong. I went, in a way, to be an innocent. Because if I was in the front with no bad intention, the people beside and behind me would be okay.

As we walked through the crowds, their hands on my shoulders, their thanks, flared something visceral deep inside of me and I knew I was here to protect and mediate, and in a way, fighting against hate in whatever form as if I was a newborn Avenger. Someone cried out “I love this, this is what this movement is for!” and that has stayed with me as so many lighter-skinned protesters made their way to the front. Because that IS what this is for. Not to divide, but to unite to fight for justice against those that have unnecessarily been wronged.

I’ll never forget one black man that my friends and I urged to stay back beside us in the lines that had pushed to the front. He was angry. Upset. Hurt. Defiled. I’d never understood the pain the black community felt. But as we tried to reassure him, block him from the batons (from THAT COP), bring him back to the safety of the group, when I was hit in the ribs and the face as collateral because he would have been hit so much worse, the last thing he said as we pulled him back was “I want them to hear me.” And suddenly I felt holding him and consoling him was wrong, like I was a part of stealing his voice from him even though all I wanted was to keep him safe. Suddenly I felt so upset, so angry; although, of course, I’ll never even know HALF of that feeling as a non-black person who, to my knowledge, has never been treated differently for their identity.

I’ll never forget the way he said it. With so much hurt and pain, the anger fading in to just pure anguish and loss.

I felt like I’d silenced someone, so all I could do was get back to the front. It was my turn to be silent and let their voices carry behind me.

I’m sure you’ve seen the video going around, the stillness before the cops were ordered presumably to push the line back. While I can have a whole blog post of levels and steps they could have taken before the cop bashed through my canvas sign with his baton, you can look at the video and see for yourself. People getting hit because they were at the front, with no provocation. The man striking me with a baton, honestly probably because I had said openly to watch out for him, because he was showing a LOT of premature violence, because of how quickly he went after the man we were protecting; yet then only pushing the white girl next to me with his hand, even though she unfortunately was struck multiple times from another officer.

All awful!! All taken a step too far. I’ve never been more in shock. Ben was trying to pull me off the floor so I wouldn’t get stepped on. Our friends were hit by rubber bullets. Our other friends on another street running from tear gas.

The tear gas, the rubber bullets, the bruises and the ache have *I PRAY* started to leave Los Angeles as all the protests have started to become more peaceful and more organized. Since, I’ve been to three and they were all just, beautiful, and moving, each one getting better and bigger as the week went on. I carry a sense of pride and love seeing the aerial footage of all the people Sunday, and I think back to what my May 30 experience was compared to June 7th. I heard it was the largest protest yet. And while I felt like a sardine in a can, it was so packed, it was beautiful and it’s a memory I’ll hold forever!

I sidebar to say, I may no longer be cheering at the literal protesting frontlines with you for a while  — I must return to Texas soon for family so must safely quarantine  —  but know the fight for equality, for justice has not ended just because it’s not trending anymore! I think I’m gonna have to shackle myself to my house so I won’t leave, haha, but know there is so much you can be doing from your home! As my grandma said, after the protests which are the catalysts and the calls for change the REAL reformative work begins!! And the road is long! 

The most important thing, in my humble opinion, is to show up. To not be afraid. To ask the questions. To educate yourself through your friends with their experiences or through history.

Humbly, you must think, but what even can I do to help?

Showing up isn’t JUST protesting. It’s signing petitions. Donating to charities. It’s calling local reps. It’s doing the research and thinking, what can I do to lend my voice to help create a better world for all and doing it authentically if even imperfectly because deep down you also want to right these injustices and demand change! Do it in public. Do it in private. But do it because you believe in it!

I know everything feels a bit dark and overwhelming right now! The amount of times I’ve needed a “break” and then wanted to cry because my black friends and fans don’t get the opportunity to take “breaks” is countless. But your mental health is important for you to be the strongest ally you can be!

And if you’re afraid of backlash, understand that many are hurt. I know many feel nervous to speak up in a damned if I do, damned if I don’t kind of way. But EACH of your voices are, and have always been so, so important. And each and every one of you have an important say and CHOICE/VOTE in to where we lead our country!

Someone told me this week that although sunflowers follow the sun, when it is cloudy and dark, they turn to face each other and share their energy!

I don’t know if that’s a million percent scientifically accurate, but the sentiment brought me to tears. In times of darkness, we should all be able to lean on each other for support.

We can all be sunflowers in the dark. <3

Love you all.

#blog 2.0

[sunriseseance]

giRL WHAT DO U MEAN KLAUS IS GONNA SNAP EYE

ANON LEMME TELL YA 

Okay but also I am an English Major so that means telling you is going to involve an essay w concrete evidence. I will try to use the fuck word as to be more fun and approachable. Also, I’m gonna split it into two parts. First, things that happen in canon in s1 that I feel point to Klaus taking a turn for the, uh, worse; second, promo and interviews and other paratext that makes me think something strange is afoot. As much as I, as a postmodernist, love paratext, I still have to say that I think anything paratextual is less important than anything textual. ANYWAY let's get into it. 

Klaus, in season one, goes through a lot. Like a ridiculous amount. Everyone suffers, and has suffered, throughout the duration of the show but I think it is important to note how much of what Klaus goes through that we SEE. Luther was alone on the moon for 4 years, and we see maybe 20 seconds of it. Allison lost her daughter. Five went through decades of survival-isolation. Vanya was left out of everything. All of these things happen, by and large, off-screen. We see them dealing with these things, and acting in certain ways because of them, but the stuff that Klaus goes through is viscerally present tense compared to this. We watch him get tortured. We watch a PTSD flashback, and we watch his brother dismiss it. We watch, on screen, him lose the love of his life. We watch him go through withdrawal. We watch him fucking (see? I promised) literally die. I think that this is because Klaus, unlike the others, is being set up to get Worse. We see something sort of similar with Vanya, but it’s rehashing old traumas, not introducing new ones. (Vanya slashing Allison’s throat and Diego losing Eudora both are present tense and I do not want to minimize these AT ALL but Allison’s is something I think she will deal with in s2 given what we’ve seen, and Diego seems to deal with his in s1 at least in part).  Klaus seems to me to be experiencing shit that can push him over an edge. 

At the same time that he’s experiencing this shit, he is becoming much more powerful. We hear Reg say he has untapped potential. We watch him, 48 hours sober, accidentally making ben corporeal. We see him die and come back to life. And, just cause this is my disjointed post and I can do what I want, we see him use telekenesis. Straight up. I’m not talking about the dubious things like the briefcase exploding or the coin or the umbrella falling; in the club he uses his mind to locate the pill he threw across a room. The pill has the same aura effect as his hands do later when he summons Ben. That is, IMO, unquestionably him using telekenesis, and it happens right before Reg tells him about his untapped potential. 

So, to sum up, Klaus goes through brand new things in present tense, and he is getting wildly more powerful.

He’s also angry, and mean. 

Klaus has a lot of anger that I think fandom just straight up does not address. He shouts at Five in e2, he steals from a grocery store to get back at Five and Luther in e3, he is INCREDIBLY bitter about his siblings not caring about him in e4, he breaks the briefcase and starts a fight and kicks the tire of Diego's busted car and flips off Hazel and Cha Cha in e5, he gets angry at Diego for doing what HE asked him to do in e6, he mocks Ben for being incorporeal in e7, he makes fun of and causes sonic pain to Luther in e8, he has a (for want of a better word) freakout about them locking Vanya up for new and uncontrolled powers in e9, and he is angry about being sidelined to lookout in e10 to the extent that it’s what’s on his mind when he saves their lives via his new powers. None of this is invalid, I don’t think. He’s been through a lot. He is imperfect and angry and has spent a lifetime trying to be numb INSTEAD of angry. But, as he gets sober, that becomes less possible. He gets angrier and meaner the more sober he gets, thus far. Which I think signals that things are gonna get worse before he gets better. I do think he’ll get better, though, to be clear. 

Now, onto some s2 speculation. In season 1 Klaus expresses certainty that the Hargreeves will not come rescue him, and he was correct. He can see the dead and he is (maybe) sober. I think s2 will start with him thinking they left him behind to save the world, and I think this will motivate him to delve into his powers more. Experiment on himself, or let himself be experimented on, while stewing in anger and hurt that from HIS POV is legitimate. I  see the images and I see someone who is clearly performing, and also someone who is drinking again. He also is, crucially, 5 years away from being able to interact with the person he loved, and he thinks everyone he loves abandoned him.  I think he’s going to be meaner the next time we see him. 

Which brings us to some meta stuff: Klaus looks angry in every photo we see of him in s2. Even as he is actively doing a spin, he looks angry and sad. In the cover photo he is looking at the camera, while everyone else is looking away, and he looks GODDAMN mean. In an interview, Sheehan said that Klaus had a new addiction in s2, and I certainly think that could be using his powers in some sort of Snapped way (he also said that the comic thing he wanted most was floating. Not TK, but floating. Could be nothing, but could be something). This all means a lot less to me than the direction he’s being pointed in s1, but it IS interesting. 

SOOOOOO in conclusion: Klaus is being written as Still Dealing more often than the others, he is being written to have untapped potential, and he is FUCKING angry. I think our good bitch is gonna snap.

#The Umbrella Academy #tua meta #klaus hargreeves #I hope none of this comes off as dismissive in any way. I think all of them have struggled a lot #this is more about how the strugglng is being dealt with by the show

[aworldoffandoms]

51 + 35 with Bryce 🥺💕

Authors Note: Please don’t hate me with this one. It’s going to huuuurt. Bryce and MC pairing this time! I had fun writing for Bryce. It was different but fun. 

Hope you enjoy this fic, nonny! 💗

Prompt is: what are you doing here + don’t do this to me

Prompt is in bold.

***

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x F!MC [Nicolette Valentine]

Word Count: 1, 518 (give or take)

Rating: PG (for swearing)

Warnings: No warnings. Just angst. All the angst in this one.

Summary: Bryce comes to explain himself for what he’s done. Will Nicolette let him?

I’m tagging my OH tag list but please let me know if you’d like to stay on it or would like to be removed.

Open Heart Tag: @senseofduties @polishchoicesfan @princess-geek @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @binny1985 @fanficnewbie @x-kyne-x​ @thefluffyphotographer @lilyofchoices @thecordoniandiaries @rainbowsinthestorm @cxld-play @jens-diamondchoices @malakbesharah @hopelessly-shipper @my-heart-beats-for-ya @landofenchantedwonder @sabrinahoffersonsworld @flyawayboo @stanathanxoox @oofchoices @thequeenofcronuts @heauxplesslydevoted @bi-cookie @kingliamsbish @trappedinfandoms @supercoolperson0808 @perriewinklenerdie @riverrune

Disclaimer: All rights reserved to Pixelberry and all characters belong to them.

***

HEARTBREAK

Nicolette scrolls through her Instagram feed, liking a bunch of photos absentmindedly without actually looking at them. She has too much on her mind. Her heart aches. Her muscles are sore and she swears she’s been crying for three days straight with how much her face feels all puffy and red.

She’s disrupted from her idle viewing when there is a knock at the door. She heaves a deep breath before calling out to them. It’s probably Sienna or Aurora, however, she wasn’t sure why they were knocking considering they have keys. 

“Come in! It’s open.”

The figure who steps through the door is the last person Nicolette expects to see and her mouth twists in displeasure. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Bryce stands in the doorway awkwardly, his posture tense, the lines of his shoulders strung tight like a string pulled taut. The look on Nicolette's face makes his heart ache and makes him feel like shit again. Not that he already feels like shit. He hasn't slept in three days, he needs to wash his hair and the shadow on his jawline clues to the fact that he hasn't bothered to shave.

Nicolette stands for a few seconds, then steps back to let him in the frown still evident on her face. She pads over to the kitchen, Bryce following close behind. He stands on the opposite side of the granite benchtop so he was a few metres away from her spot on the other end, he didn't want to stand near her because whenever he does she flinches away from him.

The air is stale and thick with tension, the clicking of the clock on the wall the only sound permeating the cloud of silence between them. He wants to get rid of the heaviness surrounding them both so Bryce opens his mouth to talk, wanting to apologise about what he did. To find any excuse to make it better but he can’t. He knows what he did was wrong. 

He hates himself for doing it. He never thought he’d be one of those guys.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, the dirty strands sticking up after his fingers left it and swung down to his side to rest limply against his thigh. There wasn't any time like the present to try and explain himself. 

“Look, Nicolette… I know that I can’t say anything to make this better but I do want you to know that I love you and I—” 

Nicolette slams a hand against the benchtop, the sound reverberating around the room, making Bryce jump at the unexpected sound. Nicolette looks at him, her eyes shining with the unshed tears she promised herself she wouldn’t shed. Not for him. Not for this man who broke her heart so spectacularly.

“Don’t try and say those words to me after what you did,” Nicolette tries to make her voice sound not as pathetic as it does but she can’t stop now after she’s started. She’ll wallow in her heartbreak later.

“You broke whatever we had, Bryce. I loved you. I loved you so goddamn much that I was willing to follow you anywhere. Even follow you after our residencies finished at Edenbrook, to tell with everything else, but y’ know what?” 

Bryce swallows against the lump in his throat, knowing the words that will come out of her mouth. 

“That isn't going to happen...at least not anymore…” Nicolette trails off, puffing out a bitter laugh. “Guess the jokes on me then, huh?” 

Bryce watches as she runs a hand through her hair, the bags underneath her eyes more prominent under the fluorescent lighting. His heart aches for her a little more because he knew that he’s the cause of it. 

There's a smile on her face but its not warm. It's thin, lifeless and self-loathing. “God. Listen to me. I'm not the kind of girl to get hung up on a guy like this! I'm the youngest junior fellow in a world-renowned diagnostics team for chrissake! I am a goddamn amazing doctor and here I am heartbroken over some guy. Pathetic.”

Nicolette shakes her head, turning away from Bryce and closing her eyes, her thumb and forefinger against the bridge of her nose in frustration. 

Bryce's hands twitch to comfort her and he almost does, his feet moving closer to her before he stops himself. He doesn’t want to make the situation worse than it already is.

The heavy silence falls on them again and he needs to say something otherwise he'll never have the courage to do it. 

“I never meant to hurt you like this, Nic. It was just a moment of weakness. I don't know what I was thinking.”

Nicolette scoffs, turning around and pins Bryce with a glare so violent he has to take a step back. 

“You blame this on a short moment of missing clarity? What the hell, Bryce? You think I'm fucking stupid or something?”

“Of course I don't. I just want to state my case.”

Nicolette spreads her arm out in a show of letting him do just that. “I'm not stopping you. Please, enlighten me about this lapse in judgement not that it’s really needed.”

It wasn't lost on Bryce the amount of sarcasm that’s dripping from her tone but Bryce sighs anyway and leans against the countertop, clearing his throat to speak. 

“We were friends in high school and she just so happened to be in Boston for a tech conference and we bumped into each other at Donahue’s and we got talking, we laughed, we drank...a lot, and then the next thing I knew…” 

Nicolette’s fists clench at her sides and Bryce can see her jaw working against her clenched teeth. He really shouldn’t be saying things like this but she said she wanted to hear so he’s telling her. 

Bryce takes a deep breath, running a despondent hand through his dark locks, grimacing as he says the next words. 

“We slept together.” 

A sharp intake of breath is heard and Bryce snaps his head to the sound and what he finds makes his heart shatter all over again. He did this. He was making her feel this pain. Bryce could see the wave of emotion crash over her again and again. 

Bryce pushes away from his perch against the edge of the countertop and makes his way over to his girlfriend (ex-girlfriend?) and reaches out to comfort her but Nicolette recoils from his touch. 

“Don’t touch me.” Nicolette hisses, the venom in her voice thick and deadly. 

She moves over to the far corner of the kitchen, furthest away from him. She looks up at him, her face carefully blank but her voice plaintive. “Why, Bryce? Why is it you are having the guts to tell me this now when you could have told me a week ago? I had to find out from Danny...” Nicolette’s voice cracks and a small sob rips from her throat, tears tracking down her face in a steady stream. 

He rubs the back of his neck in a nervous tick. Yeah, keeping it a secret didn’t work well. Nicolette’s been shutting him out for the past three days. He didn’t blame her. 

“I know I should have told you straight away but...it just happened and it didn’t mean anything I swear. I never wanted to hurt you. I love you and she means nothing to me—”

Nicolette holds up a hand, her tears coming to a sudden stop as she stares at the man she thought would never hurt her, her green emerald eyes are iridescent in their beauty but also shows the pain of his words, the anger at his confession, the utter misery this has caused her. 

Bryce wants to throw up.

“Don’t…” Nicolette says in a dangerously low voice, the tone of it on the verge of cracking into something less dignified that she wants it to. “Don’t do this to me, Bryce. Don’t say those words because you have hurt me, beyond even you can imagine.”

Bryce flinches at the defeated tone in her voice and tears burn his eyes at the thought of this being the reason to lose her. He can’t lose her. 

“Please, Nicolette...I can’t lose you. Please.” 

Nicolette breathes out a laugh, it wasn’t humorous at all. It’s cold and shallow.

“Too late for that now, Bryce. You should have thought about how much I meant to you before you slept with another woman. Now, get out.” 

Nicolette points to the door, her face turned away from him as she shields her expression from him and he’s barred from those vivid green eyes that Bryce loves so much. 

He resists the urge to push, to beg, to fight for her but he knows that it’s a losing battle. Nicolette Valentine was a stubborn woman and she wasn’t going to budge. He has to give her time and time he’ll give her. 

Pain like tiny shards of glass pierces his heart as he steps away from Nicolette, and out the door. He walks down the hall and winces as he hears the loud, painful sobs of the woman he loves, the heartbreak poignant and visceral. 

He’s really fucked up this time. 

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