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immaturityofthomasastruc · 7 months ago

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EVEN MORE SPOILERS FOR SEASON 6

I figured since I already read it, I'd give my thoughts on the recent interview Astruc and Thibaudeau took part in.

Due to incompatibility with the new animation engine, SAMG will not be working on the next seasons of ‘Miraculous’. The series is now being developed entirely in France, with the integration of Dwarf Animation.

Okay, props for no more outsourcing, even if I'm not sure what this means for the other ZAG shows.

Season 6 is considered to be “a new beginning”, aside from being a new story arc. It is sometimes referred to by the writers as Season 1.

I'm sure that isn't confusing to the executives at all. Also, maybe don't imply you're starting from scratch when you're already reusing the plot of the main villain using the Butterfly Miraculous.

The writing team already has concrete ideas for how Seasons 7, 8 and 9 will begin and end. They also have ambitions to make it to a Season 12, only if the support of viewers and executives allows them to do so. With this, they emphasize the fact that they would not continue with the show if it were no longer needed or interesting.

So basically, they're planning to keep this up for as long as they can until someone pulls the plug.

The opening of the sixth season is still undecided. They are still discussing whether they will change the musical arrangement or not. Thomas also considers the possibility of making a brand-new theme song. A song has been confirmed for S6. They have the music, the arrangement and a female singer. The character remains unknown.

Imagine how funny it would be if they brought back the woman who sang for Marinette in the movie instead of having Cristina Vee sing again.

Despite leaving Paris at the end of ‘Revolution’ (5x23), Chloé Bourgeois will return in Season 6.

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Putting aside all the things I've said about her "damnation arc", what is even the point of bringing her back at this point? She has no powers, no influence, no allies, and isn't a threat of any kind. This makes her not being the next Hawkmoth make even less sense, becuse she has more of a reason to hate Ladybug than Lila does.

Also, with the news that Chloe is coming back, this means that she essentially escaped punishment or at least found a way to rebound like Lila did. So that's a grand total of ZERO villains who actually got punished for their actions after five seasons. I'm starting to think Ladybug and Cat Noir really suck at their jobs.

Sebastien Thibadeau: “[Cerise] (IOTA: I'm still calling her Lila for simplicity's sake) is a villain without costume. She is a villain all the time. There is a reason why, but this reason, neither I nor Astruc will reveal to you yet.” Interviewer: “You mean you already intend to tell it?” Thomas Astruc: “Yes. And you know what, we have already told it, but you haven’t noticed.”

Translation: Ladies and gentlemen, LET'S GET READY FOR RETCOOOOOONNNNS!

Seriously, we are approaching the sixth season of this show. It has been eight years since Lila first appeared all the way back in "Volpina", and we still know nothing about her other than the fact that she has some three moms for some reason. You can't pull the whole "This is something you need to rewatch to understand!" excuse because the last two seasons hinged on breaking the rules about Sentimonsters.

Speaking of, I love how this comment about Lila accidentally implies that Gabriel never did anything evil when he wasn't Hawkmoth/Shadowmoth/Monarch. All that emotional abuse and isolation Adrien suffered was all out of love!

Thomas Astruc on Chloe redemption arc: “We put the characters in situations, and then we say to ourselves: “what would be the logic?” How would the character logically react in “such and such” a situation? And we tried, we tried everything. But every time, we say to ourselves: “if we write this, it’ll be wrong”. There’ll be no reason, it’ll come out of nowhere, the fact that she’ll face something nice and say: “Oh, I’ve been horrible, Marinette what have I done! From now on, I’ll be...” No, nonsense. I understand people’s desire for Chloe to be nice. I’d like that too. But I’d like it if in real life, people with a lot of power suddenly started doing nice things. But Chloé has no interest in changing. She has no reason to change, unfortunately.”

Ah, yes because Gabriel (Global terrorist and abusive parent), Felix (Betrayed Ladybug and temporarily wiped out all of humanity on a whim), Nathalie (Willing accomplice to Gabriel) Andre (corrupt politician and Chloe's primary enabler), Sabrina (Willing accomplice to Chloe) all had compelling reasons to change their ways.

Also, "I've been horrible, what have I done?"

MY BROTHER IN CHRIST, THAT'S HOW VIRTUALLY EVERY REDEMPTION ON THIS SHOW IS EXECUTED.

The fact that he's seriously acting like he actually wanted to write a redemption arc is insulting. Not only does it ignore all the things he's said to fans who were upset at the turn of events, but it makes no sense for him to take this stance because he's a writer. If Chloe turning a new leaf is too strange of an idea, then write an actual character arc allowing her to progress to a state where she recognizes what she's done is wrong. You control the character for God's sake! It's not like you're training a dog to stop humping the couch. You can change things to make a redemption arc possible.

In other words, Astruc is either lying to save his ass, or THIS IS WHAT THOMAS ASTRUC ACTUALLY BELIEVES about writing characters.

Sebastien Thibadeau talks about Andre's character development: In contrast to Chloe, “Andre Bourgeois evolved as a character because we had already imagined a back story. He had the potential to change, and that’s where the beautiful scene comes from — I think it’s magnificent — between Gabriel and himself on the roof of the Grand Palace, where he says: “But Gabriel, what’s become of us? We’ve forgotten the kids we used to be”. But we [writers] know what kids they used to be, and we’d like to tell the story one day, to show what young kids they were, when they were struggling through Paris and weren’t yet what you’ve come to know in the series. He’s sad about what’s happening to his daughter [Chloe], and he’s trying to change it, but he can’t. He is proof that a character can change.”

This. This right here is what cinched it for me. I've tried for years not to say it because it's a word that has been flung around a lot over these last few years, but I feel like this little snippet is enough of a reason for me to say it.

These writers are sexist.

They may not believe it, but whether they intended for it or not, they wrote a story arc where a grown man was shown to have more sympathetic qualities than his daughter. How the hell can you defend it in a way that doesn't highlight the misogyny that this show runs on?

The fact that they gush over how much "potential" Andre had right after saying how that same kind of potential wasn't enough of a reason to attempt a redemption arc with Chloe really shows how confusing their priorities are. I'm sorry to keep saying this, but for a show that takes a heavy anti-capitalist philosophy, it seems like the members of the 1% are the characters who get the most depth and sympathy... unless you're under 18 and lack a Y chromosome, that is.

A meeting will be set up in the coming weeks to decide on whether or not to make a live-action for ‘Miraculous’, Thomas Astruc reveals.

As a former Arrowverse fan, I'm willing to see this out. Not only did the Netflix One Piece series prove you can make an animated property work in live-action, Ladybug & Cat Noir: The Movie managed to do really well even without the usual writers behind it.

Thomas when asked about Gabriel’s wish in ‘Re-Creation’ (5x26) and whether he brought Emilie back to life: “All the answers are in the episode.”

For the love of--STOP SAYING THAT!

You keep claiming that we just need to rewatch the episode to understand things, but between the continuity errors and abandoned subplots, it's hard to tell what's important and what isn't. Either say "No comment" or give us an honest answer.

If people are still confused about how the season ended after almost a year, and you keep giving answers like this:

Maybe you need to change the way you tell the story.

Astruc when asked about ‘The Supreme’: “Oh, if only you knew... Nothing we do is meaningless.”

Sebastien Thibadeau on Season 7: “Once you’ve seen the start of season 7, I can swear you’ll watch season 6 a second time. That’s all I can say.”

Because it'll make Season 6 look like a masterpiece by comparison?

Thomas Astruc on the worldbuilding: There are Kwamis and Renlings, what makes you think there aren’t others [creatures]?

I swear, by the time we get to Season 10, we're going to get stuff like aliens, demons and talking mushrooms, or at least something ludicrous like that.

Zoe had a love at first sight when she met Marinette in ‘Sole Crusher’ (4x07), they confirm.

Of course! That's why it wasn't framed any differently from something like the umbrella scene and Zoe showed absolutely no signs of attraction to Marinette! It's genius!

Executives had Thomas write several alternative concepts for ‘Miraculous’, very different from what we know today or even the early PV. Among them, “a concept where Ladybug is the head of a group of superheroines, like Sailor Moon. There was no love story.”

Can you imagine a world without the Love Square?

The script writers’ favorite episode is ‘Simpleman’ (4x19) as it represents a personal, work and family attachment. Marinette’s grandfather, Roland Dupain, is inspired by Thomas Astruc’s grandfather.

Okay, either Astruc had a complicated relationship with his grandpa or he's been dead for years. While I understand that older generations have outdated views (for example, my great-grandmother yelled at me for saying I wanted to learn Japanese because "They tried to kill us!"), the fact that a caricture of a grumpy old man was based on his grandpa is a little concerning.

Also, between this and Sabine being based off an old flame of his, this only makes the theory that Chloe is based off a real person Astruc knew more plausible.

Astruc: “This is why our work is so difficult. We have to manage to bring in this generation of younger ones, and at the same time, we have to satisfy the generation that was here before and that grows with the series.”

First, if you're trying to please older fans, maybe don't get into fights with them on Twitter.

Second, you made a thread after "Simpleman" aired where you insulted fans for not getting the "meta" element to the episode and compared them to the character you just said was based on your grandfather.

You've also been burning away a lot of the older fans' goodwill over the years. Trust me, I have a few examples.

Despite sharing a similar appearance, the symbol on Nino’s T-shirt is not related to Hack-San.

Okay, is this a fan theory I missed back when Season 4 was airing? Why would anyone draw that conclusion?

Thomas Astruc talks about Season 6: “I’ll say it sincerely, I was very doubtful at the end of Season 5. I said to myself: “if we were to continue, how would we exceed?” Well, we did. It’s been a great season. The new writers have brought us a lot of great stuff. All the episodes we’ve written in Season 6 are fabulous. Each episode is on point, there is no unnecessary lines. All the scenes are really interesting, really well-crafted.”

Translation: Tons of filler, bad comedy, reused Akumas, and more Love Square drama that we're trying to claim hasn't been done before.

Thomas when asked if Marinette will get akumatized: “We never give any information about what may or may not happen.”

JUST. SAY. NO. COMMENT.

There are many important details throughout the series that no one has noticed. Thomas says that when we see the next seasons, we’ll think, “Oh, the writers had it all planned.”

You know, like how Season 3 established that Sentimonsters can be sent out of control by Cataclysm a few episodes before Adrien, a Sentimonster, gets hit by a Cataclysm and is affected in a different way. It was all planned from the beginning.

The Ladybug PV was an animation test and was not intended to be public. Jeremy Zag decided to leak it himself.

Honestly? Dick move on Zag's part. You have to wonder how pissed off Astruc was.

According to Thomas Astruc, what the ‘Miraculous’ series is today represents only 5% of what he wrote in the original bible he presented to Jeremy Zag. “The universe has evolved a lot since. I don’t know if the ideas I put there will be reused someday. It was very extensive.”

Thomas Astruc and Sebastien Thibadeau discuss the parallels between Marinette and Gabriel: Astruc: “Gabriel’s personal back story is the cause of his misery, not his will. And above all, it creates a beautiful mirror with Marinette, which is what’s interesting. They both have a lot of love for Adrien, they’re both designers, they both have a Miraculous, but it’s other choices.” Thibadeau: “That’s what makes it a great hero-villain contrast. Even if they don’t know it from the start, they have a real point in common. As we see at the end of Season 5, they both love Adrien. Except there’s one who does it by doing the right thing, and then there’s another who does it by doing the wrong thing, hurting people, to get there.”

And the one who did the wrong thing by hurting people ended up winning. What does that say about the contrast?

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And that's it for the interview. I have to say Season 6 does not look pretty so far.

#immaturity of thomas astruc #iota #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug salt #miraculous ladybug spoilers #ml spoilers #thomas astruc #thomas astruc salt

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ollieyingdu · 2 months ago

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VEIN PV — Analysis and Discussion

“ollie ur a week late” shut ur bitchass vein analysis is never late 🙏

ANYWAY.

welcome to my first analysis post of yingdu about the Vein PV released a couple days ago.

NOTE: this is a lottt of rambling that I’ve tried to categorize for easy consumption. if i repeat stuff or it feels clunky, i apologize!! im still working out how i wanna format these things lmao. thank you for your patience.

OKAYYYY LETS GET INTO IT !!!

lets start with the colors of this PV, shall we?

this PV is FULL of bright colors, nearly eye-strain level with a strong presence of red. Red is obviously Vein’s character color, representing violence and passion that he holds as a mafia boss, but what about the other colors?

in the screenshot I sent above, you can see a presence of bright blues and purples. in my opinion, i think the colors have less of an actual symbolism meaning, but moreso encourage us to draw conclusions about Vein. the bright colors paint his violence as fun, explosive and overpowering. as disturbing as the pv is, it’s clear that Vein is nowhere near disturbed by the things hes doing. the colors back this up perfectly.

also this pv is soooo pretty and i just want all of us to nod in acknowledgement of how PRETTY it is. studio lan i fear u ate

ANYWAY ANYWAY

as present in the lx pv as well, link click likes to show symbolism of their characters in the quick flashes before the pv actually starts. this is one for Vein: The Venus Flytrap.

according to google dot com and plant symbolism, venus flytraps represent persistence and deception. yep good all of this checks out, but why specifically a venus fly trap? can’t they show this with something else? i personally think it has to do with Vein as a character, and we don’t see a lot of that in the pv besides him being a major freak LMAOO. looking at what venus fly traps actually do — they secrete this nectar stuff that attracts flies, and using little hairs on the leaves, they can sense when a fly lands on a specific area and triggers the reaction of the plant closing. the flies outer layer is then digested and the plant feeds on what it really wants; the flies blood. i find this very interesting as i think it depicts how Vein meets shiguang. draws them in with something, closes around them and ends up feasting on their blood (whether literally or figuratively). maybe to trigger the trap, someone has to challenge him, like cxs will most likely do?? there’s definitely a lot to look at with that and I don’t think we have enough information to make concrete guesses 😭😭 but i wanted to bring it up!

along with the flytrap stuff, before the pv begins we see a video game visuals of Vein killing pigs, which I can assume depict random ass ppl in bridon. pigs being used in place of random ppl paint this picture of Vein as a butcher, and this is SO clever on link click’s part. there’s multiple scenes in the pv where vein is handling meat, whether that be killing, cutting or eating it. he’s a carnivore, through and through.

fitting that his symbolism is a carnivorous plant, isn’t it?

the video game aesthetic also gives the idea that Vein killing people is fun for him. he thrives on it. and it dehumanizes the people he kills, both through the pig imagery and that they matter as much as random enemies in a video game level. just a look into Vein’s psyche, very very interesting.

another detail that’s interesting to me; whenever Vein kills anyone in this pv, it’s always depicted with either face or head injuries, such as decapitation. this enforces how BRUTISH Vein really is. let me put it this way; if this pv showed Vein killing people with one methodical shot to the chest, our takeaway of his character would be vastly different. instead of that, vein deals injuries to the face and brain, to identity and control. he takes away people’s sense of self, either sweeping them under the rug or making them submissive to him.

and Vein does this gleefully. he’s shown laughing as he kills those around him, takes away their sense of self—he’s sadistic, incredibly so.

but, even scarier, he is drunk on power.

power is the biggest takeaway I get from this pv. they are telling us, to our face, that vein is the most powerful character we’ve met (before any of you say lx, his analysis with cover that, and i stand by my claim 👍 justtt wait and see).

okay, this considered, how is vein shown to be in power? how do we know he’s the most powerful? I think the answer to all of this lies in comparing him to past link click villains.

a big thing abt this pv is putting Vein on a different level than the villains we’ve seen before in how he exercises his power. qian jin (s2 villain if u don’t remember his name lmao), for example, typically exercises his power through manipulation. albeit, compared to lx he’s definitely worse, but his status and physical prowess allow him to have a good control of situations, such the scene at Chen bin’s house where he plants the money to frame him. Vein, on the other hand, has not only WAY more power, but a much more messy and brutal way of exercising it. in the pv we can see a lot of vein hurting people and it is messy. there’s blood everywhere, on him and on the ground, and he’s laughing maniacally surrounding by braindead henchmen. this is a BIG point on how powerful Vein is in the mafia. he doesn’t care for precision like qj does. Vein kills people, finds joy in doing so, and knows that nobody can stop him. his just has that much power. and comparing him to qj again: qj’s lackey guy had a mind of his own and ended up exercising his own agency at the end of s2. Vein’s lackeys are braindead and submissive, meaning that he surrounds himself with people who do not have the means to challenge him. my guess if that if anyone does, he gets rid of them quick, high off the adrenaline and the fact that nobody stands a chance against him.

this is backed by the loud, cocky rock music and eyestrain level visuals. it’s a nearly overwhelming amount of stimuli to display vein’s nearly overwhelming amount of power.

and in the screenshot I sent above, he’s walking outside the central bank with hooks behind him, flashy hair and all, without a care. the amount of power Vein has to do that is astronomical.

OKAY! big points from this analysis:

Vein is represented by a Venus Flytrap, one of a few carnivorous plants

Vein typically deals injuries to the face or head, which represents the way Vein takes away the identity of those around him.

Using pigs as depictions of random people, it makes Vein look like a butcher, as well as his scenes with meat everywhere

Vein finds a lot of joy in killing people, and is incredibly messy in how he handles it

Vein is powerful beyond comprehension through his Chinatown mafia

one thing i have left out is speculation around vein’s power (or if he even has one in the first place). because my theory for it is connected to another theory surrounding Overthink (the s1 ed), ill go in depth about it there! I’ll try and get that post out before yingdu airs, but be warned it is HEAVY speciation lmao

well guys, that seems to be it!!! i adore this PV, the song is a BANGERRR and we all cheer as we await yingdu!!

next up, lx pv analysis 🙏 drop a follow if ur interested in seeing it (trust me there is SO much to say about it) and check out the tag #ollieyingdu for anything yingdu related i have posted before or will post in the future.

thank you so much for stopping by! please feel free to comment/reblog ur thoughts, i welcome any and all discussion as long as everyone remains respectful.

that’s all for now! see you later 🫶

#ollieyingdu #link click #link click vein #link click yingdu chapter #link click theory #link click yingdu theory #shiguang dailiren #vein #link click analysis #shiguang daili ren

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in4newz · 6 days ago

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Just noticed that there hasn’t been much, if any, coverage on the mangione trial in like a month.

Like since he plead not guilty, there hasn’t been any major coverage on the proceedings. I just tried to look up anything about the past month and I genuinely cannot find anything.

Nothing about it they’re still in jury selection, nothing about any rulings, nothing about the defending attorney or even opinion pieces. Like I know why there’s not much coverage, but nothing at all? Like we got CONSTANT updates about the depp/heard case when it was happening, but now that it’s something about an important issue that would have been the case of the decade in times past, it’s radio silence.

It’s so incredibly disturbing that they’ve filtered it out of the media and that people don’t care enough to demand it be covered. People treated it like a trend and aesthetified it to the point that an actual act of resistance means nothing now.

Also there’s like no concrete evidence in this case. It’s all circumstantial. I feel that everyone forgot that, and because of it, the idea that “innocent until proven guilty” as a precedent is very much in the process of being undermined

Edit: Putting this here again because I keep getting people misinterpreting what I’m trying to say: You guys, I know there’s nothing new to report on. What I’m saying is that when something like this happens, everyone talks about it.

Every talk show and opinion columnist and political analyst will talk give speculation and reaction and opinion on it. Like when columbine happened, every news outlet talked about it for months before the trial ever happened. It happened in 99 and the rulings didn’t come out til 01 or something. And even if they never directly mentioned columbine, they would talk about gun violence and bullying and how police weren’t trained for situations like that.

They talked about the surrounding issues. Like yeah there’s nothing new that the media has access to rn, but no one is making opinion pieces about the judges conflict of interest, no talk show is having a 20 min segment about gun violence or the state of healthcare. Twenty years ago, it would have stayed in the news cycle at least passively until the case moved forward. But now it’s been phased out almost completely.

And I know coverage will pick up when the trial starts. I know courts move slowly. I’m not trying to push conspiracy. I was simply making an observation that it was strange that there was almost no talk about it, that it’s been phased out of news cycles, and how there’s no widespread conversation about the issues surrounding the shooting.

Also, I only used depp/heard in the original because it was the most recent case I could think of. And because I was tired and thought this post would be seen by like 20 people max, so I didn’t bother wording it as precisely as I could have. Columbine and the OJ Simpson case are better examples to work off of.

I just wanted to clarify what I meant so I stop getting comments that misinterpret what I’m trying to say and people being rude about it.

What's next?

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arliedraws · 7 months ago

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Drabble: James and Sirius are tortured together

Just a little Saturday whump. A special thank-you to @blacleria and @fiendishfyre for suggesting and supporting the idea of Prongsfoot being tortured together ☺️

Somehow James starts talking about cannibalism, as one does in times of stress, of course.

“Sirius,” James whispered. “Are you awake?”

There was a short grunt. An affirmative. It was a relief to hear it, to know he wasn’t alone, but James also wished Sirius would simply sleep if only to escape their predicament for a few moments. The weight of Sirius’s head dropped heavily onto James’s shoulder.

They had left the gag in Sirius’s mouth and the blindfold on James. It was useful to their tormenters because Sirius couldn’t warn James of what was coming or who was about to receive pain next, forcing him to suffer the anticipation of James’s screams before James realized what was about to happen. James had to applaud the cleverness of something so simple, but he and Sirius were quick to learn a new language. Their hands were tied behind their backs, lashed with cords around their wrists, their fingers growing numb. Sirius would squeeze his hand once if it they were about to hurt James next but twice if they intended to hurt Sirius. When the Death Eaters had gone from the room, one squeeze also meant yes, but two meant no. And then sometimes Sirius pumped three times in a way that held no concrete meaning that James found himself parroting whenever he started to lose hope that they would make it out alive.

The Death Eaters insisted that the point of all of this was to turn one of them, but James knew better. It was Bellatrix Lestrange’s chance to humiliate Sirius before he died. She wanted to show Sirius what a fool he was for abandoning his family, for sullying his blood, for giving it all up for a bloodtraitor like James Potter. She wanted him to repent. But first, he had to suffer, which meant that if anyone were going to die in this place, it was going to be James, and if his instincts were correct, it was going to be bloody. Bellatrix had already cut into James’s torso and his arms to see him bleed—she had swiped her finger through James’s blood and smeared it over Sirius’s lips, urging him to taste what happened when good blood was defiled by a Mudblood.

But the time to die had not come yet. For now, they were alone again, breathing raggedly, their shoulders pressed together. Waiting.

“How’d I taste, then?” James croaked.

Sirius made a sound of confusion in his throat.

“My blood,” he clarified. “Did you like it?” Sirius growled, but James chuckled anyway. “C’mon, it’s funny. Squeeze once if you think it was good, twice if it was too salty.”

Instead, Sirius crushed his fingers. James grinned, resting the back of his skull against Sirius’s shoulder.

“If you were to pair it with a fine wine—”

Through the gag, Sirius snarled at him to shut up.

“What was that, Padfoot? You said a cabernet?” James turned his head and inhaled the smell of Sirius’s hair. “Or maybe a good whisky. Right, so here’s another question for you: would you eat me if I died and you were starving? Hypothetically, of course. Let’s say we were stranded in the middle of nowhere without food and I died before you. Would you eat me?”

James grinned weakly as a string of curses pushed through the wad in Sirius’s mouth. His swears were muffled but he made his fury obvious.

“No, don’t answer right away,” said James. “Remember the story about the Muggles whose airplane crashed on that mountain in South America? They were all friends, right? They promised each other they could eat their bodies so the survivors wouldn’t starve. So there it is, Paddy. You’ve got permission to eat me if you run out of food. In fact,” he added, “if you didn’t eat me, I’d be offended.”

Sirius began to wriggle in earnest, jerking at the bonds that tied their hands together. It was no use—their legs were bound to their chairs, and they had learned long ago that the chairs couldn’t be budged anyway. And even if they managed to untie themselves, the door was locked.

“Sirius, stop,” James snapped. “There’s no point. We’ll figure out another way.”

Blindfolded (which seemed rather unnecessary since his glasses had flown off ages ago), James failed to see that Sirius was crying. He could only feel that Sirius was trying to pull out of the ropes that cinched the two of them together, but now it was obvious that he was holding back sobs.

“Shh, Sirius, it’s all right,” James urged. His chest was tight as he heard Sirius struggling to breathe. “This—this’ll be over soon.”

It didn’t calm Sirius at all. He was saying something, but James didn’t understand.

“Sirius, stop moving. You’re making my fingers numb. Listen, to me,” he demanded, and Sirius stilled. “If you lean your head back and turn your face away, I could try getting the gag off with my teeth. Can you do that?”

Sirius squeezed his hand once. James felt him do as he was told, and James craned his neck as far as it would go, burying his face against soft hair. It felt a bit stupid fumbling around and feeling for the strip of cloth with his nose, but soon, he’d found it and sank his teeth in, wrenching down to get it past Sirius’s ears. Pain radiated around his neck in the awkward position. James grunted and pulled until finally it loosed; he heard Sirius spit out the wad of cloth that had been stuffed in his mouth.

“Fuck you, James,” Sirius rasped. “I’m not…I’m not going to eat you.”

James was sweating from his effort. He laughed, resting back against Sirius. To hear that voice again, desperate and miserable as it was, made him feel safe. He pumped their entwined hands three times, unable to find the words to convey his relief. Sirius signaled back, sighing.

“I suppose you could eat me if it came to it,” Sirius murmured.

“But you wouldn’t eat me. Reckon my blood’s dirty now?”

Sirius snorted. “Mine’s filthier than yours.” Then he huffed and nestled back against James, his breath warm against James’s ear. “Fine, if it’s what you want, I’ll eat you. But only if you swear you’d eat me if I died first.”

“Of course I would. I’m honored you’d let me, Padfoot.”

“Better you than the worms.”

#prongsfoot #sirius black #james potter #my fics #drabbles #whump

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babybatss-blog · 8 months ago

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ik youve nvr done a fic for sam from sdv but I saw you are happy to!

Could I get fluff where he teaches you how to use his skateboard?

ROUGH DAY

Of course love, that’s such a cute idea! I don’t know much about skating but I did date a girl who skated, so I hope it’s accurate ~

Sam (stardew) x f!reader, 1300 words

Cw: swearing, suggestive language and blood.

Life in the valley is relaxing as you’ve always dreamed it would be. After leaving Zuzu city, you craved a boring normality, without a standard nine to five job and screaming criminals outside of your window at three am when you’re trying to sleep. You do also kind of miss the fun you had in your teenage years though, causing trouble and giving grey hairs to your poor parents. Perhaps that’s why you love Abby, Sam and Sebastian. Being two years younger than you they tended to remind you of trouble-free times, often getting you into antics you wouldn’t dream of now you’re attempting a proper adult life in the scenic countryside.

After doing your simple tasks on the farm you check your phone to see a message from Abby. “Yo we are chilling outside of Sam’s if you want to join :)” You smile at the text, as you’ve only been here for a month and a bit and the three have already welcomed you in so graciously. So you grab you back pack and set off, to spend the day in the sunshine with your new friends.

When you arrive, Abby and Sebastian are sitting on the grass playing Arctic Monkeys on a small speaker, while Sam is skating on the path in front of them. “Hey!!” You call, causing an enthusiastic wave from Abby and a less enthusiastic one from Seb. You thought he hated you, but the others assured you he was ‘just like that’. Sam on the other hand, whips his head up and looses balance on his board almost immediately, causing him to fall flat on his ass on the harsh concrete.

“Shit Sam are you alright?” You say, scrambling to his side to help him up. Despite what you deemed to be a serious tumble, Abigail and Seb merely laugh at the poor boy, pointing and insulting his clumsiness. “mm I’m alright…” he grumbles, dusting himself off with a pink blush coating his cheeks. You can’t help but notice how cute he looks in his flustered state, but choose to not dwell so much on the thought as it somehow feels wrong inside your stomach. “So… What are you doing?” You ask, quickly changing the subject away from your awkward silence. “Just skating. I’ve been trying to kickflip but it’s honestly harder than I thought it would be.” You respond with a confused face, clearly not understanding his complex lingo as if it’s another language entirely.

“Show her what you mean dipshit!” Abby calls out, her and Seb somehow still chuckling to each other. Why are they doing that you wonder, Sam fell over ages ago! This also spikes Sam out of the same confusion, which causes him to explain exactly what a kickflip is. “Right. So, a kickflip is basically just flipping the board as you jump, and landing on it afterwards. Pretty simple but I just can’t get it!”

Simple? You think to yourself silently on how intricate the whole ordeal sounds, but decide not to argue with him on it. Afterall, what do you know about skateboarding? “Here, let me show you what I’ve got so far.” He says, wasting no moment to let you advise against it as he promptly rides off. His nimble legs kick the board into a twist, and he jumps as if a bird in flight. But on the landing, his feet completely miss the centre of the board which causes him to catapult forward!

You start to leap forward (as if it will help in anyway) but he artfully rolls out of it and bounces up to his feet, showing a dorky smile and thumbs up almost immediately to soothe any doubts you may have. “See what I mean?” He walks towards you with an unearned swagger, picking up his board on the way and smiling. How this man hasn’t died yet you have no idea. “God Sam, I don’t know how you even attempt something like that… I can’t even ride forward on a skateboard!” He begins to chuckle at you, before stopping in his tracks with a wide eyed expression. “Hey, I can teach you! I’ve tried to Teach Abby and Seb like a million times now but they never want to. You can be my skating buddy.

Immediately you know how much of a bad idea that is. Flinging yourself onto a wheeled board, on concrete and without any protection? No thanks. But seeing Sam’s wide smile, setting up the board and pondering the best approach to teaching just makes the whole thing so damn appealing. Who can blame a girl, wanting to spend time with a cute guy?

So you roll your eyes, but still walk over to the board on the other side of Sam. “Okay so when your ready grab my hands and step onto the board. We are just going to practice balance for now, I’ll lead you up and down the path until you don’t need to hold on to stand up straight.” Sam sets his hand out on top of the board, calloused and strong from years of falling over and playing guitar. Taking a deep breath, you grab them. They’re warm and safe. You step onto the board, shaking on the spot but somehow still standing up. “Good girl…” He says, making your stomach knot up. You know his simple affirmation shouldn’t make you feel that way, but you cannot help but feel the butterflies building up within your walls.

Abigal and Sebastian seem to have the same idea, as the pair who you had forgotten were still watching arc up, Seb with a wolf whistle and Abby with some loud clapping. “Ignore them.” He says, clearing not getting the inuendo the rest of you recognised in his words. With slow yet dangerous steps Sam leads you forward, both of your eyes trained on the board below you. A smile grows on your face at the success, feeling an odd sort of accomplishment despite the small task. His hands pull away from yours, which you know was the goal of this but still makes you somehow upset.

You hold you breath as if you are on a tightrope, trying desperately not to fall off. You almost had it too, until Sam gives the board a light push and it catapults out from underneath you! Your three friends all leap up, taking your fall much more seriously than Sam’s previous ones as both your right leg and two palms draw blood on the harsh contact below. A string of mumbled curse words leaves Sam’s mouth as he rushes to your side, while all you can do is just sit their in defeat. “Fuck I’m so sorry, I thought you were ready to have the board moving. Are you bleeding?” You only nod back, raising your hands to show the raw skin you have developed. Sam scatters off like a nervous school boy into his house to grab his mothers first aid kit, as Abby and Seb sit next to you. “Good job there.” Seb says sarcastically, causing you to blush even more. “Shut up.” You reply. “I wanted to seem cool.”

To this Abigail envelopes you in a hug. “Girl you are cool! You don’t need to prove yourself to us or anyone! Plus, Sam already thinks your cool.” She says with a smile. “Really?” You ask, hopefully in your question as if it will solve all your issues. Both her and Seb reaffirm this, as Sam now rushes back outside (almost falling over himself again in the process) to pick you up. “Come on, I’ve got some bandages and ointment in the kitchen for you.”

He slings your arm over his shoulder and hoists you up effortlessly, helping you stumble into the kitchen. Truthfully, your small scratches don’t need all this attention, but you’ll take the excuse to be close to Sam once again.

#sam x reader sdv #stardew valley sam #stardew valley #sam sdv #sdv sam x reader #sdv sam #stardew x reader #stardew x farmer #babybatss blog

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cleolinda · 1 year ago

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I grew up in a haunted house and I didn’t notice

This is not a story about boo ghosts or shadow people. If it were, I would have figured it out, at least.

When I say "I grew up in a haunted house and I didn't notice," you have to understand that there was a lot going on with this house. It's not the house that I've written about currently living in, the one with newspaper and soda cans stuffed where insulation should have been, the one with constant home-repair calamities. No, my childhood home was a crumbling pile of red brick built in the 1920s. Narnia was in the backyard, and the back deck was my ship on the high seas. The house was surrounded by banks of flowers, lilies and irises and roses, and it was full of creepy shit I didn’t even blink at. I loved it.

It didn't look haunted, or even particularly historical. It was almost disappointingly normal—I lived on a street with a house that had a turret, for God's sake. No, it was just old and small. There's a lot of pre-Depression houses getting torn down in these suburbs; my town has been awash in construction for the last 20-30 years as people buy up cheap old houses, raze them, and squeeze mini-mansions onto their tiny lots, all to get their kids into a good school system. It gives me a chill to think of it, but yeah, that might happen to my childhood home someday, small and plain and unassuming as it is. My pirate ship has already been renovated into an extra bedroom, the new owners told us.

When we moved into the house in 1983, though—it had clearly been renovated in the '60s or '70s; the wallpaper was hideous, and the upstairs bathroom was carpeted. Shag-carpeted. The house had closets the size of shoeboxes; my bedroom, the one with the peach wallpaper, didn't even have one. The room down the hall had four, including one cut into the wall, under a slanted ceiling tucked beneath the roof, that looked like you'd stash a witch there when the Salem HOA came by. There was a fan in the attic—well, first of all, the attic was just one more room on that upstairs floor. It was directly across from the (carpeted) bathroom, and that room (lit by one ominous, hanging bulb) was just a short corridor with storage spaces on either side, hidden behind big sliding doors. And the fan at the very end was built into the brick outer wall of the house. Like our house was functionally open to the elements, between the blades of that fan. I have no idea what the fuck anyone was thinking when they built that, and how the fuck anyone kept the wildlife out.

We certainly couldn't. Squirrels lived in the roof and bowled with acorns. It was like listening to a pinball machine at night. I have an abject horror of cockroaches because sometimes an adventurous one would fall off the ceiling in the middle night, onto me, while I was trying to sleep. (Like, try to imagine that—you’re awakened from a dead sleep by a vague, paper-light skittering sensation up and down your arm. When Pennywise comes to me, he will show up as a cockroach.) But wait! There was more! We had herds of crickets in the basement that felt compelled to jump at people. Sometimes there were centipedes! Those were polite enough to only come out at night. In the dark.

By the way, that basement was totally unfinished. I don't mean that it just had exposed beams or concrete walls. I mean that the basement had uneven, mostly shoulder-high masonry walls, and then it was just open on three sides, extending under the rest of the house. Like just dry red Alabama earth and rocks and grainy dust tumbling around in this vast, dark—it wasn't even a crawl space, a child could have stood upright in it. This child? Oh fuck no. And the washer and dryer were down there. I had to creep down there, down a rickety plank staircase, past the staring dark caverns of my own basement, through a low-lying fog of aggressive crickets, go BEHIND THE STAIRCASE, and then do my laundry there. There was also a firewood pile by an old fridge, and only God knew what was under that.

None of this was haunted. All of this was completely normal to me. This isn't even the haunted part.

So let's go back upstairs. The ground floor was lovely, homey, fine except for the time the living room ceiling fell out due to water damage. Upstairs was where it got weird. I've talked about being mildly bullied as an unknowingly autistic child; home was where I felt safe. In my bedroom upstairs, I had all those My Little Ponies and my easel with all my crayon-drawn fantasy maps and all the stories I wrote. It didn't matter if roaches fell on me in the deeps of the night; home, that's where I was happy. So when I was a young kid and I felt like a vampire was following me down the hall at night, I assumed I was just being silly.

I was aware of vampires in the 1980s as, like, the Count on Sesame Street (ah ah aaah), and Count Chocula, and Count Duckula on Nickelodeon, and the Bunnicula books that I loved. As a kid, I wasn't aware of movies like The Lost Boys or Near Dark, or any vampires that weren't broad caricatures of the Bela Lugosi look. I loved Spooky Stuff—I'm from the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark generation—but vampires didn't scare me.

But when I had to get up in the middle of the night to go down the hall to the (carpeted) bathroom, I always had the sensation that something was following me as I was going back to my room. Something Dark. Not terribly tall, maybe not even much taller than me. And somehow, I visualized this deep in my mind as a vampire. Kind of a silly one, you know, the white-tie formal wear and the ribbon medal and the cape. I wasn't desperately scared that a Chocula was behind me, but I knew that I needed to get back to my room quick, and, at all costs, I must never look back. I must never look over my shoulder or else I would See It, something silly massing in the dark—and, brother, Eurydice would have been safe with me. Never stop running, never look back.

And I'm sure all kinds of kids develop little superstitions like this. It's probably a developmental thing, like having an imaginary friend (which I also had at some point). Even as a seven year old, I was thinking, This is silly, I'm just making it up (but not looking back costs nothing. Not looking at monsters is free). And I continued to think this, until I laughingly told my younger sister this at Sunday Family Dinner one night. We were both in our thirties at that point. And my sister started crying. Like just staring at me in wide-eyed horror, her eyes filling with tears. And she told me that when she had a bedroom upstairs, there was Something in there.

I won't belabor the exact setup, but at one point, we got it into our heads that we'd like to switch bedrooms, just for a change. I was 14, and I moved to her ground floor bedroom with the flowered white wallpaper and the big bright windows, and she went upstairs and took my room with the peach wallpaper and the cool slanted roof-ceiling (and no closet).

There were three other rooms on that upper floor (and I promise you this is important):

1) One was a small, windowless room that we used as a playroom, with weird cerulean blue carpet and sky blue wallpaper, one dim light fixture, and a little door in the wall that led to dark nothing. Like, you opened it, and you were confronted by a mass of pipes and machinery and just enough space to edge leftwards in the dark. Towards what? Fuck if I know, I sure as hell wasn't going in there. I think it was supposed to be for access to the HVAC system. I don't know. It was fucked. But when I was a young child, I had cooked for my baby dolls at our plastic play kitchen right next to that door, nbd, because apparently you put me in a creepy situation and I just go, yeah, we live like this now.

(I had not ever felt alone in that playroom, but I had also been too young to articulate that. Of course I wasn’t alone! I was with my dolls!)

2) The next room was the (shag-carpeted) bathroom. It had a big mirror over the sink counter, very typical, facing a vertical mirror that was behind the bathroom door. I've heard two mirrors facing each other can create a portal for the spirits, if you believe in that kind of thing. I once did the "Bloody Mary" thing there and nothing happened, idk.

3) The next room was the bedroom with four closets, where an older family member lived with us, and when she moved out, my sister moved to that room.

?) The fourth room, not really a room, was the dark, narrow attic.

So, Grownup Family Dinner at my current house, a few years ago: my sister told me that Something had lived in the Four Closets Bedroom with her. I'm not sure if she actually said it lived in the little Hide A Witch closet or if it was just kind of... ambient. I don't know what it looked like, or if we're talking about ghosts or Something... Darker, or what. I don't think she's entirely sure herself. She doesn't like to talk about it in detail a whole lot. What I know is that she felt it was there, and she had chosen that room to sleep in as a young teenager, and not a lot of sleep was to be had.

"I never really sensed anything, like… demonic," I said, puzzled. "Just the Chocula that followed me." And my sister was like, ARE YOU LISTENING TO YOURSELF??

"What about Rebecca??" she sputtered.

Oh, yeah: Rebecca. (A name I've changed at my sister's request.) I had a friend as a teenager who liked to mess around with ouija boards (AM I LISTENING TO MYSELF?), and we did a session at her house one time wherein we discovered that the ghost of a girl? young woman? named Rebecca lived (so to speak) at my house, and she had been murdered by her boyfriend. How we arrived at these specifics, I don’t remember, but I had told my sister about it because I thought it was interesting, and also, I was kind of a shit. My friend also decided she had her own ghost named Dusty. It was all one big [citation needed, footage not found], but it was also part of our family lore.

So, many years later, my sister told me that she had long felt—without knowing about the Chocula—that there were two spirits on the upper floor of our childhood home: the dark one, and a younger, lighter one. I sat there at the kitchen table and thought about it.

"You know, I did kind of feel like there was someone up there, when I was a kid," I said. "Sometimes I would go into the attic, and it felt scary, but like there was something there watching that was okay? Like having a lamp on in a dark room, kind of. It’s weird, because it’s just a feeling, I remember it very clearly, but I didn’t really question it or wonder."

I thought a bit more.

"Oh yeah—there was also the time I just really felt compelled to go color in the playroom by myself at midnight, and it kind of felt like someone was there."

My sister stared at me, saucer-eyed, pale. Like I'm not sure I had ever seen anyone "go white" until that moment.

"Yeah, I just woke up and had this idea—I was maybe nine years old? That it would be super cool to do stuff at night when I was supposed to be asleep, so I got a flashlight and went into the playroom—"

"IN THE DARK??"

"Well, yeah. If I had turned on the light, someone would have seen it and told me to go back to bed. So I set this flashlight on the floor and got out the crayons and colored in one of my coloring books a while. Maybe the She-Ra one?"

Thinking back on it now—of course I was sitting right by the scary door. I think we all, you and I, saw that coming.

"And I had the same feeling I had in the attic. Like someone was sitting on the floor across from me, friendly, I guess I would say female, and it was cool. Like, it was chill."

My sister looked like she was about to pass out.

"I don’t really know how I could sense this then but not really say anything about it, or even think about it, until now," I said, shrugging. "I’m probably imagining it."

I’ll throw in here that one of the dolls I had in that room was a Raggedy Ann. Like, just for extra hilarity, Wee Cleo is hanging out, coloring, at midnight, with a ghost and a fuckin’ Annabelle.

So: My sister is adamant that our childhood home was haunted. And apparently I was entirely blasé about it (maybe possessed?), but then, I was dealing with a lot of suburban wildlife. My problems with that house were far more immediate. And crawly. Nor can we prove that the house was haunted—I certainly haven’t looked up any homicide records—and I don’t think that Vibes, In Retrospect, are valid evidence on my part. But I find it interesting that I knew what she was talking about. I find it interesting that I was like, "Yeah, that was chill." And I find it interesting that when I went away to college, and I lived in a dorm suite where sometimes I’d be the only person there while my roommates were out,

I remember noticing that it was the first time I’d ever felt alone in a room.

Who was that imaginary friend I'd had?

I asked my sister to read over this, partly because I wanted to see if she’d be willing to describe the Something Dark.

"Oh, I’ll tell you anything you want," she texted back, "but that’s not how it happened."

#part one of two #me for some reason #story time with cleo #tl;dr my childhood home was fucked up and I was hilariously unbothered about it #insects cw #long post #the haunting of jones house #spooky season #halloween everyday #first look on patreon

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yujeong · 1 year ago

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I am deeply fascinated by White's fear.

I have no idea whatsoever why this boy believes he's dirty/filthy, or why he thinks Tee specifically would view him that way. The show has given us all but mere glimpses of his POV and none have managed to give me a concrete reason for it. But this is what makes it so interesting. Even with only 1 episode left, the writers can do wonders with this. Throughout the show, but especially in Ep11, we see White being pretty open about his attraction/love to Tee. He's the one who pursued him, who flirted with him, who went to visit him at his job everyday, who tutored him, who *kissed* him. Is this why he feels that way? It can't be, right? The boy is doing all this in public, it's not shame for his sexuality that's the issue. So, the other conclusion is that it's about sex. It makes him feel dirty, it makes him feel that *Tee* himself views him as dirty, even though he loves White and he loves having sex with White, something I'm sure White himself knows as well. Going back to Ep1, we do get some indication about White's fear, though it could be just me grasping at straws here:

1) During the first TeeWhite scene we got, White gets a hallucination of the masked murderer standing in the woods, watching them, while he's making out with Tee. He stops and says this:

Tee dismisses White's worries, saying everyone's inside the house so there's nobody to watch them, and White does this face:

and needs a few seconds to get back into it after they start kissing again. 2) When they return to the others and Top asks them if they had sex, White's reaction is this:

and later, when Top asks if he could participate too, White's reaction is this:

White doesn't really show evident discomfort, but he doesn't show indifference either. The main argument in favor of that is the fact that he appeared in front of others like this:

and after Top's comments, he is now like this:

He fixed his T-shirt in order for it to be tucked away in his pants, something he didn't even intend to do before Top's comments. He became self-conscious. 3) When the gang go to the CCTV room to find out where Por has gone, they stumble upon the TeeWhite scene of them kissing on the balcony. White's reaction is this:

which is followed, by this:

and then, by this:

White looks incredibly out of his depth and ashamed, mainly due to Top's attitude which is why he glances at his direction more than once. It's the most evident example we get in the series. Also, I find Tee's words here interesting. He says "My little one will cry, change the camera", meaning he knows other people knowing more about their sex life makes White feel embarrassed. Just a small detail that makes me curious. I believe it's due to example 3 that White gets this hallucination later in Ep2:

My main reason for this is the position. As many people have pointed out, it's at the place Tee mostly kissed him: his neck, spreading over his shoulder. All in all, I refuse to believe White is simply vain, especially since it's such a big fear of his that he has hallucinations about Tee feeling disgusted with him. It all just leaves me so puzzled. Just... White. Who are you?

#I can't wait for Ep12 #why isn't Friday coming faster?#I need more about White omg #I won't get much I know #50 minutes can only do so much #but still I love him as a character so much I want to chew concrete #dead friend forever #teewhite #white dff #character analysis

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love-and-deepspace-wiki · 2 months ago

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Helloooo your blog is a liver saver for lore enthusiast like me! You know, although infold hadn't release much info on certain crucial aspect in the game but I was wondering what's your take or theory on how Protocore Syndrome works? Is it just another name for a Heart failure Disease or something more? Would love to read more of your fanon idea on it! And thank you for creating this amazing wiki blog! 💕💕💕

Ayyyy lore enthusiasts gang~ And of course! Thank you for reading! Sorry this took SO long to reply to. Had to do some major studying for this one lol.

I want to start off by saying that medical knowledge is not my area of expertise, so this is purely a layman's best interpretation based on everything I could learn at Google University 🤣 I managed to decipher her electrocardiogram (ECG/EKG) report results. But as for what irl diagnosis those results indicate, I simply lack the expertise required to deduce that answer. Even though I couldn't answer the second part of your question (believe me, I tried so hard 😭), I hope this post is still useful to you! To any medical or med school folk out there, now is your time to shine and save the day (pls 🙏).

How Protocore Syndrome Works?

The basic in-game description of Protocore Syndrome is very rudimentary and doesn't really give us a lot to go off of. But here's what we know:

Protocore Syndrome: From the "Deepspace Messages" section of the in-game Spacepedia resource, we learn that it is a unique disease caused by Protocores. There are different types, and they harm the human body in various ways. Currently, the known types are A, E, and Y

Type Y Protocore Syndrome: From the description given in the World Underneath story "No Morning", we learn that it is a heart syndrome that involves that hides in various organs and systems, with a long latency period, and slow progression. By the time it's detected, it's often too late. There is currently no known cure.

Still digging for concrete information to confirm the protaganist's diagnosis, but the story seems to infer she has Protocore Syndrome. (If you have any screenshots or resources that definitively identify her condition, pls dm me and I'll credit you).

From Zayne's statements during her chapter 1 appointment, we learn that she has Protocore fragments in her heart. He goes on to specify the following symptoms:

Heart arrhythmia

Premature ventricular contractions (PVCs)

Heart murmurs

The game shows us glimpses of her medical paperwork too. We are shown her ECG report and summary. After covering her report, I'll explain some potential discrepancies (emphasis on "potential" since I'm nowhere near an expert lol).

ECG Basics:

We're going to get a little technical here. But I think we'll get the most value from the analysis once we understand what we're looking at. The ECG shown in-game is a standard 12-lead report, producing 12 individual strips.

Leads:

There are the six limb leads: I, II, III, aVR (augmented vector right), aVL (augmented vector left), and aVF (augmented vector foot).

Then, there are the six chest leads: V1, V2, V3, V4, V5, and V6.

Intervals & Waves:

For the report details to make more sense, here's a quick reference to aid in the interpretation of different waves, wave interval, gain settings, and speed settings.

And, based on the gain and speed settings detailed below, each small square on her chart represent 40 milliseconds (ms) and each large squares represents 200 ms.

ECG Report Analysis:

Gain, Speed, and Heart Rate:

Gain: 10 mm/mV

Gain is a setting on an ECG machine that controls the size of an ECG trace. The standard gain setting is 10mm/mV, meaning that 10 mm on the screen represents 1 millivolt (mV) of voltage. It appears that Akso Hospital's ECG adheres to this standard.

Speed: 25 mm/s

Speed is the paper speed setting on an ECG machine. So, the Akso Hospital's ECG machine is set to 25 mm/s (meaning that each small square on the chart represents 0.04 seconds).

Heart rate: 85 bpm

Pretty self-explanatoty, but this measures how many times her heart beats within one minute. For women, a normal resting heart rate is considered 60-100 bpm, and hers is within this range.

PR Interval: 138 ms

The PR Interval (or PQ Interval) is the distance between the start of the P wave and the start of the QRS complex. A normal PR Interval is between 120 - 200 ms. Since hers is 138 ms, she falls within the normal range.

QT & QTC Intervals:

QT Interval: 347 ms

The QT Interval is the time between the start of the QRS segment and the end of the T wave. It measures the electrical activity of the heart's ventricles. For a heart rate of 85 bpm, a normal QT Interval would generally be 380 ms or less. So, hers is normal.

QTC Interval: 411 ms

The QTC Interval is the corrected QT interval (thats what the "c" is for). It represents the time it takes the heart's ventricles to contract and relax. It is calculated by adjusting the QT interval for heart rate. A normal QTC interval for women is usually less than 460 ms. Since hers is 411 ms, she's within the normal range.

P, T, and QRS Wave Axes:

P Wave Axis: 38°

The P wave axis tells us the net direction of the P wave. A normal P wave axis is usually between 0° and 75°. Since hers is 38°, it falls within the normal range.

T Wave Axis: 65°

The T wave tells us the net direction of the T wave. A normal P wave axis is usually between 15° and 75°. Since hers is 65°, it is within the normal range.

QRS Axis: 35°

The QRS Axis tells us the average direction of electrical activity in the heart during ventricular depolarization. A normal adult QRS axis is between -30° and 90°. Since hers is 35°, she falls within the normal range.

SV1 and RV5:

SV1: 0.94 mV

SV1 represents the voltage of the S wave from the V1 lead. It is used to detect ventricular hypertrophy. A normal SV1 is considered to be less than 2.5 mV and hers is within this range.

RV5: 0.85 mV

The RV5 represents the voltage of the R wave from the V5 lead. It is used to measure electrical activity in the left ventricle. An RV5 reading is considered normal if it is less than 3.5 mV and hers is within this range.

QRS Interval: 71 ms

The QRS Interval the interval between the start of the Q wave and the end of the S wave. Represents the time it takes for electrical impulses to spread through the ventricles. A normal QRS Interval is 70-100 ms. Since hers is 71 ms, she's within the normal range.

Potential Discrepancies:

Okay. So, I thought it was a bit strange that all of her ECG readings were within the normal ranges. But I genuinely don't know if a patient can be diagnosed with an irl heart condition despite having an ECG that appears normal. Maybe its a diagnosis determined by other criteria we aren't shown?

Additionally, I looked up ECG strip examples of both cardiac arrhythmias and premature ventricular contractions (PVCs). And comparing them with her charts, I don't see indications of those symptoms in there.

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kickingitwithkirk · 2 months ago

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If I Gave You My Soul, Would You Wait Eternity For Me?

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Sam Winchester

WC: 8218

Warnings: Show Level Violence, Wincest

*Written initially for Wincest Reverse Bang 2023 *Inspired by the artwork A King and his Knight by @bluefire986 *Thank you to @mrswhozeewhatsis for being my last-minute Beta

Sam walks down the empty hallway feeling tired.

Not the kind of tired one gets from the physical work of hunting, but a type from being one of heaven and hell's favorite chew toys for so long it has worked its way into the marrow of his bones.

He opens the door to Room Eleven and flips the lights on. He scans the scant possessions in his brother's personal space, illuminated by the antiquated lighting around the room, all having some meaning to Dean. Weaponry hanging on the walls, the antique furniture he can’t stop rearranging, his favorite Busty Asian Beauties magazines, and last but not least, a slice of discarded pie sitting on the telephone table.

Sam frowns at the representation of how much of a sloth his brother always was… is . Picking up the leftovers, he notices some photographs sticking out from under a scribbled-on notepad and pulls them out. He sits on the unmade bed flipping through them, each containing a distinct memory; some taken before he was old enough to remember, others throughout their years together.

He pauses at the last one. Bobby had snapped the candid picture in his kitchen sometime between Death's restoration of his soul and Castiel breaking The Wall. Sam tries to remember the last time he’s seen his brother smiling like that.

Leaving all but that one photo behind, Sam is determined to save Dean from damnation, no matter the cost.

****

Unbeknownst to Sam during his absence, Dean regains consciousness and, ironically, feels a helluva lot better. His blood feels more fevered than boiling and notices his flesh is no longer burning like it had been since Sam slapped the demon cuffs on him the other day.

Manipulating his left arm, Dean bends his hand and hisses when the holy water-infused ropes sting his fingertips like a swarm of wasps. He quickly loosens the knot, slips free, then tackles the rest. Unlacing his left boot enough to toe it off, he sits it on his lap and removes the leather insert, fishing out the hidden lock pick and using it to release his cuffed wrist.

Shaking out his hand, Dean feels the cuffs' inhibiting effects diminish, gets up, crosses to the painted edge of the demon trap, and comes into contact with the trap's front edge. It shocks him with what feels like a hundred cattle prods simultaneously. Growling, Dean backs up a bit and springs forward using his superior strength, forcing the invisible barrier to bow outwards like an overinflated balloon. It gives way when it hits the maximum curvature, and inertia carries him on until gravity grabs hold and drops him like a stone onto the concrete floor.

Dean lies there, momentarily breathless, and mirthlessly chuckles at what his little brother considered a brilliant idea, pumping so much blessed blood into him that it fooled the wardings’ capabilities. Climbing onto unsteady feet, he staggers for the door and traverses up the first set of the building's stairwells. The residual effects from the physical restraints finish wearing off and Dean fumes at Sam’s audacity. How dare Sam force a cure Dean didn’t want on him when he had been downright benevolent in offering to spare his life by walking away.

Twice

But now Dean is free and pissed off. The Mark burns on his arm, screaming for The Blade and vengeance. Soon, it’ll finish overriding the bit of humanity that had struggled to return. Usually, Dean goes straight for the kill and heads for some no-name bar to drink and hook up with whoever caught his eye, enjoying their charms until he gets bored.

But it was Sam . His too damn intelligent and resourceful little brother who’d flagrantly discarded his last request.

Sammy, let me go.

But no, Sam hauled him back to the bunker and forcibly injected that poisonous cure into his body, knowing he hates needles, knowing it’d never been successfully used on a knight of Hell.

Yes, Dean had to teach his little brother a lesson. And there were plenty of implements of war and other things around the bunker to employ.

Using his mortal self’s knowledge of how his little brother processes various scenarios, Dean runs through all known versions of Sam’s A-Z planning. In all versions, calling the angel would be step one. He knows he’ll need new tactics but doesn’t have much time to implement them before that dick in the trench coat shows.

Even if he is running on borrowed grace, Dean isn’t ignorant that Castiel could still be a threat to a knight of Hell, possibly overpowering him now that that cure has temporarily sullied his blood. He starts formulating countermeasures while traveling the stairs toward the second floor and, upon reaching the level, goes straight to the lab in Room Twenty-Eight for a few items.

Part II

Sam returns with two more packs of the cure and slowly walks to the dungeon’s entrance, mentally guarding himself against the next barrage of verbal attacks from the demon, his big brother. He notices the door is open and feels adrenaline-fueled fear saturate his system. His heart races, standing in the doorway, finding the chair empty with the restraints dangling off the arms.

Sam reaches into the back of his waistband, pulls out the demon blade, and scans his immediate area. Realizing his brother has moved on, he cautiously heads back up the stairwell toward the upper floors.

Clearing each is time-consuming, making Sam’s fear grow that the demon has escaped the bunker. It’s almost a relief when he hears a door open and quickly close, then footsteps moving up a back staircase to the main floor.

Peeking around the map room, Sam stealthily crosses to a desk drawer where the master keys are stored and freezes at clattering in the kitchen. He quietly picks up the metal ring, hoping Dean can’t hear him.

Sam heads downstairs as he hears Dean bellow, “Come on, Sammy! Don’t you want to hang out with your big brother? Spend a little quality time?”

Sam reaches the electrical room and flinches with every jingle of the keys as he unlocks the door. He has to keep Dean from escaping or everybody Dean leaves behind will be blood on Sam’s hands. With a switch flick, the bunker turns dark, kicking on the red auxiliary lights as the claxon announces the lockdown and covers the sound of his steps.

“Smart Sam, locking the place down, doors won’t open. I get it, but here’s the thing. I don’t want to leave, not till I find you.”

The relief Sam feels at knowing no one else will be hurt anytime soon is balanced by the spike of fear caused by the murderous tone of his brother’s voice. He’s heard it plenty of times, just never aimed at him . Refocusing on his goal, Sam quells his fear and quietly moves to find a place to hide, wait for Dean to show, and shut off the lockdown to silence the claxon so he can trail Sam’s steps again. Sam hopes this will be his chance to trap him and escape alive.

“Sammy, just making this worse for yourself, man. You can, uh, blame yourself for me getting loose. All that blood you pumped into me to make me human--well, the less demon I was, the less the cuffs worked. And that devil’s trap--well, I just walked right across it; it smarted. But still….”

Dean enters the hall heading into the electrical room and heads down the steps to the junction box. A flip of a switch powers the bunker up. “That’s more like it.” Dean says loud enough for Sam to hear as he slams the door shut from the outside.

Obviously unimpressed, Dean yells through it as Sam again tries reasoning with him to finish the treatment. He jumps at a loud, thumping noise from the inside and backs up when the wooden door splinters, sending pieces flying at him.

“You act like I want to be cured.”

Sam is shocked as more chunks burst outwards, revealing his brother's pissed-off face.

“Personally, I like the disease, ” Dean taunts, knowing how those words will bother Sam.

“Dean, stop that!” Shaking his hand, Sam lobs what they both know is a baseless threat. “I don’t want to use this blade on you!”

“Oh ! That sucks for you, doesn’t it? ‘Cause you mean that,” Dean sneers.

“Look, if you come out of that room, I won’t have a choice!’

“Sure you will! And I know which one you’ll make. Isn’t that right, Sammy? But see,” Dean resumes his demolition, “here’s the thing. I’m lucky. Oh, hell, I’m blessed. ‘Cause there’s just enough demon lift in me that killing you ain’t no choice.”

Knowing he has no choice but to run, Sam tears down the passageway as Dean finishes wrecking the door and walks through what remains. “Come on, Sammy, let’s have a beer, talk about it. I’m tired of playing. Let’s finish this game!”

Sam peers down the hallways Dean will have to pass through and finds them empty. He turns to double back but in his peripheral, catches a flash of red flannel and instinctively ducks. He feels the prongs of the swinging object snag longer strands of his hair before its momentum buries it in the concrete wall where his head was milliseconds ago. Sam swoops upright, placing the sharp edge of the demon blade against Dean's throat.

The chuckle that comes out of Dean is truly evil. “Well, look at you.”

Sam’s hand trembles as Dean peers upward into his eyes and challenges, “Do it,” before tipping his chin downward and leaning into the blade’s edge.

“ It’s all you.”

If Sam had a better poker face when lying to his big brother, he wouldn’t have given away that Cas appeared behind Dean, and what happened next would’ve been impossible. Sam watched, horrified, as Dean sliced his throat on the demon blade, the cut sparking orange and dousing him and the wall in a venous spray revealing a hidden sigil.

Time ticked in slow motion as Dean pushed Sam away, sending him sliding down the hall with unnatural force. He then smoothly turned toward the angel with demonic speed and did it again, sending Cas flying through the air. Sam watches as he swipes his left hand across the cut before slapping it on a now glowing sigil, dispatching the trench-coated angel to who knew where.

Sam’s still-shocked brain immobilizes him long enough that Dean is on him before he can get up and run. He tries, but his bum shoulder gets in the way, leaving him floundering. Dean grabs the lapels of his flannel shirt and pulls him to his feet, instead. One evil, cocky smile, and Dean slams Sam and his head against the wall then leaves him to slide back down to the floor. Sam’s fading vision registers the knight of Hell squatting down and, before losing consciousness, hears his gravelly voice utter, “Should’ve picked that beer.”

Part III

When the first glimmers of consciousness return, the cold air rolling over his skin tells Sam he’s in the dungeon. He quickly figures he’s shackled and bound to the chair by the blessed ropes, wrapped in their rough embrace. He’s still doing an inventory of his position and possible injuries when a thirst hits him.

Not thirst from the lack of hydration but that unique, unforgettable, insatiable craving Sam has vehemently resisted for years. This thirst was reignited by the higher-level demon's blood, making his body yearn for more of the substance that’s left a thick, rich coating, laced with a smoky aftertaste, on his tongue.

Horrified by his reaction, the little blood in his stomach rolls upwards, slipping past his lips onto his shirt, followed by copious amounts of foul-tasting, pink-tinged bile.

“You always were an over-sensitive bitch.”

The gravelly voice bounces off the concrete walls to ricochet inside his skull. Struggling to open his eyes through the pain from the back of his head, Sam fuzzily sees the outline of his brother sitting with one hip hitched up on the edge of the table, suddenly smiling peculiarly. “I gotta hand it to you, Sam. You were this close,” he holds up a thumb and forefinger an inch apart, “turning me back. Know where you fucked up? Come on, take a guess. No? Okay, I’ll throw you a bone. Where’d you store that blood?”

Dean smirks as the answer dawns on Sam. “I’d have put it on ice in a cooler. No wonder Dad never trusted you to do anything right.”

Sam remains silent, partly not wanting to vomit on himself again as his head mercilessly throbs in time with his heartbeat. The other part doesn’t want to take the bait because the demon who is his brother holds all the cards.

“What? No pithy comeback? No, Dean, you’re wrong, blah blah blah?” The demon grabs a beer bottle by his hip and takes a swig.

“That night I left with Crowley, he asked why not kill you and be done with it 'cause you’d never stop searching for us.” The demon chuckles. “Told him we had an agreement to do normal. And how do you repay my benevolence? You drag me back here, torturing me in ways far worse than Alastair ever dished out because you can’t let go!”

“Are you telling me that Dean Winchester, my brother, wouldn’t have gone to the ends of the earth if it’d been me? I don’t believe that!” Sam pushes down the pain. “You want a pound of flesh for doing the same thing you’ve repeatedly done for me?”

“Ohh, I’ve already got ideas running through my head.” His mood shifts, and presto chango, he’s Dean again. “So, I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

"Man, you hung out way too long with that low-rent Vito Corleone wannabe,” Sam snarks.

“Maybe. But I learned more about The Mark when he was in his cups, whatever that means. He admitted not telling me everything before I took it and related a little-known story. Cain couldn’t deal with what he’d done and committed suicide using the First Blade. But The Mark wouldn’t let him go, changing him into a demon.”

“Here’s the kicker, though.” Dean goes to a storage cabinet, removes an object, and then walks over to him. “What none of the lore, oral histories, or rumors say was that he became a demon with a soul.”

“Wha..what are you saying?” The scent of the rich blood under Dean's skin tortures him the closer he gets. “You’ve had your soul this entire time, and you still—” Sam broke off, the thirst clouding his thoughts.

“The Mark wants what it wants, but I’ve had time to figure out how to keep it appeased, and right now, my soul is the only thing keeping you alive.” Dean stops centimeters from the devil’s trap’s outer ring. “Here's my proposal. I’ll stay till you heal, care for you like I always have.”

“In exchange for what, Dean? I look the other way while you go out and slaughter people.”

“You returned The Blade to Crowley, so The Mark is pissed and wants your blood, which brings me to the second part. I need you to feel what I feel, see what I… Jesus Fucking Christ, I’m starting to sound like that wanker Crowley!”

Dean moves around as he used to when shaking things off. “I need you to understand I want this, and the only way is to spend time with me as is. So, to wrap your big brain around it, I’m going to give you a bit of my blood every day, just enough to bring out that demonic side Azazel created.”

“You have lost your fucking mind, Dean! If you think I’d let you—”

“Before finishing that sentence, imagine me shutting the power on and off to watch you suffocate for the fun of it. Or locking down the bunker, letting you slowly starve. Remember, I also was Alastair’s most promising, and I can do things to your body without killing you, make you wish you’d never left the Cage.”

Sam doesn’t respond, so the demon crosses the trap smiling coldly. “It doesn’t work on me anymore.” He walks behind Sam and leans close to whisper, “Remember feeding from Ruby? How that warm blood slipped down your throat, heightening your senses, making you powerful? And she was just a common demon. Can you imagine what a higher-level demon, a knight of Hell, will make you feel like?” Dean holds up a mirror before his face, revealing Sam’s kaleidoscope eye colors are gone, now replaced by a liquid gold color, making him resemble the yellow-eyed bastard who’d destroyed his family.

“After all, Sam, you're foreordained to be the Boy King of Hell.”

The demon's mood shifts again. “Well, I don’t know about you, but all this talk of blood and mutilation made me hungry,” his brother says, heading towards the door. “I’ll let you sit there while I run to town and grab some food, followed up with a slice of good old-fashioned murder.”

Dean turns and smiles like his human self. “I’m kidding, Geesh; gotta work on that sense of humor, Sammy!” Flipping off the lights, he shuts the door.

“See you later.”

Part IV

“... the heat of the moment

Telling me what your…”

“Rise and shine, Sammy!”

Sam’s eyes fly open as the room lights flicker brightly on, squinting at Dean stuffing the last bite of a burger into his mouth.

“...The heat of the moment showed in your eyes.”

“ Whooh , dude, you fucking reek!” Dean mumbles with his mouthful, dramatically waving his hand as the cell phone continues blaring that Asia song Sam hates. ”What is that smell?” He glances down at his brother's lap. ”Oh yeah, I forgot about bodily functions. Sorry.”

The demon’s audacity to look contrite pisses him off. “You're sorry ?!” Sam hoarsely snaps, “You left me here for so fucking long that I pissed and shit myself like a fucking baby! Was that whole spiel about caring for me another one of your games? If this is your way of convincing me to accept anything you propose, fucking kill me now!”

“I said I was sorry!” Dean grumbles as he stomps over. “It's only been thirteen hours.” He curses while untying the ropes with his bare hands. Unlocking the demon cuff from the chair arm he snaps, “I’m not taking any chances.” Yanking on Sam’s cuffed wrist, he snaps the manacle to his slung-bound wrist, “So you’re keeping these on. Let's go.”

Dean drags Sam up the multiple levels to the communal showers. “Time to get yourself cleaned up.” Dean goes over to his brother's usual area and turns the knobs, warming up the water.

“How am I supposed to do that? You just said I had to stay in these,” Sam inquires, jingling the silver manacles. “And my shoulder’s stiffened up so much there’s no way I’m getting my shirts off.” Dean momentarily frowns, then grabs the facility's rubbish bin and pulls out his butterfly knife.

“What’re you..?” Sam begins, but then Dean slices through his flannel and T-shirt, pulls the strips off, and kneels to unlace his boots before reaching for the button on his jeans. Sam's weak protest of you can’t is met by the demon's black eyes and a growl of, “Knock it off!”

Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he yanks them to Sam’s ankles, blinking in disbelief at his brother's emaciated body. Sam didn't take time to care for himself in the weeks since Dean died, and it made Dean’s eyes shift back into their normal chartreuse. Sam can’t look at this perverted version of his brother supposedly caring for him, so stares at the tiled wall. As he did when still a child, he automatically lifts each foot for Dean as expected, then cringes as his destroyed clothes violently slam into the bin.

“Keep your arm still.” Unsnapping the sling, Dean tosses it towards the bench, then backs him up till the warm sprays hit his back, running over it, cleansing off the days of filth.

In his peripheral vision, Sam notices Dean stripping off his clothes. “What are you doing?”

The only response is a washcloth roughly scrubbing over his good shoulder and down his back. “Don’t think you can feign ignorance about starving yourself!” Dean snaps as he continues bathing him like when they were kids. “How much time have I invested in caring for you over the years, too? Once again, you’ve risked your health.” He squeezes Sam’s injured shoulder. “No wonder I was able to outthink and outmaneuver you.”

Part V

His buzzing alarm clock wakes Sam, and he gazes at his ceiling like every morning, or is it night? He’s lost track of time since his brother, the knight of Hell, got loose. While lying there, he rehashes what has transpired.

He’s tried several times to escape, and the demon kept his word. Sam involuntarily shudders at the muscle memory of those punishments, so now he does everything Dean instructs, including waiting in his room until Dean shows up with his “daily tonic”, the term he gave to the blood he makes Sam drink directly from his wrist. Thinking about it makes his mouth feel as dry as the Sahara Desert, so he switches his thoughts to compare all the changes he’s found in his brother again.

It’s funny how the demon is still, well, Dean. Retaining his childish humor but with a darker edge at times. His drinking habits haven’t changed, but the whole extended periods of not eating had taken a while to get used to. The biggest change is that the guilt that used to permeate his being is nonexistent; as if becoming a demon freed his soul, is now as he should have been all along.

He also knows Dean is up to something. There are strange phone calls when he thinks Sam has dozed off while watching TV, or the few times he’s unexpectedly left in the middle of the night when Sam has gotten up to go to the toilet or get a drink of water. Then there are the times he catches Dean looking at him. Sam would swear he was looking at him with desire if he didn’t know his brother was strictly into boobs.

Whatever’s going on, Dean will eventually slip up somewhere, and Sam will have the chance to get out. Until then, Sam plays the obedient little brother.

****

Sitting at the library table working on the archive database he created for easier access to the bunkers' collections, Sam searches for a file that has somehow disappeared, checking one place than another, and catches his brother with his feet propped up on the table's end watching him. Again.

Unnerved by the intensity in his eyes, Sam finds himself subconsciously fidgeting like he did when puberty kicked in and realizes his feelings for Dean were developing into the not-brotherly kind. His feelings had become so intense that it was the number one factor in his decision to go away to college.

During those years, and after returning to hunting, he watched his brother evolve from a twink to a very sexy guy and buried his feelings of jealousy when Dean used his perfect features to his advantage in and out of the bedroom.

“How come I’ve never noticed you’ve got this hot, librarian vibe, little brother?”

Sam snorts. “Because you're straight.”

“I’m serious, Sam.”

“Yeah, whatever, dude,” he replies and gets up, resuming his search.

Dean purses his lips. “Spending this time here with you, not worrying about the rest of the world. I realize I’ve spent my life denying I’m Samsexual.”

Sam turns in shock and stares at his brother, unsure if the demon is playing him for malevolent kicks or if Dean is telling the truth, knowing he has to tread carefully. Perching on the other table, Sam asks, “What triggered this confession?”

“Seemed as good a time as any.”

“That’s not an answer, Dean. I know you are technically you and it’s still hard to be honest with me. But I’ve also seen your other side trying to be more open, so please don’t shut me out again. I’d like to know how long you have felt this way about me?”

Dean shrugged. “It was my job to take care of you. Hell, Dad said it often enough. Watch out for Sammy. Those words are ingrained into my bones, deeper than that Enochian warding etched on our ribs. Then you grew, changing from my snot-nosed brother into this wondrous creature, and how I felt about you became something twisted and ugly. Old me never wanted you to find out about my sick desires, so I buried it in those girls I fucked.”

Sam listens to his brother spinning his tale of how, as a teen, he thinks maybe he was born wrong because he’s in love with his baby brother, consumed by thoughts of wanting to touch, caress, and kiss Sam’s pretty pink lips when he smiles and his mind spirals back to those years.

He thinks maybe he was just born wrong.

Those words trigger a long-treasured memory of Sam, being sixteen and in another nondescript motel room. He’s lying in their shared bed with just enough moonlight filtering in for him to make out the features of Dean's face so close to his. Sometimes, it physically hurts how beautiful Dean is. Broad shoulders and strong hands and gorgeous fucking mouth, and Sam can't release the ache in his chest with Dean's body pressed against him. Slipping a hand beneath the sheets, he starts stroking himself and trying not to think about Dean. But like always, he fails, and clenching his teeth, Sam comes silently.

“I thought you'd hate me if you knew how much I loved you because I always thought I was what's broken. Now you’re saying you always felt the same? It's not all about wanting or sex or desire. It's just that we’ve never had anybody to care for except each other.” Sam bursts into a laughing jag and falls, landing heavily on the floor.

Dean falls onto his knees and, in that moment of mutual clarity, says, “You are mine.” Gazing into his brother’s eyes, he knows Sam's feelings and smiles.

Unrepentant.

Dean's fingertips brush his lips, and it feels like a gentle breeze. Sam leans in to kiss his brother's palm. At that moment, Sam hopes. He hopes, but he also subconsciously knows, that everything they want will come crashing down at some point.

****

Sam’s flipping through the card catalog when he comes across one out of place. He’s positive it hadn’t been in this drawer the last time he opened it and not recognizing the number enters it into his database but doesn’t find it. His curiosity piqued, he heads for the garage to let Dean know he’ll be hunting down the mystery item in the archives.

Hours later, huffing in frustration, Sam tosses yet another book on the pile cluttering the table in the center of the room. Tracking a Wendigo through the woods is a piece of cake compared to the maze someone’s created for this item. He briefly closes his blurry eyes and rolls his shoulders, working the kinks out from sitting in one position too long.

Reopening them, he notices the mortar around some of the bricks in the wall next to the shelves he’s been scanning has a different patina. He crosses to the wall and runs his fingers over the area when one gives. He pushes on it and the front of a book-filled steamer trunk sitting next to the wall pops open. Squatting down, Sam can see warding inside and removes a cloth-wrapped item. He feels something sinister emanating from it and sets it on the floor. He reaches to unwrap it, but hears Dean's boots echoing down the hallway and quickly shoves it back in shutting the compartment.

“Hey, I’ve been calling. Dinner’s ready.”

“Ahh, guess I was in the zone, sorry.”

“Geek,” Dean teases. “You’ve been down here for hours. Find that wherever it is yet?”

Sam stands. “No, I’ve searched everywhere but it must have been misplaced at some point. What’d you pick up for dinner?”

Dean's demeanor shifts and Sam knows he’s picked up on the item's lingering essence and comes in. His peering around the shelving makes Sam so nervous he starts fidgeting with one of his cuffs.

Dean warily eyes him. “I cooked. Made that chicken fettuccine you like.”

Sam seizes the opportunity to distract him. “Look at you, going to all that trouble, making my favorite. How am I ever to repay you?” He bends and kisses Dean, relaxing when his brother leans into it.

Completely distracted, Dean murmurs against his lips, “Dessert first, and you're on the menu.”

****

Sam has lost all concept of time.

Mostly, he finds he doesn’t care anymore, whether it’s from the small amounts of blood sating the craving that never goes away or being the center of Dean's universe again. For his birthday, he surprises Sam with a cupcake and they celebrate as if time rolled back twenty years, except for the phenomenal sex they have afterward.

Sam’s concluded that he’s found contentment, albeit in a completely different way than he ever imagined. He deserves it and doesn’t want it to end.

Of course, it’s not perfect.

He can sense that item hidden in the trunk, even with demon cuffs inhibiting his blood-fueled abilities. By his brother’s reaction, he knows it's important. Much to Sam’s chagrin, Dean tossed the archives room several times, leaving him to straighten up the aftermath. He’ll have to be patient and wait for the right time to unearth it again.

****

Sam unwraps the mystery item and feels his heart rate accelerate, realizing what it is.

The Book of the Damned.

An ancient manuscript created from flesh and blood containing various dark spells to break curses. Flipping through it, Sam understands some of the obscure Sumerian dialects, remembers a footnote about an encrypted codex, and searches for it.

Placing both books on the table, he ignores the evil emulating from them and concentrates on finding and translating the spell needed to remove The Mark.

****

Something made by God, but forbidden to man:

The Forbidden Fruit.

Something made by man, but forbidden by God:

The Golden Calf.

The caster's heart: The life of the thing the spell caster loves most:

Dean.

“This can’t be,” Sam says out loud, staring at the ancient tome. “This can’t be the only way.”

He’d give up his soul without a second thought to talk to Bobby mirthlessly chuckles, knowing Bobby would call him an idjit after everything Dean’s done to get it back. Wearily running his hand over his face, Sam frowns. He’s had energy to spare with Dean feeding him small doses of his demon blood, only needing short naps every few days.

So why the hell is he so exhausted?

Sam goes to the nearest bathroom and looks in the mirror. Sure enough, liquid gold eyes stare back as they have since Dean splattered him in blood. Absorbed in his pondering, Sam walks back to the archives and discovers everything he’d been working on is missing except a folded piece of paper. Picking it up, his heart pounds reading the message.

Following his brother's instructions to meet in the library, Sam finds him with his feet propped up, a beer in one hand and the book in the other, reading. Squaring his shoulders, Sam sits in his usual place and waits for Dean to acknowledge him. Instead, he continues, occasionally referring back to the codex. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he says, “I gave you a taste of what it’d be like, being together, unburdened by our reality and this is how you repay me.”

“I wasn’t going to let you sacrifice yourself again!”

“It’s different this time! I turned you back into a blood junkie so you’d get some understanding that my remaining a demon is what I need! It’s helped me believe not everything in this fucking universe is my fault, that I’m not 90% crap!”

“I know I’ve done things over the years that’s made it difficult to trust me but to be with you like this, it’s gone against everything I believe in!” Sam gets up, pacing around, and runs his cuffed hands through his hair when Dean gets up, too.

“Still amazes me how gullible you are Sammy. Those cuffs are strong enough to restrain me but you, with the powers you possess? No way in hell they’d ever actually work.”

Sam’s brow furrows at what Dean said.

“You became so absorbed in this that you never noticed I stopped giving you my blood months ago.” Dean closes the distance between them and peers up. “It’s been all you, Dumbo.” Ruby had said something similar: he didn’t need the feather to fly, he had it in him the whole time.

Dean continues. “My carrying The Mark is the only foolproof way to stop The Darkness from destroying the universe.”

Sam dreads his brother’s answer but still asks the question. “What are you talking about? What is The Darkness?”

Dean recounts during one of his middle-of-the-night excursions being summoned by Death. The horseman told him a story about God and the archangels imprisoning The Darkness with a mystical lock and key. God gave it to Lucifer, but it corrupted Lucifer so badly that God cast him out. The fallen angel eventually passed it to Cain and so forth.

“For us to end the cycle of Heaven and Hell using us, you gotta accept this is the only foolproof way of averting another one of their apocalypses.” Dean taps the book. “Stop trying to turn me back!”

His brother is the strongest person Sam has ever known, and as a knight of Hell, a higher-level demon, Dean could carry the burden that came with the curse. Sam’s eyes shift back into their kaleidoscope array, and closing the distance between them, he places his hand over his soulmate's unbeating heart.

“This is it, then?”

Sam's voice is so broken, and his face, nothing has changed since infancy. His baby brother always was the ugliest cryer, almost making Dean cave. Instead, he grips his hand and leans in, touching his forehead to Sam’s.

“Now, I need you to give you what YOU want, Sam. I know you want an ordinary life that I can’t give you. Maybe you'll realize where you truly belong once you’ve had it, get out of your system.”

“Dean….”

Dean's strong hands cup his face and Sam flashes to the smell of his sleep-warmed skin, to his sweat and his breath and the feel of him, so close and all he wants is Dean to take the upcoming hurt away but knows he won’t.

“Don’t worry Sammy, I will behave, mostly. Now, walk away and live that ordinary life and when it’s time, I’ll be back for you, little brother.”

Part VI

One year later

Sam locks the door to his apartment and heads down the building’s exterior stairs, abruptly stopping when he hits street level. His hunter senses engaging, he automatically reaches for the back of his waistband, palming the demon blade. He scans the immediate area, looking for something or someone out of place but finding nothing.

He subtly flips the weapon around so his jacket hides it and proceeds down the sidewalk toward his place of employment. As he approaches the door, he slips the blade back into his waistband, enters, ducking under the clanging brass bell, and smiles as Mr. Clark pokes his head out from the store room.

“Hey Sam, perfect timing. We got a delivery needing unpacked.”

“I’ll get on it, sir,” he says, pulling off his backpack and jacket and stashing them under the counter. He grabs his apron and heads to the storeroom, stopping to see what’s on top of the cellophane-wrapped pallet.

An oversized cupcake with a lit candle reminds him of last year’s birthday, the last one he’d ever spend with Dean.

“We weren’t going to let you skip your birthday,” Mr. Clark says. “It’s your favorite, spiced applesauce, and I’m taking you home for dinner.” Sam tries to interrupt but Mr. Clark talks over him. “ I know you use your dinner break to study, but we’re closing early tonight, so you don’t get behind. Marianne is whipping up that vegetable lasagna you like and….”

Sam doesn’t hear the rest of Mr. Clark’s plan for the evening as the memory of his last birthday replays in his mind. He feels unshed tears prickling, hearing in his mind the whiskey-roughened voice he sorely misses.

“Sammy, make a wish.”

“Don’t have to; it’s come true.”

Laying on Dean's bed curled against his big brother's flannel-clad side, they split Sam’s birthday cupcake like when they were kids, He sighs in contentment as calloused fingers trail down his cheek, and he turns, wrapping his arm tightly around Dean's waist, reiterating, "I love you."

Dean pulls his head down for a slow, sensual kiss, then murmurs, "This is good, right?"

Sam speaks against his lips. “We’re together; that’s all I need.”

***

Sam places the leftovers in his fridge, grabs a beer, sits at the kitchenette table, fires up his laptop, and begins rereading the last paragraph he’d written for class. Sometime later, his phone vibrates. Glancing at the lit screen, Sam sees it’s 11:59 PM. His heart rate speeds up when he recognizes the number. It stops, but then the screen flashes again, and he picks it up.

“Hello?” There’s nothing but silence on the other end. “I know it’s you. What do you want?” The line goes dead.

Sam gets up and walks to the window, and there she is, her black and chrome exterior gleaming in the streetlight's glow.

Baby.

Sam scans the street but doesn’t spot her owner. He grabs the demon blade and unlocks the door cautiously stepping onto the top step to find a four-pack of Margiekugels lager, minus one. The Impala’s engine roars to life and he watches her peel out, disappearing into the darkness.

With that offering, they start their new yearly tradition of celebrating Sam’s birthday.

Epilogue

Decades later

11:59 PM

“Come on, Sammy, where are you?”

Something is off. Sam is always punctual for his annual visitation. Dean crosses his arms as he leans against his latest borrowed vehicle and frowns as a strange emotion crawls up from deep inside.

He’s antsy, a thing he hasn’t been in decades. He knows something is wrong when his watch beeps on the hour.

Pushing off the fender, Dean does the one thing he promised himself not to do all those long years ago and walks toward the house.

Getting closer to the two-story home, it dawns on him that the warding he usually senses surrounding the structure is lessening. As he places one booted foot on the front porch's bottom step, someone opens the front door but remains inside, shadowed by the light cast from another room.

Dean climbs the steps and cautiously crosses the wide porch to the threshold. He’s not greeted by his younger brother but, for the first time, he comes eye-to-eye with his namesake. Dean feels pride that the younger man shows no fear as they study each other.

His nephew resembles their late father, John, and has his mother's dark eyes. All the golden-hued skin and that hair , though —right down to those stupid flippies at the ends— is all Sam.

“Dad’s been agitated all night. I’m glad he remembers what today is.”

The demon ponders his words, watching Dean Jr. pick up a flathead screwdriver and hammer, squat down, and pry up the threshold to reveal a solid salt block that looks like it’s been under there for years. He starts to use the implements on it when Dean interrupts. “Don’t be stupid, kid. You know what I am, right?”

“Yeah, a knight of Hell.” The kid pushes up his sleeve, revealing an anti-possession tattoo in the same spot where Dean carries the Mark of Cain. “Dad taught me about the things that exist in the dark.”

Crossing his arms, the demon watches his nephew knock a piece loose, wondering what game he’s playing.

The kid stands up and places the items on a small table. “Please, Uncle Dean, I know Dad wants to see you.” He turns, leaving the door open.

The prickling from the warding within the house's walls stings but doesn’t stop Dean from crossing the threshold into the foyer. He suddenly becomes overwhelmed by the presence of his Sammy, as if his essence has adhered to the home's structure.

A rhythmic beeping pulls Dean out of his wonderment and, venturing further inwards, he peers around in curiosity. The wallpapered rooms have various patterns but the same theme running through them: some variety of sunflowers, Kansas’ state flower and Sam’s small way of honoring their birthplace.

He follows the beeping down the hallway, hearing it suddenly speed up, then his nephew's voice carries out of the room. Low and soft, the kid says, “Dad, I’ll reestablish the warding afterward. I wasn’t going to let you miss his visit.”

Dean moves closer, eavesdropping on the conversation, and can’t help smiling at his brother's response. While sounding faded and worn, he still has an edge to his words.

“I remember Dad saying that to you, Sammy. Never thought I’d hear it from your lips,” Dean recalls, stepping into the doorway quickly suppressing his shock.

Sam, his ginormous little brother, the obsessive health nut who jogged every day and drove him batshit crazy with his lectures about unhealthy habits while chomping on salads like a rabbit, is lying on a hospital bed. He looks so…fragile.

He watches Sam’s eyes quickly shift to his son, then back, using the pleading, puppy dog expression he’d always used radiating from them. “Dude, calm down before you stroke out! I’m not going to try anything. Remember our deal?”

Sam’s eyes narrow slightly, conveying loud and clear, shut the fuck up, Dean!

Their silent conversation makes the kid blink. “Wow, those books weren’t exaggerating. You two do that whole secret communication thing.” Gently laying his hand on his father's arm, he says, “And I know you two made some kind of deal years ago. Mom told me I wasn’t to interfere, no matter what.”

Sam sighs and smiles fondly. “Your mother somehow always knew things.”

“That’s because she was a witch,” the kid jokes. “I’m going to give you guys some privacy.” He sets a phone on the medicine-laden table next to the bed. “Text me when y'all finish.”

They stare at each other as the front door closes and the porch swing begins creaking. Sam points his long finger toward the adjacent dining room. “You want a drink?”

“Nah , I’m good. So how long,” Dean asks, waving at the medical equipment.

“Doctors transferred me to hospice a few days ago and said it could be anytime now. And would you sit down,” Sam huffs. “It hurts my neck having to look up nowadays.”

“Sorry.” Dean sits on the chair by his bed. “So, what you got?” His eyes widen, and he drops a hand to cover his lap. “It’s not…testicular cancer?”

“Oh my god, Dean, seriously? No!” Sam spits out in his exasperated tone, but his eyes contain amusement, looking pointedly at his hand. “Remember when we didn’t think we would make it past thirty, let alone get old?” Dean nods, and Sam exhales tiredly. “All those years of hunting finally caught up with me.”

The feelings of sadness and elation simultaneously slam Dean. His soul is mournful that Sam’s mortality is ending, but the demon is gleeful that he will soon become what he was originally destined for and rejoin him for eternity.

Sam turns his head toward the fireplace, looking at the photographs of memories they shared and new ones created after they separated.

“I’ve had a good life. Some experiences I definitely could have done without, but in the end, it was worth all of it.” They sit silently, like they used to, neither needing anything more than each other’s company.

“What was her name?” Sam asks out of nowhere. “Made you try on her panties?” Sam’s lips twitch at the unasked question flashing across Dean's face, then answers. “Cas. He never could keep a secret when he drank a liquor store.”

“That dick ,” Dean harrumphs, then says, “Rhonda Hurley. They were pink. And satiny. I kinda liked it.” Dean decides turnabout is fair play and asks, “Did you let Becky punch your V card on your wedding night?”

The brothers continue their teasing reminiscence until Sam starts fading. Dean texts his namesake, enters the dining room, pours himself a drink, then goes outside to sit on the porch swing. Sipping on the whiskey, he hears Sam’s son.

“Dad. It’s okay. You can go now.”

****

His shifting makes the Impala's leather creak loudly as the scant images from his dream dissipate with consciousness. He hears his brother moving about but doesn’t open his eyes yet.

“Dude, I had the weirdest dream,” Sam drowsily says, stretching out his long legs and freezing, his brain screaming something isn’t right. He hasn’t been able to fully extend his legs across the backseat since he was fifteen and shot up three inches in as many months.

Opening his eyes, Sam stares at a ceiling that isn’t Baby’s roof or the popcorn kind commonly found in the dingy one-star motels they frequent. He sits up, figuring out the creaking is from a medical bed, gazes around, and his memories come rushing back. He turns his head, finds Dean sitting in the dining room with his boots on the table, and gives him bitchface #104.

‘Sorry,” Dean apologizes and removes them from the antique table.

Sam examines his hands, rubbing his skin and flexing his fingers. “Dean, how…?”

“Remember that witch bitch Rowena?” Sam’s brow furrows at the name. “Turns out she’s Crowley's mother. I discovered she created a resurrection spell and persuaded her to tweak it to include de-aging you back to 2015.”

Sam slides off the bed. “I wouldn’t have been surprised if she didn’t set it to 1995 for whatever you did to get it from her.” He pauses and finds the house is too quiet. “Where’s my son?”

“He said he couldn’t say goodbye twice and decided to visit Claire and her wife, Kaia. I’ve arranged to have everything straightened up before he returns.”

Sam closes the distance between them and, wrapping his large hand around the back of Dean’s head, bends down to kiss him in thanks.

“If that’s my reward for hiring a cleaning service, what do I get for bringing you back? Fifth base?” Dean asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Sam ignores the question and takes his brother's hand, entwining their fingers and tugging for him to follow. Dean grumbles, “I’m not a thirteen-year-old girl,” but follows Sam like always.

Leading his brother to an outbuilding on the back of the property, Sam opens the door and gallantly says, “After you, mi’lady.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Dean sees a familiar shape under a draped canvas and turns back to Sam.

Happiness exudes from his yellow eyes and he’s smiling so hard that those dimples Dean sorely missed are on full display. “I kept her in the exact condition when you gifted her to me.”

“Had to do something monumental for your fiftieth birthday,” Dean says, ripping the canvas off and strolling around to inspect the Impala. “You did a decent job caring for her. Not as good as me, but, you know.” Running his hand up her polished fender and over the roof, Dean asks, “Did you miss me, Baby?”

“If you two need a minute,” Sam snarks, and Dean flips him off, continuing to examine his — their— car, halted by a calling he hasn’t felt in decades.

“What…?” Dean instinctively catches the keys tossed to him.

“Under the seat,” Sam replies, watching with glee as his brother, the last remaining knight of Hell, unwraps the cloth from around the old jawbone.

“You gave it to Crowley. How’d you…?”

“Locator spell I concocted.”

Dean appears confused. Wasn’t the whole point of their separation that Sam wanted normal?

“Turns out I had a talent for spell work. I couldn’t get it myself, and finding someone powerful enough to retrieve it took a long time. But they owed me a favor, so,” he nods to Dean's hands.

“Speaking of owing, I’ve got a big ass list of those who’ve screwed us over and over,” Dean says, going to the trunk. He unlocks it, lifts the hidden compartment, and reveals their monster-hunting arsenal. It’s grown since John Winchester first put his guns and ammo inside. During their active years, his sons continued adding items to the collection. Dean drops the First Blade next to the Demon Blade as his brother joins him. Gazing into the trunk, Sam reaches up for the lid.

“We’ve got work to do.”

Finis

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#dean winchester #sam winchester #demon!dean #boyking!sam #dean winchester jr #wincest #spn au #supernatural

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