#anyways have some s1 for your wednesday

[tartt9]

@leagueprem [ keeley ] // sc !

"Babe..." Drawing the word out until it's almost a whine, Jamie's laid back on the sofa, clearly without a single intention of moving anytime soon. He's got his head propped up on one of Keeley's many throw pillows, with another one pulled against his chest, cuddled close in his arms. "Is there a new episode of Lust out tonight...? I can't believe Jordan and Samantha are still together. There's no way they're getting through this next round, right?"

[numptypylon]

“Rayla is… not my lovebug.”

“Oh ho, now?" Nyx leaned obnoxiously close, her eyebrows raising. "Have you told her that?”

“She told me," Callum said, angry all over again suddenly that... she actually hadn't told him that and yet they weren't- "So I’m tentatively assuming that she knows.”

“Oh ho? So she broke up with you and yet you’re still adventuring together, risking your lives for each other, making love eyes at each other at every opportunity… ah, to be young and in love and a garbage fire of collective awkwardness of such radiance as to light up the heavens-”

“Yeah!” Ezran agreed, walking up to them. Oh no. Hopefully Nyx would tone down the… everything… around an 11-year-old, but… considering he had been 14 himself when he’d first encountered Nyx, he didn’t have high hopes. “It’s gross and they’re so dumb, and here I am, a doomed onlooker!"

“You got the family braincell, I see,” Nyx said, winking at Ezran.

Ezran nodded sagely. “My blessing and my curse, ‘tis true.”

Really?! Did Ez really have to form an alliance with every new person they met to tag-team roast him?!

Nyx turned away from Ezran, her unwanted attention firmly back on him now. “I still need the full status update on my favorite dysfunctional lovebugs!” Nyx would keep prodding, and Callum didn’t want her to prod Rayla- “You know there’s another ex-lovebug who could tell me-“ Did he just curse that idea into Nyx’s head?! “But you’re currently the less puke-smelling option, so…"

Nyx really didn't subscribe to the idea of sensitive subjects you should keep your trap shut about.

“We… broke up. Like you said.” One way to say it. But he wasn’t giving Nyx any ammunition to use against Rayla. “Then made up. Kind of. We’re friends, just not… lovebugs.”

“Friends with benefits?”

“What friends do you have?” Ezran asked, all wide-eyed, vicious innocence. “Do you not consider friendship a benefit?”

“Hey!” Nyx looked insulted. “I thought we were allies against yon magus of maladroit you tragically must call brother?”

“My allegiances are many and inscrutable!” Ez stuck his tongue out at Nyx.

“’Allegiances’? ’Inscrutable’? Sheesh, kid, how old are you? And what awful, terrible company do you keep?!”

“11. And… politicians.”

“Oh no, you’re serious?! Oh kid, the depths of my condolences is one of them yawning chasms of endless screaming-“

“Oi?!” Villads yelled. “Matey? Riggin’ snagged!”

“I don’t hold court with betrayers, anyway,” Nyx said, incredibly hypocritically for someone who’d stranded them in a desert, and she pushed off the deck and was airborne, heading off towards the center mast.

“What is the benefit of being ‘friends with benefits’?” Ezran asked, looking around to Callum and then Soren, who had just arrived with Hat perched on his head. “The friendship is pretty obviously a benefit of being friends without having to say it, so I know it isn’t that, I just said that because Nyx was being mean.”

“Oh, I know!” Soren said, eagerly. “It’s s-“

“Sandwiches!” Callum cut him off. “Sandwiches, Soren! Remember?”

“Riiiiight!” Soren winked, exaggeratedly. “Sandwiches. Got it. Corvus makes the best bread sandwich, extra mayonnaise-“

“Please, Soren,” Callum choked. “Please, let’s… talk about something else. Anything else. Please.”

———

Excerpt from an upcoming chapter of my S4-6 between-canon-episodes fic, Downtime’s Up (successor to my S1-3 between-canon-scenes fics Downtime in Wartime and Upside Downtime)

It’s wednesday and I have many wips I want to work on and no time, but I DO also have a lot of stuff written and not posted, so… hope you enjoyed some overgrown pigeon time and depraved sandwich innuendos. Once I get past the next 4 chapters of Downtime’s Up, I have most of the rest of the story written, just… it’s been rough going to write anything lately

[lupeloto]

tag game wednesday :>

thank u for the tagss @creepkinginc @energievie @lingy910y @such-a-barbarian @mickeysgaymom @transmickey @golden28s @ardent-fox @milkovichrules i love doing these!

name: laurel🌿

last song you listened to: killer by phoebe bridgers🫣

artist on Spotify giving you the feels right now: noah kahan forever and always, boygenius forever and always

fave Blorbo Moment: such a difficult question... i mean i have an entire multiple-page document about him so... i'll just go season-by-season

s1 - "thought you were working today... i'll meet you there in twenty" orrr "i like 'em sweet" like okay girl omg

s2 - the eyes he gave ian while he was shotgunning the beer in the dugout (he's a slut)

s3 - him making little pizza rolls with his oven-mitt an the snacks and drinks he got for his date with ian someone sedate me

s4 - of course of course of course the cop-car-coming-out-scene (could cry thinking about it)

s5 - "sorry i'm late"

s6 - *internal screaming*

s7 - "whatcha doin' here then?" orrrr "you ever think about me?" (he just wants to be loved no one touch me)

s10 - "i definitely love one" orrr "you're so sensitive" (bc it happened it's canon it literally happened i was there)

s11 - oh nothing just him planning that whole party that was entirely based off of the theme of their wedding and recruiting all of he and ian's loved ones without ian knowing a single thing about it.... or "get it yourself, bitch...fuck are you gonna do?" like he ate

your guilty pleasure snack: i will eat seventeen entire bags of salt & vinegar chips

what food are you craving today: chipotle

last fanfic tab you opened: only one of my fav one-shots ever that i reread literally all the time - “so collect your scars and wear them well” by tinyinkstaunedbird

favorite fic project you've created: that’s hard hmmm prob “nothin’ bad” on ao3 or “michellan star pizza rolls” or “mother-hen mode” on ao3 orrrr my “pretty-huh?” ficlet on tumblr heheh

next tattoo you want (or would consider if you're not a tattoo person): i have a whole list muahaha

what's living in your head rent free this week: lots of the bear this week... need them to come back to me

i'm superrrr behind but i'll tag some peeps anyways @mickeyheartian @gallawitchxx @heymrspatel @michellemisfit @vintagelacerosette @scurvgirl @deathclassic @jademickian @stocious @auds-and-evens

[findafight]

WIP Wednesday Game

@eriquin I'll be doing this thursday and the weekend too (i'm posting this late as i JUST saw the notification) so even if you think it's late send an ask! make me write!

Rules:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

File names and snippet under the cut!

Chapters 11-20 (RaSEPSM)

fail b!lly/eddie to soft steddie

starbara s1

the party discuss the camera incident

joyce doesn't like steve au

Snippet from fail b!lly/eddie to soft steddie (this stupid fic has become way longer than i thought it would and i want it FINISHED.)

“What, no, you’re the only other person I’ve met willing to, like, acknowledge it.”

Steve looked confused. “What about the— your him.” he made an effort to drop his voice even lower than it was.

Eddie Snorted. “What part of I have shit taste did you not get?”

Steve winced. “So he, like. Kissed you and stuff? But then, what? Said “Just kidding!” like that makes it not count?”

He groaned. This was embarrassing, and Eddie never thought he would be admitting to it to Steve Harrington of all people. “More like…” he sighed, and stared up at the stars. “More like he would call me names after kissing me, like it was all my idea or he had caught me doing something, instead of him being the guy that pushed me against a tree and shoved his tongue in my mouth.”

“Ew.”

“Yeah. He fucking sucked, dude. Not even the fun way.”

tags: (i have forgotten everyone i know on this website oops)

@momotonescreaming @withacapitalp @thestobingirlie

[altf4d3lete]

Okay I’m not saying Tyler is the best option for Wednesday, and I definitely think you have great points regarding your Enid is the best for Wednesday post, but I think Tyler’s motivations are oddly parallel to the sense of justice you set up with Wednesday. Hear me out on this one because it might be a little bit complicated.

I think the Hyde and Thornhill have made it so Tyler doesn’t have any say in the violence he’s committed, but I do think the Hyde corrupts people possibly by feeding off what anger they have and magnifying it. It’s like the bad parts everyone has but magnified and ultimately corrupted. Also, Thornhill seemingly tried to seduce and groom him before deciding to imprison him in that cave, and I think when she showed him those files she used it as a way to target Nevermore the institution (and therefore everyone associated with it).

I think Hunter mentioned that his actions in season two might be motivated by the fact that he now hates outcasts because of what Nevermore did to his mother. That banning Hydes made it so one of the most vulnerable as well as dangerous groups of outcasts did not get the education they needed to stay safe. He was also mentally abused by Thornhill before getting his Hyde unlocked, and we’ve seen regular people get convinced into all sorts of stuff by abusers. Though it rationally doesn’t make sense, I could see Thornhill convincing him that what he did to Xavier was because his Dad convinced him to hate outcasts, which wouldn’t have happened if his mother didn’t get put away/died, which wouldn’t have happened if Nevermore “did more”, but that it doesn’t matter anyway because everyone at Nevermore deserves pain because they are complicit. I don’t think post-Hyde Tyler really has any say in what he does, but that pre-Hyde Tyler was groomed into thinking this somehow made sense. Then that little seed of hate Thornhill planted allowed for the Hyde to corrupt him faster, or at least made it so he felt he could only trust her pre-Hyde. So it’s violence in response to a perceived injustice, similar to what Wednesday does. The thing is, I think it’s partly a fault of Wednesday’s character in this rendition. Her belief that she is judge, jury, and executioner and needs no one else keeps her in an echo chamber where she doesn’t question her own violent tendencies and ends up hurting people she loves. They are comparable right now, which is why they get along in S1, but it’s because the Hyde also feeds into her worst instincts.

I agree with most of what you’re saying. I think Thornhill definitely told him that it was reasonable for him to lash out the way he did, especially after knowing what his mother was and what could have happened to her. However, my point was more that the fact that he assaulted Xavier in the first place proves to me that he had already justified it in his mind. And maybe at some point he regretted it or he was starting to change, but he honestly only seemed apologetic about it when there was the possibility of Wednesday being upset with him, so I doubt that was the case.

I do agree, I definitely think that Thornhill made him and his thinking and pre-conceived notions worse, and I think that he was groomed into hating outcasts more than he already did.

I also agree that the way him and Wednesday react to things is paralleled in some way, but their reasons for the way they act are not, and that’s the key point. Wednesday reacts to general injustice about outcasts and innocents being hurt. Tyler reacts to PERSONAL injustices. Kinda like the hero v villain dilemma, where the hero would sacrifice everything for the general population and for the greater good/general justice, while the villain would sacrifice the greater good and general justice if it meant correcting a personal injustice against them.

[eviltothecore13]

I have such mixed feelings on the "Tyler is perfect for Wednesday because he's a dangerous monster" thing because like. Yes there were some feelings between them (though iirc Tyler's actor said Tyler was attracted to Wednesday, and had some grudging respect for her, but didn't genuinely love her? and Wednesday clearly has SOME interest in Tyler but doesn't come across very in love for much of the show...), and yes in theory "turns into a dangerous monster" is a trait any Addams would like, but...

Tyler is bigoted against outcasts (despite being one), and worked for a bigot who wants to kill all outcasts, and Wednesday hates bigots. Bigotry goes against everything any of the Addamses stand for. Then again, people can change and overcome their prejudices and how they're raised. If Tyler learned to stop being a bigot, and directed the dangerous-monster-ness towards a more Addams-ish end... maybe. (I hope he does, anyway, simply because he is a teenager raised with horrible views, and he was abused, and I do think he should get to change--but "he should get to become less bigoted" and "he should end up on good terms with the characters he hurt" are different things, and it's the latter I struggle with more.) I can't imagine Wednesday forgiving him very easily. After all, he also attacked her friends (and we know she cares a lot about her friends and family, even if she often doesn't show it) and lied to her (and lying to your partner--or potential future partner--is one of the most un-Addams things you could do, next to being a bigot.)

Most of what we've seen of him so far is putting on an act, so it's hard to judge his actual personality, but...he hasn't really shown much in the way of common interests etc with Wednesday. Of course the same could be said for Enid...but at least Enid's been a good friend to her, is generally non-judgemental (e.g. her dynamic with Thing--where Tyler attacked Thing on sight because, well, again, outcast-hating bigot), loyal, and willing to fight to defend her.

Speaking of Enid: turning into a monster to fight to defend someone you care about is so much *more* Addams than turning into a monster to kill innocent marginalised people on a bigot's orders.

I don't actually hate Tyler as a character. He's done some terrible things--terrible by Addams standards, too, which some people seem to overlook as if all kinds of monsters and killers are the same--but it's s1, people can change, and he's at least not bland like Xavier. But as an actual partner for Wednesday? I don't see much to support it beyond "there was some attraction there" (sure, but that doesn't mean things will work out) and "he's a monster, Wednesday likes monsters, right?" But not every monster is an Addams. Addamses care about each other, they're loyal, they don't generally lie to each other, they stand up for each other, and they're no friends towards anyone who's prejudiced or anyone who hurts the people they care about. Unless he undergoes some MAJOR character development, Tyler currently seems more like Debbie--a monster/killer who COULD perhaps have been an Addams, if not for his prejudices and the fact he hurt the wrong people, but doesn't currently seem likely to actually become one. And I can't see much to recommend him as a long-term relationship for Wednesday over Enid or her previous potential love interests of Lucas or Joel.

[dracothelizard]

Anyway it's 'be deranged over teasers' Wednesday but IT IS ALSO WIP Wednesday!

Below is part of my set-up for Kinktober. It'll be canon divergence for s1 and also let me do whichever days I like with whichever pairings I like.

And obv it's a bit silly.

“Polyamory?” Nigel asks for the second time.

“Yes!” Stede tells him. “From the Greek polys, meaning ‘much’, and the Latin amor, meaning ‘love’! It means someone who has many lovers and much love to give.” When Lucius explained the concept of it to him, Stede rather liked it in a wistful kind of way. He can barely imagine having one person who loves him, never mind having several people like that in your life. But he feels that he has plenty of love to give, and surely he can convince Nigel of that?

Nigel stares at him, then at the crew around him. At Stede’s insistence, they did change into some jackets and shirts from his wardrobe.

After all, if Stede Bonnet is going to have many lovers, they will be well-dressed lovers. He has standards.

“And these… people are all your lovers?” Nigel sneers.

“Yes.” Stede stands a little taller. “And, of course, they are each other’s lovers.” He reaches out to grab Lucius’s hand to pull him closer. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

“Yes,” Lucius replies, looking like he’s about to throw up. “Yes, babe, the two of us are lovers and—so are Pete and I!” He lunges for Pete to grab him by the arm and pull him in.

“Yep!” Pete announces. “The three of us are lovers.” He gives Lucius a kiss on the cheek.

Stede yelps in surprise when Pete smacks him on the arse. “Thank you, darling! You’re always so demonstrative with your affection.”

“I didn’t want you getting jealous, babe,” Pete says. “Either of you.”

“How thoughtful,” Stede replies, watching Nigel’s face nervously. “But yes! Very important when it comes to polyamory.” He remembers the other thing Lucius said. “Because communication is key on this polyamorous love boat. As I always say, we talk it through…”

“As a crew,” the other chorus.

Stede beams proudly at Nigel, who looks like he’d like to throw up now. “See?”

[ssaalexblake]

Soap opera: picard ep 3

You know that moment? That moment where picard and beverly are standing in silence for a few beats too long to be comfortable across the room from each other (nice intentional usage of wide screen format, btw) and they didn’t score it so it really Was an uncomfortable silence? Half way through that silence? That’s where they should have played the eastenders theme (it is the most prolific and well known british soap opera). 

any of y’all who can vid??? bc that’d be iconic

anyway, the episode mvp’s were Sidney LaForge, Seven, Worf and Raffi. I love you all. 

Worf recently swallowed a self help book and i am Living for it. 

the good cop bad cop they had going on here was Impeccable. It is unfortunate that is perfectly juxtaposed the hyped up melodrama of the other part of this episode and made it look even worse by proxy. There was drama with these two, raffi’s a mess, the situation is dire (if not as immediate), but it was still personable and not over the top. There were even laughs! 

Like i get that they’re all stressed but you know that episode of snw when they’re first attacked by the gorn in that nebula? How good that was? How tense it was? How they didn’t rely on interpersonal melodrama with people being obtuse to manufacture excess drama because they realised it wasn’t needed with an already dire situation?

yeah. 

anyway i saw some comments @ the holo scene with Troi before i saw the ep and i was worried but it wasn’t half as bad as implied. I mean, that’s such a typical dudebro scene and my eyes are rolling so Hard but there was no sign deanna was in danger at any point in the birth. The baby can be in danger without the parent being in danger. Like, slower heartrate in utero can make doctors panic while the parent is still 100% healthy. Seems to me like they didn’t like the baby’s vitals so called Will but it turned out he was fine. (my niece did this. panicked a fair number of people for an 100% healthy baby.) 

i’m not even going to go Into the whole justification stuff here other than to say that if she was gonna do that, just have the decency to own it properly instead of whatever that was. If he forgives her in the course of this season I call bullshit. Nobody has that done to them and gets over it quickly, not after so much was lost that will never be recovered. If i liked either of them a lot, and if i shipped them properly, i’d be distraught over this turn of events. And before i get some smart ass saying she didn’t have to tell him, well Clearly she didn’t bc she’s not exactly under arrest right now, but everybody else has a right to think what they want of her for what she Did do. And it was objectively shitty to him. I don’t even like the dude and it grinds my gears. 

'you’re insane’ with seven @ jack after that punch dfjffdjfdkdkd the Line delivery here. That seven and jack get on makes total sense! no notes. 

 will gets points for lasting so long before telling picard to sod off, BUt, is it captain of the titan disease to not own up to your own orders??? first shaw and now will??? sure Picard was being an irritant but damn dude he who ordered it dealt it and he didn’t wrest command from you. 

Unless u meant what happened in the Last episode and not this once, which, fair, but instead i call bad writing bc you instinctually look for what they Just did and picard was actually right in that if they can’t run they have to fight back at that point, which is the Only reason Will actually did fight back, so yeah... 

if the entire resuscitation sequence starting from the turbo lift did not last exactly seventeen seconds i will ask them why they even bothered tbh 

the changeling special effects have certainly improved

tho i sense i will rue the day i never got past the halfway mark of s1 of ds9 

beheading day is on wednesday

worf i love you. You’re a much better intelligence officer than a lawyer. Yeah i rewatched the movie this week in ode to the Plummer family. 

if we see seven with a hair out of place next week we know she’s been copied. I figure that this point she has mess resistant hair. 

will telling jack to call him captain lollllllllllllllllllllllllll 

the portal warfare??? super cool!!!! 

i was both amused by Shaw noping out of captaincy and also irritated by it. Like i get it dude, but still... I suppose i forgive him for being potentially fatally injured. The man is a class A jerk in a situation where he’s not actually in the wrong and that always grinds the gears. 

hearing seven call herself commander hansen in a rote way was weirdly upsetting. 

but really. The drama of interpersonal relationships Added onto the drama of the plot was too much. The tension between picard and beverly. the tension between picard and jack. the tension between riker and picard. The tension between beverly and the medical staff. the crew side eyeing jack. too much. Tone it down. they’re all already injured, being hunted, AND you have a changeling sabotaging you. Too much at once. 

now my ideal seven and raffi spin off involves worf being on the cast as well. Before it was the two of them and Elnor and his pet cat. Maybe Miral Paris. If we can have a baby LaForge we can have her. 

honestly i would have had way less notes for this ep if the snw one similar to it wasn’t so recent and so much better lol

anyway, i hope next week’s one won’t be as.. much... as this. 

[tuiyla]

Just saw a gifset you reblogged and the gears in my head started turning and I remembered some stuff from when I was googling timelines and the like and frok watching stuff, you get it. So here's some things that I find kinda fun

Season 1 btvs aired in March and in the same month Scream 2 was also greenlit. Scream 2 started filming in June, the month season 1 btvs finished airing. Which is fun to me because Sarah Michelle Gellar is in both btvs and Scream 2 (apparently she signed onto Scream 2 without reading the script because of the success of the first scream film but I've not seen the interview so can't confirm). She also stars in 2 live action scooby-Doo films (Scooby-Doo (2002) and Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed (2004)) along with Matthew Lillard who played Stuart in the first scream film. In Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed Seth Green plays plays Patrick; Seth also played oz in btvs. And this is all very fun to me you see.

Also, only tangibly related, in Scream (2021) (AKA scream 5) and Scream 6 Jasmin Savoy Brown plays Mindy. In Yellowjackets Jasmin plays Tai and Christina Ricci plays Misty. Christina played Wednesday Adams in 2 Adams family films (The Addams Family and Addams Family Values). She was also in netflix's Wednesday where the tituler character (who is the same Wednesday that Christina played in the 2 previously mention Addams family movies) is played by Jenna Ortaga. Jenner Ortaga stars alongside Jasmin in scream 5 and 6. Again this is just very fun to me.

Also also in a previous ask you said how you kinda enjoy monster of the week and me too!!! like some times an all-consuming overarching plot is just a headach and sometimes it's nice just to have a different random dude doing a kinda different thing each week while still getting a bit of character development for the main girlys.

Also also also I've only seen a few early episodes of btvs (it's been on my 'to watch' list for like a decade now) but I couldn't remember who Xander was until I saw you calling him annoying and then I instantly remembered, which isn't great for his character in the first, and maybe quite possibly second, season I don't think...

Anyways sorry this is long as shit and may not make sense, love ya xoxo💖

Heya bestie, sorry it took me a while to get to this. I loved reading your message! These sort of thought trains are exactly my kind of deal haha. Very fun to me too. I started thinking about how to tie Buffy and Glee together and the best I could come up with was through Veronica Mars because Alyson Hannigan and Charisma Carpenter were both recurring on there and Jane Lynch and Dianna Agron guest starred. Boom!

Now that I'm further along with BtVS I do think its overaching stories are done well and make for better episodes than the Monster of the Week formula but I'm glad they don't completely abandon it because it is fun. I see what people say about s1 in terms of it being different than the rest of the series but I still look back on it as entertaining and I don't find the episodes people consider to be tedious bad. I actually really liked The Pack and even the puppet one. The character development is overall strong on BtVS so as long as we have that I don't mind if a lot of episodes aren't about the given Big Bad of the season. So yeah that is to say I think Buffy is probably up your alley! It was on my to watch list for a looooong while too but I'm very glad I finally got around to it.

And yeah Xander lmao, well to be fair I think people expected me to loathe him and I kinda don't? I have a well overdue ask about him but being halfway through the series I maintain that he is annoying but have gotten better and I can appreciate aspects of his ch. If anything I think his douchebagery peaked (so far) in late s2/very early s3 and now he's rightfully taken his place as Just Some Guy. I might eat my words later on if he becomes Finn Hudson levels of annoying. I doubt it though. (Unless he outs Willow and acts as the hero afterward in which case I hope he perishes <3)

[iangallagherisadeadman]

correct BUT some things to adress.

was it november? cause yes even though you can not read the month in the calendar S1E1, we can conclude it was november because of the disposition of the days to the weekdays.

fiona puts her finger in the 15 and says to everyone that electrics is due. so, is it nov. 15, 2010?

first day of the episode, at night, Fiona sleeps with JimmySteve.

next scene in the episode it is morning and Fiona takes Liam to work at the motel, and the following scene is Frank at the alibi announcing to Kev it is disability day.

how come? disability day should be the last friday of the month. either theres a lot of days in between the night Fiona slept with JimmySteve and the day of this scene and they decided to jump like 10 days, making it nov. 26, or! it is december and Frank received it earlier cause the last two fridays would be dec. 24 and then dec. 31.

then, in the next scene it's morning and Steve knocks at Fiona's door asking her if she has plans for friday. Lip comes into the scene and says he's not in school cause he had some teeth pulled out.

the first day of the episode, we learn that Lip has/had dentist at monday.

is it monday dec. 20 and Lip went to the dentist and Frank received because of december and there was a jump of like 5 days? but then JimmySteve is a Freak and asked Fiona out chritmas eve? or

is it nov. 22 monday and lip had dentist and theres no explanation as to why Frank received it already?

first episode wasnt nov. 15 monday and they for some reason only god knows wanted to pay the electric bill earlier, hence why this print says "pay electric today!"?

but then! next scene, same day, same clothes, jimmysteve from "the other night". that mean there couldnt be a jump of days from kitchen sex scene and this one?

my theory: Fiona sleeps with JimmySteve dec. 15, we don't see dec. 16, dec. 17 friday Frank receives his check and JimmySteve is a freak who actually wants to know Fiona's plans for that night not christmas eve, Lip rescheduled his dentist, dec. 19 sunday Fiona has dinner with JimmySteve and dec. 20 monday they wake up together, breakfast scene, "15 minutes before school, tops", which would make sense cause S1E2 they got alarmed that Frank didnt showed up for his disability check which comes in the last friday of the month, which would be jan. 28, and thats a match for the rest of the season and so on. and I refuse to acknowledge their calendar and will follow mine always cause S4 happened like three weeks after S3, yet S3 finale is december 23 i think 2012 and every single calendar in S4 says it is 2014.

then, about their birthdays:

Debbie tells Fiona S2E4 that her birthday is in october. then, S4E8, her virginity countdown says her birthday is in july. then, S7E9 Debs tells Monica her birthday is in december. so, whatever your heart says?

my take: S2E4 first fiona sends a text which reveals its aug. 10, wednesday, 2011.

but then, same day, carl is hanging with little hank and

then, same day, theres this dialog:

most public schools in the us start classes in september and in chicago classes start on the first tuesday after labor day. 2011 labor day was on september 5. so this episode is in august, two weeks before sept. 6. that would be aug. 23 tuesday. proving again their calendars are never right and mean shit nothing. anyway!

later, theres this.

so Deb would have be born october 1999.

it also happens with Fiona: S4E10 says in her police file that she was born aug. 12, 1986, but that can't be right cause she says S4E12 that she's 23, and the file says she was arrested on february 24, 2014, but that's wrong cause chronologically she was arrested march 2013, and the day she was arrested was her birthday as Mike came to give her coke and the following episode she says to a cop or her parole officer that "yesterday was my birthday". so again, whenever you want it to be? i like aug. 12, and she was 21 at s1 that is end of 2010/begining of 2011 so she would have been born august 1989.

This is so random but I cant stop thinking about it but what year do guys think the Gallagher siblings were born?

[uncouth-the-fifth]

(you are a) natural, baby - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Virgin!Sam Winchester/AFAB!Reader (vaguely s1 or 2) Tags/Warnings: blowjobs, deepthroating, Impala sex, whiny/submissive Sam (with hints of the opposite). nothing too insane. yk the deal. Word Count: 11034 Notes: hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii. i've been. thinking about sam lately. and i MAY or may not have had the most vivid wet dream of my life... which may or may not have inspired this slightly........... enjoy! there will be a sequel btw ;) for plot's sake, yes, Sam is 23 and is still a virgin 🍾 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

You couldn't believe your luck.

You notched the car into park, lips parted in disbelief. Holy shit. Rain bore down on the car from all sides, making an already dark night impossible to walk in, nevermind drive. Baby—or the Impala, you corrected yourself, since Sam always poked fun at you for picking up Dean's little nickname—had puttered out her last huff of warm air a few miles back. That left at least another hour’s worth of driving until you were back to Dean, who was waiting back where your present job was. There was no way you could get back in this weather. It'd be past midnight soon anyway, so…

You played your fingers on the wheel. Bent over it, squinting at the rain. Slumped back in your seat. All the while, Sam watched you go through the motions passively. He already knew what you knew: you'd have to camp here for the night. Just the two of you. Alone.

The universe had done everything short of smashing you together like kissing barbies. In this week alone, the messy line of feelings between you and Sam had been tested at least a hundred times. It was obscene. Ever since Sam's twenty-third birthday, all the forces of nature had woken to remind you at every turn how stupid horny you were for him. Sam was no longer the beanpole you could easily throw while sparring; there was a man in your passenger’s seat, a good deal taller than you on miles and miles of leg, with handsome, veiny arms and a lap made for sitting in. Your childhood crush had been nursed so long that it'd grown into love. But now that you were a twenty-five-year-old, full-time hunter, there was little room for a childhood novelty. You had instead made space for a covetous, needy desire that the universe loved to throw in your face.

Monday. Sam had helped Dean out with one of the less-than-junk cars in Bobby's yard, bent up under the bonnet, sweat and grime making his tee cling to the landscape of his back. And Jesus, what a landscape it was… Sloped and firm with experienced, long-developed muscle. Tuesday. Dean got on the subject of blowjobs, and Sam immediately got off the subject. Significantly, you learned he's never had one. Your mouth watered just sitting next to him. Wednesday. You risked using the last towels in the pile for your shower, each just big enough to close and cover your modesty—if you don’t stand up straight. Sam caught you coming out of said shower. He looked, looked some more, and you sniped at him for it around the saliva building in your mouth. All you wanted to do was claw his jeans around his ankles and blow him until he forgot his name. Sam lingered like he wanted the exact same thing, and both of you pretended to ignore the tent in his pants. Thursday. Sam coached you in long-bowing. You stood just inches apart in an empty field, Sam's shoes between your in the grass, and you fucked up every damn shot because Sam's massive hands were on your waist and your hips and in your belt-loops. He'd lean in until he was almost kissing the shell of your ear and say, S’ alright. Just focus on your footing. You're doing great, even though you hadn't hit a single target. Friday. You, him and Dean left for a North Dakota case. You had to share a bed with one of the boys, and Sam reminded you what sharing meant the whole night, huffing soft moaning breaths against the back of your neck in his sleep.

You resist the urge to clamp your thighs together. It'd been freezing cold in your room and you’d been sharing beds since you were young; to have just your backs pressed together was impressive. At one point, you turned over and Sam stretched back to meet you, his warm spine flush to your chest without hesitation, flaying you instantly. He’d seeped back into the mattress as content as could be. You resisted the urge to run your fingers through his floppy hair, or caress the smooth strip of flesh that the seam of his shirt didn't cover. You failed at the first—but to be fair, Sam's hair was in your face and it was annoying you and you had to be close, because the room was so cold. And your hand just ended up there. And then it ended up under his shirt, your nails stroking his stomach, because Sam was a tease who'd dragged your arm around him in the first place. He'd been shaking, it was so cold. You couldn't just let him freeze. Regardless, it was hard to say no to him when he was smoothing your palm against his ribs like that.

“Think we can make a run to get the blankets from the trunk?” Sam invited. “I can do it if you give me the keys.”

You wanted to say more to that, but you settled instead on taking the keys out of the Impala and dropping them in Sam’s waiting hand. “Thank you,” you murmured, and Sam bobbed his head once before braving the weather.

He was gone for less than a minute, but the clinging silence that rang in your ears could’ve gone on forever. The rain pounded across the car with a vendetta, plunking off the metal and hammering over your empty parking lot just as hard. It raced down the glass fast enough to make the outside world a shimmering blue mirage. Sam’s figure was a darker silhouette closer to the glass, and you busied yourself putting a sweater on as he dove inside.

“Dammit,” Sam cursed. He knew better than to shake his hair out on Dean’s good leather, so he tossed down the blankets in between you—and there was a generous gap—to hunt around the backseat for a towel. The amber streetlights gave you just one glimpse of Sam’s rain-streaked face. It shouldn’t have flushed your belly with want as much as it did, but that’s half the reason you were in this mess.

“S’ bad out there,” you said, obviously. Sam agreed with a hum, and together you sorted yourselves for relaxing before you slept.

Before, you’d had the car on and the heater going, so you were mostly okay with your jackets tossed in the backseat. Sam had on a tee and a moss-colored sweater to keep him warm, and you had the thought of his firm muscle underneath those layers to keep you warm. Though more cold had seeped back into the Impala, you didn’t put on your jacket, toeing off your boots in the footwell. You piled on your blankets and curled up against the seat, Sam doing the same. He hadn’t put his jacket on either.

You shared a glance. Well, it was more like Sam was already looking at you and you caught him, flushing up to your ears. “There’s no way we won’t make it there til morning,” he said, “I’ll text Dean.”

“Good idea,” you agreed. You brought your legs closer to your chest, bumping Sam’s thigh with a stray foot. To your surprise, he glanced up at you at the contact, and again you found one of his coy glances. You couldn’t believe it. Was he...?

All four burners in your body flicked onto a simmer at the same time. You bit your lip, taking him in as he was illuminated by his phone’s screen, wet twisting curls of hair in his eyes. “S’ okay. I don’t think Dean will care, with how slow this case is going. Though I can guess why you’re so eager to get back,” you tested the waters with a sly smile. “That witness—Miss Checknik, she was really aiming to get you alone, huh?”

Sam was still raw from Dean pressing his buttons on this, so he was shier than usual when he mumbled, “It’s… not like that… I’ve never even done that before.”

“What?” you blurted. “Had sex?”

Sam’s gaze snapped up to yours. Around you the rain roared, but you still caught his subtle hitch of breath. His pause went on for another telling amount of time, until Sam’s ears were red too. “...It’s not like you have either,” he muttered.

This had to be on purpose. You tossed an arm over the back of the seat, knuckles against your cheek and a growing, sly smile on your face.

Sam sat up. “You’re kidding. Really?”

You slouched, huffing. “What, is that a surprise or something?”

“No,” Sam spoke a little too quickly, like he’d been thinking about it. He swallowed. “No, not at all. I was just…”

You wet your lips and let your eyes drift over him. Sam sat stiff in your passenger's seat, legs crossed a little too tightly, his hands folded together over his lap, hiding a building, jealous hard-on. A muscle jumped in his neck. The shivery warmth that reigned over you every time Sam entered the room conquered you again, watching him squirm, and you couldn't help but do the math. You could… you could make an offer. If he said no, that was fine. All you’d have to do was endure a night's sleep in the car with him then a few awkward days afterward—but you and Sam had done that dance a hundred times before, after kissing for spin-the-bottle or getting caught lusting after each other, so maybe this was it. This week had been filled with omens.

You went all in.

“We travel a lot and it relieves stress, so… I’ve picked up a few dates. Bar-flings, heat-of-the-moment stuff with hunters, every once in a while.”

You risked a glance at him through your lashes. Sam had inched closer to listen, just enough for you to notice, and was clearly trying to sculpt his face into something less interested—but his eyes were glazed and his attention was rapt. You had him right on the hook.

Sam swallowed. His voice was thick with arousal. “I, um, didn't know that was your thing.”

You shrugged, “I don’t enjoy it as much as Dean does, but yeah. The guys I pick up, I mean—they’re okay. Most can't find their way around a bra, never mind… well, y’know. You get what you can get. But the other parts, the fun parts of sex…” Even you were blushing at how dirty your smile felt. “I'm real lucky, Sam. Most girls don't get off making their partners happy, but I do. It's… made me real good.” You twisted so your chest was pushed toward him, feeling yourself ache in your jeans. You hushed coyly: “I’m told I’m a real natural with my mouth.”

“Really.” Sam repeated. He sputtered out a half-hearted chuckle. His cheeks had gone all cute and ruddy with a blush, exposing the lighter moles on his face.

“Really,” you promised.

The look on Sam's face went beyond teasing, now. You’d told yourself you were just messing around with him, but Sam was twitching in his seat, suddenly unable to sit right, and all the years of play-flirting had apparently stacked too high. Something hot and magnetic had brought you closer and closer together in the Impala’s front seat. Sam was frozen like he wanted to crawl out into the rain and disappear—always so shy, so easy—but something else rooted him to the spot this time. One more motion and you could close that measly gap blazing between you, get his skin pressed firmly to yours. Your arms and back and belly crawled with a phantom itch, and Sam's hands looked so perfect and big that you knew they could fix that feeling. Your mouth felt wet and lonely. Sam's was right there, panting as he waited for you to do something.

“Have you really never had sex before?” You filled Sam's flushed silence. You scrutinized him, brows furrowed with sympathy. “Not even a blowjob?”

Sam's whole body hitched like a slow to start engine at the word. He temporarily forgot himself, choking on his breath and roaming his sweaty palms across his thighs—uncovering, for just an instant, the outline of something firm and big in his jeans.

Still, Sam's eyes couldn't shake yours.

“Um, no,” Sam admitted. “Never had t-the… opportunity, I guess. Or the right person.”

“Would you?” You scrambled to let the words loose, then resettled in your seat, lounging back and stifling your excitement. Sam's dick. Sam's big, virgin dick in your mouth. “If the right person…” you gestured vaguely, like this was still at all a hypothetical, “gave you the opportunity?”

It took Sam a second, eyes flickering fast over your face beneath his bangs, but eventually, he gave a single short nod.

A nuclear reactor’s worth of heat sizzled up from your toes. It bubbled out of you in a pleased, purring sigh, and you could barely suppress your grin, your butterflies, your nervousness, when you crawled into the cold space beside him on the bench. You leaned in slow by his ear. Your nails played across his thudding pulse, his taut neck, spurring Sam’s breaths into gasps. At an agonizing pace, you dragged your soft nails behind his ear, to the tingling nape of Sam's neck, and relished in the feel of his flesh like a vampire as you stroked him there. The blunts of your nails scratched gently at his hairline. Sam squeezed out a soft moaning sigh, so sweet and trusting that you closed your eyes to soak in it all the way.

After a few strokes of your nails to Sam's shivering skin, you fanned your warm breath down his shuddering collar and barely kept yourself from moaning in his ear: “I’m real smart with my mouth, Sammy… I could make your first time good for you. Better n’ good, even.”

He sat there in utter disbelief. Sam breathed hard, and now that your hand was on him, his squirming had stopped. After a deep, weighing pause, Sam removed his hands from his lap and slid them down to his knees instead, tasting the growing appetite in his mouth.

“...What would it feel like?” The rasp in his voice made you instantly wet.

You flushed. “You want me to describe it to you?”

Sam gave a shy shrug of his shoulders, playing innocent, but that clever smile of his had been haunting you all week. He knew precisely what he was doing. “Never had one,” Sam reminded.

The car was suddenly boiling. You had kicked off your blanket a long time ago, and so had Sam, which left you in layers that neither of you wanted anymore.

“Well,” you breathed out, amused. You gave yourself room to undo your coat, and Sam hung on every motion, making each exposed inch of you feel needy and overheated. “I really only know it from the giver's point of view, but, um, it's really fun for guys. I'm sure you've heard other men talk about it before. Unwinds your whole body and blows your mind, done right,” you talked as you shed your coat. “If they made it sound easy to give a good blowjob, Sam—it’s not. You have to know what you're doing, how to read your partner… know what they like… luckily for you,” you hummed, “I've never had a complaint.”

Sam nodded after nearly everything you said, unsure where to settle his hands or what to say. He looked more demure than you’d ever seen him, and it was so cute to you it was almost unbearable. You could imagine him making that exact face at you with his wet dick pushing into the inside of your cheek—all bashful but desperate, hinged on your every word, your every lick. The thought of all the pretty sounds he'd make when you blew him left you on sensory overload, and the only thing that would fix it was Sam kissing you breathless.

It struck you that Sam was really gonna let you do this for him, after years of him caring too much about you to let you take care of him. You were left with a peculiar rush; Sam trusted you.

“Blowjobs are… all the good bits of kissing and jerking off put together,” you explained. You settled back where you’d been before, hanging on Sam's shoulder and talking filthy in his ear as he quivered with want. This time your nails drew circles on his collar, and Sam surprised you by squeezing his hand around your thigh to steady himself. You could've cum on the spot. A flood of heat burned down your gut and throbbed between your legs, soaking your underwear clean through.

You’d never stopped looking at each other, but your faces were closer than ever and the eye contact felt explosive. It was dark but for the streetlight, and quiet but for the endless rain, both aspects of life you saw every day—monsters in the dark and a storm banging on the car. But with Sam there, these everyday mundanes felt… romantic. Passionate, like the movies. His eyes were this beautiful, soft fawn brown. You couldn't wait to see that slip of color admire you from between Sam's thighs.

“The girl, she’ll…” your mouth flooded with drool. “I’ll get down on my knees for you,” you corrected, boldly.

Sam sucked in a shaky breath, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you rasped. “And I'll get nice and comfy there, because I'm gonna waste as much time on you as I can…”

Your hand graduated into his hair again, since Sam forgot how to breathe each time you did it, and with it occupied you lingered on his face. Sam looked piss-drunk with lust; his head was on a swivel, lolling in whatever direction you went, his lashes fluttering low on red-patched cheeks. “I'm gonna take my time getting your pants off, y’know, tickling your legs.” A particularly dirty thought occurred to you, and it must've shown on your face because Sam's parted lips opened further. “Maybe, if you wanted, I could do this little trick I learned with my teeth… open your fly that way. You want that?”

Sam's eyes flicked down to your mouth, thinking. “I do,” he bobbed his head, “I really do.”

“Okay.” You pet Sam's chest, and coupled with the attention of your nails in his hair, a moan seeped out of him, vibrating somewhere deep under your hand. You grinned a shark’s grin. “...Then I'd look at you like that, cause’ that's what I've been dying to do for ages, see you all hard for me and nobody else. You might kill me cause’ you're so beautiful, Sam. And I'd kiss you everywhere I could… all over your thighs, your hips, the muscles in your stomach, your dick… your cock.” A whine jumped out of Sam's throat. Just the word made your throat feel open. “When you're squirming and begging for me to pull you out, I'll take off your boxer briefs, too, the blue ones I know you're wearing—” You’d seen him in them that morning, when he'd crossed his arms and his shirt had rucked up enough to flash some belly. Sam huffed an embarrassed laugh, and you kept going. “I know exactly what I'll do when your boxers are off, cause’ I've been waiting years for it. M’ gonna take your dick in my hand and just admire it, feel how big it is, imagine what it'll be like inside me—” Sam cursed aloud at that, “—inside my warm, wet mouth. I've been imagining what it looks and feels like for so long, Sammy, I think I deserve to see the real deal. Don't you think?”

You ran a finger along Sam's collarbone, and he rolled into it, chasing the slightest touch of your hand regardless if it was on his dick or not. You hadn't even drifted below his belt yet, and Sam was still arching into your touch like it would make him cum. He nodded mindlessly, sweat and rain making his hair cling to his face. “God,” he swore. “You do, ____—you d’serve it so much… so much…”

You cupped Sam's sweaty, tacky jaw, and he sighed like you’d rubbed him through his jeans. You resisted the urge to do just that, asking, “Can I have a kiss, Sammy?”

Sam peeled himself off the seat and rolled into your arms. The hand on your thigh was joined by a second, bracing his huge, sturdy palms on your legs in a way that made you grateful you weren't balancing on them, and with his face nestled in your hands and his eyes all dewy for you, Sam kissed you. You knew that that was it—every time you found your way to a kiss with him, it was the final straw. You loved him. Sam kissed you like he loved you too, pecking you soft and light like you were his dream girl, like he only wanted to treat you gentle, since so often his hands were forced to do the opposite. Quickly, your fingers were in his rain-tangled hair. Sam drew back to groan and then angled his head, pecking you in deep and loving bursts until you were giggling at him. He kissed those giggles too, smiling into his dimples. Sam never failed to make your heart go rabid when he did that, kissing you good; you had seen him kiss other girls before, and he never seemed as skilled or intuitive unless it was with you. Something tirelessly drove him to impress you.

You urged Sam's back flat to the seat again. With your leverage returned, you cupped his neck, then his shoulders, slipping your hands into his shirt, first through his collar and then up his stomach, palms seeking and appreciative. His flesh was warm and his figure was firm or yielding in all the right places. Sometimes, when you sparred and Sam was on top of you, or when you shared beds and his back was pressed to yours, you got glimpses of what Sam felt like. But now that you were free to roam where you pleased, only one signal could make its way through your nervous system: he is so beautiful. You uttered this to him in a frenzy. Sam couldn't get any redder, but you could feel his skin get warmer yourself, could press your hands flat to it and feel the life underneath, which was all the response you needed.

You licked your way into Sam's mouth. He was pliant for you as you did, whole-heartedly enjoying the filthiness of your tongue lapping and sucking at his, even if it was new to him. You laved yours from his bottom lip, across his open, wet mouth and flat against his top lip, prying approving little sounds from him. Butterflies furled and unfurled their wings in your stomach.

When you finally freed yourself, you sucked down breaths open-mouthed and fell back on your haunches.

“That's how it's gonna feel on your cock,” you proclaimed, and swiped a line of spit off his chin.

“Yeah?” Sam panted.

You wormed your fingers under the seam of your tight tee and yanked it over your head, cursing at him in a wrecked whisper. “Yeah. Then I'm gonna put you all the way in my throat, every inch of you, lickin’ and kissin’ all I can get. And when you're ready to cum, m’ gonna play with you, n’ hold you in mouth and make you sit like that.”

Sam mewled, only making your craze to get your pants off even worse. “Why?”

“‘Cause you've tortured me, baby,” you swore. You rocked back onto your tailbone and wormed off your bottoms, sucking back spit at the sight of Sam puppy-dog-eying you and palming his dick—palming his dick because of you, because of your lacy black underwear and how it looked on you. You knew you looked hot. But Sam made you feel it, like you were a Victoria's Secret cover model, like you were the hottest girl he'd ever seen, naked or otherwise. And you were—Sam had never been with anyone else. “Look at me, Sammy. You've tortured me. Made me wait to kiss you and touch you like this for so long, I almost lost my mind. So you're gonna get a taste of your own medicine, just for a bit—and when I think you can't take it anymore, just like me, then I'm gonna let you cum wherever you want. On my face, my tits, on my stomach…” you choked back a wave of unbridled, insatiable want, groaning out, “...in my mouth… inside me...”

The low, guttural noise puttering out of Sam broke. He took you by the underarms and yanked you against him, genuinely hauling you off your ass with a strength you forgot he had, little pants and miserable snarling moans pouring from him. Your mouths slotted together hard and unprettily. It knocked a girlish laugh out of you—when Sam let you breathe between sucking your face off, anyway.

“You like that idea, huh?” You teased.

Sam dropped a hand across your temple. His hand was so big that it could cover the entirety of your face, or perfectly seal over your mouth. In ways no other man had ever done for you, he stroked your hair back all tender just so he could get a look at his girl. You nuzzled into the weight without any mind for where you were going, knowing nothing but Sam’s love and Sam’s chest expanding and shrinking between you.

Those big fawn eyes wondered up at you. “You’d let me do that? Already?”

“I’d let you do anything.” You dropped what remained of your filter. This was truly dumbfounding to him, apparently, because Sam sat there stupidly for a second with his mouth open. He snapped it shut as you neared your faces, making it even easier to press a kiss to the seam of his mouth. “Any other man would take advantage of that chance. M’ not stupid. But you’re the only one I can think of who’d… who’d,” you searched for the words, admiring Sam’s nosebridge with your thumb. He had such pretty moles. “You’d be good to me,” you concluded.

Sam blinked. “...I’d want to be,” he smiled, sounding dulcet. Again, Sam brushed back your hair. “I mean… Anybody who wouldn’t be good to you i-is… is an idiot.”

“Exactly,” you smirked. Slow and sultry, you pressed your nose and lips into the plush of Sam’s cheek and dragged, then a little more, just glimpsing the skin with yours. He was ready and shuddering when your lips were at his ear. “That’s why it’s you I’m thinking about when I’m fingering myself.”

Another weak sound wept out of Sam. Christ, the noises he could make. If your imagination had even come close to the real thing, you would’ve been this dirty-mouthed with him ages ago.

Sam cursed, “Jesus, ____.”

“It’s true.” You pressed this promise with a kiss into his cheek, then again, at his jaw, letting yourself sink into each one with boundless pleasure. Sam melted helplessly against you, ears perked. “Every day. Every time I took a shower, after sharing a bed with you all weekend. I was always soaking wet because of something you’d done hours ago that I just couldn’t shake, hot out of my mind…” you swallowed down another onslaught of drool. “I pictured you having a hard day, y’know, needing something to perk you up. I’d haul your jeans down and lick you all over like an ice cream cone.”

Sam’s whole upper body was blushing so hard now that steam floated off him. “God, me too.”

Your brows raised. “Yeah?”

He nodded himself dizzy. “That same thing. You having a hard day. I’d… I’d…”

You leaned in, blinking in shock. “How did you imagine it?”

“We’d be kissing.” One of his long, too-long-to-be-wasted fingers followed a thread of your panties. “On your bed, the Impala, wherever we could find. I’d lay back and… and you’d crawl on top of me…get your legs around my head—”

Sam’s hot, moist breath tickled your face. So close, with your lips wet from Sam’s kissing already, it was all too easy to follow along with his fantasy. Sitting in his lap in the backseat. Laying him down there, your palms flat and steadying on his chest. Curling your thighs around his face until his nose pressed up into you, then his mouth, slipping open, and his hot, silky tongue taking long drinks of you. The sensory ghost of it alone could’ve made you cum.

You blurted: “You’d eat me out?”

One man-paw of his smoothed down the planes of your back, palming big handfuls of your skin. Now, it was his turn to smile wolfishly. Sam confessed: “I’ve always wanted to.”

The admission temporarily launched you into orbit, and for a long time you hung there, clinging to him by the shirt, dully aware of the rainy smell of him and how hard your cunt was pulsing. Sam. Your Sam, sitting with these thoughts in his head. At the same time that you were pushing your knees together when he sat beside you at the dinner table, Sam was fantasizing about getting between them. The eroticism of it already had you close to edge. Anytime you’d ever been with him, at some point, Sam had to have thought about how his fingers would feel digging into your ass-flesh while he fucked you with his tongue, while you squealed his name, the flat of your toes curled against his shoulders. Uncensored. He could’ve revealed any fantasy on top of that, but he chose this one. The one that had him pleasuring you and fucking loving it. Sam didn’t just want you—he wanted the angle that could get him the most of you, the most exposed and honest position. You fucking loved him.

You were tonguing into his mouth before Sam could finish, both hands in possessive fists around his shirt. Sam started laughing, the asshole, but you persisted, closing him in with passionate dips of your head and kissing him senseless. Your hands feasted on him, clawing into his hair and down the back of his shirt and around again. Nothing was enough. You were convinced you wouldn’t be satisfied until you were Sam, or melded into him somehow, like chocolate chips in a warm pot.

“Thought about… tasting you n’ makin’ you feel good,” Sam hissed. “So good that you’d have’ta put your fist in your mouth to stop yourself from screaming. You’d put your hands in my hair a-and… and… shit, you’d taste so good. I want to taste you so bad, ____. Want you to—” he leached you into a long, surging kiss, purring deep in his throat, “sit on my face.”

You wrestled down a choked whine, which Sam swallowed. Every movement of his mouth went straight to your pussy, echoing there. Sam must’ve known this, because he kissed you exactly as he would between your thighs, all tongue and sucking lips, unbearably hot in comparison to your untouched cunt. You could almost feel the blazing front of his mouth bearing down on you there, his breath fanning over you and his tongue—god, his fucking tongue—flexing into your clit. You broke away.

Sam’s hands hesitated at the top of your back, then all at once took two whole handfuls of your ass, and pushed up with his hips to open your thighs for him. You let slip a helpless moan. His hands were warm and calloused and everywhere, except for the precise place you needed him most. But above all else, Sam was a selfless, loving man, so immediately he was moving to drag down your panties.

“Please,” he choked. “Please, ____, please, I can—I can do it for you—lemme do it for you, baby. Let me take care a’ you.”

“Sam.”

You pressed both palms flat to Sam’s chest in an order. Sam immediately stopped, though he did not look pleased about it. You took a breath to realize the pussy-eating fiend you were soon to have all to yourself, then stepped back to your initial focus. “You’ll have to wait. Want you first, pretty boy. Have you ever even done that before?”

Sam shook his head, sending his bangs fluttering around his face. He pouted. His hands coasted along your arms, dragging you down and into him still.

Bleeding with earnestness, he husked, “No. But I’ll learn for you. I’ll practice on you over and over again, til’ I’m better than anybody you’ve ever had that way. S’ all I want.”

You bit your lip and, god, was it impossible to say no to him.

“I'm all yours, Sammy. Whatever you need, you know I'll give it to you. But we’re gonna do this first, okay?”

You wanted his first time to be good, better than good, all because of you. You wanted to be his second time. His third time too, and every time after that. And if that didn't work out, then you hoped that every time he got a blowjob in the future, it was a good one. Even if it’d be downright pitiful in comparison to the way you were gonna suck his brains out now.

You reached between you and gave Sam's strained cock a generous squeeze.

Sam lost it. “Please, you, please please—” he all but sobbed. His hips rolled up and his knees snapped apart, making room for you, inviting you in, hands making marks on your arm in his scramble for touch. “Please. I-I need it, I need—I need you, god, I want to feel—”

You hung back, absorbing the result of your work. You’d barely touched him and Sam was already out of his mind. He'd had orgasms before—you’d heard him reaching them through the wall in the shower, and his desperate choking breaths were so hot that you had touched yourself right outside the door—but as good as they'd sounded, you were determined to blow them out of the race.

Sam started for his fly, which was your cue to step in. You waved his hands away, guiding them to his stomach, where they fisted in his shirt and drew it up over his sculpted naval. You shushed and soothed, “Sam, Sammy—s’okay, you're okay. I'll take care of you, alright? I'll start right now,” you peppered kisses on his face, bent beside him on your knees. “We gotta get the seat back. Help me?”

You pushed the Impala’s bench back as far as it could go, and you made sure to lay the backrest down a few more inches, too, so Sam could relax and you had a good angle on his face. He was equally considerate and folded up a blanket for you to sit on in the footwell. As soon as Sam sat up, you evaporated into his lap. You expected him to go shy on you again, but this time Sam helped you settle there, clenching his teeth and dragging his eyes up your figure. You stood still for the examination, and the longer it went on the warmer your flaming skin got. Both of Sam’s unreasonably big hands landed on your waist at the same time, and for a moment your roles reversed, Sam’s eyes smoky and heavy-lidded as he devoured the sight of you. You felt yourself throb pathetically in your panties. You were probably the first girl Sam had ever seen intimately; and, in true Sam fashion, he consumed the new sight, cataloging and learning things. A tiny whine slipped out of you when his fingers dug into your thighs, then again when Sam’s thumb brushed under the band of your bra.

“I'm all yours,” you reminded with a smile you hoped was confident. If it was, it was ruined by you shyly and awkwardly reaching for the clasp of your bra. “Whatever you want, Sam, I can do.”

He gazed up at you through his bangs, expression bleeding with love and boyish frankness. “What do you want?”

“To make you happy,” you answered, without question. “To make this night good for you, even if it's the only night we'll have.”

Sam shook his head, absent-minded. A slow, clever, panty-dropping smile developed on his face, something that was clearly common in the men of his family.

“You said that most guys you're with, like this…” he thought aloud. Sam brought you close to him, and when your shadow fell across him and you were nose to nose, he slid two warm fingers up your back and click—he was pulling your brassiere off your shoulders. “You said that most of them can't find a way around a bra, nevermind you,” he observed. “We're going to need more nights if I'm going to prove to you that I'm different.”

“Sam,” you whispered, “you were always different from them.”

You pushed him back against the seat, aligning his spine with it, and as soon as Sam hung his arms over his head you were kissing him wet and deep, both of your hands sliding and groping along the firm muscle of his raised biceps. Now only a flimsy tee stood between them, and you were as rude with it as you were with anything else keeping you from Sam. The long, muscular frame you’d been fantasizing about for years was exposed to you now, and you wasted no time getting acquainted with it. Only recently had Sam started to linger in wet t-shirts in front of you or guide your hands under his shirt as you cuddled—for longer, you’d had no clue what he looked like under his clothes. Dean got all the credit for being John's perfect hunter, but Sam had the perfect hunter's body, barrel-chested huge and wood-shattering strong.

You sunk onto your hands and knees, palming him, groping him, caressing him, outlining the lines of his muscles and his ribs with your fingers. Nobody could resist the temptation to kiss him all over, and in all fairness, you had promised. You dragged your mouth down Sam's chest, kissing the center seam of his body to his happy trail. You almost lost yourself pleasuring him this way; at the sound of Sam's deep breathing, you endured, hovering over your prize instead. You knew you must've looked beyond turned on: your dark eyes were wild, dilated and glittering with want, your panties were soaked through and your lip was almost bleeding you were biting it so hard.

“Fuck,” you cursed, settled back on Sam's thighs, “I've wanted to blow you stupid for years, Sam… it didn't matter what you looked like underneath here or not… but fuck, I feel like a schoolgirl, drooling over all these muscles. You used to be so lanky.”

“Hard to be healthy on the road,” Sam flushed. “We're fighting monsters every day, it’d be stupid to die to a heart condition…or… something.”

“Yeah,” you groaned before you could contain yourself, “but you're sure not making this crush I have on you any easier.”

Sam whispered, sounding coy as he plucked the waistband of your panties. There was that dimply smile again. “You got a crush on me, pretty girl?”

The next words poured out of you as sensually and devoutly as you felt them: “Yeah,” slow, you dismounted his thighs, folded your legs in between Sam's, and finally, finally, sunk on your shins into the footwell. “You wanna see what I do for the men I crush on, baby?”

“So bad. So damn bad,” Sam begged, and it was surreal to finally see what he looked like from this angle, since you’d been dreaming of it for so long. His head lolled back and all you could see of him was the sexy column of his throat and all the soft red lines you’d put in his skin there, just bright enough to see. His chin lowered so Sam could look at you, and sweet lord—there were those fawn brown eyes, drowning in the darkness and the black of his lashes. They boiled over with devotion and willingness and thirst, teased for far too long now. You almost felt bad enough to cut him some slack. But now you were here, with Sam's cock just inches from where it should be, and you couldn't just start going easy on him.

You did exactly what you said you would, so Sam knew what was coming. As promised, you hunkered down on the blanket Sam had folded, letting your knees settle comfortably on the floor. Then you started in on him. You played your nails across his legs, stroking the sides of his thighs, feeling how his pants clung to his skin. On his lap, it was impossible not to fantasize about Sam sitting you on one of his legs and inviting you to rut across his solid, powerful jean-clad thigh. It took a lot to make you feel tiny—but Sam did just that. Crouched down at his feet like this, Sam only seemed bigger and his body better built than usual. You pressed your cheek against his inner thigh and just basked in him.

Sam writhed having you so close to the source of his suffering. “Please,” he sighed below his breath.

“Please what?” You grinned, wolfish.

You turned inwards and kissed the inner seam of Sam's jeans, right on the denim path to his aching cock. Just inches from your face, angled down Sam's pantleg, was a heavy, massive tent more than the width of both your hands put together. Fuck, it'd been even longer since your last good blowjob than you’d thought it'd been. Just seeing the outline made your cunt pulse. Pressing your kiss-swollen lips to the denim above the head bolted molten hot desire straight to your core, and for Sam it was no less extreme, his hands curling into fists on his chest.

His eyes squeezed shut, and the little hoarse squeak that left him made you forget your gag reflex entirely. Sam moaned, “Please please please put me in your mouth—____, p-please.”

“I think you're a little ahead of me, Sammy…”

Your voice dripped with liquid sex. You steadied your hands on Sam's knees and bent forward again, nuzzling his cock with your nose and cheeks, glittering obsidian eyes devouring Sam's softest reactions. He was sensitive—even more sensitive than you’d been hoping for. Just the tiniest lick through scratchy fabric had his toes curling. Again, your nails scraped down his thighs. This time you leaned forward as the gesture drew back, bringing you up to Sam's happy trail. And man, happy it was–it was the centerpiece for miles of twitching, gleaming, sweaty muscle, soft-blended abs, hard-cut v-lines and all.

“Let's start by getting these tight, constricting pants off your first.” you smirked. “How does that sound? You must be uncomfortable, Sammy.”

He was, to the point that just the thought of getting them off had his hips arching toward you on the seat. Pitifully, Sam pleaded, “____. C'mon. Anything.”

“S’okay…” you whispered. You kissed the button of his jeans. “I'll get it off and you'll feel so good, darlin…”

Sam watched you from over his heaving chest, so hard that he was delirious, quavering miserably when your touch disappeared. His soft desperate gasps reminded you of the noises he made when he had dirty dreams sleeping next to you. The few times it'd happened, you just endured it until you drifted off to fatally horny sleep. But once it'd been your name he was sighing like that. It took every ounce of strength you had not to roll over and jerk him off right there. The scene was so vivid it was painful, and you could easily imagine yourself cuddling up to his back and stroking him sweet and slow half-out of his pajama pants, your cheek to his shoulder. Or even better, crawling under your shared sheets and deepthroating him awake. You wondered if Sam had ever heard the dreams you had of him. Or how many times you’d fucked yourself in the shower, imagining him reaming you into the tile like an animal. You had never dreamt of another man that way, or loved a different one so terribly that it made you reckless.

Sam watched you with wide, long-lashed eyes. Nobody else could look so innocent watching somebody get ready to suck their dick. Every time you glanced past his chest, you expected the perverted revelry you got from your other partners to reveal itself on his face. But, god. Sam. He basked in you, in your touch, arching up to meet your hands and worshipping your with his gaze. Love downpoured from every molecule of him. All his reserve had shredded away, taking any reason he had to hide right along with it. I love you I love you I love you, his body wept.

The second you got the fabric corner of his jean-opening in your teeth, Sam’s lips parted, and you remembered all the times you’d tie cherry stems in your mouth to impress him—how many popsicles you’d enjoyed all too slowly and vocally while Sam was watching. It took just one pull of your chin and his fly was off the button. One more and his zipper was in your teeth. You dragged down your head, sultry eyes never leaving his even when you got his fly open, and soaked up the look on Sam's face as he realized the kind of professional he was dealing with.

“...Wow,” Sam gaped. I've hit the jackpot, his wide eyes said.

“Up,” you instructed, and let your grin say the rest. Excitement was burning between your legs now. You tugged on his belt loops until Sam raised his hips, giving you the room to pile them around his ankles.

When you brought your eyes back up, your breath caught. Sam was hard enough to crack steel. You couldn't believe your own luck here. The boy you’d been head over heels for since before you could speak, the man you’d devoted half your life to, and he was so hot for you that he could hardly breathe.

“You don't know how long I've been fantasizing about this.” Your voice was almost too hoarse to hear over the rain, a prayer's voice. You drew yourself between Sam's thighs, and shaking from head to toe with hunger, you spread both palms over his hips and dragged your mouth up Sam's length in his boxers.

Sam had already given himself up to the pleasure. His nails seared into the upholstery, and he moaned, rocketing up, off his back, rocking into you already. The neediness of it burst another tank of heat and love and lust inside you—your Sam, above you, about to be yours, begging so pretty for you… Fuck, heaven would be boring in comparison.

“____, please, baby, please I need it,” he almost sobbed, “I'll do anything anything ____ I ju-just, I just want you. I want your mouth on me I wanna—god, please ____, how good you feel, I want it, please—”

“Anything you want, Sammy, you can have anything,” you soothed, muffled and slurred by your dragging kisses.

“M’ all yours, all yours, all this cock just for you, g-god yeah—your mouth ____ please I need your mouth—”

There was so much drool built up under your tongue that you had to swallow to speak—but you decided against it, saving it for your prize instead. You couldn't wait a second more. You were hooking your fingers in Sam's briefs before you could second-guess, before you could even think to judge if you should unravel Sam a little more—but he was there, bucking for you already, so there was no use waiting. He couldn't even lift his hips before you’d yanked his boxers out of the way. You felt him in your hand and all of it—the length of his cock, the weight of it, the fact that it was Sam, had you sinking into his lap like a priest into a sermon, flesh into the earth, and instantly you threw yourself into the task like you’d never done for any other man. This was for Sam.

You took in just a bit of him at first, enough to introduce him to the hot, velvety heat of your mouth and wet him with a single good suck. Sam's sob cut off with his breath. He was careful to treat you right, even like this. One of his hands had startled into your hair, the pleasure was so much for him. It never did anything more than jolt—he wasn't the type to just shove you on him, anyway. Your smile felt obscene with your lips slick and swollen around him; your tongue gave the lightest lap at the special spot under his tip, and Sam strangled down a filthy, whining mewl. His head was plump and comfortable on your jaw, so you gave it your first dose of attention, loosening your seal around it so you could share your drool with the rest of him. You hollowed your cheeks and brought him a little further into your mouth, shattering what remained of Sam's strength. He sunk back against the seat, exhausted, and watched you bracingly from above, sucking down breaths. Already, there was enough spit on him to make Sam's cock gleam like your lips. It clung to your chin and the tip of your nose in shining patches. Sam ran a hand through his hair and lazily studied you as you sucked him off, falling further in love with you by the second.

“That's it,” Sam cooed. He sounded broken and thready, but he insisted on curling your hair around his fingers, dizzy. “So good, ____—suck it, just like that, please, baby, j-just… ohh, fuckkk…”

Suck it, he'd said. You did as told. The command vibrated through your whole overshot body, and your throbbing, weeping cunt only felt emptier hearing the order. Sam filled up your mouth so well that your cheeks were puffy. He was the perfect size for you—a damn perfect masterpiece. His girth sat thick in your hands, veiny in ways that you wanted to feel with your pussy. Oral had always been enough before, but already you wanted Sam more than air, and more than that, wanted to blow him so good that he'd reward you for it. You tested out a few lower bobs, his cock slick and sticky between your fingers now, and every time you suckled on him Sam squeezed his eyes shut all pretty. The rain was dying out, so the liquid noise your lips made on him filled every crevice of the Impala louder than before. The pop of you slipping off his cock almost echoed.

“Tell me what you want,” you coached, your voice just as broken and hushed as Sam's. You couldn't even part from him that long, and dipped again to whorl your tongue around Sam's heavy tip. “Whatever you need, Sam,” you punctuated the reminder with a long, flat drag of your tongue from his base to the special spot under his tip, and beamed; Sam yelped. “I love it… I love,” you swallowed, “I love doing this for you.”

Sam worked his fingers into your untamed hair, and you did fucking love it. On the floor your knees were aching, but it and everything else was numb to the rolling glide of cock slotting into your mouth, of Sam reveling in your lips and tongue on him, watching you give it all just because he asked.

Sam’s knuckles caressed your cheekbone. “Wrap your lips around the head. Tight.”

You listened. He was more than comfortable on your jaw now, so your lips molded nicely to him, sealing and hollowing so he was even more snug in his new favorite place.

“Good girl,” Sam groaned, probably on instinct, but you stroked him faster for the praise, so he repeated it until his mind was muddy. “Lick the part unde—oh very, very good girl… I wish you could see yourself… I-I want…” he hissed in delight, “you look so pretty, ____… so pretty with my cock in your mouth, god…”

Holy shit. You had never really paid attention to that kind of talk before during sex, busied with the task at hand, but there was something euphoric about the way he said it to you now, your shy Sam, your Sam, his voice raspy, his pink mouth panting and open, his hands all over you, talking to you like he’d always wanted to say that. Your cunt ached.

With a deadly rumble spilling up from your chest, you slipped off his head and laved your gluttonous mouth down Sam’s soaking shaft, kissing, tonguing and sucking at whatever flesh you could find.

“Keep talking like that,” you begged into his base, breathless.

Sam listened. He cupped the sweat-slick nape of your neck, his hand easily broad enough to cover your back blade to blade, and in a messy, groping haze, dragged it up against your cheek. “Never seen you like this,” he purred, “eyes… all dark and… hot… lookin’ up at me… you’re so tiny between my legs like that.”

You couldn’t have restrained yourself if you tried. A weak whine seeped out of you. Sam’s thumb pushed into your cheek and you turned, lapping at it, then covering his hand with one of your own and searing kisses all over his palm. It was heavy and perfect for smudging your nose into. You sunk two open-mouthed kisses into Sam’s wrist where his bracelet was, then up his forearm, knowing only his body and how it could connect to your mouth. His pulse thudded furiously. Just as fast as you’d nuzzled up to him, you returned to Sam’s thick thumb, sucking it deep and right as he watched in rapture. The filthy delight written all over those mesmerized eyes had you praying to him.

“Wanna do this all the time,” Sam swallowed. He was all stream-of-consciousness now, too frenzied to filter himself. “Watch you suck me off… watch those perfect lips disappear around me, _____… y-you… oh, god, you are a natural, baby…”

His other hand, again, flushed your hair away from her forehead. All the love put into your face at once rooted you to the spot. It was miraculous, how special Sam could make you feel with just a few light touches. Bleeding with tenderness, he caressed your shoulders, your cheeks, your jaw, your hair, feasting on you as you had him.

Sam pushed the meat of his thumb into your swollen lip. “Open for me. Yeah… oh, yeah, let me watch you put it in…”

Your lips parted, mostly out of shock—when had Sam started thinking like this? A deeper part of your mind registered it all as innocent teasing, since Sam could never hurt or demean you; he was the basest definition of good to you. Regardless, you were more than willing to obey, and opened wide, tongue splayed for the heavy head of Sam’s dick. The extra kick of his pre-come had your toes curling every single time. But combined with Sam’s ruddy-cheeked, enraptured staring, just one touch to your clit would bring you over the edge. You forced your knees apart on the floor and held off. Just in case Sam intended to keep his promise.

The easiest way to put Sam’s dick into words was by comparing it to a warm, solid lollipop that took up your whole mouth, like the twisty kind from the carnival that eclipsed your whole face, chin to forehead. You’d been mourning Sam’s scrawniness after his four years away at college, but now you were nothing but grateful for the extra mass. Sam was really, really big. Bigger than anyone else you’d been with. He could’ve been any size and you would’ve been just as rabid for him, but there was something specifically hot about sucking him down as far as you could and failing to hit the bottom. It took effort to get there. You lazily pumped what you had left of his shaft, and in slow, deliberate surges of your spit-wet mouth, you earned an inch, then another.

Sam moaned so gutturally you felt it rumble under your palms. It was so Sam, in that it was like any sound you’d ever heard him make, sighing at a stupid joke, snarling during a fight, but this time it was him losing it because you were giving him a blowjob. Because you’d snuck away like idiot teenagers and you were blowing him good and filthy in Baby’s front seat.

“I-I thought about you all day,” he licked his lips, “all week, like this… it’s, you are so much better than I thought… m’ gonna make you cum so good for me.”

You wished that he could feel the way your cunt had fluttered at that. All you could do in answer was hum in approval, since you were so drunk off him, off the girth pressing against the start of your throat, that you couldn't even lift your head to speak. You did the opposite, pushing down and surging Sam's length in deeper and further than you’d gone before. The half-hour you’d poured into warming up for this was instantly worth it. You were by no means an amateur. Blowjobs, as a sexual activity, were with ease your favorite—but deepthroating was where your real talent lay. Wielding your skill, you relaxed your sore jaw and pressed forward.

The initial burn waited for you there, but Sam’s reaction was priceless.

Every muscle in his body snapped in, a taut coil broken in one motion. A strangled gasp broke from his throat. Sam's entire torso bore forward and his hips surged up to your face in a voiceless gasp, which you’d been expecting. You pinned them back down and dug for it, giving him no room to breathe, mashing your nose into his abs and hanging there, lingering, suckling, gagging, so all Sam could feel was the soft, hot, velvet pulse of your throat around his spent cock.

“I’m. I-I—”

You sucked harder, bringing a wave of spit with you, and closed a hand around Sam’s closest fist. Drool seeped over your knuckles. He spasmed. His voice tore, cutting off.

It was a little hard, but with practice—and you could practice on Sam for days, if that’s what it took—the ache would fade. All the pleasure was in the act itself, in your own slobbering sounds, the drool, and above all else the punch-to-the-teeth thrill it gave. Every inch of Sam’s pretty virgin dick was stuffing your throat. You could barely hollow your cheeks around him, Sam was so thick. His cock pulsed, once, then twice, then over and over. No other person in the world could claim him like you could, and no other person would ever have him like you had.

Sam came, and hard.

His thighs snapped closed around your ribs. He hung in place bent up over you, twitching mid-sob. Both of his hands snapped around your head, then his arms in full, scrabbling across your back, crazed, heaving, coating you entirely in the woody smell of him.

You flattened your palms to his thighs and drew upward. When it was just half his shaft in your mouth, so coated in saliva that you were connected to it in cloying strings, you persisted. The first spurt of him on your tongue detonated a ruthless orgasm deep within you on the spot. You latched onto him as it crested through you, digging your nails into Sam’s rolling hips, back and toes curled, pressing closer and swallowing the mouth-watering load you’d been dying to taste for years now. It came with its own gratified explosion of ecstasy. Your pussy sobbed, clenching without end, wracking your whole body with delicious waves of mind-whiting pleasure. The taste of him conquered you—fuck, he tasted perfect, salty and organic and human and Sam. It was a sugar rush of earthy sweetness that burned straight to your overwrought core.

You could’ve unburied yourself and let Sam finish anywhere, since he was already so mindless underneath your spell that anything would’ve pleased him. But there was something potent and intimate in being able to taste him. His body—every divine inch of it was yours, and a piece of him was filling an empty place in you.

You should’ve guessed by the size of him alone, but christ, Sam came whole glassfuls. His cum bubbled up into your mouth and spilled out of the corners of your lips, and you relished in it, drinking him down, whorling your tongue around his fleshy head, soaking up every second of your hard work’s result. The taste of him overwhelmed and surrounded you. The act did. It was in every facet a religious experience, angels singing, clouds parting, the sun glowing over them—all of it. Sam went down your throat piping hot, and you swore you could feel his cum gliding all the way to your stomach.

You slipped off him with a gasp. Hoarse, weak sighs huffed from your blazing lungs.

Slowly, as your orgasm ebbed further from your mind, your surroundings filtered back in. Peeling yourself away from him effectively rebooted all the systems in your body again. You could hear the rain bearing down on the Impala’s windshield overhead. Both of your palms were sticky and cloying with saliva. The whole lower half of your face, your abused lips, your aching jaw, your glistening cheeks, were slathered with slick. Your throat felt raw but recently balmed, like you’d swallowed a spoonful of honey to heal a soreness. Each of your knees had been stuck in place for so long that they were both numb, so the scratchy blanket beneath them seemed to ripple with pins and needles.

And Sam. Sam’s weight was braced in his hands, pressed flat to the dash, putting your face between the long bridge-arch of his shoulders. He’d collapsed around you in the footwell, shuddering and gasping for breath, and through the sea of endorphins and hormones, he managed to press his tacky forehead to yours.

You panted together; you inhaled and so did he, atoms apart, nearly mouth to mouth. Sam’s hot breath fanned across your face, cooling the saliva there.

It was something out of some old Italian sculpture, a Pietà, two nude figures entwined, expressing their love in form alone. You were collapsed on your knees, a worshipper gazing up at your saint. Sam was bent over you almost uncomfortably, every fiber of his body yearning for closeness, but close wasn’t close enough to you, his face smushed into yours and his jaw slack.

He looked nothing short of lovesick.

Hands shaking, you cupped Sam’s face. You pressed your thumbs into his warm, flushed cheekbones, then his dimples when he smiled dizzily at you, his girl.

You swallowed. “Did you like that?” You closed her eyes, hoping aloud, “...Did I… did I do a good job for you, Sammy?”

Sam surprised you. The haziness in his eyes cleared more and more with each inhale, until eventually, he was blinking down at you without guile. He burst out laughing.

“...There’s no way it was that bad,” you deadpanned. It didn’t hold for long, with him giggling over you like that. You fought against a mean, vibrant smile and its matching flush. “Alright, Sam, shut up! Quit laughing, you ass! What the hell did I—”

With the seat pushed back as far as it was, Sam had the room to get his hands under your arms again and drag you up onto his lap in one sturdy motion. Your shoulders quaked with laughter the whole time. Suddenly, his face and chest and throat were flush with yours. It was enough to drive a person crazy. Like before, Sam slotted your mouths together. The difference this time was that his cum was all over your face—but Sam could care less. You went from kissing him to gaping, since Sam dotted each filthy lick of your tongues with a heavy lap across your cheek or your chin. Tasting himself. On you. Fucking hell.

“Stop gawking n’ kiss me,” Sam insisted. He pawed at your back for emphasis, then your shoulders from below, adjusting your weight on his thighs since in your shock you’d dropped on him completely.

(And that was definitely a hard-on scooping against your inner thigh. Fucking fuck. Jesus Christ. Holy shit, Sam.)

“You were better n’ good,” he shivered. Filthily and innocently all at once, he grinned, “...I can’t believe… that was how my first time went. I can’t believe you… You, you just…”

He struggled for words. Eventually, Sam purred: “You are a natural.”

I love you, you almost blurted. You deliberately filled your lungs to calm yourself down. Your arms were around Sam’s neck and he was gazing up at you, brimming with satisfaction and gratitude and boundless, unhidden love. Dangerous territory. His taste had sunk thick and sweet on your tongue, so you both moan when you share it with him in a surging kiss.

“Anytime,” you rasped, maybe sounding a bit desperate. You were. Sam was everything you wanted in a thousand different ways, so you refused to let the moment go. In the black darkness, you laid kisses into him until your lips tingled. “I fucking—ugh. That was perfect. You were perfect. If… if you ever want me like that again—”

“I do,” was Sam’s immediate, unflinching answer. “But… I have a condition.”

He swallowed. At first, you figured he was nervous, and knowing it was his first time you doubted he wasn’t. But then Sam’s eyes flashed. Both of his enormous hands smoothed down your waist, kneading the flesh, squeezing you around the sides so his thumbs were in your belly, then his fingers were sliding flat to your hip and down. They plucked under the waistband of your underwear—the last and only layer between you.

“Every time you go down on me,” his hungry, sultry gaze devoured yours, “I get to practice on you, too.”

-

part two.

[kendallroydefender]

Welcome to Hawkins Hell (Hopper x fem!reader)

Part 1

Summary: After an encounter with the upside down y/n finds herself in a mystery that goes on in Hawkins together with the local Chief of police she has a crush on. (Set in S1)

A/n: Hey everyone! This is the first chapter of my Hopper series re-written! The chapters will be longer. I hope y’all will like it! Feedback would be very appreciated 🖤

The night crawled upon Hawkins. You hummed softly as you wiped the table in front of you. It was late and you had to close the Diner you worked in. Your Co-Worker Isabell had to leave earlier today because her Babysitter got sick and she couldn’t leave her four year old alone. It was a Wednesday afternoon, so there weren’t much people out at this time anyway. The Cook and his assistant left half an hour ago, there had been no customers at that point and it wasn’t likely that people came at this time anyway. So it was just you, alone, but you didn’t mind that much. Being alone at night in the small Diner was kind of peaceful in a way. The clear fall air and the sunset followed by a dark clear night sky.

You heard a rustling of bushes outside followed by some kind of noise. You hoped it wasn’t some drunk guy stumbling through the woods in hope that you would fix him a sandwich. That happened from time to time but it was always harmless, just annoying to get him to go. But no one came out of the shadows of the trees that surrounded the Place. You continued to wipe off the last few tables, longing to finally be home again.

There it was again. A sound outside. You opened the front door “Hello?“ You called into the crisp night air but nobody called back and no noise was heard so you just shrugged it off, maybe it was a fox or a raccoon searching for something to eat. You went back inside and finished cleaning the last table. Just as you wanted to grab your coat you heard it again. This time it sounded closer, almost like a growl. Before you had time to think more about it something came shooting through the door. Glass flew everywhere. You turned around almost expecting to see a shocked animal but what was standing in front of you made you hold your breath as your eyes widened. It looked like a dog or a bear - no scratch that it looked almost like a human body except where its face should have been there was… Well not a face that was for sure. It took a few steps towards you and you took a similar amount of steps back. But your foot got caught in your coat, wich you had dropped. In horror you realized what was happening but it was too late now, you fell down hitting the ground. It came slowly towards you and you began to scream. It let out a chilling noise that made shivers ripple through you and then it… just ran off. Something must have scared it off but you didn’t knew what. Still shaking you got up and went to the telephone that was attached to the wall and dialed the number of the only person that came to your mind. Jim Hopper.

You had met the chief through his frequent visits at the Diner. Pollys Diner was close to the police station and the owner, Polly Carson, lived in Hawkins her whole live and knew everybody. She also knew Hopper since he was a child. You on the other hand were fairly new to this small town. Having settled here after college, not knowing what exactly to do with your degree. Polly happily hired you and you liked the job and the town.

After a few rings a grumpy sounding voice was heard on the other end of the line. “Hello?“ He huffed “Hopper I-" your voice broke “Y/n? S’everything okay?“ His tone changed immediately and he sounded rather concerned, you shook your head even though he couldn’t see and said “No I- I’m scared.“ You were close to tears at this point “Where are you?“ He asked “Pollys Diner. There was this- this thing. It had no face. Jim there was no face.“ You let out “Y/n please go into Pollys office and lock the door, can you do that? I will be there soon.“ He said in a calm but stern voice. You told him you would to that and after he hung up you hurried down the hall into the office. You sat down in the big leather chair in front of the table and pulled your knees up hugging them with your arms. Slowly you closed your eyes and started to take deep breaths to try to calm you down. But you couldn’t help your mind from wandering back, recalling everything about what had just happened. How this thing screeched, how its face opened up. You asked yourself what would had happened if it didn’t got scared off? You didn’t wanted to imagine that.

About ten minutes later, it could have been 10 hours for all you knew, you heard a car approaching the Diner. His big boots made crunching sounds as he stepped onto the glass shards that were once the front door. Shortly after you heard a knock on the door “Y/n? Are you there? Its me. Jim“ You opened the door your eyes finding his and you let out a breath you didn’t knew you were holding, before you flung your body into his arms. He held you for a moment before he leaned back, resting his hands on your shoulders in a comforting way.

You and the Chief knew each other from his frequent visits at your workplace. You got along pretty well and it would be a lie if you said you hadn’t had developed a crush on the handsome man.

“Can you tell me what happened?“ He asked you as he sat down on the edge of the table and you settled back into the chair. “I don’t know.“ You said with a low voice. The last ten minutes that you had waited for his arrival you had made you think about what happened and that it didn’t made any sense. It simply sounded crazy and he would think you were going insane. You didn’t wanted to embarrass yourself even more, you couldn’t even look hin in the eyes. “Can you tell me what you saw?“ He asked with a caring tone but you just bit your lips and shook your head. “You said it had no face?“ Hopper asked again and you forced yourself to look into his eyes. The look on his face wasn’t what you head expected at all. His eyes held worry and compassion so you took a breath before you said “It- It looked like a dog but it was bigger, almost human like but there wasn’t a face, not a real face at least and it… it opened up.“ He nodded and was about to speak again but you spoke up before he had a chance to get a word out. “And I know it sounds crazy. Hell I wouldn’t even believe me if I hadn’t seen it so I completely understand-" Hopper interrupted your rambling “I believe you.“ He said and you looked at each other for a moment before he spoke up again “I’m not sure if I would have a week ago but things have changed around here. I don’t know what’s going on in this town but something isn’t right.“ Shiver run up your spine hearing his words.

As you walked out of the office memories of the previous hour came rushing back to you. Subconsciously you took a step closer to Hopper who gave you a sympathic smile. “What should I do about this?“ You asked looking at the smashed door. “Should I call the police?“ Hopper chuckled “The police’s already here honey.“ You smiled at that for a moment ”Lets get out of here. I’d say just close the diner as you would normally. Tomorrow someone will think an accident or something happened. No need to worry anyone.“ You looked at his face for a second before nodding. You slipped into your coat and took your bag before carefully closing the door and locking it. “Does the Diner has surveillance?“ Hopper asked while fetching a cigarette out of its box. “Hop this is Hawkins no one has any kind of security system around here.“ You answered him and he rolled his eyes in a playful manner. “Wheres your car?“ He asked looking around the empty parking lot. “In the Garage getting repaired. I came here with my bike.“ As soon as you spoke these words Hopper stomped towards the bike to put it in the back of the Blazer. Carrying it as if it was weighting nothing. “Come in I won’t let you ride home on this while that thing is out there.“ He gestured towards the woods. He was right and you were glad that you would arrive home safely. He stomped out his cigarette as you climbed into the passenger seat.

Driving through Hawkins with the radio playing softly you felt your heartbeat relax. You looked out to the woods passing by, “Hop?“ He hummed as an answer “What is happening here?“ He glanced at you “I don’t know Y/n? But I will find out.“ You nodded. After a beat of silence you suggested “I could help you?“ His head snapped towards you “No! The Hell I will do getting you into this.“ You rolled your eyes at him “Hey! I need you to promise me to stay out of any danger, okay? You’re on of the only people I like around here, can’t be losing you too.“ He said sadly remembering Benny. You wanted to comfort him so before you knew it you reached out laying your hand on his one that rested on the console between you. You were scared for a second before he turned his hand around, closing his fingers around your smaller hand, giving it a squeeze. His touch was softer than you had imagined it to be. A fluttering feeling was starting in your stomach. You stayed like this until the car came to a rest infant of your house. “When does your shift start tomorrow?“ Hopper asked “Two pm, why?“ You answered him “Good, I will pick you up around one thirty, that okay?“ You shook your head “No Jim you don’t have to do this.“ He huffed “But I want to, I will not have you drive through the woods with everything going on.“ You glanced down, and felt your cheeks getting warm. “Okay but Hop? Please be safe.“ He smiled at you as a response. You got out of the car and Hopper waited until you got into your house. Waving at him before closing the door of the apartment building. He stayed a few moments after you had disappeared. He didn’t liked this feeling that had started to bloom in his chest. A feeling he hadn’t felt in forever. A feeling he had sworn to himself to never feel again, but somethings cant be controlled no matter how much you tried.

Taglist: @memer-dreamer-freemurr @stitchattacks @evyiione

[robbiedaymonds]

3x04 madwife analysis (aka freakout)

So when I started watching s3, I decided to only watch Laura’s scenes for many reasons. I didn’t exactly like any Madwife references beyond the first episode and I wasn’t expecting anything big.

But boy was I wrong as fuck!

I realized, before I started writing this, that we’ve gotten a lot of Madwife in s1 and s2, but almost all of it was from Sweeney’s PoV right? His feelings, his yearnings, his puppy-dog eyes. And now, we’re seeing Madwife from Laura’s point of view and the angst is overwhelming.

Let’s begin.

First off, it seems like Laura gave up the coin and went to purgatory/hell to try to find Sweeney right? At least, once she realized in 3x03 what was going on, she changed her tune. She talked to that old lady about Sweeney. She hilariously brushed off any sort of “relationship” between the two of them in a laughable, memeable way. 

And then my friends.....

the old lady says “You were just talking like maybe he’s someone special.”

And what happens? We see Laura, looking mournful and guilty even, and then...AND THEN! 

A MOTHER FUCKING MADWIFE MONTAGE OVER A ROMANTIC/ANGSTY SONG!!

I’m not even joking, I almost died. I was like “Am I really seeing this?! Is this really happening?!” And lord when I rewatched that part and listened to the lyrics, it hurt my god damn soul.

And then, Laura quickly changes her tune and tells the lady that no, he’s just the guy who killed her, but her face says otherwise.

Okay, BREATHE. Take a moment if you need to.

Second off, a small moment. Laura’s humming this tune that we heard in 3x03. Laura figures out the title is “Requiem of Balder”. !!! For those who don’t remember, Baldr is Odin’s son and briefly was mentioned in connection with Sweeney when he was doing his big battle as Lugh near the end of his life where he killed Baldr (or Odin), when he was talking to Mr. Ibis. This is cool because it not only links Laura with Odin and her destiny to kill him, but also Laura and Sweeney in a roundabout way.

Third, let’s just say, the moment I screamed and paused the show: the blood. Laura’s dust on the ground and some guys find Sweeney’s mutilated :( corpse. They take him away and the tomb he was laying on was covered in blood. His blood. One dude stays to clean it up and starts hosing it off which makes the blood start to slide down the sides of the tomb and what happens? The guy steps on the grigri potion that Samedi gave her to give her life.

And my friends, we watch with held breath as MAD SWEENEY’S BLOOD mixes with LAURA’S POTION and starts to glow with golden veins. And wouldn’t you know it, Laura gets yeeted out of purgatory and winds up, naked and alive, lying on the floor where the mixture had...mixed.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!!

I know most of the fandom had this idea from s2 onward. Sweeney’s blood was the key to Laura’s potion. But the implications is that Sweeney had LOVE IN HIS VEINS because, remember Samedi said the final potion ingredient was two drops of blood infused with love. *SCREAMS* I can’t even eloquently say how much this destroyed me in a good and bad way. The fact that it meant Sweeney kept up his bargain: he was paramount in making Laura live again. T___T His love (whether it be specifically for her, or just his ability to love in general) was paramount in making her potion work.

The poetry of it is just unparalleled.

Okay so Laura wakes up and asks where Sweeney is (she uses his GOD DAMN NAME and let me tell you I just about ascended to the pearly gates myself) and is told he’s gone. Like...gone gone. The subtle emotions on her face are indescribable. She’s guilty and sad, there is grief and confusion there. She says it’s “her fault” that he’s dead and that she should have been able to bring him back, but couldn’t. She’s so damn sad, you can’t help but feel for her. I don’t know if “her fault” was because she ran him away after they had magic~sex~ with the Lao or because she couldn’t save him...maybe it was both. 

In any case, Laura facing her feelings and dealing with consequences of her actions and decisions is a big step for her. (Also can we celebrate that she’s alive again?! I hope she doesn’t squander this second chance, but I doubt she will. She has a plan and it’s to kill Wednesday so thank god.)

Also, we have Laura picking up Sweeney’s coin, which is, for once, covered in his blood rather than tucked away in her chest. That moment was sort of sweet and understated and I think will have something to do with Doyle finding her, but we’re not here to talk about that. The fact is, she didn’t leave it. She still has Sweeney’s coin, even after she willingly gave it to him.

Lastly, we find Laura eating, sitting in a cemetery. I feel like she’s at home in places of the dead now, even though she’s alive. I love the motif and the implications of what that means. Anyway, the guy brings over a box and in it is Sweeney’s ashes. Laura takes it almost delicately and we get some gorgeously  heartbreaking shots of her hands stroking the sides and we get the line “Somehow all of him fits in here.” RIP MY HEART OUT WHY DON’T YOU. And then, as if I’m not in enough pain, they show another snippet of a flashback with that same ghostly romantic song, a shot of Sweeney sitting in that field. I think that’s important to note...THAT is the moment she thought of. When she was at her lowest and Sweeney told her to suck it up and keep fucking fighting, no matter what.

I think that says a lot in that moment. Now that Laura’s alive, she could easily return to a normal life, but that moment spoke a lot into her future. She’s going to keep on with her mission to kill Wednesday. Sweeney died trying to do the same and since she couldn’t save him, she’s going to kill the god instead.

And of course, there’s the symbolism of Laura being dropped off in the dark near a glowing hill. We know Laura always saw Shadow as a glow in her B&W dead vision right? So she’s standing there, glow in the distance....HUGGING THE BOX TO HER CHEST. She’s hugging Mad Sweeney to her chest, looking a little lost, just one sad girl trying to kill the Allfather, and she’s walking toward the light. OOF. It hurt big time, y’all. I can’t even.

Anyway, I feel like there may be a moment where Laura buries the box and officially says goodbye to Sweeney, but I also can’t help but think of all the emotional connection there is with the simple fact of her holding onto it. She could have dumped it into a river after she left the cemetery, but no she took it with her, her sole possession besides a golden god-coin, a box of ashes.

There’s a lot to unpack, and I haven’t even scratched the surface. I’m still digesting and I need time to process! Feel free to add your thoughts, let me know how y’all are doing. 

[grahamfolgersdeliciousnotebooks]

Chapter 6 of my Fake Dating AU is up now! This one features just way too many scenes of the S1 Archives Crew playing board games:

(Content Warning: Canon-typical worms)

(or, well, Canon-typical worm. There’s just one)

Things were tense around the Archives - even tenser than usual. Sasha still hadn’t spoken much about her encounter with ‘Michael,’ and Martin didn’t know what Jon had told their coworkers about his most recent encounter, but he knew they’d been briefed, judging by the pitying looks Sasha kept flashing him.

Tim, meanwhile, had responded to the events of the last month by growing increasingly protective, picking fights with Jon any time he even thought about criticising Martin or Sasha’s work.

“Tim!” Martin yelled, after Tim had chased Jon back into his office, “That statement was actually misfiled!”

“But he didn’t have to be a dick about it,” Tim grumbled. Jon hadn’t been a dick about it, really. Despite how harsh he’d been for the first few months as their boss, he hadn’t truly been a dick to them in weeks, and ever since Martin’s second brush with the supernatural, Jon had been especially conscientious with the three of them. But evidently it wasn’t enough for Tim.

“I can fight my own battles,” Martin told him stubbornly.

“But you shouldn’t have to. You almost died, Martin. Twice!”

“Once,” he corrected.

“Right, my mistake. Once, you almost died, and once, you almost got trapped in some empty Hell dimension.”

“Just leave him alone!”

Tim frowned, clearly fighting the urge to argue further, then sighed. “Alright. I didn’t mean to pick on your boyfriend.”

“Not my boyfriend,” Martin pointed out reflexively, though he was silently relieved to be back on familiar ground. Teasing, at least, he could handle.

Harder to deal with were the looks Sasha kept giving him. They weren’t unkind by any stretch; there was a great deal of sympathy in them - Sasha, after all, could sympathise better than anyone else in the Archives - but they still made him anxious and faintly embarrassed.

“How have you been holding up?” she asked him after lunch one day.

“I’m okay.” He was, of course, the furthest thing from okay - he’d lost his home and most of his possessions, he was more convinced by the day that he and all his coworkers were going to get eaten by worms, he was lying to his mother (who loved him, he knew she did, she must, but by god she was bad at showing it) and last week the combined stress of all of these things had led to him having a complete sobbing breakdown which Jon saw - but he’d been schooled from a young age in the fine art of not making a fuss, so before Sasha could press, he asked, “How are you?”

“Me? Oh, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Martin couldn’t let that stand. “You had a worm in your arm!”

“Just for a second!” She insisted. “Anyway, I know things have been a bit… hectic… around here, so I was thinking of hosting another game night. We can all relax, blow off some steam, forget about work for a bit… If Tim and Jon can stop sniping at each other for five minutes, I think it could be fun!”

“That’s a big ‘if,’ but yeah,” Martin said, “That sounds great, actually!”

“Are you free next Wednesday, then?”

Martin didn’t exactly have to check his social calendar. “Yep!”

“Great! I’m guessing that means Jon’s free as well, but I’m gonna go ask him anyway,” she said, pushing off from Martin’s desk to walk to Jon’s office.

“He could have plans!” Martin called after her, “It’s not like he lives here.”

“He may as well, though.” Sasha paused outside the door, giving Martin a wave. “Wish me luck!”

***

Despite their earlier conversation, Tim still managed to get into another argument with Jon before Martin brought him his afternoon cup of tea.

“Sorry about Tim,” he said as soon as he stepped into the room.

“It’s fine,” Jon replied, “I could have been… more tactful.”

That was only barely true, but Martin didn’t press him on it. Instead he asked, “Has Sasha talked to you about Game Night?”

“She did. I-It sounds like a good idea. Everyone could certainly use the chance to relax.”

“So you’ll come, then?”

“I-I don’t know. I doubt my being there would be very conducive to relaxing, f-for the rest of you.”

“What?” Martin exclaimed, “No, Jon, you have to go!” He wasn’t just saying that because he wanted to spend more time with Jon, (although he did). The tense us-vs-them (or, perhaps more accurately, us-vs-Jon) atmosphere that had been brewing in the Archives lately would certainly not be helped by three of the four of them having a great bonding experience without Jon.

Jon kept his eyes on his hands, not looking at Martin. “That’s… kind of you to say.” He glanced up briefly, and seemed to notice the tea in Martin’s hands for the first time. He took it from him, fingers brushing gently against Martin’s as he did. “Thank you for the tea, Martin.”

Martin took that as the obvious dismissal that it was and left the room. His fingers were still burning with the brief contact. Such a quick and thoughtless touch shouldn’t have meant much to him anymore, but he’d been out of sorts ever since they’d gotten back from Brighton.

The experience had shaken him in more ways than one. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t shake the memory of waking up to find Jon’s hands wrapped around his, to hear Jon’s voice - soft and scared - in his ear, to see Jon fretting for him and fussing over him and asking him to wake up. He’d started dreaming about it - odd, hazy things where he was lying in bed while Jon murmured reassuring nonsense to him, accompanied by a hand on his cheek, and, occasionally, a kiss on his forehead. In his dreams, Jon’s lips were warm and soft.

Jon himself had been acting strangely since it happened. He’d packed their things in a hurry and had hardly glanced at Martin on the train home. Ever since then, he’d been awkward and stiff - even for him - whenever he interacted with Martin, in a pretty clear attempt to reestablish professional boundaries and signal that that outpouring of love had been an act. It wasn’t as though Martin needed the reminder. He knew they were, at best, somewhat-friendly coworkers. It’s just. Try telling that to Dream Martin, who had been assured by Dream Jon on multiple occasions that this was true love.

He was shaken from his reverie by the sound of Tim and Sasha arguing.

“He doesn’t want to come because you keep giving him a hard time,” Sasha was saying.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know! But Coup is no fun with 3 people, so think of something!”

Before Tim could respond, Jon emerged from his office.

“Martin, I’m having difficulty deciphering your handwriting, do you mind…?” he asked, holding up what Martin recognized as his notes from the Volchek case.

Martin shot Tim a warning look. From the corner of his eye, he could see Sasha doing the same. “Sure thing!” he said.

Jon brought the statement to Martin’s desk and pointed out the parts he couldn’t read, writing down what Martin said on post-it notes and sticking them to the margins. Over Jon’s shoulder, Martin could see Tim and Sasha engaged in an intense non-verbal conversation consisting mainly of nudges and eyebrow-raises and meaningful looks.

“Thank you, Martin,” Jon murmured when he was done, “I hope I didn’t interrupt-”

“You coming to Sash’s on Wednesday, boss?” Tim blurted out.

“I, ah. I hadn’t really-”

“You should come! It wouldn’t be the same without you!”

Jon glanced from Tim to Sasha to Martin, who gave him an encouraging little nod. “I-I don’t know. I-If you all think I should…”

“We do!” Sasha said, voice bright but firm.

“Anyway,” Tim said, tossing an arm around Sasha’s shoulders, “we want a chance to see the happy couple in action.”

Martin wanted to strangle him. Things had been going so well, for a second.

“I don’t see why we’d keep up the pretense around you,” Jon said coolly, handling Tim’s suggestion better than Martin was, “You’re already aware that we’re not a couple.”

“Which means we can give you feedback!”

“Oh…”

Martin could see the gears working in Jon’s head. Of course he’d like the idea of getting feedback, he’d approached the entire scheme like it was the final exam for an especially difficult university course. Martin should never have told Tim about Jon’s notes.

Jon turned to Martin. “It might be nice to get feedback,” he said softly. “What do you think?”

Martin had a lot of thoughts, but most of them were expletives, and most of them were directed at Tim (who was currently smiling and giving Martin a thumbs up over Jon’s shoulder as though he were actually doing him a favour). On the other hand, if it got Jon to come…

“Yeah,” he said with false enthusiasm, “it could be.”

“Right,” Jon said, still sounding a bit uncertain, “S-Should I bring anything?”

“Just yourself!” Sasha told him. “And maybe some wine.”

***

Jon was clutching a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc when he and Martin arrived at Sasha’s apartment. They’d stopped at a liquor store on the way, and Jon had spent far too much time fretting over what to get. (We’ll want a white for sure if tannins give you a headache, but nothing too cheap - Do you know how Tim and Sasha feel about Chardonnay?) Aside from that, he hadn’t spoken much. He was back to hardly acknowledging Martin’s presence - not meeting his eyes, shifting uncomfortably when he sat next to him on the tube. On the doorstep, though, he took hold of Martin’s hand and looked up at him with a tentative smile.

“Ready?”

Martin nodded, and knocked on the door. A moment later, Sasha opened it.

“You made it!” She beamed, waving them inside. She gave them each a quick hug in the entryway. “Tim and I were in the middle of a game of Uno, but it shouldn’t be much longer.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure!” Tim called from the living room, where he was sat cross-legged on the floor holding what appeared to be half the deck in his hand. “My comeback has only just begun!”

“Make yourselves at home,” Sasha told Jon and Martin as she made her way back to the living room to pick up her considerably smaller stack of cards. “There’s snacks in the kitchen, and glasses are in the cabinet above the sink.”

“Right,” Jon said, dropping Martin’s hand and flexing his own hand nervously. “D-Does anyone want a glass of wine?”

“I’m good,” Tim said, as Sasha said, “Not right now, thanks.”

“Martin?” Jon asked, holding the bottle up invitingly.

“Oh. A-Alright.” He toed off his shoes and hung his jacket on the coat rack, then went to join Tim and Sasha on the living room floor while Jon searched for a corkscrew.

“How’s it going?” Tim asked, considering his hand carefully.

“Good,” Martin replied, “You?”

“Can’t complain.”

Sasha put down a +2, and Tim swore quietly as he picked up the cards.

“The game’s going well, I see,” Martin said.

“Just lulling Sash into a false sense of security.”

“Are you, now?” Sasha grinned.

Jon arrived from the kitchen carrying two wine glasses. He set one on the coffee table and handed the other to Martin. “Here you go, love,” he said, and leaned over to kiss Martin’s cheek.

Martin had told Jon he didn’t need to warn him before kissing him on the cheek, but it still caught him off guard. He wasn’t sure if the look Tim and Sasha gave them was in response to Jon kissing him, or the deep shade of pink his face was almost certainly turning as a result.

Jon settled on the floor next to him, and laid his head on Martin’s shoulder.

“Is this alright?” he whispered, so softly that Martin wouldn’t have heard it if Jon’s face wasn’t resting so close to his ear.

“Yeah,” Martin replied just as quietly.

“And before? I-I know you said I could-”

“You’re fine, Jon.” Martin reached out and took Jon’s hand. He thought he could feel a smile twitching the corner of Jon’s cheek where it rested against his shoulder, just briefly. Martin pulled away for a moment to grab his glass and take a sip. Jon watched him expectantly.

“What do you think?” he asked, “Did I make the right choice?”

All wine tasted more or less the same to Martin, but he couldn’t say that while Jon was looking at him like that, nervous and hopeful and so close, so he nodded. “It’s great.”

Jon settled his head back on Martin’s shoulder, and for a time Martin hardly dared to breathe, scared of jostling Jon and ruining the fragile, peaceful moment.

“Yes!” Sasha cried out, punching a fist into the air. Jon and Martin both startled, Martin straightening his back suddenly and causing Jon to tumble backwards onto the floor. Sasha laid down her final card with a triumphant flourish as Martin helped Jon back up.

Tim tossed his hand bitterly onto the coffee table. “I want a rematch!”

“And I want to quit while I’m ahead,” Sasha said, “Unless you two want to play a round?”

“Maybe we could start with something a bit less… contentious,” Jon suggested.

“Hmm…” Sasha rummaged through the stack of games beside the couch. “Settlers of Catan?”

“Don’t you dare!”

Jon paused with his new settlement poised just over the board. He looked genuinely contrite. “It’s nothing personal-”

“Bastard!” Martin interjected.

“I need a source of wheat-”

“If you put that down, I’m breaking up with you!”

“So soon before the wedding?” Jon asked.

“Yes!” Martin spat back. “It turns out I didn’t have to go through any of this, I could have just told them I wasn’t bringing a date because my boyfriend turned out to be the kind of back-stabbing bastard who would cut off my only route to the sea!”

(Tim turned to Sasha and said in a stage whisper, “I hate it when Mum and Dad fight,” to which Sasha whispered back, “They’re younger than us!” Jon and Martin pointedly ignored them both.)

“I really am sorry, Martin-”

“You’ve made a powerful enemy. Good luck getting a single sheep from me for the rest of the game!”

Jon set down his settlement, essentially boxing Martin in. With Jon blocking his path in one direction and Sasha in another, Martin had no choice but to give up on expansion, instead focusing entirely on buying development cards. The strategy ended up paying off, as he amassed enough soldiers both to effectively hamstring Jon’s economy, and to obtain and keep the Largest Army card. Those three points, along with some strategically played Library and Chapel cards worth one point each, secured him the win.

“One more turn!” Jon groaned. “I had the brick in my hand! I was going to take the Longest Road from Sasha, and then I would have won!”

Martin patted him on the back, all sympathy. “Sorry, dear,” he said, voice honey-sweet. “If only someone had warned you that you were making a terrible mistake.”

Jon put his head in his hands. “Shut up, Martin.”

“Such a rude thing to say to your loving boyfriend!”

Jon glanced up. “I thought we broke up,” he said petulantly.

“Changed my mind,” Martin smiled. He wanted very badly to kiss Jon on the cheek. If they were actually dating, he thought, that’s what he would do. But they weren’t, and Jon was upset, and this wasn’t the time to invade his space. Instead, he gave his shoulder another pat, and said, “Why don’t I get you another drink?”

“Why don’t you go to Hell?” Jon muttered. Martin, Tim, and Sasha all looked at him blankly, and he swallowed. “Erm. By which I mean, ‘That sounds lovely, darling. Thank you!’”

Martin leaned over to grab his glass, resisting the urge to swoop in for a kiss while he was there. Jon flashed him a small, apologetic smile.

“Sorry.”

Martin smiled back. If he didn’t find Jon’s pettiness endearing, he never would have gotten into this situation, but of course Jon didn’t know that. “You’re fine, love,” he whispered back. “I’m sorry I stole so much wheat from you.”

“You should be,” Jon grumbled, and Martin couldn’t help it anymore. He tapped the back of Jon’s hand, and, on receiving his answering tap, pressed a kiss to his temple.

“I love you,” he whispered against Jon’s hair.

Jon’s breath caught in his throat, and he looked up at Martin, eyes wide. It was the first time either of them had said it in so many words, and Martin was beginning to wish he’d stayed quiet when Jon swallowed and whispered back, “I- I love you, too.”

There was an ache in Martin’s chest as he went to refill Jon’s glass, and he was glad he had a moment to himself. He’d always known this would hurt. Still, there was a part of him that was just happy to hear the words. They sounded right, somehow, in Jon’s voice.

Voices filtered in from the living room as Martin poured the wine.

“Note to self,” Tim said, “Don’t get on Martin’s bad side.”

“Yes…” Jon sighed dreamily, and even from the other room Martin could tell he sounded fond, his voice all warmth and affection.

“You alright, boss?” he heard Tim ask after a moment.

“What? Oh, yes, just… thinking. W-What were we talking about?”

Martin re-entered the living room, and Tim nodded at him in acknowledgement. “We were talking about your boyfriend being completely ruthless.”

“Oh. R-Right. Yes.” Jon took his glass from Martin, careful not to let their fingers brush, and downed it quickly.

“So much for playing something ‘less contentious,” Sasha sighed. “I must have something here that’s actually cooperative…” After a bit of rummaging, she pulled an enormous box from the bottom of the pile, scattering the rest of the games. She ignored them for the moment in favour of asking, “Have you guys ever played Mysterium?”

Tim had, and he helped Sasha explain the rules - although “helped” might have been a bit generous, as the two of them talked over each other incessantly in their haste to get Jon and Martin up to speed.

“One person plays as a ghost, right?” Tim said, “And the rest of us are mediums.”

“Right. And the ghost can only communicate through ‘vision cards-‘“

“Those weird pictures-”

“And they try to point us in the direction of who killed them, where, and with what.”

“But they’re pointing to someone different for each of us.”

“Yeah, there’s three murderers, three locations, and three murder weapons-”

“Until the end-”

“Until the final round, when they pick one set…”

Martin caught Jon’s eyes. They both shrugged and hoped it would make sense when they played it.

As they got the game set up, Jon glanced at his empty glass and asked, “Would anyone like a glass of wine, if I went to the kitchen?”

Tim and Sasha both said they would, and Tim added, “Ooh, and could you grab me something from that cheese plate?”

“I only have two hands, Tim.”

“Here, I’ll help,” Sasha said, “I wanted more snacks anyway.”

Jon and Sasha headed to the kitchen, leaving Tim and Martin to shuffle the cards alone.

“So how are things going?” Tim asked quietly, “With you and Jon?”

“Fine, I guess? Why?”

“It just seems like… a lot. When I suggested you guys pretend tonight, I didn’t realize you two were so… committed. And that can’t feel great. How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine, really. Just a few more weeks, now.” Just a few more weeks, then they could drop the pretense, and go back to barely speaking, never touching. He could go back to only hearing Jon say, ‘I love you’ in his dreams. It would be better that way, he knew, less painful in the long run, but he couldn’t help but dread it. It must have shown on his face, as Tim immediately tried to cheer him up.

“You and I should go out sometime! Next weekend! We can hit the pubs, maybe do karaoke, meet some guys who aren’t Jon!”

“I’ve got Jon’s school reunion next weekend,” Martin said glumly.

“This weekend, then! I can move my plans around!”

“What’s this weekend?” Jon asked, coming back into the room with a plate loaded with cheese, crackers and fruit for Tim.

“Sorry, Jon, you’re not invited. This is a No Bosses Allowed event.”

“Oh. Right, o-of course,” Jon said, and he looked so hurt (for just a moment, before he visibly hid his disappointment and schooled his face into neutrality) that Martin had to say,

“You can come if you want-”

“No,” Tim interjected, “Sorry, Martin, Jon’s a great guy, but you’ve been spending entirely too much time with your boss. You need a chance to properly cut loose, with no one who can fire you around.”

“He’s probably right,” Jon admitted. “I have been rather monopolizing your time.”

Martin was spared from saying something embarrassing like I don’t mind by Sasha putting the finishing touches on the set-up and announcing, “Right! Who wants to be Ghost first?”

Jon ended up volunteering, and took a seat at the head of the table. He frowned at the cards in his hand for a very long time before making a move.

“Right. Martin, here’s your first clue,” he said, handing Martin a bizarre piece of surrealist art that he couldn’t begin to interpret.

“You’re a ghost, Jon,” Tim pointed out. “You can’t talk.”

“What, ever?”

“If you have to speak, at least add spooky sound effects. This is supposed to be a seance!”

“Boo.” Jon deadpanned, voice utterly expressionless. “Here’s a clue.”

“Really, though, this all seems a bit far-fetched,” Tim said, as Sasha took her card, “Ghosts, hauntings… What evidence do we really have?”

“Excellent point!” Sasha grinned, “I mean, you have been drinking, so I think we can safely disregard your supposed ‘supernatural encounter.’” An imitation of Jon’s clipped accent had been creeping into her voice as she spoke, but she dropped it as she showed the card to Tim and Martin. “What are we thinking? The gardener? Those look like apple trees in the background…”

“Y’know,” Martin said, “I don’t think he was really murdered! I mean, where’s the evidence?”

“Martin!” Jon looked genuinely affronted to see Martin join in, but he ignored him.

“Did you guys hear something?” he asked, and Tim and Sasha shook their heads.

“Must have been the wind,” Tim suggested.

“Very funny,” Jon sighed.

“Or the pipes!” Sasha said, “Lots of loud pipes in old buildings like this.”

“Here’s your last clue,” Jon grumbled, thrusting a card at Tim, “I’m starting the timer.”

The clues were harder to decipher than Martin had anticipated, but he and Jon, it seemed, were on the same wavelength. At the end of three rounds, Martin had figured out his murderer and location and had moved onto the weapon round, Sasha was trying to figure out her location, and Tim was still stuck on the first round, looking for his killer.

“Well, obviously,” Martin said, “the picture of the rat in the tophat indicates that he was killed with a straight razor.”

“Obviously,” Tim repeated, incredulous.

The timer ran out a few seconds later, and they presented their guesses to Jon.

“Oh, spirit from the great beyond…” Martin started, and Jon rolled his eyes as he had every time they used their ‘spooky seance’ voices, “were you murdered with a straight razor? Knock once for yes, twice for no.”

Jon knocked once, firmly, against the table. Tim and Sasha were aghast.

“Wait, Tophat Rat actually pointed to the razor?” Sasha asked.

“Yes!” Jon and Martin replied in unison.

“Yeah, Sash!” Tim laughed, “What’s not clicking?” Then he cleared his throat, preparing his voice. “Oh, mysterious ghost, were you murdered by the nun? Knock once for yes, twice for no.”

Knock, knock.

“Son of a bitch!”

***

They couldn’t agree on what to play after that. Eventually they dropped the pretense of playing board games altogether in favour of simply hanging out. Which is how they found themselves sitting on the floor of Sasha’s living room, sipping wine and listening to Jon ramble about historical misconceptions.

A joke by Tim had gotten Jon onto the subject of the popular misbelief that mice were particularly fond of cheese and where the idea might have originated, which had turned into a lecture on the history of food storage, which had turned, somehow, to a lecture on the odd trend of depicting Henry VIII eating a turkey leg, “...when of course turkey meat wasn’t even available in England until the 16th century. No, it all comes back to Charles Laughton, and…” He blinked. “Why was I talking about this?”

“Mice don’t really eat cheese,” Martin filled in.

“Cheese!” Tim exclaimed, “I was going to get more cheese!” He stood up and walked to the kitchen, and Sasha called after him, “Get me some, too!”

“They don’t eat cheese, you know!” Jon said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Martin. “Of course, they’ll eat anything if they have to, but given the choice, they prefer just about anything else. They have very sensitive noses, mice, and they tend to avoid foods with strong odors…”

He’d said all this already, just minutes before, but Martin still nodded along. Perhaps it was good that Tim had suggested they act like a couple tonight, as it gave him a convenient excuse for looking absolutely besotted with Jon right now. He practically had hearts in his eyes. But it wasn’t his fault - Jon looked adorable rambling unselfconsciously about mice and cheese and turkey legs, a gleam in his eye he only ever got when he was infodumping.

Tim came back bearing cheese and crackers. “Is Jon still talking about mice?”

“Mice are interesting!” Jon said defensively. “They’re very intelligent animals.”

Martin nodded enthusiastically. “It’s true!” he slurred. “It’s true, and he should say it!”

“Well, you would say that,” Tim pointed out.

Martin frowned, his sluggish brain struggling to interpret that statement. Did he seem like the sort of person who would defend mice? He was, he supposed, but he didn’t know it was noticeable. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You have to stand by your man,” Tim explained, waving a lazy hand toward Jon.

“Oh!” Jon sat up suddenly. “You were going to give us feedback. How did we- how did we do?”

“Very convincing,” Tim said.

“Disturbingly convincing,” Sasha chimed in.

“Do you think we’ll fool Martin’s family?”

“You could’ve fooled me,” Sasha shrugged, and Tim nodded in agreement.

“I personally think there’s like a 20% chance you two are dating for real and are just messing with us.”

“We aren’t,” Jon clarified, too quickly, “We wouldn’t-”

Martin felt a twist of regret and embarrassment, hearing him say that, but he still found himself agreeing. “Of course not.”

Jon glanced at him, then turned away, and Martin didn’t want to try and interpret his expression.

Tim looked at his phone, and let out a quiet oof when he saw the time. “I should really head home,” he said with a yawn, “I’ve got work in the morning.”

“Oh, God, we’ve got work in the morning,” Martin groaned. “Whose idea was it to have this on a Wednesday?”

“Sorry!” Sasha sighed, “But you two are always busy on the weekends doing Fake Couple things!”

“Speaking of,” Jon said, struggling to stand, “Can I see you home? Or, well, back to the Archives.” He stretched his legs for a moment, then extended a hand to help Martin up.

“You don’t have to…” Martin hated walking alone at night (Hell, he hated walking alone in the daytime these days) but it was late, and the Institute was decidedly not on the way to Jon’s flat.

“Martin,” Jon said flatly, slurring his words just a bit, “There’s worms.”

Martin couldn’t really argue with that logic, so after they’d said their goodbyes and thanked Sasha for hosting, Martin found himself helping Jon into a cab.

“Thank you, darling,” Jon said softly as Martin climbed in after him.

“You’re welcome, dear.”

It took them a moment to get their seat belts buckled - neither was particularly coordinated at the moment - but after a minute they got settled, and Jon leaned over to rest his head on Martin’s shoulder. He made a little noise of satisfaction, apparently very comfortable.

“I love you,” he muttered, so casually that it took Martin a moment to process what he’d said.

“We’re not trying to fool the cabbie, Jon,” Martin whispered. “You can relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Mmm,” Jon hummed, turning his neck to an even more comfortable position on the pillow of Martin’s shoulder, “Same thing.”

Martin huffed a laugh, and shifted so that his head was resting on top of Jon’s. He grabbed Jon’s hand where it sat on his knee, and interlaced their fingers. “Well,” he whispered, “I love you, too.”

Jon gave another quiet, contented hum and ran his thumb lazily over the back of Martin’s hand.

The ride passed quickly, and mostly in silence. When the cab pulled up in front of the Institute, Martin reluctantly disentangled his fingers from Jon’s.

“Thanks, Jon,” he said, “For taking me home.”

“Of course.”

Martin handed over his portion of the fare and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Before he could walk two steps, his eyes caught on a flash of silver glinting on the pavement. He chose to blame the alcohol for the high, undignified shriek he let out as he stomped furiously on the worm and whirled around to look for others.

Jon was out of the cab and at his side in a moment, eyes wide. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“A worm,” Martin explained, “J-Just the one, I think.”

Jon looked over the sidewalk as well, but the only sign left of worms was the slick patch of grey sludge under Martin’s shoe. “W-Why don’t I walk you to your door?”

Walking through the empty Institute was somehow eerier this late at night, and Martin couldn’t help to be glad that Jon was with him. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the dark and cavernous foyer. The enormous oil painting of Jonah Magnus that hung on the far wall was cast in shadow, and in the dim light the only thing that could be seen clearly were his pale, unnerving eyes. He was relieved when they reached the dinginess of the archives, which, though not exactly more inviting, had at least become familiar.

They lingered by the door to Document Storage. Martin wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he settled for, “Will you get home alright on your own?”

Jon nodded. “You don’t need to worry about me,” he said, though his words were undercut by the way he was swaying where he stood.

“I always worry about you,” Martin admitted, because it was true, and because he didn’t think Jon would remember this conversation in the morning.

Jon looked up at him, eyes wide and overserious. “I worry about you, too,” he whispered. He reached out clumsily for Martin’s hand and tapped it twice. Martin tapped back, bewildered, uncertain why Jon would want to kiss him now but certainly not going to complain. Instead, Jon wrapped his arms around his middle and squeezed him into a tight hug. “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered into Martin’s shirt, and it took Martin a moment to piece together what he was talking about. “I was so scared-“

Martin squeezed him back, letting his own arms wrap protectively around Jon. “You didn’t lose me. I’m right here.”

Jon pulled back just enough to look up into Martin’s face, biting his lip and giving another uncertain little nod. “And you will stay safe, won’t you? From the worms, the fog - from everything?”

And, of course, that wasn’t a promise Martin could make, but letting Jon down was not an option at the moment, so he whispered back, “I will. I promise.”

Jon seemed to find that reassuring, as he patted Martin’s arms and said, “Good. Good.” Then he gave him one last once-over and cleared his throat, saying, “Well, I should be getting on. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Jon,” Martin said. He placed his hand on the doorknob, but didn’t turn it until he had watched Jon slip out of the Archives and out of sight.

(View this chapter on AO3)

[asterekmess]

S3A - E4

Alrighty, here we go. Maybe I’ll get a little less fired up this time.

Be Kind, Read More’s (I’m bad at puns or jokes.)

Thoughts:

So, I get that they’re trying to amp up Scott becoming an Alpha or whatever, but I just really hate the concept of dogs needing to know “who the alpha is.” It’s a really harmful myth that leads to a lot of frustration for owners and a lot of fear for their dogs. I actually recommend anyone with a dog, or thinking of getting a dog to look at this video to understand how huge a myth that whole Dominance thing is. He explains it better than I ever could. That also doesn’t work in the show, since we know that all werewolves have sway over dogs. Derek does it like a fucking pro in S1 (Yeah, he scares the dogs, but it’s entirely controlled. The dog didn’t freak until he wanted it to.)

Woooow, Scott actually working at his job? That’s new!

Deaton, mistletoe is poisonous to anyone. Wtf are you on about “to the dog, and you too.” literally everyone is poisoned by mistletoe.

Is this a reference to a movie or something? IT’s so fucking creepy and gross, him sticking his hand under the dumpster and getting bit. And what’s with the whispering??? JENNIFER did you bite someone? WTF? Also, he literally can’t get any closer, dumbass. He’s on his knees right up against the dumpster.

I hate this woman. This show I think has a lot of issues with actual foreshadowing and making villains appear earlier in the show. Like, they knew Jennifer was going to be the villain. So what was all this extra shit? All the random clips of her grading papers and getting spooked walking down the halls of the school. She’s literally committing murder every single night and is far scarier than even werewolves, even without the extra powers. Showing us this stuff directly contradicts her being the villain. I can’t tell if they thought we as an audience were too smart and we’d figure out she was the villain, so they had to cover their tracks extra hard bc we all know that plot twists should only ever happen when it makes no sense, or if they thought we were too dumb to notice that they didn’t put any effort into her character until she starts being actively creepy.

I hate this. I hate all of it. I’m disgusted and nauseous just fucking watching this, knowing that Derek isn’t fucking choosing to do any of this. He’s literally under a spell that’s making him worry about her, because she wants an Alpha guard dog.

I’m also gonna point out that since the show hadn’t told us that Derek was being controlled yet, they were trying to show Derek being interested in Jennifer and trying to make Jennifer someone Derek would be interested in. In order to do that, they made her jumpy, suspicious, anxious, and over-talkative. And crazy smart. With brown hair. Just saying.

The Crucible? Dude, you started the class on The Heart of Darkness literally last Wednesday. Chapters 1-3 weren’t due till last Friday. Why can’t this show fucking make up its mind?

Aannnnd here we go. Love watching Scott laugh about something that he knows Stiles is absolutely terrified by, seeing as Heather DIED. God, if you want Scott to look funny, can you not make him make jokes about something that’s getting people killed and traumatizing his best friend? Jesus.

I...I feel the need to point out that Stiles jumped exactly the same way Jennifer did like two seconds ago....just saying.

Honestly, I like that this Danny did this, not just to fuck with Stiles (in a non-sexy way) but also to try and subtly point out that he can hear them talking about virgin sacrifices. Maybe keep it down boys?

As much as I hate this shaky camera, slow-mo to fast-mo stuff, it’s still so much better than the CGI/Green Screen. Just, so much.

Boys, stop sticking your tongues out while running, you’re gonna bite them off and that shit doesn’t grow back. Also, I wanna give Isaac props here for managing to keep up with Alphas. Speedy Boi. AND, did you notice the look on his face before he ran after them? TOTALLY different from the look on his face before he attacked Cora in the woods. Not play time, kill time.

Those are...those are also not wolf sounds. At least I know Cora wasn’t a sexist thing? Seriously, wolves sound terrifying enough on their own, no need to add in the lion--wait didn’t I read that they don’t use lions roars most of the time, they use tigers instead? Whatever. NO need for the cat noises. I get it for the actual roaring stuff, but the snarls can be wolfy, can’t they?

How long did they have to stand there waiting for the cops to arrive? THe whole class is just standing around in a crowd? You know, I’d believe it, honestly I don’t think Finstock would think to make them go back to the school. He’s not great at the adulting thing.

How--How did Kyle’s girlfriend know? She’s not on the track team, is she?

I hate this whole “He’s got a point” thing. Stiles admitted that he agreed the Alphas were connected somehow but his reasoning is perfectly sound. Are you seriously telling me that Scott didn’t talk to Deaton about this? We can assume he did, because it’s Scott and he tells Deaton Everything. But that means Deaton DIDN’T tell him what he knew, openly lying to him. And none of that should matter anyway, because Stiles is Scott’s best friend. It is not too much to ask for him to just believe Stiles. In fact, it’s pretty fucking basic friendship stuff.

ALSO I hate that Isaac appears to give zero fucks about Erica. “They killed that kid, they killed the girl that saved me” But no mention of Erica? Or of how they imprisoned erica and boyd for four months? No mention of his own pack members? Seriously?

Hi cora. Hi derek. I really really wish you were going to be a reprieve from the bullshit of the rest of the episode so far, but instead you’re going to break my heart by refusing to give me even the slightest hint at Derek and Cora giving any kind of fucks about each other and finding out that the sibling they thought was dead is not dead. Nothing. We get absolutely Nothing. I don’t even get to see where the FUCK Cora got the exercise clothes from? Did they go shopping? did they go find her bag of clothes that got left in a building somewhere when she was taken? Huh? SOMETHING?

I’m just so...disappointed, and it’s definitely not directed at Derek.

Also, Derek, your alarm sucks ass if it only tells you that someone’s at your place once they’re outside the door.

I’m gonna be honest, Derek does need to work on his ranged combat. He’s all about the up close and personal, our boy needs a quarterstaff or something. Maybe a bat?

Sup duke? I hate your guts.

Sup Harris? I hate your guts too.

I don’t--I don’t even wanna talk about this scene with the twins. I just...what the absolute fuck? Those kids need so much therapy. I just feel ill. Also stop with the making werewolves masochists for some reason! Stop it! It’s boring and dumb!

I literally refuse to believe any of that had plot relevance. I think the twins are just being assholes for the fun of it. That is so convoluted in so many ways.

Other than the really really overdone British villain trope thing, I literally have nothing to say about this scene. Other than, you know, the part where Derek outright refuses to kill his pack even with a fucking PIPE through his CHEST, yet somehow we’re meant to believe that he wanted to kill them on the full moon even when he had no proof that they’d hurt anyone? Love that logic. Yah. Uh huh. Side note: why do I even like this show? Side Side note: It’s cus’ Derek and Stiles and Cora and Isaac and Boyd and Erica and Lydia are all fucking awesome. Honestly, Allison too. And Danny. And Jackson. And Kira when she comes in. Even Malia has potential

Isaac, honey, you have claustrophobia and that’s a legitimate medical concern that Harris would need to make adjustments for.

HI BOYD. I MISSED YOU SO MUCH OH MY GOD. Thanks for stabbing me in the heart with that friend comment. My everything hurts now. I love you. Also, bye, cus’ you don’t come back for the entire rest of the episode. awesome.

Is it even remotely okay for the school to make students handle chemicals and fuck with the janitor’s stuff/do custodial work? Like, detention is detention and the school/Harris has no business using the students for free labor.

Fucking pathetic. I hate this stupid Alpha command thing. I hate this whole plotline and no I’m NOT going to stop complaining about it any time soon. It’s stupid as fuck.

Stiles how do you expect Lydia to know about this shit when no one fucking talks to her except you??? SEE? YOU SEE? THAT is how you use humor in a tense situation!

Lydia, Stiles is human.

Please stop with the sexual tension, it’s pissing me off. Allison fired over a dozen arrows into Erica and Boyd, then help her grandfather kidnap and torture them and sliced Isaac to ribbons. I’m not done being mad at her, and Isaac Damn Well shouldn’t be either.

Okay WHAT? Since when is English the last class of the day? It was their first class an episode ago! What the fuck are you talking about? and WHY are you writing “Great Expectations” on the board!!???? Even if The Crucible was for a different class you’re STILL ON HEART OF DARKNESS.

I just-I get that they’re teenagers, but that’s seriously the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen and even though Allison’s still pretty high on my shit list at the mo, she’s way too smart not to know that this is stupid as fuck. Just because the Alphas are being stupid doesn’t mean you PISS THEM OFF. Nothing you just did HELPED at ALL. You didn’t Hinder them or Weaken them or ANYTHING. You just played a stupid ass prank???

So...Stiles has a free period in the last period of the day? When no one else does? Yet somehow he’s in all their classes AND we SAW him AND LYDIA in Scott and Allison’s English class? ALSO the twins are Miraculously now in the English class as well, even though they weren’t there on the FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL??? WHat the FUCK This is a show about HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS and you can’t be fucked to actually get their stupid fucking Schedule right? The same with the full moon. The two things that should always be consistent are the FULL MOONS for the WEREWOLVES and the SCHOOL SCHEDULE for the STUDENTS. You spend hours of episode planning time on making outfits and references to horror movies, but you can’t get A SIMPLE FUCKING TIMELINE right?

I know Stiles hasn’t talked to Deaton all that much so far in the show, but this is a really weirdly long introduction to him asking Deaton for info, when I honestly expected him to just push in and say, “HEY, so how about those human sacrifices, huh? You keeping something from us again?”

I hate them cutting up these scenes so much. Derek’s effectively been pinned to the ground for an entire school day at this point.

Actually, this little speech of Duke’s is where I got a huge headcanon for the show about how truly monstrous Duke and the rest of the Alphas are. He says he didn’t know that killing your own Beta adds their power to yours. But, shouldn’t that be like a really well known thing in this werewolf world of horrific murders and “Rite of passage, into his pack” mentality that the show seems insistent on showing us? Instead, I think that Duke is actually like he says he is. The Demon Wolf. He’s a fucking demon and all werewolves know it, because he and his pack are disgusting and twisted enough to kill their own pack. I firmly believe, beyond all reason because fuck this show, that Alphas have a biological imperative to protect their pack, to keep them safe and happy and provide for them. That the reason no Alphas really knew about what happens when you kill your own Beta is because no one ever would. It’s the most taboo, horrific thing a werewolf can do, harming their own pack. Their own family.

STOP TOUCHING PEOPLE’s FACES. ESPECIALLY DEREK’S.

I love Derek’s line so much. “You’re a fanatic.” Like. Yes. Completely shutting him down. That was so good.

Also, Duke. you literally just said “You’ll get to know me.” and now you’re mad because “Know me? You’ve never seen anything like me.” I wish someone would just pick him up by the scruff and toss him out a window.

What’s with the sudden lightning? and why is the thunder happening at the same time?

I have literally had the fifteen minute rule held over my head so many times. We once got locked outside our orchestra room for fifteen-minutes and one of the secretaries from the front office had to let us in, and then they had to send us a sub teacher because ours was sick but even though she called in, they’d hadn’t bothered to call the sub yet. the fifteen minute rule doesn’t exist, and I wish so fucking badly that it did. PLUS. I thought School was OVER????

Stiles, you should know better. The Celts were accused of human sacrifice by the Romans, who were trying to demonize them and take over their land. (which is pointless, since the Romans participated in tons of human sacrifice, even if they didn’t explicitly call it that. Anybody heard of the fucking Colosseum?) Plus, there isn’t any actual evidence that isn’t from extremely biased Latin texts that indicates the Celts performing human sacrifices as religious rites. You’re right though, cus’ the show does pull a lot from the concept of Celtic Druids. It just does it horrifically badly and completely misconstrues them by using the modern myth of the druids rather than the historical reality of them. I was a classics major, with an obsession on Druidic practices. Fight me about it.

Thank you Stiles, for calling Deaton out. Also, what does Deaton mean ten years? He was the Hale emissary six years ago. Jesus christ, this isn’t hard.

I hate to say it, but that is correct, Deaton. Druids were philosphers and scholars. That’s because Druid was a SOCIAL CLASS not a JOB. They didn’t believe they were “keeping the world in balance’ but they believed the world was MADE UP of balances. The Celts didn’t believe in letting people die for the sake of “maintaining the balance.” Their social structure was based on equality between the sexes and community ownership (a bit like socialism, it’s actually why the Romans hated them so much, they represented the exact opposite of Roman Ideals of hierarchy and private ownership with the male head of family in charge) But I digress. My bad.

Cue the dropbox ad

So what’s with the chanting? There wasn’t chanting when Heather was taken? Or Emily? Is the method of abduction supposed to be different for every group?

Ooooh, Dell school computers. Did they lose their Mac contract?

Oh Look! It’s the consequences of your actions!

They have so much time to react and do something to keep the boys from merging while they’re busy taking their dumb shirts off.

For the record, Druid is not the gaelic word for “wise oak”. It’s generally accepted to mean “oaken knowledge” or, less literally, “the one whose knowledge is great” (since oak was considered to signify greatness). But those are just semantics and I’m not as bothered by it. I’m MORE bothered by the use of the word “Darach” which does NOT mean Dark oak. “ach” is an Irish suffix meaning “Belonging to” and Darach is an NAME, as in like Emily or Janice, it’s a Name not a title. One that means “belonging to the oak” (actually, it’s masculine, so it would mean “Son of oak”). Scottish Gaelic and Irish are still real languages and you mistranslating things and taking words from their already incredibly oppressed and abused culture is really fucking annoying. So, uh. yeah. Listen, this is one of my few areas where I know anything so I had to complain about it. I get that it’s just a show. I really do. But it’s my post, so meh. Also, you bet your ass I have opinions on the concept of a Nemeton as well. But that’s not for now.

I find it kinda hilarious that none of the names on those papers had last names. Tom. Terry. Tim P. almost has a last name.

and now we break my fucking heart. Actually, first I wanna give this show some props for once. The music they use for this season is very drum based, very repetitive, and it really helps with the ritualistic vibe they seem to be going for. The chanting, etc. I worry about what they pulled that stuff from, cus’ if it’s from actual religions that’s fucking dicey, but the atmosphere is good.

NOW we break my fucking heart. Fucking fuck. It hurts, especially knowing that Isaac already had one flashback today. And then they have to go and add anger to my turmoil by having him go to SCOTT. Fuck scott. I fucking hate this.

Bye Harris. No, wait, I have questions. So Harris helped Jennifer somehow. By...what, helping her fake her identity? Was he her reference for getting the job at the school? Or did he help her with the killings, by finding her students/teachers who fit the bill? When he says “They’ll figure you out” is he talking about the cops or the wolves? Does he know about the supernatural? If he does, does that mean that he knew who Kate was when she found him in that bar? Bye Harris.

Last Thoughts: I’ll give this episode props. It had sunlight in it. Uh...I honestly can’t think of anything else I enjoyed. This shit, this shit is why people write fanfiction. These mistakes with the timeline and the schedule and the character’s whose personalities flip back and forth at random? The refusal to acknowledge trauma and deal with it appropriately? I honestly don’t even know how to feel about the show selling this Derek/Jennifer romance to us and then revealing at the end that he was under a literal spell the whole time. That he had sex with her while under the influence of her magic. That these oh so brief moments where we actually get to see Derek smiling and joking and see a hint at his personality and his intelligence and maybe even his past, they’re all forced on him. It’s all a trick. He has sex with her while he’s incapable of giving consent. It’s fucking rape, shown on-screen. And the show portrayed this as romantic, for the sake of their stupid fucking plot twist. We were encouraged to like this relationship because we didn’t know he was being Controlled. Ugh. Bleh. Plus there’s the whole thing where once again Stiles is being ignored and Lydia has no clue what’s going on, and Deaton is hiding things from everyone and Boyd is barely a character. And Allison’s behavior is never dealt with, and Scott is just...Scott. This is why I make changes.

[angsty-nerd]

Fictober #18

#18. “Secrets? I love secrets!”

Roswell, NM fanfic

Gen, post S1. Maria DeLuca & the rest of team human.

It was starting to get ridiculous.

Maria couldn't deny that she had noticed it a little bit over the past few months since Liz got back into town. It's hard not to notice when your friends suddenly fall silent when you walk up to their table at the bar. Or a totally awkward but obvious change of subject when you unexpectedly enter a room. Her friends were not as subtle as they thought they were. But Maria liked to be the fun friend and there was very little that she hated more than drama. So when these things happened, she laughed it off in front of them, and tried to let it slide off of her shoulders. She figured at some point things would either come to a head, or get better.

And then they did. Sort of.

A week earlier, Michael had come clean to her about everything. He admitted to her that he was an alien, he told her about Max dying to bring Rosa back to life, his healed hand, the pods, Project Shepherd, Noah...everything. And holy hell that was a lot of drama. Maria knew she was in the dark about something, but she had no idea how big of a something it was!

The thing about secrets is...when there's a new person in the know, it throws off the whole situation. There's an adjustment period. But that adjustment period can't even start unless everyone knows that someone new is in on things.

From the edge of this whole alien cowboy drama affair, it appeared that there was some unaddressed lingering drama. Michael had closed himself off from the group and it seemed that he never bothered to tell anyone that he had let Maria in on their secrets.

Which is why, on a particularly quiet Wednesday evening at the Wild Pony, Maria stood behind the bar, wiping the empty counter down and watching the booth a few feet away, where Liz and Kyle sat beside each other on one side of the table opposite Alex. The three of them had their heads together and were talking quickly and quietly amongst themselves. And Maria was quite sure she knew what they were talking about. A surgeon, a biomedical researcher, and a guy with access to it the most comprehensive archive of alien science on earth? They were trying to figure out how to bring Max back.

The hard part was how to get them to admit it to her.

Maria watched them for a little while until she decided that they were way too caught up in whatever they were discussing to notice what she was doing. She grabbed a bottle of tequila and four shot glasses, and casually wandered the long way around the room, so that she could approach them, hopefully unnoticed, from the opposite side of their booth.

Her strategy worked. As she walked up, she overheard Kyle growl out. "...a total wild card. How long do you honestly believe she'll let us keep this a secret?"

“Secrets? I love secrets!” Maria called out as she leaned over the wall abutting their booth, waving the tequila bottle in front of them. "How about I pour you some shots and you tell your good friend Maria about alllll your secrets, huh?"

She pretended not to see the panicked looks that her friend were quickly trying to hide, but internally, Maria was cackling with amusement as she set down the four shot glasses on the ledge of the wall above them and poured the shots. She passed the glasses down to them and then gestured for them to wait as she hurried around the barrier and slid into the booth next to Alex.

"How about we drink to lifelong friendship staying strong through all these years," Kyle suggested.

"Ugggh," Liz groaned. "Cheesy."

"I know," Maria tossed out to the table. "Why don't we drink to lost friends' returns; those that we are lucky enough to have here with us now, and those that we're still waiting for...those yet to come."

There was a long moment of silence. Maria had to work hard to keep a smile off of her face as she could feel Alex fidgeting a bit beside her. Liz was staring sadly at her tequila. Kyle's eyes were glued to the ceiling for some reason. It was Alex who finally broke the silence though.

"To lost friends' return," he concurred softly, as he held up his shot. Kyle echoed him, so that only Liz remained silent. She raised her glass anyway though, and looked up, teary eyes meeting Maria's as she finally croaked out, "lost friends' return," just as a tear trailed down her cheek.

Maria reached across the table and took Liz's hand, squeezing it tightly. She gave her a comforting smile, that she hoped Liz could still read after all these years. I've got you babe. I'm here if you need me. Maria pushed the supportive thoughts in Liz's direction. Internally, she pleaded that Liz didn't need to be psychic to hear her and to understand.

She waited a moment at the table to see if someone, anyone, would start a conversation. Once it was clear that they were going to stick with the totally obvious awkward silence thing, Maria chuckled and pushed herself to her feet.

"All right, I'll let you guys work. I don't want to be the one to blame if y'all don't figure out how to raise Max from the dead. Just do me a favor and let me know when I'm allowed to see Rosa, okay?"

And without waiting for their reactions, Maria turned her back on her friends and sauntered back to the bar, tequila bottle in hand. She had gone maybe five steps when she heard her three friends all start talking at once, frantic, shocked voices that all didn't seem to know how to react at once.

Maria cackled as she slipped behind the bar and returned the tequila bottle to the shelf. It was a little too much fun to take them by surprise like that.

And she didn't even have to mention aliens.